Christmas However it Comes

This year Christmas lightly tapped me on the shoulder and then suddenly attacked me from behind. As I get up and brush the mudd of my knees I regard the aftermath of this holiday season....

This is what I have learned

1) There is no Christmas vacation for working adults, no pat on the back and no 2 weeks to "catch up on things"

2) Christmas traffic in Mission Valley makes me consider suicide and gave me one panic attack straight up. NEVER GO THERE IT IS A VORTEX OF DOOM EVEN WHEN IT IS NOT CHRISTMAS

3) Christmas traffic on the 5 freeway makes me very sad especially when I missed Santaland Diaries the play based on the writing of David Sedaris for no reason other than people needed to drive to "see their families" at Christmastime.

4) San Diego should develop a subway system ASAP because I hate driving for no other purpose than to be stuck in traffic and to be late to everything

5) Rain makes things very wet....including me and the traffic

6) I would sell my soul for a working umbrella (still waiting for this offer if anyone's interested)

7) Not going to a church service on Christmas eve makes Christmas seem a little inconsequential

8) Santa from the Santaland at Macy's in New York looks like a large creepy live plastic doll

9) Approximately 1200 people will gather around the skating rink at Rockefellar Center for the sole purpose of watching a zamboni drive around in circles on the ice...for an hour

10) Christmas will be better next year....I hope

Tis the Season

You know that the Christmas season has arrived when you enter into the craft haven and store known to the common people as Michaels. All of the obvious clues are out on display. Singing robot Santas greet you at every corner and the line to the checkout extends way back into the unusual button collectors section. On the surface it is a very "merry atmosphere" but spend 4 minutes waiting for the obese cat lady to make her yarn selection so she can unblock the aisle and you will sense that something is very amiss.

I could not help but notice that people at Michaels are angry. The regular crafty people are far by the most disgruntled of all since their store has been overtaken by seasonal hooligans who slowly suck up all the customer service with their large purchases of decorations and seasonal candles. The commonplace Michaels employee is no longer available to spend 45 minutes discussing the merits of different types of felt or to calmly explain that the yarn they want will have to be ordered. The crafters wait impatiently by the checkout yelling complaints to anyone who will listen straining their at risk sedentary lifestyle hearts. The Michaels employees themselves pull by far the shortest end of the stick. While simultaneously trying to heard and check out endless holiday shoppers, they calmly try to placate the yarn lady who sprays spit on their checkout counter while ranting. The holiday shoppers who are lulled to the craft center by discounts and holiday spirit quickly sense the stressful atmosphere and become frantic shoving ornaments and wrapping paper into their carts while knocking over gingerbread house displays in their rush to purchase their items and leave the store.

I personally made my selections quickly and left dodging the evil eye of the homeless man on a bike whom I previously recognized harassing a Michaels manager about the lack of "baggers" at the checkout line.

So to all you San Diegans who are just a string of lights short of reaching the peak of your Christmas tree, be forewarned and think twice before donning your light sweatshirt to brave the temperate environment and holiday shopping season at Michaels.

Emotional Nougat

I try to make coma corner a light happy place full of clouds and amusement with occasional irony riding on unicorns but I think on this grand holiday I will crack open the candy coated shell of amusement to reveal my emotional nougat.

I just want to take a sentimental moment to not complain about anything which is something I should probably do more often than only on major national holidays. Sooooo here it goes, today I am thankful. I am thankful for the friends who I consider to be as close to me as family. The friends who have taken an ice pick to my thick shell and have handled the consequences of opening my damn of my sometimes irrational emotionality. I am grateful for their love, I am grateful for them.

I am thankful for the blue house perched atop the mountain that whistles during winter storms and for my small family who resides within that home. I am grateful that I didn't repeat history by crashing into a stone wall and flipping my car over when driving home after work for Thanksgiving. Thank goodness for the freezing night time air and annoying hip hop songs that allowed me to complete my journey without significant incident. I am thankful for the all of the delicious thanksgiving food in my tummy that is currently chaining me to the couch like an anchor and making think thoughts about obesity.

Lastly, well since I am trying to be completely honest with my emotional nougat I should probably mention a certain boy I that continually step back from to feel grateful for. I have done nothing to deserve his complete and unconditional love that surrounds and supports every aspect of my life.

Although this blog is repetitive and occasionally so incredibly sappy that I want to vomit, I just want to find a honest way to express appreciation to each and every one of you in my life.

Thankyou

Ajhfghhuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhbeeeeeeeeeeep.............

