First, white sheets are ridiculous. Not only do they stain, but due to their interpretation when worn, in some parts of the country, it might get you into trouble. Ghosts know this. I wonder how many people involuntarily BECAME ghosts due to being a member of one of those ridiculous organizations?
Real ghosts do not wear white.
They also don’t need eyeholes for reasons that should be obvious.
Ghosts travel more in the daytime than at night. They hate that part of their job is to don a sheet and yell “boo!” at night. They prefer to Netflix & Chill like the rest of us.
I captured this one this afternoon on my Blink camera. The ghost is wearing shoes which seems odd.
If it comes back, I have a few questions. Ghosts are notorious for being oblique when you talk to them.
While I was doing dishes, Güino couldn’t resist the remains of the vegetable grilled chicken cheesy bake I made. Though he had already sampled the chicken multiple times, he was probably thinking like me: you might never know if you have another opportunity, so why not take it?
I like cooking, especially the experimental part, but I’m terrible at it.
If you look at the picture closely, you can see his tongue hanging out. That’s the cat equivalent of a man unbuttoning his pants after a good meal.
Erika snapped this picture for me. I was oblivious to the cat pre-cleaning my dishes for me.
I don’t know where I lost my bank card. It seems like I remember forgetting to pull it out of the POS kiosk. Clarks tend to ask extraneous questions, often several in a row. There are times when I get immersed in a verbal tennis match, preferably a witty or humorous one.
I’m back at Arvest due to convenience. Yes, there were horrible experiences several years ago. Even when I opened this account, they mailed the first two cards to an address I hadn’t resided at in almost 10 years. It wasn’t an auspicious start. But it IS a good story.
I digitally locked my card yesterday when I realized I didn’t have it. I then called the help number expecting weird customer service. The lady taking my call was anything but boring.
It got interesting when she asked whether I would like a normal or decorative card. Of course I laughed. “If you only knew!” I said.
“How about you surprise me with one you like.”
There was a pause, and then she told me a personal story about how her husband refused to use the card she obtained for him. He replaced it with a boring normal one.
Despite her years of service, no one had ever asked her to pick one for them.
It tickled her.
I could literally get any type of card in the mail in a few days, which is amusing.
And now the bank employee has a first she’ll probably tell her husband about.
She should order him a new frilly, colorful one and put it in his wallet without asking.
Though I am reluctant to compare my early morning to the prison yard in the movie The Shawshank Redemption… I felt a little like Andy Dufresne as Paul Potts’ “Nella Fantasia” blasted at high volume with a haunting echo in the empty warehouse. “Duettino Sull’aria” had its place in the movie. All those trapped souls paused long enough to appreciate the melody. As did I, today of all days. If you’ve never looked at the translation for Nella Fantasia, today would be a good day to do so. It is a wistful and optimistic call for another type of world.
This one is pretty damn good most of the time. Why do we always ask for more?
I woke up this morning, almost embryonic -and warm. I’m not one to sit in melancholy. Standing there completely alone in the concrete and steel expanse, I let it wash across me. October 5th, another day and another opportunity.
Moments.
Not everyone is here to experience them. I remember because I need to be reminded.
Something I wrote two years ago: “I don’t look for exoneration, though I want it. There is no one in this world who can be both aware of my actions and the reasons for them except for me. Since I don’t pardon myself, I expect no less from others.” -X
I’m nudging up on the two-year mark of my brother’s death, and the ensuring bell ring/vision in my head. I’m eyeless to some of the underlying nonsense going on in my head. I’m more convinced than ever that had everything not happened in the unlikely sequence it did that I would likely be dead. Weight loss was just one component of it. Two years out, my explanation is the same: I don’t get credit for it. Something broke, and the vision I’d seen of myself would be the end result. It made me rigidly hyper-focused.
I still tell people, “Don’t give me credit for doing it. I should never have let myself go to that extent. It’s like a meth addiction; no one should embark on such a journey. It’s good that I stopped overeating, but terrible I let it go so far.”
I fluctuate around the mid-160s for my weight. I feel lighter than air at 150-155 lbs. That weight requires devout adherence to a healthier diet.
The trick isn’t losing weight. It’s figuring out what works long-term. It’s relatively easy to commit to weight loss for a few months. It’s quite another to develop a different relationship with food. Food is the in-law that sleeps in your bedroom.
Food Satan is always on duty, attempting to pounce on you. When you’re tired. When you want that sublime sensation of buttery smoothness. Or salty starch. At 11 p.m. when you really should be horizontal and not sticking your head inside the fridge.
Delicious food is ubiquitous and calls our name from the other room wearing a negligee.
It pains me to see people struggle with their weight.
I’ve watched many people make a list of ‘the reasons’ they can’t lose weight, even if they desperately want to. It’s eye-opening and mostly rationalizations. Heck, isn’t almost everything we tell ourselves?
