I thought I had my shit together.
I was wrong.
While the end of this section of my life is about to end and start anew I feel as though my body is moving a few seconds too slow for my mind. No, this isn’t an attempt to regain past athletic feats but trying to not lose me. Spending time staring out of windows at home with viewpoints of (finally) melting snow, brown grass, and a familiar street with a far off window displaying a single strand of oversized red Christmas lights without a thought, and suddenly too many.
Bad thoughts, cashing out on the society as I know it with student loans due, being a role model at work, and hugging my kids despite trying to bang out a 1,000 word missive on Gauguin’s The Swineherd, Brittany (despite not being much of an art lover it’s a pretty kick ass painting). No more marriage, no more begging for affection when its needed, just taking a small roll and living off skills acquired whether they be academic or degenerate.
Feeling numb when elation should be flowing, that piece of paper which cuts through the glass ceiling is reachable like the cap and gown in an UPS box sitting under my bed. It hurts the soul to feel like there’s no one in the world that can touch this grey then be expected to man up and stop pouting and move on with life. It could be labeled depression, but the feeling isn’t down, it’s stuck in neutral like a blown engine that looks perfectly fine but has a few frayed wires that need connecting. Those wires show the abuse of overuse, too much thinking and not enough doing. Conspiracies versus giving into trust. Creating stories when there isn’t one to tell.
I blame no one but myself for this and I know this feeling is one that will come back as it does sporadically even after moving on to the suit and tie phase that I would have hit several years ago if I didn’t turn mush brained. But, my solid core will see this through I just need to put down my imagination for a few moments at a time and let things read as they are presented versus fearing the worst.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Tuesday, April 09, 2013
73 days
Current mood: Needing Alka Selzer
This was supposed to be a daily diary of sorts but life does not always comply with ones wishes including the pack of Gillette Mach 3 blades that my stomach has been trying to digest for the past three days. It could have been the return to long running as a seven mile jaunt around Maple Grove through Fish Lake regional park, Bass Lake road, and at least two other lakes in view were part of a beautiful “spring” day that ended with watching snow flurries with my wife at a local non-restaurant chain bar serving up some firecracker chicken bites that got my rum laced taste buds’ attention.
Or, it was looking at the final schedule for school. A cold sweat maybe some stress for an unknown reason as there are five classes with two of them being “seminars” for easing me into the workplace which I have already done on the corporate level for 15+ years. But, there are several holes in my suits game that need some pimping so it is a welcome sight to see the school and work getting me ready to make this leap once I walk across the floor at Roy Wilkins convention center in mid-July to receive my empty folder with instructions that the real degree is in the mail and should arrive in 4-6 weeks.
Or, is it the fact that in just 11 weeks the turmoil of my daily schedule will be reduced to being a trusted co-worker, a daddy who actually likes discussing the strategy of putting more character points into Constitution than Magic, or a husband that feels left out right now and wondering what will come next. A person could quote Red from Shawshank talking about people become institutionalized and getting used to a way of life. I got used to depending upon everyone for the majority of my life whether it be having someone repeat a piece of a lecture to having my wife and sister drive my broken head to and from work for a few years. But, for the past four years it has been a daily struggle to be a little selfish, a little independent.
Honestly at my core I have zero real wants and it scares me. I enjoy the temporary and the excitement of a random get together with friends of similar intellect and levels of degeneracy. Hugging my kids and their warmth returned in kind. Watching Game of Thrones and Arya’s struggle with her journey to reach a home, a meaning. But there’s nothing long-term that I want. I could care less if I attain the corporate rank of Senior Inquisitor of the Northland General Ledger. Money does not really tickle me except to have enough to pay the bills, feed my family, and have fun on the side. The “next step” seems to be walking through that floating door from The Twilight Zone’s opening credits with nothing but imagination behind it.
No, I do not need religion or some other pre-drafted path to follow as much like my run last Friday, if the road to the right looks like fun that’s where I will run and I hope the next journey will present itself soon.
This was supposed to be a daily diary of sorts but life does not always comply with ones wishes including the pack of Gillette Mach 3 blades that my stomach has been trying to digest for the past three days. It could have been the return to long running as a seven mile jaunt around Maple Grove through Fish Lake regional park, Bass Lake road, and at least two other lakes in view were part of a beautiful “spring” day that ended with watching snow flurries with my wife at a local non-restaurant chain bar serving up some firecracker chicken bites that got my rum laced taste buds’ attention.
Or, it was looking at the final schedule for school. A cold sweat maybe some stress for an unknown reason as there are five classes with two of them being “seminars” for easing me into the workplace which I have already done on the corporate level for 15+ years. But, there are several holes in my suits game that need some pimping so it is a welcome sight to see the school and work getting me ready to make this leap once I walk across the floor at Roy Wilkins convention center in mid-July to receive my empty folder with instructions that the real degree is in the mail and should arrive in 4-6 weeks.
Or, is it the fact that in just 11 weeks the turmoil of my daily schedule will be reduced to being a trusted co-worker, a daddy who actually likes discussing the strategy of putting more character points into Constitution than Magic, or a husband that feels left out right now and wondering what will come next. A person could quote Red from Shawshank talking about people become institutionalized and getting used to a way of life. I got used to depending upon everyone for the majority of my life whether it be having someone repeat a piece of a lecture to having my wife and sister drive my broken head to and from work for a few years. But, for the past four years it has been a daily struggle to be a little selfish, a little independent.
On the dangerous roads of Westeros (Photo cred)
Honestly at my core I have zero real wants and it scares me. I enjoy the temporary and the excitement of a random get together with friends of similar intellect and levels of degeneracy. Hugging my kids and their warmth returned in kind. Watching Game of Thrones and Arya’s struggle with her journey to reach a home, a meaning. But there’s nothing long-term that I want. I could care less if I attain the corporate rank of Senior Inquisitor of the Northland General Ledger. Money does not really tickle me except to have enough to pay the bills, feed my family, and have fun on the side. The “next step” seems to be walking through that floating door from The Twilight Zone’s opening credits with nothing but imagination behind it.
No, I do not need religion or some other pre-drafted path to follow as much like my run last Friday, if the road to the right looks like fun that’s where I will run and I hope the next journey will present itself soon.
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
80 days
Current mood: Leaving Las Vegas
The NEW Frontier, Westward Ho, Stardust, and (cry) Imperial Palace. When a person says they are visiting Las Vegas there is a clamor for wishing that individual “good luck” or “don’t get rolled by hookers” depending on their level of potential degeneracy. In my case the word “wheelchair” comes up more than fifty times for good reason as my button for stopping most of the time short circuits after two consecutive dealer Pai Gows or just watching a winning craps table chest bump as another pass line bet makes it there.
This time was different, oh I still put a good dent into the city’s Captain Morgan supply, like .0002%, but the flavor or theme of the trip was unlike the WPBT trips usually found within these pages. No 5am steak and eggs after spending ten hours to lost five dollars at a table. Playing long enough to outlast everyone except the morning crew’s vacuum cleaners and the poor blonde in the sparkly silver dress with the slit cut nearly to her armpit waiting on douchebaggis maximus to stop berating the dealer from the Liaoning Province for flipping up a six card 21 after Mr. 35 degree hat turn pressed his bet up to ten dollars.
