momma's hill

I rode up Momma's hill today in third gear. That's a first for me I think, though I may have done it accidentaly once before.

Tomorrow is bike maintainence day, so maybe I'll straighten out that rear derailer finally, but until I do I don't have my first or seventh gears available.

I also need to wipe him down, clean off the last of the mud from when I rode where I shouldn't have, and the chain is in dire need of oil.

But back to my gearing, and this is just me bragging, but I've been riding in eighth gear for the most part lately until very recently. I'm now in ninth!

I have twelve available gears on my bike. Really I only have ten because of that whole derailer thing I've already mentioned. Of those ten I use only one for the vast majority of my riding. There are some hills that require a smaller high gear and some that make you go really low. But for the most part I don't really change gears a whole lot.

For me to now be more comfortable in the slightly higher gear can only further prove my own personal greatness.

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Back when

Our hospital visit lasted just over a week, though while there we were being warned to expect Big Brother to be there for at least two weeks. Treating him with antibiotics ran the two weeks, but we were able to finish that at home. Remind me to tell you sometime about the grenades. Slices of brain would also be a good story from the stay.

And now it's been nearly four weeks since the ordal began, and I'm still taken aback at the suddeness of it all, from his becoming so damn sick to being back to normal.

Similar episodes have a way of sometimes causing some of us to ask those questions, life, the universe, and everything sort of questions.

For many it's a combination of a test of faith as well as a proof of the faith in the existence of a supreme being.

I didn't really go either of those directions for the most part. The whole thing did cause me to think, but more than anything I felt the need to question myself. I had to look at some of the value sytems I've allowed to run the state, and I've had to admit that I haven't been doing the best job.

In truth I've known all of this. This is why I finally made resolutions to start the year when it was still new. And I failed within a week. And then extenuating circumstances gave me something else to think about for a while.

As for great questions of life and the eternal mysteries I have to say that my resolution I've done best with is to make a big cut in overall alcohol intake, and aren't these questions best discussed over a series of pints? I feel like my priorities are letting me down right when I've gotten some good ones.

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Not quite certain

When I promised more regular posting I wasn't lying or didn't intend to. I was certain I'd have that laptop working and would have time and would get stuff moving. It didn't quite work out that easily, and I blame the laptop.

It didn't work worth shit is what I'm going to say about it. It's old and didn't like to stay on the connection I had at the hospital and doesn't have a usb port that fits modernity.

And now weeks have passed and we're back to the daily grind and I'm no better about posting than ever. So I downloaded a new app

That might help me post more.

I tried posting from regular ol' blogger, but then I remembered why I gave up on that so long ago. It looks neat and clean on my screen but sucks as far as the parts that are supposed to do what you tell them. And I looked up the actual google app for blogger and remembered hating it too. I even found the old app that I also didn't like and installed so long ago.

Will this new app be the thing to get my game back, or will it give me yet another excuse to not post?

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a return of sorts

It's been just over four months since the last time I posted, and that also means that I haven't been near a computer that wasn't my phone for nearly four months.  My phone is mostly a good enough computer, but I've let the blog wither rather than attempt to post from the tiny keyboard.  I don't care how easy Swype makes texting and tweeting, I'm not going to deal with a blog post.  And if you had any idea what sort of beast I become at the editing stage you'd understand.

I imagine most anyone that visits here is a Facebook friend, so you're likely aware that I'm likely posting from the hospital, East Tennessee Children's Hospital to be exact. And if you are aware of that then you probably know at least a bit of what's been happening in my life recently.

Before I go too much into that I'm going to wander around some of the things that are on my mind right now.   Being able to get back to the blog is a new and exciting thing and something I've been wanting and wishing for. I truly miss my episodes of getting to air my brain out.  I miss the writing of course, but I also miss when I had a bit of readership and, dare I say, a fanbase.

I can't go too much farther into this post without thanking the lovely young lady who  loaned us her laptop and the whole Wolf family for being great friends/family to me and my family.  I'm not sure how long we'll actually be at the hospital, but I may have the laptop and the time to fire off a few posts.  One of my hopes for 2012 is to regain regular computer access and to revive the clutter filled desk, or lap as the case may be.

A lot has happened in the last five (or so) days, and I have a lot to process.  My brain is filled with thinking about things, and I've got several directions I'd like to move toward and write about.  As long as I can get online with more than my phone I plan to delve into all this, and I'm sure I'll have the time.

This post is mostly for me to get back into the habit and for any reader to have an introduction into what to expect over the next few days.  Big Brother is likely to be cooped up for at least a few days, and Momma and I will be taking turns being here.  I'll easily have so time to fill.

