25 And Looking Back

I know, I know. You’re supposed to look forward. But, I like to look back often. In my opinion of myself – oh geez, can you believe I have an opinion of myself? Terrible – I’ve found that a lot of the thoughts that I previously had about myself – things around me – have definitely grown.

Noticed I didn’t use the word “matured”. To this day I get called “immature”, even by those that barely know me.

And I can’t pinpoint certain dates in my life where my thoughts changed per say, however I can definitely tell you the difference between what I used to think and how I used to act and how I now act. I’m now 25. It’s an odd feeling. It’s an odd number at the least. One quarter of a century – and how old do kids 5 years younger than me think I am? Freaking old. Heck, I think people who are 26 are really old, when in fact, I’ve got less than 12 months before I’m there. I’m sure this mentality will change with time too.

I’d like to make the main point I was getting at first – because I think it’s a complex one, and it’s going to be really challenging for me to describe on paper. Right now it’s this amorphous substance in my brain that pops up with little “you should include this, and talk about that too!” snippets – but it’s not ever a full-on post. Which is of course why I have to throw it all on here, to see if it hopefully makes sense at the end.

When I was 14, 16, 18 I thought of my world as me. What am I doing today? How do I feel today? What do I want to do? If it didn’t fit in to my agenda, or my thought process, it didn’t fit. I fought with it, I ignored it, I didn’t recognize it. I had one train of thought and if anyone else thought differently they were wrong.

This played itself out in my actions. Christmas was about the presents I received. How much money I got on my birthday (seriously, I’m going to stop the italics now I think everyone gets the point). How well I did in comparison to previous years as far as the amount of booty *cough* that I had accrued. If someone wasn’t useful to me, I never found any further need for them. For all I took, I rarely gave back. If I was giving back, it was because my parents forced me to, and not because I ever wanted to.

I drove 124 miles per hour down 405 with 3 people in my car with me the summer after I first got the car. It was me showing off my new car to the people in the car, one which was screaming bloody murder if I didn’t slow down. A few cared. A few thought the car was cool regardless of how reckless I drove it. I didn’t think twice about their lives, or mine for that matter, or the others on the road. It was me, showboating, trying to be as cool as I could, for myself. This event for some reason, stands out in my head when I begin to talk about the difference between me 7 years ago, and me now.

I now drive 70 in the middle lane on the freeway. Rarely does my speed top 85, and I only go that speed when I’m passing someone or everyone else is going that fast. I’m concerned with how those riding in my car feel. I’m concerned with other drivers out there. I have to shake my head and think of how idiotic I was every time I see a lowered civic with a coffee can exhaust fly by me at 100 miles per hour. Lucky for me, I got to this point where I am now – many teens in my situation have not made it - I’ve grown a bit now, and I can see the difference.

Today I think about my affect on the entire world. I’m even getting to a point where I try to reduce my entire impact on the world’s environment – maybe this will be saved for a later post. 7 years ago, I thought about my affect on the people around me – literally within the distance to touch them. I never cared what kind of money I was wasting, energies or resources, literally at one point sitting in a college class at 18 I raised my hand and said, “You get this one life. What you do in it is all you get, so you might as well live it up (party and waste as many resources) as you possibly can”. Obviously today I am not living that lifestyle (although it does sound fun sometimes).

I used to be selfish for myself. Now I am selfish for my loved ones. That’s a lot better in my opinion than how I used to be. Now I want what is best for my family. Before I used to always say, “Take care of #1 first”. And that was how I lived. I got my way, and at the drop of a hat could forget everyone else. Sometimes this side of me will come snarling out all over again, but the “Take care of your family first” side is creeping in and starting to dominate my old thoughts.

I’m trying my best to take care of my parents. I’m concerned for them, growing in to an older age. I’ve always lived to make them proud, and it’s like we’ve reached this point where they can look at me and say, “See, we didn’t do too bad of a job with him”. I live now to make sure that my loved ones know that I love them very much. I try to live everyday as a respectful citizens in the eyes of everyone else. I keep in much better contact with my parents and start to see the older generation as more of my peers instead of the “people who were trying to keep me down”. The other day I thought to myself that I have more in common with a guy who is on the verge of retirement at 60 years old than I do with other 25 year olds. My fear is that maybe I’m growing too fast now?

