Otter Box and Sox

So, I believe in the general resilience of the special glass used on iPods and iPhones.  I dropped my iPod many, many times (not on purpose, no) before it finally cracked, and even cracked, it still works.  I never had a protective carrying case for it.

I'm on my third iPhone now and for the first time, I bought a protective case.  I even bought an Otter Box.  But I am highly doubtful that it will help me. 

The reason I bought it is that sometime around December, the camera on my previous iPhone got so scratched that pictures taken with it became quite fuzzy.  Only the camera on the back.  The camera on the front was still sharp - so I did become somewhat skilled in taking pictures over my shoulder or without being able to see exactly what I was taking...

But getting a "fresh" start, I decided I would try and protect this camera better.  Now that I know that the glass surrounding the camera is NOT the special relatively scratch resistant glass that is on the rest of the iPhone. 

I carry my phone in my pocket. I'm not a purse gal, not that I think a purse would necessarily prevent the rattle with the keys and coins that happens in my pocket, anyway.  I still don't know how the camera got so scratched - I have done research into my pictures and time-stamped the demise around Christmas last year.  I can't remember anything in particular that I did.  I have just assumed, generally, that it got scratched up over time, and that might be the case.

So.. I went to look at cases to protect the camera.  And ALL of them are open in the back to allow the camera to look out without any kind of protective film or skin to protect the camera.  So, if something had POKED at the camera lens from within my pocket, for example, I'm not really sure any of them will protect the camera. But, at least, in theory, it provides a ridge so the camera is not flat against whatever it rubbed against.

I decided to go for the Otter Box.  My best friend bought an Otter Box when she first got her iPhone about three years ago, and was in love with her Otter Box, even though getting the phone in and out was a bit like trying to get into Fort Knox.  Those things are fricking expensive.  So I bought the "Commuter" case which offers less protection up front, but since I didn't have any problem with it up front, I'm less worried.

And, I still have insurance...

But, already, I think my iPhone feels about its Otter Box the way my feet feel about sox at night, now in bed.  It can't wait to squirm out of it... It doesn't QUITE fit right, and it just feels confining, and all it wants to do is push it off.

You can see, for example, the pieces of the otter box sitting on my desk at work now.

I don't know if this will work, long term, but... I'll take a lot of pictures in the meantime!! :)

A sheepish "Ooops!" and post #200

Baa-aa-aaa!

So, as I wrote in the last post, the final issue that tipped me over to getting the iPhone replaced was the difficulty I was having with listening to music even though I had hit shuffle on the playlist, it kept repeating whichever song I was on over and over.  And I was frustrated that I couldn't turn off the iPhone to reset and reboot the problem.  That THIS was what finally made me do something. And then, the next morning, after it had been rebooted, having the problem continue was what led to my brief (let's humor me) rant that I posted.

Today, the new iPhone arrived. Rather the new-old iPhone. And I kept my tweeps informed minute by minute as I awaited the restoration of my old phone's data onto my new phone, and the status of pictures, music, apps, etc.  It was very riveting stuff.

But, finally, I get it mostly configured the way I want it.  As best as it's going to get for now, and I decide to try out the speakers, and play a song from the music library I have downloaded onto my iPhone.

And the f-ing song repeats. Swear to God.  WTF? I mean this stupid bug must be with the system, or some virus, or.. oh.. wait... if I click up near the name.. What's that? Oh.. the controls for shuffle and repeat?  And, what is that? the phone is on repeat 1?

Oooops....

Well.. I needed to get myself a new phone anyway. 

This is my 200th published post (there are several unpublished ones).  I am grateful, like sheep, you all continue to follow me... Baa-aa-aaa! 

Stick around and share with your friends. :)

And that, ma'am, is why I threw my iPhone against the wall...

Okay, so I haven't actually done so.  But I am tempted to do so this morning. If a new one wasn't on its way, and it wasn't QUITE clear that I would be charged now at this point if it were damaged, well... Sit back and let me tell you the story! ;)

So a few weeks or so back, the top button on my iPhone started getting sticky and had trouble depressing.  It didn't take too long before it stopped being able to depress at all.

For you non iPhone-ers, here are a few of the uses for the top button:

• to lock the phone - to prevent you from butt dialing, e-mailing, texting, or deleting apps amongst other things
• to take a screen shot - I like to take screen shots with my phone frequently. 
• to turn off the phone

And this is pretty much the order in which I discovered my issues with having the top button stuck.  I fixed the first issue by having the phone automatically lock after one minute.  I don't think I've done too much butt dialing, but it does, often, require I still hold onto the phone outside of my pocket while I wait for it to lock.  Not a pretty solution, but it was one that enabled me to live with the problem for a couple of weeks.

Well, I have still had several moments where I would like to have done a screen shot in the last couple of weeks, but I could grudgingly live without that function.  And, clearly have.

And frankly, I rarely turn my phone off, so it's taken me a couple of weeks to realize what the detriment is in not being able to.  When your software and your apps get wonky, just like any other computer, sometimes a reboot clears things out.  So, last night, while doing some cleaning, I had my iPhone on speaker and went to one of my playlists (with more than one song on it) and hit the Shuffle option.  It only played one song on repeat.  Period.  Over and over.  I could move to the next song manually, but if I didn't do anything else, it would just play that song over and over again.

