Sick. Again,

I'm sick. Again.

I've been getting sick a lot lately. Sinus infections, viral gastrointeritis (stomach flu), migraine headaches (the first one in almost a decade) and now - a massive allergic reaction.

We're not talking the sniffles here. We're taking full-body hives, vomiting, choking, eye-watering, sinus-clogging, skin-burning, life-altering allergies and are requiring heavy hits of antihistamines and prednisone. (Nasty stuff...but it gets the job done.)

I'm not able to take hot showers, get hot and sweaty or even be in place where I'll get hot and sweaty. This is gonna make work interesting, beacuse there's not a day that goes by I'm not drenched in sweat.

I'll make it work, though. I have to.

When you're a kid, being temporarily sick can end up being kind of an adventure. Sure, you feel like crap, but you might just get out of school for a few days and spend the time playing games, reading, watching TV.

Yes, it can still suck and it doesn't always work out like that. It's a crap shoot that depends on parents, doctors and all the stars to align - but there is still the possibility that things can turn out to fun. It didn't often turn out like that for me or my brothers, but when it did, it made being sick worth it.

When you're an adult, it never works out like that. You end up missing work. If you're like me, that means you aren't earning much needed money. And if you're like me, it means you're going to end up behind on your work. You can't meet your obligations and end up leaving people high and dry - and they get rightfully put out at the inconvenience. They may not be upset with you, but they tend to be upset with the situation.

So. Here I am. Sick and messing things up because I'm sick. Not my fault, but frustrating non the less.

I'll admit, I'm frustrated. I went years without getting sick hardly at all. And during those years? I ate and drank whatever I felt like, as long as I wasn't allergic to it. Triple-meat bacon cheeseburger? Anytime I felt like it. Soda? Every day. Massive amounts of it. Ice cream and cake and cookies and - yeah. You get the idea. I was a glutton, feeding my belly and my taste buds whatever fat-laced, grease-soaked concoction sounded good at the time. I did so without a single iota of guilt, let alone a second thought.

Not only did I eat like a fat, happy king, I did so cheaply. Because stuff that's bad for you is cheaper than stuff that's good for you. Universal law, if there ever was one. I had endurance, physical strength and I wasn't even that active. I spent most of my time online. I read, I wrote and I role-played online.

It was a good time in my life.

Then I decided that I wanted to lose weight and change some things about my life. I cut out soda almost completely - now sodas are a treat instead of a staple. I've cut down what I eat and changed what I eat. I've lost some weight and I actually think about my health.

And my health is worse than ever. I'm sure there's lots of arguments that can be made about me reaping what I sowed during those good years. I'm sure there's some comments to be made about me getting older and slowing down. Or I've accidentally omitted some set of nutrients. And I'm sure it would all be correct.

But damn me if it's not frustrating and annoying and a right royal pain in the ass.

There's a lot of things I want to do for my health. Exercise is something I can't do while I'm constantly sick, not if I want to get better. Exercise is already hard enough with the fibro and arthritis, but - after dilligent research and some (painful) experimentation, I have a plan in place. Getting the chance to start said plan? Not yet.

Changing my diet is what I'm in the middle of. It's both harder and easier than I thought it would be. Part of the problem is energy level - I have very little these days. I'm constantly tired and drained, but that has as much to do with the fibro/arthritis combo as anything else. I think once I get my diet stabilized and my exercise started, I can reverse that trend...but for now, being tired means I tend to not have the energy to cook once I get home. Which means I'm tending not to eat as healthy as I plan to - healthier than I used to, for sure.

I'm not giving up though.

As my mother is fond of saying...our family is too stupid to know when we should give up.

Random Observations I

RANDOM OBSERVATIONS I: Random, raw observations and thoughts from the depths of my brain.

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I know people get tired of me talking about feeling productive and getting things done, but I've discovered I have trouble relaxing enough to get to sleep unless I feel like I've accomplished something for myself sometime during the day. I almost always accomplish a great deal at work (though not always the things I want to work on) - it's my own stuff I tend to fall behind on.

I wonder how much of my grumpiness & discontent relates back to not taking care of my little world and all the things that I can do to make it a better place for me and mine to inhabit (or visit)?

