How Are You Doing?

I get asked many questions during the day. “What’s up?”, “Can I get you anything else?”, “What would you like?”, “Large or extra-large?”, “Can you please stop bothering me?”, “Why do you have to be so weird?”, “What’s with all the stalking you do?”….

You know.. normal things.

However, in my life, there is one question that beats them all. One question that if I am never asked again in my entire life, I will be so perfectly fine that I might do a dance. Granted, I would have to be dead in order for me to know whether it happened or not, and a dancing dead body might freak out the locals.. but I’d be cool with that.

Digression at it’s finest folks…

Anyway, that question is, “How are you doing?”. Now, this sounds like a normal question, I know. But let me put this into the context for you. At a funeral, or after someone passes, everyone pours out of the woodwork and is overly concerned with your well-being. Genuine, I know, so I don’t hold it against them. But every one of them walks up with sympathy in their face and espouses to you that same question.

“How are you doing?”

I’m civil. Or at least I lie to myself and tell myself that myself is civil. Myself. (it just needed one more myself). So, I smile and act polite and recite the words, “I’m fine” or some other combination of words that means about the same thing.

I know I sound jaded. Let’s not beat around the bush. I am. Most likely. Never been diagnosed by a doctor, so I’m not particularly sure if you can self diagnose that particular prognosis. But, after the amount of family members and close friends who had died on my over the last 10 years, I have gotten a bit tired of that question. (by the way, I stopped counting after 15)

“How are you doing?”

It’s like this cannon-shot going off next to my ear that I just want to look at the person right in the face and go…”Gee, I don’t know. My (insert close family member here) just died, someone who I’m never going to be able to see again and only have the memories of them to hold onto. It only happened a few days ago and I have been trying to take care of taking care of their last wishes, so I haven’t had time to process my loss yet, but, hey, I just want to thank you for checking on me and reminding me that I just lost someone dear to me and haven’t really worked out how that all makes me feel as of yet. So you want to know how I’m doing… I’m FINE!”

Granted that is exactly how I answer that question.. minus everything before the last two words. And without the capitalization.

Like I said.. Jaded. I get that.

These days, when I am placed in the position of the person offering condolences, I have a completely different view-point of what that looks like. I no longer ask “How are you doing?”, I just walk up, stand quietly and just let them know I am there. Sometimes I offer something encouraging like a hug, a “hey, or a “love you bro” kind of thing (bro-dette if it’s a she). I talk a bit about the person who passed, if I knew them, remembering some good times. If I didn’t, I will ask a question or two to get the person to share with me a little about their memories. I usually conclude with something like.. “sucks man” before I walk away.

However, there is one thing I will never say to someone in this situation. And for the love of God can we please take this phrase out of our vocabulary… “Call me if you need anything.”

Cause, yeah, in the middle of all of this.. that’s exactly what I was thinking.. who can I call if I need help. Oh, the 8 billion people who have told me to call them. Seriously!?!?

Instead… how about we change that to…”Hey, I’ll call you in the next few days.” or “Hey, I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow.” or.. something like that.

Ok.. I seriously could rant about that for another 1500 words… but.. so not the point right now.

So after reading all that…

How are you doing?

(and if you don’t get the sarcasm in that… /facepalm)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”

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How Are You Doing?

I get asked many questions during the day. “What’s up?”, “Can I get you anything else?”, “What would you like?”, “Large or extra-large?”, “Can you please stop bothering me?”, “Why do you have to be so weird?”, “What’s with all the stalking you do?”….

You know.. normal things.

However, in my life, there is one question that beats them all. One question that if I am never asked again in my entire life, I will be so perfectly fine that I might do a dance. Granted, I would have to be dead in order for me to know whether it happened or not, and a dancing dead body might freak out the locals.. but I’d be cool with that.

Digression at it’s finest folks…

Anyway, that question is, “How are you doing?”. Now, this sounds like a normal question, I know. But let me put this into the context for you. At a funeral, or after someone passes, everyone pours out of the woodwork and is overly concerned with your well-being. Genuine, I know, so I don’t hold it against them. But every one of them walks up with sympathy in their face and espouses to you that same question.

“How are you doing?”

I’m civil. Or at least I lie to myself and tell myself that myself is civil. Myself. (it just needed one more myself). So, I smile and act polite and recite the words, “I’m fine” or some other combination of words that means about the same thing.

I know I sound jaded. Let’s not beat around the bush. I am. Most likely. Never been diagnosed by a doctor, so I’m not particularly sure if you can self diagnose that particular prognosis. But, after the amount of family members and close friends who had died on my over the last 10 years, I have gotten a bit tired of that question. (by the way, I stopped counting after 15)

“How are you doing?”

It’s like this cannon-shot going off next to my ear that I just want to look at the person right in the face and go…”Gee, I don’t know. My (insert close family member here) just died, someone who I’m never going to be able to see again and only have the memories of them to hold onto. It only happened a few days ago and I have been trying to take care of taking care of their last wishes, so I haven’t had time to process my loss yet, but, hey, I just want to thank you for checking on me and reminding me that I just lost someone dear to me and haven’t really worked out how that all makes me feel as of yet. So you want to know how I’m doing… I’m FINE!”

