The 3 Rule Challenge or, How I Completed a 14 Hour Car Ride by Bus in 28 hours

I have this theory. Inside a Greyhound bus, time speeds up. Somehow a novel pedestrian conveyance such as the cross country bus has mastered the control of time and space, a feat that quantum physicists are still striving for. For instance, by car it takes fourteen hours to reach Minneapolis, Minnesota from Bozeman, Montana, provided that the roads are icy and the vehicle that is being employed on such a trek is an inefficient SUV, forcing a stop at every gas station.

By bus this trip doubles, although the distance and speed limit stays the same, proving that time outside of the bus is moving slower than the inside. To break it down further, for every one hour a person spends outside a bus, two hours are spent by the people inside of the bus. A shift in temporal stasis is the only real scientific explanation. Or perhaps was it stopping every five minutes so that the driver could take a five minute smoke break? This answer seems more reliable than quantum theory, but not nearly as entertaining.

The first rule of bus travel is that the person sitting next to another person cannot be someone who the original person wanted to sit next to. This plays out thus. I sat down in my seat, threw my backpack into the overhead compartment, and removed from that backpack The Cheese Monkeys by Chip Kidd. The gist that I received of this book was the tale of an undergrad student in the 1950’s, and his struggle with the power of influence versus being within the constructs of societal generated safety. I had just reached the part about his art professor saying that everyone can call her Dotty, and thus providing the frame work for the rest of the book that nicknames can seem like they make someone naked. That is when a beautiful red headed woman sat next to me.

The odds of this gamble were that I would be sitting next to a middle aged man named Carl that had a pack of zigzags, cheap pipe tobacco to roll them around, a prosthetic appendage and never ending ‘Nam stories that always ended with the whistling through the gap in his smile where a tooth should have been. Instead of having a little peace, I would become privileged to experience the stench of latex under body odor under the smell of cheap liquor and Listerine, as the fellow’s leg disconnected at the knee to “air out” for a few miles.
For this more attractive outcome, most males would become quite religious, mouthing thank you to whoever they look at when mouthing thank you. Whether it is God, Allah, Fate, Brett Favre, Homer Simpson, Mom, either way, this chosen deity seems to live on a thankful person’s forehead as they appear to stare at the heavens looking for something deeper.

She asked what I was reading. I said that I was reading The Cheese Monkeys. She asked “Oh. Is it good?” I said “so far,” and continued reading. She then sat and faced away from me. Not only did she seem turned off by the idea of sitting next to me, but I knew that despite the initial attraction that I had to this women, I was going home to propose to my girlfriend which trumps any notion of a shallow flirtatious fling. On top of all of that, I have never been one to be that forward with my notions of attraction, in fact I had been best friends with my then girlfriend for three years before I asked her out. Hasty relationships were not what I was about. She sat next to me none the less, and as I speculated a nickname for Elisabeth, (For there were many: Elle, Beth, Liza, Libby. It’s like verbal Kama Sutra with a name. ) I remained tied to Chip Kidd and his novel. All I wanted now was the chance to read; she probably wanted a tattooed bruiser of an army man who just came back from war looking for a warm bed to give him a welcome back party. Both of our interests were thwarted by each other's presence in an uncomfortable seat.

I continued reading the book. The plot took me to a point where a professor was asking a group of students to create a poster that influenced someone to do something. One submission was a simple black and white text poster that read “Whatever you do, don’t think about elephants."

The second rule is that no matter where the location, the bus must stop every five minutes for a smoke break. The Non-Smoking bus drivers would bend this rule a bit but the hard core smokers seemed to pull over every time their Camel logoed watch pointed to a number in the minute hand. This allows for common souls to huddle together in the elements, freeze outside, and talk to people they would rather talk to instead of those they have been paired with in accordance with rule one. This brings up Chet, a navy guy from San Diego. While on this smoke break, Chet walked up to Elisabeth and introduced himself. She replied with her own title as “Lizzy,” and began to talk about who she was, what she liked, and why she was attractive to
this fellow. Chet had recently got on the bus at a stop on the fringes of the twin cities, in fatigues, so his exposure to the three rule bus game was short. It was only later in the trip that I noticed he was a 3 rule challenge hustler. Not only had he played before, but he was an expert on this little travel activity.

