April 2005 Archives

I want to tune in to tonight's Presidential press conference to confirm my suspicions.

I have a feeling Bush will unleash a 15 minute speech before the "press conference," after which he will respond to at least one difficult question with, "Thanks, I appreciate that."

I'll have to see if there are any drinking games out there already -- but perhaps I'll just make one up to celebrate the end of the semester.

Actually -- I'm much too tired for any of that -- I'm just looking to be humored...

Cinematic Rain has a game on...

Beep Beep!

That's me. Beeping my own horn.

Over the weekend Espaldita and I ventured out to Pinckney, Michigan with the aims of completing a 5 mile "fun run" over hill and over dale. The Road Ends 5 mile fun run has been a staple of the season for many a year now - each year enticing hundreds to climb out of their caves, widen their nostrils and squint their over-compensating bulbous eyes in order to navigate their way along a thin path complete with stray roots and slippery rocks. (Actually - most everyone there was sportin' some sort of bionic running gear and looked as if they were suffering from withdrawal fits from standing in place more than 5 minutes. Espaldita and I felt quite out of place waiting for the call to the line...) It is something of a tradition to declare those not competing in the run to be WIMPS, and said as much in the email.

This year mother nature had a trick up her sleeve -- blanketing the runners with a steady snowfall and record low temperatures for such a late day in April, thus ensuring the absence of any form of wimpage. Watching the flakes falling, I could feel Espaldita's confidence rising. This was precisely the type of weather we had been training in! Notice the excited exclamation points!!!

For this first attempt at organized running we were fortunate enough to have the wonderful Aunt Barb as a wing person. In fact, she was the one who cooked up this crazy notion of running with other runners in the first place. We promptly left her in the dust after the first dip down a hill - about thirty seconds into the run.

"My name is Kevin Yezbick. This is my back. Get used to it, cause when I'm running it's all you're going to see."

Yes -- there we were, Espaldita and I, breezing through the snowfall, right up in the front of the pack with the leaders - no worries to be had -- until we wandered into...

THE FOREST OF DOOM!!!

Ok. It wasn't really a forest of doom, per se, but there were plenty of leg grabbing roots and snow slicked rocks which leapt out as one tried to pass them over.

And then there were the hills.

Yes. Espaldita and I were cruising along with the front of the pack -- until we came upon the first hill. I guess this is where the bionic suits come in really handy -- because some of these people seemed to just take the elevator up. Our pace slackened and we fell back a bit -- just far enough to pace ourselves next to a really attractive member of the opposite sex.

Things I Learned While Running My First 5 Mile Fun Run
1. Don't try to keep pace with someone whom you find attractive.
There are many, many reasons to heed this first rule. You must, first of all, realize that this is your first attempt at any sort of organized running - and that this fine specimen running alongside you has likely been doing this much longer -- and is much more adept. That being said -- you will feel a colossal sense of shame as you are forced to realize that you have fallen a good clip behind her, and can't convince your body to keep up. You have been schooled. Accept it, move on, before someone REALLY gets hurt.

2. Watch your Sustenance Intake before the run.
You're supposed to eat familiar foods in the days leading up to the race -- and at least three hours before the gun -- preferably sooner. This rule ties in with the rule above. Fortunately - this is a rule I followed - escaping possible further embarrassment on the trail. I mean - just imagine -- you're running along next to that perfect '10' when all of a sudden your lower regions are doing their best metronome impersonation...Or worse -- you've only been out on the trail for a few moments, kicked up just a few pebbles and just begun breathing at an advanced rhythm when you feel something stirring -- and like a hammer on a nail - continue to feel it with each clenched step.

3. Hills Suck.
We now return to our tale...

So there we were -- falling back in the pack after the first series of hills -- Espaldita hanging in there like a true champ -- bouncing along with me inline with about thirty or so other runners at a similar step. The path was narrow and somewhat winding and the twists and turns and spring leaves combined with the gathering snow made it somewhat difficult to see what could be just around the next bend -- but I'll give you a hint:

Hills. Lots and lots of hills.

