Lazy

With the new year rapidly approaching I'm overwhelmed with laziness. So this is all I'm going to write today. Have a Happy New Year faithful readers!

The World Keeps on Spinning (if only I could get off for a while. I’m dizzy)

I really enjoy looking at The History Channel’s website for “This Day in History”. There’s so much that happened before we got here and selfishly started hogging all time and resources. I also can’t help that I’m something of a history buff and I am constantly amazed at what our ancestors were able to do without some of the modern conveniences we take for granted.

For instance, in 1890 the U.S. Army Calvary massacred nearly 150 Native Americans at the “Battle” of Wounded Knee. It was a shameful moment in American history but important to remember as it was practically the last battle between the Americans and the Natives. It set the course for the next hundred years of American and Native American relations.  I know it was 120 years ago and it seems like ancient history, but it’s just amazing to consider the growing pains this nation endured and the people that suffered along the way.

On this day during the Civil War 1862, General William T. Sherman was trying to capture Vicksburg, Mississippi against the heavily dug in Rebels. He was unsuccessful in his attempt even though he had numerical superiority. He could not get passed the Chickasaw Bluffs. The lessons he learned from that loss later allowed him to re-strategize and ultimately lead far more successful campaigns and suffer far less casualties.  

Even earlier that that, on this day in the year 1170 (can you imagine the year 1170?) Archbishop Thomas Becket was murdered in Canterbury Cathedral by four knights of King Henry II of England.  The significance of this event set up some of the power structure between the Church and the Royals of Great Britain for centuries to come. It also shows that corruption in government is certainly nothing new. We’ve just cleaned it up a bit.

It also appears that Ted Danson was born today in 1947. Happy Birthday Ted. We love you on Bored To Death on HBO.  And for some reason, History Channel decided to include Christian Slater’s drunk driving arrest from 1989.

My point is, there’s a vast history behind us and we should do our best to remember that while our work days are hard and maybe life doesn’t seem to have given us a fair shake; at least we’re not Sioux Indians at Wounded Knee, Union Soldiers, the Archbishop of Canterbury, or Christian Slater for that matter.

Mythbusters, Bugs and Belgium

It’s a nice thing to go to bed at a reasonable hour and have some crazy dreams. I had several dreams last night that were epic in scale yet mild in scope. It would seem that most of my dreams are clearly influenced by television. That would explain the Mythbusters appearance. (No, sadly it was not Kari) As you should know, Mythbusters is a great television show on The Discovery Channel.

Like most dreams I have no idea where to start in explaining what was going on. There was a lot of activity, experiments and running, discussions and watching, even a cameo from an ex-girlfriend for a short car ride. I can’t recall where we were going but I must say that she looked very nice.  It was all so hyperkinetic and all over the place all at once yet there were definite slow spots and plot movement. The thing I remember when I woke was, “Mythbusters, Bugs and Belgium”.

I am assuming this because, as I mentioned, there were some experiments going on with Adam and Jamie from Mythbusters. I don’t remember what we were experimenting with or why but it seemed very important at the time. I know that at some point it had something to do with bugs. And I hate bugs. All bugs, every bug on earth I find horribly disgusting, all wearing their skeletons on the outside, scavenging in the dirt and refuse of our lives, drinking our blood and all kinds of horrors. Yuck, I hate bugs. So I was surprised they made it into my dreams. I try not to think about them most of the time. (Oh god there’s one on me now isn’t there?)

I also know we were in Belgium. I’ve never been to Belgium. The phrase I most recall from the dream was, “Never trust a Belgian”. I’ve never even met a Belgian that I’m aware of and why would they be untrustworthy?  I am attributing this thought to something I probably watched on The History Channel about World War II.  (Although I am stumped by the reference. I apologize to any Belgian readers. I’m huge in Belgium.)

Dreams are so fantastic and when I woke up this morning I felt as if I had lived a thousand lives and each of those thousand lives had the adventure of a lifetime. No wonder I am so tired already. 

Very Little Time for This...

I took a few days off around the Holidays; just a little time to get my head back squarely on my shoulders. It was lovely to relax and unwind after all the stress and hectic head banging that goes on most work days. I slept without much stressful tossing and turning and felt better than I had in a while.

All that came screeching to a violent halt this morning. What is it with you people? Can’t you sustain verticality for a couple of lousy days?  Doesn’t it make sense when you 80 years old to stay inside during an ice storm? Did I miss something? If the weather is bad, please stay in and if you must go outside for any reason, be careful. Not every lot will be plowed and not every store floor will be dry. Pay attention to your surroundings and stop being a burden to society.

