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originally published on October 31, 2007
originally published on October 29, 2007
Saturday morning The Wife™ and I had optometrist appointments because she is blind I’m, well, I’m just plain dumb. I hadn’t had my eyes checked in over eight years yet recently have found myself sitting so close to my gigantic monitor at work that I can count individual pixels. So yea, you could say it was about time I get that looked at.
Going into it I was totally freaked out. Eyes are a big deal to me. I’m idiotically proud of the fact that I have better than 20/20 vision and in a room of twenty people I’m usually the only one without glasses or contacts. My eyesight is precious to me, and I was really dreading having some douchebag with an MD tell me that I needed to join the rank and file of those with visual assistance. ‘Cuz you know an optometrist doesn’t wear glasses. Smug bastards.
Little did I know that when you go to the eye doctor, it’s akin to stepping back in time, into a historical vortex if you will, that drops you back into the Middle Ages. Contraptions and whizzgigs with metal prongs sticking up everywhere. Head braces and chin rests galore. A veritable torture museum I tell you. And this one machine? Yea, they’re all like “put your eye right up to it, it’ll be fine!” and then they’re all like, BAM! TAKE THIS CONCENTRATED AIR INTO YOUR EYEBALL. Hello? What the hell is that? I was *this* close to walking out after that deal breaker.
Anyway, after they poured hydrochloric acid into my eyeballs gave me eye drops to dilate my pupils, they sent me back to the waiting room for 15 minutes. The Wife™ was off getting her coke bottles adjusted so I passed the time by gazing out the windows, focusing on things far away. And when I happened to look down to my watch, I realized that this bastard doctor had pulled a fast one on me and caused me to go blind. I had a mini freak-out, you could say. My vision was gone. I couldn’t see a damned thing, except excessive blurriness. I was convinced that this douchebag with and MD had screwed up and given me battery acid the wrong drops and that this time, I actually was going to be blinded for life.
And then I remembered that he said things might be a tad bit fuzzy for a few hours. A shame he didn’t qualify “tad bit fuzzy” as being “equivalent to smearing Vaseline on your eyeballs.”
So I calmed down, knowing I hadn’t lost my precious gift of sight. He eventually told me that I could have glasses if I wanted them, with a whopping 0.25 prescription. The Wife™ and I checked out and on the walk to the car she confided that they must have put her contacts in wrong.
“Why? Do you need to go back in?”
“No, it’s fine. I just can’t really see.”
“Um, you know your eyes are supposed to be fuzzy, right? From the drops?”
“Really? They didn’t tell me that. I’ve been coming here for years and they’ve never told me that! I thought I was going blind for some reason.”
[silence]
“Duh! What kind of moron would think that they were going blind? Talk about being overly-dramatic. Sheesh, you women…”
And so my self-righteous indignation and I drove off, narrowing avoiding hitting every car on the way home.
originally published on October 26, 2007
originally published on October 25, 2007
Until my head the weather clears, and until I get over this snit or little crisis that I’m having, I suppose I’ll just post whatever I feel like, whenever I feel like it. Deal? Hope you’ll stick with me.
On a really boring rather unrelated note, I was pleasantly surprised by something yesterday. My first beer, an amber ale of standard fashion, apparently has finally turned a corner. I had all but given up on it being a shareable beer, one that I would gladly hand to a friend or house guest. From the get-go it was plagued with chill haze (cloudiness) due to unfiltered, suspended yeast and some bottles had a slight off-taste.
Now, however, most of the glaring imperfections have vanished, or at least faded enough to the background that they’re acceptable. So perhaps the lesson this week is that some things, despite their seeming state hopelessness, eventually come into their own.
I guess I have more to learn about patience and hope than I originally feared.
originally published on October 22, 2007
Perhaps it’s time to shut it down. The doubts and uncertainties have been slowly collecting with the cobwebs over the past few months, and maybe it’s due time to give in to them, submit and tear down the tent.
Reading through what I’ve written here over the past four years, I realize that there’s little to be proud of. Mindless toiling. Lazy reflection. Pointless rambling. There might be only one piece that I think was halfway decent in how it managed to capture my intentions.