I wonder how much less stressed I would be if I didn't feel like I had a giant rock waiting to fall on my head because I've neglected to take care of myself - and to tend to the ordering and maintaining of my space and my life?

And I wonder how much of the chaos surrounding me is because I cannot say no to people and yes to myself?

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I've heard the stories. In the workplace of fifty years ago, if a guy forgot to shave or looked scruffy or acted an ass, another guy - usually another man - would take him aside and tell him so. I think we've lost something in that people don't do that anymore. I think we've lost a level of honesty between people and we've lost a level of willingness to strive to be the best we can be and to want someone to tell us when we could be better and even how we could be better.

We're all so afraid of criticism and so afraid to be told we're not perfect, we're falling short of our potential and we're able to be more.

We're taught to see ulterior and malicious motives in every word given that isn't positive endorsement or unflagging cheerful support. We're taught to be afraid to tell the truth because we don't want to be known as an ass.

We're taught not to want to be a truth-teller. (And yes, Jason, I see the logical direction of that statement and will take it in that direction another time. This is the wrong blog for that.) We're taught to be afraid of things told to us because they might the truth and we're so afraid to fail that we often don't even try.

Boldness of speech or of action is characterized as foolish or ambitious and the only ambition we praise is the kind that gets you on the cover of magazines for money, beauty or power.

We're taught that success is equated to money and to appearance and that if you lack one or both, you are automatically a failure. If you wear the wrong clothes or offend the wrong person or don't get in the right clique. If you don't do something so amazing other people have to sit up and notice and applaud.

We're taught that the only criticism and advice to take is your own or the kind found in a self-help book that gets liked on Facebook and has enough Amazon reviews. We're taught that the right way to change is to sit in the dark and confront your fears and your failings and your misery alone - without 'inflicting' it on other people.

We're taught no one can help us change; no one can help us achieve; no one can help us become more - that we must do it all alone, struggling every day, sacrificing everything of meaning or value along the way and that the empty rewards of success will be enough, because there is always more to be earned or gleaned.

We're taught we are not allowed to cry in public; we are only allowed to cry in the corner of the room, in the shadows where no one can see us hurt - because it might make them uncomfortable. We're taught that the only tears we can have are those no one ever sees. To be human and to be frail and to be vulnerable is to be weak and therefore to be fought against - because if you are weak, you have failed. You become nothing but another number, another statistic in a poll no one really understands.

We're taught that pain is to be a secret and not shared.

I don't think this is okay.

I want someone to tell me when I am falling short. I want someone to tell me when I can do better. I want someone to tell me when I'm scruffy and don't look my best (which isn't much, admittedly, but you have to work with what you're given.)

I want to be told the truth. And I want to be allowed to tell the truth. I want to face my fears in the daylight with my friends and my brothers beside me. I want to be allowed to be human and be weak. I want my accomplishments to matter - even when they mean nothing for money or beauty or power. I want to be heard when I need to speak and I don't want to be afraid to hurt and be afraid to fail.

And I don't want to do it alone, just because our society is afraid of things that hurt. Or might hurt.

I want to tell the truth. I want to help someone else do more and be better. I want other to trust me to tell them when they look scruffy or have food on their face. I want to be strong enough to not be frightened - or scornful - of what might look like weakness. I want to remember and laud the accomplishments of others, because they matter - even when they don't bring about money or beauty or fame. I want to listen when someone else needs to be heard and I want the people around me to know if they hurt or if they fail, then I am still here while they heal or they try again.

I want the people around me to know they are not doing it alone.

Somehow, I think that these desires might be some of the hardest, most frightening things I have ever set out to do.

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Pride is a terrible word most of the time. It implies vanity and arrogance and scorn of others. It implies so many bad things...but pride is at the center of satisfacation (at least, in the workplace.)

To me, it is at the heart of what we call 'work ethic.' Because I have pride in my work - whether it's cleaning out the cat boxes or sweeping the pool deck or making copies of legal briefs or answering the phones or pricing product or coding webpages, my pride in myself won't let me do less than my absolute best.

If I do, I feel the acute sting of personal failure.