Granted that is exactly how I answer that question.. minus everything before the last two words. And without the capitalization.

Like I said.. Jaded. I get that.

These days, when I am placed in the position of the person offering condolences, I have a completely different view-point of what that looks like. I no longer ask “How are you doing?”, I just walk up, stand quietly and just let them know I am there. Sometimes I offer something encouraging like a hug, a “hey, or a “love you bro” kind of thing (bro-dette if it’s a she). I talk a bit about the person who passed, if I knew them, remembering some good times. If I didn’t, I will ask a question or two to get the person to share with me a little about their memories. I usually conclude with something like.. “sucks man” before I walk away.

However, there is one thing I will never say to someone in this situation. And for the love of God can we please take this phrase out of our vocabulary… “Call me if you need anything.”

Cause, yeah, in the middle of all of this.. that’s exactly what I was thinking.. who can I call if I need help. Oh, the 8 billion people who have told me to call them. Seriously!?!?

Instead… how about we change that to…”Hey, I’ll call you in the next few days.” or “Hey, I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow.” or.. something like that.

Ok.. I seriously could rant about that for another 1500 words… but.. so not the point right now.

So after reading all that…

How are you doing?

(and if you don’t get the sarcasm in that… /facepalm)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”

Self-Deprecation…

Trying to convince the world

That something should exist

Is akin to hurling lightning bolts

While keeping a closed fist.

The true value of a thing

Can never be judged by another,

Hence the reason for the saying,

“A face only loved by your mother.”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Do or Die.”

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The Obligatory Gift

Writer’s Ramblings

I have been writing since I was in elementary school. I mean, the creative kind, not the other. I have obviously been writing since before kindergarten… well, maybe not so obvious.. and look.. a bunny trail right off the bat. (I can already hear my wife saying “Focus”) Ok, so.. as I was saying.. writing, elementary, creative.. ok.. back on track.

In that time frame I have had hundreds of stories that I have wanted to write. Ideas so grand that they would have been spectacular to read. If… I could only get them out of my head. There are times when I come across a story and I look at my wife and say, “That was my story from 20 years ago.” or I see someone with a name that I created when I was a teenager and I tell her, “I made that name.”

Everytime I do, she has the same response. She looks at me lovingly, sorrow filling her eyes, sympathy spreading from her heart out towards me as she embraces me in a loving hug and pats my head and strokes my hair and tells me, “You should have written the story then.”

Ok, none of that is true, except for that last part. She totally just drives that nail straight into my heart and, personally, I think she enjoys it a bit too much. I married a sadistic woman… but everyone that knows her will think I am lying because she is the nicest person any of them have ever met (or close enough that it’s just a matter of semantics).

I’m not really sure what it is that stops me. Sometimes I get bored with the story because I completed it in my head, sometimes I don’t think I’m good enough, sometimes I let every distraction get in my way, and sometimes procrastination is way too comfortable.

Then there is this blog. A source of enjoyment because I can complete something. Creating in itself a sense of accomplishment that I am truly writing and finishing something, even though it is more akin to eating cake then a proper meal. It’s the sugar rush without the content. It is an interesting conundrum.

Excuse me while I go bang my head on the desk…

Ok… now that I am done self deprecating, I do have several stories I am working out. One in particular has hit an interesting snag with the plot and I have slowly been working it out. Another has an enemy issue. Then there is the one that is a trilogy that just seems daunting every time I even think about it.

I really should just start writing them. Just get it out of my head, blow through the excuses, and do it.

At least that way I wouldn’t have to hear my wife say “You should have written the story then.”

Again.

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Little White Truths

I am a horrible person.

There, I admitted it. Not a surprise to those that know me, I am sure. But to those that don’t, this may come as a shock. Now, I know many might be asking what nefarious thing have I gone and done this time, but I will get to that shortly. I just feel with the Christmas time being so near, I need to clear the air about my wrong doing. Or rather, about my… not wrong doing… as it truly would be stated.

See, I don’t lie. Not the big fat ugly ones, not the little innocent white ones. So much so that I have told my wife pretty plainly, “Don’t ask me a question you don’t want an answer too.” As she is sure to eventually ask the dreaded question all husbands seem to lie about…”Does this make me look fat?” to which I would have to respond in a manner that would deprive me of… well, marital bliss… shall we say.

So why would I be apologizing for not lying? Well…. see, that’s not what I am apologizing for. I am apologizing because in the fact that I take great pride in not lying, I do tend to manipulate the way the truth is told. I have learned a lot of ‘trade’ or ‘craft’ secrets when it comes to disseminating information in a manner that leaves the hearer the ability to fill the holes in as they would.

