Constructive Thoughts: Loneliness

It has been four years since my father passed away. About six months before that happened, I began suffering from what I now know to be depression. It has waxed and waned during that time, never getting to a point I would call “crippling.”

Until three years ago. At that time I went through a period of unbelievable stress and trials, both personally and professionally, as I started up my own small law firm. At about the same time, I began suffering from some medical issues that, among other things, enhanced my depression and affected my thinking processes, making it take longer--and be more physically exhausting--to make decisions. Coincidentally, a close friend of mine bought out his senior partner about 20 months ago and he learned nothing from my plight: he burned out his adrenal system and has been going through a living hell.

The depression has been growing steadily worse. Some days it is nearly crippling, to the point where it is difficult to get out of bed, shower, get to the office--everything that is temporally important in life.

It's NaNoWriMo Time Again!

Well, it is that time again, the time when my pencil sharpener earns its worth and I run through fountain pen ink like water. I have a stack of paper at my office desk and pocket notebooks proliferate my suit, jeans, and pajamas.

What time is it boys and girls? It's NaNoWriMo time again!

What is NaNoWriMo, you ask?

National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. ... The ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

This will be my seventh year; I have won each of the last three years. And I have been dreading this day since December 1, 2010.

No, seriously. I dread November like the coming plague. But this year it is even worse than usual. I have no ideas for plot, character, or even genre. I am hoping some kind of inspiration strikes in the next 10 hours, because if not.... Well, let us just say that it will be an EXTREMELY long month.

Wish me luck. I will most likely be quite absent for a while, but then I suppose you are all quite used to that. I will try and keep you up to date on my progress, but I cannot guarantee anything at this point. After all, every ounce of writing, typing, or creative output has to be focused on THE NOVEL.

[SIGH]

Want to join me? Head on over to www.nanowrimo.org and register.

Constructive Thoughts: Dad, Part 2

I wish today to celebrate with my family and friends the life of my father: our brother, granddad, and friend. I tried desperately to find a quotation from Dad’s favorite author, Louis L’Amour, but nothing seemed to fit–everything was filled with flying lead and oats. So I went to one of his other favorite authors, Victor Hugo, who wrote that “There are times that no matter the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.” The past few weeks have been full of those times for me and my family. On behalf of my mother and all of our family let me again express our gratitude for the love you had for our father and for the outpouring of love and respect we have seen.

Father’s Day was difficult for me, my brothers, and my mother this year. But what better time to be able to remember what Dad meant to us? What a fitting time to celebrate his life and memory? And what a great time to consider the fact that he has gone ahead to prepare the way for us, and the fact that we will see him again? That our separation will be, in the grand scheme of things, only a little while. How wonderful is the thought that my children can embrace him once again, that we can sit at his feet and listen to his stories? That we can be together, forever, as a famliy?

And this is possible because nearly a millennium ago, an individual knelt in a garden and prayed to his Father. He was known as the “Carpenter’s son,” yet he was the Son of God. It was there, in that garden, that he took upon himself the sins of all mankind, the sins of all the world, both past, present, and future. It was an event that had been foretold by prophets throughout history.

It was there in that garden that night, as he bled from every pore, that Christ, “The Son of Man . . . descended below . . . all.” [D&C 122:8]
This was “the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.” [Leviticus 17:11]
“Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” [John 1:29]
“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows . . . he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities . . . and with his stripes we are healed.” [Isaiah 53:4-5]
“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” [Isaiah 53:3]
“God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” [John 3:16]

The agony he suffered in that garden is unfathomable to us, both in intensity and in cause. But the gift that he gave us through that suffering is also marvelous, magnificent. On that night, Jesus shouldered the burdens of all of our transgressions -— my transgressions and your transgressions. I added to his anguish that night, as did each one of us. But he picked up that burden and took it upon himself so that a price would be paid. That price was paid so that I might escape, and so that you might escape, the required punishments that correspond to our sins. The scriptures tell us that the gift is ours if we but believe in him, accept his gift, repent and be baptized, receive the gift of the holy ghost, and to continue faithfully to observe and keep the commandments all the days of our lives. Christ gifted us with salvation from spiritual death, which grants us eternal life with our heavenly father.