I want to be proud of what I do. I want to brag about being the best sweeper or cleaning the cat boxes the best or having elegant code or making perfect copies. I want every detail to be right, every line straight and not a speck of dirt or shit left to mar the task I have undertaken.

Even if only I see it.

I don't know why, but a lot of people I know don't have this pride. They don't mind things they do not being done to the best of their ability. They are content with just being done and moving on to the next thing and the next thing until they get to a thing they enjoy.

They cannot find contentment and satisfaction in the doing - and the doing well. They cannot find pleasure in knowing they have accomplished a thing so well that they can say to anyone: "Yeah, I did that. That was me."

It scares me, sometime, that lack of pride. I wonder if it is that lack of pride, that causes so many of the problems around me. That being indifferent to the quality of what you do and only wanting the quantitative payment of having done it and recieved a paycheck.

I wonder if the dissatisfaction so many have with their 'tedious' jobs or their 'dead-end' positions comes from a profound indifference to how they accomplish a thing.

I've also noticed that the more indifferent a person is to how they do things, the more threatened they are by those who have pride in what they do. They mock, deride and sabotage (not on purpose, usually) and try to bestow their sense of indifference, the liberation of no longer giving a damn about the quality of what you do.

It must be liberating. It must be amazing, to just not care when a thing is done poorly or to know that it could have been far better than it was - and yet be okay with that.

It must be a thrilling experience.

But I'm afraid of that thrill; I'm not ready to be liberated. I'm proud to have pride and somewhat worried that someday, I will forget my pride and just give in to the idea that it's okay to not do your best on everything...because the people around you won't care, either.

2011

This post brought to you a week late by computer failure, utter exhaustion and insane amounts of work.

I am thirty years old.

It's odd how much that surprises me. It's almost like I didn't expect I would make it this far - that somehow, reality would somehow stop and I wouldn't turn thirty. I can't even claim I didn't see it coming because eighteen months ago, I was pretty worried about turning thirty.

Why (w)angst over it? Because I'm supposed to! Didn't you know? Thirty is the beginning of 'middle age' and soon that slow, inevitable decline into decrepitude will begin. The fun, good part of life is ending!

Or, so I'm told.

Yeah. I call bullshit.

I once wrote about the new year being an arbitrary starting over point; most age milestones are the same thing. I often call it 'magic number theory' - the idea, propagated by popular culture and social conventions, that having lived a specific amount of time automatically confers necessary knowledge, wisdom and skills.

It's especially apparently supposed to be a bit like leveling up in a video/computer/role-playing game. There will be a cool sound effect, some lights, maybe some sparkles and - boom! - you just suddenly know and understand. When you hit the magic number, you suddenly grok life.

(Of course, when you hit this arbitrary benchmark and you don't suddenly get new knowledge, wisdom and skill, you can't very well admit to everyone else you didn't get your level up, now can you? After all, they obviously did. It is most imperative and important that you pretend, because no one should know you don't have it all figured out yet. But only for a little while, because surely next year will be the magic number!)

Just for the record - thirty is not my magic number.

So much going on, I had to use bullet points

• David Carradine passed away. I'll miss him. He was one of the few actors I liked enough to notice.


• God works in strange ways.


• I am so far behind that I can't see the tunnel, much less the light at the end of it. And yet, people keep asking me to do things for them. Is it because I'm just that good with advice and insight and help, or is it because everyone knows I never say no?


• My innards are staging an insurrection. No longer content with the brain running the body, my guts have decided they are now in charge. My intestines are winning the war.


• There is a cosmic conspiracy to prevent me from sleeping in during 2009. I have to help take the dogs to a 9AM vet appointment on Saturday morning. The morning after gaming, no less.


• I have yet to do set up the new computer, aside from a few very basic windows tweaks. This annoys me.


• I have a lot I want to say, but I can't afford to take the time to say it.


• I am so tired I can barely focus on anything.


• Did I mention my guts hate me?


• I'm teaching this weekend, and am hardly prepared.


• If I'm not able to start getting caught up, I'm afraid I'll drop the ball at work. I can't afford that. Especially not right now. Why can't (some) of my co-workers do their fucking jobs instead of being lazy? Be lazy at home. Don't dick me out of my best chance to do something awesome as a career because you can't bother with paying attention to the details of your job.


