This weekend actually felt longer than others. It's a shame, too, that I didn't spend more time outside. HAHA, just kidding. There were thunderstorms and tornadoes. Oh, and the heat index was around 110º for the past two days.
As you can imagine, I did most of my transiting in the evening, venturing forth to procure sustenance. Sustenance in the form of vodka.
The past couple of nights, I've spent my time helping my best friend moving into his new apartment. Thankfully, it's within a hundred yards of his last apartment, so ferrying the furniture was not an onerous affair. On the downside, his apartment is amazing. It's small, cozy, well furnished, and well decorated. I'm going to murder him just so I can live there (don't worry, that's a joke - or is it?). I'll at least get a copy of his key so I can sleep on the couch. After the hauls were completed for the day, we sat down, each with a tall glass of vodka (the only thing he had in the new refrigerator), and watched Band of Brothers. We finished part 6 tonight. The rest will come soon.
I haven't had liquor since the beginning of the new year (at least), so it's an experience that's put me off keel a bit. I'm not drunk, but I have a fucking headache. Have had a fucking headache for the past two nights.
It may not be the vodka, though. It may be the Irish (or Gaeilge).
That's right, I'm that bored.
The headaches are cause by either the attempt to pronounce each word correctly or the one to understand just how the written language translates into the spoken. All English considerations of the alphabet be damned.
Example!
As you can imagine, I did most of my transiting in the evening, venturing forth to procure sustenance. Sustenance in the form of vodka.
The past couple of nights, I've spent my time helping my best friend moving into his new apartment. Thankfully, it's within a hundred yards of his last apartment, so ferrying the furniture was not an onerous affair. On the downside, his apartment is amazing. It's small, cozy, well furnished, and well decorated. I'm going to murder him just so I can live there (don't worry, that's a joke - or is it?). I'll at least get a copy of his key so I can sleep on the couch. After the hauls were completed for the day, we sat down, each with a tall glass of vodka (the only thing he had in the new refrigerator), and watched Band of Brothers. We finished part 6 tonight. The rest will come soon.
I haven't had liquor since the beginning of the new year (at least), so it's an experience that's put me off keel a bit. I'm not drunk, but I have a fucking headache. Have had a fucking headache for the past two nights.
It may not be the vodka, though. It may be the Irish (or Gaeilge).
That's right, I'm that bored.
The headaches are cause by either the attempt to pronounce each word correctly or the one to understand just how the written language translates into the spoken. All English considerations of the alphabet be damned.
Example!
An bhfuil sì ag lèamh nuachtàin? Nìl sì ag lèamh nuachtàin. Tà sì ag lèamh leabhar.
When spoken, it sounds like:
An vweel she ag lave noktine? Neel she ag lave noktine. Ta she ag lave levah.
It translates to:
Will she read the newsaper? No, she won't read the newspaper. She's reading a book.
Another example!
Tà na daoine fasta ag còcaireacht. An bhfuil na fir ag ithe feoil nò rìs?
Spoken as:
Taa na donna fasta ag cokarac. An vweel na fish ag e-hay fyole noo rish?
Translates to:
Those people are cooking. Will the men be eating meat or rice?
And then they start throwing in numbers and colors and my head explodes. Seriously, my tongue is tired.
I'm no duine deisbhéalach, especially when it comes to Gaeilge, but I just started on Saturday, so give me a break.
This was also a good weekend for music. These are the new acquisitions:
Dear and the Headlights - Small Steps, Heavy Hooves
Dear and the Headlights - Drunk Like Bible Times
Portugal. The Man - Church Mouth
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Portugal. The Man - Censored Colors
Minus the Bear - Planet of Ice
The Sound of Animals Fighting - Lover, The Lord Has Left Us
Dr. Dog - Fate
Blonde Redhead - An Expression of the Inexpressible
The Good Life - Album of the Year
The Good Life - Help Wanted Nights
This week at work should be a good one. And that week starts in...5 hours. Shit.
That is only a meager portion of the shit I've been dealing with at work, which is behind a majority of the stress in my life.
Most of it was work neglected by a former co-worker (who apparently was arrested, dumped by his wife, and is getting masted and discharged; a fate that he is indubitably worthy of) for almost 2 months now. For the past month, I've been told by my superiors that he was going to deal with it. Trusting them, I went to San Diego for a week. When I came back, of course it wasn't done. Yesterday, paperwork in a pile three feet high, was dropped on my lap. I was told to audit the paperwork and make up any work the other guy had failed to complete. He isn't coming back.
