The Forge

I'm alive. Sorry. But at least I have somewhat of a story to tell to explain my continued existence.

Anyhow, I left you on the edge of your seat, half asleep, last Friday as I prepared to meet my maker. When I got to work, I had to admit to my already somewhat unhappy boss that my badge was absent from my person, and thus I would need to be clocked-in manually. Happily, the boss I encountered at first was Kathy, not Rebecca, and when the latter did see me she seemed happy enough that I'd chosen to show up. With a box of tissues in tow (and I do not joke here- I would spend the entire day with a box of tissues close-by and in constant utility) I dragged myself over to the register and prepared to open. I was soon informed that I'd be allowed to run returns as much as possible, since it would require the least amount of contact with soon-to-be-ingested items, and also because even the managers know that returns is a job for slackers, so I suppose it was an act of mercy. I generally hate returns, but I didn't mind it on Friday. Which is probably why, halfway through my shift, I ended up back on register and likely to remain as such for the remainder of my shift, which in fact I did. It was fun to be able to say "I've seen better days" or some similar derivation when asked "how are you" by a customer who didn't really care how I was.

Forgive me if I sound a little incoherent about this all. It was somewhat haze-like and a week ago, and much has transpired since then. Saturday I called in sick--I had to--and slept quite a bit. That evening Andrew came over, and we watched football games until passing out. Sunday I was in the sound booth for both services. The sound booth is marvelous, because it is at once very claustrophobic and unbearably hot. I felt like I was in an incubator, and thus took as many opportunities as made themselves available to escape to the great outdoors, or a restroom, or school--anywhere that was more comfortable than the booth. I somewhat uncharacteristically rushed home afterwards to catch the last quarter of the Seahawks game, which was a disappointment, but not nearly as much one as the Chargers game that proceeded it. I can't really explain why I am a Chargers supporter. I can't call myself a fan, since I don't follow games and don't know player names and such. But last year I saw a Chargers game, and everyone expected the Chargers to lose, and I just decided "I'm a chargers fan now" and ever since I've somewhat inexplicably rallied behind them whenever I happened to hear mention of their name. It turns out that P.O.D. are also Chargers fans (see www.myspace.com/payableondeath for more info on that) and thus, between me and P.O.D., there really was no way that the Chargers could lose to the Patriots. Andrew once more came over to celebrate the tossing of the pigskin, but alas our support was not enough and the game ended tragically with the Chargers no longer on the way to Superbowl XLI.

I'm not sure I got enough sleep Sunday night, since Joshua had many friends over for the night, but I did wake up and eventually go to a doctor once more. The nurse who saw me before the doctor asked me what was wrong with me, to which I replied through a wall of phlegm that I had a sinus infection. Evidently because this was a diagnosis, and not a list of symptoms, it was an unsatisfactory answer. Only when I told her that I was heavily congested, had a sore throat, pressure in various parts of my face, and all the other symptoms of sinus infections was she content to turn me over to the doctor, who took a good look inside various parts of my head and proceeded to tell me that my throat wasn't looking too good and that I had a sinus infection. I smiled accordingly, took the prescription slip for Augmentin, and left for the Orthodontist. This was less painful than I'd expected (keep in mind, I hadn't worn my retainer in three months, which was exactly wrong). The orthodontist that checked me out (surprisingly not a regular) compared my teeth to the x-rays taken three months ago and said I was very fortunate that I hadn't destroyed my face, and that in fact nothing had changed, and I could go but I had to come back so she could make sure I'd mended my ways. Perhaps I will. But first I need to find my retainer.

The final trip was to the cardiologist, who took an EKG (I'm perfect) and scheduled an echocardiogram (I was evidently mistaken as to the purpose of Monday's visit when I last posted about it). He suggested I lose weight, or take medication for my GERD. Also I should find a way to treat my sleep apnea, because it has a tendency to kill people. Fair enough. I don't remember the rest of Monday. Tuesday I went with my mother to Costco, where they don't sell 24-packs of Power-C Vitamin Water, which upsets me. After Costco we stopped at Wendy's.

Now, if you've seen a commercial for Wendy's lately, you may have seen that they are now offering a couple $2.99 value meals. I had seen the chicken/bacon combo and it looked appetizing, so when we got to the window I asked my mom to order it for me, but first I wanted to know what was on it. The man, without hesitation, told us "everything." He seemed to pause to confirm this information with a colleague, and then began to rattle off what "everything" meant: tomato, lettuce, pickle, mustard, ketchup, mayo, bacon, pickles, hamburgers, escargot, etc. I didn't believe that, but aware that my meal currently hung in the balance I copped out and went with a #6 combo. My mom, without really knowing it, ordered the 2.99 meal. We pulled into a Linens and Things parking lot, and proceeded to consume our purchases. Upon opening her sandwich, my mom discovered that the sandwich actually contains: chicken, bacon, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise, and not, unfortunately, the escargot. What bothers me is not so much that the man gave us a completely fictional account of the contents of that meal, but that he said it with great confidence and did so after confirming it with a second, equally inept person. The only consolation this gives me is that no matter what happens in life, I'll always be qualified to work at a fast-food restaurant.

Yesterday I came in to school, somewhat zombified from a five-day recess, right into the listening portion of my AP French midterm. If there was ever a perfect state for being exposed to AP foreign language material, the state I exhibited certainly is not it. Although, to be honest, it wasn't all that bad. I may have even passed. The other surprise of the day was a sheet, handed to me by my English teacher, informing me that I owed him two essays and that if these were not given to him by Friday (tomorrow, now) I would earn a zero for each. That wasn't really earth-shattering, but it did produce a problem because of other work I'd been procrastinating on, so here we are less than 24 hours until the deadline, and I've got two essays left to write.

There is some hope. Shortly after posting this I'll be inquiring of my teacher (who loves such inquiries, apparently) as to the exact stipulations of his demand. The sheet indicates that he wishes for the essays "Friday," presumably because that is the end of the week and thus the last time we will see him before the weekend. However, with most due dates in his class, essays can be e-mailed up until 11:59 on the day they are due. So the first question I need to ask of him is whether that deadline is still in effect, or whether he needs the essays in his hands when I come to class tomorrow afternoon. The second bit of luck I might have is that there is a fairly good chance of snow accumulation closing school tomorrow (NOAA says 60% chance of one inch between tonight and tomorrow morning). If that is the case, and he has not given us the midnight extension, then the work will presumably be due in his hands the next time we see him: Monday. Even if he chooses to have the essays due by the midnight deadline, I'll have the entire day to do them.

Which leaves me here, at almost 3:45 (I must leave for work at 5:30), exhausted but wondering if I can afford to use the next hour or so for sleeping. The worst-case scenario is that tomorrow there will still be a full day of school, and my English teacher requires a print version of all essays in his hand by the closing of the day. Although this is a very remote possibility, it is still a possibility, and it is here my little conundrum lies. But it's a trifling matter really. Hopefully he will be so gracious as to maintain the midnight deadline--the monday extension, if you call it that, seems a bit of a stretch--and if this is the case I'll know before I venture to bed tonight (supposing he replies to my e-mail).

There really wasn't a purpose to this blog, except to tell you that I made it through my working crisis (which actually goes further than I explained, but I'll only bother with that if someone requests it) and that this week is going only marginally better than the weekend did. Until next time,

Smith.