For now I'll post this so that I can walk outside and take care of my dirty habit.  I might even get myself a caffeinated beverage.  I won't be sleeping anytime soon, and the time that I might get some sleep  will be a busy time for Big Brother, and I'll be awake for that.  Eventually we will all be away from the hospital, and I'll get back to normal sleeping then.

i'll getchayer money ya sumbitch

The options were cash or cashier's check.  I didn't really question his nonacceptance of my personal check, but I also can very easily see that this isn't the kind of place where it's a concern.  I accepted his answer and started to decide whether to get the cash or cashier's check.

I've decided on cash.  My bank is a credit union with no Saturday hours.  And it's a holiday weekend, Boomsday if you live near enough to where I live, so Tuesday is the soonest I could get to the bank.  The problem there is that I have to be at work at nine Tuesday which is when the credit union opens that day.  And I'm on bike.

But I can visit the ATM over the weekend until I fill my envelope with a deposit and first (is it months or month's) rent.  And I totally get how that sounds, but I'm okay with this.  I'm quitting this house cold turkey, sort of.  I've put it off for far too long, and the apartment is nearly everything I need in an apartment, and it's at least a great jumping off point for throwing off the heavy comfort that this house has come to represent for me.

The computer from which I write these little nuggets of joy will most likely find it's way to Momma's, and I'll hope to find the money soon for my own computer.  Anyone have a spare laptop they don't want?  I'll have wifi included in the rent.  My phone gets the wifi too, but it's a bitch to blog from, especially when you make the sorts of mistakes I make along with the fussy editor I tend to be in spite of those mishaps and the tiny little keyboard.

And it's halfway between work and Momma's house.  It might technically be closer to Momma's than to work, but it's just off my usual path between Momma's and downtown that the ridge between the two actually comes into play, and the ridges and hills in this town are not to be scoffed at.  Also, I will now have no good reason not to tackle the hill that is Sixth, and I'm scared.  I should be.

I'm excited kind of, but that part of me that is just always negative and ready to lash out with its nasty whip of despair wants me to feel like something is going to happen, and then I won't be able to move, and then I'll have failed at something else.  The thing is, this is the moment I've prepared for by failing to grab it.  And when I speak of grabbing it I totally get that I should have just done this.  I should have done it years ago, and writing that makes me want to highlight this whole post and delete it and get drunk.  But that, as I've finally realized, doesn't make the problem go away, it just makes thinking about it go away, and I've done enough of that.

Now the next pressing problem will involve figuring out which friends have trucks and feel like moving the little bit of furniture I need a truck for.  And add to that the scheduling required for all this to fall together exactly as I want considering how impatient I'm already slowly becoming.  I should be looking into packing right now, but I've decided to put that off for the night.  Plus I have to work at eight in the morning.

By the time anyone bothers to read this I will already be or have been at work since eight, but it's still tonight to me, so ya'll can all suck it.

Not really.  That wasn't nice.  But I really am excited to get moving moving.  It's a nice feeling.  Do they have laptops at pawn shops?  I'm sure there are some.  I wonder if they get wiped and how much shit shows up on a pawn shop laptop?  That would be a cool band name, fwiw.

bleah

It's late, I'm tired, and while I'm certain there are things I could write about, I'm in no fit shape to do it.  I'm tired.

I'm tired, and I'm just now going into my weekend.  And when I say "my weekend," I'm not referring to those two days in a row that I get to not work like everyone else.  No, my weekend in this instance is my Saturday and Sunday shifts.

I don't like working Sunday.  I'll get that out of the way now.  I really hate it.  Sunday means brunch, and I just hate it.  I don't want to do it anymore.  Actually, I'd be happy with just every other Sunday off, but that's been impossible for too long.

For too long we had cooks that weren't available Sunday's for valid reasons, one only had his kids on the weekend, and one was in a halfway house and only had Sundays as a relatively free day.  But there are the other cooks that can work Sundays that do sometimes get one off but aren't at the level one needs to be to be able to work certain stations.

And it's not that they can't.  I know they can, but no one has wanted to, and because I'm a sort of pushover sometimes I've been doing it with little complaint.

Actually there's lots of complaint Sunday.  I wage war on people's aural senses with my bitching, but I also make them great eggs and frittatas, so they can't really complain.

Sunday would be less hellish if I didn't have to be there at eight in the morning, and that would be slightly less onerous if I didn't just leave the damn place at ten the night before.  My usual Saturday shift is noon to ten with usually about an hour break somewhere near the middle.

Last Saturday I rode from downtown to another part of town to get my fancy tobaccy, and with plenty of time left in my hour circled a small section of downtown blocks for a few minutes.  There's your obligatory bicycle reference.  Actually, I plan on spending my next Saturday break riding to the downtown library.  Now that I'm paid up with them I can once again raid the wonderful cd collection.

