Train of thought tuesday....

There's a lot going through the railway station that is my brain today... some trains are stopping to let off passengers and cargo, others are barrelling through at 70 mph and knocking some poor kid's puppy off the platform and onto the tracks.

Boy, that was a particularly grisly thought, wasn't it? I guess that you get a little muddy wading in the stream of consciousness.

Anyway, I was browsing MySpace today, and came across the profile of a woman I met at the con over the weekend. I've been sitting here all morning trying to decide if I should write to her or not. I mean, what would I say? "Hi, I met you over the weekend, found your MySpace by Tuesday, but I swear I'm so not stalking you even though I found you cute and funny..."?

While amusing and full of comedic potential, "creepy fat guy on Internet" really isn't what I want to project to women I meet. Still, my experience is that fortune favors the bold. I guess I'm just torn about writing to someone I hardly know.

Still, that didn't stop me from writing to my cousin last week after finding her e-mail address online...

Yes, I wrote. No, it wasn't real pretty, particularly after she found my blog... But I think we made our peace by the time the exchange was over. This is another thing I'm very torn about... my Dad has chosen (for reasons that are entirely his own and will not be questioned here) not to have a relationship with his family. While I know my decisions are my own in all this, I also know I feel very weird trying to get to know these people that Dad doesn't feel comfortable talking to, family or not. I've made some attempts over the years to keep in touch with that side of the family... but each time it seemed very forced somehow, and never led to a lasting connection. Maybe this is just my guilt at not having really known my Grandmother in the years before she passed away, or maybe it's the slight sting I felt about none of my Dad's family checking in with me after Katrina to see if I was okay. All I know for sure is that this has got to change. My cousin put a thought into my head that has been bugging me since she made the point... if one of us had been making an effort to keep in touch with that side of the family, we would have known what was going on. I tried to get in touch with Grandma after Katrina to let her know I was okay, (figured she would want to know) but failed for one reason or another. Maybe I should have tried harder.

But then again, maybe my overdeveloped sense of guilt is just being a jerk to the rest of my brain. This post is turning out to be way more depressing than I ever meant it to be... so lets try to end it on a high note, about heart disease...

At work today, my boss came out from the kitchen eating an ice cream sandwich. "I shouldn't be eating this" he said, "Eventually, these things will give me a heart attack. You know, I know a guy who died at 41 from a heart attack"

My boss and I are the same age... and I have roughly 200 lbs on the guy, so I laughed at him and said, "You know, when I was 18, people said I would have a heart attack by the time I was 21. When I was 25, the same people told me I wouldn't make it to 30. On my 31st birthday, my ex fussed at me that by eating that second piece of cake, I wouldn't make it to 35. Here I am at 37, and two of my much younger friends have had between them multiple heart attacks, so you'll understand if I view the idea that I won't make it to 40 with a little bit of skepticism. You can't live your life in fear."

"Yeah." my boss said, "It's like listening to the helmet laws for motorcycles anyway. If I want to risk my life, it's my god-given right to do so. I'm just showing that I won't be afraid by eating this." he then finished the ice cream sandwich with a little bit of a flourish. "In fact," he then said, "I'm gonna have another."

"Now wait a minute," I said, "One is making a point, a second is just putting the gun to your head needlessly."

My boss stopped, turned around and said "You know... you're right." and went back into his office. My job done, I then went and ate the last ice cream sandwich.

Hey, someone had to throw themselves on that grenade, right?