Sunday, April 5, 2009

The Club hand comes seperately.

Typing with a broken right hand is, to say the least, interesting and complex. I have my hand rotated at a 60 degree angle to maximize the reach of my 3 movable fingers. Bless you Thumb, pointer, and middle finger.

Maybe this is a good thing. Recently, I have found myself typing faster than I can think. This recent injury has forced me to slow down, and is forcing me to find some new level of harmony between my typing fingers. I have been typing rediculously fast since my early teenager years, and now I'm at the point where I don't even have to look at the keyboard to know where the keys are. I can type sentences while looking at something else. Except for now. Now, I feel crippled, but like every other challenge in my life, I will get over it, better, faster, stronger.

Now, you may be wondering how I got a "Boxer's Fracture." It's self inflicted, unintentionally mind you. It was the release of everything that's happened recently. That moment there was the zenith. Everything will be downhill from now, I can feel it. I just have to remember that hills have dips and plateaus...

The hand. Yes. How was it injured? How did I unintentionally break it myself? Over a handfull of people have asked me that today, and I have more or less been reinacting Heath Ledger's joker. Everytime the story is different, from actually boxing to just "being as awesome as Chuck Norris. So awesome, my hand couldn't take it anymore." What really happened though, I punched a solid metal door, and those don't give way much. In fact, they give as much as Scrooge McDuck.

So, I broke my hand, at work, around 8PM. Scrambled to find some place open that was not a hospital in the hopes for a temporary fix so I could keep working. That's me, willing to sacrifice myself for pretty much anything else. Until I took a good look at my hand and realized I had not, as originally thought, simply dislocated the finger. I go back, call in a replacement. I will send his wife flowers because I disturbed their lovely evening. I begin to drive in the general direction of where I think Parkland Hospital is. I frantically try and call my friend Josh, who's parents work at Parkland part time. No answer, just my luck. I call my dad and ask, where he tells me its at "Mockingbird and Inwood." I head in that direction. No dice. I begin to panic. My mind is only more cold and calculating when I panic luckily, so I call the first person I think of who could have near instant access to Josh, Nathan. He answers his phone almost immediately. I try and hide the fact that I can barely talk because turning the wheel of a car with a broken metacarpal bone is rather excruciating. He proceeds to tell me that Josh is as home, but he will check on AIM to see if he's available. Sure enough, I finally get in touch with Josh, and he directs me there, though I had to make the most painful U-turn in my life to do so. I walk in to the security station at 915 or so, exhausted and wishing it all would end. The security officer asks me my business in the hospital. I place my hand on the counter and say, "Well good sir, it appears as though I have broken my hand, and I am seeking a solution." He doesn't smile, or acknowledge anything, merely asks for my I.D. and gives me an emergency pass. I head towards the elevators, down sterile hallways, past beeping machines. I take an elevator down to the G level. I see the check in desk, and head over to the booth. A man looks up and asks me what's wrong. "Umm, I believe a broken hand." He begins to look up skeptically until he sees that part of my 5th metacarpal is at a 30 degree angle. "Oh! Umm, this way." He takes me down to the emergency check in, apparently I'm special. The lady behind that booth looks at me, and asks me a series of questions. I try and stay light and chipper. Then, the inevitable, "What happened?" I think I said something about punching a wall out of anger, the truth is best for this situation. I then made a joke about it, but it has since slipped my mind. She gives me a ticket, tells me to sit down and try to relax, and that someone will be with me shortly. Its probably 9:30PM when I sit down. Little did I know that I would still be at that hospital over 10 hours later...

Apologies for the split post about the same topic, I realized that I would be typing for hours if I told the whole story tonight, plus, I need my rest right now. Again, apologies.

Currently listening to... Art of Noise - Seduction of Claude Debussey. My favorite album of all time.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Catching up to speed.

Catching up to speed, something I do on a daily basis. As a delivery driver, I constantly speed up, and rarely ever slow down, only stopping to do what is required of me, then moving on. This could be a somewhat adequate metaphor for my life I guess. I seem to float through the day, living for the next, hardly thinking of the now unless I have to. But again, I must bring you, the readers, up to speed on my life.

I failed out of Purdue University last semester, after a long, and failed attempt to battle my anxiety successfully. It was difficult to say the least. The second semester I was there, I had no idea what I was dealing with, and by the time I had figured out something was very, very wrong, I was already headed for a .8 GPA. I failed every class that semester. Last semester wasn't drastically different. I didn't fit in, and never found a support net, nor a will to go to classes. I simply wasn't learning enough to keep my interest. World of Warcraft emerged, and sealed my fate. It's ok though, it was a learning lesson for me. I am not meant for large colleges. I am not meant for colleges where fraternities and sororities are a major part of campus life.