After about the seventh hill I was pretty convinced I wasn't going to be finishing first. (Actually, it was more like the moment I laced up, but-- to return...) It wasn't until after the eighth hill that I saw the first mile marker -- and wanted to beat the living daylights out of it.

Continuing on -- the pace well slackened -- quite ready to break with the running for a while -- I found myself alongside quite the mare. She was bigger than I, wearing a semi-bionic outfit -- and seemed to be an excellent match for pace. I pulled into a slot on the trail a couple of steps behind her - and was confidently drafting - when I picked up on her breathing.

Now - you're supposed to have rhythmic breathing -- it helps with that pace thing I've been talking about -- but this woman's subconscious mantra had managed to manifest itself. I've often been running with Espaldita and to keep that perfect step going I've counted in fours or some such manner to take the mind off the body. This woman was in the same situation -- only she had completely lost her sense of surroundings and was making her mantra audible to all around her. Her mantra?

"Al-an, Tram-mel. Al-an, Tram-mel. Al-an, Tram-mel."

At least -- that's what it sounded like to me. I could not run next to this woman. To hear her pronouncing my favorite ballplayer's name through heavy breathing was sure to drive me insane -- so I let off and fell further back into the pack.

As I kept sinking and slowing I thought back to my previous experiences with distance running.

There was the time I wanted to "belong" as a freshman in high school - so I went out for the Cross Country team - which lasted a day. There were the baseball tryouts -- which I was motivated for and found to be doable. And then there were the basketball tryouts -- which tore out one's soul. It was during one of the mile runs following wind sprints that my nose developed a whistle at precisely the same moment Crampy McCramperson took over my right side. I distinctly remember one of the older guys encouraging me, "I know it hurts, but keep going. Fight it, Fight it!" But I also distinctly remember another older guy later in the pack, who very nonchalantly passed on the right and looked me in the eye while annunciating, "Nice nose whistle."

I had to stop running.

So - after about 2.5 miles, Espaldita and I dropped into a brisk walk for about thirty seconds. People passed - and people passed -- and after about a minute, maybe less - we decided to give it another go. We made it to the water station soon after - and with a smooth transition from volunteers hand to my own -- we swallowed down a cup and kept on moving. The water seemed to invigorate -- and it was at this point that somebody who I never looked at, but could tell was wearing a bionic suit, pulled alongside:

"Garble garble 50 degrees garble garble garble water," he said. Looking back - I'm not even really sure he was talking to either Espaldita or me - but I responded with:

"Yeah, (breath in) just when you get acclimated (breath out)." To this he seemed to make some sort of hesitant guttural noise before kicking up his bionic heels and leaving me in his dust. I think he may have realized I was crazy. Espaldita and I thought about it quite a bit for the next few minutes - mulling over what he could have possibly said and why we even bothered trying to respond, when Espaldita began to pout. I don't know if it was from embarrassment or what, but Espaldita and I began to disagree at about 3.5 miles into the fun run.

At the foot of a hill the volume of the argument went up a notch and we had to step to the side of the path. Sneakers shot past, our eyes keeping to the ground, our breathing heavy, our shame for our display evident. Sometimes sharing an embarrassing moment with someone can bring them that much closer -- and this was the case for Espaldita and I here. After several deep breaths, I kneaded my thumbs across her, smoothing out the pain -- and we continued running...and stopping...and running...and stopping.

We came to a cross in the trail where a park ranger had parked their car. (I've forgotten to mention that Aunt Barb is an authority figure in the state parks.) They shouted out to me, "Are you Kevin?" to which I replied in the affirmative and asked if they wanted to take my picture -- which they did -- and which will be in my possession shortly. I continued on my way when perhaps a minute and a half later I heard shouts of glee and the ranger's siren going off on the car. Aunt Barb was just behind me.

Espaldita and I had to get moving.

To make a long story even longer -- we ran a good deal more before stepping into one last walk -- just before the forest opened -- until I spotted a goofy bearded man who resembled me - only advanced by thirty-some odd years -- standing in a clearing, waving and cheering. Emerging from that FOREST OF DOOM!!! was like a rebirthing.

Espaldita and I kicked up our heels and finished at 56:01. (The results say 56:06, but that's only because they had trouble taking off my runner's bib at the finish line.) Not bad for a former pack a day chimney.

