I’m in a weird place right now as pain and misery has been a comforting blanket for my insecurity for almost my whole life. Growing up I had my loving parents and siblings as the few bright spots of my day as they were the only reason I didn’t carve a winter hole into a lake and drop myself in. Sure I excelled at inane academic subjects in high school which received some of the first letters of the alphabet come report card time, and was known to throw a baseball slightly faster then the national average, but I was never happy.
Happy was something that occurred in short spurts. A trip to Orlando for my dad’s recognition as an employee-of-the-year complete with a $200 dinner at Epcot that none of us kids touched. Scoring a game-winning goal by making an awkward dance around a defensemen that skating coaches would shake their heads at, but ultimately proved effective since the round, black disk stood behind the red line in the net. A kiss goodnight, with a short-blonde who would play tetherball with my heart all through high school, and having that relationship end literally with a plunge.
Right now sitting at this computer I consider myself happy not just because of recent successes and triumph over non-tangible handicaps, but because I’ve learned to trust again. I don’t have to ask my wife or kids “do you still love me”. I trust my kids to still plant a kiss or hug on me the following morning despite telling a certain three year old that he had to retire early the previous evening due to lack of discipline (otherwise known as throwing a fit when told that Lucky Charms are not a part of a nutritionally balanced dinner and having some rainbow shaped marshmallows end up in creative places around the kitchen).
Hell, even my days at the poker tables are showing some enlightenment. My bankroll is creeping up towards a set goal so I can move back up in limits again. I’ve even won a few smaller tourneys which I haven’t done in quite some time. Playing on the $100 PLO8 tables is becoming easier and easier each session as the tilting off with second best hands has become less and less of a daily occurrence.
Missing 20+ outs several times in a row is part of the game, setting someone all-in and having those less then four outs spike is part of the game, and now I realize that once you’ve won, that keeping that money during the times of slim cards and outdraws is part of the game. Just because your bankroll is temporarily flush due to a tourney score or some hot cards at the cash tables doesn’t mean to drop back into some bad habits that triggered the rebuilding in the first place. Now I trust myself to stay within my game, and not throw bad money at sessions “just because I can”.
Trust is something I have been in short supply of due to my past. But, seeing all the people who drop here a give a kind word of congratulations after I have been trusted to operate a car again shows me that I can even trust those whom I can not see. And I promise next time we meet, you can trust me to be the person you read about here and not some drunk getting carted back to a wife that doesn’t want to see him.
Minus the carting part… as I do plan on enjoying myself with the company of many Cap’n Cokes and invisible internet trustworthy friends.
Thanks for dropping by, now Steve here’s the words to the Gopher fight song so you’ll be familiar with them during the Frozen Four Championship Game (since the stinkin’ Badgers have been banished back to Madison). SKOL!
"Minnesota Rouser"
Minnesota, hats off to thee
To thy colors true we shall ever be
Firm and strong, united are we.
Rah! Rah! Rah! for Ski-U-Mah
RAH! RAH! RAH! RAH!
Rah for the U. of M.
Minnesota, hats off to thee
To thy colors true we shall ever be
Firm and strong, united are we.
Rah! Rah! Rah! for Ski-U-Mah
RAH! RAH! RAH! RAH!
Rah for the U. of M.
M-I-N-N-E-S-O-T-A!
Minnesota! Minnesota!
Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah GOPHERS!
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Monday, March 19, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Operation Gimp Driver Successful
I passed the neurological exam yesterday and currently I'm the proud owner of some doctor's scribblings on important doctor-type notaries.
Today I'll barter with the DMV (no palmed $20 as suggested by Huge Junk) as to which medival torture devices they'll ring me through for the pleasure of driving around the block for a week.
I want to thank all of the well wishers from yesterday as I can't come up with more then "this is pretty fuckin cool" right now :)
I will touch a little more on this comment from PokerPeaker in a later post:
Congrats and good luck.
I can't imagine what you went through, and congrat yourself for being a cynical and funny guy instead of a bitter and prick-like person after such a shitty thing.
I have to honest when the transformation of "woe is me" and hating life didn't happen overnight, in fact you could count a few years that were lost due to self-loathing and hating that next breath I drew, not to mention a crumbling marriage. A lot has to do with our little circle of degenerates, my wife's strength, and sitting back to observe the kids.
But for now, the bar is open kids, time to par-tay!
