waiting to clock in.
I’m having a few problems with low-light HDR imaging. I like the concept. The building isn’t…ugly. The problem seems to be the photographer. I’m not pleased with the shadows on the statue and the ghosting on some of the foliage. Would have liked to keep the sky, but go darker on the grass. It’s funny. This is a shot with faked HDR processing:
looks better, huh? discouraging. đŚ
Jim called me last night for a ride. After posting about the cigarette thing, I talked to my IRL buddy, Scott. I also played around between my ears, thinking a little harder about Jim than I have been. I am almost positive he lies a little, and he has a couple of behavioral thingies that stand out. I have some questions about the disability/ physical address issue, and a lot of details in general are sorta foggy. I plan to start paying more strict attention (I mentioned Jim to a guy in my small group about a month ago, but my attendance is spotty when class is in session, and nothing has come of it). Over a few more run-ins, I may develop a little more clarity, about Jimâs life.
So, I drive out to meet Jim, and itâs dark. There is about a half a mile stretch of bad neighborhood that is one of three likely parts of town for Jim to request a rendezvous.
The last time I was here I had the chance to (thereâs a whole post in here, but jeez, Iâm wore out!) buy some crack. I think it was the eye contact (note to self⌠donât be eyeballinâ the crack man!). I meant to speak to Jim about some other options. Evidently I dropped the ball. Jim is nowhere in sight. Damn. I turn around, and make another pass. Iâm getting a little grumpyâŚdonât forget, Iâve been on steroids for a week and I donât have my glasses.
OK, I wanna mention a few things:
I canât believe I didnât get a chance to buy some crack, this time. I was plenty stressed when I finally spotted Jim through the gloom. I swung in, he threw his bike in the van, and we split. I was still riding the warm fuzzy feeling from Jimâs earlier generosity and I had gotten paid for a small job. I wanted to hook him up, so we Taco Belled and got some smokes, and I gave him a little cash. When I let him out, I may have still been a little agitated. I was agonizing about the whole shower thing and suddenly rediscovered my testicles. I decided to offer him a shower.
He told me he was nervous, no thank you
It was uncomfortable. He probably thinks Iâm a homelessguyophile (that’s sorta funny, to me…but I’m strange). I have decided regardless, to have greater intentionality trying to impact this guyâs life in a good way.
Oh, and I told him I blogged about himâŚthat was bothering me.
I’m beginning to suspect my Girlfriend has a better eye, steadier hands, and more of that mysterious photographer thing, than I do.
But it’s still MY camera :).
I had a “snap out of it” experience after a few weeks of being really overwhelmed with domestic catchup, and a dwindling bank account. The school year was approaching, and my ability to generate income is cut by 80% when class is in session. I was stressing exponentially, and this was aggravated by nicotine withdrawal.
The clincher was returning from a camping trip to find a a hundred + pounds of rotten meat in my freezer. Shit. That costs money.(Did you know “Shit” was in the Bible? I told my ex-wife’s daughter one time not exclaim “Jesus Christ” but rather to exclaim “Shit”, because if Saint Paul can say it, we all can. There was stunned silence and long eye contact as she searched my face for evidence I was… Shitting her. LOL. Now, this didn’t bring about a drastic change in her vocabulary, but she started to read her Bible…)
Oops. There went my attention span.
Anyway, I recruited Debbie’s grandson, and we hauled my garbage can to the place where all the trucks go… which was a big hit, BTW.
I had to do this. The inexperienced victim would be amazed at how much of their neighborhood is blanketed with the stench of corruption when a hundred pounds of rotting flesh is pushed out to the curb. If I left it there, one of little old ladies that surround me was gonna commit arson. Small girls waiting for the bus would vomit. I had to do something, and I was afraid to go alone. My right hand man Colin, made it clear that he was there for me. I didn’t have to deal with this by myself. He was impressed with the effluvia permeating my property. In all of his four-and- a half years, He’d never come across anything like this, and he is an accomplished adventurer.
He always loves to help me “Do a JOB!, Chris” , so we rose to the occasion and handled it like the virile, standard-setting pictures of masculinity that we are, hooking up the trailer and hauling our cargo down to Transwaste where it belonged. Watching my role-model break the heart of the receptionist was so uplifting, I was reluctant to leave his company, and afterward asked if he could help me cut grandma’s grass. The answer a man like Colin gives to such a request goes without saying, and after a day of such hard work, we needed to play just as hard to blow off our steam. Drinking was out of the question. Colin is a Man’s Man in all other ways, but he simply can’t hold his espresso, and I fear the wrath of Grandma. What to do? Colin and I are like barely domesticated wolves, breathtakingly handsome and friendly, but wild at heart and dangerous. Unable to come up with a better idea, we got in the van and began to wander in a southeasterly direction, with the merciless Georgia sun setting behind us, not knowing what we sought.
Great minds think alike, and we both saw the fire station at the same time…OH, YEAH! As soon as we approached, those boys recognized our kindred spirits. They could sense our deep respect for the legendary bravery of their fellowship, and the hospitality they showed to two dirty, smelly, vagabond princes is a permanent notch in the belt of honor shared by emergency responders all over the world.
Fireman Mike rolled out the red carpet, showed us all their stuff,
and even went so far as to induct Colin into the ranks of his brave brothers and sisters, presenting him with the prized talisman, a Red Helmet! (I felt a twinge of envy). Probably nothing was gonna top this, at least this evening, so we said our goodbyes, and returned to our home territory. I dropped Colin off and limped home, nursing an arthritic hip, eager to upload my pictures before bed.
Do they always give you more antibiotics than they do pain pills? I have a tooth that has been killing me since thursday night, and I took the last two Darvosets about twenty hours ago. I actually had to take my GMC 100 final slightly stoned on opiates… I’ll post my score when I get it.
