Archived Posts: January, 2006

Pretend that didn't happen
Brother played it to the best of his ability, and came up with some creative storylines for his character as we swam and rode bikes in the summer and were confined to the basement after school in colder seasons.

Jess and I always made fun of him for one thing. He’s often come up with crazy plots – his girlfriend loved him and he wanted to date someone else, so she shot him! Or, let’s say he was racing a friend in his super-cool car, and he drove off a cliff and died! Or, pretend that Steven left the burner on and it never lit (this after warnings from Dad on natural gas safety in our home) and the house exploded! And everyone was really hurt! Or dead!

Jess and I would look at each other, shake our heads and wait for his story to finish. He’d always take a moment after his exciting turn of events, look expectantly at our frowning faces, and realize that he had killed off any future adventures if he was, in fact, dead. So he’d quickly say

“No, no… Pretend that never happened.”

Slowly stumbling: adventures in heels
I started out 2 steps behind her – I lost her around a corner about half a block from my destination. She was at least 75 yards ahead of me at last sighting. My journey was marked by looks down to make sure I didn’t step in a hole, twist my ankle and fall. To judge distances more carefully since I was more unstable on the balls of my feet and a relatively thin heel. My steps were shorter, more careful and slow. I just wasn’t going very fast, and the farther away she got, the more frustrated I grew with my speed.

Stupid black shoes. I thought, scowling now when I looked down to check for obstacles. I tried to hurry my stride, but found I took smaller steps to compensate for the lack of stability. I tried to think of other strategies – was I walking funny? Should your toe or heel hit first? There had to be some optimum stride length/speed combination that could allow me to keep pace with Comfy Shoes Lady. Carrie Bradshaw can run in heels – I’ve seen Sex and the City! At least walk faster!! What is wrong with me?!

Chandler, the iPod
Little Chandler (that’s what I named him) immediately started flashing “Do not disconnect” with an angry looking red circle containing a forbidding line. “Oh…” I said to him, slightly concerned.

I next found the software CD, clearly saying “Install before plugging in iPod” or some such nonsense. Mildly worried, but largely undaunted, I quickly made use of the CD and was able to download some music from my laptop (whose name is Nick). Satisfied, I bundled little Chandler up in his case, carefully wound the cords, and set off for work.

The Beginning
I didn’t have a blog when I read the list, but I thought it was brilliant. If I ever start writing, I quickly decided, this is the guide I’ll use. I think he said things like you should write because you want to – sometimes you have something to say, sometimes you just write to write. You should update regularly because when people try to become regular readers and can’t find any new posts, they’ll find someone who’s putting more time in their project. You should try to edit – spell correctly, make some attempt at using proper punctuation, create some sort of flow so that your point is made in a reasonable manner. When you’re ready to start attracting some traffic, make comments on blogs that are interesting – that somehow inspire someone to take a moment and read more of what you’ve written. And when the traffic arrives (as it might be doing here), keep improving. Do what you do, and keep getting better.

Sleep, or lack thereof
My commute was made largely in a drowsy haze. There was a surprisingly high level of traffic at what I felt was an uncommon pre-dawn hour to head to work. I wondered briefly if they were always up or if, like me, they had something unusual happening today. If they were rubbing their eyes and blinking rapidly to try to focus on driving, hoping others were more awake and aware so that we wouldn’t run into each other in our pricey cars.

I made it up to my spot in the parking structure in less than half the time it normally takes. Few people were parked, and I was able to circumvent the full loop that elevates me through the building. Zipping around corners that normally caused me to pause and look for other drivers made me smile, and Chandler had finally taken my hint and was finding some peppy music to play on shuffle. The slow songs were too tempting – seducing me to drift into a deeper relaxation that I could see easing me into sleep.

Self sabotage
I create massive amounts of stress for myself. There are a number of people who would tell you I’m quite high-strung, and tend toward the melodramatic. I used to argue – spent an evening trying to make a guy miserable in grad school that dared tell me I was a bit high maintenance. I think I proved his point, and though we laughed about it later – kissing and making up quite nicely – it remains an important realization for me. He helped me know myself better, and I ended up retreating from eyes that saw too much and lips that weren’t afraid to confront me with some basic truths about my character.