When I lost almost all my weight, I added no additional exercise. It was immediately apparent that I was consuming an awful lot more calories than I was burning. My life was already active because of my job. Because of that, I focused all my enthusiasm on eating differently while avoiding going hungry. Being hungry is a sign that you won’t be able to maintain any successes you might experience. Generally speaking, you must eat and eat often.
I’m at the two-year mark. I’m grateful for those two years, even as I’ve had other struggles.
Primarily online, I catch hell for the simplicity with which I explain the weight loss problem. There are exceptions for some people; most of us eat too many calories versus what we burn. There is no escaping the math of it. People berate me by making specious arguments about the complexities of healthy diets. It’s not complicated at all! Less sugar, less fat, fewer processed foods, more fruits and vegetables, smaller portions, and different choices. You don’t need to be 100% militant, but you do need to be 100% vigilant about your choices. Enjoy the allegedly ‘terrible’ foods from time to time, or otherwise, you’ll go bonkers. Especially if you sit and watch your friends and family eat an entire basket of buttery breadsticks or an entire large pizza.
I do enjoy the endless arguments online about the ‘best’ way, goofy supplements, energy drinks, and the myriad ways you can be made to part with your money. Whatever you choose, you must do it for the rest of your life. Find what works. It’s not a sprint. It’s a french fry-scented marathon.
I recently looked into the beer-and-sausage guy. He does a weird diet once a year, every year. He always loses weight because his caloric intake is less. His bloodwork also improves in tandem – no matter WHAT he is eating.
It’s not a comforting idea to know that we can probably only eat 1600-3000 calories daily. If your limit is 2500, a sugary soda contains about 150, which is 1/16th of your average limit. A 2 oz. Snickers bar is 280 calories, well over 10% of your intake limit.
The simplest way to say it: most overweight people eat too many calories.
I don’t blame them. Food is amazingly delicious and brings happiness.
Fresh french fries or pizza? Oh my god. You won’t find a bigger aficionado of some types of potato chips than me. Chips and salsa? Yes, please. Two baskets if you’ve got them.
It wasn’t hard for me to practice “Choose your hard” when I started.
My vision, or whatever it was, took control.
Afterward? Remembering that food choices now bring unwanted results or continued success depends on how strong the siren voice of negligee-clad food is.
As Fat Bastard eloquently quipped, “Get in my belly!”
I’m writing as my dubious alter ego, Middle-Aged Superhero. That adds credibility to my following prediction.
But living where I do in Fayetteville, avoiding the enthusiasm and clog of those who are fans is impossible.
Arkansas is going to win the game today against Alabama.
By 10 points.
Don’t bother calling me crazy.
That’s like telling a can of peanuts that it’s nutty.
I’ll probably miss the game, given that I’ll have to fly off and solve an emergent emergency.
If any of y’all are betting people, go ahead and liquidate your 401k and bet big against Alabama. We’re all going to work until we’re eighty anyway, so there’s no real risk.
It’s just a cup hanging there. It’s one of the last few that Jackie gave me.
It can be filled with delicious bitter coffee or a small serving of wine. Or it could be a reminder of how much time I spend here, a huge chunk of my life.
It will probably fade into the periphery of my vision and observation. That’s the problem with so many of our keepsakes and possessions.
I’ve left these cups in a variety of places. To mark my temporary presence, to take a picture and remember.
I’ll run out of teacups. But I won’t forget Jackie or the moments the tea cups mark. Most people think they have an infinite number of teacups and moments.
Earlier, I watched as a crew dangerously and hilariously attempted to connect the electrical panel of the newly-constructed house next door to a utility pole. I heard a heated conversation yesterday in which one electrician patiently attempted to explain why they should not do it the easy way. That guy was obviously voted down. They used our apartment parking lot to stage the melee. Since they didn’t trim or remove any of the already dangerous overhanging trees from the property, it was foolhardy at best. (It’s a waste even to connect it there. With the first high winds, that house is going to lose power as the limbs snap off. I should know – I’ve picked up a literal ton of the limbs that have fallen there as they crash down. I feel a bit sorry for whoever buys the house with all those weak and damaged trees towering over it.)
Even though I should not let Güino roam so much, I let him periodically downstairs for short increments. I don’t want anything to happen to him. He’s 14 1/2 years old now. So, I pity him and let him roam a bit. I accept the risk of his possible demise by various causes. He’s insanely happy exploring. The cacophony of the trucks, crashing tree limbs, and the cursing of the workers scared him. I went out to retrieve him and couldn’t find him. The worse scenario filled my brain: he ran away to escape the noise, possibly forever. I waited ten minutes and went back around the area: no Güino. After a few more minutes, I found him sitting behind the loudest and largest truck with the canopy lift. Regardless of the workers, I crouched under the truck on its pedestal supports and managed to get him. One of the workers told me to move away. I was very polite and said, “Given that you’re on private property, undertaking a foolish means of connecting a power supply, I think I will go wherever I might please, sir. If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself.” He didn’t reply.