I stayed on the bus. I don’t smoke, although I do believe I have a second hand addiction to smoking. Sometimes I am just more relaxed and less edgy around people who are lighting one up. My minor addiction to nicotine is satisfied by standing next to people that have a more profound attachment to the substance. I fear that the only way to break that addiction is chewing already used nicotine gum or wearing a spent patch to cure secondhand nicotine addiction. We all have our corruptions, this is plain to see, and we are told to glance over them like they don’t exist, but the difficult part of that is avoiding the pachyderm sized flaws
that we are told not to look at. I stayed in the bus reading for 10 minutes, the smokers came on the bus at five minutes, so now the relative time warp of the Greyhound bus was satisfied at stasis again. The Diesel engine fired up and we were on our trek again.

The third rule is also very simple. All participants must acknowledge that the trip is temporary, and therefore acknowledge that all personal connection on a bus be superficial and anonymous. This is the demonstration of Chet’s savvy when it came to the three rule game. I try to bury myself in Chip Kidd, try to concentrate on a funny moment when a person in class demonstrates a word by signifying the word in its presentation. The fellow painstakingly made the word HOT out of match sticks and was given a C due to its inability to burn his finger when he touched it. The Professor threw him a Zippo lighter and told him to burn his project for an A. Not only did the student incinerate the project he worked so hard to achieve, but the glue he used exploded and left a large char on the wall of the cinder block classroom.

I couldn't pay attention. I was eavesdropping on the conversation that I knew I shouldn't be listening too. The problem was that his conversation was such a mammoth display of the power of anonymity it was hard not to listen to something I told myself not to listen too. Not two minutes after introducing himself as Chet, he puts his hand through his Mohawk and says “I’m sorry. My name is not Chet, it is Steve. I lie because I am insecure about myself and had a rough life growing up without a dad.” Lizzy, as it were, across the aisle, was enthralled with “Chet’s” "honesty" and continued on her smoke and mirrors rant about how so many people were shallow.

It’s one thing to be caught in a lie and have to tell someone that the person in question is not who he claims to be, but it seems that “Chet” had other things in mind. His idea was to burn the façade of what he was immediately to demonstrate a soft, scorched, vulnerable side, so that girls would like him and start a hasty romance that ends when the trip stops. This could only happen in the anonymous fling situation of the bus. Rule three was Chet’s advantage to take advantage of another person. It just so happened that Elisabeth was shallow enough to allow that advantage, or perhaps dying to be exploited by that advantage, to fall for such an obvious ploy. The flames consume the façade and they both get the A they wanted. The bus trip ended and Chet and Lizzy got off the bus hand in hand. Chet lit Lizzy’s cigarette with a Zippo and went on their way to the bus station restroom. Their time normalized while I still had 10 hours of a 5 hour bus ride to go. I finished my book, closed my eyes and reflected on the events of my travels. Perhaps in our anonymous selves, we have smoke damage of the corruptions that we want others not to see. We create illusions to demonstrate ourselves in one form, as well as metaphorical nicknames to demonstrate our seemingly unconscious desires, until we are touched by an observer that should not be looking at our faults by decree, but cannot resist. We are found to be false and then either burn away that falseness for our own credit, or allow it to take the form of the average everyday grade that is passed on to the people we meet. The final purpose of all of these illusions and monikers persists to create an illusion for ourselves to perceive the individual as more powerful than his faults and controller of his own destiny. This then contradicts itself in the practice of the flaws dictating how fast we progress along a highway of personal freedom and achievement of goals. It turns our claims of understanding liberty and freedom into understanding the boundaries of what is socially safe. We are afraid of ourselves and rely on the preservation of anonymity to spare us. The danger is that there are those among us who have learned to benefit from this dissonance and with that advantage, take what he wants from people who are sitting in the false security. Safety is at its core a social construct and leaves us ironically unsafe.

To sum up, Bus travel leaves way too much time to think about things. If ever given the chance to fly or go Greyhound, splurge on the coach seat. There is very little philosophy dealing with an hour flight there and back than a more than whole day’s worth of what should be a fourteen hour ride.

In Process

I have started the passing of my MySpace Blog to this location on Blogger. pork ay? you ask, well, after much encouragement by my wife to switch over, and the fact that no one uses MySpace anymore, I have decided that this is my best move. I will continue to place things in the blog every now and again, but at the end of all of this, there should be new stuff coming out soon.

Larger than Life (tissue warning)

I recently attended my Uncle Matthias's funeral.