They are fascinating to me though. They’ve seen so much – even people who are 15 years older than I am still have a wealth of knowledge about the past. I think about my grandparent’s generation – those who have seen 60 years more of life before me – what a difference their lifetimes have made.

The Christmas presents and birthday presents have almost dropped to nothing now. But this isn’t a complaint. It’s almost as if I was ready to move past that stage – like now it’s my time to give back to the community that raised me. Instead of being the receiver, I plan on delighting in years of gifting. I think in order to leave this world a better place I need to extend some sort of lasting legacy – even if it be with a few people. And the more generous I am with my efforts, energy, time and money I think the larger that wake becomes – the more people I affect in positive ways.

I think I was right when I started this post – it was way too jumbled and confusing for me to make any sort of sense of it. I think I’ll try again when I’m 30.

Crunch Time/Free Write/I’ve survived/Not as bad as you fear

These are the kind of nights that I hate. The nights where I crave action – anything. I gamble away a dollar on what piddly amount is left on my online poker account after I cleaned house once Neteller was done. Piddly is not a word. Gawd.

I want to be out drinking. But I don’t want to spend. I want to be listening to good music with an MGD in hand, and not be caring the crowd that I’m in. I don’t want to worry about a stupid washer and dryer anymore and how “the sooner it gets fixed the better”. Well shit. How about we just come down there right now and fix it? Would it make you happy when I’m at your beck and call at all hours of the night?

I want to be out gambling. I want to be playing basketball in a gym where the guys show up at 9:30 pm and don’t leave until midnight. I want to be getting shot in the hamstring at an indoor paintball place. I want to be sitting on the hard wood chair on the waterfront at Ivar’s Fish House in Mukilteo and drinking a Fat Tire waiting for my $3.95 burger to arrive. I want to go hit a few softballs at the batting cages under the lights, and I want it to be in the low 70s like it is during those summer nights. I won’t be doing any of it tonight.

This is a free form write. I had some ideas on what I wanted to mention, because I didn’t want this to be my “rando” post for April. And I hate how I’ve made it a point the past few months to include a “rando” post every month. And yes. That’s rando, without the “m”. Because a rando actually stands for something a little bit different than the word “random”. And those that know, know. And those that don’t, I’m sorry. I hate it that I’ve made it a point to make 1 rando post every month, because that is not rando at all. Maybe out of spite for myself I will not include one this month. Sad. I included the topics in the title of this post just so I can remember what I was going to write about while I’m actually writing.

Anyway, back to this night. Literally I am writing tonight because I need to do something. I feel like for some reason it’s a crime to go to bed on a weekend night before midnight. Or at the least before 11 pm. Literally, I work my ass off – well I guess not really, but going to work 5 days a week, 8 hours a day, same schedule, all that nonsense really starts to drag on you sometimes. I call them “slumps”. Work slumps. Where you look up at the clock and realize your life is getting paid away.

So you kill for the weekend. But for what? Sit around, watch TV, play the XBOX, try to organize a few things, work out, clean house, then back to work again on Monday. Meh.

Crunch time. Michelle and I have a bet on who can lose a bigger percentage of weight by May 15^th. Time to start really hauling ass on this. I was working out 6 days a week before getting a shin splint in my left leg and a knee issue. That was 3 weeks ago. I cut the workouts to 4 days a week, and I don’t really notice a difference. I’ll be upping it back to 6 days a week and be spending double the amount of time I normally spend in the gym. To win. I want to be skinnier anyway. I should be. The stupid “healthy wealthy wise” thing through my work told me I was 20 pounds overweight. How dare they! If I lose 10 I’ll be in “top form”. Current body fat percentage, roughly 16%. I’d like to be in the 8-10 range. In a month. Hah. I laugh. I will work my ass off and probably lose 4 pounds realistically. Ideally I will get to the 6-8 pound mark over the next 4 weeks. Then I’ll be impressed with myself. Go figure.

Along with my drive to win the bet, I also have 28 days left to study for my A+ exam. The weight loss bet ends on the 15^th of May. The A+ exam is on the 12^th of May. I am worried that I will fail at either one. It’s going to take a lot of work to accomplish both. I plan on dedicating at least 2 hours to each everyday, starting Monday. I am more worried about the A+ exam. Work is paying for it, and I get one retry if I fail, but why even put myself through that hell? 180 questions over 4 hours on computer hardware and operating systems? No thanks.

