However, it did leave me to an interesting thought and I think maybe I’m on to something. Just hear me out. Humor me.

WHAT IF…what if Tiger is like some kind of super hero whose super power was playing AMAZING golf but a lack of sex with strange women is his kryptonite and now that he’s been busted and no longer has a different partner every five minutes, all his power is gone?

What if that’s the case?? I think this should be looked into. Studies should be done.

So *that’s* what it’s all about.

Some Stuff I Know

So-called “Life Coaches” should not be trusted. With anything. Ever. Life isn’t a sport and even if it was it would be a sport in which all the rules constantly changed and no one followed them anyway. So we don’t need no steekin’ coaches. Mind your own, Mordecai.

Kids grow up and don’t need you to cut their meat or tie their shoes or read them bedtime stories anymore. Ugh. I die. But they will still love you and if you can bear the prospect of it, you are indeed a better person than I.

When someone says, “I don’t want to be mean, BUT….” they’re lying. They DO want to be mean.They just don’t want you to think less of them for it.

Relationships change. People grow. Sometimes apart, sometimes closer together. Doesn’t matter, they grow and change and if you aren’t willing to grow and change with them…you might end up losing someone really special and it will be your own un-growing, un-changing fault.

Your mom misses you. I guarantee it. No matter where she is or what she’s doing, you are never far from her mind. You should give her a call. You ain’t that busy.

Friends — true friends — are worth their weight in gold and then some. You are never more blessed than you are when a friend loves you.

You’re doing it wrong. But that’s okay. That’s how you learn.

It’ll all be okay in the end. I promise.

That’s it. That’s a quick rundown of all I know. I’ll add to it over time and pretty soon you’ll be saying, “Wow. I wish *I* knew as many things as Kim does!” But you probably won’t say it out loud. Or probably shouldn’t anyway. That’s the unofficial last thing I know:

People look at you funny when you talk to inanimate objects. So don’t.

Here is also the man with esophageal cancer.

From a selfish standpoint, that’s an unholy bummer. He’s very intelligent and well-written. He’s level-headed and thoughtful. He is tough, but yielding.

From his standpoint…Jesus does that suck? I can’t even think about it. It harshes my mellow to the final degree. How can people even stand knowing? How does the knowledge alone of the thing not kill us?

He writes about his ordeal here, in Vanity Fair. He writes about it so well, it makes me want to call everyone I know and tell them I love them because, you just never know. You know?

Myself, I love the imagery of struggle. I sometimes wish I were suffering in a good cause, or risking my life for the good of others, instead of just being a gravely endangered patient. Allow me to inform you, though, that when you sit in a room with a set of other finalists, and kindly people bring a huge transparent bag of poison and plug it into your arm, and you either read or don’t read a book while the venom sack gradually empties itself into your system, the image of the ardent soldier or revolutionary is the very last one that will occur to you. You feel swamped with passivity and impotence: dissolving in powerlessness like a sugar lump in water.

Bluh. Only read it if you’re in the right head space. Otherwise, it will just blow you out. But do read it. And send good vibes his way.

My second thought was, “Wait. Just who wins these things??”

Nearly every product out there has these marketing schemes, from cars to candy bars. Win a thousand dollars a week for life if you buy Coke. Win a new Mustang if you buy a carrot. Eat at Joe’s and win a free liposuction. As far as marketing potential goes, I get it.

But who the hell wins all these contests? I’ve never once seen any follow up on it. Have you ever looked in the paper to see “Local man wins twenty million and an Asian bride for opening Pepsi can”? Have you ever actually known anyone who has won one of these contests? I haven’t.

“Hey, that’s a cool Rolex.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. I got it out of a box of Cheerios.”

That’s never once happened to me. Not even a little bit. What does this mean? Does it mean these contests are all scams? Is anyone keeping track? What if they’re all LYING to us — a strange thought for a greedy marketing department, I know — and we just keep buying all this shit because we think we might actually win something?

Think about it. Have you ever bought one product over another because of the allure of a million dollars, or maybe even just a pair of movie tickets? I mean, all things being equal – price, taste, convenience, whatever – if you were indifferent to it all,  wouldn’t you pick the product with the promotion? I would think so. Human nature seems to suggest so.

If they aren’t lying and they are actually awarding all these fabulous prizes, where are the winners? Do they have to go into hiding? Do they have to sign confidentiality clauses stating they will never speak of their winnings? If so, wouldn’t their friends, neighbors and family get suspicious? Wouldn’t they be all like, “Hey, where did you get the money for that giant mansion and Rolls Royce in your driveway? You work at Sonic Burger.” ?? Wouldn’t it get out somehow?