Due to the fact that my father had about 17 brothers and sisters, there are many of my aunts and uncles that I don't really know all that well, and Uncle Matthias was one of those people. All I really remember was that at the baby shower/Wedding reception we had a few years ago, he and his wife Jane brought us a tree to plant for Lilas. According to his Obit, He was a man who loved life and those that were alive.

Let me explain a little bit further. He had a lot of cats. 11 cats, mostly walk in strays that he took care of. He also tended to his garden a lot. This seems kind of like typical things a 63 year old fellow would partake in, but it is a little deeper than that in my family. We are, from my observations, the stewards, caretakers, and the ones most attuned with life and lives.

See, my father enjoys it when the lake water runs over the bank in the stream. I always assumed it made for good fishing, but one day my dad related this to me that made him tear up a little. "Ryan, when I was younger, there was so much bad around me, so much death, then I would see the water rise over the bank. The water was just so full of life, I could forget how tough things were and revel in the living. There was just so much life..."

I think that we as Riojas's are quite attuned to life. We are sensitive to the little behaviors that are exhibited by living things and life in general. That's why we got a tree. I mean, Karen and I were registered at Target for gifts, and we had no place to plant a tree where we were living, other than at my parent's house. It was not a practical gift at all if one looks as it in a useful way. But this one gesture of good wishing seemed more a representation of Life than something that could be used for any useful purpose. My uncle was saying, whether he meant to or not, "Here is life! I'll give you life for your new life starting."

My father also is a man who is preoccupied by the essence of life. He is a hunter and a fisherman, as well as a 4wheeler officionatto, and spends his day at work providing heat to people who are cold. I myself find myself getting choked up about silly things like when people are offered jobs to be able to continue providing for a family. My dad is also an empathetic man, which I inherited from him in spades. We both have a desire to fix bad emotions in other people, to experiment with human reaction, and to make people laugh. By the same token, I guess I share the same sort of anchor to the well being of life to enrich my own.

The format of the funeral was to collect the family and have people share fond memories of my uncle. My dad took a turn.

"I remember that Matthias had a pretty blue car. He would give me and Danny each $2.50 a piece for our allowance and get into his car. Then he would say... 'Hey, each of you gimme a dollar back.' We would give him a dollar and he would peel out in front of the house. We would cheer and yell and have a grand old time. My brother Matthias was someone who was Larger Than life itself..."

I'm kinda choking up right now as I draw conclusions and parallels with my own life. I am seeing with each day that I grow older and older why my dad was the way he is; why he would ask me where I was going before I would hang out with my friends, and why he would give me 5 or 6 bucks to enjoy the outing without thinking about it. That's what my dad was shown about how to take care of someone younger than himself. To be larger than life is what it means to be a Riojas, to be a part of this family, to be a person so tied to the ebb and flow of life.

I now look at my dad with the eyes of a father. I see things that he is too humble to admit. My father has a million people that would take a bullet for him. The conversations I have with people I meet on campus is "your Tino's kid aren't you" that is followed by "Your dad is a great guy!" There are children being born in the family that people, on purpose, are naming after my dad. As sad as it is to lose a brother, an uncle, a father, a friend, a soldier, a caretaker, and a gardener, I believe it is Valentino Riojas's turn to be what Uncle Matthias was to him. It's my father's turn to be larger than life.

This post in particular made, and makes, people in my family cry.

Long time survivor of S.I.D.S

I am a year older and a year wiser. Ok bullcrap flag on the thirty, 15 yard loss.

Here's the world as I see it after a quarter century of breathing without choking.
1. Everything sucks.
2. Everything is beautiful.
3. Life is hard
4. Life is simple.
5. Sleep is optional
6. Don't believe the hype, what people say is bull to compromise your freedom.
7. Always get a second opinion. one person's word is hype, 2 people is solid science.
8. God is real, but the God most people follow is imaginary.
9. I enjoy video games, and drink coffee, but do you know what's addictive? Heroin!
10. Don't go outside. You know, global warming and all that.
11. All is legal until one gets caught.
12. A person cannot take someone's freedom, but when panicked, a person can give up their freedom to someone else. War is one of those panic inducing events
13. Money is a numeric value of what an employer feels that your freedom is worth, and upon purchasing your freedom on a pay as you go plan, they capitalize on working you more than they feel your freedom is worth. One day, You become a salaried manager, and thus you are updated to a subscription basis, where your employer decides that your freedom is totally expendable for the sake of his or her own ends. Then you retire and spend whats left of your freedom on not finally succumbing to S.I.D.S.
14. Everyone in this world is an ass. There are two kinds of asses in this world: Ones that are smart, ones that are dumb. The luckiest of us can choose which ones we will be on an hour by hour basis.
15. I have no problem with God, it's the fan club that I can't stand.
16. Giving your 110% is what stupid bosses ask of employees who probably have a better grasp on statistical math then they do.
17. Most controversy is not worth talking about until it can be talked about in a non emotional manner. Since most controversy evokes emotional reaction, this means that to effectively discuss controversy, we must wait until it is no longer controversial.
18. Politics is a way to place all of our responsibilities on someone else. Its how grown ups shirk their chores.
20. Most Americans are minorities. Ah, the English language, it is beautiful.
21. English is a stupid language.
22. I love sarcasm. Stupid people think I am complimenting them, and smart people get the joke.
23. I think Helen Keller said it best...
24. Those people who tell you that everyday is the greatest day of their life are lying to you.
25. Never cook bacon naked. The blisters are unattractive.