Anyway, good luck to myself.

Since about 19, my friends have been saying I will die before I turn 25. I sort of believed them. At the time, I lived my life as an “unbreakable”. Nothing could phase me, and I could never get in trouble for anything I did. 2 days and a couple minutes from now, it’ll be my 25^th birthday. I made it. I can’t really believe that I made it here. It’s kind of weird to think of myself as that old. But I’m doing “old” things.

When I tell people that I thought I was going to die before I was 25, they get really concerned. And I think their concern stems from the fact that I say it so flatly – frankly - like it’s no big deal. And when I recognize their confusion/disturbed look on their face, I kind of have to laugh it off as if it was a joke to me. But it really wasn’t. I feel like I’ve seen so much in my life, and that I’ve been so blessed to experience so many different things, that if it indeed was my time to go, I don’t know if I would fight it. Realize this attitude is much different from people who would say they would do everything to fight it – if they knew it was coming.

Well, I don’t know that it’s coming. I can’t guarantee what’s going to happen tomorrow. But if I survive to 26, I think I’ll be outliving a lot of you. I’ll be that old crotchety man with the cane and a bad attitude. I remember reading I believe in the Seattle times that grumpy old people lived longer and were brighter than those who didn’t act that way. And I think it’s just because they still hold their suspicions on things – which drive them to continually question things and educate themselves. Let’s just hope I don’t turn out like that one guy that shot and killed the kid after he said, “Get off my lawn or I’ll shoot ya!”

So yes. 2 more days. Quarter life crisis. What to do for my quarter life crisis? What to change? What to gain? What to learn? How to grow? Looking back on 24, it was a VERY eventful year. I’m glad I have this blog to read back on…hopefully the servers these are stored on never crash and I lose 2 years of writing. Really, they should offer a print service if I wanted to have all of these printed and bound and mailed to me. What would that cost? Like $75 probably? I’d pay it. Now there’s a hell of an idea blogger…

For some reason, I just thought of a few things I wanted to do with 25. I wanted to pray. I never pray. I’m not that spiritual of a person, I’m not sure if I believe in something yet. In my opinion, it really helps me get through life, when I know I am really the only one who will be there for me. Sure, there is always my family, but when I am alone, if I ever will be alone, it’ll be me to fend for myself and no one else.

I want to pray for positive things. I’m not sure if I know how to do it. Because in my mind I hear it starting as, “Dear God…” and I’m not sure if I like that or not. I’m glad I can just write this out and confuse myself further.

Another thing I wanted to do with 25 is to give sincere compliments. I am terrible with letting my “good job/well done” side show. My dad was a “tough love” character, and I think my mom was a bit of one too. I always remember coming home with scraped up knees and huge bumps on my forehead from rocks that had been thrown at me…crying. And just looking to my parents and them telling me to stop crying. So I’ve always felt like, if you screw your life up, that’s your fault. I’m not going to help you. In fact, I think I’ll talk down to you in a condescending tone hoping that you either spiral further out of control or pick yourself up, using part of the anger from me as your motivation.

I’ve found that this doesn’t work very well with about 95% of people I deal with.

I want to tell people that I know something kind that I think about them. And mean it. And not feel cheesy and weird about it. Someone I work with is always so positive about life. But not in the way that they’re so positive that you begin to hate them for it. They also have their bad days on occasion too. But most days they’ve got a compliment for someone. On the great job they’ve done, or how they like their new haircut or tie or something. And I can see that it makes people feel great about themselves. Because the compliments are genuine.

I was told by this person that this skill comes with parenthood. The ability to genuinely positively reinforce another person will come with parenthood. They tell me that you begin to see your children – or at least the way they are – in other people, and suddenly you have an entirely new respect for the human beings around you. I’m not sure what will happen with me, but I do know for sure that a change will be made as soon as I enter that stage of my life.

So there you have it, my mini birthday resolutions. They seem simple enough, but for me I think they’ll be a pretty major undertaking to change those things about myself.

To end this post, I’d like to make a PSA – a public service announcement to everyone reading.

