Buttered Popcorn

The pain on either side of my spine right below my ribs is what caused me to worry. My urine smelling like popcorn hadn’t been so much a concern by itself.

The previous night I was drinking at a level some might consider a lot but it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Earlier, I had googled “why does my urine smell like buttered popcorn” the 2 top causes: diabetes and dehydration. Dehydration made sense so I thought no longer about it but then the pain by my kidneys showed up. 

I quietly said, “Oh fuck”. 

But then I remember I was shoveling snow for over an hour prior to drinking. The pain wasn’t actually my kidneys, it was just my back. So I had a couple shots of whiskey to toast my immortality.

We Deserve Better

Most entertainment today is like junk food. 

Any sort of cleverness has been reduced to hiding some Easter egg in a scene. Skilled acting under a skilled director is not necessary as long as it turns a profit.

We are okay with being dumb. We don’t want anything complex. 

We want it deep fried with extra cheese but add some mayo mixed with sriracha and call it aioli and add some micro greens so we can pretend it’s more complicated than it truly is.

We settle for something just slightly better than our shitty lives to distract us. 

My trouble is that my life isn’t actually all that shitty, it’s just a challenge. I want a better distraction.

Drip, drip, drip

Some folks know the real me and by the real me, I mean my birth name and location. 

The real me is often hidden by myths and legends and to be honest there are times I wonder if I have ever been honest with myself as to who I truly am. 

The character I play is often well received so I will play it with a flourish. Alcohol helps if not required. But sometimes I find that guy to be a jerk. He’s a bit of a phony. He gets on my nerves. But the alternative is to end the scene and let the room go quiet. 

I wonder who is the truer me. 

I think people like the sober me only because they know after a few drinks, the drunk me starts to show up. 

It starts with a giggle and then I will hear “There he is”.

He is certainly better about not giving a shit. I envy him that.

I wonder if I would tolerate him as a roommate. 

Anxiety or alcohol. Sounds like a problem.

We were only one timezone away from 5 o’clock

“We heard so much about you!”

 I was greeted by strangers or at least they were strangers to “Sober Timmy”.  More than once someone has restarted a conversation for a day or two before and I could not recall meeting them. 

I glanced at my friends, then at the bartender and then back at the strangers. “I can assure you that all of the stories were exaggerated.”

I was a little relieved that this couple from the suburbs had not met me before.

Then we did shots of tequila. 

one side certainly hates in a greater degree

I don't like talking politics anymore. There are too many dummies on both sides, and we are dummies for only having two sides. There should be at least 3 viable political parties, a couple more would be even better.

But the way I see it, he will get reelected. He will get reelected because he is currently trailing in the polls but Wall Street is doing okay. He was trailing in the polls in 2016.

He will get reelected because he hasn't lost enough of his base and there aren't enough new voters from the demographics that matter that will swing the vote.

The message on either side hasn't changed much so why would the vote change?

One party still thinks the national election is a popularity contest and has lost twice because of it.

In 2020 people are not voting for what their ideals are, they are voting against what they hate and one side certainly hates in a greater degree.

When I was a boy, the dinosaurs all dragged their tails on the ground

I came here to express something but I don't have enough energy to pull it out of me.

I should take it as a win but I do not feel like a winner.

They say change is good but that is a lie

I relocated my desk. I had been in the same area, within 18', since I walked in the door over twenty years ago. There had been some changes, like from old furniture to new, and from this cube to the cube right next to it but this latest move was to a new room without cubes.

Everything was packed up and moved. I should have purged before the move but all of my co-workers were already in the new location, so I just took everything.

By law, I am supposed to keep my records for at least seven years. I had stuff over 17.

I am sure I tossed out "one of's" - plans that only I had a copy of but they hadn't been used for years and years and anyone looking for them probably wouldn't even realize to ask me for them. They will be cardboard boxes soon.

I couldn't help but think of all of the man hours that it took me to create all that paper trash. I literally threw part of my life away.

I probably moved about 20 boxes. I filed away 8 and then started sorting through the rest. I am down to five. Things of value, that I most likely will rarely ever need.

For the past couple of days, I have been filling the nearby trash buckets and recycle bins with my past effort and then I do what I get paid for. 

I answer the phone with my left hand, now.  

The more I fight it, the stronger it gets.

Sorry for the interruption

I used to write all of the time.

It helped to get the thoughts out of my head.

But writing is sometimes like trying to relax in your backyard and eat your breakfast on a sunny morning. You sit there thinking about how nice it is to be sitting in your own back yard just enjoying the day and then you notice a loose gutter or some pealing paint or the grass that is getting taller than you like. Fuck you gutters. I never liked gutters, they seem like a flawed system to me always getting clogged and creating ice dams. I rather deal with the rain run off at the ground level and pitch the ground away from the house.

