Busy at my desk

Yes I was rubbing my upper thigh at my desk trying to help a moisture stain dry quicker

Simon

I have had pretty good luck with blogger. It hasn't eaten too many of my posts but earlier today it killed two. Well actually, it was just one post but I tried to post it twice, each version was a little different. A third version was typed out somewhere else and an attempt was made to post that but the same error message came up.

I would be more upset if I actually had anything to say.

I was a little surprised today to find out that it was Thursday but then that is the day that usually follows Wednesday so I don't know why I was surprised.

We have people coming over for Halloween. The people include my nieces, their parents, and some friends. There will be about fourteen, I think.

We have a large front yard and often one of us will sit on the stone wall at the sidewalk with a bowl of candy so people will not have to make the trek up the lawn or the driveway. It usually gets cold.

I don't know why I am relaying this information other than sometimes I just feel the need to type or maybe write.

I just looked over to my left and noticed a young mother starting to make movements like she was going to breastfeed her infant and more and more her movements seemed to make no doubt about it, the pulling of the shirt, the repositioning of the baby, moving the zipper down. I casually watched wondering how much of herself she was going to expose, wondering if I would be able to get a glance at a nipple. But then I realized that I was acting like a creep even though I wasn't watching for titillation purposes or trying to get aroused, I was just curious about how much care and skill or worry that she would use in the process of breastfeeding her child.

At least I was being discrete, unlike the old guy staring right at her.

She was being careful in not overly exposing herself but she wasn't delaying in feeding her baby. I didn't see any other skin than could be seen with something low cut but then I did not have a very good angle.

That is until she switched the baby to her other side and she slide her left breast out of her grey sweat jacket. She is not very bashful about it and nor should she be.

It is a nice tit, I can tell you that much even though some peach fuzz covered head is blocking most of my view.

How's that? A play by play of some crude guy watching a mother breastfeeding her child and while I was writing this some young guy tried to bum a dollar off of me. He did not look homeless so I was allowed to talk to him but I am not allowed to give money to beggars.

The baby is done feeding now so I can look in that direction once again.

He looked like he got lost from a senior class field trip. He looked well kept but he spoke too softly. I had to ask him to repeat himself and then I said "No."

Now she back to the right breast. I think she is just fucking around with me. If she wants me to look I will look, I have no problem with looking but in polite society looking is rude.

It looks like she is done again.

Her three year old son is named Simon. I don't know what the baby's name is. She answers to Mommy but that is probably only to a select few.

People like their space

She will come in late everyday and blame mass transit. She comes in late consistently at the same time. She should leave her house earlier.

When she does some in she’ll walk around the office talking to people instead of sitting down and answering the ringing telephones.

Her attitude bothers me most of the time.

But I am not her to complain about her.


I see him during the morning commute, frequently. He sits at the last bench on the platform reading his copy of the free paper.

I stand further down towards the end of the platform.

He will wait until the train is arriving to leave his bench and wait in the same area as me for the train to stop and the doors to open.

Yesterday, the doors opened and the couple that were standing in the doorway slightly gave ground so that other people could enter the train.

The guy entering the train takes a half step into the train, into the very space relinquished by the lady still standing there.

In a perfect world no one would be standing in the doorway but the doorway is premium space for standing in and the doors on this particular side of the train don’t open nearly as frequently as the other side, so people like standing there.

He was in her personal space, so she retreated a little further away from the door, waiting for the guy to move into the train but he didn’t, he set his feet and opened his paper

When the lady realized that the guy was overtaking her space she said, “Dude, are you really taking my space?” His response was to stand there in silence.

I have seen the guy exhibit behavior that could be considered rude but it could also be a social disorder or even just ignorance as to what polite behavior is.

I then realized that he will always stand in that spot. I guess he thinks that that is his spot. He also sits in the same spot on the same bench everyday.

The lady moved over to in front of the guy she was with for a slightly uncomfortable ride into town.

People like their space.

Test

Buckets

On the trip to the park I took my digital SLR, my little canon point and shoot, my little HD video camera and my iPod touch which does photos and video and I think that I used them all, mostly just because I couldn't decide on what I wanted to do. There were a couple times when I wasn't using any of it. I will usually take them out of the house to try to keep the peace. I take them out so my mom will stop pestering them. They all had buckets. The park is at the beach. There was three buckets. They used the buckets to collect shells. They used the buckets to collect sand. They used the buckets to collect sea life (periwinkles). They used the buckets to collect water. They used the buckets to make wet sand. They used the buckets to make sand castles. I mostly let them do what they wanted, I let them get close to the water. I let them play in the sand. During the process, the youngest decided that she didn't need the water that was in her bucket so she went to the water's edge, leaned a bit forward and tried to toss the water back into the ocean but she ended up just dumping it on her sneaker. She was trying to be careful. She wasn't goofing around. She had a plan on keeping her sneakers dry but it just didn't work out. She caught me watching her, she would normally be yelled at, I just shrugged my shoulders. She was not stupid and she was not being careless, she just needs more practice with emptying buckets.

She was saying something chocolate cake and then would throw sand into the air.

Of die and dice

I was sitting on the granite stairs that lead to nowhere, they are form as opposed to function. I was writing by way of typing.

I looked around and across the stairway down there was a little girl playing on the mirror image of the stairs I sat on. Her father was close by.

She had a smoothie whose ingredients made it pink. She slipped and caught herself unharmed but she had lost grip of her cup and it tumbled two stairs down and I saw what I thought was an ice cube skate across the floor.

The father didn't say anything as the little girl escaped to her mother. He was a bit mad.

