Another laundry story…

I was at another coin-op laundry. I was feeling a bit spacey, perhaps from lack of caffeine. As I sat waiting, I noticed that the television was airing some Mexican movie from the 50s or 60s. Because my knowledge of Spanish couldn’t fill a thimble, my grasp of the movie’s plot was vague. It seems this young guy who works on a ranchero was once in a war of sorts and has bad dreams. Even though he has this problem, he works real hard on the ranch and then he and a bunch of others put on big sombreros and fancy outfits and ride their horses around singing. Oh yes, there is a lot of singing in the film. There are also a lot of horses, catholic churches, ranches and ranch stuff and a couple of attractive but conservative and wholesome women to whom the men always treat respectfully, speaking with their hats in hand.

Since I couldn’t really understand the film, I made up my own story. The man had just come back from WWII. By the way, did Mexico have troops in WWII? I’d really like to know the answer to that question. Anyway, I digress. The young man is haunted by the horrific sights of death and violence he experienced and, consequently, has lost his nerve. Because of his PTSD, he is unable to do the really hard ranch stuff like breaking in horses such as the ranches most notorious horse, El Diablo!

Since the young man has lost his nerve and moans and groans in his sleep every night, the Ranchero owner’s daughter and his one time wife-to-be, Rosa, is unable to marry him and so spends her time at the local church, lighting candles and praying to the Virgin Mary that her man will get his nerve back. Even though his girl and her father have written off our amigo, his friends still try to cheer him up and make him happy by going for rides with him wearing cool caballero outfits and singing a bunch of songs.

Unfortunately, I did not see the end of the film so I can only assume that our friend got his nerve back, rode El Diablo, asked for Rosa’s hand in marriage and, in a beautiful finale, his friends, singing all the way, escorted the couple to the church to be wed.I wish I could just ride around on a horse all day, singing and playing musical instruments. That would be fun…if I knew how to ride a horse or knew how to play an instrument and knew how to speak Spanish.
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Meals today:

-Venti coffee from Starbucks
-bottle of diet coke
-free promotional frappucino from Starbucks
-handful of pretzels
-40mg Celexa
-a painkiller for my neck and shoulders

I think I will avoid taking my blood pressure today so I don’t frighten myself

“They shoot horses, don’t they?”

Well, it wasn’t the greatest weekend. Last Friday, my boss had a monthly one-on-one meeting with me. I was strongly criticized for not being authoritative enough as a supervisor. My boss seemed to think that my staff is not doing enough work or something like that. Of course, they complete all of their tasks and projects on time but supposedly they should be doing more, more of what was left a bit vague. At one point, my boss asked me how do I know whether one of my employees, seemingly looking like she is working on her computer, is not really just doing something non-work related? Uh well, probably because she gets all of her work done on time. I guess that is not good enough.

Christ, this isn’t a blue collar factory!All of this is just adding to my stress level. Work already stresses me out. I put in a lot of hours and try always to deliver high quality work but it is still just not good enough. Now, I have more things to worry about. I am really getting a bit tired of all of this. I just feel like crap all the time even outside of work, mentally and physically. I begin to wonder if it is not time to move on. I worked so hard throughout undergraduate and graduate school and gave up so much time to get professional certifications and now I am supposed to worry about timesheets and whether someone is at lunch too long. I simply feel I have a great deal more to offer than that and if they are going to waste my talents, perhaps I should go elsewhere.

By the end of today, my shoulders and neck were hurting like hell (a normal thing for me) and, while I sat in traffic on the way home, I just found myself spacing out and wondering what the fuck it is all for. Things seem pointless and I am lost right now. Reasons for working and for life seem hard to come by right now.

It is 2:00 in the morning and I am feeling very agitated. I just can’t relax and I can’t stop all of the worries from flying around in my head. It was kind of a crappy day at work on Friday and that, combined with other thoughts, is contributing to this state of worry.I hate this feeling. It is difficult to know how to get rid of it other than popping a tranq or something. I can’t seem to center right now, not that I am ever really centered. I feel alone. I sort of feel like talking to someone but it is too late and no one I know would be too happy to hear from me at this hour.It will pass but I just tire of these feelings. Life just doesn’t feel like it is going quite right and I don’t know how to explain it. Part of it is work but part of it is other things combined with that sense that time is running out.I guess I should stop. Writing it all is just kind of making me perseverate.