So, that was the tipping point for me, and the point at which I realized that this is a very clear reason to have the phone replaced.

Now I have an iTouch, too - first generation I believe.  (I mentioned this last week for those keeping track of my toys).  I have dropped that puppy and cracked the screen.  God bless it, it keeps on working, anyway.  And before I cracked the screen, I even slipped and dropped it in the toilet.  It did recover, thank God, although for a few days there I was quite nervous.  I had no cell phone at that time, and it was my sole source of potential communication (within WiFi) when I was out and about.  But it recovered. 

When we went to buy the iPhone last year, there was no question in my mind that we would pay for the insurance.  My colleague and business partner was already grousing a little over the cost, but for me, having had one before, and having the iTouch, I was most comfortable with getting it.  (When all these problems did arise, she did not hesitate to poke me by letting me know that her Droid is working just fine)

Armed with the account info I need, I head to the local Verizon store that's only a mile away.  Because I really would like them to just physically replace it - but they can't do that these days.  And I should have known that because even when I bought the phone from their store, it didn't come from their store.  What's up with that? But that's another issue.

She inspected the phone, looked up the account, and given that it had been over a year since I bought it, concluded that it would have to be covered by insurance since the original manufacturer's warranty had expired. And, oh, by the way, it's a third party insurance company you have to make the claim with, but here is their phone number.

So, not even out of the store, I have dialed the number into the keypad, and immediately get the recording that it would be faster for me to go online, so I did.

But here's the problem that will bite me in the ass.  I don't know HOW or WHY it stopped working.  It got kinda sticky.  Did I unknowingly spill soda in it? I don't think so (hence the unknowing part).  But I don't know why.  And apparently that's a big issue with these phone folks, and by outsourcing the insurance (which in theory, I understand) a huge hot potato issue arises.

After going through three of the six steps to file an insurance claim, the website stops me and tells me based upon my description of the problem, it isn't their problem.  And that I should go back to Verizon and have them replace it.  They did give me the magic words: "Extended Warranty Program".  So I call back to the store - hoping that she will be able to give me my phone, but alas, I have to call *611.  Oh well.

I do.  And at some level what happened next was a small God-send because I really couldn't understand the first woman I was talking to.  Her microphone was too close to her mouth or something and her speech was really garbled and hard to understand. 

But I did understand her first part (and I understood it again the second time I went through the process) which was IF I WAS WRONG and they determined that indeed it was damaged, well, then, sorry dear, you should be aware that you are taking the risk of being charged.  Excuse me? Couldn't you just send me back the phone and I would send it on to the insurance company for a claim instead? Or even better yet, couldn't you then send it along to the insurance company?  Apparently, the answer to that is "no".  So.. do you want to continue and risk being charged full price for a new iPhone?

Okay.  Fine.  I'm really not happy with that risk, but what choice do I have?  Insurance takes care of damage, warranty takes care of manufacturing issues.  On a serious note, several folks did tell me that I should run over the phone with my car.  I am beginning to understand why - that would CLEARLY fall under the insurance company's responsibility.  No risk. 

Next thing she has me do is check my current system.  Now I've avoided downloading the latest system because I was kinda fond of my Google maps.  And everything else was working - so it wasn't like it was urgent.  But apparently, you can't return a phone unless it is upgraded to the latest system.  In theory, I understand.  What if the malfunction was a result of a bug they'd already fixed? Okay.  But this isn't a software issue, folks, it's a hardware one.  Wha-t-ever.  So, without thinking, I start the software update on my phone.  A-a-and, of course, cut off the phone call. 

While I waited the fifteen or twenty minutes for it to reboot and load the new system software, I thought to myself, well, the good thing is that at least I've rebooted it now, so my music will shuffle again. 

Imagine my reaction this morning when I hit shuffle, and the same freaking song just repeated over and over again.  :)

Old iPods

I have an old clunky 20 GB white iPod that contains most of the music I owned before.  I don't even know if I still have the computer with the iTunes with the library of all the CDs I had once owned and burned.  I thought it was on an external hard drive, but I'm not exactly certain where that hard drive is.

But that is an aside.

I took a trip across country in 2007, and the old clunky 20 GB white iPod died.  Pfft.  Done.  Couldn't be revived.  And it was horrible at the time because I was driving long days - going from friend to friend.  My father replaced it at Christmas that year with a first generation iPod Touch (with LESS memory) which has mostly been replaced by my iPhone.

All of the above is mostly verbal vomit dancing around the real topic of this post.

At some point, after Dad bought me the iTouch, I was surprised to discover the white iPod worked.  Still to this day no idea why.  But now I have this little (relatively heavy) archive of music I used to listen to. 

When I took off on that cross country trip, it was after having had a marriage counseling appointment that my wife had not come to.  The third such appointment for couples counseling that I attended singly.  In the eight years we had been together, I had learned (poorly) that when my spouse was in this angry place that the best thing to do was to give her space.  I sucked at it.  I wanted to fix things.  I wanted her to feel better.. and I wanted to do whatever I could to help her feel better.  But I couldn't.  The only way for her to feel better was to leave her be.  And that was hard.

I was at a transition point in my life.  About to embark on a new job in a new career that I was scared about, but excited about, too.  At that moment in time, though, I had no employment obligations and this new career was likely to be all-time-consuming with little to no opportunity for future vacation and I had never driven across country, and really wanted to do so.  The lease to the car was about to expire, and since I had stopped the 100 mile daily commute two years earlier, we had plenty of miles pre-paid to spare. 

