The Whisper in My Ear

I have had several people at work question my choice of careers lately. I am trying to figure out if they really think I would be better suited for something else, or if they are just tired of working with me and want me to move on to other things. I can only hope that they have my best interests at heart and just want me to be happy. Maybe they see something in me that screams, "I'M UNHAPPY!"

I probably would have just dismissed these comments if I hadn't been feeling a strong nagging pull about my writing. For some reason I have had this overwhelming feeling that something big is going to come from it. I can only imagine that it is God telling me that He will work great miracles through me. It has made me more excited and motivated to work harder on my book, and at the same time more excited to see what God wants me to say.

For the first time in my life I am taking my writing seriously and starting to wonder if my future won't end up in writing. For the first time in my life I am giving it a real chance. I am not going to quit my day job until something solid comes of it, but at least now I am honestly giving that avenue a chance to intersect my life.

I can't help but feel that there are signs surrounding me...speaking to me. And for some reason I am just too hard-headed to listen. I guess I never gave myself enough credit. I never considered my writing that great that anybody else would want to read it. I never thought anything would ever come of it. Now I am wondering if I might have been wrong.

The Goat

I have a fleece pullover that I got who knows where. I am sure it was a gift from someone. I affectionately refer to it as "The Goat" which really doesn't make sense since fleece is actually from sheep. I guess I call it that because it is a gray fleece, which for some reason always reminds me of goats.

My wife liked my Goat so much that she kept stealing it and wearing it. Which is not such a big deal except that I was freezing to death in the process. So, I bought her her own Goat. Hers is black, though, so I guess it is of the mountain goat variety or something.

Out With the Old...In With the Made-up

Does anyone else get tired of the same old words, the same old clichés? Do you end up making up your own words and clichés just to be more exciting? Well, I have been known to do this on occasion. I like to keep people on their toes; to make them really have to listen to what I say. I like when they get that look on their face of "did he really just say what I think he said?!"

I really like to make up new words or combinations of words. Something like "nobody appreciates the depths of my 'funnilarity'." Or “other than that ‘Englishical’ disaster was the story okay?” Whenever I am questioned on a word that I use, I simply state that it comes from "The Me Dictionary of Made-Up Words."

I like to come up with new twists on old clichés as well. Something like "it is just dust under the lamp" instead of "it is just water under the bridge." Or "I like to lick the envelope" instead of "I like to push the envelope." I think it gives a bit of spice to life...or at least a whole lot of funny looks.

Residual Consciousness

I am really stuck on the brain this week. I am not sure why. I think it is fascinating how your dreams can be guided by things that happen to you during the day. Sort of like a bit of residual consciousness is left over, seeping into your unconscious thoughts. People you saw or talked to suddenly show up in your dreams. Conversations you had, movies you watched, things you read, games you played all can make appearances in them. D.H. tells stories of F.H. flailing in bed fighting battles and wars that he had started in his computer games earlier that night. My wife claims I audibly re-sample all of the wonderful food I ate during the day.

I think the other side is fascinating too. How people have claimed that they have dreamed about someone they haven't seen in years and then have met them the next day. Or how people describe accidents and crimes they have viewed in their dreams that actually take place later. Are these little messages from God? Are people making things happen with their thoughts? Is it just coincidence?

The Bible talks about God talking to people in their dreams...informing them, warning them...so I am going to go with that theory. But it is still interesting to ponder.

A Need for Mindless Detachment

Have you ever stuck your tongue out at the ceiling? What a way to start a blog, huh? Well, I was just sitting here in my chair at work with my head back against the chair and sticking my tongue out at the ceiling. Who knows what possesses people to do weird things like that. Boredom. A need for mindless detachment. Missing a few screws upstairs. I know my coworkers must think I have experienced that last one.

It isn’t that. I assure you, I am perfectly sane. I guess sometimes I feel the need to do something different, and I don’t care what anybody thinks or whether they can understand me. Sometimes I don’t always want to do what the world thinks is “proper” behavior. I don’t feel the need to do anything illegal...just something “weird.”

Forgive me, I must sign off now. I feel an uncontrollable urge to go running by C.D.’s office.

The Reality of the Mind

The mind is a powerful thing. Without the brain’s interpretation of things we would basically have no sensations at all. No pain. No pleasure. For instance, think about a time when you got a cut and never noticed it. Then someone points out to you that you are bleeding or something and suddenly the cut starts to hurt. Why is that? Basically because now your brain is involved. It is sending signals saying something like, "Ooh, I bet that hurts!" And then suddenly it does just that.

