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Scatterbrain Symphony, The Last Days. - Sauce1977 [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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Scatterbrain Symphony, The Last Days. [Dec. 30th, 2003|02:00 am]
[In the Moment |intimidatedintimidated]
[Special Music |Aesop Rock - Daylight]

Yes, I still have packing to do. Now I have this quiet moment of the night.

"All I ever wanted was to pick apart the day, put the pieces back together my way."

Monday it rained like it was October or April.

I dropped off my car for shipping to Los Angeles today, and now I sit here, jonesing to drive up to 7-11 to buy some snacks with no money. Isn't that life in a nutshell.

I watched Celebrity Poker on whatever channel with the cast of The West Wing playing Texas Hold'em for charity. I don't mind amateurs on TV, watching them playing the game . . . I do mind lousy production ideas. Every time the game became interesting, they'd cut to one of the stars and their discussion of their sponsored charity, then to a commercial. I was there on that channel for the poker goddammit. They don't have quality poker programming with educational value for duffers. Even the WSOP is more glitz than analysis. The fuck I say.

My mother helped me financially and physically by purchase of a new matress and box springs. I now own the Serta Perfect Sleeper pillow-top mattress. It felt mighty nice in the store, and it molded to my frame. Rest for a weary back, that was nice, even for 15 seconds.

While picking and purchasing the matress and springs, I practiced my art of striking up conversation of strangers.

One of the other salespeople and I talked about metro-area malls, and which are good and not-so-good. We moved on to where to shop for cheaper quality products, and we chitted the chat about my move and what I'm going to do there.

I also talked for a bit about my move with a customer, an elderly-approaching lady who came to buy like we did. Unfortunately, I had to pick the date that they'd deliver, so I had to break that one off too early. Courteous to the end, she apologized for distracting me to my duties, and at the end when we left, she wished me good luck, and to be safe out in LA.

Conversations hold more cherish-value when no zero-sum involves the outcome. Too many conversations I've had in this world where a job, money, my life depended upon the results. I'd talk to a leper if the leper would keep his disease off of me. I try to be inclusive of all of the human children.

Thanks to my mother for the financial help. Thanks to the strangers for the best part of the day. Thanks to my friend's dad for arranging the car-shipment.

Major progress does not materialize for me when there are people with requests. This bothers me. Late production note: Read last sentence as: In the real world, major progress . . . the internet for some reason allows me to multi-task better. I welcome internet posts.

At my old job, I had to hang on every word over the crappy cell transmission. I had to completely understand whatever whoever said, in whatever dialect, wherever they were, as if their life depended on it. Sometimes, it did.

Due to the nature of the calls, which came sporadically, sometimes non-stop, without prior notice due to the routing system, I cannot focus when someone demands my attention with a request. This includes everyone. If I receive a request, I have to address it before I address my own course. I fail to balance this, and suddenly, it's 2AM and I have not progressed as such.

Soon this will become better. I'm full of anxiety and fear. I cannot give proper and normal attention to loved ones at this time for fear of my lack of ability to own on my own. It clouds my brilliant mind, feebles it to a raisin, lashes me out in hostility when I could easily forgive at previous times in similar situations.

However, I did score one major forgiveness yesterday.

Sunday was the celebration of my friend Jim's birthday.

Jim is soon to also be my roomate. Heidi and I drove to his grandfather's house to celebrate. I knew that an ex-friend would attend. Heidi spoke her concerns for me, as did Jim. I reasoned that this was one person of many neutrals and more friends, and that this scenario would not cause me much concern.

Matt, my ex-friend, did his best to mend.

I'm not going to lie. I didn't think he'd address me, as he hadn't for a handful of times in the past. I've heard of questionable events he's done on his own since we rifted. I wouldn't give them complete credence, except for his penchant to not speak to me directly while in the same room in the past . . . such is life, and I'm living it.

With expectations low, he extended a greeting and a hand. Suddenly, I was welcome by all.

With no needed further mending, as in the style of males, we picked up where we left off. It was old times, laughs, and pleasant atmosphere. Beautiful harmony met with that evening.

http://www.whirlyball.com/ This was the first event.

Two hours of mayhem in bumper cars, scoopers, a whiffle ball, basketball goals, and no rules. I got cut by a whack of a plastic scooper on my finger. It wasn't a bad cut, but it was a bleeder. I played on.

The quality of the cars was by color. Red cars were the slower, crappier-response vehicles. The yellow cars zipped in comparison. The scoopers were beat to shit, and even the whiffle ball was cracked. We still had a great time, slamming into each other, beating each other, scoring for our teams.

I became a little tired of the constant whacking of my hand after the cut, and I began to hit back with rampant abandon. The opposition felt my frustration. I was able to help on D with my teammates, creating stir on defense. We couldn't shoot worth a damn, but my team's D became rather tight. We were like the Detroit Pistons, all D, no pass or shot.

Then, we played Texas Hold'em back at Jim's grandpa's house.

I hadn't played poker with anyone in probably over a year. It took time to be used to the game. I bought my knowledge of my friends' tendencies back by sticking in hands I felt I shouldn't, just to get my past observations re-affirmed. Matt surprised the shit out of me with a river check-raise. He owned me on that hand. I was caught with my pants down at the final show a lot.

My 20 bucks whittled to a meager less-than 5 bucks, but after a last-hand whopping Full-House duel finish, I raked in the cash and took Matt's brother Nick's earnings with Aces over 3's to his 3's over something. We had some good battles over the course of the night. The large pots happen when two players eek out something deadly similar, it seems. I finished with 11 bucks, not too bad for the rusty hinges of my current poker-mind.

Pray for the weak souls. Ask for their strength to be shown for them. Put in a good word for yourself, and put one in for me.

And for my favorite part of the lyrics to this ditty I have on repeat:

"Life's not a bitch life is a beautiful woman
Your only call her a bitch because she won't let you get that pussy
Maybe she didn't feel y'all shared any similar interests
Or maybe you're just an asshole who couldn't sweet talk the princess."