It's all about the ego.
We’re all picking our battles, engaging in our craving for dominance. Sometimes we lose, only to unleash our ego on someone we believe to be inferior. The problem with us inferiors? We’re trained in this environment too – watching the barbs delivered with sly smiles and looks around at the pack. Drawing back from screaming matches when neither party will withdraw. Pushing through the crowds of people to get to the front will sometimes get you hurt, and I’m often content to be swept away in the middle, following along, but retaining my place more than trying to overtake those ahead.

It's a secret...
Somehow I doubt the review committee would be amused, so I'll limit my hidden lock box idea to my blog.

Missy, It and Me
“Why aren’t you playing?” She asked me, waving Richard away.

“I think it’s mean.” I told her, starting off aggressively, though I now realize it was a poor way to begin. “He doesn’t have boogers or blood on his hands! You wouldn’t like it if someone said that about you. So I don’t want to play your mean game.” Then I walked to the swings, lost in my own thoughts of righteousness.

Missy, redux
Say: I loved my time in grad school. I worked with incredible people and learned so much!
Mean: I would have gnawed my arm off to escape that place. The people were great sometimes, but at others impersonated minions of evil to a terrifying degree.

Say: I felt there were a range of strengths present in my research group and was lucky to be able to learn and teach with such balance.
Mean: I was by turns ignored and humored by the talented ones, and taken advantage of by the weaker ones. At times, I despised each of them.

Say: I have a great deal of respect for my committee.
Mean: But they screwed me over unexpectedly and I’m still reeling from the loss of confidence that resulted.

Skeptism...not so much
Sometimes it's nice to let go of the questions and just accept the entertainment, information and joy.

I have a cold.
But, alas, all I seem to be doing for that part of my brain that makes me excited, productive and busy? Pissing it off. I’m tired of writing! I can’t think of stories! It responds when I consider composing new posts. I continue to start writing, but fizzle when I reach the middle, letting half-finished documents settle on the screen of my laptop.

Random - illness, heating, surgeries and fate
“Good morning.” I murmur with a quick smile before turning my gaze back to the numbers above the doors. Unless I leave the elevator first and hold the door for her to catch as we exit the building, my interaction with this woman is over.

“It’s not such a good morning for me.” She drawls with a shake of her long hair. “I’m still getting over my cold, and you know I’ve had it for 2 weeks now!”

Well, no, I didn’t know that. Does she think we’ve met? While I don’t remember all their names, I do recognize the people I worked with so far. And I’m positive that I don’t know this woman.

Timid music recommendation
“You have all these categories,” she started to rant. “Classical, Jazz, even Country!” She was gesturing wildly toward the signs perched atop the shelves and starting to get loud. Having known her for 3 years at this point, I simply smiled and looked around apologetically – she didn’t embarrass me as much as she once had, but I was still conscious of the reactions to her speaking volume.

“And…?” I said, eyebrows raised, waiting for some spark of the profound or absurd. I never knew which.

“Well, the biggest section is Popular.” She said, motioning to the signs that dotted the area in which I stood. “That’s not a type of music! When someone says ‘What kind of music do you like?’ do you really want to say ‘I only like stuff that everyone else likes.’?”


Some minor revisions
But as soon as some of you started to arrive, I took note. I keep a spreadsheet of visitor locations and my document has 2 tabs. One is for first-time visitors and it is vastly larger than the second. The next page are repeat visitors - some only twice, some almost every day. Every time I move a city over to my repeat page, I smile. I love having someone come back.

Under pressure, useless part 1
“Come here! Get up!” The voice insisted.

“Why?” I said meekly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You need to see something. Get up.”

“Go away.” I responded, slightly louder as I continued to wake, but still peeking out from behind my comforter.

“What?”

“You go away, and then I’ll get up.” Determined to hang on to my only protection – my fluffy blanket – I didn’t want to leave my bed for some reason. I couldn’t clear the sleep from my mind – confused, afraid, and not doing anything to help myself. I just wanted to be left alone.

He sighed and walked from the room. I felt my muscles tense further, readying for some sort of evasive maneuver now that I had been given the chance for escape. I looked around, noting the complete darkness and finding it strange. My apartment in grad school was located on the ground floor by a well-lit parking lot. Where was I?

Under pressure, useless part 2
It took me a moment to decide that someone was knocking somewhere down the hall. Feeling safer, I opened the door and poked my head out. I looked left, seeing Dave still sleeping soundly. Scowling over his lack of awareness, I walked to the door. Opening it seemed risky, but I was brave enough to rise up on my tip-toes and use the peep hole. I couldn’t see anything, regardless of how I oriented my head.