The area near my home contains what looks to be gang members, mostly Hispanic. This is not surprising as I live in the hills above Highland Park which is not exactly known for being the best neighborhood. Fortunately, in my particular area up the hill such goings-on do not directly affect me. I mention this because on one of the routes to get to my house, there is a street in a gang-type area called “Gay Street” and I was just wondering if the resident thugs of that street find themselves the target of ridicule by the other gangs in the area. I mean, you see guys with tattoos that say “Brown Pride” or “66th Street Rollers” but I could see where a gangster thug might be reluctant to tattoo “Gay Pride” on his shoulder (somewhere private…who knows?).

The message may have less than the intended effect.I was also thinking about the ribbing that must go on in the area. The poor Gay Street Gang is sitting back at one of their homey’s cribs when all of a sudden a car pulls up and someone yells, “Hey, why don’t you come over and organize my closet!?”Of course, maybe the Gay Street Gang has embraced a sense of gender diversity and uses it to their advantage. Imagine them, doing a drive-by. They chance upon a rival gang member, drive up to him and taunt him unmercifully about his uncoordinated clothing and lack of proper designer accoutrements. All the while, loud, bass booming Barbara Streisand is blaring from their car.

It is sort of a spacey day for me. It could be the pain killers I am taking for my chronic neck and shoulder pain (work related). I need to ask my personal trainer about massage options or something that will get rid of this. It is pretty bad, pain pretty much all the time.Anyway, a certain sad and spacey quality has been hanging about me throughout the day. Thoughts of Wendy Whalen come to mind.

Wendy being the girl who, sometime in the early 90’s, took a dive off of the Administration Building at Cal State LA where I happened to be going to school at the time.(I hope I haven't already written about this. I'm getting old and I can't always remember these things)Anyway, she landed to her death, right in the quad. Rumor has it that, after leaping from the building, she was heard to scream, “Somebody help me!” I do not know what she actually said prior to her death, if anything, but I do know that her death was never reported in the school paper. It went largely unnoticed amidst the stress filled lives of the student body, my self included.I do remember briefly meeting Wendy.

I was working at the Scholarship Office and provided her with scholarship applications and materials. Wendy was young, small but otherwise seemingly average in most respects. Odd to think that as I stood there with her, she may have already been thinking about her demise. I wonder what I would have done if I could have read her mind.

The cynical, sarcastic part of me might say, “Good Luck! I hear you usually pass out before hitting the ground.” Actually though, I think I probably would have held her in my arms and told her that she wasn’t alone. Would it have helped?Following her death, I was the one who had the task of deleting her record from the scholarship and financial aid databases. A life reduced to just a number. Well, at least I remember Wendy, if no one else does.


Very dark landscape. It is rocky, uneven ground with the forms of long dead trees silhouetted against a backdrop of black clouds. Cold and still. There is no refuge from it. It is all encompassing.
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Grey fog. Grey fog. No ground. No sky. Formless grey fog. Can you be lost if you are never found?

So, one of my group is having a baby. Actually, she is having the baby in about a month. As a result of her condition and my being the “supervisor” of this particular little group, it fell on me to handle some of the arrangements for a baby shower. This has resulted in no small amount of teasing and laughter on the part of others throughout the entire Cost Accounting Department. I actually had to go to the store and buy baby shower wrapping paper, plates and napkins for the shower. It was as foreign to me as picking up tampons for someone. Oh, wait! I’ve done that before! Anyway, in addition to the money collected for a gift and a cake, I spent some of my own money to purchase a gift certificate for the mother-to-be. I also recalled that my newest employee, who took possession of a child in January using a surrogate mother, had been overlooked for a celebration. I don’t think it was intentional but a result of year-end activity, her very recent arrival to the department and the fact that she did not really talk about the baby until about the time she was ready to go on leave. Regardless, I also bought her a gift certificate. Oh well, as long as they aren’t my kids, I’m happy.

