At least that's what I've heard.
That makes this year's anniversary gift all that more special.
This year will be my 20th anniversary. Such an auspicious number would seem to require an auspicious gift.
Granted it's well ahead of the actual date, but I believe you celebrate when the opportunity presents itself, rather than feel it necessary to confine yourself to a specific time.
So, I found two 4th row tickets to Elton John on Saturday night. The price is about one and a half paychecks of my part time job, but how often do you get fourth row seats?
Preceded by a dinner at Arnie's, which looks like a dump from the outside but serves the universe's best steaks on the inside, it would be a truly special night.
And that's where "It's the thought that counts" comes in. I thought about it.
My thought was this: "With the way she's treated me this past year, she's lucky I don't choose that ray to have her served with dicorce papers."
So, she's getting for Valentine's Day and our 20th anniversary exactly what I got for my birthday and Christmas: Ignored.
It's the thought that counts? My thought is, "Not worth the time, effort or expense."
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
A Tad High
Just had my blood pressure taken, or as I like to say, "tooken."
Tomorrow, it will be three weeks since I quit my medications. This is, incidentally, almost the exact time I was off my medications before my stroke four years ago. My blood pressure was 163/108, which is, according to the American Heart Association, just 2 points diastolic (the lower number) from requiring emergency hospitalization. Which I would refuse anyway.
So, my headaches and dizziness are not just side effects of withdrawal from my antidepressants, but have an actual medical cause. I've my left eyelid tends to be a little lower than the right when my eyes are fully open, and that's new. My heart beats faster and harder now when I walk at what used to be my normal pace, and I get short of breath fairly quickly. I've noticed my left eye also sometimes goes out of focus, and sometimes I get bright bands of flashing "lights" behind my eyelids.
I'm curious as to what my cholesterol is, now that I've stoped those medications, as well.
It's amazing how quickly the human body can deteriorate when you just lose interest in going on.
I'll keep you posted.
Tomorrow, it will be three weeks since I quit my medications. This is, incidentally, almost the exact time I was off my medications before my stroke four years ago. My blood pressure was 163/108, which is, according to the American Heart Association, just 2 points diastolic (the lower number) from requiring emergency hospitalization. Which I would refuse anyway.
So, my headaches and dizziness are not just side effects of withdrawal from my antidepressants, but have an actual medical cause. I've my left eyelid tends to be a little lower than the right when my eyes are fully open, and that's new. My heart beats faster and harder now when I walk at what used to be my normal pace, and I get short of breath fairly quickly. I've noticed my left eye also sometimes goes out of focus, and sometimes I get bright bands of flashing "lights" behind my eyelids.
I'm curious as to what my cholesterol is, now that I've stoped those medications, as well.
It's amazing how quickly the human body can deteriorate when you just lose interest in going on.
I'll keep you posted.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Fell Down Went Boom
So, after work this morning, I drove an hour through the wind and snow and finally made it into my driveway (which I still refuse to shovel until I can't actually get the car into it), and had to take the dog for her morning excursion.
Four-Tenths of a mile and five arms-windmilling slides through the streets later, I finally edged my way up my snow and ice encrusted front steps, clearing them somewhat as I went.
By the time I left for work eight hours later, they were again even more snow covered and still ice encrusted, though not so much, as I cleared them with my behind as I fell then slid all the way down.
I drove all the way to work sitting in a puddle of my own failure to remain upright.
When I spoke with my wife from work a little while later, I opined that it would be really cool if she could find two bored kids to find two nice snow shovels and maybe clear the front part of the driveway. And if not, then at least make the steps less snow covered and ice encrusted.
I wouldn't bet a nickle that it will be done when I get home. I'll get to fall back up the steps before falling back down them to take the dog for the walk she demands every time I get home, rain, shine, snow, sleet, hail, smog.
And all that in temperatures that will be somewhere south of zero and winds of between 25 and 30 mph.