So the site will likely continue to sputter and stall, and while I may consider trying to jump-start it again, I fear it’s time to put her to pasture. It was never what I thought it was, never what I hoped it could become. It should have been more than this verbose, shameful hack.
originally published on October 19, 2007
originally published on October 15, 2007
It’s 1:27 in the morning and I’m sitting at a stoplight at the corner of Lewis and Sterns in Temperance, Michigan. The defroster is doing little to erase the injury that my weary sighs leave on the windshield. It’s 1:27 in the morning and I’m suddenly all-too-aware of just how cold it is outside and how lonely it is in my car. I wasn’t prepared for either.
Thirty-six hours before, I was at home in Kentucky, surrounded by my wife and dog, the two constant familiars in my life, unaffected by either loneliness or cold. But now, as this sadly unneeded stoplight flips from red to green and my car begrudgingly rolls forward, I can’t shake one or the other, despite my best efforts.
You never realize just how much you’ve come to depend on a person until they’re not there. When you are married, you’re granted more than a piece of paper and a new title, you’re given a partner that, for the better part of the next however many years, will always be with you, sharing the same experiences. Situations that in your previously single life used to be awkward are now a bit easier. Tasks and duties that before had seemed harder now exist as a shared load. Once you’re married you’ll slowly start to complain about how marriage has purged your life of certain single luxuries, but you won’t even recognize that The Shift has taken place. And suddenly, standing in a room full of people devoid of familiar faces, you’ll turn only to find that you truly are alone. Your constant partner of the past however many years is not there to share this uneasiness or efface the aching self-consciousness that is settling in. For the first time in years, you’ll realize just how much you’ve come to rely on another human being, despite proclamations of being self-sufficient and independent. For the first time in years, you’ll want to cry.
To my friends who were married this past weekend, please never forget this: as much as the proverbial road may bend and turn overgrown with obstacles insurmountable, you’ll always have a partner traveling with you, walking by your side and facing the same challenges. And to my beautiful wife who agreed to marry me two years ago today, thank you for being that person who’s always at my side. I never knew just how much I love and depend on you every single day.
originally published on October 12, 2007
originally published on October 10, 2007
That Jillian from “The Biggest Loser” needs to eat a cupcake and chill the eff out.
Yes, that’s really all I’ve got.
originally published on October 05, 2007
originally published on October 03, 2007
For someone who trusts deeply in the power of self-change, finally coming to terms with those parts of your being that are uniquely you and unable to be altered…that is a very difficult thing to swallow.
In our household, The Wife™ and I could not be any more opposed on the topic of change. Her approach to life is decidedly static, that people are born a certain way and every little thing they do is merely a reflection of “who they are.” Are you a bad communicator? That’s just how you are, people need to learn to accept it. Are you a poor listener? That’s a shame, but hey, that’s who you are, right? Myself, on the other hand, I presume that there is very little of “who we are” that cannot or should not be changed. I take a reductionist approach yet also really believe that perfecting the rougher edges of who we are is one of the highest pursuits we can strive for. Bad communicator? By working on that you can be much better, and learn a ton about yourself! Suck at listening? Try hard and I promise it’ll get better! The entire thing is hilarious to me, because in the relationship I’m totally the Eeyore, the eternal pessimist and she plays the grand optimist.
Sure, with her approach, life has little hope for getting better if you don’t like parts of your personality. But the problem with my viewpoint is that there are certain, fundamental portions of who you are that might not be able to be overcome with hard work or continual self-discovery. Though few and far between, tripping over these personality roadblocks while rushing headlong towards Changing leaves knees bloody and egos bruised. This past weekend was one of those unfortunate pratfalls.
There are things that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to change. I think it’s how I’m wired, thanks to my parents. It frustrates me to know that I don’t have the knowledge to deprogram myself, or to recognize if that is even possible. I suppose the best thing to do is to come to accept these flaws, conceding and throwing up the “this really is who I am” flag. I can try to minimize the effects, diminish the impact on others and learn to come to grips with it myself.
Humble acceptance with a hopeful eye towards a personal miracle. I’ve got nothing else to try.
I once slid on a piece of cardboard and embedded a packing staple in my knee. I never took it out, so the skin just grew over it.