Thoughts.
---My neighbour is a little car crazy. One… he often sits in the driveway in his
idling work van… sometimes for more than an hour at a time… sometimes in the
middle of the night. And Two… he is one
of those people who keep a broken down car for eternity. We’ve been neighbours for more than a year…
his black clunker has been on the side of the road around the corner for the
entire time. It’s mounded with plowed
snow now and has caused a partial blockage of the artery that is our
street. If only there was a stint large
enough to solve the problem.
---Listening is a dying art form. Be it on TV interviews or with real life
interactions. The majority of people are
in it to be heard… not to hear. The
world is constant interruptions and assumptions of what the other person is
saying based on the first five seconds of their saying it. If you can’t get your point across in five
seconds it is (a) not going to get across… and (b) assumed to be something
the interrupter wants it to be.
--- I’m unable to go to bed without first looking out the
front windows towards the woods. The
blackness of the night woods across the street is mystical. It has the same affect on me as looking into
the unknown of a mountain landscape or across the waves of the ocean. It’s entirely to do with being able to see
everything right there in front of you… while at the same time being unable to
see through it. A mountain is right
there in front of you but it’s crags and cliffs and forests can be hiding all
sorts of creatures. It is because of
this that the legend of Big Foot has lived on.
The waves of the ocean can look calm or stormy. Sea birds may be bobbing along or soaring
overhead. And yet, only a few feet
beneath the surface, animals bigger than buses may be going about their day…
oblivious to your presence. My woods
hold no whales… and likely no Sasquatch.
But the mystery of what’s out there remains. Especially after watching a late night horror
movie… when I expect to see a shadowy figure on the edge of the blackness…
looking back at me.
--- A constantly placed “wet floor” sign does not make said
floor automatically wet. In fact, “wet
floor” signs have become a greater sign of our laziness and covering our butts
from lawsuits than one of a freshly cleaned floor. I used to think it was an isolated problem
within my office. Every stair well has a
constantly posted sign at the door to each of the five floors. Our kitchen has two (one at each doorway).
And around every corner… when the previous wet floor warning has vanished from
sight… the next one appears on the horizon.
But when I was home at Christmas, I noticed a multitude of
“wet floor” signs in the mall, and also at the grocery stores. These signs should be replaced with “walk at
own risk” signs. At least they’d be more
accurate than “wet floor”. I’d think 95%
of the time I see a “wet floor” sign, the floor itself is bone dry. Of course it would be. Even when a floor has been freshly mopped,
the wetness has evaporated within five minutes… ten for an all out
soaking. This leaves the other 23 hours
and 50 minutes holding this sign as a fabrication of the truth. In our battle to protect ourselves from being
sued, we’ve forgotten such parables and fables as “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” or
“Henny Penny”.
--- Hockey is run, and analyzed, by nincompoops. It is the only sport where the most exciting
offensive (that is offense as in to score… not to be offending) plays are seen
in the negative point of view. A goal is
seen not as a masterful play with the puck, but by a defensive breakdown by the
opposition. And, conversely, players who
specialize in scoring are seen as lacking… while players who specialize in
defense are seen as complete. The league
prefers a player who scores 50 points and comes back on defense than a player
who scores 120 points and hangs around centre ice, hoping for a breakout
pass. If Wayne Gretzky began playing
hockey today, he’d be told to dump it in and clog up the middle of the ice
while your wingers go get it. He’d score
75 points in a season instead of 215… and commentators would go out of their
mind with how complete he is. It would
be the same as baseball people criticizing Jose Bautista or Albert Pujols
because they don’t sacrifice bunt enough.
--- I have no idea how to plan my summer. I will likely go to BC for a week in May… but
what then. Do I take more time off work?
Do I travel home? Do I aim to go somewhere new? Do I play softball? If
softball… do I return to the slowpitch team I’ve been on for years, or make
another go of fastpitch, after three years away? I have a hundred questions about the summer
going through my head… and no clear cut answers jump back at me. Am I becoming too dumb to plan my life? In keeping with the times, that is a question
I’m incapable of answering.
TUESDAY…
--- Only day shift for the block. Doing a favour for another team and working
their night tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Pre work walk for about half an hour. Pornographic art has been walked into the
snow of one of the ponds. Nobody said I
lived in a classy neighbourhood.
--- Nights alone. A
peaceful thing even when busy. Quiet
building… quiet night outside.
THURSDAY…
--- Busiest night in a while. If Keith wasn’t here as well, there’d be no
way to get enough work done. Went flat out
until 1:30 and still things to do after that as well.
FRIDAY…
--- Not as busy as yesterday. I’m fairly tired by the end of shift. Three straight nights is tougher to do than
two.
--- Get Louis’ Pizza for the first time in many a
month. May be getting near a year since
I had it actually. The break has done my
waistline good but the return to it was a pleasant thing.
SATURDAY…
--- Up at 12:30.
Later than normal to wake really.
Most times off night shift I wake before noon.
--- Nice out but I’m too fuzzy in the brain and tired to go
out. Lazy time around the house.
SUNDAY…
--- Lose at ball to a team we should have beaten. It wasn’t embarrassing but it was sloppy all
around.
MONDAY…
--- Around the house.
It’s sunny and glorious looking out but close to -20 again and I’m in no
mood. So it’s cleaning around the house
for exercise. All the vacuuming done and
laundry to boot. Back feels old and worn
by the end of the vacuuming. I think I
shan’t be vacuuming anymore.
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