So, my question is this...if an action can trigger a response from your brain which triggers a certain sensation, then can the brain be forced to trigger the sensation without the action? For instance, could you convince your brain that you are getting a massage and start to feel your muscles relax and the total release of pleasure associated with it? Could just the very thought of a sexual act cause your body to have the physical consequences normally associated with it?

I think science has a term for the last one at least and it is called "nocturnal emissions," or "wet dreams." A dream which is by definition "a series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep" is totally in your brain. And yet it has the power to cause the same physical consequences of a sexual act.

So what other sensations do you think we could trigger just by convincing our brain that something is actually happening? Maybe that is why certain hallucinations seem so real to people. In their minds they are convinced that it is real and so their brain is actually making it so to them. It is almost as if they are altering reality just by thinking it.

Which leads to another thought altogether. If reality exists only by the interpretation of things by the brain, then does anything truly exist? It is like that old question, "If a trees falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, then does it make a sound?" I had a Psychology teacher tell me the answer was "No," because for sound to exist it must be interpreted. Otherwise it is just waves. What if reality were the same way? For reality to exist is must be interpreted.

Does that mean that reality is only in our minds?

Disassociative Personality Disorder?

Someone made a hurtful comment to me today and I was feeling extremely unloved. I needed a hug, but there was nobody to give me one. I was forced to give myself one. Are you hearing me here? I had to give myself a hug...myself. That is just wrong. However, I did feel better afterward.

I learned something ugly about myself too. I am apparently clingy. Now I want hugs from myself all the time. It is getting a bit oppressive. Frankly, I am getting a bit fed up with myself. I haven't told myself yet, but I am thinking of breaking it off with myself tonight over dinner. It is just sad that it had to come to this. We could have been something beautiful together.

I will keep you posted on how it goes.

Is It a Lie?

If you tell someone something that isn’t true but you believe it to be true, is it a lie?

The noun definition of a lie is “a statement that deviates from or perverts the truth.” But the verb definition is “to tell an untruth; pretend with intent to deceive.” The noun definition indicates that the answer to my original question is yes because a falsehood is a lie no matter your beliefs or intent. But the verb definition takes into account your intentions, indicating that you must intend to deceive.

So which is the right answer?

Mrs. Bradley

I had an English teacher in high school named Miss Morton. (Of course she later became Mrs. Bradley when that lucky man, Mr. Bradley, succeeded in marrying her.) She was perhaps the greatest teacher I have ever had. She made me enjoy literature, and reading, and really digging deeply into the meanings of books. She was smart, and funny, and she had a radical teaching style that really connected with her students. For instance when we were talking about Kafka’s “Metamorphosis,” she brought in coffee and hot chocolate, made us form our desks into a circle, and we had a “coffee shop” discussion of the book. Or when we studied Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales,” she made us each select one of the story tellers, dress up like them, and retell their tale to the whole class. Some of us even put on skits to act out the tale…which was more effective on some of the tales. When we studied iambic pentameter, she made us write a poem in “Olde English” using the technique of iambic pentameter.

I could go on and on, but the point is that she was a wonderful teacher and person. And yet the fondest memory I have of her was what she named her cat. He was named “kç” as in k (kay) ç (sah-dee-ah). I thought it was such an “English teacher” way of spelling “quesadilla” and it fit Miss Morton perfectly. Wherever you are out there, Miss Morton…well, Mrs. Bradley now…I hope you are doing well. I hope you are happy, and that you know how much of an impact you had on my life. Thank you for being you.

Megabyte, the Male Dancer

As I was leaving work yesterday, I told C.D. that I was bummed about having to go to work at my second job. Stunned she asked in amazement what my second job was, having never heard about it and wondering what kind of friend wouldn’t know about my second job. I hung my head and scuffed the toe of my shoe on the concrete, as I am known to do, and told her that it was too demeaning to talk about. She said that I couldn’t stop there because now I had her intrigued. So, I looked around to make sure nobody was listening and told her that I was a dancer at the “Dirty Sock,” a strip club on the outskirts of town.

She laughed and said that was a gentleman’s club. The only dancers there were women. I said that Wednesday is “Ladies Night” and they have men dancing on that day. For the first time I saw doubt and wonder cross her face, trying to calculate the chances that this was true.

