Canceled...

Hey, kids.

Tonight I canceled plans.  Friday night was work.  Saturday day was busy running around.  Saturday night was work.  Sunday I had lunch with my mom and raced home for volleyball, then went out to eat.  Monday I had a friend in from out of town, and we caught up over PS4 (The Witness, Salt and Sanctuary, Jackbox Party Pack, and Chariot).  He crashed here that night and we hung out again in the morning.  Then I left for work.  And this morning I raced off to an early shift and came home with plans to go play Pandemic Legacy (we're in November and LOVING IT) with some friends.

They were both feeling sort of icky and had some other things pulling their attention away, so I decided to reschedule for Sunday.  My room was a wreck and it was stressing me out.  I hadn't had any down time in almost a week.  And I was just ready for some quiet time with no obligations.  Some time when I didn't have to be "on."

I filed my Illinois taxes, finally.  I owed $144.  Fuck this state.  But I only pouted for about 15 minutes before I decided that I can't do anything about it, paid my bill, and moved on.  And the night was restful.  And fun.

Would I have had fun setting up and blazing through another night of stopping disease from spreading across the globe?  Sure!  Would I have enjoyed going out to shop for new black pants for work?  Maybe.  Would I have liked to go spend my 20% off birthday coupon at Game Stop?  Well, had I not spent $144 on nothing, yes.  But I decided to stay home and recharge.  Leftovers and shitty ghost tv.  And cleaning.  And cuddling the cat.  And getting bitten by said cat.

And it was glorious.  It has left me recharged for tomorrow and in better shape to take on the world when we get together for games on Sunday.

Cancel plans.  Treat yourself right.  Because you can't pour anything out of an empty glass.

OUT

Shirley Jackson Ain't Got Nothin' on Me...

The time has come to talk about the lottery.

In my job, I sell hundreds of dollars in lottery tickets every day.  Everyone wants to be a winner.  Even scarier, everyone EXPECTS to be a winner.  Some people even get mad when they lose, as if the universe owed them a payout for past trauma.

I've had two jobs where I sold lotto, and in both of them, I've noticed serious baggage about luck.  When I was 17 I worked at the BP gas station in a nearby small town.  I was hired to stock the cooler.  I spent four hours a day organizing pallets and making sure the beer was cold and the gatorade was in order.  I felt super important.  And after a few months of that, I began working the register.

The first time I ever walked away from a transaction it involved lotto.  We had a guy who came in and got multiple quick picks on separate tickets.  For those not in-the-know, quick picks let the machine pick numbers for you.  They're random, or so the lotto people say.  But we'll get to conspiracy theories in a moment.  So this guy is convinced that in order for him to win, you have to dole out the quick picks in a specific rhythm.  No, I'm not joking.  I still remember him shouting, "Hit.  Hit.  Hit hit hit.  Hit."  And I was terrified and confused and he was getting frustrated and I just threw my hands up and said, "Look.  I'm done with you."  He learned not to pressure me after that.  In fact, he stopped trying that strategy altogether.

Strategy.  Let me tell you something.  For every person who plays lotto, there's a different strategy.

I once had an African-American man shunt me aside and say, "This ain't for you!"  Then he proceeded to tell my African-American coworker his lotto secrets.  You have to play pick three.  You have to play it dollar straight.  Dollar box.  Separate tickets.  Straight means that if the three numbers hit in the order in which you picked them, you win.  Box means if they come up in any order you win.  The payout is smaller, but you still win.  And he was convinced that it was, as he said, "a black-folk secret."

And it's something I've noticed is actually a fairly consistent way that African-American players buy tickets.  White people buy StraightBox, which is if it hits in either way, you get a payout.  It's smaller still than box play.

But everyone plays scratch off tickets differently.

Oh my gosh.  Do they.

One person wants all the first tickets off the rolls of instant lotto tickets.  One person swears the first ticket is never a winner.