Or, as my dad would call it when I was young, "Time for [me] to get out there and get that driveway cleared." And I wasn't even bored, just available. AND he would get me up an hour earlier than normal just to clear the driveway and sidewalk so he could get in his car and drive to work. Even on days when school was cancelle, which it rarely was because our parents either didn't care as much about us, or because they knew pain builds character. And intense pain makes less wimpy brats.
Oh well, I take comfort in the fact that, no matter what my lot in life, it could only be worse in Milwaukee.
UPDATE: While the driveway remained essentially unshoveled (my daughter did about six square feet in a couple places), my wife managed to scrape the top layer off the snow on the steps, which at least left a nice, packed-down layer to walk on, rather than the lumped mounds that dropped me. So, 'E' for effort. You should have bet that nickel.
Four-Tenths of a mile and five arms-windmilling slides through the streets later, I finally edged my way up my snow and ice encrusted front steps, clearing them somewhat as I went.
By the time I left for work eight hours later, they were again even more snow covered and still ice encrusted, though not so much, as I cleared them with my behind as I fell then slid all the way down.
I drove all the way to work sitting in a puddle of my own failure to remain upright.
When I spoke with my wife from work a little while later, I opined that it would be really cool if she could find two bored kids to find two nice snow shovels and maybe clear the front part of the driveway. And if not, then at least make the steps less snow covered and ice encrusted.
I wouldn't bet a nickle that it will be done when I get home. I'll get to fall back up the steps before falling back down them to take the dog for the walk she demands every time I get home, rain, shine, snow, sleet, hail, smog.
And all that in temperatures that will be somewhere south of zero and winds of between 25 and 30 mph.
Or, as my dad would call it when I was young, "Time for [me] to get out there and get that driveway cleared." And I wasn't even bored, just available. AND he would get me up an hour earlier than normal just to clear the driveway and sidewalk so he could get in his car and drive to work. Even on days when school was cancelle, which it rarely was because our parents either didn't care as much about us, or because they knew pain builds character. And intense pain makes less wimpy brats.
Oh well, I take comfort in the fact that, no matter what my lot in life, it could only be worse in Milwaukee.
UPDATE: While the driveway remained essentially unshoveled (my daughter did about six square feet in a couple places), my wife managed to scrape the top layer off the snow on the steps, which at least left a nice, packed-down layer to walk on, rather than the lumped mounds that dropped me. So, 'E' for effort. You should have bet that nickel.
Music Time: Far Away - Nickelback
I have a confession: Nickelback is kind of a guilty pleasure.
They go from sappy love songs to almost raunchy love songs to goofy, funny sort of songs to good old-fashioned rock songs.
Though, the lyrics do make me wonder at times: If you're the violently jealous type, is it really such a good idea to date so many strippers?
This is one on the sappy love songs, though: No strippers. I heard it again the other day and, as seems to be the case so often these days: Once again, Tears.
Enjoy:
By the way, if you want a funny, raunchy song that I like to call The Best Nickelback Song Nickelback Never Did, I'll put that below the fold. That's a misnomer, though: Nickelback singer Chad Kroeger co-wrote the song and sing the second verse and part of the chorus. Content Warning, though: the lyrics are about what you would expect from a song called It Won't Suck Itself.
They go from sappy love songs to almost raunchy love songs to goofy, funny sort of songs to good old-fashioned rock songs.
Though, the lyrics do make me wonder at times: If you're the violently jealous type, is it really such a good idea to date so many strippers?
This is one on the sappy love songs, though: No strippers. I heard it again the other day and, as seems to be the case so often these days: Once again, Tears.
Enjoy:
By the way, if you want a funny, raunchy song that I like to call The Best Nickelback Song Nickelback Never Did, I'll put that below the fold. That's a misnomer, though: Nickelback singer Chad Kroeger co-wrote the song and sing the second verse and part of the chorus. Content Warning, though: the lyrics are about what you would expect from a song called It Won't Suck Itself.