Do not be afraid of, or angry at those around you in your community. I think here in the Northwest, we have a very isolated culture. Everyone has their bubble and you stay in your bubble and I’ll stay in mine. Get too close and we feel uncomfortable. I notice this fear sometimes…more so in the suburbs than in the city. I can see the look that people give me at times. The look that I might harm them, or steal their car or something…they front with their stone cold faces but looking in to their eyes I can see fear. I don’t consider myself a menacing character. Sure, I’m not smiling right now, but I also don’t have the look of anger on my face.

How many times have you been waiting for something, in line at the Vet’s office or in the waiting room at the doctor’s office and you’ve actually opened your mouth and started talking to a complete stranger? How many of those times were you completely taken aback by how angry that person was with you for starting a conversation? For me, no times – I realize this is bad grammar but I like it. Not once has someone snapped at me for talking to them. Usually it starts with a chuckle.

“Hey, we’re in the same situation, waiting.” “Caramel Apple Cider? What you don’t drink caffeine?” “Wasn’t that traffic/rain ridiculous getting here? Took me 50 minutes to go 10 miles! And now I’m soaked!” “That’s a cute puppy, how old are they?” “Man, they really gotta hire some more people to work at this place…”

Sometimes it ends with a hand shake or a good luck and nice to meet you. Scratch that. Most of the time it ends like that. And every time it’s great. So the next time you’re standing in that line at the bank teller, don’t look like you’ve got some place better to go. Don’t try to act like you wouldn’t mind passing the time chatting with another person. A good majority (literally I would guess 95% of us) are normal, happy (or at the least emotionally stable) people. We speak your language. We wouldn’t mind talking to you at all.

You don’t build “community” by stringing together a bunch of detached bubbles. Say hello once in awhile. I promise I won’t bite.

Robot Routines

Monday through Friday I have decided I am a robot.

I am a robot with a routine. Most robots are built to have routines right? I want that one that just vacuums your house all day. I think the dog would love playing with it. And as long as I don’t get too bored with my robot routine, then I am content with my life. Ever since mid-September since they moved me from the Redmond campus and sold it to MSFT, I’ve created a routine for myself that does a few things for me: 1) It helps me keep track of time. 2) It allows me to easily continue on through each day and not struggle with the fact that it’s only Tuesday and not Friday night. 3) I can list many more things here but seem insignificant in comparison to 1) and 2) so I’ll stop.

This may seem kind of sick to those out there who believe they are truly “spontaneous”. But I don’t care. If you’ve got a job you’ve more than likely got your own little routines. Even constant spontaneity is a routine in itself…not that I think that anyone could really accomplish that. I guess the sad thing is - is that I’ve taken time to sit here and type out things I’ve noticed that I do, every day, Monday through Friday. I don’t know if I’ve analyzed them per say, but I suppose it started to happen the moment I started working at 15 years old.

It started innocently, with the chimichanga and the Capri sun. Every day I worked I brought 500 calories of frozen Costco goodness, the chicken and cheese chimichanga. So every day during that 15 minute break (I only got 1 15 minute break because I only worked part time in 5 hours shifts) I would go down stairs to the kitchen, grab my chimichanga (that’s what she said) from out of the back of the fridge (people would steal it if I kept it near the front) unwrap it, throw it on a paper plate and heat for 1 minute and 30 seconds. I’d sit at a table near the walls of the cafeteria and grab a newspaper to avoid people talking to me while I eat. (I have this thing with people watching me eat. It’s ok if you’re eating too. But if you’re just talking to me and watching me eat and not eating yourself…well eating food, not yourself that is, then I feel awkward…mainly because I chew with my mouth open and like to talk with food in my mouth).

That was how I enjoyed every 15 minute break I had. So I guess, since then, I’ve related “routine” to “enjoyment” and haven’t looked back since. And the only reason I’m making this blog post? Is because those routines have blossomed (for lack of a better word) in to many more routines…maybe it’s OCD? Possibly – probably. At least I can look at myself and realize it. And at least I don’t throw fits when the routine is thrown off.

Every morning, Monday through Friday, I wake up at 5:40 am. On my old phone, I used to be able to switch the time at which I would wake up. So as a gift to myself for making it through another day of the week, I’d change my alarm to progressively later until I got to about 5:52 am. Unfortunately, my new phone does not allow that easy of a change (there are a lot of things about my phone that aren’t as easy as my old phone, but it’s got a camera – that I never use) to the alarm, so I now stick to 5:40 am every morning.