So I got home from counseling, packed up the trunk, and took off across the country.  It was a wonderful trip in so many ways, but bittersweet given the circumstances that partly inspired it. 

I had a lot of time on the road to think.  I needed it, too.  And I have to say that my faith in God grew much stronger on this trip.  Against all odds, frankly.  I remember driving through mountain passes and asking - out loud - what am I supposed to do?

I created this road trip play list my second day in when I was at the hotel at night in New Mexico.  In addition to good songs to keep me awake while I drove, I filled it half with love songs and half with "she done me wrong" songs to try and figure out which songs were calling to me more.  Seriously.  And the love songs were the ones that continued to call to my heart.  I loved her.  More deeply than I could have ever imagined.  Even though she was crazy and driving me crazy and pushing me away.

I loved her.  And that was the underlying message I received, at some level, was to just love her.  To open my heart wider and love her. 

I spent a year and a half doing that, my heart open as wide as it could be, and so when I walked away - when I finally had to walk away, I was done.   I was done grieving the relationship that once was.  And so, now, when I think back about my ex - and when I have over the last three years, mostly what I feel is numb.  Sometimes, I have even wondered whether I really did love her.  I had put everything that belonged to her, everything that I had given her that she had literally and figuratively thrown back into my face, and put it into a steel box in my heart that was well protected and from which I was well protected. 

When I think about what I was grieving the last three and a half years, it wasn't her.  It was my life.  It was everything I gave up and left behind.  And I never quite knew what to make of it - I kind of thought I should be missing *her* more and aching for *her* more, but I accepted that I didn't because I had already grieved her.  And I do believe it.  But every once in awhile it made me wonder if maybe I hadn't loved her like I thought I did.

Last night, for some reason (God?) I pulled out my old iPod and recharged it.  This morning, for some reason (God?), I decided to bring it into my contract place to listen to while I worked.  And I knew that the best of my music was pulled together in this Road Trip play list, so I selected it and hit play.

It started with simple old country with Alabama belting out "High Cotton", (Old times there are not forgotten..) and moved onto other songs that pulled at the strings of my memory.  I smiled listening to "At the Zoo" by Simon and Garfunkel, started moving to "Move It" by Baja, remembered romantic evenings from college listening to old Tracy Chapman and Indigo Girls.  It was an amusing musical trip down memory lane.  I was figuratively patting myself on my back for having such great music.  There were some tear-jerkers that I resisted being pulled too deeply into - "Bad Goodbye" with Clint and Wynonna, for example - mostly because they had applied to other relationships, too.

I was just zipping along and enjoying the day's soundtrack - my life's soundtrack - until The Promise by Tracy Chapman came on.

Oh, that song... Five minutes and 28 seconds of heart-tug for me.  I think I may have even purchased the CD with that song on it while on the road trip, but I won't swear to it.  But I played that song on repeat for hours.  Particularly when I was away from my spouse, hoping that she would wait for me...

"If you wait for me.... then I'll come for you....although I've travelled far.  I always hold a place for you in my heart..."

Over and over.. "If you think of me... if you miss me once in awhile, then I'll return to you..."  I wanted so badly for her to tell me she missed me, for her to want me to return to her while I was on that trip. 

"Remembering, your touch, your kiss, your warm embrace... I'll find my way back to you... if you'll be waiting..."

Over and over, hours and hours.. the song just encompassed everything that I wanted when I was on that trip.  Everything that I was willing to give to her.... "in a place where I can feel the beating of your heart...." 

"Together again.. it would feel so good to be in your arms.  Where all my journeys end.  If you can make a promise.  If it's one that you can keep.  I vow to come for you. If you wait for me.  And say you'll hold a place for me in your heart."

And with those opening strums of the guitar, the bow across the violin, I was reminded today how very deeply I loved her.  How very much I wanted her to have a place for me in her heart. 

Generally, these days, if you ask me about the woman I left behind, I speak about it all with much distance.  I have grieved the loss of her and I have long since learned to live my life without her in it.  It is easy for me - for you - to dismiss the importance she once held for me because I don't feel it now  - I can't feel it now.  But today, I was reminded.  I once loved her very deeply - and all I wanted was for her to make room for me and want me to return to her.  And back then, I was willing to wait for her, too...

A rose named Borg...

Original Title (so you can understand the original theme I was writing from): 
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga

I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name".  When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"

There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name.  My full real name.  One other person knows my first name.  That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)

And that is not an easy decision.  And by next week, that circle may increase. 

The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"

Um, yes you can?  And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"

If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name.  In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account.  (Dratted iPhone and human error). 

This is not easy for me.  I do not like living in closets.  I do not like hiding who I am.  I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am.  I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).

I have written several blog entries already about anonymity.  I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right.  This is something I've struggled with.  And still struggle with.

At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever.  But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga.  The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure.  Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do!  But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.

Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life.  People I've loved dearly.  People I still love dearly.  While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not.  And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was.  And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her.  (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)

And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you.  Or someone you know just down the street.  Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story.  And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of.  That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....).  That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.

But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate.  Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done.  Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting.  EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me.  Simply because I asked for it.  And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life. 

