Grumpy Geek

This sucks.  I should be in bed.  I'm tired, and tired of being tired (tired of being admired?  Let's face it -- I'm pooped).  But somehow I seem to be unable to make the concession to sleep.  Going to sleep is admitting that the day is over, and I've done nothing useful all day.  I should try to be productive; work toward the goals of getting more money (i.e., actually billing some of my clients), or a cleaner house.  But all I can manage to do is randomly wander the Internets, clicking from site to site, consuming everything yet producing nothing in return.  My attention wanders, like an ADD-infested rat on Ritalin.  Quickly jerking from one idea to the next, to yet another, than back to the first again for a few more minutes.   Then repeat three or four times.

I'm tired, but not sleepy.  There are plenty of stories about people who get bursts of energy in the middle of the night and will go on binge projects -- clean their entire house, write a book, or create a masterful work of art in one sitting.  I want to be one of those people.  To wake up Wife at 6 am, dreary yet elated from the stupendous results of my project.  Babe, look what I did while you were busy sleeping!  The place is gorgeous!  The painting is a masterpiece.  The pottery...well, I don't have a wheel in the house.  Just way more imagination than sense.

As yet another manifestation of my depression, I bought a new computer.  I've been planning on buying around this time anyway; waiting for a certain conflux of technologicial events -- Intel's Penryn family of CPUs to become affordable and Vista Service Pack 1.  Well, they're out now, so with much trepedation I bent over, picked up the phone, and called Dell.  Approximately $2,500 later I have one brand, spanking (that always sounds so kinky) new Dell XPS 420.  Four gigs of RAM, E8500 CPU @ 3.16G, 2 x 500G hard drives, nVidia 8800GT 512M video card, and yes, two monitors.  I went nuts and got the 24" with adjustible stand, and every video/audio input the guys at the factory could come up with.  Next to it is my "old" 17" digital, fully-adjustable LCD screen so I've got my two monitor honey pie.  I'm going to keep it for six years, just like my previous ones, so it's not as outlandish as it may seem.

But all this system is is a giant enabler.  Letting; nay, helping me multitask, making it very simple for me to do a bit of A, then on to a bit of B, then some of C, and finally back to A.  But Just for a minute, because B and C are still calling for me.  Having a new computer let's me run 30 IE windows, Outlook, 10 Firefox tabs, iTunes, and a mapping program all at once, each working on a different project.  It's just amazing (I know I keep coming back to that word, but I can't think of anything more appropriate right now).  Technology as an enabler.  Who woulda thunk?

Motorcycle racing season is well under way, and I've been very happy for the distraction.   Last night I watched the first disk of The Doctor, The Tornado, & The Kentucky Kid, a documentary of sorts about the 2005 MotoGP race at Laguna Seca.  Narrated by Ewan McGregor, a big motorcycle fan, it does a great job of explaining how much work goes into setting up the bikes for the unique combination of rider, track, and weather at each race.  Ewan shows the passion and extreme lengths the riders go through to win.  The interviews with Americans Nicky Hayden, Colin Edwards, and John Hopkins narrating a lap around the track, coupled with onboard video, absolutely make the film.

I heard a great quote today.  Ten points to anyone who can tell me where it's from.  A Gen X'er is complaining about life.  "There no point to any of that stuff.  It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes."

Today was not a good day.  I spent it entirely in my pajamas, never even bothering to take a shower.  Dad's yartzeit is today.  Compounded by the fact that I'm still very depressed about my brother's death.  There's going to be a service here next weekend to scatter his ashes.  In his despair, Hamlet said, "How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world."  That about covers it. 

Don't worry, I'm not suicidal or going to do anything rash or stupid, I just want to feel better. The only thing that amused me today was watching a few episodes of Lucy The Daughter of the Devil.  It's a very funny animated show that only lived for one season on The N.  You can watch the first episode here.  Even MotoGP racing from China was dull and boring.  I know I'm in a funk when motorcycle racing doesn't do anything for me.

Cereal goes in bowl, not in glass.  Juice goes in glass, not on cereal.   Sinus headache should just go away, period.  It's going to be one of those days.

Was watching Real Time with Bill Maher this evening on HBO, and Cornel West had a great quote.  I'm not sure what his intent was in saying this, but he mentioned something very interesting and thought-provoking:  Justice is what love looks like in public.  Discuss amongst yourselves.

A friend (yes, I really do have one or two left that haven't run away screaming) sent me this ecard from American Greetings.  How Cats Celebrate Birthdays.  From personal experience, I have to say that it's spot on.  

I've found the book Surviving the Death of a Sibling to be comforting.  I guess that's the best word for it.  Seeing how universal many of the physical and emotional ticks I'm developing is somehow comforting.  I want to quote a few paragraphs that I found to be surprisingly accurate.

From the chapter on the reactions of others:  Another condolence no-no is to make false promises or statements that on the surface sound very caring and sincere, but are really just fluff.  A good example is the ever popular "Call me if you need me."  Rest assured, a grieving person will NEVER call you.  It's not that they don't need or want you around, because they probably need all the help they can get.  The reason "Call me if you need me" never works is because most grieving people simply lack the emotional energy to call and ask for help.  Some feel too embarrassed, while others recognize the statement as insincere to begin with.  It's probably a better idea to say something like "I'm going to call you tomorrow to see how you're doing."  Better yet, decide on a time to visit, and then follow through.