It’s more than just this incredibly ridiculous workload so shortly after a holiday. Some of the corporate higher ups caved to the client’s insane demands and we are now even further crippled to do our jobs effectively.  I don’t understand being hired to do a job but then not allowed to do it. That’s just dumb to me. The majority of the people I work with are college educated or have been in this industry for 30 years or so. It’s amazing that the client thinks we’re all stupid and need to be hand-held for everything we do. That’s also infuriating. I actually have some clue as to what I am doing.

So I have to keep this particular complain-orama brief as I really have a lot of actual work to do. Ah, to get paid to write for a living, now that’s the dream. I hope everyone is having as pleasant a Monday as I.  Let’s try to keep our chins up, so when the mule kicks he won’t break our noses.

Christmas Star

Before I get too into today’s thought I want to go back and write a word about yesterday’s blog title, “Mysterious Cuts”. I just want to say that I think that would be a pretty cool band name; or maybe, “Michael and the Mysterious Cuts”.

The Christmas Star. I was reminded of it this morning as I was driving the snowy roads into work. I don’t mean the literal biblical Christmas star that shined above the little baby Jesus’ manger. I mean the star Christmas tree topper my family used for years. It was a groovy looking thing, plastic and quite thin. It had a stained glass quality but was the furthest thing from actual glass. I have no idea where my parents bought it but it drove my sister and me nuts as children.

Every year we had to alternate whose turn it was to place the star on the tree. My mother, I believe, came up with the ingenious solution to sharing the star by placing one of our names in the star’s base; meaning that was the child whose turn it was to put the star on the tree that year.  As children, trying to remember whose turn it was after a whole year was incredibly difficult. So every time the name was pulled out it was either met with complete joy or something a little less than joy.

I was thinking about that exuberance as I drove in this morning. It was the high point of decorating the Christmas tree to be the one to top it off with that cheesy star. Of course the star wasn’t cheesy to us then. It was quite possibly the most precious object known to our little minds. I certainly had no idea what the value of the star was, but I knew what it meant to be the lucky one to place that star on the tree.  There was something important about it, a significance I can no longer comprehend because I’ve gotten too old to remember. I probably won’t remember it until I have children of my own and I see the anticipation on their little faces.

I think at that moment I’ll be transported back to six or seven years old and understand again the magic that is Christmas. I’ll be reminded that it’s more than just gifts or getting people things they want. (Although it’s nice to get people things they like or need). I think I’ll be reminded that putting a star on a tree makes you part of the holiday at a time when you didn’t have your own money or bank statements to worry about.  That cheap plastic star, or angel or Warner Brother’s character that adorns the top of the tree is made of the Christmas spirit and there’s no gift or toy or sweater that will ever take that magic away.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Mystery Cut

Saturday night, while at my Cousin’s delightful Christmas party, I mysteriously cut my right index finger. I didn’t even notice until I had reached into my pocket to put out my pack of cigarettes. It’s a very small cut right across the very tip of the finger and it hurt like the Dickens.  I’ve always found that so mysterious. How a small cut, a paper cut, could hurt so bloody much. I’ve had instances where I’ve scratched the entire length of my arm and days have gone by before I go, “Wait a tick, how did I do that?”

I know that the tip of the finger is a pretty sensitive area so that’s likely why it hurt so badly. I’m not an idiot. But it did get me thinking about some of my other “ailments”, like smoking. I wondered if it was a coincidence that I just happened to notice my finger was cut while reaching for my cigarettes. Which got me thinking about my smoking. I’ve been a pretty consistent smoker since 1991. That’s almost 20 years of smoking and I think that might be enough. One little cut hurt so much, imagine what 20 years of smoking looks like, or feels like for that matter.

So I’ve decided to quit smoking in 2011. I quit for three weeks several years ago but started up again pretty quickly. Hopefully this time it’ll stick. It’s not only the health benefits that I’m looking forward to it’s the smell. I can no longer stand the smell in my apartment. It just smells so stale in there and I can’t imagine that being very attractive to anyone, other than other smokers. 

Plus, it’s cold as hell out and I’m really tired of having to go outside to smoke and freezing my fingers off for a short lived nicotine buzz, which hardly lasts more than a few seconds anyway.  I quit smoking at work several years ago and I’ve managed to stick to that, so the next step is at home. Home will be tough because I mostly smoke due to boredom. I’m hoping that quitting smoking will help motivate me to get off my lazy butt and start doing more.