One only buys even numbered tickets.  One buys exclusively odd numbered tickets.  Swears they are luckier.  And if they're in an odd numbered slot in my lotto rack, they're even luckier.

DESPITE THE FACT THAT THE CONTENTS OF THE TICKET ARE THE SAME NO MATTER WHERE IT IS.

Or when it is.  A guy comes in and buys only tickets that are the same number as the calendar day.  I asked him once, "So yesterday you wouldn't have bought this ticket?  Despite the fact that its the same ticket it was yesterday?"  And he looked at my like I was the stupid one.  "You don't understand how this works," he said.

Ummm.  Okay.

Some people ask about what number every ticket is on.  Then they get offended if you ask what they are looking for.

They won't buy tickets from an cashier but me because I bring them luck.  Despite the fact that they pick the tickets.  And if they lose?  It's my fault.  I don't ever sell them winners.  They won't scratch them at the counter, only in the car.  They won't leave without scratching them at the counter.  They only buy two at a time.  They only buy one.  They play the $30 tickets because that's the only way to win.  They don't spend more than a dollar because that's how you come out ahead.

They swear their grandpa played the same way and won all the time.  Or their aunt.  Or sister.  Or whatever.  And then they mock other strategies.  As if they've got this all figured out.  Because OF COURSE.  They're clearly swimming in money.

Because it's not random.  How could it be random?  They scoff when you say it's random.  Randomness is the enemy of having it ALL FIGURED OUT.  They all do.  It's a science.  Clearly.

I'm not against lotto.  I don't think it's a scam or a conspiracy or it's rigged.  One guy tried to tell me the nightly drawings with the balls in the air machine were fake, since it couldn't blow them around AND pick one at random.  PHYSICS.  AIR MOVEMENT.  But randomness is RANDOM.  You can't outwit it.  You can't outsmart it.  Science has been trying for a very long time.  And if someone had it figured out, don't you think that lotto as an institution would be over?

Or that lotto would send out their assassins to stop your lifetime payout?  Because you know they have them, right?  They must.  How else would they keep the secrets?  Why else would people be so scared to talk about their strategies?

In that case, I sincerely hope they don't win.  For their sake.

OUT

Cards for Sorrow; Cards for Pain...

So today I saw a Tarot spread (Instagram - BrooklynTarot) depicting the presidential candidates and what they stand for.  It was spooky how accurate it was.  All the cards in the spread were inverted, except Bernie Sanders.  He was depicted as the King of Cups, a major force of healing and good.  Hillary was depicted as the Four of Swords, inverted, which is about entering a period of rest, of recuperation, and I've been saying for a while that she would be a sort of status quo placeholder until we were ready to accept the change and healing that Bernie Sanders offers.

I don't normally talk about politics.  I try to keep those opinions to myself.  They separate people and drive wedges where there need be no wedges.  I feel about it the same way I feel about religion.  If you want to talk about it, I'm game, but I'm not going to bring it up.  Everyone is entitled to their own private beliefs.

I just thought that this particular spread was super interesting.  And right now I care about the presidential race as a sort of turning point for this country.  Before it was like, "Oh, great.  Someone who will keep making progress toward a more equal future."  And this race seems to be, "Oh, great.  This is a watershed moment for our country, and a ton is at stake."  While I don't consider myself to be a great patriot, I live here.  I do care about how we are perceived by the rest of the world.  A man like Trump in the white house would be a huge mistake.  Someone who is well-recorded as being a bully and a bigot, a hater of women and minorities, and a general, all-around asshole is not going to do our country any favors.

Bernie Sanders has beliefs.  He speaks out about what he believes and the direction he would like to see this country take.  He isn't slinging mud and deflecting criticism in a personal manner like others are.  It's refreshing to see someone NOT telling you why you shouldn't vote for the other guy and instead telling you why you should vote for them.