Blah, BLAH, Blah
So, I got to give my first talk today at church. It wasn't a regular meeting, though: It was a Fireside evening where investigators come and learn a little more about the church.
My topic was a brief background and a testimony of my conversion.
I was nervous, but I figured I would do okay. I had a few pages of note to make sure I said what I wanted to say, in the order I wanted to say it. I mean, seriously. who can't talk about themselves for five to seven minutes?
Me, apparently.
I didn't talk for five to seven minutes. I went on for almost half an hour. Apparently I do "blah, BLAH, blah."
I started with the standard opening: "Four score and seven years ago," then segued into the Shatner version of Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Seriously. I wanted to start out on a light note.
I followed with "My name is Arik and I'm an alcoholic," which got a few polite chuckles for what might have been a weak joke, if in bad taste. Only, it wasn't a joke. It is part of the centerpiece of my thesis: We make bad decisions and yet Heavenly Father still loves us: While we are rewarded by the Spirit for the difficult choices we make, we are also given forgiveness and absolution, a chance at redemption, for the mistakes we make, even when they are serious.
Alcoholism is suicide. Even if you come out, as I did, with nothing more than a slight tremor from the berve damage, you are killing yourself eight , nine, ten hours at a time. For those hours, I could be Not Me, which was what I wanted to be. It's still what I want to be, but I am trying to achieve that through prayerful living and more Godly choices now, instead of just drowning myself 8 ounces of vodka at a time. Yeah, my shots weren't from shot glasses, they were from tumblers.
I ended up staying and talking with people for almost forty minutes after the meeting. They were locking the doors behind me as I left. There are a lot of people like me in the church. The stake president is a convert just like me. There were a few alcoholics there, as well. It's nice to know I'm not alone. At least when I'm at church.
I asked my mom to come and hear me. She had other things to do. My kids were supposed to have a club meeting tonight, but it was cancelled. When they got home, I asked if they wanted to come and hear me, but my wife had more important things planned. I guess The Simpsons was coming on. (BTW: Number one thing no one has EVER said: "I'd love to come along, but the Pro Bowl is on tonight.")
I wish church was every day for eight hours. At least.
On a completely unrelated note, after Weight Watchers on Saturday, I heard a Porterhouse calling me and I ended up at Longhorn. I also had a coupon. (Ever notice the Weight Watchers store are always surrounded by restaurants? The one I go to is surrounded by them. And oddly, the next store over is a bird seed store (I know, right!?!) but every year the owner lets the Girl Scouts sell cookies in front of her store on Staurday mornings, which are the biggest meetings of the week. Evil.)
Anyway you know how "theme" type restaurants name their potties in cutesy names, like caballeros and damas at a Mexican place? Well, Longhorn names theirs "Bulls" and "Lambs." which is hilarious because the female of Bull isn't Lamb; it's Cow. Which would be hilarious: can you imagine telling your ladyfriend she needed to go to the Cow's room? Or should I say, your soon to be EX-ladyfriend?
And that Porterhouse? Tender and Delicious. Too bad you didn't come to Weight Watchers with me: I had plenty to share. And I would have appreciated the company.
P.S. I actually got to enjoy one of the few things about winter that doesn't totally suck: donuts in the church parking lot. Other than occasionally sledding and sometimes a really pretty morning after an ice storm. you can TOTALLY keep winter.
My topic was a brief background and a testimony of my conversion.
I was nervous, but I figured I would do okay. I had a few pages of note to make sure I said what I wanted to say, in the order I wanted to say it. I mean, seriously. who can't talk about themselves for five to seven minutes?
Me, apparently.
I didn't talk for five to seven minutes. I went on for almost half an hour. Apparently I do "blah, BLAH, blah."
I started with the standard opening: "Four score and seven years ago," then segued into the Shatner version of Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Seriously. I wanted to start out on a light note.