It was a real WOW moment.  A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?

And this is the moment where I change the title of this post.  I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going.  But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________.  And that's pretty darn special.  And I'm pretty darn lucky!!

Have patience with me, then, my friends.  Because so many of you have become my friends.  This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too.  I know that you can respect me on this.  I've seen how you support me, despite my name.  And I appreciate you all. 

-----

If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):

I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.

There I wrote:

 Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal.

... 

When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective. There is no unique "I" in Borg. There is just Borg.

So while you think you may know me, you probably don't. Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know. But you do not know my identity.

Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...).  And what would I do at that point?  Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group.  I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)

The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own.  I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived.  Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous.  This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me.  I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me. 

I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship.  There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am.  For some of them, I wish I could change that.  For some, eventually over time, I will.  But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear.  Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends.  While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience.  As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen.  I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective. 

(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )

I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about.  The world didn't fall apart when I told her.  Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about.  And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook.  And she hasn't disowned me as a friend.  Again, an early Jenga piece.

And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately).  It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called.  It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows. 

--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)

I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy.  It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down.  It won't.  But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up. 

Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes".  But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can.  Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there.  And I don't want to censor or edit myself. 

As I said, I don't like hiding.  All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.

Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)

For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you.  And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too.  I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)

And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does. 

Sounds of Silence

Raise your hand if you are comfortable with silence. No, I'm not talking about having your kids be silent - although certainly the silence when they are out of the house and you are home without them, I'm certain (if I had kids) would be quite pleasant.

Certainly there are moments in our hectic and busy lives when silence is welcome.

But how many of us are truly comfortable with silence? I have become less surprised in life to discover how many people fall asleep with the television on. That "sleep" function on your remote control for your television, where it turns off after sixty, ninety minutes or even two hours, has been around for a long time. Clearly it serves a purpose for many of us.

"Hello darkness, my old friend..." starts the song by Simon & Garfunkel. I was a pre-teen when I bought one of my very first non-consumable item with my own money. It was a digital radio alarm clock. And I had it well into my thirties, and probably, if I hadn't fled my home, I probably would still have it in some box of junk (I fear going back to the storage unit of what I was able to salvage, and finding it there, although I'd also probably be quite happy to see that "old friend", too).

It got replaced by an iClock when those were first new, where you could recharge your iPod on your clock, and play your iTunes as well as the radio through it. But I digress.

When I was a young girl, before I bought my magic clock, I would take my big boxy radio (about the size of a toaster) and hide it under my pillow as I went to sleep, to muffle the sound so my parents wouldn't hear it, and listen to music through the pillow as I fell asleep.

These days I have a few television series on Hulu that I've seen before, so if I fall asleep I won't "miss" anything, although usually there's this moment just before I fall asleep where I actually manage to reach out, touch the mousepad, and pause it before I completely crash.

When I had a television in the house, I admit that we were one of those households where it was always on. I can't drive anywhere for much distance without music in the car (including the three miles to work) - unless there is someone else there to fill the gap.

Treadmills at the gyms these days often have televisions in them. Or if not, there's certainly one on the wall blaring whatever show they think most commonly would be enjoyed by others. (Regardless of whether they do or not).  We invented Walkmen for us to live in our own world of sound and block out others. 

Stores and restaurants all have radio stations or muzak on in them or a television in the background. Heck, even elevators, the original home of muzak, of course has music in them, and in many of the skyscrapers, we now have videos - to get that thirty second blip of information or advertising in that we can.

Those who live in the city are used to a certain hum. It's referred to as "noise pollution". When they come outside of the city they are almost deafened (I know it's strange) by the silence.

I was working job #2 the other night, and we had closed, and a rain monsoon swept in (okay, maybe not a monsoon, but it was creating a nice swirling flood in the street between the restaurant and my car). I was waiting for the manager to finish up and the storm to subside before getting drenched by the storm. He'd already turned off the radio for the night, but the storm took out the power while I was waiting, and then there was real silence. We forget, sometimes, how much noise all of our machines around us make.

On an ironic side note, nonetheless, I have to close my bedroom door at night before I go to sleep, because the ticking of the kitchen clock drives me mad.

Those who meditate, though, savor the peace that the silence brings them.  (Assuming they manage to actually find a space where they can have that silence uninterrupted).  I envy them that moment of peace.  I wish I were better able to enjoy moments of silence rather than always seek to silence them.  I lose so much of my life because I want to be distracted, and because, then, I become distracted. 

Writing these posts is one of the few moments in my day where I turn off the distractions, so that the inspiration and the words can flow.  Perhaps this is my form of meditation.  Even then, the sound of a text or an IM will sometimes pull me away - even for a moment. 

A friend of mine recently gave me an "exercise" to do and the first instruction was to "slow down and spend quiet time with you".  While yes, I have read further in her instructions, I'm not apparently really able to get past that first instruction.   Spend quiet time with me.

Except in the shower.  No wonder so many "brilliant" posts come to me there? ;)

(See, even now, I try to joke to deflect away from the seriousness of the idea of spending quiet time with myself...)

But I know that I am not alone.  I know that many of you, too, have trouble enjoying the silence.  Perhaps we are afraid, as Simon & Garfunkel warned, that silence like a cancer grows? 