There are plenty of other items of interest I can't delve into here for want of boring you to death -- but I should at least point out Don, the snarky concession stand owner who allowed Barb and I to stretch out in the back of his shack - where it was nice and warm - and who upon observing the other runners stretching out outside exclaimed, "Oh God! Those crazies are trying to push the building over!"

Snow snow snow, snow snow snow snow snow. Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow.

SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW! SNOW SNOW!

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I should ground myself from the internet.

I hate it.

That was totally and completely a horrible night of sleep. 3 straight hours of good sleep until waking to that frightful tune below --

and then concerns over emails sent whilst tipsy.

And then a really bizarre dream where I kept walking the same path over and over. There was a huge fire at a building holding a Howard Dean rally - and these people that turned into demons so that I had to pretend to be a demon as well but I don't think they believed me. We stalked about and must've walked through the library like eight times -- so that I could let the library know I wouldn't be going in today -- until some lady told me we'd have to stop because we were in violation of some city code. Earlier - at the same library - a librarian made me cry.

I don't remember dreams very much anymore. This was more like a nightmare. A schweddy nightmare.

It was all a little bit too much like the time I hung out with Cousins Jennifer and Brian - and waking the next morning I told them about my dream where I had my own action hero theme song that went "I'm gonna get you buddy I'm gonna get you buuuud-dy!" Remarkably similar dreams...

I wish I had my disappearing bag.

This is what happens when it happens cause it happens (ungh)
This is what happens when it happens cause it does (yeah!)

(Sung to the tune of Mary had a little lamb.)

laid back. with my cake on my mind and my mind on my cake.

So many thoughts are swirling around my crazy head this morning that it is difficult to lasso any single one of them. For instance that last sentence just sent a kangaroo scurrying across the horizon and kangaroos are dreadfully elusive unless you are driving a rent a car across the Australian outback in which case they are peskier than mosquitoes and prefer to attempt embracing your vehicle when it is moving at a great rate of speed. But this isn't what we intended to speak of.

We intended other things not so clearly defined. Like the horrific memory of an early teacher pounding into our heads the idea of prepositions and prepositional phrases - and the doom that would rain down upon us should we dare to end our sentences in such a state. It has stayed with me, though not in its intended form. I learned more about the nature of people than words in those two years. They can't be trusted. They are all insane.

I've lost faith in medicine. Another notch on the wall. I wonder whether all hands immediately reach for their pockets, billfolds, wallets, etc. etcetera ETCERA!!!!

I've lost faith in nearly all things, and now I stand silent, a black hole on a beautiful day. I can trust in normalities - the beauty of a bird's song is simple to behold, much more complex to appreciate.

I can't, however, trust that this one particular squirrel doesn't understand me. I spoke to him moments ago as he clung to a tree, startled that I had pulled back the door to allow the slight breeze to fill my nostrils with the pleasantries of spring. He did not move. He only fixed himself upon the bark and stared at me. At other times he would chatter - but this time he seemed to be listening.

I know it is the same squirrel. He became trapped in our home a few months ago. Somehow he had managed to get caught in a conduit leading to the furnace. (the furnace has a shut off safety precaution whenever something is blocking its main vessel, so he was not toasted squirrel) In freeing him from his captivity - a process that involved my father's old army duffel bag and increasing amounts of adrenaline - part of his tail became shorn. I'm not sure what freed those fibers from that feeble creature, a creature not so much feeble as demanding a poetic line, but to this day his lack of tail cover serves as an identifier.

He is more deliberate in his motions than the other squirrels. He will sit for hours at the feeder. He often sits so that he may look in through the glass door to spot whomever may be seated at the kitchen table. In this case, me.

I wish I could communicate with that squirrel. Right now it seems we just have an "understanding." Understandings are things meant to be misunderstood. I try not to reach these artificial understandings with people anymore because they are simply a means of saying "let me get what I want and if you get something out of it as well, so be it, but this is about me, even though we'll say its about us."

There is something magical about this relationship I have with this squirrel. Something in distance and lack that creates momentum for sentiment.