The title above nearly encompasses all nueronal activity taking place in my brain at this exact moment in time. So warning to all 5 readers, DO NOT EXPECT TO BE THRILLED TANTALIZED FIGHTENED INSPIRED by this special Halloween edition coma corner. The scariest part of my day thus far has been dreading giving a suppository to a 30 year old man. I have no problem giving a suppository to the population of 50 years and above but upon entering the dreaded 40 years and below demographic I do not want to touch IT with a 10 foot pole...literally. I constantly have the image of asking one of my classmates to gently role over and UGGHHH NOOOOOO MAKE IT END...............commence rocking back and forth while holding head in hands...............................................................................rock.......rock........sway..................................

Wasted Saturday

I HAD plans for this past saturday.

Not anything life changing, just your run of mill I feel good about myself accomplishments. The small victories that add change in nickels to ones happy bank.

Saturday I wake up far too late to be productive in a stifling heat. Sweat gathers in the low points of gravity on my body and the sheets vindictively threaten to choke me.

And still I do not rise.

Two hours pass.

The sun continues its rise into the sky scorching my exposed skin.

Once I reach the pinnacle of feeling disgusting I use the last few molecules of glucose floating around my bloodstream to heave the useless mass of my body to the kitchen.

There, I prepare a shameful breakfast consisting of something I don't remember. Empowered with new energy I decide to clean.

I push a broom a couple of times and become breathless. The heat of the world seems to be sitting on my chest. I move on to the bedroom where I furiously rip the bedclothes of my bed with the aim to neatly replace them. This proves to be too much for my cancerous paper boy current state of existence so I slump over on a pile of pillows.

Two Hours pass.

I awake in a pool of my own drool on the floor in the midst of my destroyed bedclothes. I feel shameful and dissatisfied with my own life so I decide to cheer myself up with This American Life. In a coma like state I listen to stories about death and I cry.

Two Hours pass.

I have listened to several episodes of This American Life. I contemplate how interesting life can be and how boring my own life can be. I get depressed.

Two Hours pass.

I finally realize I forgot my cell phone in my car and that it has been in the car for 16 hours. I also realize the motivation to get the phone out of the car is at approximately 0%. I decide to lay down on the couch to think about the situation.

One Hour passes......................................................

Concrete Jungle

Twice a week I enter a place where the basic tenants of kindness and respect are absent. Where there is not a shred of dignity or a trace of humanity.

When I am there I am no better than those around me. I sink to their level or perhaps even lower than most. I scream obscenities at strangers, I cry, I make poor choices that could endanger my life and the lives of others around me. It is a place where one would pass a starving stranger without notice and then kill a kitten without guilt.

It is not hell because humans have created it with their own free will.

It does happen to be the parking structure at SDSU between the hours of 1-2pm during the week.

God help all who enter.

Life is In the Details

Unfortunately life is in the details. It is in the dollars and cents of my student loans, it is in what is said between friends, between colleagues. It is in an offside knowing glance of a doctor and the troponin level of a patient with a myocardial infarction (heart attack). I know how important these details are but somehow I am missing the nuerological wiring that allows me to focus on the details.

Perhaps I picked the wrong profession.

Every day the iron vice of fear grabs my head and tugs it toward the details. Beautifully intricately designed life with its checks and balances occassionaly slaps me swiftly across the face leaving the sting of consequence when my gaze wanders absentmindidly. If there were no consequences I can only imagine what kind of monster I would become. I would inevitably tip toe a little further from morality and decency every day that life gave me a couple of inches eventually ending up a fat unemployed multiple cat owner or as a dictator of a small island nation negotiating with my small but growing nuclear arsenal. Thankfully, reality keeps me suspended somewhere in between the two poles although I do occassionaly tend to drift closer to one side.

Usually...it is the side of the obese cat owner.

Just to bring this point home lets explore my latest missed detail.

Mr Detail: I have the honor and privilege as a fairly recent graduate who has attended a private university to pay a sizable amount of school loans. Despite holding a college degree and keeping myself alive for 23 years I have had trouble trying to figure out how to pay for my loans. No not in typical financial terms but in the misstep of being slightly dyslexic. I Evelyn Robarts have typed in the wrong checking account number not once but twice. Yes, ladies in gentlemen all of the loans I have tried to pay in the last 2 months have been sent back due to this minor error, "detail." Luckily for me there is a lovely penalty expense for those who make such errors as I and as a result I have learned a valuable life lesson.

Maybe....

Because what I really do care to think about is exhaustion. All the details pale in comparison to the inviting loving embrace of my crib like contraption that whispers sweet nothings of happiness into my REM cycle. The adjective tired is a huge overlying cloud (not detail) that makes me disparage fun, happiness, friendship, work, school loans, troponin levels, detail 7, detail 8, detail 9 and detail 100 thousand.

Perhaps one day through endless trial and error my circuits will rewire well enough to successfully complete a detail oriented task. Till that day I continue to dream of sleep and the future which just happen to be nebulous enough to keep me interested.