RAY HALLIDAY will Write-a-Thon!

Friday: 8/26 I will be writing for as long as I can. Somewhere between noon and 8:26 pm. And you can pledge money for each hour I write. If you pledge, I will show you all the crappy pages I write, no matter how awful. Doesn't that sound great!

Here's a link, but if you want to pledge, just let me know how much!. You can do the same on FACEBOOK! All proceeds go to 826 Valencia. They go great stuff for kids. Take a look at the link for more info.

You guys were amazing last year, and I got some good (at least I think so) writing out of it.

http://826valencia.org/826-news/second-ever-826-day-write-a-thon/

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=143334022420151

Wonderful Days!

Yesterday I wrote a thing that seemed pretty negative for the way I'm overall feeling. While my nights might not be so interesting, my days have been some of the most awesome days of my late life.

Plus, my nights have been pretty awesome, if not somewhat out of control.

I've been going to my usual coffeeshop in the morning and doing my work for my two teaching jobs. This has been par for the course for several years now. The difference is that some of the work has dried up a bit, so, at times, there is not so much work to do.

Then, as soon as I'm done, I head over to my new job. I can't remember if I ever got a chance to complain or whine here before that I thought, awhile back, that if my schoolwork didn't pick up, I was going to have to find some other line of work. Believe me, I do not know how to find work, and I can prove it. I joined Linkedin.

I worked on my resume with my buddy Joel's help. And then, when I finally got it all down to where, at least, it was readable, Joel offered me a job, or some work with his company. Computer Writing Manuals People Inc. Have I talked about Joel? How he's always either saving my life, lending me money, feeding me, driving me around, reading my manuscripts, giving me guitarist/singer/trumpeter jobs in his band, and just all-around bucking me the fuck up? I think I've mentioned him before, or, if you're local, you may know him. He's a legend.

Anyway, this job. I go to work just a few blocks from my house. It's in a beautiful part of my beautiful neighborhood. The weather is always magnificent where I work. The people are always friendly. The office is sweet, and incredibly quiet! Everybody wears giant headphones! They seems to be filmmakers and writers. I know some of them are filmmakers and writers. Me and Joel are computer writing manuals people.

The thing is, I am having a good time having something to do all day. The job is challenging, but I think I can fit myself into it. Joel is helpful. We go to wonderful, relaxed and sometimes work oriented lunches. I can work off of my own schedule, basically. As long as I'm putting in the hours and getting some tasty results. I walk to and from work and I am happy to be going there. It is just a wicky weird feeling.

Did I mention that the Computers Manuals People pay me money as if I worked for them? I hope to use this money (however long it lasts) to buy some sort of vehicle. Like either a motorcycle or an airplane. Or a boogie board!

Anyway: work at the moment: awesome. Which, from what I hear, can make a huge difference in your outlook.


And that really is all I got to say about trees.


Wait! I make music! And that's been pretty good, too.

Short and Sweet

This blog was supposed to be short and sweet. But I set some sort of a thing with the first post and now it's been, like, a burden to try and make sense of stuff. But NO MORE!

It is hot in my apartment. It seems that all around me, my friend's lives are totally going on while I am in my apartment with a terrific cat (don't get me wrong) but without much else. The cat is terrific, did I mention that?

I have a new job (sort of) like all my other jobs it comes with no guarantee. Didn't it used to be that, at least, when you worked a job, you got hired, they took a chance on you? These folks have been terrific to me (like the cat!) and I have nothing but amazingly sincere thank you's for them. I get to go sit in an office and work and it's neat. There's puzzles and stuff to work out and it's, so far, pretty relaxed and rewarding. ReWARDing!

My friends are everywhere, all over the country and the world, having kids, breaking up, getting married, moving. They are doing all sorts of stuff. The drama in their lives is real, and serious, and worthwhile. But I am up here in the apartment with the cat (did I mention how terrific he's been. Hey, seriously).

Calls have been going out to my folks. My dad and mom are back in the nursing home while my dad recuperates from another operation. He sounds weak on the phone, but somewhat reasonable. It is a time contest. Will he be able to keep his cool in there long enough to heal? Time will tell. Hearing him weak on the phone is unnerving.

My friend Sonny lives downstairs, but I don't know why. I thought it would be cool, but I went and knocked on his door, but he wasn't around. Being that it's Friday, I thought we could totally hang and shoot the breeze and eat nuts. But, I ate the nuts myself.

Here's the thing. If I go boogie boarding next week, I promise to never complain again.

I promise to try not to.

And that's all I got to say about trees.