Nope this time was for good fun with the right people and avoiding the shit show that I usually dive in like Ndamukong Suh when he’s not busy stomping fellow professional athletes into the Ford Field turf.
My kids acted better in Vegas than at DisneyWorld to my surprise as the reins were iron tight, yet they both enjoyed the trip enough to ask when they could return. Small things like a 10 minute conversation along the revived Fremont Street with a sizable woman twisting balloons for their enjoyment as she seemed happier that someone made her feel human for 10 minutes than the nice tip for twisting up a flower and a motorcycle in latex for the boy and girl who managed to get both home to the frozen north four days later.
After my wife zipped from the new “D” casino down near the Golden Nugget on the new http://flightlinezfremont.com/ Flightlinez I took leave from the family for the only time while they were awake to meet up with two ladies with similar taste for drink and leaving politeness at the door. Writer Jen www.twitter.com/WriterJen and the lovely PokerVixen www.twitter.com/pokervixen managed to direct me a whole block away to foreign territory for this Vegas vet. Aside from golfing and watching my wife plummet to the earth in a parachute, I have not gone off Strip or Fremont. Ever.
But, a rocks glass of Templeton Rye and two intelligent ladies making their marks in Sin City was too much to pass up. As I abhor chain restaurants/bars, they turned me to the excellent Mob Bar http://mobbarlv.com/ to imbibe on brown liquids as I probably scarred them with a timeline of how I met my wife. The hospitality did not stop there as we hit up Cheetah’s for $1,000 foursome fantasy dances in the VIP with an eight-ball, Goose and Juice, and Peter Dinklage slipping into character for our amusement.
While a coked out story may be fun to type up, we actually more fun taking down the Four Queens instead. My gambling vice/leak has been and always will be slots. Those damn things with their Mr. Monopoly bonus game hopping around the square board hoping to land on Boardwalk for a plethora of pennies.
But, the player’s card offered a challenge to acquire X amount of points in exchange for a t-shirt. I love free t-shirts almost more than my kids and would even sit through a lap dance at the Glitter Gulch if it meant receiving a $1.99 ink pressed shirt with “Grinded dry at the Gulch” happily displayed across the chest. So, play we did moving from Wheel. Of. Fortune! To little fishes that refused to give up their bonus game like a pouty socialite refusing to drink anything but Cristal, we tried them all, and I managed to not only acquire the points but notched a decent win thanks to the Playboy machine that did not give out enhanced ta-tas but rather a few hundred for mild progressive win.
After bidding good night as PokerVixen carted me back to the Mirage by way of seeing Vegas’ attractions that do not offer a free buffet and 2-for-1 Bud Lights, I believe renting a car will be in play for the next trip. I found out that sitting in a $1/$3 NLHE game is quite boring if the tablemates include Ms. SERIOUS PRO GRINDER who was working her iPad to pass level 236 of Candy Crush , McLovin clone on my immediate right asking me no less than a dozen times in two hours if I would show my cards after placing a chip on top for the dealer, or even the smartly dressed Bro who defined his fellow Bros by actually being pleasant at the table and telling them to fuck off from the rail.
Will I be back? Of course. I may be “maturing” but my degeneracy is evolving rather than dying. And meeting up with the fine folks I’ve met through poker writing and now my family makes each return trip worth it.
The NEW Frontier, Westward Ho, Stardust, and (cry) Imperial Palace. When a person says they are visiting Las Vegas there is a clamor for wishing that individual “good luck” or “don’t get rolled by hookers” depending on their level of potential degeneracy. In my case the word “wheelchair” comes up more than fifty times for good reason as my button for stopping most of the time short circuits after two consecutive dealer Pai Gows or just watching a winning craps table chest bump as another pass line bet makes it there.
This time was different, oh I still put a good dent into the city’s Captain Morgan supply, like .0002%, but the flavor or theme of the trip was unlike the WPBT trips usually found within these pages. No 5am steak and eggs after spending ten hours to lost five dollars at a table. Playing long enough to outlast everyone except the morning crew’s vacuum cleaners and the poor blonde in the sparkly silver dress with the slit cut nearly to her armpit waiting on douchebaggis maximus to stop berating the dealer from the Liaoning Province for flipping up a six card 21 after Mr. 35 degree hat turn pressed his bet up to ten dollars.
Photo Cred (my Father-in-Law who does not have a blog)
Nope this time was for good fun with the right people and avoiding the shit show that I usually dive in like Ndamukong Suh when he’s not busy stomping fellow professional athletes into the Ford Field turf.
My kids acted better in Vegas than at DisneyWorld to my surprise as the reins were iron tight, yet they both enjoyed the trip enough to ask when they could return. Small things like a 10 minute conversation along the revived Fremont Street with a sizable woman twisting balloons for their enjoyment as she seemed happier that someone made her feel human for 10 minutes than the nice tip for twisting up a flower and a motorcycle in latex for the boy and girl who managed to get both home to the frozen north four days later.
After my wife zipped from the new “D” casino down near the Golden Nugget on the new http://flightlinezfremont.com/ Flightlinez I took leave from the family for the only time while they were awake to meet up with two ladies with similar taste for drink and leaving politeness at the door. Writer Jen www.twitter.com/WriterJen and the lovely PokerVixen www.twitter.com/pokervixen managed to direct me a whole block away to foreign territory for this Vegas vet. Aside from golfing and watching my wife plummet to the earth in a parachute, I have not gone off Strip or Fremont. Ever.
But, a rocks glass of Templeton Rye and two intelligent ladies making their marks in Sin City was too much to pass up. As I abhor chain restaurants/bars, they turned me to the excellent Mob Bar http://mobbarlv.com/ to imbibe on brown liquids as I probably scarred them with a timeline of how I met my wife. The hospitality did not stop there as we hit up Cheetah’s for $1,000 foursome fantasy dances in the VIP with an eight-ball, Goose and Juice, and Peter Dinklage slipping into character for our amusement.
While a coked out story may be fun to type up, we actually more fun taking down the Four Queens instead. My gambling vice/leak has been and always will be slots. Those damn things with their Mr. Monopoly bonus game hopping around the square board hoping to land on Boardwalk for a plethora of pennies.
But, the player’s card offered a challenge to acquire X amount of points in exchange for a t-shirt. I love free t-shirts almost more than my kids and would even sit through a lap dance at the Glitter Gulch if it meant receiving a $1.99 ink pressed shirt with “Grinded dry at the Gulch” happily displayed across the chest. So, play we did moving from Wheel. Of. Fortune! To little fishes that refused to give up their bonus game like a pouty socialite refusing to drink anything but Cristal, we tried them all, and I managed to not only acquire the points but notched a decent win thanks to the Playboy machine that did not give out enhanced ta-tas but rather a few hundred for mild progressive win.