I learned that I would not be attending Purdue again this semester while on vacation in Florida, and thus began a depressive scramble to reorganize and relocate in the matter of one week, lest my things be thrown out on the curb. I immediately enrolled into community college and applied for jobs. I started to reconnect with old friends still left in Dallas and its surrounding areas. I began to work as a server and a delivery driver. I started classes around the same time as my jobs, working day and night for over a month, with no days off. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until 4 was school, every night except for tuesday was Dominos, and every day except for sunday morning and sometimes tuesday night was Applebees. It was hell.

As things began to progress, I began to aquire money like it was going out of style, which was fantastic. I paid off the 2000 dollars in debt I owed to my parents in the middle of February, with some money to spare. I paid the rent for March in advance. I had my car worked on, tuned up. On March 1st, I more or less started at square one again. I had 70 dollars to my name, and time to spare. March flew by me, fast. I ended up spending some excess money on things I shouldn't have, but I was riding high. 80 Dollars at Dave and Busters for me and my friends to hang out. 140 Dollars and dinner at Olive Garden for 7. The morning of March 31st, I had almost 800 dollars in cash, with another 200 in the bank. I did my usual for a Tuesday, sat around and did almost nothing. Went to visit my psychologist at noon. Decided to talk with my father afterwards. Forgot I was going to a concert that night. During our conversation, I decided that I would use some of my money to get a new CD player for my car, the one installed was factory default, and it had no shock resistance, something much needed for a delivery driver. I go down there, buy a middle of the road CD deck after talking with one of the customer representatives at best buy, and get it installed. It costs 200 dollars, no big deal. I get my car back around 6 PM, with the concert starting at 7, and me needing to meet up with my parents at 630. I get into the car and pop in one of my old favorite CDs, take the new system for a spin. Not half a block away, the first note of the song starts, and the bass is flat. Being a bassist, I cant stand this. I max out the lows and the sub, only to have it sound half as good as my previous CD deck. I turn around, head back, talk with the mechanics, and I decide I dont have time to mess with it that day, and that I'd come back tommorrow inbetween classes. I drive to my fathers office, we sit and talk for a bit, then head off to the concert. The first cut was amazing, and the drummer blew my mind. The show was amazing. Sensing it was nearing an end, I decided to head to the merch shop set up outside, I felt these guys deserved my 25 dollars, and I wanted a shirt. A couple was attempting to haggle over the price of a CD, and they were drunk. Really drunk. The sales guy wasnt having any of it, and was trying to be polite, but I could tell they were wearing at his nerves. They eventually moved on with their CD in tow, and when they were out of earshot, I made a quip about how I was glad I didnt drink. He laughed and we talked briefly. There was a shadowed, kinda dingy looking man sitting next to the table. He asks me how long I've listened to this kinda music, prog-jazz. I reply, "As long as I can remember." He introduces himself as Bernard Wright, a jazz musician who had played with Miles Davis and Marcus Miller. I admit, I was skeptical, but agreed to introduce him to my parents. After the show, they talk. He wants to teach me music for free, gives me his number, says he gets a good vibe from me, a spidey sense for talented kids he says. I wiki him on my dads iPhone. Sure enough, it was really him. I'm exstatic. I mention to my parents that I want to go visit my best friend Dylan, and I'll meet them at home. We begin to disembark, I head toward my car, hit the unlock, and notice it beeps several times. I make a face, open the door, and see shattered glass covering my passenger seat, the dash busted open. I slam the door shut, murmur, "I guess I'm not going to go see Dylan now." Take a deep breath, then scream 'Fuck' so loud that I'm pretty sure people 10 blocks away heard me. I clean out the glass.

They tried to take my stereo. The brand new stereo. They failed. Horrendously. My entire collection of CDs, DVDs, and bass amp were in the car. Nothing was stolen fortunately. My car was mostly inoperable. I called my General Manager, told him I wouldn't be able to make it in to work the next day. Put my car in the shop after my first class. It cost 300 dollars to fix that aspect of my car, and another 100 to fix another problem that had arisen recently. Then I realized, it was the first of the month, bills were due. I am now late on one of them.

Here I am now, the night of the 2nd of April, back at square one, broken and beaten it seems, with no money to my name.