Making It Up As I Go Along #335

MONDAY...
— Work 4 hours today. Now that I’m doing a compressed schedule, Mondays are part of my weekend... so today was to build up some extra vacation time.
— Ball game... we lose a close one but it’s a pretty fun game all the same. I leg out a triple... first one since I popped my hamstring... and there was no problems. The shoulder is feeling fairly loose though. And that’s bad loose... as in the rotator cuff doesn’t feel real stable. So throwing is kinda painful and weak tonight.

TUESDAY...
— Sore day. Signs of age... when you need recovery time from slow pitch softball... oh dear oh dear. The shoulder and knee are whining at me this morning.
— Beaver evidence at the pond. I wasn’t crazy! Two downed trees along the pathway. Lots of beaver bites seen makes the downing an easy one to figure. Kind of cool but I’m sure this means there’ll be city people coming to try to capture the poor thing soon enough. Run beaver... RUN!
— Work is okay. The first of my 10 hours shifts.

WEDNESDAY...
— House hunting... go out with an agent and check out three places around the city. Two are nice but one of them is a bit small and the other is a bit expensive. Nothing immanent but I may be out of Orleans one of these days.
— Work alone. It goes alright... supper with Melissa and a walk at break.

THURSDAY...
— Sleep until 10:00 today. Do a little walk around the pond in the morning and then work with Annick in the evening. She’ll be leaving me soon... going to work in a different section and to be replaced by some guy who’s supposedly on his way once security checks end. Too bad, Annick’s been a fun work buddy.

FRIDAY...
— Shopping before work. New running shoes and shorts are gotten... cleats and turf shoes are missed. I’ll have to go search some more for those.
— Work is okay but pretty long. Megan, Annick and I go to supper.
— Watch a movie on TV after work and off to bed.

SATURDAY...
— Work for two hours. Need this in order for the time to add up this week with a short work week and compressed schedule.
— After working, I go to the baseball park to meet Melissa, Nick, Isaac and a couple of the boys and we watch a game. Rapidz win 7-1 and it’s a good day for it with sun and mid 20s.
— A walk around the pond and some TV in the evening ends the day.


The Fight for Food
I’ve started doing more working out. I bought dumb bells and am working shoulders, biceps and triceps. I’m working my chest too. Some may argue this is all for increased strength or a more appealing body. But they would be wrong. It is for a more practical reason... opening my groceries.

Machine sealed food may very well be the death of the human race. Sci-fi movies make it out that the machines will rise up and rebel against us. They’ll attack us with weaponry or simply stomp us into oblivion. But I’m thinking the end will be much less dramatic than that. I think they’ll just seal our food so well, we’ll never be able to get into the packaging.

The human race will starve to death as we bruise hands trying to unscrew jars or blow out chest muscles as we strain at opening a box of cereal.

I long for the day when things were packaged by people, for the people. It must have been a wonderful and simple time. You’d sit out on the porch with a cool glass of home squeezed lemonade and if you felt like a tasty pickle, you’d reach over and easily unscrew the jar. No strain. No sweat. No need for a round of physical therapy when the job is done. Ah, all was right with the world.

Now we live in a time of vacuum sealed goods. You know the jar has never been opened before because you hear the sucking rush of air enter once you finally break through. I don’t know when we decided our foods must be stored in conditions equal to that of outer space. Sometimes it’s as though we’re supposed to place our jar of jam in a decompression chamber before enjoying the fruity goodness. Who knew that the raspberry spread for our toast actually comes from the depths of the sea?

Think of what it all does to our psyche. My father was once a robust man able to take care of himself. But on my last visit home, I noticed he had to cut the top off the vacuum bag which held his cereal. Years being able to open a box of cereal... all gone. He’s left needing tools to pry into the packaging. He’s left feeling like a shell of his former self while his corn flakes remain open to the harshness of our atmosphere and go stale before his eyes.

With all of this being so absurd, I’m left thinking that it must be the machines doing it. People would never aim to make such simple tasks so incredibly hard.

I think it’s actually a government secret that’s kept from the rest of us in order to avoid panic. They know that the machines are out to get us... they just don’t want to admit it. Especially not in an election year.

This all leaves me to battle the problem myself. If I am to survive, I’ll need to gain access to my food for myself. So it’s time to bulk up. To take on the look of a movie action hero with abs rippling and pecs straining to be released from the shirt. So help me God, I’m going to gain access to that new box of Fruit Loops.