This card reading is just symbols on paper.  And it probably largely reflects the opinions and energies of the person who drew these cards.  I'd love to see this spread done by a Trump supporter.  Are there Republican Tarot readers?  But I find it interesting that these symbols on paper seem to speak to just exactly what I've thought in my core about these three people and the future of our country as a whole.

Maybe I'll give my cards a turn in the future and see what they have to tell me about all of this mess.  If I do, I'll be happy to share the results with you all.

Also, and this is completely self-serving, if you want a reading on a personal matter--whether that be money or relationships or career or whatever--I'd be happy to do it.  I need to hone my reading skills on people who aren't me.

OUT

Down to the Wire..

I wasn't sure I'd get to put a blog post in today.

I was away all day and only now got a chance to sit down, only to find that our internet was out.  And after reseting the router and fighting with my computer, during which I reached the point of considering how much it would cost to replace my laptop if I punched a hole in the monitor, it came back.  Finally.

So this is gonna be rushed.

But here's the breakdown:

Coffee and half a jelly donut at home.  An Arnold Palmer on the road to Mom's for lunch.  Deviled eggs, wine, shrimp, and more wine there.  Then ham and homemade scalloped potatoes, corn, milk, more wine, cake, and key lime pie.  Also ice cream.  A handful of Easter candy.  A cup of coffee.

Then nothing til after volleyball.  Robb plays in a Sunday league.  I don't do team sports.  Have we been over this before?  Well, I just don't.  So I'm their prime cheerleader.

Then Culver's cheese curds and a chocolate malt.  And a single bite of a burger Heather ordered, which I wanted to taste.

Oof.  I'm full.  And feeling awful.  It might have been close to a 10,000 calorie day.  Maybe not.  And I wonder why I'm getting a little belly.

OUT

Ideal Situation...

Do you guys think life would be easier if we didn't have the ability to imagine a better life?

All the discontent we feel in life would likely disappear, wouldn't it?  But would that mean that the advances we've made in sciences and technology, health and human rights, exploration and economy, would all never have happened?

I imagine that without imagining an ideal situation, we'd finally find contentment.

I was recently asked about what happiness would look like to me.  And the closest thing I could come up with to happiness would be contentment with where I am in life.  People talk about living in the now, about how where you are right now is where you're supposed to be.  But is it?  If I'm content with where I am, doesn't that mean I have no ambition to move beyond it?  Maybe I am content.  Maybe that's the problem.

Or maybe these things aren't mutually exclusive.

I suppose the qualifier "for now" is useful.  Like that song from Avenue Q.  "Except for death and paying taxes everything in life is only for now."

"Each time you smile, it'll only last a while.  Life may be scary, but it's only temporary."

So where I am is good for now.  But how long is that?  Until it isn't?  And how do we know what that is?  Currently my job is paying my bills with enough left over for a little fun money.  I hate the work. I don't feel fulfilled.  Every day I want to backhand some entitled, arrogant, middle-aged, white lady.  You're arguing with me over what amounts to less than a dollar.  Why do you care so deeply?  Why do I?

I think I need my back waxed.  Not for hair, because that's not an issue.  To make me more like a duck.  That shit would just slide right off of my shoulders instead of causing me hours of rage, like a white hot ball of magma in my chest.  My brain goes straight to revenge.  To outlandish situations in which I could exact my petty payback.  Bitch gonna cross me?  I'll let all the air out of your tires.  I'll surround your car in carts.  I'll refuse to wait on you the next time you come in, claiming technical difficulties and making you wait in line again.

Sorry...got talking about work and lost my train of thought.  Where was I?

Right.  Ideal situation.  The fact remains that we can and do think about how things could be better.  Constantly.  What would that ideal situation look like to me?  I told someone today that I'd love to get paid to read Tarot cards.  I'd love to get paid to write.  I'd love to get paid to do as little as humanly possible, but I'd settle for something fulfilling.

