I. Am. Tired.
Moan moan moan.
I started a new job last night at Porters Steak House at the Read House Downtown Chattanooga. I haven't had a be-on-your-feet-for-eight-hours job in nine months, so it really wore me out. In a "I wonder if I should be at this job" kind of way. But at the end of the night around midnight I called my wife and she told be to buy milk for Rebekah. My initial reaction was "Jesus I'm tired there's no way," but I agreed to do it. My feet were fire cones of red angry pain; my legs were rubbery death poles; my back felt "arrowed(!)." When I got to the covenience store, though, it hit me: This is my life. This pain, this agony, is the way my life is now, and I can get over it or die of a case of it, but I gotta get that milk so Rebekah can have some for in the morning. Amazingly, the pain did not subside, but my body went into action, ignoring the protests of its muscles as I performed the nigh-herculean task of going in the stor e ond fetching a gallon of milk. This morning, though I hurt, I popped out of bed at 7:45, got Rebekah up, fed, clothed, and off to daycare. There is still a lingering ache, but here I am, still alive. It's kind of awesome.
My buddy Eric Love got out of his house in New Orleans with his wife, his deceased cousin's artwork and his Gaming Notebook. Priorities. I started thinking about what I would take. Rebekah. Susan. Gaming books. If I had time, I might try to pack the computer. But probably not. Eric says his house is pretty much destroyed and that they have told him it will be at least 6-8 weeks before electricity is restored. He is well, though, so if you know who I'm talking about, now you know he's alright.
I started a new job last night at Porters Steak House at the Read House Downtown Chattanooga. I haven't had a be-on-your-feet-for-eight-hours job in nine months, so it really wore me out. In a "I wonder if I should be at this job" kind of way. But at the end of the night around midnight I called my wife and she told be to buy milk for Rebekah. My initial reaction was "Jesus I'm tired there's no way," but I agreed to do it. My feet were fire cones of red angry pain; my legs were rubbery death poles; my back felt "arrowed(!)." When I got to the covenience store, though, it hit me: This is my life. This pain, this agony, is the way my life is now, and I can get over it or die of a case of it, but I gotta get that milk so Rebekah can have some for in the morning. Amazingly, the pain did not subside, but my body went into action, ignoring the protests of its muscles as I performed the nigh-herculean task of going in the stor e ond fetching a gallon of milk. This morning, though I hurt, I popped out of bed at 7:45, got Rebekah up, fed, clothed, and off to daycare. There is still a lingering ache, but here I am, still alive. It's kind of awesome.
My buddy Eric Love got out of his house in New Orleans with his wife, his deceased cousin's artwork and his Gaming Notebook. Priorities. I started thinking about what I would take. Rebekah. Susan. Gaming books. If I had time, I might try to pack the computer. But probably not. Eric says his house is pretty much destroyed and that they have told him it will be at least 6-8 weeks before electricity is restored. He is well, though, so if you know who I'm talking about, now you know he's alright.