Wait. Hold it. I got more to say. Let's talk about the Bhagavad Gita and the Tao te Ching, just for a second. I've read the Tao, and I'm knee-deep in the Gita at the moment. And, they're all about, this detachment stuff. I used to kind of buy it, but no more. Who wants to attain a detachment level? I would rather be attached. Hate and love stuff, feel terrible pain and happiness. Cry and laugh. Cry and laugh.

Now, really, go talk amongst yourselves...

Freedom

In the nursing home (I don't think this is the right word for this anymore) my mom and dad share the same room while my dad recovers from surgery. It turns out his news is not as good as I thought the last time I wrote, and his cancer (his cancer) has spread. At 81, this is...what? Bad doesn't seem to cover it. Complicated is a better word, still, not exactly right. At some point, it seems like our lives become one long session of packing up our stuff and getting ready to go.

I am sure I am just naive at the moment, but how come we all don't get to go quickly? I do not see the point of having to be sick for long periods of time. I think we should get a notification in the mail that our time is up, get a week to put our affairs in order and then pop out with the teeniest display of sparks and bacony-smelling smoke. Forget leaving the stinking body behind.

Then again, maybe I do get it. We get forced to slow down with sickness so we can reflect upon our lives or the earth or whatever. The pain and indignity are gifts of some sort and we should be thankful.

And thank you doctors and technology. We can prolong life, but can we guarantee any sort of quality? Does it matter? I'm not sure. I do not know how scary death is, or upcoming death. When we get to a certain point do we want to be alive no matter what? My parents (maybe everybody's) are not, I suspect, too worried about dying, it is, however, this odd time in between that seems like such a hassle.

My parents are locked into each other's existence like no two other people I've ever known. When I was growing up they seemed to have a few good friends. My mom seemed to have one good friend and my dad had three that I can think of. Two of them died before they were forty, even earlier. As friends died off or moved away, they did not seem to take on any new ones, nor did they seem interested. My guess is that they were fine with each other's company. They seemed to be, off and on, now and again, once in awhile....

Here is the thing. I don't know if they are both ready to go, or what. But I know that the thing with them is that neither of them wants to leave the other behind. I think this must be the way it is for many older couples, but my mom's immobility makes it much more urgent.

All of these complications. I have been able to feel for my dad in that I've tried to imagine what it is like to get this kind of news. It's really happening. I know that where he is he is not able to make the most of his time like he would at home. Someone else is taking care of my mom, and he doesn't have a good enough internet connection to do the type of study of his own condition and his possibilities. So, I know he's had time to think about all of this. But I think that, so far, the answers must be pretty unsatisfactory. I have not been able to think about what the loss of my dad might mean beyond the usual loss of dad stuff. I don't even know what that means, or what I'm talking about.

I feel like I'm nailing the coffin lid on him, sorry dad. I mean, he may take the stuff and maybe he'll be all right. But that is not the stuff we have to prepare for.

Will Maple Candy Kill My Father?

I am terribly distracted today. I took on too many things this week (not really. I, honestly, do not have a very hectic schedule. I am just awful at time management). This weekend I am going camping from, like, Friday to Sunday, and that's (sadly) when I usually get most of my work done. Which means I have to do all that work stuff during the week, like a normal human being.

In another goofball move, I signed up for these meeting things at my work. They're online and they come with little assignments and reading and there is no way to tell how much time they are going to take.

So, naturally, this morning, I am spending time writing this. It is because I care for you, dear readers.

Also, ironically, I am teaching a class this semester that is basically, a time management class. I feel completely unprepared. It is a four-hour class, once a week. So, I think you can understand how even thinking about it can be exhausting.

Another thing that is on my mind is my dad and my mom. My mom has been moved to a nursing home temporarily because my dad went into the hospital for some newly discovered cancer. Good news. It has not spread. And, the operation was pretty successful, but the recovery seems like it may be difficult. My dad does not react well to medications and he can get a little out of control. This puts his recovery at risk because he might rip stuff out of his body or go on some hulk-like rampage. (Not really, but it's cute to think about). More good news. My dad's recovery time is going to take place at the same place my mom is staying, so they can be together.

Who's to say who is winning, here, World. You or me. Why use my mom and dad as pawns in our game? Or, wait, is it possible this is not all about me?

Still, I am here (beautiful San Fran) while my sister and brother in law are out there doing the heavy lifting. That weighs on me. But they really have all the weight. I just feel bad about stuff, hoping it evens me out karmacally. That, my friends, seems like a stupid waste of time. Still, it is one of the few things I do really, really well.

