Wishing Your Life Away, One Friday At a Time

 

Typical workplace conversation, Monday through Thursday of any week:

“How’s it going?” “Be going better if it was Friday!”

“How’re you doing?” “Just trying to make it to Friday.”

“Is it Friday yet?”

“This would make a good Friday, wouldn’t it?”

“I sure wish it was Friday!”

Typical workplace conversation, any Friday:

“YAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!”

“FINALLY!!”

“How’s it going?” “Great, it’s FRIDAY!!”

We say this Every. Freaking. Week.

Mondays through Thursdays are simply annoyances, standing in the way between us and our precious, sacred weekends. And Fridays are the golden gate through which we cross into those oh, so longed for Saturdays and Sundays.

And then, just like that, the weekend is over, Monday returns, and the longing begins anew.

Sorta sad, when you think about it.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I love my weekends, absolutely. It’s my chance to wake up without an alarm clock, unless you count my cat. I’m not putting on the uniform I wear through the week as I drive my shuttle bus; I can actually wear other clothes. I can spend time doing what I want, instead of what I get paid for. Weekends get two thumbs up from me.

But, I don’t know, I guess I worry some that I’m rushing my life along, looking for the next Friday down the road. It’s not like I can store up all the Mondays through Thursdays to use another time. Once they’ve passed, they’re gone for good. And as I rush headlong to my 60th birthday, I’m becoming more sensitive to the value of all those days in between the Fridays.

I know I should experience each day just as it is: the people who come my way, the food I eat, the weather I encounter, the opportunities, the circumstances, the sights, the sounds, all of it. After all, who knows if we’ll make it to Friday, or if Friday will make it to us?

But it’s going to take a major mental adjustment to begin taking and appreciating each day for the singular treasure it is. If any of you can offer some tips on how you do it, I’m listening.

 

On a somewhat brighter note, this is the first post I’ve managed to finish after several weeks of false starts, so I take this as a small victory.

A Strange New Sound

 

Sometimes all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you

”The Air That I Breathe”, The Hollies

 

Ah, my friends, to breathe is a wonderful thing.

Just a week ago, I had nasal polyps completely blocking any air from entering my left nostril, and partially blocking the right one, a condition that had persisted for months. The task of breathing was mostly relegated to my mouth, which was highly annoying.

(the task, that is, not my mouth)

(though my mouth can also be highly annoying)

But now, thanks to endoscopic nasal surgery, I can take in precious oxygen through both sides of my nose. Yaaayy!!

Sorry, but when you’ve been denied something for so long, to finally have it again is a big deal. (Some husbands might identify with this feeling.)

And you know it’s been a long time when you notice a sound that’s, at first, unfamiliar to you, but then, you finally recognize the sound of air entering your nose.

A beautiful sound, I tell you.

My sincere thanks to the surgeon and the hospital staff, whose care and professionalism were present all the way through this procedure.

And thanks to all who had me on their minds last Friday morning as I was having this done. I felt all your well wishes.

Everyone, take a deep breath, and appreciate how easy it is.

And, if it isn’t, go see a doctor. Breathing is kind of important.

The Straight Poop (or, Excrementally Yours)

 

NOTE: To you-know-who, don’t let Jason ever read this.

 

So, as many of you know, I drive a shuttle bus in a part of town, all day, five days a week. Actually, I drive from one town to another and back, which is funny when you consider I just drive one mile each direction.

Anyway, both these towns are home to some very well-to-do people.

Which, as occurred to me today, explains the prevalence of pickup trucks rolling through the neighborhood, advertising pet poop pickup service.

I wouldn’t lie about something like this, although “pet poop pickup” is kinda fun to say, I must admit.

I mean, obviously, these well-off folks would never stoop (literally) to doing such a vulgar, disgusting chore so, thank God, there is someone available to do it for them.

Naturally, this raises a few questions:

  • First of all, where were these guys on Career Day in school? They could have seriously altered the trajectory of my life.
  • Who was the first person to say, “Hey, I can get paid for picking up this stuff!”
  • Likewise, who was the first person to say, “Hey, I can pay someone to pick up this stuff!”
  • What kind of experience lends itself to this kind of career? (I’m thinking, ex-Trump staff member, perhaps.)
  • What must the training process be like for this work?
  • Do you get to wear a suit, like those HAZMAT guys wear?
  • What opportunity for advancement is there? Can you get promoted, maybe to Master Scooper? Expert Scooper? Super Duper Scooper?
  • Would you even feel like taking a lunch break? Ever?
  • And why have I seen ads for more than one company? Is there seriously competition for this job?
  • What does it sound like when these guys “talk shop?” Example:

MOE: How’s business?