The Tooth Thing, and anything like it, makes me aware (painfuly, lol) that I am one of the uninsured. When this comes up, It’s always with mixed feelings.
At 41, I am just beginning to experience medical conditions that would benefit from ongoing management by an actual doctor. So, hand in hand with my self-pity (just a little) I keep the background awareness of millions of people with immediate life-and-death health issues that make my own pale in comparison. But my tooth still hurts. affecting my eating, sleeping, and performance. I wonder how much awareness, on a national level is shunted aside, how much action is not taken, because my “tooth still hurts”, because I’m “limping away from the wreckage of my divorce”, because the “grief over the unexpected passing of my Father still colors my life”…Â
Do they always give you more antibiotics than they do pain pills? I have a tooth that has been killing me since thursday night, and I took the last two Darvosets about twenty hours ago. I actually had to take my GMC 100 final slightly stoned on opiates… I’ll post my score when I get it.
The Tooth Thing, and anything like it, makes me aware (painfuly, lol) that I am one of the uninsured. When this comes up, It’s always with mixed feelings.
At 41, I am just beginning to experience medical conditions that would benefit from ongoing management by an actual doctor. So, hand in hand with my self-pity (just a little) I keep the background awareness of millions of people with immediate life-and-death health issues that make my own pale in comparison. But my tooth still hurts. affecting my eating, sleeping, and performance. I wonder how much awareness, on a national level is shunted aside, how much action is not taken, because my “tooth still hurts”, because I’m “limping away from the wreckage of my divorce”, because the “grief over the unexpected passing of my Father still colors my life”…
though I still dont sleep well. I went to the men’s breakfast, showed my ass a little, and may possibly have convinced some of them that I am a heretic. Feel in the mood to actually write something today, but I gotta go to work.
I am so glad this week is over. I felt a constant strain, a pressure to do and speak in a way that would honor my father. In the midst of it, as divorce came over the horizon, the situation with my wife was so confusing, her compassion, and the knowledge that the love one rightfully expects from a spouse was absent, were a source of an explosive cocktail of emotion. I was never comfortable enough to concentrate on my grief. Understanding, rage, disappointment, and bitterness were exhausting me, even now I would do almost anything to be free of them, if only for a little while. Every time she tells me to let her know if I need anything it breaks my heart.
YOU MUST VIEW IT LARGE TO READ IT
the moisture in an air-conditioned funeral home was condensing on his head. this was because he was not embalmed. My father’s wife asked them to hold off on the cremation so that my sister could see him one last time.
A couple of years ago, a man co-ordinating a retreat asked me to teach on the study of scripture. He said the Holy Spirit directed his request. I was sick with anxiety. I had never before felt humbled and greatly honored simultaneously. While researching, I stumbled across another author quoting Philip Yancy’s Disappointment With God:
When It became clear that I was getting a divorce, I purchased the book and read it in it’s entirety. In my emotoinally raw state, Phillip’s writing struck me powerfully. Possibly a week or ten days after I completed it, I found myself reeling from the death of my father. At this time it feels as though I read it years ago.The divorce papers sit in a kitchen cabinet in my new, beautiful, empty house, unsigned. My to do list has been put on hold, at least until tuesday. Since the tornadoes passed through the Macon state campus, I’m told that this semester will not begin on time. Last month, I could look back on the last six or seven years, and God’s hand on my life seemed undeniable. My sight grows dim, My dreams are a joke, and I wonder if I deceived myself. I have journals going back to a time when I wrote prayers to a God whose name I did not know, I know If I could bring myself to read through them, I could trace my path as my Savior drew me to Him, and taught me his name. My faith is in shreds, I am suspicious even when comforted. Seven years Papa. 10 percent of my life. I have followed you, as best I could. My anger grows, I am surprised and fear you. I’m sorry. I have never been more aware of the gulf between souls. I know many suffer greater pain than this. I am so tired in the deepest part of me I yearn for rest. Reassure me of your love. Tell me again that this matters to you.
He died. It is likely that after 16 minutes of CPR he would have not been himself if he had recovered. It is hard to sort through my feelings. There is bitter disappointment, lonliness, an inarticulate longing for closeness and love. It is strange. I am loved much, and greatly, by many people, but my inner emptiness resounds within my soul…ebbs and flows, retreating when I feel like another moment would be my undoing. I find another hour has passed. I was a failure as a son and as a man for much of our relationship, but by God’s Grace, a bridge had been rebuilt and my father knew many of my regrets, and freely forgave me.
I harbor no resentment at the Ancient Of Days, He administers the universe as he sees fit, and some time ago I surrendered, and said “let Him do to me as seems good to Him”. I may complain, question, even wallow in childish petulance, but I know I have no where else to turn. When things were inconvenient, and difficult to understand Peter said “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life”
The mystical prescence of the holy spirit is supposed to lead me to understanding,and knowledge? love builds up but knowledge puffs up? Where do denial and delusions of grandeur fit into the picture, and how do I distinguish them from faith? It seems there is a difference between faith of the heart and faith in action, though to be sure either can stimulate the other. Papa, men who witnessed the raising of the dead and heard your audible voice abandoned your son, and even apostolic power was no cure for hypocrisy. What hope is there for me? and why is this life considered by so many to be a vital leg in the process of conformity to Christ when all observation shows us that the human resemblance to Christ’s Character is fleeting and infinitesimal? Or is it? lol. we see things that we admire in others often and your word teaches us that our own righteousness is laughable to you. perhaps the perspective to have is a (as far as humanly possible) constant awareness of the need for repentance and and a grateful acceptance of the perpetually renewed clean slate? How many questions is too many? Is there no end to your paradox?
If you want us to know you, could you have not made us smarter?
I Thirst 