After bidding good night as PokerVixen carted me back to the Mirage by way of seeing Vegas’ attractions that do not offer a free buffet and 2-for-1 Bud Lights, I believe renting a car will be in play for the next trip. I found out that sitting in a $1/$3 NLHE game is quite boring if the tablemates include Ms. SERIOUS PRO GRINDER who was working her iPad to pass level 236 of Candy Crush , McLovin clone on my immediate right asking me no less than a dozen times in two hours if I would show my cards after placing a chip on top for the dealer, or even the smartly dressed Bro who defined his fellow Bros by actually being pleasant at the table and telling them to fuck off from the rail.
Will I be back? Of course. I may be “maturing” but my degeneracy is evolving rather than dying. And meeting up with the fine folks I’ve met through poker writing and now my family makes each return trip worth it.
Monday, March 25, 2013
88 days
Current mood: The Gambler
Despite my two dozens trips to Vegas, being 38 years old, and bringing my kids and parents and in-laws on this trip... I couldn't sleep. Despite working two tournaments yesterday including watching Team PokerStars Pro Max Lykov rip through the last two and an half hours of the Sunday Warm-Up for a $110K victory... I couldn't sleep. For better. For worse. It's Vegas and I still love it.
Yes, it's Super Mario day! Played at the wrong time or the history books of hockey would be focused on number 88 and I would likely have a bunch of jerseys with double infinity instead of upside down sixes.
So, two quick salutes.
And of course, my tradition since the start of the WPBT.
Take it away Carnie, Wendy, and Chynna Phillips:
Despite my two dozens trips to Vegas, being 38 years old, and bringing my kids and parents and in-laws on this trip... I couldn't sleep. Despite working two tournaments yesterday including watching Team PokerStars Pro Max Lykov rip through the last two and an half hours of the Sunday Warm-Up for a $110K victory... I couldn't sleep. For better. For worse. It's Vegas and I still love it.
Yes, it's Super Mario day! Played at the wrong time or the history books of hockey would be focused on number 88 and I would likely have a bunch of jerseys with double infinity instead of upside down sixes.
So, two quick salutes.
A body that big isn't supposed to move like that
Take it away Carnie, Wendy, and Chynna Phillips:
Future performance at The Quad?
Thursday, March 21, 2013
92 days
Current mood: Wide awake and ready to dance
Quick hit and run today because finals and a busy weekend approach along with working ahead for vacation next week.
One thing came in the mail last week and I stare at it everytime while walking through the kitchen into the porch. Not wanting to open it and just marvel in its perfection. 15 year old me probably became numb unable to walk without strategically placing rising body parts.
Quick hit and run today because finals and a busy weekend approach along with working ahead for vacation next week.
One thing came in the mail last week and I stare at it everytime while walking through the kitchen into the porch. Not wanting to open it and just marvel in its perfection. 15 year old me probably became numb unable to walk without strategically placing rising body parts.
I'll be in my room, never mind the peppermint smell (photo cred)
It's TOPANGA!!! Now that life is complete, I'll go do that nose dive off the top of the Imperial Pal... sigh again. Yes, I have a subscription to Maxim. No, I do not actively pay for it as due to some magazines folding they awarded me a 12 year subscription to it. And now I have some reading material for Vegas since I abhor pools but tolerate them to spend time with the family and pay $12 for a watered down girly drink.Tuesday, March 19, 2013
94 days
Current mood: Neither here or there
Three days left in the hardest quarter of this whole return to academia thing and the last piece should be a cakewalk.
This is short on purpose due to herding cats inside my mind and wrapping up the four classes along with planning out my 20th+ journey to Vegas next week. Not a usual Pai Gow at 5 in the morning at the Gold Coast with a row of leftover vultures in La Perla (or more likely the three for three bucks bundled panty pack from Wal-Mart) looking to pick my bones clean but instead giving my money to the curvy pit boss who always seems to wear red like she works at Target.
No, this trip with feature the kids and paying back my parents for being the awesome bedrocks of support after we decided to become birthers nine years ago. Yes, there will be (hopefully) some Moscow Mules with a couple hot local ladies if their schedules workout. Yes, I have demanded my father sit at a Pai Gow table with me which may scar him for life. Yes, I will have fun but just not the usual lets drink for 24 hours straight and end up dancing naked with the dealertainers of the Imperial Pal... oh fuck THAT.
I will report from our favorite spot on the strip becoming "modernized" with fake bartenders, fake dealers, and "clean" floors with working front doors. I liked the surly dealers and the ones who actually put an effort into looking like they were have fun too. The broken front doors with caution tape draped across it since 2003 were a symbol of awesomeness, probably like regular gamblers looking back on places like The Dunes or Frontier.
We'll see if they did right.
3 days to quarter end
7 days to Vegas
95 days so I can weep like a child getting his first Atari 2600 game.
Three days left in the hardest quarter of this whole return to academia thing and the last piece should be a cakewalk.
This is short on purpose due to herding cats inside my mind and wrapping up the four classes along with planning out my 20th+ journey to Vegas next week. Not a usual Pai Gow at 5 in the morning at the Gold Coast with a row of leftover vultures in La Perla (or more likely the three for three bucks bundled panty pack from Wal-Mart) looking to pick my bones clean but instead giving my money to the curvy pit boss who always seems to wear red like she works at Target.
No, this trip with feature the kids and paying back my parents for being the awesome bedrocks of support after we decided to become birthers nine years ago. Yes, there will be (hopefully) some Moscow Mules with a couple hot local ladies if their schedules workout. Yes, I have demanded my father sit at a Pai Gow table with me which may scar him for life. Yes, I will have fun but just not the usual lets drink for 24 hours straight and end up dancing naked with the dealertainers of the Imperial Pal... oh fuck THAT.
I will report from our favorite spot on the strip becoming "modernized" with fake bartenders, fake dealers, and "clean" floors with working front doors. I liked the surly dealers and the ones who actually put an effort into looking like they were have fun too. The broken front doors with caution tape draped across it since 2003 were a symbol of awesomeness, probably like regular gamblers looking back on places like The Dunes or Frontier.
We'll see if they did right.
3 days to quarter end
7 days to Vegas
95 days so I can weep like a child getting his first Atari 2600 game.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
96 days
Current mood: Appetite for Destruction
After finishing up the latest wrap for the MicroMillions 4series there was a decision that most people make at around 5 o’clock on a
Saturday night. Go out or watch a
Matlock AARP-a-thon. As a wise-ass once
said “No good stories come from sitting on the couch with your dick in your
hand and Andy Griffith on the TV”.
Despite knowing only a good buzz would help through the
time, sitting on the beige sectional did not appeal after hanging there for a
good portion of the previous three days doing poker work and putting the final
APA-formatted touches on my final research papers. Thanks to some early mornings fueled by grit
and Lipton green tea, the responsible side of self allowed the degen side of
self to earn a window for fun. Corned
beef and cabbage with teriyaki wings from Buffalo Wild Wings mixed with 12 year
old Jameson on the rocks? However someone gets their Erin-go-bragh on is
up to them, especially if it involves cheesy mutated and stuffed tater tots
with sour cream (I just gained five pounds thinking about those again).