CURLY: Oh, it’s picking up, how about you?

MOE: Oh, I’m cleaning up, man!

  • Do the dogs get to know you well enough to plan for your visits?
  • Have I really written over 300 words on this topic?

 

I obviously have way too much time to think.

 

Depression in a Nutshell from the Perspective of a Depressed Person

Here’s a very good explanation of what people with depression go through from someone who goes through it. For all my family and friends.

Depressed Express!

When you
hear a person say “I’m feeling depressed” or “I think I have depression” what’s
the first thing that comes into your mind?

For a lot
of people the “depression” is looked at the same vain as being sad, emotional
or alone. In my opinion, this is the worst misconception about DEPRESSION. Depression
is not just about being sad, emotional or alone. That is not the end all be all
of depression.

First of
all, if you feel that you’re experiencing depression you better get
professional help to get a proper diagnosis. Do not be afraid to see a
psychiatrist to have yourself checked. Do not let the stigma of depression
stopped you from seeking help. For years I felt I was experiencing depression. I
am turning thirty-two years old this year and it took me more than 2 decades to
seek…

View original post 1,303 more words

The Siren’s Song

 

Note: I’m telling this story from a heterosexual viewpoint, because I am one, but I feel pretty certain it’s basically the same, regardless of your sexual preference.

 

This one is tough to write. It makes me uncomfortable, but I’m hoping it leads to a bigger conversation I think is worth having.

When you’re a guy, the pull of pornography is a strong one.

It starts even before puberty, the looking at “nasty pictures” of naked girls. It’s not about stimulation then, it’s about just being naughty. It’s in our teenage years that the motivation behind looking at them changes.

Now they’re stimulating. Now they’re exciting. And they’re naughty.

Those pictures, along with our now hormone-fueled brains, inform the way we look at every nubile female in our line of sight. What were once germ-infested, alien life forms suddenly become objects of overwhelming, insatiable lust.

And we tend to look at them that way for the rest of our lives.

As if that’s not bad enough, porn is the gasoline we sometimes like to throw on that fire.

And, I believe, is what has gotten us to where we are in our attitude about women, which has produced this whole culture of sexual assault.

 

Because the appeal of porn for guys, of course, is the vicarious thrill of having any woman, anytime, anywhere, for any sexual encounter. And since society largely finds porn to be, at the very least, distasteful, there is the additional appeal of engaging in something forbidden, taboo. We all like to be bad sometimes, don’t we?

Well, is it any stretch to think that if some guy watched enough of that, it would carry over into how he viewed women in real life? How he treated them? How he regarded them sexually? No doubt, he would feel justified in having any woman he damn well wanted.

Because, as far as he’s concerned, they all want it. Even the ones who say no.

And that’s what sexual assault is about. Not the actual sex. It’s about the feeling of power, of control.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying every guy who looks at porn wants to go out and rape a bunch of women. But, it’s not tough to see how one behavior can lead to another. In fact, there’s plenty of research to suggest that sexual objectification of women often leads to aggressive behavior toward them.

And yet, women who are sexually assaulted are seldom believed, often grilled and, in one instance, mocked by the President of the United States, of all people. Society seems to have this twisted idea that the woman must have asked for it, in her manner, in her wardrobe, something. Why is it so hard to believe she could be telling the truth?

Does our culture now view women to generally be horny, sex-crazed sluts who want it all the time, even when they say they don’t?

And what part has pornography played in shaping that view?

 

So, back to my original point:

As I said at the beginning, pornography has a strong attraction to guys, like the sirens of Greek mythology, whose seductive singing from the shoreline lured many a sailor to certain shipwreck on the rocks. There’s probably not a man alive – myself included – who hasn’t, at some point succumbed to its attraction. And no matter how much they tell themselves that it’s demeaning, and degrading, and disrespectful of the women in their lives, the sirens remain in their ears.