There is so much more I want to say, but I'm beginning to scrape the bottom of the well. Things aren't as lucid as they were moments ago, if lucid could be the term. Millions of zany dots crashing about and into each other, some occasionally screaming to be heard. Now there are relatively few thoughts. I had zoned in on the squirrel and everything else seemed to move away to give me my space. Is this meditation? Is this controlled thought?

I'm intrigued by the possibilities of thought control exercises. I'd intended to research it. I intend to research lots of things. I am plagued by curiosity. Since I moved up here I have yet to remove my favorite childhood toy, a Curious George doll from its perch in the back of my Focus. I think I'll do that now. So that I may take a picture of it. Oh, but perhaps I should stay. I wouldn't want to just walk away from this exercise and lose all motivation to continue. Standing and moving about may be just the sort of thing my attention requires to ignore things that I find pleasant.

If I do move about, the headache will certainly become much more prominent. With nothing to occupy my mind but destination, I'll have more cognizance relegated toward physical ailments - of which I obsess over quite a few right now - particularly in the nether regions. The unspeakable. Those invisible pieces of ourselves that only the doctors we no longer trust have complete knowledge of. And there is another preposition. And there is another fear. And another complaint. A gripe. Collected so many of those I made a category for them in this here CMS.

Managing content. Ha. Can I manage this? I can't even manage myself. Oooooo! Jerry! Jerry! You see? Things are supposed to be superfantastic, but I leap at the opportunity to hurl insults at myself, possibly to deflect your chance. I imagine when I begin something like this, that I feel is earnest and honest, a queue of people ready to unleash their own slings. And this isn't "cool" to be discussed. It isn't sage. And yet I'm firing it out and into the open abyss of the world this afternoon - with but a fleeting glimpse into the future of how it will come back to haunt me when seeking employment at the great salvation location that as yet has to be determined.

Employment. Classes. Stress. Erratic physical abuse.

Now I have switched trains and am moving about the tracks of which there are several tunnels in succession that grow darker with each passing moment. It starts with feelings of worthlessness, which are only accentuated by ruminating on my age. And time. And you just can't stop it.

Lately I've given up on people. I think they all hear what they want to hear - and there is nothing you can do to stop that. I am in doubt as to the strength of any of my friendships. I only hear intermittently from those I love. And if I keep talking about this I'll start crying again. And that's just what we need. Another 28 year old man child crying into the internet.

I'm only able to look back, it seems. This all started because I took the time, a considerable amount of time - about 4 years now, to think about what I wanted to do with myself and what I enjoy. That vision has remained constant. But it is shrouded in a "Gaussian blur" behind several other layers with similar effects employed. It is an image of aspiration, a goal, but isn't clearly defined. I'm losing sight of the dream when I stare directly at it because I can't pick out the details.

Ultimately it is going to come down to me. To my motion in the world. Frenetic Kinetics. What will happen then? I can't even depend on myself now. I fail so often at the little things. Oh. Wait. Wait for it. Yes! There it is -- a welling in the eye. pathetic.

There is a space between the brain and the skull. I think my mind is stuck there. Cycling round and round. Claustrophobic.

I'm screaming into the void. I'm screaming into the void. I'm screaming into the void.

I got in trouble for this once. I got grounded for a while. I wrote what I thought was an artistic piece and sent it off to that same teacher we mentioned before. I remember only that it included a phrase turning about something like "the grass was like razor blades, cutting into the sole." Mother got a call and the nuns were passionate in declaring that they could have called the police. That this could be perceived as a threat. I was stunned. I was then very angry. I was forced to write an apology for something I wasn't sorry for. Someone had misinterpreted what I was saying and I was cubbyholed and made to apologize.

I'd see that teacher every so often in the years that followed. The strangest emotions would always creep up. There was something in it similar to the feelings you go through when seeing an ex shortly after a breakup. Only I had no love for this teacher. Looking back I wonder whether I can push her over into the crazy lady pile. Looking back I wonder whether any of those women teaching at the school had any sanity. And I feel bad for the counselor. Who was learning. And was assigned me. And tape recorded me. And I don't know how anyone can't put on a show when they are told they are being tape recorded. What could her class possibly learn from me? People hear what they want to hear, and sometimes people say things just to be heard -- but I don't know that you can ever say that people say things clearly. Words are symbols. Yada yada yada.