I followed with "My name is Arik and I'm an alcoholic," which got a few polite chuckles for what might have been a weak joke, if in bad taste. Only, it wasn't a joke. It is part of the centerpiece of my thesis: We make bad decisions and yet Heavenly Father still loves us: While we are rewarded by the Spirit for the difficult choices we make, we are also given forgiveness and absolution, a chance at redemption, for the mistakes we make, even when they are serious.
Alcoholism is suicide. Even if you come out, as I did, with nothing more than a slight tremor from the berve damage, you are killing yourself eight , nine, ten hours at a time. For those hours, I could be Not Me, which was what I wanted to be. It's still what I want to be, but I am trying to achieve that through prayerful living and more Godly choices now, instead of just drowning myself 8 ounces of vodka at a time. Yeah, my shots weren't from shot glasses, they were from tumblers.
I ended up staying and talking with people for almost forty minutes after the meeting. They were locking the doors behind me as I left. There are a lot of people like me in the church. The stake president is a convert just like me. There were a few alcoholics there, as well. It's nice to know I'm not alone. At least when I'm at church.
I asked my mom to come and hear me. She had other things to do. My kids were supposed to have a club meeting tonight, but it was cancelled. When they got home, I asked if they wanted to come and hear me, but my wife had more important things planned. I guess The Simpsons was coming on. (BTW: Number one thing no one has EVER said: "I'd love to come along, but the Pro Bowl is on tonight.")
I wish church was every day for eight hours. At least.
On a completely unrelated note, after Weight Watchers on Saturday, I heard a Porterhouse calling me and I ended up at Longhorn. I also had a coupon. (Ever notice the Weight Watchers store are always surrounded by restaurants? The one I go to is surrounded by them. And oddly, the next store over is a bird seed store (I know, right!?!) but every year the owner lets the Girl Scouts sell cookies in front of her store on Staurday mornings, which are the biggest meetings of the week. Evil.)
Anyway you know how "theme" type restaurants name their potties in cutesy names, like caballeros and damas at a Mexican place? Well, Longhorn names theirs "Bulls" and "Lambs." which is hilarious because the female of Bull isn't Lamb; it's Cow. Which would be hilarious: can you imagine telling your ladyfriend she needed to go to the Cow's room? Or should I say, your soon to be EX-ladyfriend?
And that Porterhouse? Tender and Delicious. Too bad you didn't come to Weight Watchers with me: I had plenty to share. And I would have appreciated the company.
P.S. I actually got to enjoy one of the few things about winter that doesn't totally suck: donuts in the church parking lot. Other than occasionally sledding and sometimes a really pretty morning after an ice storm. you can TOTALLY keep winter.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Life is Strange
Last year started out oddly for me.
I told you on Christmas about the friend I made. I didn't get too much in depth, but I have some more thoughts I'll share now.
Something has been going through my mind over the past week or so. I just finished the fourth book in the "Hangman's Daughter" series. It wasn't the best of the bunch, but it was still pretty good. It was the most predictable of the four: I could see where it was headed early on, which is not a trait of the earlier books. Still, it managed to wring a few tears out of me.
I bring this up because the title character, Magdalena, looks JUST like my friend. That was what drew me to the picture in the first place. I mean, other than the smiling eyes and the knowing grin on her lips and the fact that she's rather stunning in her own right. I mean, how often do you see a character step right out of a book? Even if the character's looks are a figment of your own imagination. (Honestly, their eyes are different colors, but why quibble?)
And, since I don't want to use real names, but I don't want to just call her "my friend," or "my former friend," I am going to use the names "Abigail," and "Abby," because she reminds be of King David's second wife: smart, strong and her (first) husband was a total idiot. (Seriously, his name means "fool" or "idiot" in Hebrew. Actually, it translates literally as "Jackass." I'm told that isn't a curse word if you are in fact talking about the donkey type.)
