Friday, April 16, 2010

Random Thoughts, as I wander back into regular life...

Rambly? Rambly.

It's like I went through a wormhole, or a ten-day coma the past little bit. Rip Van Stupid looked up, and suddenly it was April 16, or something. Did my part in a Dog and Pony Show at work, which involved a handful of 14-hour days, and one 17-hour day, which is too long to be doing anything, frankly, that doesn't involve curing cancer or perhaps fighting off zombies. But, the Dog and Pony Extravaganza went off without a hitch, and I find myself this Friday staring a four-day weekend in the face.

Only, I feel a bit like I've just gotten out of Shawshank, and somehow, the whole world went and got itself in a big damn hurry. Consider me a little more Red and a little less Brooks, though. They don't trust me with pocketknives, anyway. More on this later.

This Friday has been about decompression and re-acclimation. I wandered out in the sunlight for a little while. The fluorescent bulbs may be a wondrous invention, but they do absolutely nothing for rickets.

Milk, maybe? No milk. Given the fact that we have pollen counts somewhere in the neighborhood of Avogadro's number in lower East Tennessee, I've been avoiding dairy like the plague, as it tends to exponentially increase my mucus production. My last day off, Monday the 5th, I went to Opening Day down in Atlanta, and managed to explode my sinuses. I've been struggling with a minor league sinus/chest infection up until today since then, which left me feeling cruddy, and sounding like I'd sucked Jell-O into my chest, which is a valid concern, I remind you. No big deal. Felt cruddy, but passable. Couldn't sing the falsetto parts of my Frankie Valli records, which was disappointing, given the expense of having that record player installed in my truck.

Seriously, if I could sell snot by the glass, I'd think it's time to re-think this entire free market system. I hope you had stock in Scottie's Tissues, because my kidneys have been near shutdown all week--all the water in my body is leaving via my mucus membranes & disposable snotrags. I hate pollen, and there were a couple of times I considered burning every tree with my very own flamethrower.

I don't really have a flamethrower. In case you're the type who takes things literally. I can't even handle a bottle opener, lately, without hurting myself. And hurting myself doesn't stop my handling of said bottle openers, so it wouldn't likely deter me from a flamethrower. Maybe I could probably get a helmet, and be okay. I don't think Amazon has flamethrowers on their wishlists, but would like you to keep that in mind, as we reach the major gift-giving holiday. Tommy wants a Flame Thrower.

So. Dog and Pony Show? Dog and Pony Show.

I avoided introspection much of the week, as what I was doing didn't warrant it, and would likely upset your old pal, in the long run. I ultimately have little patience for dwelling upon the nuts and bolts, and this week was all fucking about the nuts and bolts. It's not that I'm not detail-oriented. It's that nuts and bolts are the means to an end, and not the reason for it. It's also that I'm the type who gets bogged down in them. When asked what I thought, toward the end of the week, I answered honestly that I was beyond seeing all the forest because of all the trees.

Which brings us back to the flamethrower. I really want a flamethrower, dammit.

After two days, I have a little bit more perspective.

I don't want to work from 12:30 in the afternoon to 5:30 the next morning ever again. Like I said, unless I'm curing cancer (probably not done with a flamethrower) or fighting the aforementioned zombie hordes (flamethrower probably not ultimately successful, but definitely a stop gap, and fun as hell in the meantime). That particular jaunt, which screwed up my sleep patterns in a way that became humorous to everybody on the Day of the Dog and Pony.

My attention span, in general, is for shit. It is even more for shit on little sleep.

The day of the meeting, as the Mugwump hosting the deal is speaking, I find myself distracted by two people not in the meeting, who are speaking at the back of the room. Somehow, despite the fact that I am sitting 7 feet from the main speaker, I am hearing more of the conversation of the two gentleman conversing 39 feet behind me. Honestly, I know more about a new business venture of one's wife than I do what was being said 7 feet from my face. I turn to give my very best Shut the Hell Up look, only to turn back around to find that I've been asked a question. And suddenly, I'm in my sophomore English class again, to find my English professor looking over my shoulder, as I've been listing my favorite breakfast cereals in the margins of my notebook in lieu of listening to the discussion on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

But, it's all good.

Your old pal Tommy found himself a couple of naps, down the road, and is now looking headlong into a four-day weekend. There's beer, and MMA, and a couple of movies on tap.

Unless you've got a flamethrower for me.


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