My mind is my enemy. Fighting like junkyard dogs over a scrap of day old meat, my mind keeps me from a restful night sleep. There are no sugar plumb fairies dancing in my mind when I rest. The people, places, and events change, but still I wake up going "what the hell was that about?" I read somewhere a good night sleep was God's reward for a guiltless conscience." Now I must search the harddrive of my mind and emotions to find the source of worry and guilt.
I don't necessarily buy into that whole guilt crap. I think I just watch weird Sci Fi movies, read part of a strange book, and then try to sleep. Sounds like I need to change my interest for sleep. That ain't happening.
...This was a draft from a couple of days ago, it's not really complete, but it won't have anything else added to it. Check back soon I'll have the interesting events of my past week.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Reverse Nap
It's 3am. The entire house is dark, both rooms opposite of my hold in it's bowls sleeping men, re-energizing for the new week. One spot in the house glows light, casting a reflection of a tired, aged man in the window. My computer connecting me to the outside world with silent judgment for being up this late. I've stopped sleeping through Thunderstorms.
At one time the melodic symphony of pidder padder outside danced with the drumming thunder and awesomeness of a light show, was what I loved. Nature's own audio/visual show inspires, scares, and brings to tears the heart of dime store novel lovers. But, now, I am set apart by worry. I wake up in the middle of the night listening to thunder in turn with the lightning. I hear every creek of my almost 70 year old home. The rattling windows, the deflection of rain from window to window sill and I worry about how the house will hold up. Will I wake tomorrow to find more areas in need of fixing? I silently think to myself "girl, I know you can do, stand strong." I have missed my last night of worriless sleep. It was in July of 04, a month before I decided to buy a house. No worries, few responsibilities, and deep rain filled sleep.
Also, is the nature of my job. Big storms, mean big work. Long days, filled with unhappy people whose homes are broken. The thought of waking up tomorrow and having more work than I can handle, but having nothing to do to stop it, also keeps the eyelids open at night. I don't know why I am worried about it. I am good when it comes to busy situations, I thrive well. I know what needs to be done and I do it. But, that doesn't mean I enjoy the bountiful times more than the lean. I like the small work load. The time to do things right as opposed to fast. I don't want to kiss my social life goodbye for the next few weeks. So I sit up and I think about it.
My bed is so comfortable, and my mind is not comfortable. Sleep is one of my favorite things, I guess this is like a reverse nap. You take a nap during the day, but when you wake up from sleep during the night, briefly, and then you return to sleep, I guess can only be a reverse nap. My mind is hazy with sleep and my words tend to make less sense at this point. With a quick prayer I will give my problems to God and try to salvage the rest of my night, maybe a extra pillow over my head will do the trick.
At one time the melodic symphony of pidder padder outside danced with the drumming thunder and awesomeness of a light show, was what I loved. Nature's own audio/visual show inspires, scares, and brings to tears the heart of dime store novel lovers. But, now, I am set apart by worry. I wake up in the middle of the night listening to thunder in turn with the lightning. I hear every creek of my almost 70 year old home. The rattling windows, the deflection of rain from window to window sill and I worry about how the house will hold up. Will I wake tomorrow to find more areas in need of fixing? I silently think to myself "girl, I know you can do, stand strong." I have missed my last night of worriless sleep. It was in July of 04, a month before I decided to buy a house. No worries, few responsibilities, and deep rain filled sleep.
Also, is the nature of my job. Big storms, mean big work. Long days, filled with unhappy people whose homes are broken. The thought of waking up tomorrow and having more work than I can handle, but having nothing to do to stop it, also keeps the eyelids open at night. I don't know why I am worried about it. I am good when it comes to busy situations, I thrive well. I know what needs to be done and I do it. But, that doesn't mean I enjoy the bountiful times more than the lean. I like the small work load. The time to do things right as opposed to fast. I don't want to kiss my social life goodbye for the next few weeks. So I sit up and I think about it.