So, at this time last year, my family was getting ready to go on the first leg of our "Racist Vacation." That's Kalahari, Kennywood, then something else starting with a 'K.' As it turned out, the 3rd 'K' was only me, and it was either Kirtland, my Kidney stones, or my drive through Kenosha which left me unwelcome in the Greater Milwaukee area. My wife was going through her fits about how much she hated Abby, and I tried to pull away, honestly I did, but frankly, I couldn't do it. We had met for a reason. I said that at the time, and I still believe it today. And that reason had not yet been discovered.
We did take our vacation. It was in one of the lulls in the friendship where we were trying to stay at an arm's length, figuratively speaking, and were basically communicating only in public forums and fairly formally at that. My wife, of course, didn't believe that, but it was true. And then I got my kidney stones. It was a difficult time for me physically. The pain was pretty rough until I underwent surgery and had a stent put in to help the stones pass. The stents took me out of the episodic agonizing pain and in to the constant low grade agonizing pain. My wife assumed, incorrectly, that I was still in constant contact with Abigail.
In fact, my wife shunned my for most of the month of February. The day before I had my stent taken out,, she was stunned to find out I was passing blood. It wasn't news, it had been happening every time I walked for over three weeks. She shunned me into March, as well. Abby and I spoke sparingly, and mostly in a professional context for most of this time.
It was the day after St. Patrick's Day, March 18th, that I got one word e-mail from Abigail. It said, "Drowning." I still have it saved. She was in pain, and I couldn't ignore that. My wife had been distant and pushed me away for so long that I thought, "If I'm going to be treated like that, I'm going to help her." So I did. It was a momentous decision.
We started talking again, and Abby started feeling better. In a few weeks, she told me she wanted to do something for me, as a thank you for helping her through a rough time. I told her that her friendship was thanks enough for me, but she offered to share her religion with me. I said, "Okay. Out of academic interest anyway. Don't expect me to convert, though. Because you all are crazy." Another momentous decision.
I had about two weeks at the end of March and beginning of April where my wife seemed to be coming around. Then I told her that I was studying the church, that I wanted to be a better person, that I wanted to EXALT her, so to speak, and she drew away from me again. That was on April 4th of last year. We have hardly spoken since. And that time includes the entire three days at Kennywood. As close as we got to speaking was the shouting matches we had in marriage counseling, which ended disastrously.
As crazy as it seems, we've barely spoken now in almost 10 months. I've tried, but she pushed me away so much, that no matter how hard I tried to reconnect, I couldn't. So, I finally stayed away.
I never thought a year ago that I would be looking down the barrel of a divorce, but I don't see how we get back to where we were from here. I am no longer the person I was a year ago. I not only studied the church, I actually DID convert. I guess that makes me crazy, too, but at least I'm crazy in Christ! But my wife is Catholic and hates my church as much as I hated being Catholic when I was growing up.
I realized too late that my marriage wasn't as strong as I had been pretending it was. And I WAS pretending, even to myself. In my quest to become a better person, I became someone my wife didn't like and couldn't accept. If I had known where things were going at this time last year, I would have pulled away then. I made the wrong decision for the right reason: If I had left then, it would have appeared that I was leaving her for someone else, which would have been both true and untrue. A man who would leave his wife for the sole reason he wants to be with someone else is a man not worth being with.
And the irony is, now that I am likely to be leaving, free to be friends, Abigail will no longer speak to me. I messed up. I messed up big. And I have no way of letting her know how sorry I am.
Nor how much her friendship means to me. It means enough to me that I would literally do almost anything necessary to get it back. What would I NOT do? Sacrifice small animals. Beat my children (though I would (and DO) THREATEN them with a severe lashing). Um...Worship Baal and/or Moloch...Vote democRat (although, if she asked REEEEAAAAAALLLY nicely...maybe)...um...I can't think of much else.
What WOULD I do?
I woulddrive walk 500 miles in a raging snowstorm with temperatures below zero and windchills of about 3 Kelvin just to shovel snow out of her driveway. THAT'S serious friendship. Because I HATE snow.
I would rip my heart right out of my ribcage with my bare hands and then throw it on the floor and stomp on it till I died.
I would never eat another cookie in my life, if that were her desire.
