Category: Personal Reflection

9: the number of days my two fish survived. That has to be a new record for how quickly fish in my possession have perished. I ought to know better than to get fish ever again. I had them on several occasions during college and it never ended well for the fish. It should be illegal for me to take any more into my home. At least these two weren’t homicidal. They seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Yes, I’ve had homicidal fish.

Makes me wonder though, with my proficiency for killing aquatic, finned creatures, might I make a fine fisherman?

Another entirely self-serving usage of this blog: procrastination. It’s time to file our company sales taxes again. As this is my least favorite job duty (i.e. I loathe it), I tend to set it aside until I really have nothing else to do and no excuses left. Every month I file sales tax in about 10 states, every quarter it increases to 30, and with every new year, I file in a total of 37 states in which we do business. It’s tedious and time consuming and throughout the process, I carry this vague feeling that I still have no clue what I’m doing and I might be setting my company up for trouble with the IRS. My boss continues to have confidence that I’ve figured this whole sales tax thing out and as I like gainful employment, I try not to undermine that impression.

It’s the weekend! Or it will be in 7.5 hours. This weekend I am staying in Appleton. June is disappearing by way of packed weekends, chaotic weeks and so far, very little warmth. But this weekend will be different. Sunshine and 70’s are forecasted. My car will not drive further than 8 miles in any given journey. (That’s the distance to the town where my church is located.) I’ll actually make it back to the gym now that my foot feels better. Tomorrow night I will chill at the minor league baseball game, assuming rain doesn’t ruin those plans. Any necessary preparation for the six week Bible study I begin leading on Monday will get done. Who knows, maybe I’ll even dust off my notepad and start chapter four of The Mercy Hour. My pen and paper ought to be taken into protective custody for how shamefully I’ve neglected them of late.

Alright, but first I have to trudge through these taxes. Copper Boom!

Song #1 in my head:
Oh simple thing where have you gone/I’m getting old and I need something to rely on/So tell me when/You’re gonna let me in/I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin/And if you have a minute why don’t we go/Talk about it somewhere only we know?/This could be the end of everything/So why don’t we go/Somewhere only we know?

Song #2:
If you could be in my life like you’ve been on my mind/It’d be so easy/Hello, it’s me again/It’s three days now that you’ve been in my dreams/And I don’t know, I guess you’ve just been on my mind/I don’t know, I guess I think about you all the time

Song #3:
‘Cause you and I both loved/What you and I spoke of/And others just read of/Others only read of the love/Oh the love that I love

That’s right, it’s a trifecta of good music rolling around in the empty spaces. Keane, Schuyler Fisk, Jason Mraz; not a bad mental mix tape.

My coworker has officially blamed me for the Brewers’ terrible performances in their last two games. I didn’t know I had such powers from my seat on the living room sofa. Personally, I place the burden on the shoulders of those fellows masquerading as pitchers: Suppan and Parra, and on the less than wise lineup on Monday night. But if I have to take some of the heat on their behalf, so be it. Have to stand by the team.

One of the lights recessed in the ceiling tiles above the reception desk is blinking at annoying intervals. Nothing adds to the office ambience like a flickering flourescent bulb.

Do you know what sounds ideal to me right now? An outdoor movie and an ice cream sundae. What do you think my odds are of experiencing that in the near future? Maybe “Singin’ in the Rain” shown on the side of an old brick building, or the original “Superman” playing at the local drive-in, or “The Natural” on a canvas screen in a park. Yep, I’d be glad for any of those options. Just don’t forget the ice cream.

Hopscotch makes me think of Saginaw, charter buses, Mike Chenier, sleeping bags on the hard-as-rock cafeteria floor, falling asleep to the recitation of the rosary. Every steep ravine I pass while hiking in Wisconsin transports me for a fleeting moment to freshman year at Grand Valley State, my window seat beside the trees, nighttime excursions across the crunching leaves that carpeted the ravines. Narrow creeks running beneath roads and cutting through fields take me home. Watching an episode of Gilmore Girls, I might as well be back in the apartment in Steubenville, pretending to work on Methods homework with Sue and Michelle, leaving late to walk to my job at the campus library.

There are a few approaching events that have me thinking on the past. They signify the amount of time that has passed, the ways our lives have changed… Except these road markers leave me feeling behind. Not left behind, for that could imply that others are at fault, but simply behind. The sense of missing a turn somewhere along the route from past to present is my familiar companion. When I get this way, reminiscing and thinking how nice it’d be to see the faces and places I treasure from the past, I am not wishing to return to the past. I don’t want to go back. I want to reach another place, another stage or situation, which in 5 or 10 years will give me reason to again feel this nostalgia. What it comes down to is my own road markers – sparse in number, small in meaning. If I ever do have a wish to go back, it is only to repave the road since.