Today brings the usual night time with the high rollers in
the Sunday Warm-Up but trying something that even this lifetime Minnesotan has not done… snow golf!
Yes, it’s 5 degrees currently. Yes, winter is still in full effect
here. But, it’s a new experience and
aside from questionable hypothermia possibilities my only question is if they
are putting the beer cart on a snowmobile.
Minnesota Cooler (image cred)
5 days to the end of the quarter.
9 days to Vegas and some goddamn sun for once.
96 days to the finish line.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
99 days
Current mood: Grant Fuhr's used jockstrap
Strategic day off worked.
Ahead of the curve, all thanks to planning, and...
Strategic day off worked.
Ahead of the curve, all thanks to planning, and...
The Great One.
Yeah, I tried tucking in half my jersey in the back growing up on the ponds around Maple Grove and during games people would try to knock my shit through Hennepin county. But, I was fast, not very good, but fast, mainly the reason I'm alive and typing these words today. Skinny as a rail just like him and thinking one day I'll have Janet Jones in my living room re-enacting that hot gymnastic in American Anthem routine that likely passed for porn back in the 80s.
That didn't happen.
Instead I'm 38 and drooling on myself while holding down two jobs, a family, and 99 days away from college graduation. Cheers to the double digit days as Vegas degeneracy approaches in two weeks, as I will attempt to lose my dignity again that has been slowly rebuilding by holding down too much responsibility lately.
Cheers to 99 as we get closer to that "Let's not speak of what happened last night graduation bash". Seriously, there should be wheelchair parking, Project X without the teenage cliches, and free passes from spouses and sig others to have one night with zero consequences except for a raging hangover and Waffle House breakfast.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
100 days
Current mood: Brick Tamland’s less intelligent brother
Since my schedule and the weather does not leave much room to enjoy this hobby of running, yesterday was a bit of a treat. At 8:30am, emailed the wife to let her know that a 5K run was in the works after work. At noon, it was the only thing I looked forward to as people continued to enjoy the fact that my mailbox was allowed to receive electronic messages and spat out replies like a good little corporate drone. Highway 169 on the way home looked like someone mistook the Minnesota sheet of asphalt for Kabul as cars swayed to miss the craters left by this state’s wonderful winter.
Stretchy pant, stretchy shirt, adjust dick to comfortable position, another stretchy shirt, track pants, and a light jacket top with a hat and Freddie Mercury screaming to ride his bicycle. READY FOR SERIOUS RUNNING!
Then the wind hit. It was cold. It is always cold. So cold. My jaw froze into a state like I just saw a naked Kate Upton trampoline video. Blowing a hot breath into my jacket gave temporary relief but I was too out of it to bother grabbing even more layers. After rounding the block’s corner my body said to turn back. After reaching the 5K with most of it through a nasty headwind it said thank you in a winded voice.
The conscious thought tank has been empty for a while but something has this lanky form separating the sheets each morning instead of looking at the black numbers starting with a four against the grayish glow and burying my face back into the one warm spot in the house. Thus begins the double digit countdown tomorrow and only a week and half before some required degeneracy in Vegas will strip away this tired shell for the final push.
About all I hear anymore (credit)
Since my schedule and the weather does not leave much room to enjoy this hobby of running, yesterday was a bit of a treat. At 8:30am, emailed the wife to let her know that a 5K run was in the works after work. At noon, it was the only thing I looked forward to as people continued to enjoy the fact that my mailbox was allowed to receive electronic messages and spat out replies like a good little corporate drone. Highway 169 on the way home looked like someone mistook the Minnesota sheet of asphalt for Kabul as cars swayed to miss the craters left by this state’s wonderful winter.
Stretchy pant, stretchy shirt, adjust dick to comfortable position, another stretchy shirt, track pants, and a light jacket top with a hat and Freddie Mercury screaming to ride his bicycle. READY FOR SERIOUS RUNNING!
Then the wind hit. It was cold. It is always cold. So cold. My jaw froze into a state like I just saw a naked Kate Upton trampoline video. Blowing a hot breath into my jacket gave temporary relief but I was too out of it to bother grabbing even more layers. After rounding the block’s corner my body said to turn back. After reaching the 5K with most of it through a nasty headwind it said thank you in a winded voice.
God bless the hand bra (credit)
The conscious thought tank has been empty for a while but something has this lanky form separating the sheets each morning instead of looking at the black numbers starting with a four against the grayish glow and burying my face back into the one warm spot in the house. Thus begins the double digit countdown tomorrow and only a week and half before some required degeneracy in Vegas will strip away this tired shell for the final push.
Monday, March 11, 2013
102 days
Current mood: Smells like mid-age spirit
Finals week.
Technicially its next week, but this all of the semi-lengthy research papers are due as a rough draft which the professors are actually saying "don't make me fuckin work next week and get your shit together this week".
Roger that.
Soon I will be allowed to join proper society again and not make pop references three years too late. Have you heard of this series called "Deadwood" or "Game of Thrones" (which I caught up on in 9 days) they are pretty awesome. Unlocking HBO for the first time since I was a freeloader at my parent's home and remember acting sick during Wimbledon so I could watch the early round matches on HBO because there was that, or waiting until the weekend to watch some tape-delayed "feature" match on NBC featuring Bud Collins on mic with Ivan Lendl, Mats Wilander, or that kid Boris Becker tearing it up. Now, I push a magical button and any HBO series worth its weight is displayed on my iPad in any room with a better picture than my TV which has Gumball, Spongebob, or these annoying and expensive cartoonerized tops called Bakugan playing at all hours.
Cathouse? Meow. Odd. And strangely educational. $2,500-$3,500 for a "party"? I can see why broke dicks in Vegas chance with the law on the strip versus shelling out enough for a 1998 Ford Explorer "fixer upper".
1097 days of school down.
102 days to graduation.
14 days to Vegas (Wilson Phillips anyone?)
11 days to end of quarter
3 days to the start of MicroMillions IV
Get there.
Finals week.
Technicially its next week, but this all of the semi-lengthy research papers are due as a rough draft which the professors are actually saying "don't make me fuckin work next week and get your shit together this week".
Roger that.
Soon I will be allowed to join proper society again and not make pop references three years too late. Have you heard of this series called "Deadwood" or "Game of Thrones" (which I caught up on in 9 days) they are pretty awesome. Unlocking HBO for the first time since I was a freeloader at my parent's home and remember acting sick during Wimbledon so I could watch the early round matches on HBO because there was that, or waiting until the weekend to watch some tape-delayed "feature" match on NBC featuring Bud Collins on mic with Ivan Lendl, Mats Wilander, or that kid Boris Becker tearing it up. Now, I push a magical button and any HBO series worth its weight is displayed on my iPad in any room with a better picture than my TV which has Gumball, Spongebob, or these annoying and expensive cartoonerized tops called Bakugan playing at all hours.
Cathouse? Meow. Odd. And strangely educational. $2,500-$3,500 for a "party"? I can see why broke dicks in Vegas chance with the law on the strip versus shelling out enough for a 1998 Ford Explorer "fixer upper".