Smoking has always slowed me down and sucked away at any motivation I’ve had. It’s made me late for things and likely has prevented me from getting that high powered executive job. But it’s something that will be very difficult to give up, it’s been the longest love affair in my life (and of course it’s been trying to kill me).   

So come the new year I will stop smoking. I’m not going to say “quit”, because that is defeatist. I will say stop smoking and hopefully I’ll accomplish this goal. I’m also hoping for a new job and new car and a house, but I guess starting small is better.  Unless I will the lottery tonight, then the cigarettes are on me. (All this from a little cut on my finger. Amazing)

Jingle Bells

Today is my company’s holiday party; or as we used to call it, The Christmas Party. Apparently we can’t call it that anymore. That’s just inappropriate. I’m not sure to whom though because everyone is Catholic. I take that back, we have one non-practicing Jewish woman in the office. Other than that, we all apparently believe in Christmas and its religious significance.  And yet, we still have to call it the holiday party.  

Holiday parties have always been the stuff of legend in this company. Several years ago a colleague got so drunk in the first hour he spent the rest of the evening sleeping in his car in the parking lot. Another former employee had an incredible time pretending she was a Bond girl and stood on nearly every table she could find. Another young lady couldn’t stop pulling a hooded sweatshirt over another guy’s face; this provided several hours of entertainment.  And yet, I’ve gone home alone every year. That’s probably a good thing, I’m sure.  (cough).

The reality of the Christmas party is something else though. It’s time that could be better spent away from the people you are forced to spend the majority of your day with.   I spend more time with these people than with my own family. I think that’s true for a lot of people. I don’t love these people. I wouldn’t go to their house and spend any time with them. I wouldn’t expect them to come to mine.  It’s such a strange situation. 

Sadly, this year the company has finally decided to limit our alcohol intake. We may or may not have set several records for libations bought on previous occasions. We like our drink for sure. This year we get two drink tickets and then we’re on our own. I think this will lead to a very early end to the Christmas party. Which is okay I suppose. It’s just more time for me to get home, and then go to the corner bar.  Merry Holiday Party to all.  

Ow bmy Tongueb.

I bite my tongue an awful lot. Not in the literal sense of course (although I’ve been doing that a lot too) but in the sense that I rarely say everything on my mind. I wonder what it would be like to actually blurt out the things that are on my mind. I mean, when I see a very pretty woman, I think, “Wow, what a very pretty woman”, but I don’t say that. I say, “….…….”.  Which is usually not enough to start a rousing conversation.

I have a very severe sense of propriety. I can’t stand rudeness or outright stupidity. But my sense of propriety prevents me from actually saying anything about said rudeness or stupidity.  It’s a vicious circle I suppose. But I wonder what would happen if I did escape this wall of pretentions and just said, “Shut your ignorant hole you rude S.O.B.”? Would I be shunned, beat up or cursed out? Is that the price of speaking one’s mind?

What if I’m wrong too? (I know that rarely happens.) What if I do open my trap and I spew out the first things that come to mind and turn into that rude and stupid cretin I so despise? That would drive me crazy. So many societal rules to follow, ugh!

There are all kinds out there, the ones that are gregarious and quick to light up a room with a charming anecdote and those that drag rain clouds in and rain hate on everything and everybody. It all depends on how much control they have over what comes pouring out of their mouths.  I hope I fall somewhere in the middle. Maybe Upper middle class.

I try to be honest with people though, although sometimes people just want a reflection of their position, some support or encouragement. I ‘m happy to provide that. I feel good doing that. But I wonder, how would they react if I told them, as I am listening, I’m really thinking about how great their legs and butt look in those jeggings and not about their position regarding North Korea?  (Sorry, I just had to use the word Jeggings.) Would I get slapped? I think I would. Especially if I said that to a guy, well, the wrong guy; and maybe not slapped.

I don’t think I tell people I love them enough, or tell them that I think they are fantastic.  I don’t pat people on the back enough or conversely, tell them when they’re pissing me off. I capitulate and cave or stonewall and mule it up.  It’s something I guess I’ll have to work on. In fact, I think it’s something we should all try to work on. Maybe for the New Year I’ll resolve to tell those I love that I do and tell the one’s I don’t to go jump in the lake. (but I’ll at least throw them a life preserver).