When my alarm goes off, I reach for it and turn off the alarm. I usually get to it by it’s 3rd “beep/vibrate”. I grab it and hold it close to my skin. The cold of the phone is usually enough to wake me up. If not, I hold it in my right hand and dangle the phone over the side of the bed. Typically if I start to fall asleep again my hand goes limp and I drop the phone, thus causing a surprise sensation to my body (another failsafe to wake me up). When I do finally decide to get up, I flex my legs and stretch my arms over my head and head towards the bathroom to create urine. Typically I fart – the most satisfying fart of the day – sad that it’s done that quickly.

I head towards my office, which is where my clothes are (the master closet is taken by Michelle along with the other two bedroom’s closets) with my right eye shut. Sometimes it’s easier to be “half asleep” and only allow light in to one eye. It eases my way in to the day. With eyes half shut, I glance at an unspectacular array of business casual, basketball shorts, sweat pants and jeans. Knowing my routine people would think that I was anal about what I wore each day. Not true. I only have two real “habits” of what I wear. And those include: Wearing something green on Tuesday. I don’t know what it is about Tuesday. Again, I haven’t analyzed this…yet. But I hate Tuesdays. In my opinion, Tuesdays are the worst day of the work week. Many people would say Monday, but on Mondays I usually feel a lot more refreshed from what’s hopefully a long, relaxing weekend. Tuesdays are not even Wednesday which is the middle of the week. There’s not even any solace in thinking it is the middle of the middle of the week. Tuesday is just the day I love to hate. And this is why I am typing this out today. To take my mind off of how much of a “struggle” getting through today will be. (And trying to force ourselves through a day should be meant for another post).

But I wear something green, usually a green shirt (what someone, or me would first look at when looking at my clothing) either a green button up or a green polo. And I think I wear green because it’s hard to have a bad attitude about green. There’s just nothing you can really dislike about a normal green. Thinking back, I have actually never heard anyone saying that they “hated the color green”. There are just too many good things about the color green to dislike it. Even in the most desolate of places, the green grass grows – and covers more than 1/4th of the land. (Thank you “Planet Earth” series) And for that reason, I feel that wearing a green shirt makes everything “right” in my world thus balancing my hatred of the day Tuesday.

The only other time I make a conscientious decision to change my attire for work is on Thursdays. Thursdays are the exact opposite of Tuesdays. Thursdays are one of my favorite days of the week. Thursdays are not a struggle. I look forward to Thursdays. Growing up, I always enjoyed Thursdays. The feeling of anticipation. The “it’s almost Friday” feeling. And the feeling of accomplishment once you got done with Thursday is unparalleled with any other day. “Only one more day to go” I would say to myself while falling asleep on Thursday nights. And there was a reason growing up that I knew that Thursdays were awesome. It was knowing that in the future I’d be part of the UW business school (really I didn’t know this, I’m being sarcastic), an outstanding place…a glorious institution that understood the value of the “work-life balance” (something that many employers should start taking in to more account…*cough*) by giving everyone included in the business school each Friday of each week off. Imagine my shock and surprise when I realized that 3 day weekends due to federal holidays would now become 4 day weekends. Never before in my life (other than summers as a child – but those don’t count) was I just given a day off for nothing.

Thus began the “dress for celebration/success” Thursday. Every Thursday in business school I’d make sure I was at least wearing something that could “button up” (instead of my normal wear of sweats/flip flops). Heck, I’d even be on the verge of business casual. Sometimes for presentations (because those were given usually on the last day of the week), I’d don a tie and wouldn’t be one bit embarrassed walking through those halls. (Sometimes I feel out of place wearing a tie in places like the grocery store). Thursdays I usually bust out the black slacks (I find them “dressier” than my khakis/chinos) with shiny black belt, black leather shoes (I usually wear the brown ones with my khakis) and freshly ironed button up shirt. Dressing up makes me feel like work actually means more (than it usually does to me) and for that reason I put my full energy in to making Thursdays a very good work day for myself.

