Will he...?
Will he post more than once in the span of a months time? Of course he will. This technically counts as the second post in a month, since the last was on Christmas day.
I've been losing my words lately. When I was a child, convinced that I was destined for greatness because I was in a couple of gifted classes, won an essay and second prize at a science fair, and enjoyed dreaming up stories, my vocabulary was my defense against the evil children around me. It was my equivalent to the elastic, spiked cheeks of the puffer fish, the vivid markings on venomous snakes, or the shell of a turtle. It never kept me from getting beaten on, but it stunned and confused my enemies. I enjoyed reading books that challenged me, like Sophocles and King Lear in the 5th grade. I was convinced that I was very, very smart, and that this would bring me power, riches, fame, and vindication for all of the torture I endured in elementary and middle school.
By high school, I realized that not only did I hate math, but that I was really, really horrible at it. My mind literally shies away from numbers, I don't know why. I cringe when I think about anything more complicated than multiplication. I couldn't be a real geek, and I envied them. I tried to go to college, and studied history. I almost graduated, but failed my "Research and Writing History" course, knocked up my girlfriend, and ran out of financial aid. All of those were problems of my own making, and I still can't stop myself from looking back and wondering how my life might have been different if I had made different decisions in those golden days. I look back too much, I know.
I became known in my IT positions for being articulate, with an eye to detail. You would be surprised at how many IT Technicians can't spell, ignore grammar, or have horrible ideas about sentence structure. On some jobs, this was a blessing. On others, I was told to edit myself heavily, because we weren't trying to write books, and noone wants to read an essay about how you solved a problem. I had a hard time keeping in mind that you should never use a $10 word when a fifty cent word will do. I loved the $10 words. They proved that I was smart. I held to the hope that someday I would be the recipient of some divine bolt of inspiration, and that I would write something moving, breathtaking and significant.
I was composing an email today, and found that I could not, for the life of me, remember the word that indicated that something could not be stopped. I racked the depths of my brain (another word that I just had trouble remembering, "racked") and couldn't find it. I knew it was there somewhere, I just couldn't find it. It eluded me. Eventually, after composing myself and trying to shed my panic, I found the word. Inevitable. I had lost the word inevitable. There are other words for what I was thinking, but this was the one that I was searching for, dancing on the tip of my brain. I recovered it, of course, but the idea that I had lost it for good really frightened me. As if it were a symptom of losing my mind. That scared me as well, because lately I've been feeling a bit like that's more likely than it ever has been. Maybe losing my $10 words isn't such a bad thing, if it makes me write effectively using fifty cent words.
Only 20 more days until I begin fighting the darkness with prescription help, and possibly with the power of our EAP referrals. I need to see a doctor. I've been having a hard time sleeping again, worries dog me when I close my eyes. I want to say that my marriage has seen better days, but I don't honestly know if it has. Or if it will. My stomach has been giving me alot of trouble lately, lots of heartburn, nausea, and "something stuck in my throat" feelings. My family thinks that it's stress related. That's entirely possible. I want to say that I'm not choosing to suffer, but I could be putting myself through a martyr complex, I'll admit to that possibility too.
I'm tired. Too tired to end on some witty note, or wrap this up elegantly. I'll try to post again tomorrow.
I've been losing my words lately. When I was a child, convinced that I was destined for greatness because I was in a couple of gifted classes, won an essay and second prize at a science fair, and enjoyed dreaming up stories, my vocabulary was my defense against the evil children around me. It was my equivalent to the elastic, spiked cheeks of the puffer fish, the vivid markings on venomous snakes, or the shell of a turtle. It never kept me from getting beaten on, but it stunned and confused my enemies. I enjoyed reading books that challenged me, like Sophocles and King Lear in the 5th grade. I was convinced that I was very, very smart, and that this would bring me power, riches, fame, and vindication for all of the torture I endured in elementary and middle school.
By high school, I realized that not only did I hate math, but that I was really, really horrible at it. My mind literally shies away from numbers, I don't know why. I cringe when I think about anything more complicated than multiplication. I couldn't be a real geek, and I envied them. I tried to go to college, and studied history. I almost graduated, but failed my "Research and Writing History" course, knocked up my girlfriend, and ran out of financial aid. All of those were problems of my own making, and I still can't stop myself from looking back and wondering how my life might have been different if I had made different decisions in those golden days. I look back too much, I know.
I became known in my IT positions for being articulate, with an eye to detail. You would be surprised at how many IT Technicians can't spell, ignore grammar, or have horrible ideas about sentence structure. On some jobs, this was a blessing. On others, I was told to edit myself heavily, because we weren't trying to write books, and noone wants to read an essay about how you solved a problem. I had a hard time keeping in mind that you should never use a $10 word when a fifty cent word will do. I loved the $10 words. They proved that I was smart. I held to the hope that someday I would be the recipient of some divine bolt of inspiration, and that I would write something moving, breathtaking and significant.
I was composing an email today, and found that I could not, for the life of me, remember the word that indicated that something could not be stopped. I racked the depths of my brain (another word that I just had trouble remembering, "racked") and couldn't find it. I knew it was there somewhere, I just couldn't find it. It eluded me. Eventually, after composing myself and trying to shed my panic, I found the word. Inevitable. I had lost the word inevitable. There are other words for what I was thinking, but this was the one that I was searching for, dancing on the tip of my brain. I recovered it, of course, but the idea that I had lost it for good really frightened me. As if it were a symptom of losing my mind. That scared me as well, because lately I've been feeling a bit like that's more likely than it ever has been. Maybe losing my $10 words isn't such a bad thing, if it makes me write effectively using fifty cent words.
Only 20 more days until I begin fighting the darkness with prescription help, and possibly with the power of our EAP referrals. I need to see a doctor. I've been having a hard time sleeping again, worries dog me when I close my eyes. I want to say that my marriage has seen better days, but I don't honestly know if it has. Or if it will. My stomach has been giving me alot of trouble lately, lots of heartburn, nausea, and "something stuck in my throat" feelings. My family thinks that it's stress related. That's entirely possible. I want to say that I'm not choosing to suffer, but I could be putting myself through a martyr complex, I'll admit to that possibility too.
I'm tired. Too tired to end on some witty note, or wrap this up elegantly. I'll try to post again tomorrow.