#365Gratitude Day 314:The sweet embrace of the unknown

So, yeah.  President Trump.  I'm one of a very large number of people this morning who feel "like I was thrown into a dumpster from a moving car being driven by a giraffe high on PCP."

Sometimes, we all have that moment where we're walking through the house, in the dark, in the middle of the night, and we bang our toe against something.  It hurts.  And for a moment, we sit down and grab our toe, and worry that perhaps this time, it's not just sore, but maybe broken.

And maybe for a little while we wear shoes in the house, or decide that maybe we don't need that fig newton and slug of milk right from the carton in the fridge in the middle of the night.  (Hey, it's my house.  Don't judge.)

And we keep going.

That's the whole point of this blog.  We don't start anything.  We don't stop anything.  We just keep doing.

There's a zen story about it that's my favorite.

This one.

Let's keep going.

#365Gratitude Day 304:Pleasantly Unpleasant "music"

I stumbled across this oddball thing, that's made me laugh over and over again.  

It's covers of music featuring a flute played, well, in the most shitty way possible. It's discordant, jangly, off-key, terrible and completely wonderful.  

It's so gut wrenchingly bad, that it's funny. I can't listen to more than a few seconds of it without absolutely busting out laughing. 

Here's the first one I found.  

I love laughing. I love making other people laugh. This stuff is going to get a whole lot of play from me.  

#365Gratitude Day 301:Farting & Litter Boxes

Ok, so I'm sure your very first reaction is:

How the hell can you possibly be grateful for either of those things?

Well, because they're more than what they smell like.

My friend Moliére called me up this morning to ask me a sort of silly question.  He's a cat person, as am I.  Not like we have tails and pointy ears and chase little balls around, we just both have cats and really, really love them.

So, his question: "When you're cleaning the litter box does it ever feel like you're working in a zen rock garden?"

Know peace.  Or pieces.. of poop

I laughed.  That shit is funny.  (womp womp)  

But then I got into a big conversation with him about how actually, there really is a kind of zen there, one which I've talked about for years with my brother Spacey.  I even call it "cat poop zen". When you're a cat person, you love all the cutesy funny things they do.  The way they chase the laser pointer, or want to attack your shoelaces, the derpy faces they make when they sit on your chest and look lovingly in your face.  You also take the bad with the good.  My cat Yang likes to claw the steps.  Yin forgets how sharp her claws are and is always trying to lovingly stroke me with her paws when I'm in bed.  Sometimes I sleep naked.  You do the math.  Sometimes Yang overeats (because Yang), and then proceeds to throw up in gobs like a t-shirt cannon at a sporting event.  Yin makes an AWFUL sound in the middle of the night that when translated into english comes out as "HEY WAKE UP... I'M ABOUT TO LEAVE A HAIRBALL FOR YOU... SOMEWHERE."

And of course, there's the litter box.

But I love my cats.  They're like my children.  And while in the moment all those things kind of suck, they also really don't suck.  Because they're part of the package deal.

"Thanks for being such a good friend!"

Farts are like this too.  In my entire romantic, dating history, I've always known a relationship really was going to be successful when the person I was dating was able to fart in front of me, and vice versa.  Farting is like the gross universal connector amongst humanity.  Everybody farts.  And nobody looks like a rockstar when they do it.  Some time in the recent past Queen Elizabeth farted.  Somewhere in the White House, our commander-in-chief has cut the presidential cheese, and will do so again.  It makes us human.

I certainly do it.  Fairly often.  Around Missy plenty, too.  It helps me know I'm just a fragile, imperfect person, like everybody else.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a littler box to go scoop.

#365Gratitude Day 300:Good luck around 2:30

My wife Missy has been going through a series of what you might euphemistically call "dental misadventures."  It's been one bad thing after another. ​

This most recent thing turned into a painfulnd expensive procedure she has to have, which was due in large part to a mistake the dentist made.  I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty specifics for many reasons, but the whole situation has been awful. 

But this morning, it got better, much better. The practice got in touch with her, agreed to pay entirely for a related procedure, and allow us to pay our part in pieces.  

Missy texted me about it just as I got to work, and her relief over the whole situation was palpable .  I'm so glad she can get to the end of all this awfulness quickly, and that the dentist showed us compassion. 

#365Gratitude Day 299:Using what I got is my bag

Literally even.  

This is my work bag.  You can tell because there it is sitting on my work desk. Which is at... work, right.  

I got this bag from my last job when I worked for about a year for one of the absolute shittiest conpanies I've ever worked for. They had mostly subpar benefits, as well as policies that always and without exception favored the company over the employee. 

Yay. 

However, the job itself was good, very good. It's where I learned my current technology I work with.  And they gave me this bag. 

It's not a perfect bag. The inside pocket where a laptop is supposed to go is structured awkwardly. But it turns out to work well for an iPad, a Bluetooth keyboard, and a legal pad.  It does have a very nifty outside pocket that is the PERFECT place to put a badge and lanyard.  

I started using it when my trusty LL Bean messenger bag began to give up the ghost.  

It struck me today as I was fishing my badge out from said niftypocket (sure it's a word now), that deciding to use my bag from HyperMegaCrapGoons Worldwide and figuring out how to make it work for me was a certain kind of mindfulness, an adaptive strategy that serves me well, and one which I, without noticing, employ often. 

You know, it's my bag.