Tuesday, May 2, 2006

70/31/19

  • In elementary*, I kept a calendar in my desk at school. As Christmas or spring break or my birthday or summer approached, I would stare at the calendar in catatonic glee with every spare moment. I would put a little circle on the day I was on, and then put an "X" through the days that had passed. I would work out how many actual days until said event and then how many school days. I would count the days over and over again, backward and then forward, and assign values to specific days; a Friday would go by faster than a Tuesday, and so on. Then I would stare at my watch and see the seconds tick away; each second put me closer to the end of the day.
    My poor organizational skills and my slight autistic tendencies meant that I could do this sort of thing all day -- the number of seconds left in the minute, the number of minutes left in the hour, the number of hours left in the day, the number of days left before whatever it is I wanted to happen finally happened. OK, how about now? Count it all again.
    That's sort of where I've been for the past week, with the eagerly anticipated event being split between two dates. There are 70 days between now and the day the child bride and I are planning to move to Wales; there are 31 days between today and my final day in the service of my benevolent employer, with only 19 days of actual working left (only 19 days because the child bride and I will be in Utah for a week to celebrate her younger sister marrying Packer-loving scum).
    During those work days, my routine goes like this: stare at my Google calendar; look at satellite images of Cardiff; look at pdf map of Cardiff transport system; look at pictures of the house Rachel and I are hoping to rent; check e-mail to see if letting agent has sent anything; repeat.
    Everything is still so very much in the air at the moment it makes me sick.

  • Suddenly I find it hilarious to add question marks to song lyrics:
    - "Here I am? Rocked you like a hurricane?"

  • Good name for a band: Diaper Contraband

  • Quotes that take all the seriousness out of the message you were trying to convey: "There's a hidden enemy in your house and it's a piece of furniture."

  • "Six in 10 young American adults were unable to locate Iraq on a map of the world, a survey found."
    Having once lived in California, I am not at all surprised, but that doesn't keep me from being depressed.

    *For those of you reading from afar, elementary school covers ages 5-11.
  • 8 comments:

    Neal said...

    Don't you wish you could have back all of those seconds, minutes, hours, and days that you counted away? If you only knew then what you know now, you could have spent that time counting down towards moving to Cardiff.

    Zoe said...

    Funny, my current work schedule is much the same as yours, except instead of checking email to hear from a leasing agent or looking at your house, I do the crossword...

    My countdown is a bit different though: 2 days until I leave the services of my benevolent employer, 3 days until I'm in Wales (though sadly not to stay), and 45 until I'm out of Dallas.

    Banksy said...

    You look a bit brokeback in the new picture at the top of the page Chris. Just thought you should know.

    Good that you're in touch with that side though.

    Chris Cope said...

    Since the look of "Brokeback Mountain" was a film about men in the American West who drank heavily and fought, I'll take that as a compliment.

    Banksy said...

    "drank heavily and fought" - is that some sort of euphemism?

    Perhaps this is where your enthusiasm for wrestling comes from.

    We all know what happens when wrassling gets out of hand don't we? To the half-nelson that dare not speak its name, that's where.

    Thomas said...

    Sadly, the same poll reported that 10 out of 10 people can not locate my blog in the blogosphere.

    Chris Cope said...

    Who are you, Thomas?

    mona said...

    out of the six how many are in favor of the war?