Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Body Heat

Tick-tock, the lightning strikes. There’s no procrastinating, and no reason. When riding a bicycle, the same amount of rain hits you while moving forward as if standing still; or so that’s the theory. As a child, I’ve always ask my friends, “Do you get hit by more rain drops moving forward into the rain than you do avoiding the rain?” They always thought I was nuts. They may be right.

When lightning strikes, plans fail: more on that later.

The rain falls mainly on the plain, which is where the tire cycles, which is where the mud flaps up onto the back of your shirt. You know, I don’t mind rain, it’s the laundry that upsets me. Okay, it’s hot, and sweaty, and smelly, and sticky, and water runs down my hair like the Amazon, but the mud sucks. You can’t avoid it on a bicycle. Even when you do, and you cover your rear tire, it still flicks up onto your back. I ware two shirts; I took one off; it’s a good shirt that doesn’t deserve the mud I need to ride through.

I must’ve timed my plasma bank arrive instinctively well, because they had a catastrophic power failure just before I arrived. I must explain: I’m out of work and donating plasma is the only income I have. I spend my days looking for work. It pays for some food, but it doesn’t pay rent. I never thought it would, and never wished it to. I want to keep a job. But for one reason or another, I keep loosing them. I’m smart; I analyze why, but I can’t figure out why I keep switching jobs. I don’t know; I just don’t know.

A power fail is what I had the evening before, but I never felt it. Designer Girl thinks I’m smart, and that may be true, but you can only protect yourself from nature so much. She thinks that if I simply stay at home, I won’t be able to avoid the natural disasters that would normally come to us all if we were out and about. Actually, I wouldn’t mind being caught out in the rain with Designer Girl: she’s my kind of messed up. And I’m sure that statistics say that more alcoholics die of gun shot wounds than line workers of lightning strikes.

In all honesty, I admire Designer Girl. When I read her blog, I feel I’m ready to spill my guts; then I think about drinking; then I balance the two and feel like saying what is truly in my sole. Case in point:

My Father: I think I failed him. I should’ve given him a son to pass on the Wax family name. However, my older brother, Candle, didn’t either. I asked him about that recently. He has a 23-year-old girlfriend who lives with him. I’m like, “Dude! Knock her up! What’s the problem? Dad would approve! Give her our family name!” Didn’t work. Father would approve; hell he knocked my mom up thirteen times. As it stands, there are no offspring to pass on the Wax family name.

My Father is my higher power. As his youngest son, I could pass on the family name. And, yet again, I feel I’ve failed him. At eight and a half months sober, I could teach my son so much about life; if I had a son. Or I could fail. The truth is that you cannot raise a child without a family. I have none; at least I don’t think?

So, I arrive at the plasma bank late, luckily enough to avoid a catastrophic power failure. Power is Saint Paul has been waning. I’ve monitored it from my computer system. I have a UPS (Un-Interrupted Power Supply) with an AVR (Automatic Voltage Regulator). I bought this product, namely: CPS1250AVR with no clue as to what the ‘AVR’ in it’s name stands for. Well, I bought a fine product. AVR stands for Automatic Voltage Regulator. As it was blinking, I was looking up in it’s manual what the friggin’ blinking light is all about. It turns out that if I launch PowerPanelPlus, it’s monitoring control panel, it shows me that we, in Saint Paul, are not really getting 110v, but more like 98v at times. My UPS only let me know that we had problems through its little control panel: “Oh, by the way, power outage is imminent, but I’ll supply the right voltage until it fails.”

How fucking cool?

Okay, back to the real problem. I drink. I love to drink. I thought I...

Okay, I love bars. I like the atmosphere. I like the banter. I even like the fights. But, I like fine bars.

I love the way that a fine woman crosses the line from time-to-time in a bar. It slashes the politically correctness that you see at the workplace in half. Men and women want to play; it’s their nature. Warning signs like: “I have a boyfriend”, are there as road signs; Veer away. Stop signs should be obvious before the word, “No”, is ever given, but when it is, it’s law. When a woman says, ‘no’, it’s for a reason, her reason, not yours. It translates to, ‘stop’. It does. I’m sure this battle will last for ages.

I’m at the plasma bank and I’m told of a horrible experience. Just one hour before I had arrived, they had a power outage. The power went out and 19 donors had to be disconnected without a replenish of their blood cells; they can’t come back to donate for eight weeks. And these were good people; people I like to lay with when I donate. They wont me back for two months. If I’d come early, I’d be one of them.

See, when you donate plasma, you’re really donating the food that you eat, not so much your blood. If you eat well, then yes, you’re donating your food. But you can tell...when someone doesn’t want to eat well, their plasma turns colors: clear piss yellow means healthy water drinker; dark brown means, drink more fluids; green means you’re on the pill, or you have some other imbalance. I’m always clean.

If I’d arrived one hour earlier, I would’ve experienced their power outage. That means that I would’ve lost my blood cells needed to donate for eight weeks. That’s $240.00 that I desperately need. So, I’m praying all the time I’m donating. All 19 donors lost all their cells: They cannot come back to donate for eight weeks! I cannot afford that. If I’d come, just one hour earlier, I’d have no income.

I spoke with June N., she’s not so mad at me any more. But I don’t blame her for her mistrust and anger. I mean, really, when a drunken husband does everything to destroy a life (and by life, I mean with him and her) in order to gain access to the finest vodka, there is definitely something wrong.

AVR light is flashing. That means...I have to look it up. AVR is Automatic Voltage Regulator. It means that the voltage coming into the house is lower or higher than normal. AVR in the UPS sets it right. This is cool. So, I launch the PowerPanelPlus utility and sit here all night long watching how the power grid is failing and how my little UPS is correcting it.

I wish I had such a simple task.

If lightning strikes, my UPS will be the first worrier to bare the brunt. But I doubt it’ll survive a direct hit.

Their will I.

If you hit me once more, I’ll go into battle mode.

Time to defend. Back off, sell all, go lean, get your backpack set...and give up all that you feel comfortable about.

It’s either live lean or die...and I’m not ready to die, just yet.

Without Wax,

1 comment:

Trudging said...

I was on vacation...did you move in with your friend?
If makes you feel better I was the only one of 8 cousins(including) to have a child. And four of those cousins were raised Catholic