Just a few thoughts to finish out the evening:I had just crossed 5th Street, near the Biltmore Hotel, when a very smelly homeless man with two front teeth missing and carrying a garbage bag walked by me, turned his head to me and yelled in my face, “Got sickle cell!”I was tempted to respond, “At least you don’t have to worry about malaria.” However, I thought better of it and let him go on his merry way, poorly oxygenated cells and all.
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I happened to be walking along Colorado Boulevard in Santa Monica when I noticed, within a two block area, three vacuum cleaner repair shops. I thought it odd that there should be such a demand for those services as to require so many similar shops in such a small area. Maybe they’re really all owned by the same Russian crime family and are simply a means of laundering money.
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It is always a strange feeling to see the remnants of old store fronts, the original name on the exterior obfuscated by dirt or worn away so that only a fraction of it remains; the inside of the store a jumble of old boxes, display cases, cash registers and shelves covered with dust. I often wonder what caused the downfall of such businesses. Was the business simply destroyed by competition? Was it piddled away by the inept son of the original owner who put his life into building an empire? Perhaps the owner’s wife ran away with the store’s sales manager and the owner, in a fit of despair, killed himself, his body left slumped over the display case as blood oozes from the single gunshot wound to the head. Of course, it is just as likely that the owner sold the business for a hefty profit and now the smug son-of-a-bitch is lying in a hammock on some tropical island. Hmm, which scenario depresses me more?

It’s not a hat! It’s an elephant inside of a boa constrictor!

Except for those who have left society to fly mail over the Sahara (or equally romantic and existential sorts of occupations), social interaction is an inevitability. One-on-one with the right person can be special, beautiful and full of magic. Rarely can the same be said of large group interactions.Social events and get-togethers are designed for normal people. Normal people have “things” to talk about. They have normal people important sounding things to discuss or at least it sort of sounds like it’s important. I’m not sure anymore what is supposed to be important.

Strange people (i.e. me) have nothing worthwhile to say. I never seem to have any important thoughts in my head or nothing that seems of consequence. I suppose I could talk about my work but I can’t imagine anyone wishing to listen to such a dry commentary. Besides, if people do not care, they begin to just nod their head disinterestedly as if they do care (kind of like when you’re in a mental hospital and you just started telling the doctor about the time travelers that visit your room at night). I just assume come off as silent and stupid and live with the consequences of that reputation.Social events really should contain discreet hiding places, a chair or sofa concealed by an innocent looking potted plant or the like.

Misfits, almost by instinct, migrate to these social refuges and mindlessly stare into space while tactfully remaining out of view of regular guests. I like to think of moonlit desert landscapes or even just the city at night, helicopters bobbing about like fireflies, the hum of the freeway in the distance.Lest one think I am critical of normal people, I have actually always wished that I were one of them. Life can be difficult and lonely as an outlier always looking at the center of the bell curve way in the distance. Very little is gained and a great deal is lost by not being like everyone else.If I had a child (and we are speaking an extreme hypothetical), I would not want my child to be anything like me. I would want him or her to be the opposite of me even if it meant that I could never really relate to him or her.

Father’s Day

Unlike my father, I tend to cry quite a bit, although, most who know me are not aware of it. I do it in private, at home, in the middle of the night, in a restroom stall, anywhere.There were few times that I ever saw my father with tears in his eyes. Although, perhaps he was much like me and just never let others see him emote. Still, I was used to him never really crying, never being sick and always going to work everyday.

Following retirement and his subsequent illness, my father became weak and his mind ebbed and flowed with the level of toxins in his blood.One day, I visited him at home. That particular day, news had come that his youngest sister had died from the cancer she had been battling. My father had mentioned this to me earlier in the day but did not elaborate or speak of it in any great detail.

Later in the evening, I was preparing to leave and I was sitting on the sofa with my father and wishing him well. He embraced me and started to cry and sob unabated. During the sobbing, he kept repeating, “I feel so bad. I feel so bad. My little sister is dead. She was such a little thing.” I sat with my father’s head against my chest, caressing his cheek and just wishing that there was an end to all this torment. I could only imagine how it felt to be sick and wasting away and then hearing more news of death and loss. Eventually my father regained his composure and I finally left after he had fallen asleep.