1097 days of school down.
102 days to graduation.
14 days to Vegas (Wilson Phillips anyone?)
11 days to end of quarter
3 days to the start of MicroMillions IV
Get there.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
103 days
Current mood: Satisfied
Once the weight of having kids is lifted off your shoulders, you can truly begin being a parent.
Despite my final papers coming due this week and the impending MicroMillions IV I wanted to spend every moment possible with the kids this weekend since the wife was enjoying some time with girlfriends that somehow did not result in naked pillow fighting.
Sledding.
Princess Yahtzee
Getting ass kick playing Call of Duty
Making dinner together
More Sledding
Facetime (not the Apple iEverything kind)
Falling asleep while watching Planet Earth
Walking around in PJs all day
Going out for ice cream with M&Ms, skittles, Nerds, chocolate chips, sprinkles, walnuts, and Hershey's syrup on top
Crash hard a second night after sugar rush
This will become much easier once research papers are a thing of the past and the CPA exam (leaning more towards doing this) is the only thing between me and total victory.
Once the weight of having kids is lifted off your shoulders, you can truly begin being a parent.
Despite my final papers coming due this week and the impending MicroMillions IV I wanted to spend every moment possible with the kids this weekend since the wife was enjoying some time with girlfriends that somehow did not result in naked pillow fighting.
Sledding.
Princess Yahtzee
Getting ass kick playing Call of Duty
Making dinner together
More Sledding
Facetime (not the Apple iEverything kind)
Falling asleep while watching Planet Earth
Walking around in PJs all day
Going out for ice cream with M&Ms, skittles, Nerds, chocolate chips, sprinkles, walnuts, and Hershey's syrup on top
Crash hard a second night after sugar rush
This will become much easier once research papers are a thing of the past and the CPA exam (leaning more towards doing this) is the only thing between me and total victory.
Thursday, March 07, 2013
106 days
Current mood: Beer-thirty
Assume you deserve nothing, and you will gain everything.
Not sure which famous philosopher or Big Brother housemate came up with that saying but it has been one of many self-improvement thoughts that actually works. This applies more towards feelings than receiving things like compensation for labor (Pauly knocks it out of the park again yesterday with "Pay the Fucking Writer"). I got lucky in respect to poker writing as I put 100% confedence towards my employer, who I see more as a friend than someone handing out work assignments and he puts his confedence towards someone who does not count writing or journalism as his talent. I love poker, I love writing about poker, but no matter how many comments come across, I won't ever feel like a poker writer unless I dug into the pits of a WSOP or EPT event.
Pauly and Brad are two of the few reasons why I'm sitting at this chair feeling like I just partied for a week straight on Duval street while I put the finishing strokes on academic quarter number 13 of 14. Friends like them are the reason why I got off my self-pitied ass, rode a mechanical bull in Key West, and sit at night learning about the Federal Reserve's monetary policy and Supply Chain Management which will arm me with something more powerful than a drunken right hook at a Boxer machine, the college degree. I realize the school "name" is not there, but my choices were limited due to the life that was built for the past 10 years and since I've been with my company for over 15 years, the degree name means shit at this point for what I want to do with it. "Making the most of it" would be a running theme for my sitcom life and right now it feels pretty good.
My conscious mind at this point is a bowl frosted shredded wheat that's been sitting in milk for three days. And that day off next week will get me freshened up for the MicroMillions IV which the PokerStarsBlog crew is gearing up again for full coverage. So, if you are a non-American please drop a line if you're playing and good luck!
Assume you deserve nothing, and you will gain everything.
Not sure which famous philosopher or Big Brother housemate came up with that saying but it has been one of many self-improvement thoughts that actually works. This applies more towards feelings than receiving things like compensation for labor (Pauly knocks it out of the park again yesterday with "Pay the Fucking Writer"). I got lucky in respect to poker writing as I put 100% confedence towards my employer, who I see more as a friend than someone handing out work assignments and he puts his confedence towards someone who does not count writing or journalism as his talent. I love poker, I love writing about poker, but no matter how many comments come across, I won't ever feel like a poker writer unless I dug into the pits of a WSOP or EPT event.
Pauly and Brad are two of the few reasons why I'm sitting at this chair feeling like I just partied for a week straight on Duval street while I put the finishing strokes on academic quarter number 13 of 14. Friends like them are the reason why I got off my self-pitied ass, rode a mechanical bull in Key West, and sit at night learning about the Federal Reserve's monetary policy and Supply Chain Management which will arm me with something more powerful than a drunken right hook at a Boxer machine, the college degree. I realize the school "name" is not there, but my choices were limited due to the life that was built for the past 10 years and since I've been with my company for over 15 years, the degree name means shit at this point for what I want to do with it. "Making the most of it" would be a running theme for my sitcom life and right now it feels pretty good.
My conscious mind at this point is a bowl frosted shredded wheat that's been sitting in milk for three days. And that day off next week will get me freshened up for the MicroMillions IV which the PokerStarsBlog crew is gearing up again for full coverage. So, if you are a non-American please drop a line if you're playing and good luck!
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
107 days
Current Mood: In between the Matrix and Castle Wolfenstein
One moment I was happily banging away at spreadsheets and pleasing customers with timely returns on their emails. The next, while walking to grab some documents from another department while weaving through the cube jungle everything turned into an 8-bit first person shooter game for a moment. The sort of mind screw that comes with being completely spent as it’s not sleep deprivation (still going to bed at 8:30pm-9pm ROCK STAR!) but rather listening to my brain cells popping from over simulation to textbooks versus the usual acidic death from rum.
It feels much like covering the WCOOP where a tournament can take anywhere from 10-24 hours depending on the degens ability to remember they are playing for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Just a constant flow of action with a little time for guilty pleasures of a quick episode of House of Cards or not-so-quiet game of Go Fish with the little ones who are at the point where if they up a card that someone previously ask for they just say “HAND IT OVER I KNOW YOU HAVE THE SEVEN!”.
Here I am chronicling the boring daily life of a married accountant where most who would read here see me in a different light. And should the time come that a novel burst out of my handle of Captain, the more exciting stories would hit the pages. But, this is ordinary time. People call it the grind, and if one were to look through the archives here the word grind shows up more in describing lifestyle versus the poker reference from which it spawned.
If Hemmingway were able to hop on Blogger daily, would his life seem more exciting than reading his classic novels? Likely, no but any fan of his work would probably enjoy his drunken musings born from a laptop sitting at Sloppy Joe’s. But, the world needs those creative types like Dr. Pauly to live for life versus worrying about future health and 401(k) plans. Personally it goes in spurts as my choice to be a father and husband come with a responsibility which I give my life to. But, there’s a side, a fun side which wants nothing more to hop a plane to rage alone in Vegas or join a traveling troupe of poker writers to live out a hedonic weekend free of all societal barriers and bust out of daddy mode for a few hours so that responsible person feels good about what he does.