Where is this coming from? Is it a natural response to the guilt I have for over-exposing myself to helpings of wine last night? What is it with wine that I can't restrain myself? Was that masochistic?

Should I just delete this entire rant? This is going to come back to haunt me, isn't it? Because, heaven forbid we should ever be honest with anyone.

Oh there's a lot of anger in me. I shouldn't leave off so angry. I should exercise some thought control and see if I can't walk away from this feeling superfantastic.

Even though I can't see it clearly, I know I have a plan. I also know that I have a lot of growing up to do - and a lot of inner objections to that Idea. Perhaps my notion of growing up is skewed. I know I'm a different person than I was ten years ago. I think I'm wound tighter now. I think a lot of that has to do with how I spent (that squirrel is freaking out. But it's not the same squirrel. What is he so pissed off about now? There. I took a picture of him. But he is the impostor squirrel - so don't get the wrong idea.) Now for a loaded question - what the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah -- how I spent the last four years of my life. If there is one thing to put my finger on to get a pulse of a direction my life should have avoided -- it would be my last job. I should've walked out of that place and never looked back the minute I got that paper degree. That paper degree that says that I can read and think real good. Yeah. Reaaaaaaal good.

I think that place gave me a lot of issues that I'm still holding onto today. Issues of respect and self-respect. I think it tore me up and spit me out and didn't have a problem in the process.

That squirrel is freaking out again. This is why children torment animals. This is why we can't live in communion with them. Their words don't register as symbols with us, just as annoyances.

Whatever. I'm done with this. I can't talk about the deli anymore. That will just make me start feeling more pathetic and angry all over again. If there was one thing Mark McGuire had going for him during his testimony - it was that he wasn't there to talk about the past. I wish I could say it as clearly as him, and mean it -- "I'm not here to talk about the past." I think that perhaps healing whatever is wrong with me starts with figuring out why I'm here. I'd like to work myself toward a more spiritual life -- but I think my issues with my fellow man make a common spirituality impossible. I could ramble on about God here -- but the phone is ringing.

It was Uncle Larry. He left a message. Hi Uncle Larry. Sorry I didn't pick up the phone to talk to you - but I really don't think I could handle it right now. This is making me laugh. I think that's a good sign. We're headed toward the land of the superfantastic.

Yeah. So. God. I'd love it if I had faith - but at the same time -- something about God makes me think of Horses and blinders. God's path is a different story. You can walk the path of God -- and you can walk that path alone. I think I believe the bit about God being within us a tad more than the rest of it. I tend to associate God with will. And as should be evident - my will is not strong. Faith in myself is near rock bottom. I am not the same person I was a decade ago. I've been defeated many times. But this spiritual side is something that has been missing for probably fourteen years now. I guess that's basically when I lost faith.

Funny -- that's also when I ran into crazy lady and the nuns.

Is faith meant to be shared? I think faith is meant to be shared in the sense that you let your actions dictate your faith, and your faith dictate your actions. The latter portion is where I'm falling short. I have a profound lack of faith in my will - which is weak - and I haven't come to know God in any sense.

I can't go back to the church. I hold beliefs in the rights of men that would be grounds for excommunication. The church is supposed to be about a community -- but lately it seems to be an exclusive club. Built with walls of shame.

So I want to exercise my spirituality. I want to feel a keener sense of it while I'm carrying out my daily activities. I want to begin to appreciate life again - and perhaps more important -- appreciate myself.

I think we can leave off here. We've come to a better place than where we started. We'll see how this plays out in the coming days. Thanks for sticking around.

No it won't always look like this. But it will be kinda screwed up around here for the next coupla weeks. So much is so much...you know?

I know - pretty deep, right?
Duuuude, you're like, freakin' me out.

Cathartic.

Just noticed that a couple of "real" people (not robots) tried to comment here yesterday -- and were refused due to an old version of MT-Keystrokes -- which I've been using to block comment spammers.

I've now updated the plugin - so comments should flow a little easier.
Hopefully.

