September 12: A Confession

I have a confession.

Remember how, at the end of my second post on September 11, I said I just wanted to go to sleep for ten years?  Go ahead, scroll back to that post.  Read it.  I'll wait...

Are you up to speed?  Okay.

Well, last night I did something really stupid.  I don't know if it was because I was upset or distracted.  I don't know if I was simply tired beyond common sense.  But I went to bed last night without testing my blood sugar.  I never do that.

I woke up at about 1 a.m. today to find two strange people in my bedroom.  They came on the ambulance my wife had to call because I was having seizures in bed.  When my blood sugar gets incredibly low, a few things happen.  First, I sweat so much I soak the bed like a 90-year-old man with bladder issues.  Second, I have convulsions.  And third...I can't remember what the third thing is.  (Yes, that's my lame attempt at humor.  The third thing is that I don't remember anything leading up to the EMS people at my bedside.)

Well, after an IV of glucose, a peanut butter sandwich, and a glass of milk, I crawled back into my drenched bed and went to sleep for a few more hours.  Then I got up and went to work.  I figured I might as well get paid for having an all-day headache.

The thing that frightens me is that I'm not sure why I forgot to test my blood sugar.  It's like brushing my teeth.  I always do it.  Maybe I really did follow through on some unconscious death wish last night.  I've been pushing through mud all day as a result. 

Rest assured, tonight I will be testing my blood sugar before I crawl into bed.

Saint Marty doesn't want any visitors in the middle of the night.

I have no death wish tonight

September 12: Nice and Peaceful, Happy Places, Piece of Mind

That's the whole trouble.  You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any.  You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you" right under your nose...

When I started flipping through my copy of Catcher, looking for a passage that captured my mood this evening, I held little hope.  My state of mind is so foul and negative that I thought Holden Caulfield, even in his most desperate and depressed moments, couldn't describe my feelings.  Then I happened upon the little passage above, and saw that it was good (yes, I'm stealing from the Book of Genesis).

I have a few happy places in my life, places where I always have a sense of self-worth, safety, and value.  When I teach, I feel that in the classroom.  When I help my daughter with her homework or give my son a bath or make dinner for my wife, I feel that in my home.  When I participate in a worship service or sing in the choir or plan an event, I feel felt that in church.  That's right, I scratched out the present tense because, right now, church is not one of my happy places.  It's like Holden says.  Someone sneaked up when I wasn't looking and scratched "Fuck you" on the altar.

That sounds harsh, I know.  I'm dealing with some anger issues.  I've worked for the church for close to 15 years as an organist and worship leader.  I loved every second of it.  The songs, concerts, cantatas, plays, writing workshops, children's Christmas programs.  However, after yesterday's news that the church is eliminating my salaried position, I'm currently feeling betrayed, devalued, insulted.  I'm a used Kleenex.  I was useful for a while, but now I'm a ball of tissue crusted with snot.

I'm looking for peace of mind for my piece of mind tonight.  I want to be calm and happy again.  I've been trying to get there all day long.  It's not happening.  Until I sat down at my laptop this evening to blog, I don't think I've had a single positive thought.  I just realized something, though.  Typing my posts makes me happy.  In some weird way, when I'm blogging, I feel connected and safe with people who care about me.  And I don't even know them.

There, I've found happiness.  It may be fleeting.  It may only last as long as my laptop screen is glowing in my dark office at the university.  It may be a complete fabrication of my currently chaotic mind.  But that's what happiness is, I think.  It's whatever you want it to be.  A blog post.  A can of Diet Coke.  A little girl chewing gum loudly.  A rainstorm on a September evening.

That's a piece/peace of Saint Marty's mind.

Anyone need a tissue?

September 11: "The Shining" and Motivation

I don't have much motivation for anything tonight.  After I'm done typing this second post, I might climb into bed with a copy of Stephen King's The Shining and try to disappear for the rest of the evening.

It seems like all the things I've depended on for the last ten years are failing.  My medical office job--no overtime.  My church job--gone.  My university job--going no where fast.  I'm tired of bad news.  I don't want to answer the phone.  I don't want to open any mail.  I don't want to talk to people.

Saint Marty just wants to go to sleep for about ten years.

What a load of crap!

September 11: Any Dough, Money Problems, Tired of Worry

"I got my damn bags at the station," I said.  "Listen.  You got any dough, Phoeb?  I'm practically broke."

Holden is begging for money from his sister, Phoebe, at this point in Catcher.  He's spent all of his cash on drinks and hotel rooms and a Broadway show.  He doesn't have many options left.  He could come clean with his parents.  He could give his brother, D. B., a call in Hollywood and ask for a loan.  He doesn't do any of those things.  He turns to his elementary-school-aged sister instead.  Holden is not thinking clearly.

Well, it's Worry Wednesday, and the only thing on my mind right now is money.  Or, rather, the lack of money.  This afternoon, my phone service got temporarily disconnected because we were behind in payments.  I had to call my sister can beg for a loan.  Sound familiar?  Yes, I have become Holden Caulfield.

And now, I just got off the phone with a gentleman from church who's the chair of the committee that oversees the church staff.  He told me that my salaried position at church is going to be eliminated come January 1 of next year.  That's another $200 a month gone from my family's budget.  That's in addition to the $400 a month I lost this summer when the hospital eliminated overtime for my medical office job.  I'm literally drowning right now in my thoughts.

I've been trying to avoid writing about financial problems in my blog posts.  I didn't want to complain or whine or get mired in self pity.  Tonight, I'm smack dab in the middle of the hugest pity party in the world.  That phone call pushed me over the edge.  It was like somebody jumping out of a closet, yelling "surprise," and then kicking me in the balls.

I'm tired of worrying about money.  Really tired.  As soon as I wake up in the morning, I start thinking about the next bill that's coming due, or, more likely, past due.  I walk around all day, wondering when the next piece of bad news is going to strike.  It's exhausting.  Really exhausting.  I'm feeling pretty much like a failure at everything tonight.

Everything.

Saint Marty doesn't even have the energy to come up with a witty way of ending this post.  He's wondering if Holden's sister, Phoebe, has a spare five or six thousand dollars.