An inter-conflict that I welcome because it means my body has not given up and will continue to push limits and wants to experience the new. Whether its achieving a CPA certification, blowing quarters at the Gold Coast Pai Gow dealer after a fourth straight tilt-inducing lose-lose while hooker row besides the sportsbook sizes up the wad of cash in my pocket, or coming home to a big hug from my son and daughter after work, all things made possible because I haven’t given up on wanting more.
And won’t. Even if it means feeling unconsciously alive in the short term due to overwork, the long term benefits are there. And much like the good doctor’s recent post about not being sure about hitting 30, or 40 years old and making it there with no desire of sitting in a diaper pool of fermented creamed corn and chipped beef at the age of 80, I can relate. Why not build memories instead of a double wide in Scottsdale that you may never see. My 401(k) is not for that double-wide but rather to bankroll whatever time on this earth I may have when people say my earning days are over from writing and pushing ledger entries.
That’s what your retirement should be for.
One moment I was happily banging away at spreadsheets and pleasing customers with timely returns on their emails. The next, while walking to grab some documents from another department while weaving through the cube jungle everything turned into an 8-bit first person shooter game for a moment. The sort of mind screw that comes with being completely spent as it’s not sleep deprivation (still going to bed at 8:30pm-9pm ROCK STAR!) but rather listening to my brain cells popping from over simulation to textbooks versus the usual acidic death from rum.
Here I am chronicling the boring daily life of a married accountant where most who would read here see me in a different light. And should the time come that a novel burst out of my handle of Captain, the more exciting stories would hit the pages. But, this is ordinary time. People call it the grind, and if one were to look through the archives here the word grind shows up more in describing lifestyle versus the poker reference from which it spawned.
If Hemmingway were able to hop on Blogger daily, would his life seem more exciting than reading his classic novels? Likely, no but any fan of his work would probably enjoy his drunken musings born from a laptop sitting at Sloppy Joe’s. But, the world needs those creative types like Dr. Pauly to live for life versus worrying about future health and 401(k) plans. Personally it goes in spurts as my choice to be a father and husband come with a responsibility which I give my life to. But, there’s a side, a fun side which wants nothing more to hop a plane to rage alone in Vegas or join a traveling troupe of poker writers to live out a hedonic weekend free of all societal barriers and bust out of daddy mode for a few hours so that responsible person feels good about what he does.
An inter-conflict that I welcome because it means my body has not given up and will continue to push limits and wants to experience the new. Whether its achieving a CPA certification, blowing quarters at the Gold Coast Pai Gow dealer after a fourth straight tilt-inducing lose-lose while hooker row besides the sportsbook sizes up the wad of cash in my pocket, or coming home to a big hug from my son and daughter after work, all things made possible because I haven’t given up on wanting more.
And won’t. Even if it means feeling unconsciously alive in the short term due to overwork, the long term benefits are there. And much like the good doctor’s recent post about not being sure about hitting 30, or 40 years old and making it there with no desire of sitting in a diaper pool of fermented creamed corn and chipped beef at the age of 80, I can relate. Why not build memories instead of a double wide in Scottsdale that you may never see. My 401(k) is not for that double-wide but rather to bankroll whatever time on this earth I may have when people say my earning days are over from writing and pushing ledger entries.
That’s what your retirement should be for.
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
108 days
Current mood: Frozen
Fuck you Punxsutawney Phil
March is supposed to bring 40 degrees and shorts weather, not another round of "LETS GO SHOVEL SNOW AT 4:45AM!".
Seriously, eat ass Phil.
Fuck you Punxsutawney Phil
March is supposed to bring 40 degrees and shorts weather, not another round of "LETS GO SHOVEL SNOW AT 4:45AM!".
Seriously, eat ass Phil.
Monday, March 04, 2013
109 days
Current mood: Walking dead
Eight weeks down for the quarter, three toughest weeks left.
Much like the half marathon in G-Vegas, the first part of the race seemed to go too fast, and then the hills around mile eight. Not inclines. But hills. The professors are nice enough to pack large research papers all in the last three weeks of every course, however those weeks do not open up on the online course until the Friday before that particular week. For example: Week 10 with the research papers due the assignment will not open until this Friday.
But, being a person of mild intelligence, I took a strategic day off between now and the final day of the quarter to attack any and all academic hills regardless of difficulty or blandness.
Or I might just wander around the house naked watch HBO to Go on my iPad with a 128oz. tumbler of Captain and Coke. It's a toss-up.
For those who can and have the means to, PokerStars is put on their fourth edition of the MicroMillions next week. While it hurts to sit on the sidelines and report on tournaments that I would love to jump in and maybe hit a lucky string for some coin, they do an awesome job for the low rollers like myself plus they get the Sunday Majors/EPT coverage treatment with the PokerStarsBlog.com reporting crew. While reporting is great and I will be on the reporting team for this one, I miss being able to play.
Eight weeks down for the quarter, three toughest weeks left.
Much like the half marathon in G-Vegas, the first part of the race seemed to go too fast, and then the hills around mile eight. Not inclines. But hills. The professors are nice enough to pack large research papers all in the last three weeks of every course, however those weeks do not open up on the online course until the Friday before that particular week. For example: Week 10 with the research papers due the assignment will not open until this Friday.
But, being a person of mild intelligence, I took a strategic day off between now and the final day of the quarter to attack any and all academic hills regardless of difficulty or blandness.
Or I might just wander around the house naked watch HBO to Go on my iPad with a 128oz. tumbler of Captain and Coke. It's a toss-up.
For those who can and have the means to, PokerStars is put on their fourth edition of the MicroMillions next week. While it hurts to sit on the sidelines and report on tournaments that I would love to jump in and maybe hit a lucky string for some coin, they do an awesome job for the low rollers like myself plus they get the Sunday Majors/EPT coverage treatment with the PokerStarsBlog.com reporting crew. While reporting is great and I will be on the reporting team for this one, I miss being able to play.
Sunday, March 03, 2013
110 days
Current feeling: Rock Me Amadeus with a side of panic
I just banged out 1,899 words on the globalization of money
markets. Please. Keep it your pants, as I
know you want some but I’m a happily confuzzled married man that should be
taking some drugs right now that would allow me to shut down all feelings until
day 91 when I finish my last final for this monstrous quarter. Robot accounting works since those million
dollar checks are nothing but numbers in a ledger but applying the same conceptualization
to a six and nine year old while trying to remain part of their lives is
borderline abuse.
No more robot coasting to the next assignment or class or
achievement. They continue to flourish
with simple queries about their day, and I feed off of their energy despite
running these days with that low fuel light on. “In a few weeks when daddy is
done” becomes put the laptop down for 30 minutes and put together that Halo
Lego set with 750 pieces and can assembled within that half hour. Not really.
That fucking box lies worse than the Imp after being cornered by Lady
Stark (yes, I'm hooked on Game of Thrones now bear with me please as its been awhile since I've attempted to watch something that came out in the current decade). And the pieces?!?! I’ve seen larger
attaching parts on a baby mosquito. Carpal
tunnel surgery will come from helping out with these monstrosities versus
banging out 4,000 words today (Sunday Warm-Up tonight at PokerStarsBlog, a
prelude to the 7th Anniversary Sunday Million which an hour and half
before game time already has over 18,000 runners and a cool million guaranteed to the winner).
