So what does one (me) do when it's 30 degrees outside and there is ice and snow on the ground and one wants to go for a long bike ride? If I were a total rock star cyclist I'd put on my long fingered gloves and 14 layers of breathable yet windproof protective clothing and go for a ride. Sadly I'm not that guy. I just read in the Adventure Cyclist magazine that a guy rode across a stretch of Australian desert with his only water source being what he could carry and the rare well he would stumble across. He lost 30 pounds in that 40 day ride and probably whatever sanity he started with as well. People have come up to me since the SE Asian ride last year and said how intrepid or brave I was to have done that. I'm not sure how following my bliss and working a daily diet of great vegetarian food and cold Beer Lao after a hot day on my beautiful bike deems me studly but I'll take those empty compliments. Memory is a funny thing. It's so true how we forget the pain and remember the beauty and fun and joy of past experiences. Life can be crappy at times so it's a nice touch that god threw this wrinkle into the mix and let's us remember the past with longing and fondness. Now, as I look out the window and watch the snow fall and pile up in the streets, I don't remember the crotch rot or the loneliness or the long smelly bus rides or the misery of the humid mid-day sun. I think of friends and people I met and bonded with or of the beauty of the strange vertical mountains of Southern Thailand. I even think fondly of Khao San Road in Bangkok. That overly dreadlocked and body pierced orgy of alcohol and Euro-youth looking to get laid...or at least a tan while munching on a bag of fried crickets.
The snow here acts like a blanket of Versed causing event memory loss. For my non medical friends Versed is a drug given for short term medical procedures that hurt like hell. Things like setting a dislocated shoulder or cramming a three foot long camera up your ass (aka colonoscopy). It is a great drug to have before these procedures as it not only really helps you relax, it causes amnesia of the thing just performed. I always smile when a patient who just minutes before was screaming out in pain and misery awakens and asks when we're going to begin the procedure. It can be hard to convince someone that, yes, that tube really did go that far up their rectum when they have no memory of it at all. {That was a hideous tangent...I'm so sorry} So the snow removes the pain of the worst of last years ride and all I remember is being warm and enjoying it all. Craziness to be sure but I can't even get outside now without feeling the bite on my skin as the wind blows in from the north. So, to get back to the original question of the blog... what to do now? I'm stuck on the computer reading about other people adventures or looking at bike porn. Its a sickness I have to admit. Something I'm really not proud of...and something that can be very addictive. Bike porn. Looking at photo's of bikes and the gear just stripped from their sexy frames. Panniers pulled off like lingerie or racks just waiting to be mounted onto that frame. The pictures are endless and there are so many things to look at and desire that I almost feel dirty. Lighter pedals, stronger wheels, bigger bags, softer seats, beefier panniers, the list goes on and on. As does the ever present desire. When I can't look at any more pictures I'll spend time cleaning my bike. My bike is clean...really clean right now as I've rubbed my deraileur too many times. My chain shines right now. And chains should never really shine. But all this loving care has changed my relationship with my bike. The love affair is back and after taking her for granted for so long, I love my bike. She is strong and beautiful and black and with a little TLC she treats me like a king. If I could only get on and ride!! Yeah, my stepson Julian and I went for a ride a few days ago but the numb fingers and ears made it kind of painful and I couldn't conjure even a drop of sweat from my frozen body or my fading memory. So I come in from the cold and go back to the bike porn. I guess looking at a hot bike is better than sitting on a cold one...OK not really but all I'm trying to say is I'm missing Kauai and Thailand and Laos and.........
Monday, January 28, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
WORK
Be careful what you ask for. As for me, I've always been afraid of the 9-5 work week. It's not that I'm lazy and don't want to work (OK, it's not that I'm super lazy and never want to work) it's just that I've always thought that work was a means for getting some money together so I could enjoy my life. It seems like we have lost the idea that life is rich and multi-layered and fun and an exploration for learning and growing...like a field trip for the soul. "OK everyone, you've just been born so get your things together and get on the bus, and don't forget your lunch bags...we're all going to planet Earth this lifetime...should take about 70 years, so if you need to pee just go ahead as we all seem to have diapers strapped to our asses." I rather like that analogy. It beats the current paradigm of life as a shop-a-holic frantically rushing through a Wall-Mart on December 22nd. At the risk of sounding like a Chicken Soup for the Corporate Wage Slave book I'll shut up. I'm just saying that when I work day in and day out I get that glazed look of subdued panic in my eye and wonder ...isn't there more than this? DRIVEL!!!
It's pathetically awesome. I love sitting here at "work" listening to myself whine and moan about things most people have dealt with a long time ago. Or at least they buck up and do what they need to do to feed their family. I am so spoiled and so privileged to be able to "blog" about how much I don't like to work. As a kid I often heard how Bryner (my last name) rhymes with whiner. Hmmm, those kids were pretty astute.
So I have asked the universe/god (who in my head sounds like a British James Earl Jones) to NOT be a 9-5 wage slave but make money in a more creative way. So I'm proud to say that now I'm a slave to my credit card debt and oh, the freedom that I get from that is astounding. I chuckle at how I once worked 40 hours a week. I feel so much more free than my friends who say, "Oh, I'd love to go on a walk with you but I have to work." And I casually and in a sly knowing way say, "you mean it ISN'T the weekend?" What I am trying to say is that I'm an idiot. Freedom isn't free. I saw that on a bumper sticker between an NRA sticker and a support our troops sticker and always thought it was a comment on how we have to kill other people so we can continue to shop and drive unabated. Now I really know what it means. Freedom costs 9.9% (minus the air miles) and at the rate I'm going into debt about $150 a month in interest fees. 'Cause here's the part I forgot about. If you chose to work a whole lot less you actually have to spend a whole lot less. Dammit!! Math was never my forte'. You see, I'm not the sanctimonious snob I appear to be in this blog. I buy crap. I am a consumer and as much as I'd like to seem "evolved" both spiritually and ecologically, I'm a hypocrite. I am conscious of my actions and try to limit my impact on the earth but let's be real. Anyway...