So, yeah, my weekend, which is your weekend, sees me working noon to ten Saturday and eight to sometime between three and four Sunday.  And those can be the busiest shifts of our week.  And as you can see I really do need to get to bed.  There has to be something else to write about, but honestly my brain has turned itself off to prepare for my Sat/Sun overload.

So far today I've mostly cleaned a bathroom and partly cleaned a kitchen.  I've gone through the stuff I've been pulling out of my pockets for most of 2011 and throwing on the floor of my bedroom as well.

I've pulled this house in around me like moldering blanket that I can't seem to replace with a fresh new blanket.  I've lived here since shortly before The Boy was born, and that's the longest I've lived any one place since I hightailed it out of Georgia so many years ago.

Momma came over today to look at some of the repair work we have to do.  We looked at the holes in the drywall and didn't get past the one I kicked when we fought shortly after telling her that I had to come out.  That was the same night she broke the French press, though to be honest she's broken more than one, though only one in anger.  I also kicked a dent in the oven that night, but we aren't keeping score anyway.  A good relationship is not a competition, even when it is.

I've sat on the back porch of this house in that same white chair and read so many books late at night, smoking too many cigarettes, always of course drinking just enough beer.  The blogging I miss so much all happened in the exact same five square feet of space that will soon see an end to such.

We've eaten so many meals at the table directly to my left, the table is never clean for very long.  I have pictures of that table full of Momma, Big Brother, and The Boy all engrossed in their own lunch and their own book.

I don't approach new very well.  I always seem to get in in my own way and find a place for myself, but getting to that point is hard for me.  Starting the ball rolling has always been one of those talents I lack.

And this house is not the place I need to be.  The deal we've had here is unbeatable in a monetary sense, but I can't continue to accept that deal.  I have to move on, and I really should have done this a long time ago, much like the cleaning.  It's hard to cast off comfort, or maybe it's just hard for me.

It's time, and I'm making ready.  It's time for me to grow up a little bit more and to cast off this place.  It offers a kind of comfort, but it's leaden with problem.  I can imagine how that sounds, but if you were privy to all my own info, and if I really went into the issues inherent in living here and the situation and family, and if you don't get the point . . .

And so begins my journey out of the suburbs finally.

aaahhhh sweet, sweet books

Part of what I need to do with myself is to find those things that I've forgotten about.  I've let the tumult of the last few years get the better of me, and I feel I've let too many things go away.  Essentially I need to look at habits and ways I accomplish or fail to accomplish things.  I have less good habits that need adjustment, and I've stopped a lot of things that are just good for me.

There are of course other things like the bike.  I am truly in love with that machine, though right now I still need to look at his rear derailleur so that we can get those two gears back, and his chain needs to be looked at.  Having been in a bit of rain lately we might need to look into some oil, and a general wipe down would be nice.

In speaking of those old habit that were good I have to get to my real story.  I finally paid the library off and found the two "lost" books.  When I've read books lately they've been rereads, and while I have no problem with reading a book again, there's nothing quite like reading a book you've never read before, and to make it even better add a new author to that list as well.

Or add an old friend like J.R.R. Tolkien when you discover his The Book of Lost Tales.  I'm only a couple of pages into his son's foreword in which he's spoken about The Silmarillion more than not and has even discussed other people's discussion of it.  I'm not sure why I bother with forewords sometimes, and sometimes while reading I won't get why I bother.  Either way I'm a fan of Tolkien, and better yet I'm sure Big Brother will be happy to get his hands on it also.

He's certainly happy to have the library back.  He's rereread so many books lately.  The Boy has yet to finish a chapter book on his own, but I know the day is coming.  I feel like I hate that he doesn't love reading as much as his brother and I do, but I also get that his interest just doesn't right now and may never.  Or maybe he just needs to find the right book.

He happened upon Shiloh which is about a boy and a dog if the cover has any truth to it.  I feel like it might be one of those books I should have read by now, and I do plan to read it before it's due back.  The Boy picked it up because his teacher is reading it to the class, and he happened to see it.  He likes his teacher and loves dogs, so perhaps this culmination of influence will be that catalyst.  or not.

I've already finished The Wanderer by Sharon Creech.  Sophie is a young girl about to sail across the ocean with three uncles and two male cousins to visit their grandfather.  It's a story about a girl getting to make her own decisions though not without having to put up a fight.  It's about the family and about the idea of family as Sophie's story comes out.  It's about the power in the act of fixing up the boat and setting sail to test people especially as this family is thrown together to actually perform this feat.