Have a great weekend!
Today I'll barter with the DMV (no palmed $20 as suggested by Huge Junk) as to which medival torture devices they'll ring me through for the pleasure of driving around the block for a week.
I want to thank all of the well wishers from yesterday as I can't come up with more then "this is pretty fuckin cool" right now :)
I will touch a little more on this comment from PokerPeaker in a later post:
Congrats and good luck.
I can't imagine what you went through, and congrat yourself for being a cynical and funny guy instead of a bitter and prick-like person after such a shitty thing.
I have to honest when the transformation of "woe is me" and hating life didn't happen overnight, in fact you could count a few years that were lost due to self-loathing and hating that next breath I drew, not to mention a crumbling marriage. A lot has to do with our little circle of degenerates, my wife's strength, and sitting back to observe the kids.
But for now, the bar is open kids, time to par-tay!
Have a great weekend!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Drafting Richard Petty
… blink if you can hear me
… can you feel this?
… ok, turn him over please and stabilize his head
I still remember my first full-out seizure occurring at work, typing an email to my sister about having my mom’s famous breaded pork chops and twice baked potatoes as a family dinner with my wife of six months. Suddenly, a tingle came over me, and then my fingers wouldn’t respond to my command of typing my doctor’s name as I had yet another appointment at the U of M to try to figure out what was wrong with me after my accident three months ago. Finally dropping into a catatonic state for six hours in which I couldn't move nor would my limb respond to any of the usual reflex tests.
I thought due to the daily seizures had subsidizing in frequency and intensity, and the ability to make my own bagel, egg, cheese, and bacon sandwiches without fear of putting a nice hole through my hand would signal some road toward normalcy again. But, being carried out on a stretcher by two burly paramedics in the dead of winter while passing the office that yesterday I answered several “where do you see yourself in five years?” “what are you strength?” “can you really fire that third bullet on the river with Queen high?” type questions, brought a lot of things into perspective.
No longer was I the hot-shot up-and-coming worker drone being polished for promotion once I got that elusive parchment from an educational facility proclaiming I took enough credits of Advanced Jump Services in Volleyball 202 and Accounting for Bada-Bing. No longer would I come to work and see people coming to my desk asking for advice on handling a difficult guest on the phone, how the database’s reports were not working, or to give a short presentation on the department’s quality assurance findings. They were more likely to look over me with puppy dog eyes of pity.
My job became simply a struggle to show up. Imagine having the balance of Michael Spinks after a minute in the ring with Tyson, the light sensitivity of the sun shining directly into your corneas, and the speech of someone who had too many Cap’n Cokes on his birthday. Imagine starting every day with these heavy chains pinning you to Davy Jones’ Locker, and having zero motivation to try to swim to the surface because those depths didn’t provide any sunlight to reach.
Eventually through physical and occupational therapy, I was able to slowly enjoy things like playing volleyball with an ankle weight to balance myself, softball with sunglasses and a visor on so I didn’t suffer a migraine while performing a throw-hop from right field to throw out that speedy little leadoff hitter trying to stretch an extra base, or use a pen again with the assistance of a dove-shaped writing device. Those of you who met me at the Plaza in Vegas a couple of years ago may remember me wearing a visor and sunglasses, I wore that at all times for nearly four years not just to peel two cards back and ponder a three bet.
Today I’m 95% “normal” if I ever was normal which I’m sure many friends and family members would turn and have a chuckle at my expense. I don’t walk with a weight on my ankle, or use a writing device to scribble my professional athlete-esqe signature on a check.
No, today I try to brush the late bit of hinderances that the accident has caused over the years.
Today is a day I’ve been looking forward to for nearly seven years. You see, people tend to frown upon allowing drivers of motor vehicles who’s bodies spaz out at the sight of flashing lights or blackout for periods of time without warning. Per my neurologist’s suggestion that the state remove my driving privileges unless I was in a gutted 87’ Monte Carlo at the Sherburne County fair using my trunk to bust someone’s radiator to win the demolition derby heat.
The ability to drive is taken for granted by most, much like flicking on the internet to troll for busty college cheerleader porn, if you can’t do it, you feel strangely flaccid. I can’t repay all the people who have had to go out of their way for the past seven years to shuttle me to a softball game or family poker night get-together. Starting today if I pass my exam, which hopefully will not include milking the prostate, I may regain my ability to pick up a friend or two to check-raise some douchebags at Canterbury just because I can.