I need to shut that voice off in my head.

It is true that I need to do more but I also should be able to enjoy my life at times. The trouble is that depression keeps me from doing things and when I get a break from my depression and try some self healing that damn voice points out all of the other things that I should be doing.

"You shouldn't need to write to cope." I don't argue that point.

Am I a person with High Function Depression? Or am I just a lazy sack of shit? It's a tough call.

I have ripped most of the gutters off of my house. There are still some because I like that thought of collecting rain water to water the garden. These gutters are not near any trees, so they don't get clogged.

I am not even trying at this point.

mood change

Senior year in high school our English teacher asked us "On average, in a year, how many books do people read in the US?" Most of the guesses were over four. Mr. Sullivan said the answer was zero.

I like reading but I don't like to read. I am slow at it. I sound out all of the words in my head unless they are hard to pronounce and recur over and over in the story then I just remember what that word looks like and skip over actually saying it. I often get irritated reading science fiction because of all of the made up words.

If I am in the mood to read, I can read about a book a week. I am not often in the mood. But I probably read at least some sort of book at least once a year.

The Struggle is Real is What I Would Like to Say

A compact dryer sitting on top of a compact washing machine is all that someone sees when the closet door is opened. What isn't seen is the new wiring, the new plumbing and the new hole in the exterior wall for the vent for the dryer.

The stacked washer and dryer were supposed to be easy to install but in a house that was built in 1880 things don't always go so well. Coincidentally, the closet that houses the washer and dryer was originally built to help hold up the bathroom on the floor above. Whoever installed the bathroom on the second floor cut through a few of the joists that support the room to run the plumbing.

The washer and dryer where a Christmas gift that my mother received over two years ago. My depression was keeping me from doing all that was necessary to get them installed but then my mom nearly cried the last time she talked to me about it. Her knee had been giving her problems more than usual and she was having trouble getting up the stairs to the full sized washer and dryer.

It still took me three weeks from the day to get it done. Some of the days were spent struggling with the work that needed to be done other days were spent struggling to decide to work.

It's done. I am pleased with the work but not the delay. 

One Finger Salute

Part of me felt like I had made the right decision but I wasn't happy about it as I entered the subway.

I didn't need a beer.

I ended up standing in front of some disheveled guy who was wearing a backpack, holding a bag in his lap, a bag at his feet and a bag in the seat beside him. He made a move to stand up so I shifted to the right. He stood up and then stopped, standing right where I had been which caused our personal space to overlap.

I took a step to the right. He turned his back to me. I watched as he raised his right hand and rested it against his right cheek. His middle finger was extended but he wouldn't meet my gaze but he gave a lot of side-eye.

It was a dirtbag move and I wondered what his issue was, I wanted to engage him about his behavior but my mind kept going to my own personal issues.

The train was still making its way through Downtown Boston so riders were coming and going and I took the chance to relocate to the other side of the car. He was still giving me the side-eye until someone stood near him.

I watched as he shifted to face away from the lady next to him as his grabbed the pole between them. His middle finger was extended.

I then felt sorry for him, this miserable little man who can only express his feelings by not-so-secretly extending his middle finger to all of those who get close to him.

He was still herding his bags over two seats as I walked by him when the doors opened for my stop. I wanted to tell him that I was going to pray for him, not that I was actually going to do it but I felt that he needed to know that someone somewhat recognized his plight but I also still held a bit of a grudge and felt like it might piss him off.

But I kept my mouth shut and counted some of my blessings.

If There Is Cheese, Then It Is Pizza.

I was explaining the type of breads that I was baking and I was interrupted.

"I have to stop you right there. If it has cheese, it is pizza. It is not focaccia."

I told him, "Hey, I am not going to disagree with you."

The Rise

I bake bread.

I bake a variety of different types but it is mostly sourdough that I bake which at it simplest definition means that I do not use commercial yeast.

Using naturally occurring yeast means timing is an issue, a twelve hour wait is not uncommon. It can be a three day affair between feeding the starter and waiting for the rises, then shaping and baking the dough. It is tough to commit to baking a loaf of bread for tomorrow when I have no interest in dealing with it today. But the thing of it is: I don't know what my mental state will be tomorrow, maybe I will want bread then but I won't be able bake any because I didn't do anything today. So my shitty attitude today is going to directly affect my attitude tomorrow.

I have started loaves that I had no desire to finish but it is almost easier just to bake the loaf than to toss it into the compost heap and then have the city wildlife traipse it all over the place.

I irritate myself a lot.

The preparation, the rise, the baking are all functions of time. Each alarm goes off and I am reminded that I am just wasting my life away but I do end up with a pretty good loaf of bread.