Many years ago, a newspaper writer was asked, “What would be the most important news story the world could receive?” Think about how you would answer that question: would it be the development of the atomic bomb? Man walking on the moon? The death of a (fill in the blank) celebrity? The assassination of a president? After some thought the reporter finally answered that the most important story he could report would be that a man that had lived and died had come back to life; and specifically that Jesus Christ was truly resurrected and lives today.

No event in all history compares to the importance of the resurrection of Christ. Because of this gift all mankind will come forth, each in his own order. We will live eternally. We will be resurrected and overcome physical death.

Isn’t this a joyous, glorious message? It means that we will one day be reunited with Dad. I bear you my testimony that this Gospel principle is true; the Atonement is real — Christ has given us gifts that will liberate our spirit and our body from the bonds of death and allow us to live in God’s presence forever.

We are understandably sad. We have lost a loved one. I should restate that; I do not like that phrase. We have not “lost” Dad —- We know exactly where he is. He is with his loving parents, grandparents, and in-laws, his brothers and his close friends that preceded him from this earth. The list goes on and on. To paraphrase David O. McKay, a former President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints: “[Our father] closed [his] eyes in peaceful slumber, and awakened with loved ones.” While no one mortal was with him when he passed from this life, the speed with which the event happened, and how he looked afterwards attests to the fact that his last minutes were indeed peaceful; it was indeed as if he was only sleeping when his spirit left this world. His pain and suffering were removed from him.

It has been written that “Death is the liberator of him whom freedom cannot release; the physician of him whom medicine cannot cure; the comforter of him whom time cannot console.” [Charles Caleb Colton] Dad has been liberated. He is happy. He is youthful, and joyful once again, just as he was before the travails of mortal life began to take him away from us. We know where he is and we rejoice in who he is once more.

Yet we are filled with sorrow. Our sorrow is understandable, it is human: it is sorrow for us, not for him. Speaking for myself, as I have elsewhere here, it is a sorrow born of selfishness. In spite of knowing where he is and who he is with, I still want him back as a part of my everyday life. Dad is no longer physically present to talk to, to listen to our stories and concerns. We can no longer hear his stories, get his advice, or see or hear, except in our hearts and minds, his smile and his laugh. We can no longer go to him for advice and we can no longer learn from him skills such as woodworking. I cannot call him during a college football game and complain about a referee’s call or rave about an amazing play. These are the things that I am sorrowful for — the things that I have lost.

When I consider this, and think about the precepts of Christ’s gospel and turn my thoughts from an inward focus to an outward focus, when I consider these things and think about where dad is and who he is with, not to mention the fact that we will see him again in time, then my sorrow is lessened and the pain eases. He has graduated from the test of mortality to an institution of higher learning.

It is a change of attitude that is required. Anyone that knew Dad well knew that attitude was an important concept to him. It was something that he tried with his sons at an early age to instill: “ATTITUDE MAKES THE DIFFERENCE.” He was forever reminding us of this principle. Growing up, one of the most oft-heard phrases in the home was my father telling one us to “CHECK YOUR ATTITUDE!” It was his way of telling us to shape up. Eventually it got to just simply “CHECK IT!” That was one of those times you knew you were in trouble.

In my scriptures I still carry a laminated card that I made on my mission that reads “AMTD” — an acronym that Dad used when even “Check it!” didn’t work. “Attitude makes the difference.” My friends, to all who knew Dad: “Check your attitude.” Do not dwell on the sorrow, do not dwell on the pain. Negative attitudes are of the Adversary. Remember instead a man who very patiently, hour after hour, threw a baseball to his youngest son in the front yard -— a son who was somehow completely incompetent and inept in the handling of a baseball glove. Remember a man who learned to fly a plane, who flew around the world, while sitting with his brother on a log in a meadow in Southern Idaho. Remember a man who never failed to bring home from a business trip some treat for his youngest son, whether it be a Matchbox car or a bag of airline peanuts, even though that son fairly quickly realized that -— more than likely -— most of those treats were sent with him by my mother. Remember a man who always came home. Remember a man who did all he could to find work to support his family, while not allowing his family to suffer or, at least in my case, to even know that the family was struggling. Remember a man who grabbed every task set before him and performed it to the utmost of his ability, whether it was working, woodworking, whether it was supporting the University, or whether it was teaching the Gospel and sharing his testimony of the Lord. Remember a man who labored faithfully in the Temple of the Lord each week, even when his own physical health was declining, who begged to be allowed to serve the Lord, even when he physically could no longer do it. Remember a man who freely shared his testimony of the Savior to anyone that would hear it. Remember a man who walked ready and unafraid to the veil which separates this world from the next.