I suppose there’s a balance that one should maintain. There are times when speaking out and saying what is in the forefront of the mind is totally appropriate and times when it’s far more prudent to shut your yap.  I guess knowing when those times are defines who we are and our personalities.

Isn't it amazing?

I went to a celebration event last night in honor of a friend of mine who beat cancer. A year ago he was diagnosed with it and now he’s completely destroyed it. I think that’s just amazing. He described some of the medical procedures he had to go through and they sounded truly barbaric. They did save his life however. And as he said, he’s now here drawing breath.

It made me think of some of the other miracles I’ve witnessed. I’ve seen my Uncle beat cancer and several other ailments along the way at a time when those in the medical profession didn’t give him much of a chance. I’ve seen children come back from brink and who are now vibrant with childhood enthusiasm. I’ve seen near misses with car accidents and heard stories of amazing triumph in bleak situations.

I thought about my personal miracles as well. There were times where I just missed an accident or ducked just at the right moment. Is it some sort of cosmic timing or sheer luck? Are miracles wrought upon us by a higher intelligence or is it merely the luck of the draw? Is it a micro-second of two microscopic cells that just happen to be in the right place at the right time that defines our very existence and that decide our mathematical fate?

I don’t know. Who could know a thing like that? All we can do is appreciate the gravity of those miracles and do our best to accept them. So I was glad to be at the celebration last night; sharing with others how really amazing it is to survive something as terrible as cancer.  It was also one of those times that I felt my own mortality creeping in and that I should take better care of myself, although the hedonist in me almost always tries to ruin my plot for self-preservation.

So as I sit here in my cube, marveling at the wonders of the miracles all around us I feel terribly confined and as if my life is lacking any real meaning or adventure.  Then I think that it’s a miracle that I’m here at all and I should be grateful. What a terrible enigma to be wrapped up in; life is precious, but often boring. I am glad I have a sense of humor about it all, otherwise I’m sure I would have taken a hostage long ago and demanded buckets of ice cream and cheesecake and a chopper to take me to Brazil.  

Anyway, I’m very happy my friend is on recovery road and has beaten a disease that so often destroys. I never really had any doubts he wouldn’t beat it. It was in the bag. Now, onto the next miracle; The Great Disappearing Hangover.

The future is then

Technology has been a true blessing for certain. It’s amazing to instantly communicate with anyone anywhere around the globe. It’s wild to download footage of a Chimp urinating in its own mouth, truly magnificent. It’s a testament to our human genius and I’m really proud of it.

Proud of it except when I have to be a part of it, for an hour.  There’s this on-line training and or conference system called WebX. It’s a doodler’s dream since no trainer or other employee can see you scribbling on your note pad. But it is so boring. I was learning today about all kinds of new Medicare legislation that now affects the industry I work in. It seems to me they are making it far more complicated than it should be.  It’s also making me sleepy. 

I appreciate the efforts the company is making to make sure were all on the same page regarding this new legislation and it’ll help Medicare for sure. But again, it’s so boring. So now I will digress from this current train of thought and drift off into something more interesting.

I’m worried about my future love life. Over the last few days I’ve realized how much I miss feeling a deep emotional love for another person. I mean, I love people, friends and family, etc. But I miss that boyfriend/girlfriend love. It’s a curious thing to miss; especially since I seem to turn into an emotional stone at some point in the relationship. (Hear that ladies, emotional stone and yes, I am single).

I’ve been on a few dates here and there, even met a few women that I would like to hang out with again and see more of, but I haven’t felt that “Spark”. That certain something that really makes you want to see that person again and you’d do just about anything to make that happen. I just haven’t felt it. So I’m worried about my future love life. Am I drifting too far into my own realm of singleness? Losing touch with who’s out there?

I am a romantic in a way, I do want the whole, “Eyes meet from across the room and we’re magnetically attracted to each other”, thing. I miss that giddiness that builds up inside every time you look in their eyes as you talk.  I miss that quite a lot.  I wish there was a WebX seminar to help me figure this whole crazy relationship thing out. (Of course I’d probably be doodling through that too)

I’m looking forward to the next relationship. (Of course it does have some mighty big high heels to fill). I hope I’m aware enough to notice when it comes along, sometime in the future.  Will it involve the internet or some future technology? I wouldn’t mind, but I’m not going to a dating web site. I prefer the old fashioned way of meeting people, in person, at a bar. How else is the music supposed to come up?