My bed is so comfortable, and my mind is not comfortable. Sleep is one of my favorite things, I guess this is like a reverse nap. You take a nap during the day, but when you wake up from sleep during the night, briefly, and then you return to sleep, I guess can only be a reverse nap. My mind is hazy with sleep and my words tend to make less sense at this point. With a quick prayer I will give my problems to God and try to salvage the rest of my night, maybe a extra pillow over my head will do the trick.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Irish eyes are Smiling
Yesterday was not what you would consider a typical day. Even for those of us who seem to never have an "ordinary" day, yesterday was out of sorts. Allow me to illustrate:
My morning commute to my claims found me stopped at a red light staring at the ass end of this yahoo. With a half hearted "ugh" I felt it necessary to document the insanity of some people. As I have learned over the past couple of weeks, there seems to be lots of contradiction and conspiracy theories around the events of 9/11. I find it odd as to see this as in just earlier this week I read an article in a Maxim about a plethora of other theories. These usually start with digital nerds searching video archives for any excuse to abuse their first amendment rights, or those eccentric, old-money millionaires blowing daddy's start from nothing fortune on back door methods of being famous. Apparently having gobs of money is nothing unless it comes with obscure fame in seedy magazines. But, who am I to know...millions I don't have, but eccentricities I have a few. This kind of mania justifies the need for psychologist...so I say "Go Dad, heal the world of it's mental cases and save those millions because I want to prove how aliens actually landed in New York, not Roswell, to populate the earth." Whatever to those cats.
My morning commute to my claims found me stopped at a red light staring at the ass end of this yahoo. With a half hearted "ugh" I felt it necessary to document the insanity of some people. As I have learned over the past couple of weeks, there seems to be lots of contradiction and conspiracy theories around the events of 9/11. I find it odd as to see this as in just earlier this week I read an article in a Maxim about a plethora of other theories. These usually start with digital nerds searching video archives for any excuse to abuse their first amendment rights, or those eccentric, old-money millionaires blowing daddy's start from nothing fortune on back door methods of being famous. Apparently having gobs of money is nothing unless it comes with obscure fame in seedy magazines. But, who am I to know...millions I don't have, but eccentricities I have a few. This kind of mania justifies the need for psychologist...so I say "Go Dad, heal the world of it's mental cases and save those millions because I want to prove how aliens actually landed in New York, not Roswell, to populate the earth." Whatever to those cats.Anyway...It's too bad how unfortunate events over shadow the pleasant ones. You find yourself dwelling on the funny, yet disgusting occurrences and leaving the heart warming ones at the whey side.
Yesterday, my fist claim was for wind damage to a lady's roof. I knocked on the door, she greeted me with a smile, as did her daughter. I looked over her damages. Half of it was not covered and the other half didn't amount to more than her deductible. As I sat and explained this to her...words most would scoff and yell about...she patiently listened, asked valid questions and understood. Afterwards, she and her daughter, proceeded to invite me to their church for Easter and then extended an verbal invitation to a crawfish boil they were having in the near future. I was taken aback. Normally after telling them the company they have been giving money to for years and years is going to leave you high, and not so dry, they give the obligatory "screw off" nod and I leave. I don't know if the daughter thought I was cute, or what...maybe good people are good no matter what happens, but I left there feeling pretty good. Little did I know that would change.
I arrived at my next claim. I really old trailer in the middle of a really old trailer park. Not exactly an uncommon sight for me. I park my new car beside a truck older than I am, and proceed to maneuver car parts, beer cans, and mangy animals in my trek to the front door. Up one, two, three, cracked and broken steps, I stand firm on the temporary porch, that looks as if it has been there since the truck was new. I knock on the door and wait for someone to answer. I am greeted by a muffled "Come On" from inside. I peel back the screen door, thankful I had a tetanus shout a couple of months ago, and step through the threshold into the home. There, not three feet away from me was the man I was there to met. He was a large, old, black man...and he was completely NAKED! As he was toweling himself off, while sitting in a ratty arm chair with the stuffy hanging out in more than a few places, I didn't quite grasp what was going on. My eyes flashed from the top of him to the bottom and I quickly averted my eyes to watch a fly which had landed on the opposite wall. I ask "Did you say I could come in?" To which he responded "Yeah." I informed him I think it was going to be best if I just wait out side till he gets dressed. And without waiting for a response, I turned go the hell outta Dodge. I have been greeted with many different and unique things, from Great Danes, to scantily clad women, and I can definitely say large naked black men are my least favorite, hands down. Now if that was all to the story that would be good enough, but alas, it there's more.