The next day, my sister informed me that he could not remember the incident. That’s all right, I can remember for the both of us
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A couple of days ago, I was returning to work after a visit to the dentist. I was drinking a cupe of coffee as I wound my way through the I10 and into the downtown area of LA. After one particular mouthful, some of the coffee slipped down into my windpipe and I found myself starting to choke. With little else to do considering my position, I was forced to expel the coffee with a resounding cough. As a result, my dashboard and steering column were instantly covered in coffee. It was quite the mess. For the next couple of days, my car smelled of stale coffee until I finally got around to cleaning everything. I suppose it could have been worse. I could have choked and crashed, killing myself, my body left sprawled along the roadside, blood and the remaining coffee forming a pool around my horribly crushed skull. :)

While at the laundry, sipping my coffee and waiting for the spin cycle to end, I noticed that one of the gumball machines contains assorted little figures that are caricatures of stereotypical poor Hispanic neighborhood residents. There are fat, T-shirt wearing guys, gangsta outfitted figures, prostitute figures, sombrero-wearing figures, etc. But most disturbing was the inclusion of a grim reaper figure with all of the others. Does that represent the element of violence and devaluation of life in these neighborhoods? Perhaps it is also reflective of Catholicism which always seems to have this somber, hopeless feeling to it. Overall, I found my discovery a bit depressing; so much for childhood innocence.It did cheer me up a bit when I saw, while wandering through the local Target, that the old “Slip ‘n Slide” (by Wham-O) is still being sold. Perhaps there is hope. Although, I did notice that the box contained an inordinate number of liability disclaimers involving everything from height and weight restrictions to potential choking hazards. I guess nothing can just stay the same.

With this strange sensation in the air today, I came home feeling out of sorts. I decided to lie down and listen to one of my old Dead Can Dance tapes, Aion. I like the older stuff by Dead Can Dance because their work utilized many themes and actual musical instruments from medieval Europe.

It is the kind of music that reminds me of an old world. It reminds me of post-Roman Empire, Catholicism mixed with pagan rituals; a world where spirits roam, dragons reside in the deep woods and myths and legends are recounted as fact. So, while I was listening to songs like “As the bell rings, the maypole spins”, I just closed my eyes and spaced out.

I imagined a grey day back in the middle ages, slowly making my way through the greenwood in some forest. The world is different, no telephone lines, airplanes or discernible roads. I make my way through thick brush and begin to hear the sound of people and music. There is the smell of wood burning and food cooking. I can just begin to make out a village where a festival of sorts is being played out. It appears to be some celebration of the solstice or other similar rite. I enter slowly along the outskirts, noticed but not approached. The people are reticent to engage a stranger. I keep to myself, watching the various activities, dances and rituals before moving on.So many times I just wish I could find that little door and slip through. Soon, I fear this world will nibble away at me until there is nothing left.

I am not sure if it is just the weather or what but I suddenly began feeling kind of paranoid or uneasy this afternoon. It is strange how that feeling can come about all of a sudden. What was the trigger? Perhaps it was some sensory stimuli that evoked some unconscious memory. Perhaps it was a chemical quirk, a little too much norepinepherine here or too little serotonin there.It just makes me want to find a safe harbor to hide until the threat has abated.

On Olive Street, between 7th and 8th Street, there has been a real blossoming of pan handlers. As to the cause, I am mystified. The result of this increased population has been a substantial rise in vagrant density per square foot. On one afternoon, I passed about five people all standing a stone’s throw away. If one were inclined to offer up some loose change to these fellows, how would one decide who is more worthy or deserving of the money? It almost comes down to a sort of marketing strategy based on image, customer contact and incentives. For example, one man had a hunchback which is certainly the type of quality one would wish to see when parting with money for a sad cause. Still, others take a more aggressive approach, shaking a cup, approaching you and making that all important eye contact. These penniless “Donald Trumps” put zeal into their requests for change. Last, there are those who offer us a blessing of some sort, seemingly absolving us for whatever we have to feel guilty about during the course of the day by merely coughing up a few spare coppers.

Each approach has its good and bad points and, as with a busy market place, entices the consumer with many options. I think I’ll just give a buck to the passed out guy who smells like sweat and piss.I do have one theory that this sudden rise in transients is merely a result of an ongoing social psychology experiment. Hmm, some of those pan handlers do sort of resemble freshman psych students….

Funny how certain thoughts or memories creep up on you for no apparent reason. I was walking down the hallway to refill on some bad coffee from the utility room when I began reminiscing about trips taken with my brother and Dad. We didn’t do all that many trips together but I used to like our goofy travels. Sometimes, we would pack up some food and drinks and just go off to a lake somewhere and fish. We just about never caught anything but I used to enjoy those days.

I recall just sitting along the shore, sipping coffee from the thermos, watching the otherwise glassy surface of the water occasionally broken by bubbles or a fish leaping into the air. The air had a scent of pine trees, damp soil and fish bait. My father used to like to bring a small radio and once in a while, turn it on and listen to news stations like KFWB (“All news, all the time!”). My brother and I would sit around and talk about almost everything. I would start doing my “old fisherman” imitation and talk about the legendary catfish or bass that is rumored to inhabit the lake. My brother would laugh.