Then the shouting started, and my fear propelled me away from the peep hole. I found myself with my head against the inside of locked bathroom door, trying to listen while remaining safe.

“OPEN THE DOOR!” My eyes got big.

The pounding continued until I heard a crash. Did he get in the room he wanted? Increasingly afraid, I sat back down on the toilet lid and listened, hugging myself and shivering a bit.

Beauty, many forms of
Regardless, I feel like I did with the jellyfish. I'm standing in the left corner of the original photo, close to the glass, face upturned in a thoughtful expression, a bit awed, a bit confused. I was embarrassed the first time I saw the picture M had taken. Now, I like it - the thought of being outside of my own thoughts, stretching myself to understand something that's not completely clear to me. Finding some sort of profound beauty in the unexpected.

Under pressure: useless part 3
“No, Grandma, it’s OK. I think they’re gone.”

“I’ll just stay on the phone until you’re sure. Just stay in Brother’s room for a few minutes.”

I agreed and we sat in silence. I had one hand in Brother’s and the other wrapped around the phone as we all sat quietly.

“They’re knocking at the back door.” I suddenly informed Grandma. They were on the patio behind the house, over the fence and very close to Brother’s window.

“Is the door locked?” Grandma asked again, sounding terrified.

Baa
I’m a shy sheep.

When I picture the bright green hill, full of grass to eat, sheep to play with, and trees under which to nap, I’m often off by myself. Nibbling on grass in an out of the way area – not wanting to intrude on parts of the meadow that belong to the other sheep.

I look over my white wooly shoulder at the groups of sheep, wondering what they’re talking about. Sometimes there are groups with brighter wool who are pawing the ground angrily as they glare at the sheep with better hooves. Differing ideas, often trivial, can ruin a flock. I roll my eyes as they fight over the best way to line up to get in the barn.

I like being alone with my thoughts. I smile at the lambs as they play, learning about their world, gathered around the shepherd and hearing simple stories. I let their soft bleats blend into the background when the shepherd speaks – still trying to learn myself.

I like gatherings. It makes me feel a part of the flock. Huddled into straight rows, singing together, standing and sitting in unison, bowing our heads, thinking about the greater good.

But after it’s over? I eagerly return to my sheepy solitude, finding an empty part of the hill where I can think and rest. I’ll stand in line to greet the shepherd personally after church, but I won’t hold up the other sheep as we file out into the sunshine. So I knew that I could go to church for years and never introduce myself.

Privacy in public
We went home to questions from our moms. Mandy played dumb.

I told everything.

It was too good! I wasn’t able to keep it to myself. I’m ashamed of myself now, not so much for telling, but for the reasons behind it. I was not motivated to protect her from pregnancy or disease, rather I really wanted to share the stories and have a chance to gossip with my mom. She didn’t indulge me, and soon Mandy’s visits to Derrick were curtailed, and she told me stories of how she was grounded and not able to talk to anyone but me on the phone.

From the Sent folder
OK, honestly. Would it be impolite to just write out a stream of profanity across the little email screen?

How the f*&% to you change to a tcsh permanently?! If I type it in, [other software] opens fine. But I can't alter my cshs because I don't know how! And once I'm in, it won't let me out! So I have to quit X11 completely!

And why can't anything have a name?! Why must we use a bunch of letters? Like tcsh = Barney. cshs = Fred. That way I can at least remember Flintstones characters rather than continuing to look back at references to remember the freaking letters.

The good news is I can make [other software] work. The bad news is it's cumbersome and I know it shouldn't be!

Haven't even tried [software] again yet. I'm afraid I'll lose the feeble grip I have left on sanity.

Homesick
But I stopped at the grocery store this morning to get treats to take to work (because I’m nice like that), and there was a grandmother standing with a blonde little angel in front of me. She interrupted the cashier to ask where the pacifiers were kept.

Then she shuffled slowly by with her granddaughter as she toddled unsteadily toward the correct aisle.

They returned before the woman in front of me was done writing her check, and the little girl was starting to fuss. After picking the toddler up, her grandma opened the package and gave her the pacifier, which she promptly placed in her mouth.

Quietly whimpering, she rested her head on her grandma’s shoulder as I watched with a smile.

“Go ahead.” I motioned, sensing the pair was growing tired.