As I was waiting for him to get dressed his cohort came outside to start showing me the damaged areas. I was looking, nodding, and flipping through the archives of my mind to find anything to push the vision of a few minutes ago out. Zeroed in on my happy place, I professionally proceed. At this point I am under this 28 year old mobile home, where I know there are large rats (I know, because the man told me they were there). Freaking out and crawling commando style on my elbows and knees I take a couple of misaimed pictures and bugger out. Standing up in the sunshine with mud, muck, and a something I didn't want to recognize on my rain suit, I stretch and whisper a word of victory for surviving with out being eaten by a Bossier rat. My noise burns and my eyes twitch. I started smelling something I haven't smelled in a while...I look around and see the other man standing there with both hands behind his back and then I know. This man has just lit a joint and was smoking it as if I was an old football buddy coming by for beer and dominoes. Agian, I am momentarily speechless, but resecure my happily place in my mind and push onward. I wrapped that claim up quicker than most, gravel shooting from my back tires as I peel away from scaryville, I utter a sigh of relief and cover my body with antibacterial lotion.
That was not what I would consider a normal adjustment or insurance exchange. I treated that more along the lines of I will do whatever it takes to get me out of here as quickly as possible. Unfortunately I will be haunted by this, but I do know, when all the adjusters come around, my water cooler story will be the blue medal champion.
The rest of the day was pretty standard. Finish work and go. I had an engagement part to go to. Not my first choice, but I had fun. Despite having to dress up, I suffered through it and my eyes lit up at the prospect of going to the Noble Savage, the only almost Irish pub in town, and enjoying a cold pint of Guinness. MMmmm, Irish beer on Saint Patty's Day. My very own Glenn here in town. I drank Guinness until they ran out and listened to Irish drinking songs, sung by old Irish immigrants. Not a bad end to an unusual day.
Today finds me staring out the window at the rain coming down and feeling relieved at any excuse to be lazy. I think today will be a day nerdom. Piddling on the computer, reading the paper, and maybe an afternoon matinee, solo. After a really crappy week of work, todays prospects look almost perfect. Now if I can just get those Irish songs out of my head I will be fine..."Oh, Danny boy..."
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Say What?
I find it discouraging that merely a day after I spent four hours filling 13 bags of leaves from my front yard, it looks as if nothing has been done. More leaves have returned to take the place of their falled brethren. Hiding in nooks and crannies like an insect afraid of the daylight. It took me a long time to work up the energy and motivation to rake. And when I say a long time I mean somewhere in the area of 4 months.
My diligent neighbor can be found on most Fridays, and even some Mondays, meticulously combing his yard with his rake, sweeping each particle of dust from the sidewalk, and occasionally spray painting his ornamental lions that greet his guest...gold spray paint, of course. I stare out the window and watch him, in the zone, taking pride in his manual labor. I am guessing he is wired differently than I am. My thought process during my experience of yard maintenance was "why don't I just pay one of my youth to do this?" Granted the end result and appreciation period of sitting on the porch sipping a cold beer was almost worth the blisters and sweat...almost. However, the looming dread of, at some point, tackling the backyard protruded through my euphoric bliss.
Does this make me lazy or just a stereotypical example of the "next" generation. One of quick, easy solutions, willing to throw money at the problems in exchange for ease and comfort. Is it sad that sometimes I would rather buy a new stove, than put forth the effort to make it spotless? Not what one would consider a fiscally responsible choice.
I did see something very unusual while I was cleaning my yard. A older Black man was walking down the street (not unusual, but his attire was). He was wearing camouflaged pants and a white t-shirt. The strange bit of it all was the emblem on the reverse of his shirt. It was the rebel flag, the stars and bars. Traditionally this was the battle flag for the confederacy. Something, to current society, represents slavery, oppresion, and more ignorant times. Usually the stars and bars are displayed by red necks, racists, and true Civil War buffs. It was, to say the least, comical to see this man wearing this shirt. To be more specific, the center of the flag had a soccer ball on it and a mention to dixie written above the flag in big letters. My reaction was the classic movie double take. The causal glance followed by the second more surprised stare of bewilderment. I chuckled to myself as I watched him walk away. I wanted to ask him of his intentions behind the shirt, but felt it better to just speculate as my current task came back to the fore front of my mind. I don't think I have ever seen a black man react positively to the confederate flag, better yet, I have never seen one wear anything that could be considered embracing the evolved stigma of the stars and bars. It was all very odd.
Now I must prepare the lesson for youth tonight. When I am in charge, weird things happen. Good, but weird.