After all this time, you would think I had something deeper to say about the human experience. Well, I'm not that old yet. I can't spend too much time reflecting on that which is deeper than this. I have to wait until I retire to really understand what I just went through and what I truely know. If I were Descartes, I would have deduced that all I can really know is that I think. (Yes, most people get the quote wrong. "I think therefore I am" is actually a combination of two conclusions Descartes came up with in hes meditations. It really goes that he knows he could only conclude if everything is a deception is that he exists, and he thinks. It has nothing to do with generation of self as the dumb ones from the 14th point might conclude

here's to the night folks. Here's to another year under the belt. Yay, I'm not dead.

Wasting Time

One quick thing before I earn my nights repose.

I make 9/hour+tips at outback

Take out for taxes and my first paycheck was 75.07 for 10 hours of work creating basically, 7.51 per hour

3 of it went to cashing it
20 of it went to lunch of which I spent 10 on myself
30 of it went to take out for dinner of which I had a wonton or two and bites of each thing

43 dollars in one day converts into five hours that went to expensive food and over 50% of my assets (overshadowed by ridiculous amounts of over draft and credit charges) and 1 hour got to spend on myself for a burrito and a Sobe. Roughly 6 hours in essence got spent in roughly 6 hours. Every hour I do not work is an hour that gets spent in this case. I hope this pattern does not continue.

With this set of circumstances, is it any wonder I flip out at the slightest provocation and stay up all night with indigestion? Add in the fact that I don't really do much for myself and just about everything for the other two and 2/9 of a person that live with me and you will find a guy who just needed a good time for one day. So, I had a much needed release hanging out with my friend consequences be damned. It is 2, Lilas will be up at 7. I will take care of her, fall asleep on the couch and have nightmares of credit card companies calling my phone and doing chores to the point where I work a week in my sleep in reoccurring dreams. Only to wake up to credit card companies calling me and doing chores while I am awake. At this point, I need to say this and once again, consequences be damned. I needed tonight so anyone can say what they will and I will give them the bird and begone with it. Its late and I am going to sleep now.

See May 24, 2007

My god, is it May again?

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I've reached the breaking point.

I find that the more I try to work though this situation I have gotten myself into, the more impossible it becomes to work. Lets start with about 4 months ago (or so)

I was consoling Karen about a movie we had just seen. She was crying inconsolably about the movie Juno, a comedy, of all things. It was about a girl who had a baby at a young age and the sight of a baby welled tears in her eyes. Well, the reason, she said later, was that she wanted another baby and she knew she couldn't have one. I was not ready for one, to be honest the reasons were beyond anything like finances. My first child's birth took a lot away from me that I guess even now, staring my future down again, I am still bitter about what was stolen, not only by having a kid, but by others who associated with my first child.