I spent the day taking care of it, digging through it all and checking each individual page against the electronic database, taking notes of what and wasn't completed (most of it was not). I did this on top of doing my other job (scanning reams upon reams of paper that, individually, require editing and distribution), but it was easy enough to do both at the same time.
So I know where the work is now, and three feet don't seem so bad.
Monday, I'll have it all digitized. By Wednesday, I'll have it all uploaded to the database and everything back on track.
Every time I try to update my superiors on my progress and the amount of damage done, they just interrupt me with some bullshit, inconsequential conversation. It's annoying, sure, but I'm getting over it. It's disparaging to see that the people in charge of the department are completely clueless as to how it's operating, but whatever. I'm on top of this shit.
The good thing is that the usual work (~300 pages) is easy enough to complete in the same day that I receive it. I have no idea how it got so far behind, but it won't happen again.
Something like 4,000 pages riffled through today and nary a paper cut. I feel fucking awesome.
Oh! And it's Friday!
PEW PEW!
I may have possibly overreacted.
And that's probably the paralyzing Irish guilt talking.
I feel like a dick.
Subscription is still up in a month, so we'll see where this goes.
And that's probably the paralyzing Irish guilt talking.
I feel like a dick.
Subscription is still up in a month, so we'll see where this goes.
Good news, everybody! Looks like all the training and credits I've earned for engineering in the Navy are absolutely useless in the real world. It basically boils down to "we don't accept your credits, but you guys are hard workers, so you'll do well!"
Could the past two years feel like any more of a waste?
What's next? J school and the Peace Corps? Probably.
Could the past two years feel like any more of a waste?
What's next? J school and the Peace Corps? Probably.
Don't let some people fool you into thinking that I'm any less grumpy in person. It's just that I have no reason to be grumpy when some people are around. No reason at all.
The truth is, aside from getting caught in the middle of another one of my now ex-friend's affairs, I had a great time in San Diego. It's hard to believe I was only there for barely 5 whole days. It's almost like I settled into some kind of satisfying routine there, one that involved the best company, a lot of good food (and beer), and the best sleep I've had in a long time.
Checking into the airport yesterday was doleful, and I felt like the amazing week that had transpired only lasted mere seconds. A nearly 5 hour delay did nothing to ease the discomfort. It was excruciating, being trapped in that damn airport. Held captive by obligation. I have never before felt so fucking smothered. The night I had to spend in Atlanta didn't alleviate that feeling. Nor did reporting for duty right after returning to Charleston. Claustrophobia is setting in.
I have a reason to be grumpy right now, even morose, but I'm really trying to look on the bright side of things. Shit at this moment is absolutely equivocal, of course. I may be accustomed to being thrust back into limbo, but I'm never going to get used to it. It catches me off-guard every time.
Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes. It was, without a doubt, the best one I've had in years. Absolutely spectacular.
I should go sleep now. I'm really worn out. I think I'm going to sleep in this shirt which, for some mystifying reason, has me on the front of it. That, and it's my favorite birthday present.
The truth is, aside from getting caught in the middle of another one of my now ex-friend's affairs, I had a great time in San Diego. It's hard to believe I was only there for barely 5 whole days. It's almost like I settled into some kind of satisfying routine there, one that involved the best company, a lot of good food (and beer), and the best sleep I've had in a long time.
Checking into the airport yesterday was doleful, and I felt like the amazing week that had transpired only lasted mere seconds. A nearly 5 hour delay did nothing to ease the discomfort. It was excruciating, being trapped in that damn airport. Held captive by obligation. I have never before felt so fucking smothered. The night I had to spend in Atlanta didn't alleviate that feeling. Nor did reporting for duty right after returning to Charleston. Claustrophobia is setting in.
I have a reason to be grumpy right now, even morose, but I'm really trying to look on the bright side of things. Shit at this moment is absolutely equivocal, of course. I may be accustomed to being thrust back into limbo, but I'm never going to get used to it. It catches me off-guard every time.
Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes. It was, without a doubt, the best one I've had in years. Absolutely spectacular.