• will be in town soon. This fills me with glee.


• Really? My guts can stop with the rebellion now. They win! I promise I won't feed them food I don't know anymore! No matter how mad it makes the people I hang out with and around.


• The things that annoyed me in high school still annoy me. Cliques, bullies, enforced social standards with no use, no purpose aside from sucking money, and no real form and fucntion (fashion, TV, etc) still piss the hell out of me. Does that mean I was on to something as a teenager, or I haven't managed to grow up yet?


• I need a vacation away from everyone I talk to in person.

New computers and vampire poo

So. Today. A recap? I think not. Too easy. Too simple. Too boring for me, because I already lived it. Instead, you get the highlights.

First - random. Barack Obama likes Jalapenos on his cheeseburger. Why is this important? I have no idea. But I've seen it on two different sites tonight. So, it must important. The internets told me so.

*sage nod*

This morning, I went to work. Surprised? If you are, you obviously don't know me.

At work, I have a co-worker. She is a Transient Being, an abstract concept made flesh by the combined will of all living beings. She is the embodiment of a terrifying Idea, brought into existence by a terrible act of the cosmos.

She is the Little Sister.

She can find your weakness, your kryptonite and will find a way to push every button you have. She will slime you with hand sanitizer. She will poke you at in opportune times. She will make the dirtiest jokes in the cutest voice. She will torture you with things you never wanted to know existed.

And she will tell you about vampire poo.

Yes. Apparently, vampires poo. Always diarrhea. And it would be sparkly and metallic, because they would strip the useless minerals from it. And like vampire bats, they would have to pee while they feed.

Talk about takikng the romance out of vampires. "Sorry dear, I peed on you."

Also. I bought my new computer today. A netbook. The Asus Eee PC 1000HE. I can hear the outcry now. I wasted my money, I should have saved more and bought a 'fully functional' laptop or whatever. But here's the thing: I don't play computer games. I don't do much more than write, do basic web design, surf, and listen to music. And the netbook? Will have three times the ram of my current, five-year-old laptop. It will have almost three times the hard drive space, and a similar processor.

It will be smaller, have an awesome battery life, and not be five years old.

Don't get my wrong. My Dell laptop is awesome; it has lasted me five years and is still going strong. I could get another couple of years of life out of this thing, easy. But it's time for me to upgrade a bit, and to get a portable computer I don't have to plug in to use.

I'm really excited about this. I read lots of reviews, did lots of research, talked to several IT professionals who have one, and really? I think I made an awesome purchase.

I also bought a carrying case and a 500 GB external HD. It'll all be here next week, and I will be happy.

I hope.

Yeah. Boring post is boring.

I need a haircut.

Finally - you know it's a good day when you can give your boss a hummer.

(In this case, a remote-controlled Hummer for her nephew. Pervs.)

Video games are cool. Who knew?

I'm sitting in darkjediprincess's living room, waiting to go pick up fuds. I have to do newsletter for the store, but as I have my computer and internets where I am, why drive all the way home and not be able to inflict my running commentary on someone in person?

I went over to her place because I had the dumb this morning and forgot to bring her DVDs with me to work. DVDs I've had, mind you, for over a year. We keep missing each other when I try to get them back to her. Or I forget. I brought them over and made myself comfortable in her living room and she started showing me this game called Mass Effect. The game is pretty damn cool.

Strip clubs, politics, lesbian sex, courtesans, lesbian sex with courtesans, gratuitous violence, cool sci-fi settings, fast ships, hot blue chicks, lesbian sex with hot blue chicks...

You get the picture.

Did I mention there's lesbian sex?

I think I finally understand why so many gamers sit around on their couches and play these games. They really can get almost everything they need from video games, including a virtual fuck.

(And to think I was worried about what I would blog about tonight.)

Okay, really, today was boring. Busy, but boring. I mean, who wants to read about me fixing the girls' toilet or hear about me being alone at the front during the busiest part of the day - again? I figure people get tired of hearing the same old stories from me time and again. Hell, I get tired of that story.

It's sad that I don't have much else to say, I think. But, I manged to blog.