Sometimes, I would look real serious and make up a bunch of crap about some sort of special bait mixture to use to catch fish and my brother would believe me for just a moment until he realized I was just being a smart ass.Inevitably, my Dad would tell us WWII stories or stories about his childhood during the Depression. We heard these stories before but they were always fun to hear over and over again.

One time, when I was quite young, my brother had purchased these two little lures, labeled “Sounder Lures”, supposedly designed to emit some sort of sound that would almost guarantee the capture of huge numbers of fish. The lures were not particularly expensive but, to someone our age, they seemed quite extravagant and thus my brother kept them encased in a special clear plastic box to which he affixed his name, as if that would somehow discourage some miscreant from attempting to abscond with those precious gems. Finally, after savoring the lures for an extended number of months, my brother decided to use one on one of our fishing trips. With no small amount of ceremony, the lure was removed from the case and attached to the line. My brother cast his line and we waited anxiously. After a time, my brother reeled in his line but the poor lure had gotten entangled on the weeds below and no matter how much pulling, refused to become dislodged.

Finally, my brother gave one quick pull and the line broke, leaving the lure to the mercy of the mysterious dark waters of the lake. My brother was so very sad that day. I tried to comfort him but it was to no avail. Towards the end of the day, we packed up our gear, including the plastic case holding the one remaining, and slightly forlorn looking Sounder Lure, and headed home. On subsequent fishing trips, my brother always refused to use the remaining lure and, to this day, it still remains in its case, holding the promise of capturing all of those great fish that inhabit our lakes and streams.

I miss those trips. I suppose one simply has to learn to let go and allow experiences to become memories even if it is difficult. Eventually, all will be nothing but memory.

Yesterday, there was a bus waiting in traffic on Olive. As I walked by, the pneumatic doors hissed open and an empty plastic soda bottle sailed out the door and onto the street. The doors hissed shut and I kept walking.

I don’t know that today has been a repeat of yesterday but it has not been easy. I feel as if recovering from a bad cold or some sort of psychological hangover. Things around me feel slightly unreal and I guess I just wish there was something with which to look forward. I don’t think I really can write about anything else today.

A very bad depression has descended upon me (not unusual) and so I am a million miles from the real world or at least the popular consensus as to what is real. I took a walk at lunch to get a change of scenery. As I started down Olive, a thin, Asian guy approaches me and, as he begins to open his cell phone, asks me if I come from here. The question made me feel even more disassociated and aloof. I guess it is because everything coming through my sense organs is warped by an associative cortex that, on the molecular level, probably resembles an old Volkswagen engine that is being held together by duct tape. I did not answer his inquiry and allowed my lack of facial expression and shaded glasses to reply instead.The rest of my walk was simply filled by a confusing myriad of people. I wonder if Fellini felt like I do and that is where he got some of his ideas. Filtering is tough for me and I tend to take everything in to my brain all at once and that is why it is difficult for me in bars and clubs and crowds where I have to exert inordinate amounts of energy to keep from jumping out of my skin.Maybe I should pop a tranq tonight. I hate to do that sort of thing but sometimes it is the only means of escape, albeit a temporary one.

A few early morning notes:Last night, I had a terrifically awful time falling asleep as I was feeling quite fretful. Later, I awoke extremely early in the morning. I sat in bed, listening to the silent world outside my window; a lonely train whistle blew in the distance. I felt empty inside, no feelings of hope and a deep sadness. This will probably be a rough week. If there is a God, I think he refrains from placing me in hell by, instead, placing it inside my head.It is so difficult to exert the energy needed to keep up some sort of a persona. I try to act as normal as possible but do not know how convincing I am to most people around me. I think I will stop for now as my thoughts are a little fragmented and I have to compose myself and get at least some work done today, regardless of how I feel.

A few thoughts:*Today was a sad, grey day, complementing the feeling in my heart. If sadness were something to be worn, this day would make an ideal blanket with which to wrap myself and hide from all rays of hope.