Not that men are totally helpless. Self-control does still exist. But when even some mainstream advertisements skate right on the edge of soft-core porn, and push their products using objectified images of women; when pornography is so much more accessible on cable TV and the Internet; when, besides topless and nude bars, we now have these chains of “breastaurants”, intentionally staffed with curvaceous women in deliberately revealing outfits…

It sure does make resistance tougher, you know?

Now, just as an aside, if porn is used by couples to help/enhance their sex life, as long as both partners are on the same page about it, that’s different. Where porn becomes harmful, as it does in many relationships, is when it’s a secret, when one partner is unaware of the other’s indulgence. Because, if and when the secret comes out, it makes for serious strife, damaging the relationship badly, perhaps irreparably.

I apologize; I got a bit long-winded. But, as I said at the outset, I think this is something we need to talk about if we’re going to bring change to our culture that is more respectful of women.

And, I feel pretty safe in saying, unfortunately, that’s gonna be a slow process. So, we need to get started right away.

 

It’s Been a Year

 

Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, Parkland, Florida.

It’s one of those places now that, just by mentioning its name, evokes vivid, horrifying images for us all.

One year ago today, that school lived its worst nightmare.

An eighteen-year-old former student showed up on campus with a semiautomatic rifle and shot seventeen people to death; fourteen of them, students.

Most of us can’t possibly imagine what that experience was like; to helplessly watch the surreal scene of a gunman randomly killing people, killing your friends. 

And you wait, paralyzed in utter shock and terror, for your turn.

Can you imagine?

And today, all the surviving students, teachers, families and members of the community who have lived with this horrific tragedy every day for the last year, will commemorate this anniversary by honoring the memory of those who were lost, and by renewing their commitment to putting an end to the senseless violence that forever changes the lives of all who are affected by it.

Which, incidentally, is all of us.

 

So then, let’s all honor the memory of those who died tragically a year ago. Let’s remind ourselves of how precious the people in our lives are, and how we need to let them know that every chance we get, because the time could come when we run out of chances.

I was listening to a man on the radio this morning recalling his experience that day. He was at a Starbucks just blocks away from the school when the shootings happened. He clearly remembers all the parents’ phones ringing at once. He remembers the horrified screams, the panic and chaos.

And he remembers one mother’s tearful regret over not telling her daughter goodbye that morning before she left for school.

Remind the people you love that you love them. Today.

 

And let’s also honor the memory of those who died by letting our lawmakers know very clearly that there is no longer any excuse for weak and inadequate gun control laws. This insanity has to stop, and they have the power to make it happen, if they can just stop kissing the arse of the National Rifle Association.

Let’s all speak out. The Stoneman students are; let’s support them. Let’s join them.

Today, we are all Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.

 

#MSDStrong

“WAP2”

 

As I’ve said before on this blog, I believe that it’s time that we men do a serious reassessment of how we look at, and talk about, and treat women.

Apparently, judging by their recent ad that generated so much controversy, Gillette feels the same way. I salute them for putting the message out there, that men can be better than they are in several ways, including their behavior towards women. I hope more companies follow suit.

Guys, you know we’ve always excused our treatment of women with a shrug, a smile and a Whaddya expect? We’re guys!

Well, if you’ve been paying attention the last couple of years, you’ve surely noticed that women are up to here with that. They’ve made it very clear the way it’s always been will no longer be tolerated. And they are taking a stand for the respect that is due them in both their professional and personal relationships.

So, I just want you to know, ladies: I’ve been listening, and I am trying to change my mindset, but it’s an almost 60-year-old mindset, and the process is slow.

Because, man, I see a lot of beautiful women where I work, and it’s easy to look at them just as bodies, and not as complete people, with actual lives. And not just at work either. At the mall, at the fast food restaurant, anywhere there are women, basically.

So, to help me, I’ve created this little acronym, WAP2, to remind me that Women Are People, Too. I haven’t fully absorbed this lesson yet, but maybe, at some point, I’ll get there. I’m about as far away from perfect as it gets, believe me, but I am trying to make some improvements here and there.

Like the Nobel laureate Bob Dylan once said, “The times, they are a-changin’.” For the better, in this case. Women are finding the courage to speak out against men’s disgraceful, demeaning treatment of them, and it’s been a long time coming.

Fellas, time for us to act like men, not boys. Men respect women. Remember, WAP2.

From Your Little Boy

 

You idiot! Why are you such an idiot?

