As X Approaches Infinity

November 19, 2009 at 4:33 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  Say I was to die in a horrible meat grinder accident.  My phone would fly free, playing some ridiculous ringtone as it landed.
  My body is found, and near it, my bloody phone.  Someone has to invite people to my funeral.  Whom do you call?  I had this in mind when I did this.  I have a spreadsheet that I use as a contact list, and I just updated it in preparation for being able to enter these numbers in my new phone.
  Although I have a SIMM card that I will be able to move from phone to phone (provided I stay with this provider) it doesn’t store all tne information.  It doesn’t store addresses, for instance.  And I only hope I can make this many categories when I get my phone and put the contacts in.  There is a subtly to this, and here they are with the explanation for them:

friend         everyone I don’t know from work or other group, also spouse of work friend, et cetera
BFF-         Kim (bunny) and The Dude
FOA          people I know through other people
old friend    someone from back in the day that I may not see much, or at all (may be from a work place originally) or I may see them–just hard to say   
fof              friend of family–an odd category
business-   businesses I use regularly
bus/friend  acquaintance I use informally for repairs
medical-    doctor, dentist, walgreens, the eye doctor and so forth
casa de rancho   people at my house–the GF, her mom, her son, his friend
extended fam     everyone else–cousins, aunts, uncles, my brother and sister
family farm      all my kids and grandkids
the ex           so far, there’s only one in this category

pulaski      people I know at this job 
imos          people I know at this job
scooters    people I know at this job
dominos    people I know at this job
school      people from high school and college
church      people from church
government  election board, city hall, police, et cetera
pac          any political organization I join and members
writers     any writer’s club I join, and writers
comedy    all people and things related to standup and comedy
neighbors   people who live near me–just in case

  Scott (The Big L) I have as "friend" because the group "old friend" more indicates people I dont see much.   We work at Imo’s together now, but I’ve known him much longer than that:  before Scooter’s even, we worked at DOmino’s.  Plus he is my BFF’s Husband.  It’s the same with Todd:  we don’t work together anymore.
Bill C and Larry R and Larry B are good examples of "Old friends", even though I originally knew them all from Domino’s. 
  Serena goes under "pulaski" because we work together there, even though I originally knew her from school.
  so I have 21 groups.  And counting.  Now it’s 23.
  In addition, while many of these numbers I have I am not putting in the phone as a contact, I am keeping them on my list because YOU NEVER KNOW.  Some of these people I may never see again, but if I die I want them to come and see me laying in the coffin with my pants undone and my hand posed to give everyone the finger.
  I have about 100 contacts that aren’t businesses, just people.  It’s good to know I have that many peoples.  But I think about other people I know that I don’t have on there, and I realize I need to get in touch with other people.  And more family as well. 
  Seriously, I can’t believe that all of this came just from my desire to organize my contact list.

  Speaking of staying on topic, after the first couple of days taking the ADD meds, my body has settled down and I’ve adapted.  However…I’m not sure if it’s working.  Is it?  I need a test or a quiz or something to calibrate from, to tell if I am more focused or not.  The thing I feared most, that it would change that certain little something that makes me *me*, hasn’t happened–I still feel normal.  That’s part of the reason I’m not sure if it works or not.  But I am able to focus better.
  I have a few indicators–but maybe I’m reaching.  I noticed that I listened completely to various conversations.  I looked and listened and paid attention to everything Detroit said to me…it must have been unsettling for her.  I have been seriously working on this story to enter into a contest, and I intend to mail it well before the deadline is up.  I haven’t been distracted by other stories.
  I think I may have been interrupting other people less often. 
  I feel like I have been daydreaming less.  I don’t know if that’s good or bad.  I guess it’s good, but I miss it. 
  I stil feel a little over-whelmed and stressed out over what I have to take care of…which leads me to believe that when I have this much crap going on, it’s normal and acceptable to be stressed out and freaked out about it.
  But at least I’m only worried about the stuff that matters, not these little things.  I guess that’s something.
  What were my expectations?
  Maybe I should have asked that.  What I wanted, what I thought I would see–I don’t know.  I guess I was almost expecting a robotic-type of focus on getting the job done, and accomplish a whirlwind of tasks.  I was going to clean the rooms, take out the trash, finish remodeling the basement, and in between drags from a cigar I was going to build a new computer and write a book or two.
  This–that sentence–gives me a little perspective.  That’s what I was like before in what I *wanted* to accomplish.  But I’ve slowed it down a bit, and I have more realistic goals.  I’m not going to volunteer for more than I can handle, any more.  I’m not going to make promises to too many people and stretch myself too thin and let everyone down.
  But I feel like I’m not getting these projects around the house done.  Did I hit another post-manic slump?  I don’t mean manic, but ADDers have something called hyper-focus–a serious burst of clarity where they laser-beam in on something and git er dun.  Am I just out of one of those, or did the meds take that away?  Or have I just been busy, what with Miranda’s surgery and all?
  A man’s got to know his limitations.  When I find out what mine are, I’ll let you know.

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