And let's face it, it isn't just with ourselves.  How many of us can feel awkward spending time with another when that moment of silence comes up in conversation?  If we're eating, at least, we have an excuse - we are busy putting food into our mouths and therefore it would be impolite to speak.  But you know you are truly comfortable with someone when you can sit side by side with them and say nothing, and perhaps just hold hands.  Just enjoy that moment of being with each other. 

And that, perhaps my friends, is the lesson.  You will know (I will know) that we are truly comfortable with ourselves when we can just sit there with ourselves and say nothing, and perhaps just hold our own hand.  And enjoy that moment of being with ourselves. 

Let's all give it a try this week, shall we?  Come back and report, if you will...


P.S. In a completely fitting moment, while I was writing this a good friend who is taking a long road trip this morning, literally while I was writing this, tweeted about needing a new stereo in her car... thus providing one more example of how we are not comfortable with the silence.  (As well as, I admit, an example of how I allow myself still to be distracted during these moments myself...)

Dear Westboro Baptist Church

Now generally, I'm not going to spout political or religious stuff in my blog.  That's not what I'm about.  But the things that do tend to fall under those categories, that I might talk about, I talk about because they are fundamental to the human condition, or useful in my story.

When I'm on #wineparty on my iPhone, and I start to write that hashtag #w, frequently the first option Twitter offers me is #WestboroBaptistChurch.  Oh, Twitter, how little you know me.  Although today, when I post this entry on Twitter, I might finally use it.

I was in the shower today and thinking about the phrase "conditional love" and thinking how those two words don't go together.  How that really is a paradox.  Now, I wasn't thinking of the church at the time, but it was the beginning of that winding path that led me here by the end of my shower.

Yes, that's right boys and girls, it's time for another Shower Topic blog post. 

Dear Westboro Baptist Church,

I don't think God would look very kindly at you for disrespecting his Creation.  I think there's a spark of God in all of us, and when you hurt anyone, particularly deliberately, I think you hurt God, too.  (Cue up Joan Osborne's "One of Us" music)

Jesus told his disciples to go out and preach the Gospel.  Nowhere in the Gospel have I found Jesus telling anyone that you should hate anyone else.  Nope.  In the last few lessons at MY church the last few weeks, Jesus has wandered amongst the unclean and loved them.  Frankly the only ones I've noticed Jesus be upset with or encourage shunning or avoiding are those who are self-righteous...

I don't care if you like me. I don't need you to love me.  And while God may ask that of you, I don't.  And I think He might understand that it is difficult to love everyone.  Jesus talked about it a lot, in fact.  It is not easy to love one another as I love you.  But try. 

But I don't expect it.  I don't require it (not that my requirements should matter to you).  I just ask you simply to allow me to live my life in peace.  You don't need to bless my unions - my church and my God will do that.  You don't need to come to my funeral - in fact, I kinda would prefer if you didn't, since you don't seem to act particularly respectful of the dead and those who mourn.  But I may invite the folks at Texas A&M to come.  They seem to understand what it means to honor the dead and respect the living. 

If Jesus were here today, do you think he'd want anyone's website that was proclaiming his GOOD News to have the words "God Hates" in the domain name?  No.  God doesn't hate.  God loves.  And Jesus asked you to do the same, although he didn't expect it.

I think God and Jesus would accept the following compromise:  You live your life and follow your beliefs, and do no harm to others, and I will do the same.  Fair enough?

Sincerely,
A Child of God

14 Random Reasons Why The Bloggess should send me a picture

1)  I got a twitter account just to ask you...
2)  I will twit you, er, tweet you every day until you do? I have learned from the best.  Oh, wait, you gave up your Nater-Tater campaign, but I haven't tried nearly as hard as you.
3)  I'm funny. C'mon - look around the rest of the blog and tell me you don't think it's cute...
4)  Please? Did I forget the magic word before?  Now will you, please, send me a picture?  You can use a spatula to collate the paper - that might be easier.  Thank you very much.
5) Frankly I'm creating this list because I have found that blogs with x reasons to [FILL-IN-THE-BLANK, like bite your nails] seem to do well, so I thought I'd start a list.
6)  Because I'm a really nice person.
7)  Because all baby bloggers deserve a chance.
8)  Because once you send me a picture, you never have to come to this blog again, and I won't bother you again - unless like Wil Wheaton you become a fan.  (As of course I expect you will)
9)  Because a few posts ago "the bloggess" tag over to the right became bigger than "who am i"
10)  Because YOU'RE a really nice person
11)  Because you want to pay it forward after Matthew Broderick sent you a picture with a spoon.
12)  Because you don't really want me to start whining...
13)  Because it's the right thing to do.  Or, wait, maybe it's the left thing to do - as in "leave" me a picture?
14) Because I have an indent on my iPhone where I keep going to look at my mail app to see if you've sent one.  Don't do it for me.  Save the iPhone.

Please.  Thank you.  I know you are awesome. 

UPDATED
P.S. For those of you who haven't followed to date, a few days ago, I called out The Bloggess to send me a picture of her collating papers while holding or juggling twine. 

Go ahead, check out the rest of my blog now that you're here!

Laundromat

So like many who keep the laundromat in business, I do not have a washer and dryer. FlyLady recommends doing a little load a day to stay on top of the laundry. That's great when it is in the building. Not so practical when you have to literally drag your dirty laundry elsewhere.