She said, “Are you kidding me?” To which I replied, “I had to earn a little extra money to help put my wife through college. The move from my last job to this one forced me to take a pay cut and I needed to supplement my income. I hate it but I make good money, and I only have to work one night a week. It is just so demeaning. I feel so dirty having to do it.”

I could still tell there was a strand of doubt running across her mind. She smiled and said, “Okay then what is your character / costume?” Without hesitation I answered, “A computer geek. It is what I know. I have the thick glasses, pocket protector, and everything. My music is ‘I’m Too Sexy’.”

At around 6 that night she called me to tell me something and asked if she was interrupting my dancing, still trying to catch me in a lie. I calmly said that it was okay because I didn’t go on until 7. Then this morning she asked me how much money I made last night. To which I immediately turned bright red and said that that information was personal and I really didn’t want to discuss it.

She may try to act like she is confident that there is no way I am a dancer, but I secretly think she still wonders. Could it be possible that this seemingly unadventurous, nice, clean guy really lives a double life? Could there be a world out there on Wednesday nights that I just never found out about? I know his wife is in college and he had to take a pay cut, so is it possible that he is really forced to such extremes to survive?

Well, now I bet you are wondering too.

Test: Are You the Biggest Moron?

I was filling out a form today for government security and background information and was stumped by a question under the foreign associations section. The question went like this, "Have you ever been an officer or a member or made a contribution to an organization dedicated to the violent overthrow of the United States Government and which engages in illegal activities to that end, knowing that the organization engages in such activities with the specific intent to further such activities?"

I wasn't stumped by what my answer would be, but because I wondered who in their right mind would answer "Yes" to this question! If you are stupid enough to answer "Yes," they even ask you to give further details to explain. Is this for real!? Does the government use this as another way to track down terrorists? If so, how many do they actually catch by this method? Is this a case of "the best way to keep something safe is to hide it in plain sight?"

The People at the Sermon on the Mount

I read the story of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount and I can’t help but wonder what the perspective of the people listening was. Were they all enthralled and on the edge of their seats? Did some of them start to nod off? Did some of them find their minds wandering?

Did they dress up or just come in their common clothes? Did they take their sandals off to get comfortable? Did they wear hats or something to keep the sun out of their eyes?

Could they all hear or did the message have to be relayed back to them? Was the message the same when it reached the back or was it kind of like that game of “telephone” that we played as kids where the message changes with each retelling?

Did they bring their little kids? Did the kids sit and listen or did they bring toys to play with? Did they walk around and talk to people or play with each other?

How many other people brought food besides the boy with his fish and bread? Did they eat it or partake of the Lord’s bounty?

Did they sit, stand, or kneel? Was the ground uncomfortable? Did they fidget trying to get comfortable? Was it dry, moist, or wet?

Did they open with a prayer? Did anyone sing hymns? Did anyone walk the aisle at the end?

I wonder how close to our own church services it was. I wonder if those people acted the same way I have seen people acting in church today.

The Purse Blueprint

C.D. bought a new purse over the weekend. She was so excited about it and couldn’t stop telling me about all the cool features it had. The thing she was most excited about was the large number of pockets to put things in. So, as she is showing off the purse she starts looking for her glasses. She searches and searches but can’t find them in the purse anywhere. As she is visibly frustrated at having lost them already, I comment that maybe she needs a blueprint for her purse…sort of categorizing what is in each pocket. She said that would be great and she could keep it in her purse and pull it out when she has lost something. I said that if she puts it in her purse, then she just may very well lose the blueprint too. Then she would need a blueprint to find the blueprint!

Side Bar: My Dad lost his glasses once, searched everywhere for them. I finally asked him what he was looking for and he told me his glasses. I looked right at him and calmly replied, "Do you mean the ones on your head?"

Calling Yourself on the Phone

C.D. and J.P. were talking at lunch about taking pictures of each other to put in their phones. That way, for example, when J.P. calls C.D. his picture will pop up and she will know it is him. Think of it as a fancy caller ID for cell phones.

As I sat there and listened to them, it occurred to me how weird it would be to get a call on your cell phone, to look down, and see your own picture staring back at you. I wonder…would I have the courage to answer?

