August 10th, 2007


Cranky (rambling, w/ potential TMI)

I'm being quiet. I'm also (as I've told octoberland) "in a weird headspace right now." I'm also also afflicted with stubborn rashes, a large one on my left arm and a small one in the crook of my right arm, that's lingered since Sunday. (I think I got it at the winery Saturday, during the wedding.) I need to get it looked at. And I need to work. At an office that I'm increasingly reacting badly to.

I'm really low on energy at the moment, and I'm sore and cranky, and I have loads to do.

So I'm less than sunny right now. I apologize to my friends. (I don't want to apologize to the people I don't like, but I like all of you who can read this...)

I don't want to rant too much about work, which is a big source of my issues right now, but I'm using the words "neurotic" and "toxic" to describe my office right now. Bad sign.

And I got my first "corrective counseling" yesterday, over substandard work by me. First warning ever on this job, over two-and-a-half years into it.

I need to do better.

I feel I have no incentive to do better.

I don't like being like this. I don't like being substandard. I don't like having not-enough energy to be truly supportive to my friends, several of whom have been through plenty of their own difficult crap lately. I want to be better, to myself and to my family and friends. I want to get back to being shiny and happy.

Wish me good luck.
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Whale fluke

Mike Pearl

This will sound melodramatic. I accept that.

I have a very clear memory of a very clear moment a few years ago, as I walked down the street where I lived in Portland -- not the one now, the one before -- and realizing I had most likely thought of Mike Pearl, one of my best friends, every single day for over four years.

He needs to be remembered. He is remembered.

He is not with us because of another man's stupendously stupid mistake ten years ago.

Mike Pearl was killed by a drunk driver the night of August 10th, 1997. West Ox Road, Fairfax County, Virginia. I was in Dundee, Oregon, preparing to move 200 miles east to my upcoming new job in Hermiston. Tarah -- another of my best friends, and Mike's former girlfriend -- called me the next day.

Mom and Dad can vouch for this: I almost could not walk after hearing the news. I ended the call and walked up to the main floor and they saw how I looked and they asked what's wrong and I managed to say what had happened and Mom went to me, ready to hug. I hugged her like a life raft. I wonder if I scared them with how loud I cried.

That sounds melodramatic. I accept that.

He deserves to be remembered. I'm remembering Mike now. I want to talk more about him. I will write more about him later; I am going to be out tonight, seeing the movie Stardust. I will remember to drive carefully.

I love you, Mike. I miss you.

Added: Here is more about him.
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An interlude

More words will follow for Mike Pearl, but I want to say: the film version of Stardust is a riot. A good kind of riot. It's just a delight. I laughed with it many times.

I needed a pick-me-up after this week. This film fit the bill exactly.
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