See you on the other side.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
113 days
No, this is not regular, but a post should wander into these parts as I'd like to look back a gaze into the madness before donning my cap and gown and getting my whole life returned after graduation.
Today: feel like a forearm shiver to the left temple but happy
Comcast.
Your business model is broken, or at least cracked as the rush to gather modern media outlets and stay with the times of internet programming is at least a step in the right direction.
However, your downfall is the base of that programming. The customer.
For months I paid $160.00 for BLAST!!!!11111 internet service and a pretty shitty/basic lineup of cable channels such regulated me to watching Netflix if I wanted something semi-fresh (and magically found a free hour or two) or a Sunday Gibbs-marathon treat while I work the Sunday Warm-Up at PokerStarsBlog (ya'll are reading there I hope).
But, in those 6 or 7 months of paying this amount, magically there was a bigger media package for the same cost with my name on it sitting on some call service desk in Mumbai or Minneapolis. After calling not one, not two, not three, not even four, but FIVE different 800 numbers and one local number (that basically were the same thing) I finally reach the destination of the “retention office”. Your online chat was quick, crisp, and honest. Well done. But, the multitude of glut with these numbers to reach this place was horrible. It was like one of those time share places offering a TV/Set of Steak Knives which seemed very much reach until they pulled you through another door.
Once reached, the CSR was VERY polite and understanding to my hearing issue and repeating things calmly. Again. Well done. And after seeing for the same price I could get HBO (yes, I already watched half an episode of Game of Thrones, Holy Dinklage! BOOBS! BEHEADINGS!) some assorted movie channels, all the kiddie channels my sugar-induced kids could handle and twice the internet speed/usage. While tiffed that I’ve been overpaying for less service, again, you gave ME value (others may not agree), I like.
But, here’s the cracked part. I did not ask for a phone. I did not want a phone. I did not need a phone.
You gave me a phone.
Why?
According to the CSR my rate actually would go UP if I excluded the phone. What kind of kickback are you receiving that a land line equals discount coupon? Right now I have not the time to dive into the interwebs and research but a customer shouldn’t pay more for less unless they’re shopping for La Perla.
Work on this please.
Today: feel like a forearm shiver to the left temple but happy
Comcast.
Your business model is broken, or at least cracked as the rush to gather modern media outlets and stay with the times of internet programming is at least a step in the right direction.
However, your downfall is the base of that programming. The customer.
For months I paid $160.00 for BLAST!!!!11111 internet service and a pretty shitty/basic lineup of cable channels such regulated me to watching Netflix if I wanted something semi-fresh (and magically found a free hour or two) or a Sunday Gibbs-marathon treat while I work the Sunday Warm-Up at PokerStarsBlog (ya'll are reading there I hope).
But, in those 6 or 7 months of paying this amount, magically there was a bigger media package for the same cost with my name on it sitting on some call service desk in Mumbai or Minneapolis. After calling not one, not two, not three, not even four, but FIVE different 800 numbers and one local number (that basically were the same thing) I finally reach the destination of the “retention office”. Your online chat was quick, crisp, and honest. Well done. But, the multitude of glut with these numbers to reach this place was horrible. It was like one of those time share places offering a TV/Set of Steak Knives which seemed very much reach until they pulled you through another door.
Once reached, the CSR was VERY polite and understanding to my hearing issue and repeating things calmly. Again. Well done. And after seeing for the same price I could get HBO (yes, I already watched half an episode of Game of Thrones, Holy Dinklage! BOOBS! BEHEADINGS!) some assorted movie channels, all the kiddie channels my sugar-induced kids could handle and twice the internet speed/usage. While tiffed that I’ve been overpaying for less service, again, you gave ME value (others may not agree), I like.
But, here’s the cracked part. I did not ask for a phone. I did not want a phone. I did not need a phone.
You gave me a phone.
Why?
According to the CSR my rate actually would go UP if I excluded the phone. What kind of kickback are you receiving that a land line equals discount coupon? Right now I have not the time to dive into the interwebs and research but a customer shouldn’t pay more for less unless they’re shopping for La Perla.
Work on this please.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
114 days
If someone could tell my urinary system that it is 3:21am that would be great. /Office Space
Did you know I’m going to Vegas next month and it’s furthest thing from my mind at this point just because of the amount of work before I get to The Mirage. Usually I can’t sleep knowing in under 30 days I would walk with the unwashed masses in my red and white baseball pajama bottoms at 3am with a hot chocolate in one hand and a clutch of paper slot slips with amounts under one United States dollar in the other watching a slew of workers vacuum the floors while hookers try for one last easy for the night.
I’m never that trick, I’ve never been approached.
Maybe because I would be more interested in hear their story versus a sloppy lay and getting rolled with a side of possible divorce. I know there’s cab confessionals and other chronicles of these ladies of the night, but don’t the best stories come out when the author and/or characters are stripped bare?
I know mine do as I was thrown naked in front of a governance board yesterday about some access that someone requested for me 6 months ago and didn’t show up for the six person meeting to discuss it. We won’t mention I was seeing stars half the day from being so overly tired or barely making out “what do you think Dave?” through the grainy sounds of a conference call.
And people wonder why I don’t like status meetings and interviews. I like to do, not talk about it. I can’t explain my job or writing style any more than why I can throw a bag filled with corn 27 feet away through a 6” diameter hole with accuracy after a full night of sailing with rum and beers with funny names.
Just do it. Not for Phil Knight but yourself.
Did you know I’m going to Vegas next month and it’s furthest thing from my mind at this point just because of the amount of work before I get to The Mirage. Usually I can’t sleep knowing in under 30 days I would walk with the unwashed masses in my red and white baseball pajama bottoms at 3am with a hot chocolate in one hand and a clutch of paper slot slips with amounts under one United States dollar in the other watching a slew of workers vacuum the floors while hookers try for one last easy for the night.
I’m never that trick, I’ve never been approached.
Maybe because I would be more interested in hear their story versus a sloppy lay and getting rolled with a side of possible divorce. I know there’s cab confessionals and other chronicles of these ladies of the night, but don’t the best stories come out when the author and/or characters are stripped bare?
I know mine do as I was thrown naked in front of a governance board yesterday about some access that someone requested for me 6 months ago and didn’t show up for the six person meeting to discuss it. We won’t mention I was seeing stars half the day from being so overly tired or barely making out “what do you think Dave?” through the grainy sounds of a conference call.
And people wonder why I don’t like status meetings and interviews. I like to do, not talk about it. I can’t explain my job or writing style any more than why I can throw a bag filled with corn 27 feet away through a 6” diameter hole with accuracy after a full night of sailing with rum and beers with funny names.
Just do it. Not for Phil Knight but yourself.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
115 days
This.
These people.
My people.
This is who I am.
Work hard, play harder, rinse, repeat, find a wheelchair (proverbial or not) if needed.
Day yesterday started at 4:14am according the muted blue glow of the alarm clock. It would end at 9:23pm due to sheer exhaustion which today my throat is telling me, "don't grab those 2 for 1 margaritas tonight at your sis-in-law's birthday dinner".