Thanks for dropping by, now wish me luck and I’ll let you know if your car insurance rates will be increased by .00072% because of my driver’s status being changed.
A side note to the lovely Texas April…. Let me know your Stars’ log on name so I can shuttle that buy-in to you because I'm meeting my softball team tonight for batting practice, wings, and beer thus won’t be attending CC’s Bash (see link for details).
… can you feel this?
… ok, turn him over please and stabilize his head
I still remember my first full-out seizure occurring at work, typing an email to my sister about having my mom’s famous breaded pork chops and twice baked potatoes as a family dinner with my wife of six months. Suddenly, a tingle came over me, and then my fingers wouldn’t respond to my command of typing my doctor’s name as I had yet another appointment at the U of M to try to figure out what was wrong with me after my accident three months ago. Finally dropping into a catatonic state for six hours in which I couldn't move nor would my limb respond to any of the usual reflex tests.
I thought due to the daily seizures had subsidizing in frequency and intensity, and the ability to make my own bagel, egg, cheese, and bacon sandwiches without fear of putting a nice hole through my hand would signal some road toward normalcy again. But, being carried out on a stretcher by two burly paramedics in the dead of winter while passing the office that yesterday I answered several “where do you see yourself in five years?” “what are you strength?” “can you really fire that third bullet on the river with Queen high?” type questions, brought a lot of things into perspective.
No longer was I the hot-shot up-and-coming worker drone being polished for promotion once I got that elusive parchment from an educational facility proclaiming I took enough credits of Advanced Jump Services in Volleyball 202 and Accounting for Bada-Bing. No longer would I come to work and see people coming to my desk asking for advice on handling a difficult guest on the phone, how the database’s reports were not working, or to give a short presentation on the department’s quality assurance findings. They were more likely to look over me with puppy dog eyes of pity.
My job became simply a struggle to show up. Imagine having the balance of Michael Spinks after a minute in the ring with Tyson, the light sensitivity of the sun shining directly into your corneas, and the speech of someone who had too many Cap’n Cokes on his birthday. Imagine starting every day with these heavy chains pinning you to Davy Jones’ Locker, and having zero motivation to try to swim to the surface because those depths didn’t provide any sunlight to reach.
Eventually through physical and occupational therapy, I was able to slowly enjoy things like playing volleyball with an ankle weight to balance myself, softball with sunglasses and a visor on so I didn’t suffer a migraine while performing a throw-hop from right field to throw out that speedy little leadoff hitter trying to stretch an extra base, or use a pen again with the assistance of a dove-shaped writing device. Those of you who met me at the Plaza in Vegas a couple of years ago may remember me wearing a visor and sunglasses, I wore that at all times for nearly four years not just to peel two cards back and ponder a three bet.
Today I’m 95% “normal” if I ever was normal which I’m sure many friends and family members would turn and have a chuckle at my expense. I don’t walk with a weight on my ankle, or use a writing device to scribble my professional athlete-esqe signature on a check.
No, today I try to brush the late bit of hinderances that the accident has caused over the years.
Today is a day I’ve been looking forward to for nearly seven years. You see, people tend to frown upon allowing drivers of motor vehicles who’s bodies spaz out at the sight of flashing lights or blackout for periods of time without warning. Per my neurologist’s suggestion that the state remove my driving privileges unless I was in a gutted 87’ Monte Carlo at the Sherburne County fair using my trunk to bust someone’s radiator to win the demolition derby heat.
The ability to drive is taken for granted by most, much like flicking on the internet to troll for busty college cheerleader porn, if you can’t do it, you feel strangely flaccid. I can’t repay all the people who have had to go out of their way for the past seven years to shuttle me to a softball game or family poker night get-together. Starting today if I pass my exam, which hopefully will not include milking the prostate, I may regain my ability to pick up a friend or two to check-raise some douchebags at Canterbury just because I can.
Thanks for dropping by, now wish me luck and I’ll let you know if your car insurance rates will be increased by .00072% because of my driver’s status being changed.
A side note to the lovely Texas April…. Let me know your Stars’ log on name so I can shuttle that buy-in to you because I'm meeting my softball team tonight for batting practice, wings, and beer thus won’t be attending CC’s Bash (see link for details).
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