Most importantly, remember a man that is now free from pain and free forever from the specter of Death. The poet John Donne penned these fitting words, “One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!” Because of our Savior’s gifts to us, our beloved father, brother, granddad, and friend yet lives, in a higher place. Because of our Savior’s gifts, we can be assured of seeing him again one day; we can embrace him as he one day meets us on the other side of mortality.

I want to leave you today with the words of Norman Macleod:

We picture death as coming to destroy; let us rather picture Christ as coming to save.
We think of death as ending; let us rather think of life as beginning, and that more abundantly.
We think of losing; let us think of gaining.
We think of parting, let us think of meeting.
We think of going away; let us think of arriving.
As the voice of Death whispers “You must go from Earth,” let us hear the voice of Christ saying, “You are but coming to me!”

“Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” [John 8:12] “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” [John 14:27]

Dad still lives and we shall see him once again, in a better place. I know this for a fact. May we, each one of us, feel within us the peace that the Savior promised, and may our attitudes reflect joy and peace. This is my prayer for all of us who knew Dad. I leave this with all of you -- whether you knew Dad or not -- along with my testimony of these things, in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Crisis of Faith

A crisis of faith?

Perhaps that is the wrong description. Call it more of a crisis of belief? I am sure that I could come up with something more clever and apropos this morning, but I am simply not in the mood. I simply do not feel creative.

I have decided I am done with the practice of law.

Unfortunately, the existence of my LW and the Horde kind of make the practical desertion from the practice...um, unpracticable.

But my heart is no longer in it. At all.

It is not just the practice of consumer bankruptcy, although I think that has a lot to do with it. I have tried for years to salve my discontent with the answer that I am helping people, doing good for people's lives, and so forth. But I cannot use that excuse any longer.

There are just too many people that come in and want to abuse and play the system.

There are too many people who come in, after having dug themselves into an insurmountable hole, and then blame you for their trials and troubles.

There are too many people unwilling to take responsibility for their own actions.

There are too many people willing to lie to you, their attorney, simply because they think that it will turn out better for them in the end.

And there are just too few people willing to give a simple "thank you."

Not to mention the lousy pay.

Need I go on?

A friend proposed that what I am feeling is nothing more than a simple mid-life crisis. I do not believe that to be the case. I do not wish to buy a sports car, or a boat, or have an extramarital affair. I do not wish to go back to school, or open my own business, or take up sky diving, or any of the myriad of usual things men do when undergoing a mid-life crisis.

I simply want to take my LW and the Horde, load up the Ford, stock up the trailer, and drive off into the mountains. You know, find a little meadow somewhere and just BE.

I simply want to be left alone.

I want to not worry through the night about THAT client: the one who comes forward mid-case to give you a case-destroying piece of information that they "forgot"; the one that blames you for all of the post-filing pay-day loans she took out; the one who somehow sees it as your responsibility that they have not paid their mortgage(s) in seven months but could afford the trip to Disneyland; the one for whom the office buys a Thanksgiving dinner who later tells the Court she has no idea who you are.

The other day, I had a client thank me for helping themn get back on their feet, relieving their stress, getting them in a frame of mind where they could work and be productive again, and basically crediting me for all the recent good in their lives. It made me feel really good.

The warm fuzzies lasted about an hour.

Until another client called to accuse me of falsifying numbers in his case, numbers calculated by a formula that Congress, the Justice Department, the Courts, and the Chapter 13 Trustees have all developed and forced upon me. I did that; It's MY fault that she had overtime for the past two years and, despite that fact, the overtime is not guaranteed and somehow should not be calculated into her anticipated gross income.

For every one appreciative client, for every client whose life you actually touch for the better, for every client that understands that you are helping them out of a hole of (typically) their own creation, for every "good" client I am inundated with at least 99 more that are lying, unfeeling, uncaring, abusive cretins.

