Category: Daily Life

Ramblings, often stream of conscious, journaling the events of my life.

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Pounded

I don’t feel like living anymore.

Now that’s not a cry for help and no need to put me on a suicide watch. It means “the they” have won. I’m beat. Beat down.

I used to suck the marrow out of life. There was no challenge I wouldn’t accept and very little I didn’t want to do. Early on I set my eyes on hang gliding. Haven’t done that one yet and I have yet to “jump from a perfectly good airplane” either. But I was fearless and I have done much!

In the 9th or 10th grade I was at a school dance taking a break from the noise of the gym and talking with friends in the hallway. Something landed in my hair and I turned around and mouthed off at some muscle bound nimrod that had obviously thrown whatever it was. The first punched landed before I had fully turned my attention back to my friends and I momentarily blacked out as I slammed up against the lockers. Just as my vision returned I took another punch to the face and discovered blackness again. I received about five consecutive hits just under the left eye. Blackness returned to light just in time to see the fist, blackness, repeat.

I could not get a punch off and could not get my arms up to block the punches. I could hear a voice, “just walk away.” Is that where I am in my life? I am definitely taking repeated blows. Am I to “just walk away?” And for the literal readers, no, not family. I would never abandon family. I mean dreams. I mean desires. I mean Willy Loman. I mean Sam Lowry.

One week later, my blackened eye was traveling to Virginia to embarassingly visit relatives.

I don’t feel like living. I don’t want to hang glide or parachute anymore. I don’t even want to leave the ground. And I am tired of having to explain my blackened eye.

(Of course this post is a result of exhaustion, stress and economics. Let’s see how my tune changes if I ever get back on top.)

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I love being a dad!

One of the best things about being a dad of an infant is love pats. There is no feeling to compare with holding a 7.5 month child who firmly puts one arm on your shoulder then uses the other arm to pat you on your chest or arm. Love pats come in repetition. Usually its about five. They are firm, confident pats; not hits. They communicate love and comfort. Love pats say, “Thank you Dad for protecting me” when the Roomba has my curiosity but is making me nervous. Love pats say, “I love you” and “you make me happy.” Love pats almost always are attached to the most content, at ease grin – just a little upturn of the corners of the mouth to say “Life is good.”

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Approaching Boiling Point

I often feel like a mechanic that has been dropped into the pits of the Indianapolis 500 but only given a hammer and a screwdriver to get the job done.

My machines are slow. I could be so much more productive with a wireless network and a laptop. But those are simple and solvable. The real challenges come in the form of power outages. Just as I’m about to press the send button on an email I’ve spent 10 minutes on, I hear a boom and our house blacks out. A bit later the same thing. Now I’m trying to rush through some stuff and the cat climbs into my lap and starts shoving my hands with her head and licking me. Not cute when the veins in my neck are pulsing.

Those of course are simply a couple of very specific examples. If only it didn’t feel like karma was fighting me constantly.

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From the mouths of babes

Yesterday I was in the middle of trying to rush out of the house and had this amusing conversation with the nine year old.

Noah: “Dad, do you have some string or rope with a hole in it?”
Dad, trying to picture putting a hole through a rope or string and not weakening it: “No, why would you do that?”
Noah: “I want to make one of those walkie talkie things with the two cups.”
Dad: “Oh, you mean a telephone. Why does the string need a hole through it?”
Noah: “How else is the sound going to get through?”

I dropped everything and rapidly found some string and two plastic cups. With time running out, Noah and I made our telephones, then over our first call, we discussed the science and why the strings don’t need holes. Now that was fun!

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From the mouths of babes

I hear the rattling of the gate at the top of the stairs which Amy has just traversed. Then I hear Amy walking around upstairs. Now, we keep the gate closed at all times since Lucy is so old and doesn’t need to be coming downstairs and Evan is so fast that at the blink of an eye he could be tumbling down the stairs. Perhaps I didn’t latch the gate completely.

Dad: “Amy, did you open the gate?”
Amy, coyly: “Yes”
Dad: “Show me.”
Amy, opens the gate: “I’m strong now!”

As one child learns mobility, the other learns to open doors. Scary!

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Crab Trap

In college I used to really enjoy spelunking (caving). Once in a cave off Keller Bend Road, I took a moment to stare down this one particularly muddy shaft. It was narrow to begin with, sloped downward, and got narrower ending in a hole. My curiosity had my mind plotting ways to rig ropes so that I could down and get back up but it was so incredibly muddy that I wasn’t certain even with proper gear that a person who slid down that trap could ever get back.

From day to day I frequently feel like I’m in that shaft and I have no rope.

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Filed under “dumbass”

  1. Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet
  2. Do read the label on the box which in bold letters read “DO NOT USE TO REMOVE SQUIRRELS, BATS OR BIRDS.”
  3. Moth balls do get rid of squirrels in the attic (temporarily) while poisoning the humans and giving them cancer.

On a side note, I’m having awfully good memories of visiting Great-grandmother’s house.

Update: About 5 hours later the house doesn’t stink any longer.