Likelyhood of me spilling coffee on my shirt if I’m wearing a white shirt: 94%.
My latest non-paying article is up over on The View. They always threaten to pay me for these articles, and I never end up seeing the money. I had fun doing it though. I don’t know if I’m going to do another one though - my attention span is weak enough, and if I’m going to be writing for free, there are other projects I would be better off doing.
I managed to somewhat crush my thumb during heavy rescue training. Safe to say that when an air-powered tool looks for something for leverage, your thumb shouldn’t be between it.
I’m trying to install a wiki on buhner, but I’m having no luck - it gets installed then refuses to accept the admin password. Oh well. I’ll have some words of the day later.
It’s now 12:56 PM (EST), and my wife mentioned to me how the grass at the cematary needs to be cut, which of course makes me feel like complete shit.
Not because of the grass, per ce - I don’t maintain the place. More because it’s the 7th anniversary of the day I lost my dad, and I completely forgot.
I don’t know if this is necessarily a “good” thing - it’s not like I forgot the guy in general - not a day goes past that he’s not in my thoughts somehow - but it’s not stopping me from feeling like complete shit.
I know the whole death thing is purely symbolic and ritualistic - we bury the dead into the ground, we note the exact day that they were born and died, me mark the area they occupied, and we’re expected to visit that space in order to pay respects to said person. I’m not a big believer in all that, despite the fact that I’ve always been a fan of symbolism, and I rarely visit my father’s gravesite. Again, it’s not because I don’t love the man, but just because I don’t really see the purpose.
I think I’d be a lot better with my dad’s death (and said anniversaries) if it weren’t for my son. I can deal with the fact that my wife didn’t get to meet my dad, but my dad had no chance to ever see his only grandchild, a kid he would have spoiled to death and treated like a prince. This isn’t something I assume - it’s something I safely know.
Of course, to further drive me to the edge of insanity (unintentionally), my wife posts this picture to me as she’s IMing me:
That friggin’ killed me. I’m seriously considering leaving work early today just so I can crawl into a little ball. I sure as hell shouldn’t be taking tech calls today.
Anyway, thought I’d share!