I'm sitting here at "work" this morning looking out the bay window at the almost-full moon shaped like a dropped melon, shining on the oily black waters of the Puget Sound less than 30 meters away. Across the channel are the lights of Vancouver Island and Victoria. I can't hear a sound in this darkness and I'm rested from a full nights sleep. It's the end of my shift. Without any details, I get paid to be on standby. Thirteen hours of night shift and I can sleep when I want with a pager on. So NOT working the 9-5 gig means that I juggle. I juggle 4 jobs that have hours all over the map and yet it seems like I still have a lot of time off to spend getting deeper in debt. I'm also an EMT and even though it is technically a volunteer position it has its benefits...like all the Raisinettes/M&M's/Kit Kats (the perfect trifecta of chocolate treats) you can eat. I also am working at a spa in Friday Harbor as a massage therapist. I know, I know, and before you get all freaked out let me say there are no nail techs or eyebrow specialists anywhere to be seen. It's all about the healing environment and not so much the pampering of the rich and spoiled. There's nothing like a good massage to get you back into your physical body and out of your busy monkey-mind. And lastly I'm back in the ER working 12 hour hell shifts running non-stop to pay that credit card bill down a bit. An added bonus is that the ER will provide hours of blogable material (I thought I was messed up) when things get a bit dry around here (yes dry, like the second half of todays blog). The nice thing about the ER is that it is only on-call. There is something so powerful for me to be able to say, um, "NO" when the hospital calls and asks if I want to work today. It's funny but I often say yes...there is just a bit of breathing room there when I have the option to say no. In many ways I wish I could just be happy doing the 9-5 thing like so many others seem to be. The water cooler thing, the discussion of last nights episode of American Idol, the cubicle with pics of the kids etc. I'm getting an upset stomach just writing about it!
Sure, I know I'm crazy, absolutely nutters. Aren't you too?
It's pathetically awesome. I love sitting here at "work" listening to myself whine and moan about things most people have dealt with a long time ago. Or at least they buck up and do what they need to do to feed their family. I am so spoiled and so privileged to be able to "blog" about how much I don't like to work. As a kid I often heard how Bryner (my last name) rhymes with whiner. Hmmm, those kids were pretty astute.
So I have asked the universe/god (who in my head sounds like a British James Earl Jones) to NOT be a 9-5 wage slave but make money in a more creative way. So I'm proud to say that now I'm a slave to my credit card debt and oh, the freedom that I get from that is astounding. I chuckle at how I once worked 40 hours a week. I feel so much more free than my friends who say, "Oh, I'd love to go on a walk with you but I have to work." And I casually and in a sly knowing way say, "you mean it ISN'T the weekend?" What I am trying to say is that I'm an idiot. Freedom isn't free. I saw that on a bumper sticker between an NRA sticker and a support our troops sticker and always thought it was a comment on how we have to kill other people so we can continue to shop and drive unabated. Now I really know what it means. Freedom costs 9.9% (minus the air miles) and at the rate I'm going into debt about $150 a month in interest fees. 'Cause here's the part I forgot about. If you chose to work a whole lot less you actually have to spend a whole lot less. Dammit!! Math was never my forte'. You see, I'm not the sanctimonious snob I appear to be in this blog. I buy crap. I am a consumer and as much as I'd like to seem "evolved" both spiritually and ecologically, I'm a hypocrite. I am conscious of my actions and try to limit my impact on the earth but let's be real. Anyway...
I'm sitting here at "work" this morning looking out the bay window at the almost-full moon shaped like a dropped melon, shining on the oily black waters of the Puget Sound less than 30 meters away. Across the channel are the lights of Vancouver Island and Victoria. I can't hear a sound in this darkness and I'm rested from a full nights sleep. It's the end of my shift. Without any details, I get paid to be on standby. Thirteen hours of night shift and I can sleep when I want with a pager on. So NOT working the 9-5 gig means that I juggle. I juggle 4 jobs that have hours all over the map and yet it seems like I still have a lot of time off to spend getting deeper in debt. I'm also an EMT and even though it is technically a volunteer position it has its benefits...like all the Raisinettes/M&M's/Kit Kats (the perfect trifecta of chocolate treats) you can eat. I also am working at a spa in Friday Harbor as a massage therapist. I know, I know, and before you get all freaked out let me say there are no nail techs or eyebrow specialists anywhere to be seen. It's all about the healing environment and not so much the pampering of the rich and spoiled. There's nothing like a good massage to get you back into your physical body and out of your busy monkey-mind. And lastly I'm back in the ER working 12 hour hell shifts running non-stop to pay that credit card bill down a bit. An added bonus is that the ER will provide hours of blogable material (I thought I was messed up) when things get a bit dry around here (yes dry, like the second half of todays blog). The nice thing about the ER is that it is only on-call. There is something so powerful for me to be able to say, um, "NO" when the hospital calls and asks if I want to work today. It's funny but I often say yes...there is just a bit of breathing room there when I have the option to say no. In many ways I wish I could just be happy doing the 9-5 thing like so many others seem to be. The water cooler thing, the discussion of last nights episode of American Idol, the cubicle with pics of the kids etc. I'm getting an upset stomach just writing about it!
Sure, I know I'm crazy, absolutely nutters. Aren't you too?
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