*Yesterday, I was walking around Old Town Pasadena with someone and we entered an antique store. Antique stores can be interesting but sometimes there is this weird, sad quality to them. It’s the hundreds of little collectibles lining the shelves, collectibles and objects that have entered people’s lives, perhaps meant something very significant to someone at one time and now they are here, up for sale, void of their original meaning and personal significance.

*Standing at the corner of 8th and Olive, while waiting for the light to change, I looked across the street to the opposite corner. There stood two old Chinese men. The two were conversing, their voices muted by the sound of traffic rushing across the street. As I watched one of the men speaking and gesticulating with his arms, I suddenly had a brief state of feeling lost as if, for a brief second, I no longer knew where I was and all I could focus upon were these two old men.

I went to mail some letters at lunch. On my way down 5th street, just East of Flower, I noticed a large street light had been struck by some vehicle and was lying along the side of the road. For some reason, it reminded me of a modernist vision of the death of some great Jurassic era dinosaur struck dead, its immense form now lying oddly on the primordial forest floor. Now why would I think something like that?

I worked this morning. That was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Speaking of paint, I stopped by the local Home Depot and picked up paint swatches. Christ, there are tons of swatches. I grabbed a whole bunch but now I feel even more confused. How does one tell which one is the proper color for the entire room? Then again, the whole time I was at Home Depot, I’m asking myself what the hell am I doing here picking up swatches. It seems like a strange thing for me to be doing. I felt odd and out of place (as usual). Anyway, I am sitting here with a ton of swatches, mostly greys, blues and whites. Hmm, maybe I can dig my color wheel out and see if that helps.

Hell, what a task just to paint the walls. I mean, I am looking to make the living room modern and minimalist and I want the color to compliment my photography and to go with modern furniture which I will likely be placing in the room. This will take some thought.

I also stopped by the coin-op laundry today. It was somewhat busy but not too bad. Hey, I’m learning new words!Lavada = washLavadoras grande = large washining machinesAm I getting bilingual, or what?It’s always interesting how some men work with their wives to wash the laundry while others just stand around outside, smoking a cigarette while the wife does the “woman’s work.” Sheesh dude, enter the twenty-first century and drop the old school ‘tude.

A Fool’s ErrandLast night, I decided to go on a date. Actually, this is sort of a second date since we had both met for a short time before. The second date was prompted as a result of the first encounter where I felt that there may be some possible connection and further opportunities for continued communication. There is also an element of convenience that plays into this situation. This woman happens to live practically down the block from me (purely coincidental).

I met her at her house and then we went to a small Mexican restaurant in the neighborhood which served some excellent food. We then went back to her place to chat and watch a video (“Love Actually” – way too long). I had brought us dessert in the form of cream cheese chocolate brownies (baked from scratch, of course).

I may have forgotten to mention that this woman does not live alone. She shares her home with two cats and two dogs. Now, I must mention that I am not at all used to living with animals. My mother and brother had allergy problems and furry creatures of any sort were forbidden from entering our home. Still, I have nothing against pets or people that enjoy their pets. In this particular case, the animals are actually quite friendly and docile. Strangely enough, even with my lack of animal experience, I have often found that, when in the homes of people with animals, I am generally well accepted by the animals often to the surprise of the owners (must be the hotdogs I keep in my pocket).

Actually, on this particular evening, I was perhaps too well received by the resident quadrupeds (triped in the case of one of the dogs missing a leg). Most of my night was spent with dogs and cats all over me and watching my date kissing, hugging and talking to her dogs. As the evening wore on, we watched the video and I began to get tired. In addition, my neck was hurting (see earlier blog on neck), it was terribly warm inside and I was growing a bit uncomfortable with dog smell and hair and whatnot all over me.

Although this woman is nice looking, my attraction declined over the course of the night. There was something unsettling about the thought of kissing or exercising other forms of intimacy with someone who had just finished kissing and being licked by her dogs. As I sat, hot and uncomfortable, watching the video, dogs and cats crawling all over me and nuzzling me, I had these disturbing fantasies of making love to this woman and finding the dogs trying to crawl up through the covers of the bed or kissing her body and getting dog hair in my mouth. It made me sort of queasy.

At the end of the evening, upon arriving home, my hair covered clothes were promptly thrown into the laundry bag while I jumped into the shower for a few minutes to cleanse myself of both real and imagined dog and cat debris. So, I lay in bed following this night and wonder about the experience and what it says about me, this woman and whether all of this is nothing more than a fool’s errand.