Once I’m done with the clothes I head downstairs for the food. Ugh, what a bore this is becoming, I’m only at breakfast. Every morning, I start out by washing my hands (who knows where those hands have been while I’m sleeping!), and after washing my hands I cut open a bagel. Back in college it used to be 1 pop tart, but I’ve moved away from that towards bagels. And lately, it’s been Thomas Multi Grain bagels. The stuff gets stuck in your teeth and it’s kind of fun to play with (your tongue trying to get that shit out of your teeth, kind of like popcorn). Also, I believe the multi grain bagel, even with light cream cheese is still healthier for me than a pop tart.

While the bagel is toasting (all of 2 minutes) I prepare my lunch. Everyday at work (unless we’re out) I eat 1 banana in the morning and 1 apple with lunch. Since those are the staples of my day, I get them ready along with my “juice box” (minute maid sugar water) and throw them together in a pile. I wash the apple in steaming hot water (hoping to burn off any wax that may be on it) and wrap it in a paper towel. I use two paper towels every day. 1 for the apple, and 1 to wrap the bagel. Usually at 5:55 in the morning, I’m not too hungry, so I take 3-4 bites of my bagel which usually ends up being about 35-40% of it and then I wrap it and save the rest of it for work. The reason I bring my lunch to work every day is because I am not a baller and cannot go to the metropolitan grill for lunch every day. I wash the bagel down with roughly 8 ounces of Tropicana Orange Juice, or some sort of carrot juice from Trader Joe’s. Sometimes I’ll pop a Zyrtec too to help fight my allergies if I know it’s going to be a “high pollen count” day out there. There’s something satisfying about knowing that in that small amount of liquid I’ve already consumed my daily requirement for Vitamin C, but at the same time tasting better than some multivitamin would.

I head upstairs to clean my teeth – use the rubber pick to get out all of the bagel that’s now stuck in the cracks and crevices of my teeth and then brush my teeth until the blue toothpaste becomes baby blue – because that means I’ve been brushing for long enough and hopefully the toothpaste has done it’s job. After that, I might wet my bed-head down (since I take showers at night and if I lay for long enough on my side I get lines in my head), I could shave – which I do probably once every 4 days (one day I hope to hit puberty), maybe blow my nose one last time and then put my deodorant on and head out of the bathroom. One “Good morning” and “Have a good day – Love you darling” a kiss, and a good morning head scratch for the dog and I’m flying down the stairs.

Pack up my lunch, bagel and bottled water. Typically it’s 6:04-6:12 at this point depending on how slow I’ve been moving. Grab the clothes and shoes if I’m going to be working out after work, and then make my shoe decision. Typically the shoe decision is pretty easy. Khaki, or brown pants – brown leather shoes. Black pants, black shoes. Crazy enough, I think one of the biggest fashion mistakes that guys make is to wear white socks with black shoes. I hope that no one does that. If you do this, please stop as soon as possible. Unless you are too poor to buy black socks. But that doesn’t make any sense since you could afford white ones. I make it a point to wear black socks if I’m going to be wearing my black shoes. The shoe decision gets a little bit harder if it’s a “jeans” day. Ok, is it crappy outside? Maybe I’ll go with the Timbos. Am I wearing too much blue this morning? Maybe go for the black, orange and white Nikes. Do I not have any blue or very little blue on this morning? Or maybe I’m wearing my Adidas socks? Probably go for the brooks. I honestly believe there are certain “types” of people that can pull off the monochrome look. Not me, I like to have at least 3-4 different colors on.

Out to the garage, and in to the car as I watch the grass line carefully in my right mirror to make sure I’m backing down our driveway properly. If only I took this time to actually back in to my garage when I parked every afternoon/night, I wouldn’t have to back out in the mornings. It’s a real pain in the ass when it’s so dark out you can’t see the outline of the grass on each side of the driveway. I’ve driven in to the grass at least 3 times over the past year. The worst part is, I feel like such an idiot when I do that – driving is something I pride myself on. I might be a little bit too aggressive, but I only know of one male my age who isn’t.

I love people that drive in the mornings before 6:30 am. For some reason, I just feel like people who get up earlier are smarter about their driving. When I used to start at 9:30 am, I used to see people take their SWEET time getting to work. Is it because they were taking their sweet time to wake up? A coworker that starts at 9:30 am says that he gets up at “around 8”, makes himself an espresso, sits down to watch the news and check his email, then slowly hops in to the shower, eats a full breakfast and then moseys on in to work. On the opposite end of that, I roll out of bed and head to work basically. You can probably see how these two mentalities affect driving habits too. Anyway, it’s an excellent change of pace in comparison to what I used to go through, and it would be hard for me to ever give up this shift, or the location I’m in.