Oddly, it is not the confrontation with opposing attorneys; there is very little of that in our tiny little section of the Bar. It is the confrontation with our own clients that has driven me to detest the very practice of the Law, driven me to taste bile at the thought of my office, and to cause near-physical pain at the idea of getting up in the morning and facing the day.

It is a practice that drains your emotions, that drains your Spirituality, that drains your spirit, and that drains your love for practically anything else in your life.

It is a practice that wads up your creativity and tosses it in the toilet, that causes your Muse to turn her back on you in disgust, that causes food to taste like sawdust, music to sound like noise, and simple, peaceful quiet to become deafening.

It is a practice that causes you to vent your frustrations--at other drivers on the road, at your family, at your friends, and at your employees. It is a practice that literally made me weep as I drove to the office this morning.

Believe me, if there was anything else I could do that would provide sufficient financial support for my LW and the Horde, I would be there in a heartbeat. I probably would only stop to fill one box with possessions; the rest of my office space can just go hang. But I have to be an adult about this: someone once said that you are not supposed to enjoy what you do everyday--that is why it is called "work." Well, I do not enjoy what I do everyday; I cannot fool myself any longer.

I am done.

But I am still here.

NaNoWriMo 2010

Yes.

It is that time of year again.

Just when I was starting to get in the blog-writing mode again, here comes NaNoWriMo. Like a Universal conspiracy, here comes NaNoWriMo to torpedo my blog again.

I am really starting to dread November and hate it when it is here.

And it is here.

"Why do it?" I hear you ask.

Because. Because of the feeling you get when you finish. I have heard it described as a massive bowel movement following a month of painful constipation. (Actually, I have only heard it described that way from my own two lips.)

You are welcome for that imagery. And at no extra charge, either.

As painful as it is, there is still a feeling of pride and accomplishment when 12:01 December 1 rolls around and you look and see a document with 50,000+ words that did not exist 30 days ago.

I think it may be as close as I come in this lifetime to actually going through labor and giving birth.

At least, I hope it is as close as I come.

We Did It!

At 10:30 p.m. Monday it was official!

Myself, my LW, and three of the Horde all reached our NaNoWriMo goals. Between us there were over 136,000 words of fiction written in our little home over the past 30 days. That's over 4,500 words per day.

That is a lot of writing, typing, and creative energy.

There was some real garbage put out (at least on my part) but there was some really brilliant writing put out too (that would be my LW and the Hordelings).

There were dwarves, elves, and dragons. There were some detectives, some spaceships, and a little time travel thrown in. There was teenage angst and middle-aged regret. There was even some introspection done. There was definitely pain: mental, emotional, and physical. If I am not mistaken, there was also a visit from Yoda and a few other Star Wars characters.

Congratulations to my family! I am so proud of all of you!

...and somewhat relieved that November is over for another 11 months.

Literary U-Turn

Well, it happened.

I hate my characters and my novel.

I hate them enough that I am dropping it like a hot potato.

That's right. I am now 16,000 words in. I have been stalled for several days because I just cannot stand the people in my head, and I woke up this morning with a new book flooding into my brain.

The characters in my first attempt are SO bad that I was better able to channel dialogue for one of my wife's characters than dialogue and actions for three characters who have been nurtured in my head for months. Oh, yeah... all I know about my wife's character is his name and approximate age.

So. I am going from a dark, gritty fantasy novel to what I picture as an urban fantasy, alternate-modern novel with a lighter comedic edge. And I have 10 days.

For those with a public-school education, that comes out to be 5,000 words per day.

Can I do it? I think so.

Will I? I hope so.

NaNoWriMo 2009

I'm scared of Hallowe'en this year.

Not because my office building may be haunted by two or more spirits.

Not because my neighborhood is populated by zombies, ghouls, and at least one vampire.

It's because on the day after Hallowe'en, or All Saints' Day, IT begins.

NaNoWriMo 2009.

National Novel Writing Month.

I did it last year.

It's taken me nearly a full year to recover my will and desire to really, REALLY write again.

And now this. Self-imposed slavish speculative scribbling.

I still have nightmares from last year.

But as I sit here, I'm again sharpening my pencils and filling my pens with fresh ink.

As I travel from home to the office, from the office to court, and back again, my mind races over plots, characters, dialogue, and, oh yeah.... "plot."