The surgery was Thursday and I have not called my dad since then (using the excuse that he's too loopy to talk to) and I have not sent a card or anything either (I'm too caught up with all this work stuff).

Oy, if you know what I mean.

My dad likes maple candy. But I bet he hasn't had some in a very, very long time. Not since, probably, he got diagnosed with diabetes. I'd like to send him some. I do not think it will kill him. I do not think it will. And I think he might really enjoy it, and think of me as being very thoughtful.

Me. Me.

Technologies Leave Kitties Behind

Seriously.

In this world of the cellphone, the internet, tweets and facebook, how come there's no way to let my kitty know I'm thinking about him when I'm not there?

Cats don't read cards you send them, they don't answer the phone, and it turns out their paws are too lunky to work a computer keyboard. They don't care about facebook, and if you ask them about tweeting they just get all "where's the bird" on you.

I wish I could live in the past, where you could call your home phone and the cat could hear it. And you could say stuff like, I'm tied up at work, start dinner without me. And, hope you're feeling better, please do not throw up in my underwear drawer again. Or, utty wutty puddums!

That's all I got to say.

You Are Awake

You are so awake that your eyes feel open, even though they are closed.
Your eyes feel wide-open, like you are bug-eyed. This is also the feeling of the rest of your face. Your eyebrows are way up there. You feel like you have a very surprised look on your face, even though you know your eyes are closed.

You are in a very dark and very tiny bedroom, made from a barely walk-in closet. And yet, being in such a state of super consciousness, your eyes feel like they are magnets for any available light. You feel as if you can see bright lights through your eyelids. All the light in the apartment and the building (including the lobby!) and the neighborhood and the city outside is all being streamed into your pupils on invisible wires. It is all streaming in, filling your head with photons.

You feel as if your mouth is wide open, teeth showing, crazy smile. You feel as if your tongue is sticking way out of your mouth for no reason at all except that you are so awake.

In reality there is no light coming into your room. It is nearly hermetically sealed, with no windows. Even if you dared open your eyes, you would most likely not be able to see anything. And, although the room is not completely quiet (there are muffled street noises coming from a room away) it is nowhere near over the sleep-interrupting threshold.

In reality, you are lying in your bed. On your back. You are in comfortable sheets on a comfortable mattress with a nice blanket over you. The temperature is the optimum temperature for sleeping. The air quality is really pleasant. A very nice evening for a full, eight-hour snooze. The rest of the world is sleeping. They are taking advantage of the atmosphere. They will be fresh in the morning.

You have spent nights like this for over ten years. 4 a.m. is your time. You wake up and spend your energy trying to go back to sleep. Really trying. Mostly, you are used to it. It does not bother you anymore. You know you will get back to sleep on most nights after an hour, sometimes a little more. There will be more sleep. You’ve found ways around it. You sometimes, but very rarely turn on the light, and do some reading. You used to live in the living room, and would sometimes turn on the television. That set a weird precedent. You got a little ipod. Now you can listen to music or podcasts or books on tape (whatever ipod tape is called) until you fall asleep. Basically, any type of human voice puts you to sleep. You feel that maybe this has affected your awake human relationships.

You have to be careful. The idea is to not let consciousness take over. Unconsciousness is the goal. Relaxation is key. But it’s difficult. You are fighting a battle where you cannot use any aggression or effort. Any kind of movement of your limbs seems to energize you. Opening your eyes seems to rev your face and head. Any kind of thought seems to feed other thoughts, which, in turn, wakes you the fuck up.

Gene taught you how to meditate. So, often, you will do controlled breathing exercises and recite the mantra. Ah, the mantra.

Some thoughts are more destructive than others. They trigger panic, guilt, or frustration. The worst is the thought that you are wasting time, lying there. You should get up and do something. The night is yours. Think of the things you could do.

That is unfair. You deserve to sleep at night. It must be a right, somehow. But you remember sleepovers when you were little, how everybody seemed to go right to sleep. You remember your younger days, when there would sometimes be a guest staying in your bed. How they would fall asleep and begin heavily respirating, while you listened uncomfortably. Someone you had just felt a pretty strong connection with, has now left the building, gone to some wonderful fairy dream-state. Left their junk behind.

And tonight, you have blown it. You have thought too much tonight. And now you are not relaxed. Sleep is out of reach. But you are too angry to get up and make use of the time. You will lie there until the world ends if you have to. You open your eyes and realize that your room, just barely bigger than your lonely twin bed, is dark and square and high-ceilinged. You realize it is just a little bit bigger than a grave.

And that, of course, is your terrible dream of the afterlife. Forever awake, with nothing to do.