Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The Runner: From the Redneck Journal

I’m on the bus heading home and am absolutely frustrated. No particular reason for the frustration, I just happened to have spent hours doing job searches. This kind of task just increases my blood pressure and shortens my patience. As I wrote below, I live in an economic sh!thole. This means jobs are scarce and there’s this underlying depression creeping into the community spirit. Especially at my part-time job where we see who got fucked over first by our economy’s down fall on a daily basis. You can bet your ass we’re not seeing CEOs and Millionaires. Nope, we see Joe Sixpack, his wife, and all his friends who lost their jobs, homes AND pensions because Joe Corporation couldn’t live up to the concept that competition fixes everything in a capitalistic society. Fuck, Joe Corporation! And you know what, fuck Joe’s friend, John Oil too.

Anywho, I digress, I’m feeling frustrated heading home on the bus after job searches in the st@te I like to call the crapper of our economy, my head is swirling with doubts that pulse at my temples. I just want to get home and have decided fuck the bad back (I wrenched my back over a week ago) and the bad knee (see bike accident entry), I need to run. It’s either running or a g-d damn drink! That’s how bad I’m feeling. I figure drinking may not be the best answer to my stress since I have also seen first hand in my family and friends what can happen if you drink your sorrows away, so it’s running.

No sooner do I decide on this conviction when I see this gyrl running up the street, a few blocks away from the next bus stop. She’s fast. Real fast. Her legs stretch to their max as her body seems to float slightly above the ground. Still, it’s obvious that her speed isn’t fast enough to keep up with the bus and there is no way she is going to make it on time.

We, that is the bus, easily passes her, but she has my attention. I want to be doing exactly what she is doing. Running. Except, maybe not in a futile attempt to catch a bus. I was thinking on river trail for myself. I watch her trail behind in the fumes of the bus, until we get far enough ahead that I can no longer see her. We get to the bus stop and like I predicted, she is still a block or so away. My internal dialogue snarls a bitter “I told you so” to myself, as if I wasn’t in agreement with myself anyway, and I am resigned to the bus closing its doors and moving on.

Except it doesn’t. It doesn’t move at all! In fact, the bus driver waits. Apparently he saw her too and has decided to wait for her. I cannot even express the sheer delight in this unexpected act of kindness having seen a number of runners attempt to catch a bus with no avail, only to be left to eat the fumes of this city’s public transportation as it nonchalantly drives away.

My mood suddenly changes from a frustrated cantankerous b!tch who would give anything to give our current Lame (Ass) duck President the middle finger to sheer joy. I want to shout out to my fellow commuters, “He’s waiting! By g-d, the bastards waiting!” But I don’t ‘cause I know that just weird.

But you know what, it gets even better! See, as our runner steps onto the bus she realizes that in her furry to catch the bus, she has lost her wallet. She briefly fumbles through all her pockets and looks at the bus driver and says, “I lost it!” and then she turns around without response and gets off.

It gets even better though. The bus driver, he waits. Yes. Again, he waits. Our runner heads out, running once again backtracking all those steps she took and the bastard just waits. My fellow commuters get anxious and this overwhelming sense of confusion overtakes everyone. This gyrl sitting next to me is so confused she can’t help but turn her head left to right in this broken record repetitive sort of way. Left, Right, and then left again. She seems to be looking for someone to tell her why the bus isn’t moving.

I’m completely ecstatic by the whole process. The foul funk of frustration that turned my mind into a Redneck’s wet dream of cuss words has dissipated and I feel like a child who still believes in the big red, Santa Claus. Well, a bratty little kid who still believes in Old Saint Nick because I couldn’t bring myself to tell the gyrl next to me what was happening. I just let her turn her head over and over again while a grin curled at the edges of my mouth.

About 3 minutes later, our runner returns, wallet in hand as she puts her money into the kiosk and takes her transfer. The gyrl next to me stops her head bobbing madness into a blank stare once again as the bus begins to move. The world seems to settle back into the normal routine of bus commuting. Me, I’m no longer frustrated. Sure, I still have to wait and see if I get call backs for potential jobs and will probably get frustrated tomorrow when I do the job search again. The economy is still a sh!t pan of despair and Joe and John Money will probably not be our resolution for the coming depression. With that said, I finish my own commute feeling like I just put a drop of delight into my bucket of life and even though EVERYTHING is uncertain for me, its enough for me to know I will be okay. ‘Cause you know what, sometimes life surprises you, and I guess that’s enough for me.