50,000 words staring me in the face and I do not yet have a story.

I have nine days.

And no story.

It is going to be painful. I know that.

And yet...bring it on.

Bliss and Embarrassment

Embarrassment because it's been two months since my last post.

Unfortunately, my blogpression is even deeper than I feared and still has me tight in its grasp. I hardly ever even read my favorite blogs any longer. Would that make them my once-favorite blogs? Perhaps technically.

I just don't seem to have much joy anymore. Certainly no bliss.

Don't get me wrong: my LW and the Horde are a joy. Even the noise they make -- as hard as it is on my usually-aching head at the end of the day -- is music. They are my life and, honestly, the only thing that keeps me going some days.

All right, you caught me: most days.

I sat in my car this morning in the parking lot for several long minutes. All I could do was sit there, thinking, dreading the day. It took every ounce of physical strength and mental/emotional will power to leave the car and walk the fifteen steps into the building. Every minute today was torture. Not "Nancy Pelosi woe is me I voted for water-boarding before I voted against it even though it gets results and really is not considered torture compared to what the enemy does to our soldiers" kind of torture. More "being forced to listen to Nancy Pelosi read Maya Angelou poetry" kind of torture or "simply being forced to be in the same room as Nancy Pelosi" kind of torture.

And it is getting worse every day.

So back to my embarrassment: I hope that the readers I have will not have given up hope on me. I am trying; really, I am, despite all appearances.

I say I have little joy. That is not to say I do not have hope: I cannot blame my blogpression on the country's turbo-powered faster-than-light descent into Hell slavery economic destruction Socialism, even though it appears that the vast majority of those in Washington, D.C. -- on both sides of the aisle, mind you -- seem to be using Atlas Shrugged as a game plan for ruining running the country.

[Aside: if you don't understand what I mean, pick yourself up a copy and read it. It's not just fiction anymore. The book's sales have also, in the first four months of 2009, tripled the total sales in all of 2008. Sheep People are waking up out there. Get it. Read it. And ask: "Who is John Galt?"]

No, I am not without hope. Just last month, a Prophet of God, His representative on Earth, Thomas S. Monson, urged the world to be of good cheer and have joy, and to have faith, and to never, never despair.

OK, so, I've already admitted here that I am falling short on good cheer, joy, and despair. Oops.

But I do have faith. And hope. And a loving caring family.

I am striving -- truly I am -- for good cheer, joy, and to remove despair.

I am also striving for my bliss.

"Bliss" has been much on my mind for the past year or so; my buddy JR in Salt Lake has a 50-year-old cousin that I've met a couple times. This is a really down-to-earth man who gave up the practice of law 4 years ago when the bankruptcy laws were changing. He started working with mortgages and saw the writing on the wall LONG before most of the rest of us did. He then dabbled with other areas of the law for a couple of years.

Then, a year ago, he abruptly up and quit to focus on his photography. He's loved photography, as a hobby, since he was in his twenties. JR has sent me examples of his work -- absolutely terrific work. I particularly like his floral work. He did some Olympic photos from the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake that are stunning. One is a composite piece that I haven't seen anywhere else: it shows all the different photo-wrapped buildings, at night, all aglow, with fireworks in the background -- a seamless, amazing piece, even though there is no one spot in the Salt Lake Valley from where he could have taken one photo and show all the buildings.

But I digress.

This is what he does now. My buddy JR says that he's never been happier.

I truly envy him. I have gone to a couple of his shows, not just to give him moral support, not just to revel in the art, but also out of selfishness.

Yep. I think it is an act of selfishness, so that I can feed off that joy of his, to glimpse someone who is truly happy.

I truly cannot imagine anyone in this specialized field of bankruptcy work who is truly happy. No one I know gets any real joy out of it; oh, there are those who seem to enjoy it, but they're always so angry about something and are more confrontational than anything else. I cannot classify that as joy. Even those who are very good at it are certainly not happy or joyful.

Is this what adulthood means? I hope not.

Even when we help someone who truly needs our help, when we truly do Good, those feelings do not last long in the bruising, crushing, daily emotional miasma in which we bankruptcy attorneys live.

I know my friends in Salt Lake, JR and J, are not happy.

I know I'm not.