Dear Americans, please put your pants on.

As I was driving about the city this weekend I noticed a peculiar and unsettling trend. Too many people are walking around in their pajama bottoms. I’m not sure where this trend started but it needs to stop. I can appreciate your search for comfortable garments for the lower half of your body, but flannel pajama pants at the grocery store are not appropriate.

I think this trend started with teenage girls. I only say this because a few years ago I noticed a large number of young girls with their “Juicy” sweatpants tucked into their Uggs Boots. I noted at the time how very strange this new fashion development was but I checked it off as just something teenage girls were doing and it was quite literally none of my concern. But now it’s out of hand.

I saw a man yesterday walking down the street wearing a heavy winter jacket and snow boots. In between the boots and the jacket were green and red Christmas flannel pajama bottoms.  I’m sure he was just out for a quick jaunt, perhaps to brush the snow off his car and thought he’d go unseen. He was wrong of course, how can one miss green and red pants on a guy amongst a sea of white snow? I must be too old fashioned. I’d never be caught dead outside in my pajama bottoms. Even if I have to run across the street to the convenient store, I put jeans on. Going outside in pajamas, simply isn’t done.

I was driving to my mother’s house yesterday when I saw another middle aged woman hurrying across the street. It was a very cold day yesterday and the wind was howling through the street. This woman was bundled in her tan coat, Knock-off Uggs and pink and light green flannel pajama bottoms. No wonder she was in a hurry, her legs must have been freezing. I shook my head again. Why in the world would you venture out in sleeping pants?  Is it just simple laziness? Are we now so self-indulgent that putting regular pants on to walk down the street is now beneath us? Are we so devoid of other people around us that we just don’t consider how much the rest of us don’t want to see what Great Aunt Tilly bought you for Christmas last year? I wouldn’t dream of it. I doubt anyone would want to see me gallivanting around the boulevards in my martini patterned sleeping pants. I mean, the only time it’s acceptable to be seen in your pajamas outside is if your house in burning down in the middle of the night and you and your family just escaped. Then, wear your pajamas where ever you like.

So America, please, put your pants on. It’s not too hard. One leg at a time.     

Friday Doughnuts

As much as I despair my job, there’s one bright spot in an otherwise lousy position. Free Doughnuts on Fridays. One of the many perks of being in the insurance industry I suppose. It is truly a delicious start to what will likely be a long and aggravating day.

Doughnuts are just cool. It’s that simple. They have the grand distinction of being so simple yet, otherworldly.  Doughnuts seem to make the morning that much more bearable. It’s is a little sad when the doughnut is gone however, like mine is, now. I miss you doughnut.

I digress; doughnuts have a long history in American and around the world. Almost every culture on the globe has a baked or fried sugary doughnut type of pastry. There’s some dispute as to the origin of the doughnut but they may go back as far as 1803, but again, it’s slightly controversial. Many people have taken some credit for the creation or invention of the doughnut through history but it’s hard to say with any real surety who did what when.  I’m just glad some person decided it was a treat to good to be forgotten.

It’s a funny thing when you miss your chance at a doughnut. I’ve arrived in the break room on occasion too late to get a hold of one of the sweet little guys. It’s a crippling punch in the stomach to miss the doughnuts. It’s like Christmas and your Birthday all wrapped into one day, but nobody got you any presents or even said, “Happy Birthmas”. There’s a child inside of you that pouts and tears start to slightly well up in their eyes. You also feel a little anger. “Who would just TAKE the last doughnut?! That S.O.B.”, and you pound your feet all the way back to your desk.

Now, halfway into this little article, I really miss my doughnut. It was an Old Fashioned with Chocolate frosting. I long for its doughy goodness. Perhaps I should just stop talking about my long gone doughnut and get focused on the tasks at hand today. Like getting more doughnuts. By digging a tunnel across the parking lot, under the viaduct and into the Dunkin Donuts across the way. Maybe. I think that would be an especially valuable use of my time today.

I wonder what I’ll have for lunch.

Another Thursday

Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? I’m quite sure I’ve seen you. I know you’ve been around. I know it. You’ve been hanging around the water cooler, chatting it up with all the fellas. I know you but I can’t quite place your name or face. I mean, I see you all the time, at least once a week for sure.

Who are you really and what’s your purpose here? Really, I don’t mean to be nosey or pry into your business but what are you doing here? I would appreciate an answer or some clue to your identity. Have you been coming around here long? Do you know me? Have you some greater purpose or goal?

