There are trials which require mental preparation to both excel and survive. Preparations which under the cloak of ordinary would simply come across as overbearing or annoying, but in specific situations make us stronger and more effective.

Hopefully my partner’s mental preparations will dissipate soon, so I don’t continue to feel like I’m trapped in a junior high classroom replete with hormones, social anxiety sitting beside the ‘know it all” kid trying not to get caught rolling my eyes.

The Better Half has spent all of April and part of May training. In the long run, this will be beneficial for his career, and by default us. As for the short run, there was an enormous amount of pressure. Long hours, mostly away from home, and much studying when he was here.

I feel out of line, asking him to clean out the gutters when he’s blowing off steam for an hour playing computer games. But, there is the unfortunate truth that even if he weren’t under job stress, he would still be playing computer games, neglecting household tasks. Some things don’t change, only the excuses we provide for them.

One of the side effects of his training is the constant sharing of the information he is required to memorize in painstaking detail. His job is interesting to me, the complex machinery is fascinating, and I’m just dull enough as human being that I am intrigued by how things work. However, there is a limit to the amount of detail I care to listen to. I retain information in the abstract sense, studying the concept to see if I can apply it to another situation, the vocabulary, and etymological history is completely unnecessary provided I’m not forced to submit to a quiz.

He recalls the systems in painstaking detail because that is what is required of him, and because repeating it verbatim helps to reinforce it in his mind. I’m uncertain if he is relaying it to me to improve his retention, or if he is pounding his fists to his chest to establish his intellectual superiority. I’ll concede to the former, but only by also noting if the roles were reversed I seriously doubt he would listen to what I am saying, much feign interest.

Rather than subvert the educational process, I’ve elected to be as complicit as possible and censor myself rather than contribute additional stress to the process. As a result, I’ve feeling as if actual communication is too much of a chore, and not just with him, but most of the people in my daily life.

I’m not sure if that says more about me, him, them, or the desire to become invisible.

I wonder how many marriages have disintegrated because of dirty clothes piled on the floor or an automobile that was denied regular oil changes.

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Working indoors when the weather starts improving, sucks.

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How stark is the contrast of the way other’s view us when compared to the way we view ourselves?

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Why congress is permitted to dictate the laws of the land when they are currently exhibiting all the professionalism of kindergartners.

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Is are ability to like others swayed by whether are not we can influence their behaviors which we don not like.

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How many friendships are dictated by convenience? Geography?

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I want oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips and dried cranberries.

Somewhere in Georgia there is a classroom of kindergartners who believe I unequivocally suck. It’s not as if any of them have met me, could pick me out of a police line-up or recognize my profile on a dating website (which I don’t have). You would think they would base such harsh assessments on a little face time, but alas no, their destiny is to live this year vicariously through their fearless leader. My sibling. Their teacher.

My sister and I communicate through intricately woven sarcasm laced in the trappings of not so subtle profanity. I can’t think of anyone who has called me Bitch face to face as many times as she. But, for her it is an expression of sisterly love, rather than the acceptable implication of a female, dog, wolf or otter, or the more familiar derogatory descriptor of a malicious woman. I can pass for the later, but not the otter.

Though we haven’t shared a bathroom in twenty years, we still spend excessive amounts of time behaving like juveniles and hazing one another uncontrollably. Sometimes with venom, other times with love but our commitment to constantly annoy is stronger than most oaths of office or vows of celibacy.

Once a long drawn out affair involving endless messages and inappropriate birthday gifts, we’ve resorted to brevity being she’s employed and trying to raise a family and stuff, and I’m too lazy to orchestrate the elaborate ruses when simple ones suffice.

So text messaging and picture mail it is. It’s amazing how caustic you can be when your too cheap to buy vowels. I’ve tried to evolve in a kinder, gentler me refraining from frat boy humor that dominated our youth, and instead to tried share genuine moments of joy from my life like this:

this:

or this:

But the joy of life’s little moments escape the sensibility of an esteemed member of the educational community charged with seeing that our nations youth are corrupted as little as possible. In her classroom, pictures of fresh baked muffins are the technological equivalent of shaving your initials into the fur of your neighbor’s pedigreed golden retriever, and then crapping on his doorstep.

So maybe, just maybe, she wears her heart on her sleeve just a wee bit in the classroom, but who wouldn’t when faced with a diet coke and a school lunch tray. It’s no wonder the Dick and Jane posse think I suck, because kids instinctively know that teasing is just mean. Nonetheless they manage to grow up somewhat adjusted and quickly adaptable to the unappreciated artform that is behaving like a dick, or better yet setting up others to do their dirty work for them.

I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions. If changes are necessary to be more fulfilled, I shouldn’t be so blasé as to submit to ritualistic peer pressure and publicly vow to improve life once a year. What good is existing, if I restrict myself from adapting as necessary, except for one day a year when I stay up past my bed time under the guise of celebrating the advent of a new scientific billing cycle which professes with the aid of rose colored glasses to be nothing like the previous 365 day billing cycle?

The reality is I should make the effort to change slightly every day rather than save it all up for the abysmal failure that is public proclamation after consuming one too many Patr*n cosmos. As for anyone who wishes to challenge themselves to change from January 1, I am there for you. Seriously. I’ll buy a cocktail and encourage you through the rough times, or bring you cookies, if your trying one of those radical twelve step thingies. If you’re committed to going back to school, I will cheer you through finals. If your searching for your long lost birth parents, I will exhaust all possibilities combing through public records and googling. My support knows few boundaries. Except maybe joining a gym. I prefer not to think of it as a boundary and more of a pothole. A pothole I’d rather avoid than drive through.

I’ll be more than happy to stand next to the treadmill and cheer you on as you reach your target heart rate. I’ll even tell you how puffy your arms are after you lift weights, but the problem is it tends to appear creepy fellow patrons the staff out when people like me are standing around with a megaphone and not actually sweating, since drinking coffee doesn’t usually elevate your heart rate.

I think gyms are great….just not for me. All that shiny equipment you can borrow, that sense of commitment carefully enveloped in purpose, and eventually sprinkled with healthier eating, more energy, and some really hideous exercise attire. It’s the perfect ensemble, like a marriage with motivation, desire, and endorphins. The problem…I’m just not that into it.

There can be a fine line between a routine that drives us forward and brings us purpose and one that bores us in all its monotony after the third month of engaging in physical relations on the same evening of the week after the same mediocre television series in the same position. While it true, we do need moments that are almost sure things to look anticipate, we also need enough flexibility to maximize the potential of each available moment.

Rather than relate all the tediousness of what has become current routine, I’ll just say, I found a rhythm that is working…you know for the moment…or until it ceases to work. Such is everything. Life wouldn’t be what it is if we were denied opportunities to adapt.

When things go well, I am tight lipped, and when things go poorly, I am also tight lipped. Sans the complaining. I’m not sure why I bother. In general, I expect things to go poorly, and when things go well, I am suspicious. I suppose complaining is my way of gloating about knowing things wouldn’t go well to begin with. Nothing like congratulating yourself on being right about shitty things, eh?

Anywho.

I function with a minimal sense of routine. Though there is a dullness in repetition, there is also, knowing there is time set aside for creative interests. I have difficulty setting aside time to do things I enjoy, if there are other tasks or responsibilities that need to be done. My Better Half suffers from the opposite affliction, and I envy him for it.