The Last Octopus

I tried octopus once in Greece. We went to a really nice seafood restaurant, the kind of restaurant where parts of the fish are still on it when the meal comes out. You know like cooked fish with the head and tail still on it. Well, one of the dishes that was served was octopus tentacles. I thought it looked safe, so I cut me off a piece and ate it. On the way down one of the suction cups…well…sucked to the inside of my throat. So, there I am choking on this octopus tentacle, and I can’t get it to go up or down. That stupid suction cup just wouldn’t let go. I started to panic, and I broke into a sweat. I just knew I was going to have to be driven to the emergency room to have it removed. Chalk up yet another freak accident that happened to me in my lifetime. I started shoving all kinds of things down my throat in an attempt to dislodge it…bread, fish, shrimp, anything. I was too embarrassed to admit what was happening, but then again nobody was looking my way anyway. Most likely I would have just ended up turning blue before anyone noticed something was wrong. My manly pride told myself that even that was preferable to admitting that I had been outsmarted by an octopus suction cup. When it finally broke free, I gasped a huge breath and vowed then and there never to eat octopus again. Stupid suction cup.

The Color of the Sky

I have had several people comment about the posts on my blog. There are several variations but the general idea is usually, “Where do you come up with this stuff? It is so random and weird.” A guy in school used to say the same thing about me, but he always phrased it as, “What color is the sky in your world because you are obviously seeing something different from us?” I would calmly reply, “Red.”

I prefer to think of myself as living in a different world from everyone else. A world where my posts are perfectly normal and everyone else’s thinking is weird.

The Phantom Wife

I have been at this job for four months now. In all that time my wife has failed to make an appearance here. I am sure that everyone here is starting to wonder if she really exists at all. They are probably thinking that I made her up to fit in and be cool. That could explain the pictures that I have of only her on my desk…never us together. And the stories I spin of three weddings in two countries is a bit far-fetched to believe. I mean, really, who gets married three times? My wedding ring doesn’t even look like a typical wedding ring, and even if it did I could have just bought it to make the story more believable. And everything is explained so perfectly how she is off doing a PhD in another state, she could be there a while, she is too busy to take vacations.

I am sure people want to believe me, but after so long I sense they are starting to wonder if I am not just the best liar they have ever met. Perhaps they wonder if I didn’t fabricate my whole life. Can anything I say be believed?

Typing With Underwear

I was talking to C.D. today about learning to type. She is still one of those hen-pecker typists. I was telling her about the first typing class I took in grade school. In order to keep us from looking at the keys on the computer the teacher decided to cover them up. The question is how do you cover the keys and still allow room for the students to be able to get their hands on the keys to type?

Well, some intelligent person came up with the bright idea to use men’s boxer shorts…putting the waist around the keyboard and allowing the students to stick their hands up the legs to type. I have to admit that it was pretty successful until some inventive student figured out that he could look through the opening in the crotch and see the keyboard. The idea spread like wildfire and the next thing you know everyone is holding the crotch flap open with their thumbs and henpecking their way through the class.

For every great idea you can find someone that can find a way to abuse its power.

Tai-Bo in Small Places

I had the big idea to get in shape so I decided to get me a Tai-Bo DVD. That way I could embarrass myself in my own home. I really enjoyed the setup of the moves and the intensity of the workout. I actually had fun working out…for a while. I soon learned the difficulties of doing such space-intensive exercises in such a space-deficient location.

It isn’t so fun when you kick the side of the entertainment system or punch an unsuspecting lamp. It is downright painful when you get your leg tangled up in a dining room chair, thanks to a wayward front kick, or hit your head on a moving ceiling fan trying to get some height on your spinning roundhouse kick. My wife lost more than one glass figurine when they toppled off the top of a bookcase and smashed to the floor. They were unfortunately dislodged when I slammed into the bookcase, having lost my balance on a combination move. However, I think the low point of the whole experience had to be when I flipped myself over the arm of the couch and landed head-first on the tile floor…twice.

Needless to say that after I regained consciousness I promptly destroyed that DVD so it could never do harm again!

The Mysterious Meeting

Yesterday I went to C & J’s Barbeque to meet someone for lunch. I just wish I had known who I was supposed to meet. I kept walking around the whole time asking everyone if they were the one. I got a lot of “what is wrong with you, weirdo” looks, but I made a few friends too. Not to mention that I was able to snag a few pickles from peoples’ plates while I was talking to them. So, I guess you could say I sort of ate with everyone in the restaurant. When I finally figured out who I was supposed to eat with it was time for me to go back to work. I should probably try to plan things better in the future.