I save quarters. People think I have a problem with slot machines, and while I do, that is not why I save quarters.

The owners have figured out that if you have to pay too much for the dryers, you'll take it home and hang it there and let God do the work. So you can start the dryers here for only a quarter.

The washers? Highway robbery.

When I last used paid machines, it was only 3-4 quarters a machine. Here? 14 to wash. And don't think that quarter gets you too far in the dryer. It gets you exactly seven minutes...

So I have tried an alternate to FlyLady. Instead I keep a load of laundry in my car to do when visiting friends. I need a few more friends to spread it around!

Today, I am at the laundromat.

Thanks to technology, though, I can bring you along - blogging by iPhone. I don't want you to miss any exciting details of my day!

When you pay 14 quarters just to wash, you begin to throw your mother's rules for sorting out the door. Reds I still keep separate, but otherwise, unless it is brand new, it all goes in the same load. Whites, jeans, doesn't matter. I do not believe in segregation!

I remember the first time I did a load at one particular friend's house and she nearly had a heart attack as I mixed my colors...

I warned you that I am just looking for a good batting average! Not all of these are gonna be winners.

Now, go to The Bloggess and look at her updated Nathan Fillion entry and drool over a true member of the Borg - 7 of 9 - Jeri Ryan who posed for a picture with a spatula for Jenny.

I am jealous... One day, I will be worthy. I just don't think it's today.

The Flip Side

The Ukranians are easy to please and continue to come back -or so I think based on how often they find me through the Russian site. 

No, I clearly have a few English-speaking readers, friends of friends. And Mom.  No, not Mom.  I haven't told her about it yet.  I've been spreading the word slowly - I want to remain anonymous after all.  So how do you pick those first few folks to share it with?  And how do I get to be a highlighted blogger from Blogger?

Someone has found me.  Maybe it was those ads I put in bathrooms a few towns away? 

Maybe I need to commit to do 366 Random Acts of Kindness this year?  Better do it fast, the leap year is about to leap by me.

No, that's not it. 

Jenny may be the only solution.  And Twitter.

I have an iPhone app for Twitter.  Maybe it's time I just gave in and did it. 

I resisted Facebook FOR-E-VER (if forever was well over three years ago..), and instantly... I mean INSTANTLY ... became hooked.

Raise your hand if you're like me and you get ALL of your news from your morning Facebook Newsfeed? 

What else do I need to know?

But the question really is: am I ready for Prime Time?  Because if I call out Jenny the Bloggess, that's it.  I'm putting myself out there in a big way.  To her 140,000 fans... Even 140 of them would be huge.  (In the last couple hours, you can see my dreams have grown by 10x... I'm getting ambitious).

Ready or not... the next post is #25... (if it takes me a little bit to post, just remember that it has to be perfect for her, because I'm not a fan of taxidermied animals, I will have to work extra hard to impress her, AND, I have to figure out twitter...)

14. I live alone

I currently live alone. 

When I was in college, I was involved in a long distance relationshp.  It was torture.  This was before the days of skype, texting, Facetime, and e-mail was just beginning to develop, but let me state that we did not have it and we did not use it.  This was when you actually paid for long distance by the minute.  When you paid attention when the phone company called and offered you a better deal on long distance charges, particularly since I wasn't the only one using our phone in a long distance relationship. 

So, communication was not necessarily a daily affair.  We actually wrote letters.  On paper.  With stamps.  We couldn't call every day - we were both students and couldn't afford it.  I'm sure we talked about once a week.  But that's a long time not to be connected.

When we finally ended the relationship due to my loneliness, I recognized and realized that I was not a long-distance kinda gal.  I needed my significant other to be closer to me so that I could be more connected.

In my thirties, I had the relationship I dreamed of in my twenties.  I was living with my partner, and we had a household, the typical white-picket fence kind of existance.  An adult relationship.  I was happy and felt connected.  I had that daily touch, and I was not lonely.

During that relationship, I decided to go back to school for a graduate degree.  This all while working full-time.  This was a lot on my plate.  My time became scarce.  And the demands on that time were heavy.  A good friend of mine was a successful lawyer and involved in a relationship with someone who lived about two hours away.  They talked regularly - I presume daily - and then spent their weekends together.  She had "her" time to do what she needed to do without worrying about getting home to him, and then they had "their" time to do things together and be together.  They had separate time. 

And while in school, and trying to juggle, I suddenly became very jealous of that separation of space.  I suddenly became envious of a long distance relationship, and recognized that now that I was older, I might actually be able to sustain a long distance relationship, and in fact, I might actually want a long distance relationship.  My wife was very supportive of my endeavors, but she had her needs and ants, too.  She missed seeing me, wanted to know when I would be home, and wanted my attention - ideally undivided - when I was home to be with her.  I can't blame her.  Quality attention is much more important than quantity of attention, and I was not giving her the attention she needed to feel that she was special in my life.  But despite our attempts to set "date nights" and other time for ourselves so that we could have that quality time, it was difficult to do so.

I envied the long distance relationship.  The ability to compartmentalize.

And at some point during that relationship, I decided that if I were involved again, I might enjoy NOT living with someone else. 

