monday was the first day in a long time that i actually felt overwhelmed at work.

...i don't like that feeling. it makes me want to instantly quit.

i am currently in warren, pennsylvania. i had to drive from baltimore up here. if you don't know these locations, it's a six hour difference. i drove about half an hour, picked up my lunch, and then drove all the way up without stopping. it was crazy.

i find that listening to stand-up comedy on the road helps a lot, because you have to pay attention to get the jokes. i listened to jerry seinfeld, aziz ansari, stephen lynch, and bo burnham.

eventually i lost 4G signal, since most of the drive is through mountains or woods, and thus little to no phone signal. normally this sucks a bit, but it sucked extra this trip, because there are no good radio stations. i put my radio on "scan" and it only stopped like three times, and they were all country stations. kill me, please.

i will end this entry with a haiku.

i'm going to bed.
at the hotel far from home,
how am i to sleep?

love,
scott

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i wrote this before my surgery.

--------------------------------

I twiddle my thumbs.

That�s all I can do at this point. Twiddle. Repeatedly. Nervously. After all, my doctor has just informed me that I don�t have any sort of life-threatening disease, or any sort of ailment that can�t be fixed with simple non-invasive surgery.

So, I twiddle my thumbs, but mostly think about what it means to �twiddle�, or how stupid that word seems, as if an odd combination between �twist� and �cuddle�. And now, it seems I can�t think of a more perfect combination of words.

I�m only half-listening to what Dr. Som is telling me; this is bad habit of mine. I don�t really care for doctors. I don�t like paying someone to tell me what�s wrong with me.

As my mind wanders to words that rhyme with twiddle, I spot a green pen on Dr. Som�s desk. I pick it up, and whirl it around my fingers, an ordinary feat of mine, but one that my doctor deems a bit extra. His eyes widen slightly, as he continues to tell me what my next steps are, and as I continue to barely listen.

It surprises me that he is even slightly impressed with me and the pen. Dr. Som is a surgeon. Perhaps it�s because of the risk I take each time I release the pen from my middle finger and let it glide and spin around my thumb. Perhaps he is not impressed at all, and is instead surprised that I would dare pick up his pen. I test this.

�Can I keep it?� I say. I don�t even want to pen. I�m more interested in whether or not this particular pen is important to him.

�Sure,� he says. He directs me to the check-out desk, and I am thankful to leave. I don�t really care for doctors, or twiddling my thumbs, or non-invasive surgery.

The attendant behind the check-out desk is typing away at her computer, and I wonder why or how she would have so much information to type based on the file I handed her. As far as I know, I only have to come back in six weeks. Is she typing every detail of my appointment? Why can�t she just click a calendar and put my name on it? Maybe she is using my obstructed view of her screen to send an email to her friends expressing her excitement over an upcoming day trip to Rehoboth beach. No, that can�t be it; that part of the east coast has been hit by a tropical storm, and it�s supposed to rain for the next week or so.

I decide she is doing exactly what she is supposed to do with my file, whatever that is. I don�t like assuming, but I can�t exactly lean over the counter and watch her every keystroke. Well, I could, but I won�t.

I place the green pen on the counter. I feel bad for taking it, considering I am not completely sure that Dr. Som indeed told me I could take it. I was barely listening.

The attendant gives the pen and I a strange look, then looks back at her screen. This doesn�t upset me, but I expected to at least not be given a strange look. I take the pen again, and hastily stuff it into the hidden pocket of my coat. That�ll show her.

�Okay, you�re all set to come back in six weeks,� she says. �We�ll see you then.� She smiles at me. I return a half-smile and a slight nod, as I turn towards the exit.

As I leave, I feel less important, passing by other patients who are just as unexcited to be visiting a doctor. The door is harder to open then it should be. I came to this realization when I first walked in. Am I growing weak, or is it really just a heavy door? I hate this place. Knowing I have to come back makes me hate it more.

I�m not going back to work today. There�s no way I would be able to sit behind a desk with this mood. Instead, I will head home. The drive is long, and my suspense for an impending minor surgery makes it longer, and hard to concentrate. I miss my exit. That�s alright.

I pull out my new green pen to sign the receipt for my take-out. I leave a generous tip. They deserve little to none, as I am carrying out my order. But, I leave them a tip anyway, in hopes that my return will bring them a little happiness. That is, if they even remember me. I�m not sure I�m memorable.

My biggest fear about eating my jasmine rice and teriyaki chicken with only a fork is that I will pierce the Styrofoam container in which it was placed, causing the sauce and juices to leak and cause a mess. I suppose I could transfer the entirety of my lunch to a bowl or plate, but I risk a spill doing this. I clean the dirty spoons while thinking about this. I also decide that I wouldn�t clean a fork if I only had a spoon, as I would take enough care as to not pierce the Styrofoam with a spoon.

I don�t like messes. I don�t like cleaning up messes.

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sometimes, i feel like i am on the outside of my family, looking in at them through a window.

...only sometimes.

we had a surprise birthday party for my dad's 60th yesterday.

"SURPRISE!" everyone shouted, as my dad walked in. he was surprised, even if he wouldn't admit it.

he was happy.

he began hugging my family to thank them for the surprise. he didn't hug me though. i don't know why.

he didn't talk to me at all. not until i left the party, hours later.

not sure why. but i was mad, and upset, for the rest of the evening. i know i didn't do anything to provoke him ignoring me. i even bought a $120 sushi platter so he would have an awesome sushi display for the party.

but i didn't even get a "thank you" for helping with the shindig. not even a "hello."

later in the night, i was standing next to my sister, and he stood between us, put his arm around my sister, and said "you really did a good job" to her. all the while, his back was turned to me.

my heart aches when stuff like that happens. it sucks.

...

*sigh*

the food was good.

love,
scott

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i thought that hurricane sandy was going to cause all of today to be extremely rainy. right now, it's not rainy or windy out. yesterday was another story.

we had a small leak in our closet. apparently the exhaust vent from the laundry room leaked, and it just so happened to do so in a manner that caused water to go right into our closet.

lame.

we have otherwise not lost power at all.

how did everyone else in the east do?

love,
scott

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I slept with a new pillow the last few nights. Rather, tried. I couldn't fall asleep until I threw it off the bed.

Anyone else run into this?

I thought that using a new, fluffy pillow would make sleeping easier, or at least keep it at the same degree of difficulty. Saturday night, I didn't fall asleep until after 3am.

I'm tired.

Love,
Scott

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Amy went on a trip recently, and she asked me to make a "nite nite tape" like Marshall makes for Lily on HIMYM. here's what i came up with.



cheers.

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