I looked to the left because the show was over, then someone's foot kicked something across the floor. I thought it was the piece of ice but what I had thought was ice was actually a die. It wasn't a normal die, it had a red large dot with the regular assortment of little black dots.

Smoothies do not come with ice cubes.

She was carrying it when she fell. I imagined that for at least the next six minutes she would be missing it.

If her family wasn't hanging out in the food court, I wouldn't be able to find her but I figured I would give it a try.

I picked up the die and entered the food court. The place was crowded. I couldn't see her on my quick glance around. I started to decide on how hard that I was going to look.

I started my more thorough search by looking at the counters where people stand to eat which was to my immediate left and wondered how I had missed them on my initial look around. I was practically in their space. It made me uncomfortable and I immediately felt that the situation would seem odd from their point of view.

Three minutes after the fact, some guy from a different section of the building shows up with their daughter's toy. Stalk much?

Whatever, I was there. I slide the die about an inch and a half across the counter in her direction. The father was keeping his back to me, the daughter was hiding in her mother's light gray sweat jacket. I choose the set of eyes that were paying any attention at all and asked, "Is this hers?"

The mother said yes.

I left.

Sometimes it is dark in here

The way I would describe it is that you are on a long journey and you have two courses of action: go forward or stay put, and staying put only just delays having to go forward.

The journey takes you into a forest. You didn't notice when you entered the forest and you don't know how deep into the forest you are.

You are alone. There are no animals. There seems to be no other life than the trees.

The Trees tower over you. Trees so tall and dense that you cannot see the tops of them, you can only see the dark damp trunks, yet you still feel cramped, you always feel like there is a wall of tree trunks just an arm length away yet you can also see for miles, you see miles of emptiness except for the trees.

Sometimes, the forest gets noisy, the noise is both close and far, it is also inescapable.

Most of the time the forest is quiet, the quiet stretches further than the endless and unseeable horizon.

There is no sun.

There is always a hunger no matter how much eating has been done.

There is always tiredness no matter how much sleeping has been done.

There is always coldness no matter how much you do to keep warm.

It is a crowded cold dark emptiness that stretches forever.

You think you can remember a time when you were not in the forest but those memories seem like they belong to someone else.

You forget the destination for your journey. You think there was a destination but you cannot remember if you made that thought up or not.

You forget the purpose of it all but you trudge forward because you think that is what you are supposed to do. You wonder where the thought of trudging forward came from, you think it was taught to you but you cannot remember meeting any teachers.
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But then the canopy opens and light reaches the ground. You can see the sky. You notice that the chill is gone from your bones. But you are still in the forest. The trees are just as thick and endless but they no longer seem to be at arm length. There seems to be more room.

You still don't know how far into the forest you are and you still don't know how far it is to go -- and you are still alone but at least there seems to be hope.

And you have found your a familiar spoon.

Whatever

So.

The three of us were sitting there talking about current events with some other regulars came in. The three of us all came over from a different bar quite some time ago; we followed a bartender. We have known each other for years.

The other regulars know my friends better than they know me and they are accepted as favored regulars. I am not there yet because I haven't put in the time but I am afforded the same curtesy as a favored regular.

I follow the hierarchy some what, there is one guy we all defer to but after that it is pretty much the choosing of the bartender on where you stand.

The guy we defer to is sometimes followed in by friends. I do not defer to his friends but some of them think I should.

One of the guy's friends was there last night, he stood at the end of our group and at first he was just joining the conversation which is fine but then he started interrupting the conversation. At first I thought it may have been on accident because the music was a little loud and the place a little busy but it seemed to happen with greater frequency than it would have if it were on accident. He would interrupt the guy right to his left, the guy closest to him, as he was in the middle of a sentence with something totally different than what was being talked about.

One of my friends said that it may have been a cultural thing because the guy is from Serbia but I think the guy is a pompous ass.

I am three years younger than four times the age of the Scotch I was drinking

The day had a weird feel to it.

Lunch was a bit of an escape.

I got the steak tip sandwich and after a couple minutes the bartender asked me a question.

"Timmy, are you happy?"

It was an odd question so I laughed a little laugh and then asked my own question.

"Do you mean happy in general? Or in life? Or with this lunch?"

"With the lunch, I guess."

"I like it. It is good."

"What about in general?"

"I could be happier."

"Would more ginger ale make you happy? Because that is about all I can help with?"

"It would be a start."

I then left earlier than usual because I had wanted a coffee. I had told her that I might be back even though I didn't think that I would be. She later sent me a message that I should have told her that it was my birthday and that we should celebrate at least a little bit.

I really didn't care to celebrate but I did go back. I stayed and talked to friends and then we talked about how the guy that had just left was an attention hound and all his other quirks.

"Yeah, and sometimes he will refer to me and Woody as his children. He'll say: See you later my children, and that bothers me because I'm old enough to be his father."

"Bob, you aren't that old."

"Bob was very potent as a child." I said which caused the bartender to laugh and then say: I knew you were drunk.

Because drunk Timmy is funnier than sober Timmy.

Meh

So I wonder: Maybe it is me.

I change my habits.

I change my methods.

I am still doing most everything.

I attend important meetings with important people

I am spoken highly of.

I am smiled at when recognized.

I am still not happy.

Less ahead equals further behind

I open up the box to type in some text but I have nothing to say. I have no stories of some clueless coworker or some hapless tourist.

I have complaints about my job.

Things are not going well but they could be worse. I should be happy that I am still keeping pace and not falling further behind. I should be happy that "further behind" actually means being less ahead.

I need a new focus.

I need to be less irritated with the lady talking loudly on her cellphone while on the subway for many minutes.