There were only two. In this vast empty space of a blog.

Mmmmmmm. Grape Leaves.

I'm really out of sorts today. There is a disconnect between a moment of action and my recognition of the results. Putting the Netflix DVDs in the post office mailboxes today turned into a mini panic session where I began to wonder whether they had indeed made it all the way into the box and not fallen out as I drove away.

That wasn't the only moment. Standing before the stacks today in search of a book - the letters seemed to rip themselves off the spines and dance about before swirling down upon their new titles. In the confusion I briefly left behind some necessary paperwork. It was suffocating.

Beginning to think about agoraphobia.

This afternoon I picked up my computer from the shop -- where one of the guys tried to tell me that replacing the keyboard hadn't fixed the problem. He told me that there was a chip on the motherboard that wasn't allowing the computer to communicate with the keyboard - and that to replace that would cost an additional $150. He said this as I was typing away "qwerty. this works. this works." I told him it was working and he seemed rather surprised.

People like that make it difficult to be superfantastic.

Perhaps another reason for my disconnect today was the combination of a claritin and a lack of my normal flow of coffee. Last night while lying in bed I decided that I may be taking in too much caffeine. Instead of three cups of joe this morning I went with one mug of chai tea.

And lastly -- crashing into deep slumber with one too many pillows beneath the neck has led to a crick and muscle pain for the past two days...

I am going to stuff my face.

I should dust off that soapbox...

I made it through April Fool's Day without spotting any pranks. In that time I also crossed the 24 hour mark concerning this pain in my abdomen. I had a rough go of it last night trying to get to sleep. I finally popped a pill around 4 in the morning and must've dozed off -- waking up intermittently -- and ultimately late in the afternoon. It's a rather sharp pain that goes unnoticed unless I am sitting, standing, bending or turning. I was hoping it was just a gas bubble - but activities late in the evening last night and on occasion today have led me to virtually eliminate that possibility. Nevertheless, I did just pop a couple of Tums a little over an hour ago. No such luck.

There is pain upon pressure as well. Sensitivity is limited to a certain range just right of the abdomen muscles, about 2 inches below the ribs. It may be that while out with Espaldita the other day I pushed myself a little too hard -- but what an odd location for a muscle pull, no?

There is a sort of fascination in my mind with the possibility that this could require going under the knife. An appendectomy. My best friend in the 7th grade was struck one morning with appendicitis - which had actually manifested itself shortly after lunch a day prior. We were slightly tilted towards the hooligan side, so his complaints to the teacher of stomach pain went largely unheeded. His father would carry him down the steps the next morning and into the car where they drove to the hospital and cut a slit in him.

When a group of us went to visit him a few days later, the wound was still surrounded by the yellow tint of the iodine. Such a precise incision. He was all goofballed on morphine - eyes glassed over -- but we got to push him around in a wheelchair. I was the elected chaffeur. A few years later we were in high school - sophisticated morons. I wasn't present when it happened - but apparently this same fellow had taken it upon himself to climb a gymnasium rope up to a standing platform that was probably high enough to be qualified as a second story. It was certainly higher than the basketball goals. We weren't supposed to go back there - there was a large curtain that cordoned off the area. At the time, the area was used for storing wrestling mats. I suppose he thought they were plush enough to cradle his fall. Actually, they were plush enough to break his tailbone.

I don't think he made it through senior year with us. I lost track of him after I moved down to Mexico my junior year - but whenever I would bring up his name people would ask, "Wasn't he the jackass that broke his tailbone on the wrestling mats?" Yes. Yes he was. And my side still hurts.

Update - 4/2/05 12:00PM: It is most definitely NOT a problem with the bowels. In fact - it is becoming clear that short term memory may be a partner with the culprit. On Monday evening, following a day of studies and schooling, the parental units acquired some discount furniture from that great discount curb down the street. The items were antique wooden furniture left in a home recently sold -- and the new tenant had no desire for these rather luxurious pieces. He had called goodwill on two occasions -- but was left with no choice but to leave the items at the mercy of vagrants such as ourselves.

Amazing how I am able to block out, perhaps subconsciously, significant amounts of time these days.