And that doesn’t make sense anyway because why would a marketing company DO that? They wouldn’t. They would want to get every inch of mileage out of the promotion before having to pay for another one. They would not shut up about it before, during, or after.

“We’re Twix! We’re made of chocolate and caramel! We awarded a 15 year old girl a new Ford Taurus twenty years ago!”

Seriously. They would exploit that shit.

So, I’m asking you? Who the hell ever wins $10,000 and a trip to Vegas from a candy bar?

Run errands.
Tons of errands.
Buy groceries.
Make dinner.
Help with homework.
Taxi to a friend’s house for Jake.
Taxi to the drugstore for school supplies for Kaileb.
Back to the grocery store.
Taxi to the doctor for myself.
Courthouse (whole other long story).
Video Store.
Verizon Store.
Clean house.
Pace the floors.
Organize house.
Pace.
Clean entire file cabinet one paper at a time.
Still pacing.

Here’s the problem, see.

When you’re alone with yourself all you can think about is yourself. You learn a lot about the person you are. Just beware, you may not like that person. I’m just sayin’, it happens almost all the time.

So when you spend that much time alone with only yourself for company you find that there’s all the time in the world for questioning yourself. You’ve a captive audience in yourself. Ask me anything, I’m not going anywhere. Or so the brain tells the heart.

Then the heart starts nagging the brain. The heart figures, “Hey, here’s this idle brain just sittin’ here doin’ nothin’ and brother, I gots me some troubles. I’m gonna unload all these burdens on the brain. He ain’t got nothin’ goin’ on.” — I’m not entirely sure why the heart sounds like an ignorant redneck, but I don’t necessarily care, either.

So the heart unloads and the brain, having no escape such as the ringing of the phone or an incoming fax or email or unhappy employee to distract it, must listen. And hear. And comprehend. And become very, very afraid.

You have all the time in the world to question your parenting and general worth as a human being. You’re inundated with regrets and wistful longing. You find yourself on your hands and knees in the closet going through your children’s report cards from elementary school. You find yourself cleaning and organizing and dusting every nook and cranny. You find yourself clutching a photo album and alternately laughing out loud then crying. You find yourself despising the passage of time, that immortal thief. You find yourself heartsick and headstrong. You make promises and demands of yourself to be better, be more. You cower in the face of your failures and make solemn vows to make it all up somehow.

And what lesson did I learn from all of this, you might ask? What have I come away with as a result of such deep, serious introspection? Well, it’s simple.

I have to work. I have to. It’s not about income or changing the world or even setting a good example for my children. No. It’s about one thing and one thing only: I can’t stand to be alone with myself.

I want to know why I’m never consulted about these decisions! I think people should know they are being deceived! They drive around, satisfied in the knowledge that the whole city got together and voted on their most favorite taco stand and it turns out I was never even asked!

And furthermore, what if I’m not the ONLY one they missed? What if it turns out that they missed a whole city block and those people are all driving around going, “Wait a minute, I don’t recall anyone asking ME what I would vote for in the contest for Seattle’s best plumber! What’s going on here!?” But then they’re embarrassed and they don’t want to seem like they’re out of the loop, so they pretend. They  go along. They’re like, “Oh yeah. That place. I voted so hard for that place! That place has the BEST coffee ever! That’s like, the ONLY place I ever go.”

They just overcompensate because they’re embarrassed about not being asked and they want to be included and “in the know” so they fake it.

It’s a conspiracy! It’s a sham.

We should all write our congressmen.

Anyway, that’s not important. The important thing is that the Nationals is over and I can have a couple months of relative sanity before it all begins again. And it will begin again. And again. And again….and so on and so forth until the day I die because, oh my god, the economy is so bad, y’all! We ain’t never going to get to retire.

Yeah. M@ is asleep and I’m feeling a little lonely and manic and chatty. So you have to just suck it up and deal with it. You’re my sounding board.

Where was I? Oh yeah. So nearly three weeks out of town really sucks. I don’t recommend it.

I keep worrying that maybe this isn’t how things are meant to be. I think work is so soul crushing. Maybe it’s just my work, but it seems like that’s just not enough. I get this overwhelming feeling sometimes that we’re supposed to be out creating and experiencing and running barefoot through flowery meadows or some such shit.

But flower running doesn’t really pay the bills, thus, we work. I totally don’t know if that comma usage was correct back there. But I get all tangled up in it because commas stress me out. So I vow just to not go back. It’s better that way. Let it lie. Or lay. That’s another one that always does me in.

Anyway, I’m saying “anyway” too much.

Uhm, what else? That’s all. Just that every once in a while I wish it were different.