My diligent neighbor can be found on most Fridays, and even some Mondays, meticulously combing his yard with his rake, sweeping each particle of dust from the sidewalk, and occasionally spray painting his ornamental lions that greet his guest...gold spray paint, of course. I stare out the window and watch him, in the zone, taking pride in his manual labor. I am guessing he is wired differently than I am. My thought process during my experience of yard maintenance was "why don't I just pay one of my youth to do this?" Granted the end result and appreciation period of sitting on the porch sipping a cold beer was almost worth the blisters and sweat...almost. However, the looming dread of, at some point, tackling the backyard protruded through my euphoric bliss.
Does this make me lazy or just a stereotypical example of the "next" generation. One of quick, easy solutions, willing to throw money at the problems in exchange for ease and comfort. Is it sad that sometimes I would rather buy a new stove, than put forth the effort to make it spotless? Not what one would consider a fiscally responsible choice.
I did see something very unusual while I was cleaning my yard. A older Black man was walking down the street (not unusual, but his attire was). He was wearing camouflaged pants and a white t-shirt. The strange bit of it all was the emblem on the reverse of his shirt. It was the rebel flag, the stars and bars. Traditionally this was the battle flag for the confederacy. Something, to current society, represents slavery, oppresion, and more ignorant times. Usually the stars and bars are displayed by red necks, racists, and true Civil War buffs. It was, to say the least, comical to see this man wearing this shirt. To be more specific, the center of the flag had a soccer ball on it and a mention to dixie written above the flag in big letters. My reaction was the classic movie double take. The causal glance followed by the second more surprised stare of bewilderment. I chuckled to myself as I watched him walk away. I wanted to ask him of his intentions behind the shirt, but felt it better to just speculate as my current task came back to the fore front of my mind. I don't think I have ever seen a black man react positively to the confederate flag, better yet, I have never seen one wear anything that could be considered embracing the evolved stigma of the stars and bars. It was all very odd.
Now I must prepare the lesson for youth tonight. When I am in charge, weird things happen. Good, but weird.
Monday, March 6, 2006
Did you just call me sir?
This past week or so has been pretty good for me. I was lucky enough to pass my Texas P and C adjuster exam, which has currently landed me in San Antonio for this week. Now I am brewing a cup of coffee and staring out of my 7th floor balcony to look over the city. Not a bad set up.
Work was slow this week leading the way to a restful Wed thru Fri. Working a combined 2 hrs for those three days. I went shopping earlier this week and bought a bunch of new cloths with the company bonuses. I have figured the trick to a pleasant shopping experience. Let me first start off by stating...I am a male. This means, I don't like to shop, I feel uncomfortable foraging for sales and competing with the latest trends for my age. When I must go shopping, I look for ten minutes max, try on the one thing I need, and then leave the store. I don't linger, I don't converse with the staff, I get in, get out, and get back to the sanctity of my home. Pretty typical for me, and I like it that way. But, this week was different. In fact, I think I have found the only way to shop. Find a girl to go with you. She picks out the clothes, tells you what looks good, and steers you away from the wardrobe regrets. It's a big step to put your money and your style into her hands, but if you trust her, then you come out looking great. Which I think I did. So, next time I have to go shopping I am bringing reinforcements.
But, the real downer of the week was coming to terms with the fact I am getting old. I always thought the process of getting old was going to be gross, but easy. You know, the longer recovery periods from nights out, being excited when you buy new appliances, or those newly discovered patches of back hair. But, I was not expecting aches and pains.
Through my life I have played 9 years of soccer, 4 and a half years of inter colligent sports, and many a night of stupidity at a Fraternity house. All of these with no major injuries and only a couple of scars. But, now, in only three weeks of church volleyball, I have injured myself twice, both pretty badly. The first was to my big toe. I jumped up and landed, with all my weight, on my left big toe. It hurt for almost two weeks. Then just last week, I made a beautiful point saving dive on the court to keep the play going. Unfortunate I landed on my right knee. That took me out of the games for the rest of the night. The next morning I couldn't bend my knee. It hurt to walk and it took me four or five attempts to get up from a sitted position. I started popping advil and called the doctor. By the time appointment arrived, I could walk and bend it some, but it still hurt like hell. The doctor took the x-rays and with a pensive "hmm" started to poke and prod my knee. The questions you dislike the most from the doctor is "Does this hurt?" Because you know, even if that spot doesn't' hurt, you will eventually get to the area that does, and when the doctor doesn't have to ask you, but can see from the grimace on your face...he knows he has hit medical gold.