The grandma demurred, but I insisted. “I’m not in a hurry. Really. Please go ahead.”

They scooted around me and handed the package to the cashier. After another smile in my direction, they headed out to the parking lot.

Limits
I wasn’t looking at the TV when the shuttle exploded. I remember hearing the teachers gasp. Looking up at the television and not understanding what had gone wrong. Turning my questioning stare to my teacher, young and full of possibilities herself and seeing her face whiten and pupils constrict with shock. Tears rushed to my eyes as I watched the line of women desperately try to gain composure, naively sure there was some explanation and a way for everything to be OK again.

“Turn it off.” One of the second grade teachers finally said. Nearing retirement, I wasn’t nearly as fond of her. She sharply called 2 other teachers as she headed to the nearest television. “They don’t need to see this. Turn it off!”

PSA: iPod, red circles and such
So when you're finished with your iTunes activities, you'll want to find your iPod's name in the left source portion of the screen and push the little eject icon located right next to it. Then wait a couple seconds and the red circle goes away and you can unplug your iPod happily.

Found it!
After 30 minutes, I gave up, sure that Dad would find it. He’s like a bloodhound – never tiring, continuing to look until whatever was lost is now found.

He came into the living room, exasperated. “We need to be more careful with that, you know. It’s not just bonds – all our important documents are in there!”

Mom and I didn’t respond – it’s best to just let him talk as he continues his search. Our comments wouldn’t be welcome as we curled up on the blue armchairs and watched him standing in the doorway, hands on his hips.

“Someone probably broke in and took it.” He called as he went back down the hall. I couldn’t resist saying something then.

“Dad? Someone came in and left everything else? But took the fire safe? Without the key that we already found?”

He stomped back up the hall moments later, flushed from crawling under beds and moving boxes in closets.

“They could have! Burglars look for safes! And that one had a handle!”

With a glare, he headed back to the bedrooms to look.

Mom and I dissolved into giggles, our soft laughter stifled only when he returned. He was carrying the safe – found in Brother’s closet behind some of his hockey trophies.

“Dad! The burglars brought it back!” I cheered. He wasn’t amused.

Dad: work and solutions
“So how would you fill this up?”

“I’d use some sort of squirting device. Do you have an eye dropper, only bigger?”

“Like a syringe?!”

“Sort of. But bigger.”

“No, I need a syringe! The hole is really small – a needle would be about right! Where do I get one of those?”

“I was thinking more like a turkey sucker. That thing your mom uses that moves the turkey gravy around? Something big.”

“No, the sphere only holds about a liter of solution. So something small would work. Even an eye dropper, though it would take forever.”

“Yeah, but you’re right. It would probably work.”

“Where would I get one? Wal-Mart? Would CVS have one?”

“Probably. Like in the medicine section. We have one for the little one. For liquid medicines.”

Camden, redux (with a different ending than I'd planned)
So I’m walking down the hall and I reach the cafeteria. In short, it confuses me. I can’t remember which door I passed first on my last trip back to my office – the main cafeteria or snack shop. Maybe I should go up a floor. I think the hospital is built on a hill, so perhaps I’m down a level too far.

So I take the elevator up. Then I start to walk again. I see a sign that I think might be in the right direction, so I head that way. Then I stop and look around. It doesn’t feel right. So I turn around and head the other way.

Reaching a window, I look outside and, startled, realize I’m almost back at my office. I’ve circled around completely.

So I go outside, and find another entrance and start to head in the right direction. Once again, I feel like going up a floor would help me out. So I’m again on an elevator. I exit and wander to a window, check my position and head in the right direction. I end up in another section of the hospital and wonder how the hell this building snakes around so viciously. I see some nurses, but wary of embarrassment, I turn around head back in the other direction. I end up back at the elevator, feeling discouraged and pitiful.

Back outside once again, I see the sign for my building and scurry toward it in the misty rain. I find a rear entrance and take an elevator to the appropriate floor. This time, getting lost pays off. I’ve wandered the floor extensively in the past, earnestly looking for the conference room. So I quickly ascertain my position, find my way, take a seat and relax into someone else’s words and ideas.

It is with significant energy and determination that I resolve to make my way through the hospital back to my office. I remember taking one particular hallway on a previous day, so I started out in that direction. Looking around, focused on memorizing landmarks, I realize everything looks familiar. I continue to walk straight down a single hallway, make a turn near the end, and exit the door I originally entered that morning.