My mother in law is a big source of the bitterness. She came into my house in Missoula a day before my wife and future daughter was to be induced, rearranged my furniture, threw away my things, worked herself to death in my home, and expected me to thank her for the invasion of privacy and insulation to my character. I recall resting in the back room of our small trailer that we were renting from my father in law, (who I have nothing but respect for) and having her come to me and literally call my faith and salvation into account. "Ya'kno, if I were you I would go take a walk and pray. Ya'kno, get right with God right now. This would be a good time." I was reading Snow Crash instead, and didn't move an inch. Really, she was using an assumption that I was a dirty rotten sinner and therefore needed to pray for repentance because of the infidelity that was going to be born in 15 hours. I had long made peace with that to my creator long ago, and now all I had to to was deal with the consequences. All she really wanted to do was get me out of the house so she could have Karen all to herself. Even earlier she had asked what role she was going to have with the birth of Lilas, and we told her that she could be there for moral support then a partner for the birth. That was MY job. anyway, comes time to have Lilas, and she tells me that I am tired and should go get a sandwich from the vending machine. Once again she told me what to feel and tried to get Karen by herself. This time I was mad, and had to leave to not stress out my half conscious wife who was giving birth. I left to save peace and as much as I hate to admit it, I was hungry. However, when I left, Karen's mom was such a stress that we almost had a C-section. When I came back we resumed giving birth, but Karen had contracted down to 4cm from almost 9. I always phrase it nicer when i talk to Karen about it, but the Human Body tries to abort children under stress. Stress stops labor, stress causes miscarriages, stress Kills babies that the body deems too stressful to live. When we called Karen's mother during different false labors, It put so much strain on her that she would stop contractions. Anyway, as we resumed, I had Karen's hand and her leg with my arm. she pushed and bled and I held her leg back to help get my daughter to the world. She was born with a lump on the side of her head from the 9 to four contraction but she was a pretty baby when she was born despite it. Upon going to but supplies for the hospital stay, Karen's Mom received a phone call from her sister and re accounted the events. "Yea... Karen was having a hard time... Yea it was just like when I had Jeremy... Yea, she had it rough but me and her mother in law pulled together our motherliness, and she has a beautiful baby girl." Let's be clear Leslie: Karen was having a hard time because of YOU, your story about your first child changed at least six times until it was exactly like YOURS, and you were no where near the blood and the piss and the placenta and the shit, YOU were being corrected by health officials when you were giving bad advice. She eventually did get her wish of getting rid of me, you see. She doesn't tell the story with me in it and writes me out of history. So you can imagine my bitterness to this day. She did get her wish of getting rid of me and having Karen all to herself.

So I was not ready to have another kid. She cried every night after that. I gave in our anniversary under a few conditions.

1. She said that she would push though being sick.

2. She would avoid her previous pregnancy diet of Dr. Pepper and Fudge Shoppe sticks.

3. She would be better with the money.

After all of this and the fact that it would be a good time for Lilas to have a little sibling, I gave in and for our anniversary, we removed her IUD. We Immediately got pregnant. We also immediately went broke during the final days of the semester. What I figured happened was Karen panicked when we had under 1000 dollars in our checking account and counter intuitively began to "sand bag" for the coming depression, spending the last we had on things we apparently "Needed" and for the life of me I don't know where it went. Good bye 3! She eats relatively better than she did when she was pregnant the first time, so she keeps number two. Number one is the one that Is the most destructive. She is too sick to work. Even to clean the house. I have had to be the housewife and the working man while Karen acts as the couch. Yea, she's sick. I wouldn't make her clean a toilet in her condition,but she promised she would work through being sick. She has even moved her computer to the couch for ease of access and camps out on the same stretch of furniture complaining about Lilas jumping on her. I'm starting my old job at Outback again because they would give me more hours and they give me free food as well as tips every week. It's not a bad gig, but it is fast and hard and I ache like a bastard. In the end she has defaulted on 3 and that keeps her in check for 2 on the basis that we have no money, and last but not least, she lied to my face about 1.

So, now I feel betrayed. I feel used. I feel like taking all our stuff, torching it, and living like a freaking hermit for the rest of my life. I think I need another job on top of the Outback gig, the problem is Karen can't watch Lilas in her condition so the other job would be going to daycare while Karen continues to act like a Barcalounger. It's not her fault, I know. That drive to make another baby was so strong I guess, she felt a necessity to have another child, she felt it necessary to lie to me and give me false hope that I would not have to carry the whole house. This is the punishment for being an upstanding male who accepts his responsibility with the consequences of his actions. It's not worth it. To the dead beat Dads out there, Hazaa and Kudos to you for being able to escape the responsibity of children. I envy your lack of conscience and honor and long to be one who could walk away when things get hard.

....I feel lied to....

(comments posted later)

From Jason

Well, I have to say that the way you just spilled your guts to everyone is impressive. You've never been one to hide your feelings though, so I'm not overly suprized. It really sounds as though you've gone 100 mph into a brick wall of shit for lack of a better term and have no time to turn for anything other then advise.