When I get to work, I try to park in the same spot every morning. Being one of the earliest morning shift – in fact THE earliest morning shift because if I worked any earlier they’d have to pay be a 10% differential (god forbid!) I get the closest spot to the front door minus all of the disabled and reserved carpool spots. It’s weird to me actually when I have to park in the spot next to “my spot”, or possibly even 2 spots down from there. When this happens, I know I was a bit later that usual. This morning, due to construction on my “usual” route to work, I decided to go down Maltby and then take the Bothell-Everett highway in. To my surprise it was just as fast as my back roads drive is, however not as fun (not as many curves). This dropped me off on the other side of the parking lot, so I decided to park in the first spot closest to the door on that side.

I guess sometimes a nice change of pace and scenery can keep things fresh. It’s terrible that these little “tweaks” I can make every day to my routine can decidedly keep me “fresh”, but I’ve got to have something that I can hold on to when I know I’ll be facing it roughly 48 weeks out of the year, 5 days a week, 8 hours a day. What I’ve just described is the beginning of my day. Imagine what the next 16 hours looks like…don’t worry for my sake at the least; I won’t include that here…yet. (Look! I used a semicolon! That’s different…)

Real Quick

Rarely do I do short posts anymore. But I just wanted to tell a story – somewhat fiction, because I like to write short stories – or at least I used to. I just hope it ends up being as short as I want it to be.

It was the first round of the playoffs. Shorthanded “Shawn Kemp’s Illegitemate Children” – yes, that was their team name – were in high spirits. First place, undefeated, and ready to roll over a team they had almost shut out during the season. A shut out! Can you believe that? In basketball? Unheard of. The one seed versus the nine seed. A total snoozer.

The game was scrappy. Pushing and shoving was going on down in the trenches. Elbows and shoulders getting thrown, someone busted in the groin had to sit out. It seemed that many of the players were going to foul out even before they had reached halftime. The refs were of no help either. Instead of letting the guys play and decide the game for themselves, they further angered everyone calling fouls when there were none, and not calling fouls when there were plenty.

He could tell the tensions were rising when he saw one of the guys put on the turbo boosters on the way down the court. This was for his pride. This was in front of his family and friends. He didn’t want to look like a fool, and there was no way the lanky kid was getting another dunk on him. Not another wide open one.

So I stood and watched. Almost in horror, almost in shock, but more of that adrenaline pumping goodness that is conflict. As I turned my back to the ball, I noticed number 61 come flying off the 3 point line to intercept a lob pass that had been thrown from half court. A couple dribbles and 2 guys chasing him – dunk it man. Throw it down. Fuck these guys, they’re a bunch of jokers.

But I knew it was coming. I knew that we were show boating a bit. Pressing with the lead of 20. Trying extra hard to crush the other team’s spirit on defense, when there was no way they could ever mount a comeback. I’d been there before. And, I’ve also had my emotions get the best of me at that point too.

Ever hear of the term pyrrhic victory? 61 was about to pay. 10 was motoring down the court, and I could already see the forearms cocked and ready. Suddenly time slowed. Or maybe it moved way too fast. 61 leaped in to the air to throw it down once more, and as he made his motion towards the heavens the two hands of number 10 pushed a little bit too hard into his lower back and 61 came crashing to the hardwood.

He let the emotion get the best of him. Good luck spitting on the face of a man with too much pride. 30 feet away, the group was running towards the commotion. Inaudible words were shot out of faces of rage. Close enough to throw punches. The thoughts raced. Keep calm. Being an adult – over 18 – assault charges – they’ve got us outnumbered 9 guys to 6. We’d never survive in a brawl. Let me get just one sucker punch in. I’d pick the skinny kid – 1 and done. Could I take 10? He’s got pretty big arms – but I’ve got the reach on him – don’t punch the skull. Peace makers arrived. I could still feel my jaw and right arm clenched.

A flagrant foul was called and 2 free throws were shot. 10 was still furious. He burned more of his energy gunning for 61. 61 sat down to avoid further injury.

Hopefully next week we’ll have enough players for a proper brawl.