Sarah Silverman and The Great Schlep

I’m sitting at a computer cubicle at the University. I’ve been here for over 3 hours, working on the resume and searching for jobs. I live in the economic sh!thole of the U.S. Though there are jobs here, too many people are bidding for them, and to top it off the jobs I want have been frozen for over a year due to st@te budget problems. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m ready to throw in the towel, except that gets me know where.

I’ve emailed my resume to 5 organizations. And you know what, I already got one response. “Sorry this position has already been filled.” Not a good start. Less then 45 minutes to get my first rejection. I have decided to not look at my email anymore today. Instead I will watch this video over and over again.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Round II

So, I decided to go back to this page to see if I could increase the typing score. More for the sh!tz & giggles then anything else and I set a goal of 84 wpm. Was surprised to see I actually got into the hundreds. I would point out that this test isn't really accurate for typing tests. There are few capitalized words, no grammar involved like commas and semi-colons, etc. I suspect my real score would still hanker around 68 wpm as I have taken actual tests for jobs of my past and that is how I scored. Still its a fun, mindless thing to do, if one is bored.

106 words

Typing Test

Thursday, October 16, 2008

curses like a sailor

The knee is healing. A dime size scab lingers at the zenith of the knee cap tethered to the skin by the few dissolvable stitches that refuse to dissolve. I am glad to be at this point in the healing process rather then the beginning where it hurt and crutched my gait to a haggard’s limp. My whole knee was covered in drying scabs, swollen, red, and searing with pain. (TMI?) With the exception of the remaining scabbed area where if touched will curse with a sailor’s tongue, I am left with a soar ache in the knee. I predict this ache will be with me when the weather gets cold or it rains for the rest of my days. I plan to complain to my grandkids every time the ole wound flares up. :)

I went to NYC this last week and the knee did just fine for being all broken and wounded. Unfathomable number of stairs climbed and descended, subway connections to get to, and parts of the city to explore, I was glad my lady friend was there to ice the knee at the end of the night. She was the reason for me to go to New York City. Well, okay she was the excuse for me to go to the city. Chuckle. I plan to post some pics from the experience and a few lines. No, seriously, I will.

For now, I am still catching up on my life back in town. I am notoriously a work-a-holic, which means I came back to a pile bigger then a heap of elephant’s excrements. There is the Groundbreaking for the new Meeting House for this Quaker group I hang with next week. I need to finalize a program for the event. Then there are a few follow-up calls and research projects I took on for a Social Activist Space I am a member of. Oh, and work. Must actually get paid to do something.

I will post soon though. I will… :)


Saturday, October 4, 2008

left leg up, right leg down

Guess who got into another bike accident? Yes. Yes. It was your one and only bike accident magnet, GoGo, complete with stitches for the puncture hole on the knee cap. What can I say? My stats are accident number SEVEN, SECOND puncture hole (3 inches above the previous one) and the SIXTH accident where my bike has come away unscathed. Really don’t know how this happens to me.

I’ve gotten use to the hobble of leg and knee murmuring the mantra “left leg up, right leg down” while getting on and off the bus because if I screw it up, I hurt. I hurt with the kind of pain that stings the eye when it flushes over the body.

I’ve been waiting to post, hoping my funny bone will….well find a way to make this sh!t funny, like when I accidentally rubbed
Icey Hot on my woo. Alas, the only chuckle I’ve found in all of this is from friends who break out in laughter as they tell me I should get a Tricycle.

Or training wheels.
Or this coworker/friend of mine who thought it would be funny to have me sign my own special “No Harm Contract” where I would agree to no longer ride a bike.

Actually, that was pretty hilarious.

For 2.5 seconds I actually thought of signing it though. Seriously. I mean, the number of bike accidents keeps increasing and I have to say so are the severity of the wounds. Ain’t that a helluvah foreshadow to stop all pedaling activities that will lead to my death or what?

In the end, I did not sign that contract. Nope. Even though I hurt all the time, my palms are burning sore with crusty scabs, and my right knee cap screams “WTF did you do to me, woman?” every time I bend it, I am not going to stop riding a bike.


Cause I am an idiot. Yeah, no. I am not going to even try and rationalize the decision to keep riding.

I am aware that I am an idiot.