I would take on a fire-breathing dragon with nothing more than a rusty sword and armor made of scrap tin and aluminum.
I have never met anyone whose friendship had such a powerful effect on me. It lifted me up, made me more than I was. It made me want to strive to be BETTER.
Without it, I am lost and floundering.
My failing marriage aside, I am a better person for having met her: I have nearly stopped cursing, which means I have had to actually acquire a vocabulary. I have lost a lot of weight, nearly 50 lbs sonce last April, due I believe, to prayer and the Church, to which Abigail introduced me. I have given up most of my bad habits, including one I thought I would never, EVER break involving certain media and the activities associated with the consumption thereof. About the only bad habits I have left are my addiction to Coke® and maybe picking my nose in traffic. Also, thinking farts are always funny. No one in my life has EVER been able to give up so many bad habits. And a large part of it was that I didn't want to disappoint her.
I moss our discussions about church and scriptures, which is something I can't say about any other person. We used to try to sing on Skype. The delay doesn't help with harmonizing, but it was fun. I still sing to her in my more whimsical moments. ♪♫You don't know you're beautiful...♫♪. She has a beautiful voice to go with her beautiful face.
As I said on Christmas, I have risked almost everything I have to remain friends, and the final total has not yet come due. But I would do it all again. And I would risk anything that I have left to bring that friendship back. Maybe I'm clinging (but not bitter, just confused). But when someone is so special, so influentuial, so wonderful, so POWERFUL, you have to hold on to them with every last ounce of strength, every last gasp of breath. I will love her until the day I die, and when I wake up on the other side, I will know I am where I am thanks to the guidance she gave to me.
It may not be manly to admit it, but admit it I will: I miss her so badly that it brings tears to my eyes every night. She is in my prayers every night. I pray for her to find peace, love and happiness.
I miss her so much.
What WOULD I do?
I would
I would rip my heart right out of my ribcage with my bare hands and then throw it on the floor and stomp on it till I died.
I would never eat another cookie in my life, if that were her desire.
I would take on a fire-breathing dragon with nothing more than a rusty sword and armor made of scrap tin and aluminum.
I have never met anyone whose friendship had such a powerful effect on me. It lifted me up, made me more than I was. It made me want to strive to be BETTER.
Without it, I am lost and floundering.
My failing marriage aside, I am a better person for having met her: I have nearly stopped cursing, which means I have had to actually acquire a vocabulary. I have lost a lot of weight, nearly 50 lbs sonce last April, due I believe, to prayer and the Church, to which Abigail introduced me. I have given up most of my bad habits, including one I thought I would never, EVER break involving certain media and the activities associated with the consumption thereof. About the only bad habits I have left are my addiction to Coke® and maybe picking my nose in traffic. Also, thinking farts are always funny. No one in my life has EVER been able to give up so many bad habits. And a large part of it was that I didn't want to disappoint her.
I moss our discussions about church and scriptures, which is something I can't say about any other person. We used to try to sing on Skype. The delay doesn't help with harmonizing, but it was fun. I still sing to her in my more whimsical moments. ♪♫You don't know you're beautiful...♫♪. She has a beautiful voice to go with her beautiful face.
As I said on Christmas, I have risked almost everything I have to remain friends, and the final total has not yet come due. But I would do it all again. And I would risk anything that I have left to bring that friendship back. Maybe I'm clinging (but not bitter, just confused). But when someone is so special, so influentuial, so wonderful, so POWERFUL, you have to hold on to them with every last ounce of strength, every last gasp of breath. I will love her until the day I die, and when I wake up on the other side, I will know I am where I am thanks to the guidance she gave to me.
It may not be manly to admit it, but admit it I will: I miss her so badly that it brings tears to my eyes every night. She is in my prayers every night. I pray for her to find peace, love and happiness.
I miss her so much.
Football Fun
The only way Richard Sherman's rant could have been any better would have been to go like this:
Just sayin'.
Just sayin'.
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