That's why I'm looking for my "bliss" whenever I have a chance.

I hope one day to find it and throw all this to the wind.

Or, barring that, to hire a junior attorney to do all the work while I manage the firm.

And still hunt for my bliss.

The Kiss

All I can say is that I want to know what is involved in this guy's technique:

BEIJING (Reuters) – A young woman in southern China has partially lost her hearing after her boyfriend ruptured her eardrum during an excessively passionate kiss, local media reported Monday.

The 20-something girl from Zhuhai, in southern Guangdong province, went to hospital completely deaf in her left ear, the China Daily said, citing a report in a local newspaper.

"The kiss reduced pressure in the mouth, pulled the eardrum out and caused the breakdown of the ear," the paper quoted a doctor surnamed Li from the hospital as saying.

WHAT?!?!?

The woman's hearing would likely return to normal after about two months, Li said.

"While kissing is normally very safe, doctors advise people to proceed with caution," the paper said.

Courtesy of Yahoo! news

I am sorry, but does anyone else have severe ear-pain right about now? Owwww....

Maybe my LW and I have been married too long, but I just cannot imagine the amount of "passion" required to suck someone's eardrum out with a kiss. I am no Don Juan, but I can imagine passion. This, however is just...wow. I mean, there's passion and then there is passion.

Now that I think about it, the story did not specifically say he kissed her on the mouth; maybe he kissed her on the ear? I could see that.

No, wait...it said it "reduced pressure in the mouth" so there goes that theory.


I wonder.... could this be considered a sports-related injury? I mean, I have heard it said that sex could be considered a sport, after all.

Now, before I get criticized for "assuming" and just jumping to conclusions, I want a show of hands from everyone who thinks this act of otic terrorism was just a chaste kiss.

Anyone? Anyone?

That's what I thought. I am off now to go find an ice pack for my ear.

Sympathy pains, wouldn't you know?

NaNoWriMo 2008 - Update (final)

VICTORY!

Hey, I did it. I reserve the right to shout it from the housetops if I want to.

That's right. 50,000 words in 30 days. Well, technically 50,646 was the official count. Yep. I wrote a novel.

Of course, I am not done with it, but I have a heck of a good start on it. (Now I just need to keep the dedication to stay with it and finish it up.)

My LW also finished up; of course, she beat me by about 30 hours. It was the first win for both of us. I just want to tell you -- I am prouder of her than I am of me. She did an amazing job. Not only did she finish up, but she also kept me on task and pulled me toward the finish line several times.

-------------------------------
Interesting stats: I kept track of my word count every day and I will tell you, if you ever want to do this yourself . . . do not wind up with seven days of zero words. What happens if you do miss seven days? You wind up writing 28,742 words in the last nine days of the competition.

That's right. Here's my word count day-by-day, starting on November 22, 2008:

• 4,143
• 2,516
• 5,145
• 785
• 1,519
• 3,626
• 6,380
• 1,422
• 3,206

And let me tell you, the 5,145- and 6,380-word count days? They were painful. Very painful. They certainly made the 1,667 word-per-day suggestion seem reasonable.

Curse life and those missing seven days.

But it is over now for another year.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow I start thinking about the story for the next year. 335 days to come up with a story. That, and I will be back to blogging. Ok, my family will also see a happy me again.

But tonight I am icing down my hands.

See you then.

NaNoWriMo 2008 - Update 4

AAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

One week left and I'm nearly a week behind.

Yes, life has been busy this November. Too busy.

Too many words and not enough time. It's all in my head, I just have to get it on paper. And that can be painful, let me tell you.

No time to blog. No time to read. No time to work. No time to eat or sleep.

Hang with me, friends. I'll be back to relative normalcy soon!

Thanks for your understanding!

Jotting Tittles: Microwaves and Zombies

I want to explain the title of this post to you, "Microwaves and Zombies."

I really want to tell you exactly what it means to me and my life.

But I can't.

You see, I have a page of notes in my little notebook, a page titled "Blog Thoughts" with a date from last month. Under that is a bullet point labeled "Microwaves and Zombies" with no further explanation.

And the rest of the page is illegible. I must have been writing (a) in the car while driving in rush hour traffic; (b) on the bus on a bad road; (c) in the dark while half-asleep; or (d) (c) and either (a) or (b).