But, I'll ignore that.
One thing that has gotten me this far is time management, especially this quarter with a full four 4000 level classload. Bed before 9:30pm every night, only exception is Saturday and only then if work is done to a certain point. Playing with kids for at least an hour a night as getting sucked into social media can happen after they are tucked in. Help around the house as much as possible. As last night despite sending in a concerned customer service call to Comcast about value for what I'm paying (and getting double the amount of channels, internet speed/usage, and free phone for what I pay now), doing a load of laundry because my daughter's bladder is on par with the Bellagio fountain show as not knowing when those streams are going to leap after she is sent off to learn about magnets and singing robots.
Yes, daddy washed the "backup" pants so you return them to school.
Because daddy doesn't want to be an invisible figure anymore. Over the past half of year, I tried a little experiment with asking them to name one thing EVERY day that they did at school. For three month I got crumbles of salad and mutters of "everything". But, now both are happy to share something different like my toothless girl's singing robots or my son's report of taxidea taxus. See example below:
Won't do this everyday, or maybe in once a week but typing a few letters on these pages may slow my sprial into the abyss of become a corporate drone. Or a bar olympics semi-pro.
These people.
My people.
The Bar Olympics at Sundance Bowl
This is who I am.
Work hard, play harder, rinse, repeat, find a wheelchair (proverbial or not) if needed.
Day yesterday started at 4:14am according the muted blue glow of the alarm clock. It would end at 9:23pm due to sheer exhaustion which today my throat is telling me, "don't grab those 2 for 1 margaritas tonight at your sis-in-law's birthday dinner".
But, I'll ignore that.
One thing that has gotten me this far is time management, especially this quarter with a full four 4000 level classload. Bed before 9:30pm every night, only exception is Saturday and only then if work is done to a certain point. Playing with kids for at least an hour a night as getting sucked into social media can happen after they are tucked in. Help around the house as much as possible. As last night despite sending in a concerned customer service call to Comcast about value for what I'm paying (and getting double the amount of channels, internet speed/usage, and free phone for what I pay now), doing a load of laundry because my daughter's bladder is on par with the Bellagio fountain show as not knowing when those streams are going to leap after she is sent off to learn about magnets and singing robots.
Yes, daddy washed the "backup" pants so you return them to school.
Because daddy doesn't want to be an invisible figure anymore. Over the past half of year, I tried a little experiment with asking them to name one thing EVERY day that they did at school. For three month I got crumbles of salad and mutters of "everything". But, now both are happy to share something different like my toothless girl's singing robots or my son's report of taxidea taxus. See example below:
Won't do this everyday, or maybe in once a week but typing a few letters on these pages may slow my sprial into the abyss of become a corporate drone. Or a bar olympics semi-pro.
Monday, February 25, 2013
116 Days
Recently, I have never begging for normal more in the past two months than even my lowest of lows. If one’s life is past upon experience and stretching the outer reaches of emotions without breaking, I have pulled that rubber band back as far it will go for maximum sling. Or a sharp snap.
Work life, home life, parent life, social life, all-consuming with only brief interludes of silence, just enough to recharge the dead battery so the next step can be taken towards graduation. More work, more involved at home, being a dad instead of dude behind a laptop, and double-fisting Captain and Cokes because there’s no reason to sit on the sidelines anymore.
Be happy scares me more than sitting in a dark corner combing through the day, the week, the lifetime trying to find meaning when I can’t sleep because the constant re-evaluating of my life. Is going through this stressful time worth the college degree? What is my marriage going to look like afterwards? Will I continue to try to be a better dad/husband/friend/son? What is this receipt to SexWorld doing in my pocket?
People don’t understand you. They never will. There’s no book, no psych course, no spouse/friend/parent that will ever understand you and why you’re standing in front of a mirror at 5:13am half-naked with Crest with whitening power dribbling down the right side of your lips. However, they can help pull a person into a better state of mind. At least that’s what I tell myself daily, stop fucking with my own head, and just do. For years and even now, I still believe my disability is the reason why people treat me the way they do. As sort of a loyal dog that will never bite no matter how many times kids pull on its ears or forget to feed it.
Even at work where I do well enough to get praise, it seems fake, only patting my head “GOOD JOB BOY!” because I am an employee tax deduction due to my inability to shape noises into conversation. Just once I would like to kick the piss out of the cynic in me and throw him into the woodchipper ala Fargo. Just once I would like to hear “Excellent job on fixing that dispute!” instead of “I’m only saying this because I need more from you”.
That’s my problem.
Because I sit today 116 days from my unicorn, my Eleanor if you will. My daydreams of held back tears. My piece of paper that cost north of $46K and some priceless sanity to get. And while it will be a grand relief to get free time back, I will need to fill it because that cynic will have more time to think again and open its mouth wider than before.
Then again, I have all the people surrounding me that would tell that cynic to fuck off and buy me a drink to discuss why Taylor Swift should cross her legs more and stop whining about her boyfriends through multi-million dollar screeching. I hope to see those people again sooner than later.
Work life, home life, parent life, social life, all-consuming with only brief interludes of silence, just enough to recharge the dead battery so the next step can be taken towards graduation. More work, more involved at home, being a dad instead of dude behind a laptop, and double-fisting Captain and Cokes because there’s no reason to sit on the sidelines anymore.
Be happy scares me more than sitting in a dark corner combing through the day, the week, the lifetime trying to find meaning when I can’t sleep because the constant re-evaluating of my life. Is going through this stressful time worth the college degree? What is my marriage going to look like afterwards? Will I continue to try to be a better dad/husband/friend/son? What is this receipt to SexWorld doing in my pocket?
People don’t understand you. They never will. There’s no book, no psych course, no spouse/friend/parent that will ever understand you and why you’re standing in front of a mirror at 5:13am half-naked with Crest with whitening power dribbling down the right side of your lips. However, they can help pull a person into a better state of mind. At least that’s what I tell myself daily, stop fucking with my own head, and just do. For years and even now, I still believe my disability is the reason why people treat me the way they do. As sort of a loyal dog that will never bite no matter how many times kids pull on its ears or forget to feed it.
Even at work where I do well enough to get praise, it seems fake, only patting my head “GOOD JOB BOY!” because I am an employee tax deduction due to my inability to shape noises into conversation. Just once I would like to kick the piss out of the cynic in me and throw him into the woodchipper ala Fargo. Just once I would like to hear “Excellent job on fixing that dispute!” instead of “I’m only saying this because I need more from you”.
That’s my problem.
Because I sit today 116 days from my unicorn, my Eleanor if you will. My daydreams of held back tears. My piece of paper that cost north of $46K and some priceless sanity to get. And while it will be a grand relief to get free time back, I will need to fill it because that cynic will have more time to think again and open its mouth wider than before.
Then again, I have all the people surrounding me that would tell that cynic to fuck off and buy me a drink to discuss why Taylor Swift should cross her legs more and stop whining about her boyfriends through multi-million dollar screeching. I hope to see those people again sooner than later.
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