I should go sleep now. I'm really worn out. I think I'm going to sleep in this shirt which, for some mystifying reason, has me on the front of it. That, and it's my favorite birthday present.
I am now officially on leave, and it feels good. I can't wait to be in San Diego! Now I just need a ride to the airport in the morning. 
I've been on a tear through my kitchen this past week, devouring anything that wasn't nailed down or already crawling with cockroaches. And then I ate the cockroaches.
Because of the medication, I end up waking up early enough only to manage a shave and shower before I have to report. There's really no time for breakfast anymore (or apparently dressing). Except for this morning, when I had plenty of time to eat, but my mouth was too busy talking. I'm not complaining, though (quite the opposite). It's just weird saying "goodnight" when I'm about to go to work. Living in the future is fucking with my mind.
I suppose my voracious appetite may stem from the lack of a balanced breakfast. I'm more inclined, though, to blame it on my attitude as of late. Bottling up rage is deleterious and taxing. The growing beast in my belly is constantly demanding nutrients, and I have no choice but to comply lest it begin to feed off of me. Also, the rage is pretty exhausting.
The anger is all work-related. Maybe a little bit of it is due to my current location, but I suppose that's work-related. Most of it, though, stems from ongoing drama in the office, which once again reared it's ugly, vacuous head yesterday. Because that person (who is, right now, on vacation) I work with left such an ugly deficit, I was told that my trip to San Diego had to be canceled so I could make up the work. Long story short, I convinced them to make the punk do his own fucking work and let me take the trip because not only had they told me I would be able to go, but I already bought the ticket!
So yeah, crisis averted. Lord knows I wasn't going to spend another birthday (which, believe me, are already boring affairs) in South Carolina. The rage has been quelled and sated. I'm actually in a good mood (and have been, with the exception of some choice moments at work, since this morning). Things are back to normal, and I'm looking forward to the next week.
And I just ate three steaks.
Because of the medication, I end up waking up early enough only to manage a shave and shower before I have to report. There's really no time for breakfast anymore (or apparently dressing). Except for this morning, when I had plenty of time to eat, but my mouth was too busy talking. I'm not complaining, though (quite the opposite). It's just weird saying "goodnight" when I'm about to go to work. Living in the future is fucking with my mind.
I suppose my voracious appetite may stem from the lack of a balanced breakfast. I'm more inclined, though, to blame it on my attitude as of late. Bottling up rage is deleterious and taxing. The growing beast in my belly is constantly demanding nutrients, and I have no choice but to comply lest it begin to feed off of me. Also, the rage is pretty exhausting.
The anger is all work-related. Maybe a little bit of it is due to my current location, but I suppose that's work-related. Most of it, though, stems from ongoing drama in the office, which once again reared it's ugly, vacuous head yesterday. Because that person (who is, right now, on vacation) I work with left such an ugly deficit, I was told that my trip to San Diego had to be canceled so I could make up the work. Long story short, I convinced them to make the punk do his own fucking work and let me take the trip because not only had they told me I would be able to go, but I already bought the ticket!
So yeah, crisis averted. Lord knows I wasn't going to spend another birthday (which, believe me, are already boring affairs) in South Carolina. The rage has been quelled and sated. I'm actually in a good mood (and have been, with the exception of some choice moments at work, since this morning). Things are back to normal, and I'm looking forward to the next week.
And I just ate three steaks.
A third of my father's spine is now completely artificial. He's already back at home, recovering with the help of frozen yogurt and ice cream. He even has a new painkiller that comes in the form of a lollipop. If that's not an invitation for overdose, I don't know what is.
Once he heals, he's getting more vertebrae replaced. And once he recovers from that surgery, he's going to rehab. I'm sure they'll have regular lollipops to help wean him off the neuropathic variety.
Today, I also gained some backbone, this one more metaphorical than artificial. But it was useful. Momentarily. I'm still going to need pain killers. San Diego is off for now.
Also: I was all up in this dude's nutz this morning.
Once he heals, he's getting more vertebrae replaced. And once he recovers from that surgery, he's going to rehab. I'm sure they'll have regular lollipops to help wean him off the neuropathic variety.
Today, I also gained some backbone, this one more metaphorical than artificial. But it was useful. Momentarily. I'm still going to need pain killers. San Diego is off for now.
Also: I was all up in this dude's nutz this morning.