Well, there’s no reason to be rude. If you don’t want to answer me then fine. I mean, it’s up to you I suppose. It’s your life and you can do what you like. It’s not up to me how you decide to behave in polite and proper society. I must say it's slightly inappropriate to remain silent in the matter.

Okay. I’ve had just about enough of you sir. Your silence is deafening and I can no longer tolerate it. I wish you would just go. Please leave your keys on the table and just go. One last thing, as you exit, please send that other fellow in, Friday I think is his name. Thanks.

Some people, sheesh.

On the bright side....

It occurred to me that Chicagoans appear to be optimists. I hear it every year once fall winds down and winter begins to push through with any rigor. “Oooh, I can’t believe how cold it is”, they say. Chicagoans are constantly surprised that it ever gets cold here. It’s as if they choose not to believe it as a possibility, even though it’s cold here eight months out of the year. We love our warm summer months and have a very difficult time accepting the reality of winter. We’d rather believe it won’t get that cold and we’ll be wearing shorts and sitting at the beach in no time.

I enjoy our collective optimism. It says a lot about who we are as Chicagoans. We believe in the impossibility of a short, warm winter even though history has shown us we’re likely in for a long and dreary snowbound hell. I like that about us. We really can’t believe winter has arrived or that snow has started to fall. But we’ll shovel our sidewalks and dream of warmer nights drinking al fresco.

We also seem to think that our sports teams, be they the Cubs, Sox, Blackhawks, Bears or the Bulls, will eventually win this year, or maybe the next or maybe the year after that. We refuse to give up our optimism about them and continue to root against the tides of history. Every so often we are rewarded for our faith and for a short time we can all revel in whatever championship the team won. Although Chicagoans don’t feel that the “Team” won, it was a collective city effort and we all reap the spoils. We were all part of the team. I think, in some ways, even in defeat we still hold our allegiances close to our hearts and continue to believe that next game or next season we’ll enter the hallowed halls of victory.

We also seem to think that things, in general, will get better. There are a lot of social and economic problems in Chicago; no one would ever deny that. But I do believe we try to take them on the chin and really think that eventually, everything will work out for the betterment of us all. Even if it takes 30 to 40 years to straighten it all out. (We’ll get that Olympics one day, I’m sure of it)

So here’s to us Chicagoans, we know winter will end, we know the Cubs will escape history, we know the city will survive without a Daley at the helm. We have faith in each other to see us through this cold, long winter and make plans for the summer block party of street fest.  Why look....the sun is shining.

Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day

There is nothing more terrifying than a return to the office after a five day break from work; the exception being getting the crap bombed out of you by Japanese Zeros. It certainly puts things in perspective though.

My job is often very trying and mentally exhausting, but it really is nothing compared to what those young men and women went through on December 7, 1941. A woefully unprepared American Navy was surprised by the Japanese and we really had our American asses handed to us. Mind you, we took a powerful and swift revenge in the end, but it was still something to behold.

I’m certainly not trying to liken myself to those men and women that died on Pearl Harbor.  My job, and frankly, my life are certainly nothing like theirs. For instance, I spent the majority of my time off from work half in the bag at my local bar. It was certainly an Irish vacation for sure. It wasn’t very meaningful and there were no grand photographic moments, but I did have some fun here and there. I’m very happy to have spent a lot of that time with the friends and people I’ve come to know.  But it wasn’t exactly the drama filled, action packed vacation we all think about having. Sadly there was no swinging from chandeliers or sunken treasures were discovered.

I found it difficult to get motivated to accomplish even the smallest of tasks, justifying it to myself by saying, “I’m on vacation”. But now, I’ll still have to do some of those things and in less time. Part of me thinks it was very foolish to waste that time and part of me says I shouldn’t be so hard on myself because in the end, I did have some fun. This is why I don’t normally take vacations; I can’t seem to resolve my absence from work and my overt laziness. If I had done something grand, then perhaps I wouldn’t feel like I just wasted that vacation time. But there’s no sense in dwelling on it. It’s come and gone and I’m here in the now of it.

So on this Remembrance Day, I’ll try to stay motivated to accomplish the minor tasks I have and try to stay upbeat about them. It’s certainly not like I’m struggling for my last breath in the belly of the U.S.S., Arizona. God Bless those men and women. I for one, will try to keep them in my thoughts while I deal with the moaning and groaning public; who couldn’t possibly fathom the pain those before them endured, yet persevered.