Take your pick.

First, on the subject of liberty. Remember in the coming week that Liberty--true Liberty--is the ability to choose for one's self, researching, studying, and learning about yoru choices. True Liberty does not come from blindly following the media.

Second, how blissful it is to lie in a tent surrounded by my LW and the Horde, on a crisp summer morning far up in the mountains in a quiet, secluded valley, the only humans for miles. How wonderful to lie there and read aloud the words from the Declaration of Independence. How marvelous to see the looks on the Horde's individual faces as they hear and understand the words written 232 years ago. It's dawn and the words leave my tongue with clouds of vapor in the cool air. THAT is Heaven.

Third, just a quick thought from one of the Presidential debates last month. A statistic was cited that deductibles (in looking back I think it may have been premiums and I wrote it down incorrectly) have increased by 30% and families are going bankrupt from health care.
(A) Very few of my clients are going bankrupt because of their heatlh care costs; most of them are going bankrupt from bad housing loans or high tax debt.
(B) I am struggling myself to pay my own health care costs. But you know what? I do not want it from the Government. It's not the Government's place. Period.

Fourth, O.K., one more thought from the Presidential debates. All of my readers know that I really do not like John McCain. He may be the lesser of two evils. That is yet to be seen, I suppose. However, one cannot deny that he has not performed very well since the Convention. Heck, he has not performed well since Mitt dropped out of the race, for that matter. One wonders whether McCain is so scared of being tagged with the "attack dog" label that he has held back. The one line that stood out from the debates for me? "I'm not going to set the White House visitor schedule before I'm President. I don't even have a Seal yet." I think that if he had spent the last nine months talking like this, he would be so far ahead in the race as to be nearly uncatchable.
As it is, I am afraid he looks like an old man weakly swinging his cane at a young whipper-snapper. (Aside: I can just hear him saying, "Sarah! Help me subdue...this beast." {while panting and flailing weakly) a la Montgomery Burns.)

Fifth, my LW and I just endured a Mormon ritual that normally comes about every five years or so: the reorganization of the Bishopric. Actually, that's just the event; the ritual is, in my household, not-so affectionately referred to as "Mormon Lotto." That's the phenomenon that has its genesis the very moment that the reorganization is to occur. From that moment on, the phone lines, back fences, and now e-mails are on fire with speculation about "who's worthiest?" "who's old enough?" "who's too old?" and so on. And then, when the announcement is made, all the gossipers look at one another and nod sagely, with a "I knew it all along" look in their eyes. Not my favorite ritual, by any means. It is a painful time. Pain. Mental, emotional, spiritual.

Sixth, It's nearly November again, and do you know what that means? Yep. Cranberry-flavored Sierra Mist is available again! I had my first bottle sighting yesterday! Hooray! Cranberry-flavored Sierra Mist. Mmmmmm.......

Seventh, It's nearly November again, and as I have recently said, that means NaNoWriMo! That means 1,667 words a day. Ugh. From now until the end of the first week of November, I am going to be questioning myself, wondering whether I can really do this--whether I really WANT to do this. I have been through this before and I can sense my reluctance starting again. Somehow I have to move past the self-editing-while-writing mode and move into a writing-for-the-sheer-pleasure-of-it-just-put-the-words-down-on-paper mode. I need to be ever-vigilant for a negative attitude (as opposed to ever-viligant, which does not make any sense whatsoever).

Now.... Where's my bag of fun-size Snickers bars?!?

Bicycles and Benzes

For about a week now, I've been riding my bicycle to work. Saves on $4/gallon gasoline and gives me a little much-needed exercise.

Consider for a moment that I haven't been on a bicycle in nearly two years.

But you can just wheel the bike out of the garage, pump up the tires, and pick up right where you left off, right?

Right?!?

Yeah. Sure.

It makes for what I am sure is a comedic image to passers-by.

Dress clothes, big goofy helmet, metal pant-leg clips, dress shoes.

Don't forget the tie flapping in the breeze.

Consistent, repeated riding puts you in tune with the rhythm of traffic. You keep in tune with your bike's idiosyncracies. It also lets you hone those little skills that you forget over time.

Little things like forgetting that while riding parallel to the curb and approaching a commercial driveway to swoop up onto the sidewalk, you can't just drift over the little lip at the end of the driveway.

