OMG

This is it, final week of posting every day. Friday is my birthday. Have you picked out my gift yet? I’m pretty difficult to shop for.

Did you watch the USA vs Canada hockey game last night? It was probably one of the best games I’ve watched in a long time. The way the bracket is set up now, either Canada or Russia can’t win a medal. Neither of them might if they lose earlier or later, but if you asked someone to predict who would medal you would have said Russia, Canada, and Sweden, maybe the United States if they got their shit together. Now who knows how it will go down?

Totally unrelated, I know that if you’re religious it really matters to you, but I really can’t stand people who are so obsessed and into it that it’s the only thing they talk about. Yeah, I know you love god and it just makes you so great, but stop talking about it. Remember what Jesus said about the Pharisees. I vaguely do, so you really should know because you love Jesus so much. Carter loves Jesus and he’s only 4, and we don’t ever go to church. I guess that’s god trying to lasso me back in. At least he’s just being subtle and not shoving it in my face like all his crazed followers constantly do.

I see the strings that control the system

I should be angry. I should want to burn everything down and then piss on the ashes. I should want to breathe smoke.

For whatever reason I don’t. I guess it’s a sign of maturity. I keep trying to get mad, thinking about it over and over. Rehashing it in my brain trying to find a way to make it illicit that hate. Listening to angry music, but still nothing.

I’m definitely less motivated now, but I don’t think the two are related. I’m never particularly motivated, my big problem in life. If it don’t come easy, it ain’t never going to come at all. (There are a few exceptions but it’s normally true)

I guess I’ve been beaten and bloodied enough to just accept whatever is given now. It’s not worth the frustration and pain. The ability to let that, which does not matter, truly slide. It’s like some sort of higher plane of existence, one step closer to enlightenment.

The Oak Tree

At the end of the week and the beginning of the weekend I was getting incredibly frustrated with Carter. He was being two, and I wanted him to be 12.

Now, I wanted to cry when I dropped him off at a babysitter. We've got him in a hawk for the summer. He's this crazy little dude who loves jumping off things and talking about the sun going to sleep and where trucks and tractors are hiding. This little piece of me.

I can only hope I can be all that he needs me to be.

I'm there. I matter less than him, than his future brother, than my wife.

I'm there.

Lawryde is going to get paid to play Guitar Hero 3

Does that make me a Rock Star? It makes me something. (Tool, douche-bag, jackass).

My new division at Opposite of Dog is having a Talent / Hobby exposé on Thursday. When I first learned of this exposé I thought it was going to be stupid and kind of brushed it off. One of my fellow hydraulics system development comrades jested to me that we should play Guitar Hero, since we’re experts. Not experts in the way that those 8 year old kids on Youtube are, but Local Gods at the very least.

YES!, I told him. We’re going to get paid about $40 an hour to play Guitar Hero for about an hour and a half.

He wasn’t into it at first, but I got some buy in from our division manager’s administrative assistant, so it’s on. It should be a bit of fun at the very least. It’s got to be cooler than the people that are brining in their stamp collections or showing how they can juggle 12 coconuts in the air for an hour and a half.

This weekend was the first in a long time that I didn’t feel rushed, tired, or like I didn’t get to do things I wanted to. It was awesome outside. I got all the finishing touches done on the kitchen, finally.

We went to a park in the ghetto for a friend of Carter’s birthday, saw a bunch of cops get called to arrest some dude two houses away, but it was good fun playing with Carter.

We made a stomach cast of my wife’s pregnant belly, preceded by an awful drive around Peoria to find supplies and get gas in the car. It was still OK though since it was nice, and I was pushing the car and was gliding through traffic.

I shaved my head and trimmed my beard to a respectable length. I wanted a Mohawk, but it still didn’t seem appropriate for work.

We’ve got our names all squared away for baby #2. You don’t get to know until he’s born though. We’ve got a #1 pick, and a few others on deck just incase #1 just doesn’t seem to fit after seeing him.

I feel good, ready for the week.

Karma Police

I had a dream last night about an old friend. We, and I mean me, because my old friend was still just my mind creating my old friend, had a choice to make and either be good or evil.

In my dream I chose to be good. Maybe there is still hope for my immortal soul (I believe therefore I have) after all.

At which point my subconscious chose to be good, my wife accidentally kicked me in the balls to try and get me to turn off my alarm at 5:30 in the morning. She meant to kick me, I just don’t think in the balls.

Saying something important is never easy, something that will echo forever.

It’s almost Friday, and it will have been seven long days of traveling, three left.

I’ve gotten some money for Xmas. I’ll blow it on hockey gear or tattoos. Either will be nice.

The internet, myspace and facebook, makes for one giant continuous class reunion. I wonder if people look at me, if they even care, and say, “What the fuck happened to him”. Then they either feel better or worse about their own lives.

I hope my son doesn’t wake up in four hours, eight would be better.

Tomorrow there will be 6 little children running and or crawling around a 3 bedroom house.

In addition to shoveling snow, I find driving when it’s kind of dark and my one ear is plugged and/or swollen so I can’t hear well, and my wife and child are asleep, and all I can hear is the rush of air around the car and the four cylinder engine straining to keep the frame and the sheet metal and us and all the crap we’ve brought with us going 75 miles an hour, quite Zen.

Well, I’ve failed, but much like Steve, posting random shit can be just as entertaining as a well thought out narrative.