When I went out and about, I discovered that I had sent my most prized possession (“the” nail) to the wrong address. It was my mistake. I knew that the address didn’t look like the current one, but I trusted the master list on which I keep everything. The nail might be lost forever. Either way, I had released it back into the universe. I told my sister I was confident it wasn’t lost forever, even though I can’t explain why I believe it.
I was in a weird enough head space anyway, and my anxiety had flared. Between the nail, the cat, and personal thoughts intruding on me, I was already a bit out of sorts.
When I was backing out of a parking spot at Walmart, I waited for a split second for a woman to my right to enter her vehicle and shut the door. I continued to back out, and I heard a weird shout. A man resembling a cowboy stood a couple of feet away from my car, looking very angry. Evidently, he had stepped out between the cars parked the opposite way. I’m assuming the huge red truck with a million accessories was his. I stopped and exited the car as he began his tirade. I didn’t even put my hands up, even though I was certain he would hit me. As he grunted and cursed, I took a step toward him. My eyes teared up, and he saw it. Something recoiled inside him. I saw it in real-time. He shook his head and walked away quickly. Make of that whatever you want to. I didn’t tear up because I was scared; quite the opposite. No matter how stupid this is going to sound, I think I wanted him to hit me.
A friend wrote and told me about the shooting in central Arkansas. I had a conversation about that sort of thing happening in the workplace this morning. One of my co-workers who has another job worked with someone who killed and dismembered his girlfriend. I’d say allegedly, but his track record of anger is well-known.
We all need a hefty dose of hugs and peace.
This is true every day.
Güino is safe. I’ve left the door open, and he’s exited and entered twice more, both times to get a few pets.
I’m safe but not sane.
I’ll keep an eye on the electrical lines as they spark and fail sooner rather than later.
Let’s keep an eye out for people who spark and fail, too.
But let’s also remember how much life has to offer.
Online therapy isn’t as satisfying as in-person therapy.
But cognitive therapy from a practical focus is amazingly effective for me.
One of the things I loved about in-person therapy was having the things I’d said or written repeated back to me.
It’s a stunning thing to SEE my own rationalizations exposed and repeated. It’s part of the reason I softened toward my dad. To recognize a small part of him inside of me was not a welcome realization. This kind of insight takes a while to accept, much less deal with.
There’s a huge difference when you’re talking or writing to someone who has dealt with hundreds of people and has heard every rationalization under the sun. Unlike friends and family, they experience your version of truth for what it is.
Mostly bullsh!t.
I can recap and summarize the difference quickly: I know an awful lot about human psychology and have learned a book of insights and lessons, yet, my biggest failing is not applying them to my life.
If you focus on behavior and set aside your thoughts and words, everything gets distilled to its essence.
It reminds me of one of my favorite examples. If a person never tells anyone that he or she is Christian yet lives a love-and-compassion-filled life, observers can see that your worldview is in action through your behavior. Because lovingkindness is the essence of what Jesus taught. One of my biggest problems with evangelicals is their certainty and rigidity – and focus on dogma and judgment. Live the example. That applies to me, too, in case you think my hypocrisy is something I don’t see in myself.
Likewise, if you are a loving and insightful human being, people over time should easily find that behavior consistently and clearly evidenced in your life. The things you do will be reflected in your daily life and mirror what’s in your head and heart.
When these things are not reflected? That disparity signals a problem with either your self-perception or a significant failure of behavior. If you know your motivations and what you value, the best practical approach is to examine your behavior critically.
If you are what you do, then when you don’t, you aren’t.
If you want to be satisfied or happy, you must work to remove behaviors that interfere. Happiness isn’t a realization; it’s a constant process of doing the hard work of choosing to spend your time and life finding a way to live the way that you know you want to be.
When you are closer to the sunset than the sunrise as you age, everything just looks different.
Otherwise, it is all talk, smoke without fire, and pretense.
Someone in line mentioned that the unmanned vehicle technology place was on the side of the same building.
I walked around and stopped just for a micro-second to look at the door sign, imagining what kind of company it was. I was about 15 feet away from the steps and the aforementioned door.
A man walked up behind me and asked, “Who are you? You look suspicious.’
With a very serious and consterned look on my face, I replied, “Yes, I am very suspicious of everybody.”
“No, I meant that you look suspicious.” He said, confused.
“Yes, That’s what I just said.”
I managed to look even more serious.
“You are acting suspicious,” he clarified.
“Because I’m reading and we are both in Arkansas?”
At this point, I smiled.
“What’s your name?” Humor obviously had not visited this fine fellow in quite a while.
“X,” I answered, pointing at my work badge. I knew he thought I was lying.
Because I could see that this guy was a male Karen, I said, “I am so sorry about your lunch,” as I walked away.
I didn’t look back and didn’t start laughing until I got back around the side of the building.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 