I honestly don't hate my job, despite what I said about 200 words ago.  The work is easy.  It's the expectations and the social conflict that I hate.  I find myself dreaming about a nice, quiet desk job.  Something white with cubical walls.  Maybe a phone ringing occasionally.  Papers shuffling.  Sterile and soothing.  No customers.

Is that my ideal?  Not exactly.  Would it be an improvement?  I don't know.  I've been serving customers for twelve years.  I imagine, despite the everyday drama, that I might miss it.

But I certainly don't think the situation in which I'm doing it is ideal.

OUT

Vamping...

I'm already being overly critical of this endeavor, and I haven't even started yet.

I've second guessed today's post several times.  I've typed the start of six different posts and deleted them all.  This is typical of a new project for me.  It's like staring at a blank sheet of paper and wondering what to draw.  I don't want to screw up this beautiful, untouched plane of possibility, but I know I'm going to have to.  So I start with one line.

And then I get distracted by my phone or the stereo or the cat who is CURRENTLY PAWING AT MY LEG AND MEOWING PITEOUSLY EVEN THOUGH I JUST FUCKING FED HIM!  *ahem*

Anywho.

Hiya!  So here we both are.  You sitting wherever it is you're sitting.  Maybe you're standing.  Perhaps you're leaning in a nook at your job when you should be working, stealing a few moments to look at this.  Get to work, slacker.  You're literally being paid right now to read my words, and none of that money is coming my way.  Find me when you're on your break.

But you're here.  And I'm here.  And time is funny because I'm writing this when you couldn't possibly be reading this, but I'm pretending you and I are here right now.  Together.  Like we're sitting at a table separated by a cup of coffee and an ugly centerpiece advertising this place's new mocha bullshit they clearly ripped right off from Starbucks, and I'm just talking and talking like a terrible date where you don't get to say anything til the end.

But really I don't say anything at all of substance because I'm vamping for the next big idea to take the stage.  And isn't that what a lot of writing is?  Haven't got my gun loaded yet, so I'm going to ask you what your diabolical plan is to distract you from what I'm doing.  And then...when you triumphantly cackle--BANG!  And I'm the hero.

Or at least the guy who shot first.

So here's how it's gonna be.  I'm gonna hit you with some talk about my board game collection.  I'll talk to you about Tarot cards and what my experience with them has been.  I'll probably tell you about my cat.  About my pretend farm.  About what I'm excited for in the future.  About my plans for the year.  About uniform changes and strange customers.  About dinner.  And maybe we'll come together on some truth.  Maybe across this table of mixed metaphors we'll actually find something in common and you'll come back for a second date.

Thirty dates is a lot of dates.  Maybe we should just bang and get it over with.

OUT

A Month of Blogs...

Hey, kids.  I'm planning on hitting it hard in April and actually posting some blog posts.  We'll see.  My writing group suggested we do a novella-length challenge in the month of April--sort of a mini-NaNoWriMo.  500 words a day.  I'm not exactly a wellspring of novella-length ideas, so I opted out.  But to be in the spirit of writing and creating this month, I plan on posting a blog post every day.  That's 30 posts.

Are they all going to be 500 words?  Jesus...no.  I don't have 500 words to say about much of anything lately.  Could some of them be?  Sure.  It's possible.

What do I plan to write about?  Hell if I know.  I thought about finding one of those awful blog post topic lists.  You know, like, first kiss, favorite movie, last time you killed a man with your bare hands--that sort of thing.  But eh.  I haven't seen anything I think is interesting, so I'll probably talk about what's going on in my life.  Board games.  Tarot.  Video games.  Job woes.  You know...the usual.

Or maybe I'll forget I set this out for myself and get halfway through the month without putting a word out there, then collapse in shame.

Don't put your money on a horse just yet.  I'm feeling like this might be a thing.

And contrary to my motto (It's not a thing; don't make it a thing. (Yes, my motto has a semicolon in it.  Deal with it.)), maybe I'll make it a thing.

Out