Though, I will also say some of my co-workers don't know me very well. When they pulled my books last night, they didn't pull the Star Trek Omnibus.

I'm still watching her play the game, like a stoner watching a disco ball. I can't look away and have the random urge to say: "Whoa. That's freakin' cool," about every ten minutes. I have no desire to play the game m'self, but I sense it has a story.

I want to know the story. All of it. Right now.

But I can't, really, because the story shifts subtly every time she plays the game, or so she tells me. It looks like it would get boring after playing awhile. Grinding is not for me. Repeating the same action time and again is not for me.

I know the arguments that D&D is the same. Find yon ancient ruins. Invade. Kill the inhabitants and steal their stuff. Save the world. Lather, rinse, repeat. I think the difference is in the human element, the interplay between the characters that is lacking in video games.

And why, I think, I'm still not interested in playing. But watching while I try valiantly to make my brain focus on writing newsletter? That, I can do.

Also, there's lesbian sex.

The Rule of LAW

The Rule of LAW is simple: He (or she) who writes the fewest pages buys the beer.

'tis a good incentive to write every month, really. Especially when you make as much (read: little) money as I do. LAW, of course, stands for Lazy-Ass Writers. It's a writing group started by a former Dragon's Lair colleague of mine - The Red Haired Ninja.

No. Really. She's both a red head and a ninja. Just ask her and she'll tell you Hopefully while smoking a cigar. (Which is a story for another time, I think.)

Regardless, I attended my second LAW meeting tonight, and did not have to buy the beer. The (former) Bounty Hunter, the Red Haired Ninja's fiance, had to buy the beer. It's good to get into a writing group agian, especially one where I'm not The Guru or the Newbie. It's a good fit and a lot of fun to have a nice dinner, some cheap booze, and talk about writing until long after we all should have gone home and gone to bed, especially considering we meet on Monday nights.

It's a very writerly thing to do, really. Especially since it's just a 'we'll meet on a Monday roughly every three or four weeks'. No set date. No set schedule. Keeps us on our toes, because we never know when, exactly, the next meeting is, so it's hard to schedule a serious speed writing session. It's kinda like NaNo-lite all year long.

Oddly enough, it seems to happen the Monday right before payday (I get paid every other Tuesday).

It's a helluva lotta fun. Oddly enough.

And to my dismay, fanfiction doesn't count. Because really? If it did, I'd never have to worry about losing. I could just keep churning out HPU and steamroll everyone. I mean, the story is over 500k words and I haven't even gotten them to Hogwarts.

Also: yes. Anyone bothering to read this is NOT imagining things. I am blogging two nights in a row.

Why, you ask, am I tormenting you with more drivel about my boring, geeky life? After all, you've gotten by just fine with my quarterly epics for some time now, avoiding having to pretend to care about my existence for most of the year.

Well, bad news. I'm going to try to blog every night between now and October 31, 2009.

I'll fail, of course. You know that. I know that. But it'll be fun to try, while adding another level of delicious, self-imposed stress on my already strained brain. I figure it's both good training for LAW, NaNo and in brevity. Because if I dole out my life and thoughts in a miserly manner I am unaccustomed to, I might have enough almost interesting, psuedo entertaining thought vomit to make it from now until October 31.

My inspiration for this noble quest? Aggiebell90 has blogged every day since September 2008. I figure if she can do that while managing Phoenix Song, ringing in a couple of handbell choirs, singing in a choir, working a full-time job and raising four kids, I should be able to churn out a post a day.

All sarcasm aside, it's been awesome to watch her dedication to her writing and to be part of her cheering section.

(Considering the absolute flood of comments I've gotten on the last two posts, I'm sure I'll be cheered on.)

(So much for putting sarcasm aside. Sorry!)

I've got a few ideas on how to do this, other than not writing everything that comes to mind every time I blog. I can blog before I start surfing the net and checking my sites, because then I won't be distracted. I can blog right when I get home, before my body has had time to realize how tired I should be. And I can take my copious notes about the world and use them as blog material. Because talking about myself all the time?

Well, there's a reason I normally blog about once a quarter. I'm boring.

Now the rest of you? Are just good material.

Or, at least, I hope so. Otherwise, I'm gonna end up buying the beer.