Stalked by a Killer Crawfish

Yesterday after the rain the streets in my trailer park were flooded. As I trudged through the shallowest portions of the “lake” to the garbage dumpster, I came across a small animal shooting through the water. I stopped long enough to see what looked like a miniature lobster swimming across the street. I guess the large amount of rain had forced the crawfish out of his muddy burrows to the surface. I didn’t want the poor thing to get caught, and possibly killed, in the middle of the street so I tried directing his swimming back toward the grass. Unfortunately, he got caught in a current by the gutter and started tumbling swiftly down the street. I lost sight of him as he barrel-rolled through the water off into oblivion.

I didn’t give it another thought until I was driving to work this morning. As I reached the end of the street there sitting in the middle of the road was a crawfish. It is hard to say, but he looked just like the crawfish I had seen yesterday. Could he be stalking me? Could he be mad at me for sending him into the furious rapids of the “river” by the gutter? He DID have an evil glint in his eye as he shook his tiny pincer in my direction. Shall I be attacked in my sleep one night, snuffed out by that same tiny pincer holding my nostrils closed? Or was it my imagination fueled by my unconscious guilt? If this is my last blog post, then you will have your answer. Someone please give the following picture to the police so they have a composite of the killer.

A Single Moment of Patheticism

Do you know a single defining moment when you realize that you are completely pathetic? Well, I would like to share one with you. I was in the bathroom washing my hands. I dried off on the paper towel, thoroughly getting every nook, every cranny – because I am obsessive like that – and then wadded the paper towel up. Now in the bathroom the trash can was only about two inches from my feet. Acting all cool like I was some basketball superstar I go to do my best “Air” Jordan impression, attempting to slam the paper towel in the trash can only to miss. All I could do was watch in horror as it splatted against the floor six inches wide right.

How is that possible? How do you miss by six inches when you were only two inches away to begin with? That means that it had to travel…let’s see…well…carry the one…almost eight inches to go the two inches I intended in the first place. The only thing worse than that is when you do something this pathetic and someone is watching.

I know you all have stories like that, so let’s hear your best pathetic moments.

Raindrop Lullabies

It is raining hard today. The drops are so big that it sounds like a hundred little kids running on the roof, or maybe a theater erupting in ovation after a grand symphonic or theatrical performance. The clouds are so thick that they have blocked out the sun and cast the world outside into an unnatural darkness. Thunder rumbles across the sky in slow, deep tones, announcing the presence of a great storm.

It is a great day to be home, sitting by the window, and reading a book. The rain lulling you into a peaceful slumber, making your eyes heavier with each passing moment. You fight it determined to keep reading, but slowly, slowly you give in and let the rhythmic lullabies of the rain pull you into a world of dreams. Your head tilts to rest gently on the window. You can feel the cool glass pressed against your cheek and the subtle vibrations as the raindrops hit the window outside. Your half-read book drops to the floor as your fingers slowly relax and release their hold. You unconsciously pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your warm blanket around you, and drift into a wonderful sleep.

Fruit Fly Disorder

I came across an interesting blog post this morning. It is perhaps the best definition of what I affectionately call my Fruit Fly Disorder (being that I have the attention span of a fruit fly) that I have ever come across. Here is the post:

“Lack of Focus

Does anyone else out there suffer from a lack of focus? That seems to be my main hurdle right now, personally and professionally. I am interested in almost everything, which turns out to be my gift and my curse (props to Jay-Z and Peter Parker). I start on many things, but finish few. I feel like the creative equivalent of the Chicago Cubs - I start out strong but by the end everyone wonders what the hell happened.

I don't remember being this way when I was a kid. I would start a project and spend hours on it, concentrating each night until I got it done. I made cardboard spaceships for my Transformers, drew hundreds of dinosaurs on rolls of newsprint, and wrote short stories by the binder.

Of course, I also had zero responsibility and no significant distractions. Today my free time after work is split among working out, cleaning, fixing meals, etc. Jessica and I also had odd work schedules sometimes, and so our time together can get pretty erratic.

I'm also still searching for that “one thing” that I love to do. I would love nothing more than to strive for perfection in some arena, but I have no idea what that is. Writing is my strongest suit, but I love the visual aspects of design and film and would like to delve into those deeper. Without a clear vision, though, it's hard to get started. My ideas are all dressed up with no place to go. To quote Filter's “Best Things” – ‘I've got a green light yeah, but I'm going nowhere.’”


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