Now a prime example of this would be how I find information out. It’s a great tactic, and if there are any parents reading this, you are free to use this on your children if you want. If there are children reading this, well.. stop reading this particular entry and go check out my Count Your Blessings blogs… after all it’s Christmas, you should be thankful, right?

Ok, now that the kids are away… here is a prime example of one of the ways I manipulate the truth without lying. I would sit at the dinner table with my kids, and during a quiet moment, look over at them and simply ask, “Why would your teacher contact me about your behavior in school today?” They would stop, look at each other with the look that spoke volumes about how they hated their sibling for tattling on them, and then they would start to spill the proverbial beans about what they did wrong that day.

I know… fantastic! Right?

I never told them the teacher called, I simply made asked them a question. It is a glorious tactic, one that has led me into more information than I might want to know about the on-goings of my children, but glorious none the less. Feel free to try it.

I also tend to steer around telling a flat out truth, almost finding it a game of “Keep Away” when it comes to some truth I know that I don’t want to reveal. My children have learned that I do this and knowing that I won’t lie to them, have taken it as a challenge to ask better questions.. or just stopped caring to find out.. hrm, maybe that’s why we don’t talk as much as we use too..

Anyway… when faced with avoiding having to tell a truth, questions are great and become a tactic by using them as a diversion or a counter method toward the questions being asked (see disclaimer at the bottom). I would give some examples from my own life, however nothing is coming to my mind at the moment (or I am holding back and deciding not to share any of my trade secrets… it’s one or the other).

Now, yes, there are those that would argue that this is, in fact, lying. I’m not here to argue that point, but more clear the air before Santa comes, because this year, I really want to get my Red Ryder BB Gun with compass in stock.

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(DISCLAIMER… I have a policy that I can not use this tactic when it comes to my wife. One, she would hurt me, two, it’s just not right to keep secrets from your spouse, that can be dangerous (see first point))

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Brewster’s Problems

Given the ability to do what I want,

With no thought to extravagance or to cost,

I’d find myself wanting to just end the day,

Cause in my head I would just get lost.

No, seriously.. I wouldn’t even know where to begin…

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Name Calling

Nerd, geek, dork and dweeb,

Names used to call me,

But not like most,

I tend to boast,

At least it’s me they see.

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Too Many Pills…

Sometimes, I feel that doctor’s got a cue from Monty Hall when it comes to prescriptions, and there are days where I walk into the office and feel like I just walked onto the set of “Let’s Take A Pill”. I’m not really sure if this is insurance driven, the pharmacology companies pushing more medication or if the doctors really think that this form of treatment is the answer to solve all that ails me.

Then, as a good patient, we start taking our pills, swallowing down whatever it is that they told us is going to fix the problem, only to have to end up taking others in order to counteract the side effects of the ones we are taking, which then cause us other issues and.. well, you get the idea.

For instance… I am currently taking a diabetes medication, a cholesterol medication and a blood pressure medication. My blood sugar is about where it was 20 years ago, elevated but if those numbers changed a wee bit (less than a percent) I would be outside the scope (and by the way, that has actually happened in the past). My cholesterol is a bit high.. ok, in days gone by I liked my hamburgers, pizza and other fun (read…unhealthy) food. So that one, sure. Got it.

Then there is the blood pressure medicine. My blood pressure is fine, like spot on fine. 120/80 kind of spot on. Hasn’t changed in so long I can tell the nurse taking my pressure exactly what it’s going to be (plus or minus 3 points). So, why am I taking this? Because one of the other pills I am taking has a chance to raise another number that is slightly elevated (but normal) and he is concerned that it could cause me problems.

I’m like… what?

Then there is the scenario about my shoulder. It hurts. Like bad enough I actually went to the doctor to tell him it hurt and it wasn’t even falling off (Yep, one of ‘those’ guys). I get an MRI done, I get my evaluation. The doc says, “It’s an impingement caused by a bone spur.” Great I think, hoping this doesn’t mean surgery, but before I could say anything, he finishes with, “We won’t be doing surgery because we can’t see the bone spur. So, instead, I’m going to give you a cortisone shot and schedule you for physical therapy.”

So, there I am, sitting on the paper covered table with him looking at me in all seriousness, telling me that an MRI couldn’t see the bone spur, but this invisible bone spur was what was causing my issue and his answer is to inject me with something and send me away.

I’m not a huge fan of needles, and I have heard enough about this cortisone that I am really not for it. However, my wife is in the room with me and she is all like.. “Yeah, lets do that. That sounds like a plan.”, and in my head I am shooting daggers at her, which by some odd coincidence happened to be about the size of the needle that this doctor ended up sticking me in the shoulder with.

Guess what?

The cortisone shot hasn’t done anything for me. Big win Mr. Doctor, sir. Plus, you know… more daggers.

Now, I like my primary doctor. He is funny, a nice guy, listens to me and tries to calm my over active hypochondriacal ways. Plus, he is a reservist, so bonus points there. All I’m saying is.. instead of taking a chill pill, can we just chill with the pill?

Seriously, he couldn’t see the bone spur…

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