One of the annoying things I used to do was leave stuff around the house, and let the papers pile.  One of the annoying things my wife used to do was tidy up after me and clean up those piles.  I have a visual / spatial memory.  I have a pretty good memory of where I left things.  If I am in my office surrounded by stacks of papers, I am pretty good at quickly pinpointing what pile something I might be looking for is in, and have a pretty good idea about how far down the pile it is.  With the ADD, I wasn't too great at filing and instead, felt that the papers needed to be out to give me a visual reminder of what needed to be done.  I know that this isn't unusual.

That all works fine and dandy unless someone moves your pile of papers.  And their memory isn't as good as yours to remember what they did with it.  Usually it was put in a plastic bag somewhere. 

So, it'd be nice to have my own space where no-one moved things, and I could find them. 

I haven't really had an opportunity to try out my theory.  I haven't been involved with someone since who has been available to live with me.  In fact, it was quite a complicated relationshp that ended up being long distance at the end.  I did confirm that I can handle being in a long distance relationship better than I could thanks to free long distance, texting, instant messaging, e-mailing.  But I was still lonely, too. 

I think, though, if I were to have the ideal relationship, me and my partner would live in the same "complex" - whether it be apartment buildings, street, or an actual duplex, but have separate space.  Close enough to always be together, but still have a room of our own.

Ah, but that's another post.

Snoozin'

I work several "jobs".  A couple are for pay and a couple are volunteer.  Currently, only one requires me to punch a time clock, and that's a night job. 

Personally, I tell myself that I prefer it that way.  I like having control of my own schedule and the flexibility to make the commitments I want when I want without having to clear them with anyone else.  Being single helps with this, too.

But I'm not sure, particularly with my ADD, it is always what is best for me.

They say with ADD that structure is important.  Habits are important to make sure you have that structure and you get the things done you need to do on a regular basis. 

Without them, adrenaline and deadlines are usually the strongest motivators. Usually if something can be done tomorrow or next week, then I often feel content to leave it until tomorrow or next week.  It isn't that I am lazy, I just logically don't see the need to rush.   Not always, but frequently enough.  It's the "joy" of ADD, and it frustrates the hell out of those around me sometimes.

Did I mention I was single?  Did I mention that my ADD was diagnosed in the context of being in a relationship?  Um, yeah. 

All of this introduction because last night I decided that I did not need to go to my contract site to work today, that I would work from home.  And as I went to sleep last night (earlier than usual, even) I gave myself a stern lecture / made a pact that I would wake up  at the usual time - actually that's wrong.  I always wake up at the usual time.  I love living without an alarm clock.  The pact was that I would GET OUT OF BED when I woke up.  At a reasonable hour. 

Even though I don't need an alarm to wake up, I do sometimes need an alarm in the morning to remind me that time is getting away from me.  That and an old trick from being a kid to find my watch I always lost.  I have learned that if something is small and has the possibility of being lost, it's a good idea to have a daily alarm on it so at least once a day there's noise by which to find it.  So on my iPhone I have a daily alarm that goes off at 8:57 AM.  This is a good hour after I naturally wake up, and sometimes even longer than that. 

So, I woke up this morning at first around 7:15 AM.  That was nice.  I still have time to sleep - I was projecting getting out of bed closer to around 8 AM when I usually wake up.  So I went back to sleep.  My dream was kind of intriguing (I have some of the strangest and coolest dreams that I have lately began keeping a dream journal) and so down I went.  Woke up again closer to 8 AM, as usual.

A small voice said, "Okay, now, we talked about this.  You are going to get out of bed.  Just because you're staying home doesn't mean you get to be unproductive."  Well, actually, it was to myself, so all I really said was "Okay, now.."  The rest was implied. 

It's not even quite yet 8, I argued back.  Needless to say, I won.  And back to snoozin' sleep I went.

I'm not sure how many times we had this half-hearted conversation.  But some geeky math person could provide me with a minimum.  I finally got out of bed about twenty minutes ago, and it is now 10:15 AM.  The iPhone alarm snooze goes off every nine minutes.  And add a couple extra "discussions" between 8 and 8:57 AM, and well, you get the idea.

I've never been a jump out of bed kinda girl unless I had some place to be. Fortunately the woman I lived with for over ten years didn't seem to mind the snooze button, even though she was the type to jump out of bed (often forgetting to give me a morning snuggle and kiss, what was up with that?)  and get going.  She had the energizer bunny inside of her - but that's a whole other story.

When I have to be somewhere, I can get out of bed.  Or, at least, I could.  These days I try not to schedule anything too early so I don't have to test that out, but I used to live on the West Coast in one of those jobs that foolishly was tied partly to East Coast time, and I used to be at work by 6:30 AM, and out of the house by 5:45 AM.  I can do it.  Well, I did it.  You notice, I don't work that job now.  And that I moved back to East Coast time, so it isn't as much of an issue. 

In the light of morning, I recognize that not using an alarm, waking up naturally, scheduling things later in the morning if I have to schedule anything (I have very little that I have to schedule) is my way of rolling with my ADD.

I was too sleepy to create that understanding / argument this morning, but tomorrow, we'll see if I tell myself "Roll with it" next time I hit the snooze button. 

Resistance is futile.

Assimilation

From the dictionary.com iPhone app:

4. Sociol. the merging of cultural traits from previously distinct cultural groups, not involving biological amalgamation.

Of course, anyone who has watched the Borg from Star Trek know that they involve biological amalgamation... but that's a distraction.