This is very accurate.  Some of the best responses I've gotten have been from good friends or relatives who keep checking in with me, rather than waiting for me to call them.   They assume the initiative, because I have none.  Sometimes even  the smallest kindnesses make me cry with gratitude.  My friend Danny who fed & watered the boys while we were out of town and insisted on coming over twice a day to play with them, when once would have been sufficient. 

What helps:  Making promises you can't keep, offering pithy insights, minimizing a sibling's loss, and ignoring the situation by not saying anything are by far the most common condolence mistakes we've probably all made at one time or another.  But what can you do if  you really do want to help?
    If you can't use the old hackneyed expressions or send the standby staple--the drippy sympathy card with a preprinted verse--what can you do?  First, say what you feel:  "This is terrible!  You must be heartbroken."  Don't try to come up with a theological reason for an untimely death (trust me, they're aren't any) or some powerful, otherwordly explanation for why the mourner is suffering.  Just be honest and sincere.
    When my brother died, a friend of his called and said simply, "This really sucks.  Your brother didn't deserve this, and neither do you."  This was the most genuine expression of sympathy I received.  Often it's the small expressions of sympathy that comfort the most.

If you're an atheist, or at least a non-theist, as I prefer, saying he's in a better place doesn't help.  He was doing very well here on earth with his family and friends, thank you.

And finally from the chapter on searching for solitude, she talks about the overwhelming need to be alone.  The solitude feels right, like the special spot on the sofa we claim as our own.  But craving solitude and actually having quality time alone can be two very different things.
    During this time, my life seems overwhelmingly cluttered; caring for my family, working, cooking, even walking the dogs are all obstacles to what I really need--solitude.  So I try to find relief in small ways.  For instance, I keep to myself at school, eating lunch at my desk rather than in the crowded faculty room I used to love.  Besides, I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable in the faculty room these days.  The other teachers have stopped asking me how I'm doing; most seem to avoid talking to me altogether. It's that tenuous time between the actual loss and what other perceive should be an end to mourning; they've extended their sympathies, but now it's time to move on.  They have no idea that the real pain of my loss has only just begun.
    At home, I've stopped answering the phone and glare at it when it dares to ring.  I turn down lunch and dinner invitations from friends and feel almost annoyed when they thing to include me in their parties or other celebrations.  Can't they see I've changed?  I'm not the person I was several weeks ago.  Their phone calls and social gatherings seem trivial and specious.  All I really want is to be left alone.

This is probably the strongest reaction I'm experiencing right now.  Everything is a struggle, and even little things like making plane reservations to go back to DC for one of his memorial services seems like too much work.  At work, I'm on auto pilot.  Don't talk to me, don't ask me to think, just tell me what the problem is and give me access to the computer and I'll fix it.  By the end of the day I'm emotionally wrung out.  All I want to do is sit on the couch and pet the cats. 

Ok, I'm back.  Sort of. 

Losing my only sibling has been hugely traumatic.  Over the last month I've developed a verbal tic -- I can't seem to stop making this little noise with my lips.  And I'm clenching my jaw and grinding my teeth pretty much constantly throughout the day now.  I've always been a grinder -- witness the broken and practically chewed-through nightguard -- but I've become much worse now.  Plus I have no energy.  Zero.  Physical or emotional.  Getting through the day is a struggle.  I really don't care about my clients' petty computer problems.  So you can't get your email?  Who the fuck cares?  MY BROTHER IS DEAD!  I want to scream it at the top of my lungs.  The entire world should stop in it's tracks and recognize this life-shattering event.  The loss of such a wonderful person.  And my suffering.  Stop and give me a few days to catch my breath.  I'm not ready for the petty and mundane issues that seem to take up most of my days.  I just want everyone to go away and leave me alone.

The idea of chucking it all and running away to a warm, sunny beach is hugely appealing.  I want to lie in the sand, let the sun wrap me in her gentle rays, caressing my skin like the ultimate masseuse.  I want to dig my toes in the sand and drink those stupid, fruity little drinks with umbrellas in them.  But this is not my reality.  Little things like money and needing to keep my job prevent me. 

BTW, should anyone else suffer a similar misfortune, I highly recommend Surviving the Death of a Sibling by T.J. Wray.  There are no easy answers, but it's been very helpful in a plain-spoken, earthy sort of way.

Surviving the Death of a Sibling: Living Through Grief When an Adult Brother or Sister Dies

T.J. Wray

1. I was looking through some old pictures tonight.  I was a big photo buff beginning in about eighth grade and running all through high school and into my first two years of college.  I came across a stack of old photos I'd taken in roughly the Junior High years.  They consisted almost exclusively of friends, the old neighborhood, and girls I wanted to date.  The problem was the girls never wanted to date me.  Pictures were still good, though.  Some things never change.
2. I had to clean off part of the dresser while hunting for the aforementioned slides.  I came across exactly 13 vials of chapstick on my half of the dresser, in various states ranging from unopened to almost totally cached.  Thirteen.  I counted.  And that doesn't include the Whole Foods, Wild Oats, and other brands of lip balm that I wear, which would bring the total to almost an even 20.  I keep buying them, losing them, then buying more.  I have GOT to stop doing this.
3. The last time my face was entirely devoid of hair was Junior year of high school.  Ever since then I've had a beard.  It's become a character trait.
   

The rest of the time I pretty much want to lock myself in a closet and scream and pound the walls against the unjust and unfair nature of the universe.