The doctor told me I have a possible tear in my medial meniscus. He then explained to me what that was...which I have forgotten by now, but I think it is the area where the rounded portions of the leg bones meet and for a cup. He said, it didn't look severe enough to send me to another doctor, but told me it would hurt for 7 to 10 days, and if it didn't feel better then to call him back. I was told to not run, jump, play racketball, or basically do anything athleticlly fun. Which stinks, but I guess it is best to follow his orders and avoid surgery. So I guess this gives me a doctor's note to be lazy. I can dig that. He then gave me a bunch of free meds and sent me on my way. Four days later and I am not having any more trouble sleeping from the pain, but I tackled a mountain of stair yesterday and I can feel the effects.
Getting old I can handle. The added responsibility, the waning metabolism, the shifting of goals, all of that is fine and and acceptable to me. But, the deterioration of the body is not something I want to deal with. A buddy of mine told me that he wakes up every day with something new hurting. Not something I am looking forward to. But, I guess it is better than the alternative.
Work was slow this week leading the way to a restful Wed thru Fri. Working a combined 2 hrs for those three days. I went shopping earlier this week and bought a bunch of new cloths with the company bonuses. I have figured the trick to a pleasant shopping experience. Let me first start off by stating...I am a male. This means, I don't like to shop, I feel uncomfortable foraging for sales and competing with the latest trends for my age. When I must go shopping, I look for ten minutes max, try on the one thing I need, and then leave the store. I don't linger, I don't converse with the staff, I get in, get out, and get back to the sanctity of my home. Pretty typical for me, and I like it that way. But, this week was different. In fact, I think I have found the only way to shop. Find a girl to go with you. She picks out the clothes, tells you what looks good, and steers you away from the wardrobe regrets. It's a big step to put your money and your style into her hands, but if you trust her, then you come out looking great. Which I think I did. So, next time I have to go shopping I am bringing reinforcements.
But, the real downer of the week was coming to terms with the fact I am getting old. I always thought the process of getting old was going to be gross, but easy. You know, the longer recovery periods from nights out, being excited when you buy new appliances, or those newly discovered patches of back hair. But, I was not expecting aches and pains.
Through my life I have played 9 years of soccer, 4 and a half years of inter colligent sports, and many a night of stupidity at a Fraternity house. All of these with no major injuries and only a couple of scars. But, now, in only three weeks of church volleyball, I have injured myself twice, both pretty badly. The first was to my big toe. I jumped up and landed, with all my weight, on my left big toe. It hurt for almost two weeks. Then just last week, I made a beautiful point saving dive on the court to keep the play going. Unfortunate I landed on my right knee. That took me out of the games for the rest of the night. The next morning I couldn't bend my knee. It hurt to walk and it took me four or five attempts to get up from a sitted position. I started popping advil and called the doctor. By the time appointment arrived, I could walk and bend it some, but it still hurt like hell. The doctor took the x-rays and with a pensive "hmm" started to poke and prod my knee. The questions you dislike the most from the doctor is "Does this hurt?" Because you know, even if that spot doesn't' hurt, you will eventually get to the area that does, and when the doctor doesn't have to ask you, but can see from the grimace on your face...he knows he has hit medical gold.
The doctor told me I have a possible tear in my medial meniscus. He then explained to me what that was...which I have forgotten by now, but I think it is the area where the rounded portions of the leg bones meet and for a cup. He said, it didn't look severe enough to send me to another doctor, but told me it would hurt for 7 to 10 days, and if it didn't feel better then to call him back. I was told to not run, jump, play racketball, or basically do anything athleticlly fun. Which stinks, but I guess it is best to follow his orders and avoid surgery. So I guess this gives me a doctor's note to be lazy. I can dig that. He then gave me a bunch of free meds and sent me on my way. Four days later and I am not having any more trouble sleeping from the pain, but I tackled a mountain of stair yesterday and I can feel the effects.
Getting old I can handle. The added responsibility, the waning metabolism, the shifting of goals, all of that is fine and and acceptable to me. But, the deterioration of the body is not something I want to deal with. A buddy of mine told me that he wakes up every day with something new hurting. Not something I am looking forward to. But, I guess it is better than the alternative.
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