First of all, life is far too short for you to invest time into people that go out of their way to make you feel like a horrible person. It's also too short for you to be dwelling on the perameters of maintaining relationships with those that cannot accept you for who you are as a person. Your faith, in the 15 years that I've been a friend to you, hasn't waivered or been questioned any more then the next believer. We all make bad decisions and we all do things to a less of an extent then we would have originally prefered. Wether it be your education, career or relationships with your family and friends, they can all be improved upon just like anyone else. I only bring that up because I don't understand the reasoning for Karen's mother to be acting this way towards you. There's a very good possibility that there isn't any reason at all other then the fact that she's an overbearing, control obsessed psyco. Much of which is not seemingly in her control to remedy untill she can mentally and emotionally accept the fact that her daughter is a grown woman and her role as a mother as changed.

Without meeting Karen's mother, I can't really give you any other outlook on the situation with her. I'd venture to guess that you're better off in just understanding that she has issues. It's not you, it's not your fault and you need to just blow her off as much as you can without completely offending Karen. Talk to Karen about it though. Not everyone gets along with their in-laws and at least you can feel comfortable in knowing that you tried, but your friendship wasn't accepted.

As for working too much and doing all of the housework. Karen needs to realize that even though she's carrying your child, she still has an obligation to maintain. I supose you'll have to try and rationally talk things out without directly putting blame on her. Even if accusations are fully deserved, their never looked kindly upon when their being delivered to you by someone you care for. Many feelings arise, such as being embarassed which is soon to be masked by anger closely followed by defense mechinisms. More or less, you'll need to tell her that you've run as hard as you can with the rope in hand and you're about to hang yourself. What I mean by that is you were basicly handed the responsibility of, well, pretty much everything and you ran with it. Right now you're at a "breaking point." So tell her about it. Ask her if there's any way she can muster up the strength and determination to help pull you two through this. Start small though. If there's any way to guarantee failure in a life changing goal, it's by setting yourself up for failure with too large of a goal to achieve. See if there's a few light chores around the house she can do. Get the computer away from the couch. I've been there, and it's just plain being lazy. Talk to her about a part time job. Many women are sick through the duration of a pregnancy and she still has obligations to maintain. 20 hours a week with a creative aproach to child care during those hours could really help you out a lot.

I have to get ready for work now man, but send me a mssg or call if any of this is making sense and you'd like to talk it through a little more or just vent. We're here for ya bud, hang in there.

My reply:

In defense for Leslie, my mother in law, at that point in her life she was busy with her own issues with her Marriage and finances. The way she copes with this is to ratchet down the other things in her life that she can control. Karen acted as sole babysitter for her brother for all of high school and as a consequence, Karen missed out on a lot of things that you and I got to do, like stay up all night with friends, fight with people and not feel guilty about it the next day, and just be a normal teenage person. She was basically a co-mother with her mother and that inclined this whole controlling psycho thing. I was something that Leslie couldn't control, and barely knew in general, so as a consequence, she tried to control me and failed. Since then Karen has had conversations with her mom about her role as mom. We've worked out that although Karen is Leslie's daughter, she is not her child anymore. Things are better. It's the day that my kid was born that I want to get back, or at least feel better about. We patched up the relationship with Leslie, but the scar is still there for past transgressions. I'm working though that though.

In defense for Karen, she really is sick. It is miserable and painful, and we have a prescription for nausea that we can't afford until next week. I try to get her to do things around the house and she runs to the bathroom instead. She's not having a picnic. The metaphor of furniture is to describe the ability she has right now to help me while I clean and work, not for her laziness or her lack of commitment. To put it another way, if she went full out cleaning, I would have to clean the house and the vomit from the floor. She understands she has an obligation to uphold, she just cant do it. The "Breaking point" was an internal one for me, rather than one in our relationship. I'm falling apart an there's no one that can help me at this point. I found myself kicking a box across the room over not finding a dust pan, screaming at my two year old for being two, and having nothing to do but write about it. Nothing much really has changed about how I deal with things I guess, Instead of bringing a notebook with me everywhere, I use my computer.

anyway, I am shocked by your insight man. You've done a lot of growing since I last saw you. I also need to meet this chick of yours. Kristi said she liked her, so that gives me... well nothing. I appreciate your concern and thanks for the post.
one more thing: CALL YOUR DAD! He came into home depot a few months and we were in a consensus that you were a bum that doesn't answer your phone :^}, take it easy man.