The Wanderer is also about the sea.  Sophie is drawn to the sea in a way I can almost feel I understand.  I've never spent that much time near the sea, and I've never been in it on a boat.  All my sea experience involves freshwater.  But seafaring adventures tend to make some of the best books in my opinion, and this one has become a favorite.  It is a kid's book, ages whenever they can read on up to well past my few years.  There's nothing questionable or violent or sexy in this book, and I may be wrong, but I kinda feel like Cody might be gay.

And speaking of Cody, he's the second narrator.   Most of the book is Sophie's journal about the voyage.  Throughout the book though we also get to read Cody's "dog-log."  I enjoyed having the second point of view as well as a bit more of the family background.  Even with Cody's dog-log the story is still Sophie's.

I hope Big Brother reads it.  I'll definitely suggest it to him, and if I put off our next library visit just long enough he'll have read all his own and may be willing to give it a try.  He picked four books total.  He was already reading The Wizard of Oz, not a library book, as that's the book he was reading most recently at my house and is the one still on the dining table.  He's also reading whichever Artemis Fowl book he's up to, and I had to go look next to his bed to remember that.  Along with that Artemis Fowl he grabbed The 39 Clues, How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse, and The Land of the Silver Apples.

I won't bore you with all his books, but The Land of the Silver Apples is a sequel to a book that we actually own, Sea of Trolls, written by Nancy Farmer, and as I google I see that both books are part of a trilogy.  Big Brother and I both enjoyed Sea of Trolls, so it looks like I have yet another option of reading material for the next three weeks.

I'm so happy to have paid off the library.  I love going there.  I love the librarians.  I don't know about the people on the computers, though they do make me appreciate having one.  This is not only one of the best things I've done for myself in a while, but it's also one of those habits that was always a good one.  It's honestly been at least a year since we've been regular library users, and I'd say it may have been a good bit longer.  I'm not delving into the story right now, but the main point is that I sucked in my pride and blew out whatever shame I'd built up in letting the situation get out of hand.  The librarians, though shocked, were not mean when I humbly approached to find out exactly what I needed to do as the computer told them the full weight of my transgressions.

And just now, rereading and editing, that last paragraph has me forming a plan.  Working my Saturday split shift I usually get about an hour break in the middle.  I can ride to the downtown library for music and set whatever mood I want for the ensuing Saturday night shift.  This is gonna be fun.

round back

Alleys are suddenly THE cool place to have someone take pictures of your.  They're so gritty and urban, and people I imagine come from the palatial and seriously suburban west side of town have been showing up in my alley lately.  I kind of don't like all of them.

The particular alley I claim as my own is behind where I work.  There is another alley we walk to daily to retrieve the rolling trash cans into which we put our trash.  We then return them to their alley, and the trucks come by whenever and dump all the cans.  Sometimes you show up between trucks and find all the cans full.  Sometimes you can empty one or two less full cans into others and get what you need.

Our alley is very narrow.  Toward one end is a bar that has bands most nights, so at some point most days there is some sort of vehicle disgorging the various equipment a band needs.  Toward the other end of the alley are more restaurants.  Counting my own place of employment there are two ice cream places and four restaurants with servers and sitting down with a menu.

Because of all the restaurants you'll often find people smoking in the alley.  I don't know if the percentage of smokers among restaurant staff members is higher than the average for other businesses, but I can see it being entirely possible.  A cigarette provides an occasional small break in a job not know for too horribly many breaks of any length.

Any number of homeless people sometimes use the alley as their bathroom, and during large enough events on the square I've seen not homeless people pee in the alley.  I've also seen what I'm mostly sure was dog shit one day in the alley, and one day it smelled remarkably zoo like.  It wasn't even that horrid a smell because it had more an animal sort of odor than just gross shit stink.  Fairly recently someone changed a bandage in the alley and were nice enough to leave their potentially hazardous bio waste for us.

And one day a family or two was down there taking pictures.  The large and lumpy dad was dutifully hauling strollers and bags of props and trying to keep the kids not in the current photo busy.  And they had bags of props, clothes, hats, big letters.  I'm sure there were favorite stuffed animals as well.

And of course you have the happy smiling couples.  They all look so stupid being lined up against the graffiti just so.  And of course they don't think to confirm outfits and color schemes till they get there.

Then there are the random single people.  You can't ever really know what they're doing or why.  They're digging the gritty, urban landscape and standing in front of a door of course, but what's their motivation.

I missed the day that a bunch of girls were having pictures made.  They had bags of clothes and were blocking doors and being in the way, and they were changing right there in the alley.  OMG, ya'll.  Again, I didn't witness this, so . . .

And when you do drive west through the land of stripmalls to the homes of these people, you can see those pictures on the mantelpiece.  It's so gritty and urban tucked away here in a several acre subdivision named after an English sounding word that doesn't in any way describe the actual place.

I wonder if the ironic hipster kids are going to start taking couples photos in front of big box retail stores?