Especially not while at a full-out sprinting pace.

Do you know what happens? Even with a thick, knobby mountain bike tire?

If the lip is just a tad too high, that wheel ain't goin' over. Not if you attempt a "drift"; at a greater than ten degree angle, perhaps.

Do you know what happens?

The tire decides it likes to stay on the gutter side of the driveway while all the other parts of the bicycle--including the rider--simply decide that they prefer to keep accelerating onto the sidewalk side of the driveway.

There's a reason they teach you to jump off a bicycle rather than ride it to the ground. Fortunately, I remembered and jumped. Rather, my muscles remembered and jumped for me.

Ouch.

Now my muscles are punishing me.

I will not even start to discuss the lobotomy that apparently occurs when an individual purchases a Mercedes Benz. I was almost taken out by a brand-new Mercedes sport-utility vehicle of some ilk just five minutes after the curb incident.

The guy was speeding out of an office parking lot.

He was looking to the right. Watching the traffic on the right.

He was turning right.

Do you see the problem here? Why are you watching the traffic in a lane of traffic in which you do not plan on driving?

He never even looked left. Never looked at the oncoming traffic, into which he was going to be merging.

Never even saw me.

At least, not until I had stood the bike on its front wheel trying to stop before he hit me.

All I got in return was an open mouth and a blank stare. No mouthed apology. Not even a friendly wave.

An open mouth and a blank stare.

It happened again about four minutes later with a completely different Mercedes, completely different driver. At least this time his wife yelled at him before he got to me.

The thing's a hood ornament, people. It ain't crosshairs.

Alarm clock of DOOM

So the little town in which I live has experienced several power outages over the past few weeks. Having a particularly important court appearance this morning, I went out last night and purchased myself a nice, old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock. Y'know, just in case the power went out, I'd still have a working alarm clock to wake me up. Yes, one of those with the big bells on the top. Now, I had one of these as a kid, but it was old and the bells just kind of "dinged" in a muffled way. It was enough to notice that you needed to wake up, but not loud enough to wake the dead. So, I have to admit I truly had no idea what was in store for me. When 6:00 rolled around this morning . . . well, let's just say that there are finger marks--not just fingernail marks--in the plaster over the bed. It's pitch-dark around here at that time; I was nice and warm, snuggled up under all the blankets my LW threw on the bed. And suddenly a doorway to Hell opened up on my nightstand. And I couldn't find the little lever to silence the demon's caterwauling. I'm still shaking, over three hours later.

Stop laughing, you.

Losing Friends, redux

I just realized that from my previous post it almost sounds as if a friend had died. My mistake. I was simply referring to the all-too-oft-occuring alienation and disaffection that happens in friendships. Again: lest I be misunderstood, I was not referring to death, but being "released" from a friendly relationship.

Although death of a friend may sometimes be preferable to the outright disaffection one feels. At least with death (as with alienation of a sibling) it was not a choice of either person's making. (Although, I suppose in some circumstances death may have been a choice of paths away from the friendship, but I digress too much.) OK. usually not a choice of either person's making.

With death, you generally do not have to be worried about "bumping into" your ex-friend. You don't have to worry about them spreading lies and gossip to mutual acquaintances. You certainly don't have to worry about them coming after you for some imagined and misperceived slight. At least with death, you can remember your friend fondly without the memories being clouded by negative feelings of a more recent origin.

I'm just saying . . . it hurts.

And better deceased than released.

Losing friends

You know, I've been thinking recently, what a horrible ordeal it is to lose a friend.

Imagine, someone you've known for years--someone who was as close as a brother or sister to you.

Then one day . . . something happens. You don't talk quite as often, or as long, or about the same types of things. Your interests diverge. Pretty soon, you're seeing each other only on special occasions: holidays, birthdays, and that sort of thing.

And then . . . not.

It hurts. It's like losing a family member. Between a sibling rejecting you and a friend? I'm not sure which hurts more. In some ways it's harder to lose a friend. A sibling--well, you got stuck with who you got; a friend is a sibling you chose, and who chose you. Losing such a friend is almost a more personal, hurtful rejection than losing a sibling the same way.

But it happens.

And oh . . . it hurts.