I have learned that I have been making certain people feel rather awkward, people that I don’t wish to feel awkward. I just want to say that I will endeavor to keep my mouth shut and pen capped. I realize that I do have issues and that I am poor at handling social interactions, complicated emotions, etc. and am at my best when sitting alone in a room. For my follies, outbursts and written nonsense, I apologize.I realize that the past is the past and that memories fade for a reason and that is often a good thing. With time, issues seemingly important now will lose their impact. I really do wish those important people in my life happiness and I am sorry if I have introduced any impediments to that happiness. Sorry.

Hey, I just realized that my last comment said I was acting self-absorbed! I’m not self-absorbed…well, okay, a little bit…maybe a wee bit more than a little bit…. Okay, I suppose I can be self-absorbed but it’s not a bad “self-absorbed”. I mean, it isn’t a self-absorbed, narcissistic, “I love myself” self-absorbed, rather, it is more of a self-loathing, defeatist self-absorbed.

All card-carrying neurotics like me have that going for them. I suppose it isn’t something of which to be proud but it has the benefit of allowing me to always beat others to the punch when they criticize me. Someone will yell, “You loser!” and I will instantly be able to respond, “Ha! You’re too late. I already know that I’m a loser and was well aware of it before you informed me!” That’ll show ‘em. Of course, blogging is probably self-absorption to the nth power. So, without further adieu, here is more self-absorbed blogging….

I was lying in bed last night, just looking out the window. It was quiet and I had that “hotel feeling” come over me. I term that the feeling I get when I am somewhere that feels unfamiliar. I had a sense of not knowing where I was located and lost my feeling for direction. I used to hate that feeling when I traveled on business. It was particularly unsettling when in other states where there are no oceans or mountains. I find I become a bit disoriented without feeling the reassurance of an ocean to the west and mountains in the distance to the east. The feeling didn’t last long but was there for a time.

Today has been a “filler” day. It is one of those days, like many, where I feel like there is no discernible reason for my being here or participating in the world. I have probably written this before but I often wish that I could just compress life and fast-forward through the 20 or 30 years worth of filler and just get to the end. I don’t really mean it in a suicidal, bitter sort of way but more for practicalities sake. I mean, I know I will be working, getting minor raises here and there, paying this or that bill, wearing this or that shirt and it just seems meaningless for the most part. Why not just speed it up and be done with it, sort of like skipping over the torrentially boring parts of a bad B-movie. The end of my movie will probably be something like Bill Holden at the end of “Sunset Boulevard”.

Oh well, it is Friday but I will likely be coming in to work tomorrow for at least a short time. I like to joke that I have to come in on Saturday to make-up for having Monday off as a holiday. It’s sort of funny until you begin to realize it’s the truth.

-My neck and back are feeling like crap. This pain is becoming a sort of ongoing thing. I gulp down ibuprofen and it has no effect. Tonight, I found some left over Vicodin and I took one in the hopes it might help a bit. This is ridiculous. What will things be like when I’m 50 or 60? I’ll end up in a wheelchair or one of those stupid electric carts, beeping at people as I cruise down the aisles of the supermarket. Then, they will have to fuse my spine or something and I’ll never be able to go through a metal detector. I’ll never be able to turn my neck anymore and I’ll smother if I sleep on my stomach.

Actually, I asked my brother about all of this. He gave me the quick exam to determine if there were any signs of joint disorder. Having ruled that out, he sort of shrugged and seemed rather unconcerned, ruling it as probably just muscle pain due to tension. Wow, what a let down from my imagined fatal disorder. Still, I told him I need to get some decent NSAIDs to deal with this or else I’m going to scream.Hmm, I think the Vicodin is helping a bit and perhaps I can sleep tonight without feeling too much pain.

-I heard the owl again or the thing that I think is an owl.

-This week is busy due to Sarbanes-Oxley audit work in my department. I have audit plans to finish writing and then testing needs to get completed before the week is over. It’s always something.

-Dropped off the rented scanner at Calumet. I bought some film holders and sheet film so that I can finally test my 4X5 camera I bought off of e-bay. I need to load the film holders which shouldn’t be too hard but must be done in complete darkness. I’m debating whether it is easier to do it in a darkroom where I can spread things out or just use a changing bag. I downloaded some tips from the internet on proper loading techniques. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.

Well, the Vicodin is making me a little sleepy so I will sign-off tonight so that I can prepare for another wonderful day at work.