Scrambled eggs, anyone?

So I’d had a lot on my mind and decided to go out for a bike ride. Some physical exercise to wear myself out and hopefully force my brain to shut down and stop thinking for a bit.

Towards the end of the ride, I had a brief encounter. While going through an intersection I noticed an SUV (I _hate_ those things) full of dumb college frats were laughing and pointing at me. I rode through the light and down a one-way. I didn’t think anything more of it but a few moments later, they pulled up beside me and began to throw things at me as I rode. Eggs. I was hit three times, two body shots and one head shot. Luckily the combination of loose clothes and body fat caused the two body shots to bounce off without breaking on me. But I wasn’t so lucky with the head shot.

It’s amazing how low a random event like that can send you.

I went home, picked most of the shell out of my hair, examined my clothes for egg spots and then showered.

I’d been hoping the bike ride would have washed off some of the thoughts, but after that, I just felt swallowed whole by them.

Things will get better. They have to.

Dad

Wow. That was about the lowest point in a long time.
Friday night and everything seemed to be spinning out of control. Dad was in the hospital for a few procedures and they removed a polyp. No one knows the result yet, but it seriously must have freaked him out.
Well, it started with him calling me on the cell phone. Neither of my folks _ever_ call on the cell phone, so I felt really weird when he called me during dinner on the cell. Said that the phone number he had for the house was wrong, and decided to call the cell number instead. I’m guessing that it’s because I wasn’t home and he wanted to talk. He never needs to talk, and I always grew up feeling like the eternal little boy.. following after him and posing all the questions.. “Why does the moon come up orange?” “What type of pollution makes it that way?”
We had a short talk about what he’d been doing (going off to see some demonstration on the creation of different wooden shingles, and volunteer activities at the Revolutionary War fort near the house) and then before he hung up, he asked me not to tell Mom that I called. And that seriously freaked me out. He didn’t mention anything about going to the hospital and I had no idea what was going on.
I called home later that evening to talk with Mom to get some information, but Dad answered the phone. Mom was at church most of the evening and de said he’d tell her that I called.
While waiting for her to call back, I started having sort of random flashbacks about stuff.
I realized I couldn’t really call my Dad “Pop” the way he did to my grandfather. They were two different people, and even though I’ve been tempted to call him that, I could never bring myself to do it. That was his word for his own Dad… And mine is just Dad.
I’ll never forget leaving the grocery store back in H.E. when I was still living at home. We’d gone for some last minute groceries, and we bumped into some friends of his… he talked politely, I said ‘hi’ and ‘bye, nice to meet you.’ We pushed the cart into the parking lot and as we unloaded into the trunk, I asked him who they were. He stopped lifting the bags and looked at me and said, “You know, I’m really good with faces, but I have no idea who the hell they are.” We just laughed, and I laughed all the harder because I know I’m the same way. It must be genetic; good with faces and bad with names.
After a bit Mom called back and gave me the details on the trip to the hospital. He’d apparently tried to hide it from her and didn’t want anyone else to go with him. He’s weird that way… any health issues and he wants to keep it as hush hush as he can.
I guess he’s o.k. or at least adjusted well to whatever will happen. But I want to go home. I’ve wanted to go home for quite some time but the lack of financial stability has made things rough for making the trip. I feel like I can’t up and leave if there’s any chance that someone might call with work for me.
Life is too short, and there just doesn’t seem to be enough balance between time and money to go around.
Things will get better. They have to.

The reversal

It’s the amazing reversal that I’m waiting for. Not the minor kind.. like when your wordprocessor switches a few letters around to correct the spelling. I’m talking about near miracle. I’m waiting for the one event that turns my life around and puts me on a new track altogether, much better and higher than where I am.

Like winning the big game for instance.

But I’ll take a minor one as well. Like the flip in weather today. An unbelievable amount of rain came down starting early this morning. I’m not sure what woke me so early since the sound of rain usually doesn’t wake me… and there was no thunder. In fact, I didn’t even hear the neighbor upstairs stomping around before he headed out to work. Just an incessant pounding of rain on the window.

And then the turnaround… about 2:30 in the afternoon, the sun arrived. Not just filtering through high level clouds, but that fall shine from high skies and a sky space blue. A lid to dream under! :)

A day to feel good…

Who needs business?

So what to write about this in a public forum? Of course all writers drag their private lives out into public in one form or another, but only those close to them know which character is an approximation of a real person in the authors life. Of course, since I’m writing this as a journal, there are no secrets. But what happens when there’s events that might not seem o.k. to write about?
So that was last night. Last night was a whirlwind of things that aren’t really o.k. to write about. Not because there’s content that might be knee jerked by some conservative types… it’s just what it might endanger. When relationships and feelings are delicately dangling from that little thread called ‘hope’. Is there a hope that things will be resolved, or is a person supposed to have a ‘fuck all’ approach to everything?
I’m not a very good diplomat. It’s my great failing in business and in making myself a complete… well a complete something.
The suggestion has come through that I should close off this section of my website, which is actually OK by me, but there is one factor that I find rather depressing. If I do so, then I will know how few people are actually reading this… and that might be worse than leaving it up here for other folks to read.
Thoughts? Send me an email!!!