Jeano, asshole.

Today I listened to Ben Stein on MPR, a recording from a speech he gave at Commonwealth in California. In the speech, he quoted Dr. Martin Luther King, referencing America, obviously from the 60s, but relevant today. I don't remember the quotation exactly, but it's something like our problem is that we're a neighborhood, but we're not a brotherhood.

I agree with this. I agree with this for a number of reasons. And the way Ben Stein talked about Dr. King--well, all of this made sense to me. Today was one of those days where I sat at my desk only to second guess myself, my motivations. My contributions to people being shit to each other instead of getting along. And the fact of the matter is--I like to think I'm a humanitarian, but am I, really? I like to think I put other people first, that I can understand life or ideas from their point of view and that this is always on my mind. But is it, really?

I mean, I say thank you to the bus driver everyday. Even when she drives really annoying and jerks the beast of a bus for seemingly no reason and I get really annoyed and I tell myself in my head that I won't thank her or wish her a good evening, I do. I feel rude if I don't. And rudeness is a pet peeve of mine. The biggest, I think. But am I rude? Am I mean? Am I crossing that line of when it's okay to put yourself first and be a little self-aware and just being a selfish asshole?

I say thank you to the bus driver, but I never slide over to the window seat when I'm on the bus because I don't want someone to sit next to me. I don't give homeless people money. I guess I'd say that I'd make sacrifices to help my fellow man and woman, but I don't know how big those sacrifices would be. I want awesome health care, but I get pretty annoyed when $200 comes out of my check for taxes. I mean, I deal with it. But I still want my money. And if I had my money, would I give it to people who deserve it or need it? Naw. I'd probably buy shoes. It's hard to be this honest with myself, but yeah. Pretty sure I'd buy clothes, or save for a new car, or go out to eat 4 times a week.

And this came up because of work. Because I was just thinking of how annoyed and angry and impatient I get at that desk all day, while everyone calls me to ask me questions about this data and can I check on this and do I know how to do this and this and why isn't this working. I don't know the answers to these questions. I try not to sigh or roll my eyes when the phone rings. But I do. And sometimes I make up nicknames for people or "think" things behind their backs. Sometimes the short fat woman walks by and I think there goes big fat Kelly even though I don't want to think that and it's mean. And all I do is eat at my desk all day anyway. Big Fat Jeano.

And then when the guy standing at the vending machine makes some stupid comment about a sign that's been there for 3 months as though it's the first time he's seen it, I laugh gently. Is this the right thing to do? Is it just dishonest, since in my head I'm thinking: what a douche? What if you can't stop yourself from being negative when you don't even want to be? What if you just think: that person has a really ugly face and you don't want to be the kind of person who thinks another person is ugly? How do you force yourself to be kind? What's wrong with me that I think like this, and is this why bad things happen to me sometimes? I'm not the good person I think I am? I just come home and watch TV and write rambling blogs instead of, say, volunteering my free time at a children's museum or working harder at my job? Why don't I put in nine hours a day or work through lunch to help people out? Why am I so selfish that I leave after exactly 8 hours of work and no later? (In fact, maybe earlier?)

Anyway. This is more crazy than I've led on. Because today after all of those phone calls and hating my job and being overall ungrateful for everything, I decided that I just wanted, most of all, to be left alone. I was too exhausted to be nice. I was too exhausted to be tolerant. I decided that wouldn't it be great if I could have a machine that kept people away from me? It could have all of these knives on it, and they could rotate, and then when people wanted to ask me questions, they'd just have to back off and leave me to do my own thing for awhile:

So whenever I was having one of these days, I'd just buckle the belt of the knife rotater. And instead of feeling guilty for hurting anyone on one of these stabby days, they could only blame themselves for walking into it.

Sometimes I hate when I can't turn my brain off.

...

Just heard this, which seems relevant: Lightbulb goes out, someone says: I'll get someone to fix it. Lightbulb goes out for the Catholic, she stands in the dark. Says: What did I do wrong?

I HATE THIS HOUSE & I HATE MY LIFE

Drip, drip, drip.

I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. I'm sleeping on the couch, because the kitchen sink is clogged. What, that doesn't make sense? Well, here on Chicago Avenue, nothing makes sense. Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

The sink is clogged, the dishwasher flooded. I tried to clean, as mentioned in the pre-second-flood post tonight; I put the soap in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then, like the responsible adult I am, I paid my bills, talked to the Good Doctor, and called it a night. But when I went into the kitchen, there were soap bubbles all over the floor--smelly soap bubbles, so I threw some towels down and figured I'd deal tomorrow.

Went to bedroom. Noticed a tiny wet spot on the white rug outside bedroom, the rug that is there now because it got destroyed in the flood of November 2007. Wrote it off. It's late and time for bed.

Laid in bed, all cuddled up with Musicophilia.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.