How stupid can you get?

Shit, talkin’ to you is like talkin’ to a child, sometimes.

You cotton-pickin’, half-witted idiot!

 

I know that, over the course of our life together, you said many kind, loving words to me. I know you loved me.

I loved you, too. I admired you. I looked up to you. I wanted to be just like you.

And I hung on to every single word you said to me.

Including all the ones at the beginning of this post.

The ones that sliced deep into my heart. The ones that told me I was a failure in your eyes. The ones that have haunted me ever since, and I still struggle to forget.

As far as I’m concerned, I am an idiot.

And so, for the rest of your life, I couldn’t look at you without imagining you looking back at me and wondering how you ended up with such a stupid son.

 

I never told you this. I couldn’t.

I guess I thought it was something I had to just get over. Maybe it is.

But, dammit, it’s tough. Even with the memory of how good you were to me. (And you were.) Even with the memories of all the good times we had together. (And we did.)

You’ve been gone nineteen years, but even if you were here now, I probably still couldn’t tell this to you.

So, this is as close as I’ll ever get, I guess. Now that I’m nearly 60.

On some level, I forgive you. I know you were angry or frustrated when you spoke these words to me.

But, I could never convince myself you didn’t mean them, anyway.

Shouldn’t be so freakin’ sensitive, right? Dads say this $#!t to their sons all the time.

 

At the end of all this rambling, I guess all I really wanted to say is, I wish I had told you.

So you could apologize. And we could embrace. And it could be behind us. And everything would be okay.

But I guess I couldn’t do that right, either. Sorry.

 

#Where’s Me?

 

I’m still here, for better or worse.

One of the things you deal with when you have depression is an inability to concentrate. Your mind becomes somewhat scattered, and it’s hard to focus for any length of time.

In my case, I have a hard time reading a blog, let alone, writing one. Writing is generally something I enjoy, but when it’s this much of a chore, it takes away the fun.

Or maybe, I just don’t like having to work harder. Frankly, I’ve never liked it. I know it’s supposed to be rewarding in the end but, Jeez…

Anyway, that’s why I have a few blog posts started, but none finished, and why you haven’t heard from me in awhile. I have an upcoming appointment with my psychiatrist to see if, perhaps, my medication needs some tweaking. I’m feeling like, maybe it does. We’ll see.

 

In the meantime, a few short takes, since that’s about as long as I can stay on any one topic:

If you seriously think a wall at the border is gonna keep anybody out, you’re incredibly naive. Period.

Does anyone really need to hear the State of the Union address? I say, let’s skip it this year. Maybe, next year, too.

Newly elected Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez gets my early vote for Congressperson of the Year. If you don’t know her, Google her. And incidentally, I’m thrilled to see the diversity in this Congress. Fewer old white guys in there is a good thing, far as I’m concerned.

Let’s be clear about climate change. The planet Earth is not in any danger; we are. The planet will keep right on going long after we’ve brought about our own extinction. Which we’re currently on the fast track to doing.

I can’t stand the New England Patriots, but I gotta give it up for quarterback Tom Brady and coach Bill Belichick, going to their ninth Super Bowl together! That’s just plain crazy. I still hope they lose.

Congatulations to former New York Yankees pitcher Mariano Rivera, the first player to ever be elected to the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame by a unanimous vote. Not Ruth, not Cobb, not Williams, not Robinson, not Mays, nor any of the immortals who have entered the Hall before him. That’s how significant this is.

 

So, I guess I’ll close for now. At least, I didn’t quit on this one halfway through, so I feel pretty good about that. Take care, y’all.

___ New Year

 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more…

King Henry, “Henry V”, William Shakespeare

 

A New Year’s resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other.

Author unknown

 

Well, Happy New Year, everybody!

Just curious: how many New Year Resolutions have been blown completely to smithereens by now?

I know, that’s mean. Sorry.

My resolution is to lose more hair this year. Pretty sure I can keep that one.

I realize it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me. I’d like to post more often than I do; really, I would. It’s not like I don’t have things on my mind and my heart. I have a lot, actually.

But, it’s a fight for me to just write this.

My level of concentration is low these days. My brain just can’t seem to stay focused on any one thing too long. Just a byproduct of depression.

Another is the temptation to delete everything I write. So I’m posting this before I give in.

Bye.