There is water dripping on the pile of books, next to my bed. Also, the Fender is there, and it's wet. Again. The Fender seems to always be the first victim. I soak up the water--it's just a tiny bit. I go out to the laundry room.

Below where the dishwasher is upstairs: drip-drip-drip-drip-dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip!!!!!! Drip-drip-drip-you-suck-Jean-ha-ha-ha! This is what you get for cheating during Lent! You cheated! You were really hungry today and all you had was that candy from V day and you ate it! Sinner.

All of the water is falling behind the water heater. I can't get to it. This is the evil spot of the house, the black hole of this hell hole. This is where the water puddles, behind this water heater, and nobody can wipe it up, and because nobody can wipe it up, it seeps through the wall and into my room. This is what happened when the water heater broke. This is what appears to be happening now.

It sounds like it's raining in the house. It's not that much water, but the dripping. It's spring here. It's spring, and the creek is babbling and it's babbling in my fucking basement. And the icicles are melting and they're dripping and the water smells, like it always does. All old smelling.

I'm grateful that the water didn't drip onto my bed. I'm grateful that there isn't dirty dishwater plopping onto my mattress and onto my expensive, new, chocolate brown sheets. I'm grateful for that.

BUT I STILL DON'T THINK I CAN FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS I HATE MONDAYS AND OH MY GOSH ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THAT THIS HAPPENED.

Damn, why don't you blog more.

It's time to blog. It's not going to be a great blog, but there's going to be a lot of heart in it. Really.

So where have I been the last couple of weeks? Hibernating, of course. My new philosophy on life is never apologize for a good nap. So I'm not apologizing.

Weekends. I know I've mentioned this before, but this "adult-life" thing I'm trying on really makes the weekends this little gems of bliss. Oh, weekends. Friday nights, I love you. Saturday afternoons? Yes, please. I want to throw a bunch of Saturday afternoons on my bed and roll around on top of them. I want to sniff the carbonated bubbles of Sunday mornings and feel them pop in my face.

I had a good weekend.

I didn't do much--just neglected cleaning the house like I said I would, like I'm doing right now. Instead maybe I'll experiment with how long I can live in my own filth until I develop hepatitis. Instead, I'll continue to ignore that huge student loan check that I thought I'd deferred. I was with Shannon, Lance, and his girl on Friday, Eating good pasta, playing Cranium. (Advice: don't put the clay in the microwave to see if it will de-crystalize. It smells like old people and piss when warm; no longer like lemonade powder.)

I spent the rest of the weekend with the good doctor. Sometimes on the weekends, I like to park myself in his mansion. We saw a movie and made dinner on Saturday night. My souffle wouldn't form peaks, but it still tasted amazing. I sliced my thumb open and the good doctor took his time to patch me up. Sunday was for sleeping in, toast and coffee, outside winter jogs on dirt paths. Imagine how happy we'd all be if all days were for sleeping in and paced jobs on dirt paths. Imagine.

Everyday I watch CSI and wait for winter to be over. Some days this week aren't going to be above ten degrees, but this weekend will warm. But next weekend is for doing the things I've been avoiding. I haven't allowed myself to get into the big job searches. I haven't applied to all of those adjunct positions. It is just now that I realize I should be doing these things; that I need to stop taking these breaks. I realize that there is not any reason that my job should be draining me, as it is not a draining job. Not in that sense that one would want a job to drain them, anyway. In the sense that it sucks life out of my head and leaves a vegetable sitting in my cube. A dry, nasty carrot that has lost all color and flavor.

Coming home and doing nothing doesn't help this. At least I've been doing a lot of reading. I'm even getting to the point where I don't loathe the bus as much as I used to. I read, relax, let myself be driven places.

Jeano, the hypocrite, on Ash Wednesday.

Well, I know that three blog posts ago I went on a rant about people who lost weight and gained it back; how it's annoying and stupid when they talk about it. But then this morning, as I was doing a helfty song and dance to force my gladiator thighs into my favorite pants, I've come to the realization that--I've gained a couple of pounds.

Shit. Who knows how many pounds, really. I just know they're in the middle, and I think in the thighs. And talking about it, and putting it out here in blog-world that I've pudged up just a bit, makes me motivated to get back to where I was. And then some. So, I went running yesterday, and I went running today, and it felt good. Maybe, I'll even go running tomorrow. And maybe, maybe, I'll stop eating like a fucking moron. It's just been winter, and generally hard, you know? You know.

Anyway, I'm giving up candy for Lent. For the above mentioned reasons, and just so I can do it, and just so I can have control over something in my life right now when there are so many things I fear I have no control over. That's 40 days, starting today, without candy. No chocolate, no fruity, sugary treats. Not even cheating on Sundays, which Ryan once convinced me we were allowed to do.

So if any of you assholes think it might be funny to send me candy in the mail, or to buy me treats and wave them in front of my face--I may eventually forgive you. But I don't think God will.