In the past, I have been afraid of putting too much personal detail in an anonymous blog because I am afraid that somebody somewhere will figure out it's me.  And then I might feel the need to censor myself.  Ironically, ignoring, of course, that I was already censoring myself, but we'll put that aside for the moment.

I have a friend who blogs regularly who doesn't use his real name as his handle, refers to his wife as Mrs. Handle (or for this, for example, it would be Mrs.BorgBlog), and tries to call his kids by different names to protect their privacy.  But he has been sloppy, and I don't know if he even thinks he has any reasonable modicum of anonymity.

Recently, though, I have found a few blogs where if I didn't know better, I would swear they were written by friends.  And, frankly, the definitive reason why I know that they weren't, on some occasions, because we can all change the details to protect the innocent, was knowing that they were spending time with me when they would otherwise supposedly be blogging.  (Yes, I know you can time delay posts, but, really there were other details that confirmed it). 

I have also found a message board where I have started sharing information, again, very conscious not to give too many incriminating details so that someone might realize it was ME. 

(And we'll just ignore the huge ego issues that I've just raised that anyone really cares it's ME or whatever....)

On the message board, I have seen and I have written: "I could have written that".  We find our experiences to be so similar.  Where we might otherwise have felt alone, we now find comfort in realizing we are not.  My fears that someone who knows me and knows my issue bringing me to the message board would be able to pick me out of the crowd is unfounded. 

I've also fallen in love with The Bloggess.  I am most definitely not her.  But there are several entries (usually NOT the ones involving taxidermied animals) where I think, WOW, I could have written that. 

And so I realize, that even if you think you know who this is, you're probably wrong.  I may remind you of your hysterical neighbor (as in funny, I hope, and not crazy) down the street, the girl you grew up with, a former lover, a best friend, a woman you really hated, but that's probably someone else.  It's probably not me. 

Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal. 

Some have said that there are no new stories to write.  I don't know whether that is true or not.  Fortunately, I'm not in the fiction business.  I just finished reading John Grisham's The Confession, and I found it quite thought-provoking.  And then I picked up a recent Scott Turow book and decided to take a quick review of his other books to remind me of the potential connections, because usually his books connect to each other in some way.  And I was reminded of the book Reversible Errors which I have read, and re-reading the plot summary realized it was the same basic underlying plot as I had just read in Grisham's book.

Okay - that was a detour.

When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective.  There is no unique "I" in Borg.  There is just Borg.

 So while you think you may know me, you probably don't.  Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know.  But you do not know my identity. 

You can simply call me Seven of Nine. 

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If you like this, stick around and read other entries. Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end. Take a moment to send me some feedback. Thanks for coming. Please come back soon.

So, who am I?

Believe me, I have thought about saying, I am the Borg.  I have assimilated and the purpose of this blog is to assimilate you. 

But that isn't true.

Or is it?

As I made the epic decision to try to do another blog (this is not my first anonymous blog, but hopefully it will be the one I stick with and the one that goes viral), I made this list in my head of all the things about me I needed to tell you.  And I dramatically decided at the end, I would end it with "I am you."  But I'm not.

Or I hope I'm not. 

It's fun to find like-minded folks, and I hope to attract a lot of like-minded folks.  But I doubt that there is someone who is as unique as me and who likes EVERYTHING that I do.  I could be wrong.

I'm probably wrong. 

But the reality is if you become a fan of this blog you will like a portion of the things I like and not necessarily all.  My challenge will be to still keep you interested even when I'm talking about a subject you really don't care about. 

So who am I?

Okay.  Before I give you the list, I'll have to admit a bit of my neuroses.  First, I wrote a list that I will qualify and say is not comprehensive.  Then, afraid that the order in which I wrote things might suggest a priority in how I identify myself, I took the list that I had written as a stream of consciousness and then used an Excel formula for random numbers to order the list.  #3 on the list is Geek.

Some of this list may make sense to no-one but me.  But each one is worthy of its own post.  If you want to know more, find the post. 

1.  I have a geographically diverse background
2.  I live under a rock.
3.  I am a geek.
4.  I am currently single.
5.  Zen is Borg and I love the Dalai Lama
6.  I like country music.
7.  I am a mystery / legal thriller fan.
8.  I watch way too much television.
9.  I love deeply.
10.  I am active in my church.
11.  I have a diverse working background. 
12.  I am a soccer coach.
13.  I am a wee bit narsissitic - at least to the extent you need to be to write a blog.
14.  I live alone.
15.  I am a dyke.
16.  I live in a small town.
17.  I live in a poor part of town.
18.  I watch a lot of Hulu. 
19.  I am an iPhone, Facebook and PC user, but I have owned a Mac, too.
20.  I love the Superbowl for the commercials.
21.  I have/am ADD.
22.  I enjoy Texts From Last Night, Idiot Runner, The Bloggess, FlyLady, George Takei and advice columnists.
23.  I love to line dance.
24.  I am neither politically correct or incorrect.  I just am.  I do not belong to a political party, either.  I am registered as an independent.

This is by no means comprehensive, but gives you a brief introduction.  Interested? Read on.  Tell your friends.  Leave me comments.  Adore me.  Assimillate. 

Resistance is futile.

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If you like this, stick around and read other entries.  Hit a few on the right that are favorites, or go to the home page of the blog, and read from beginning to end.  Take a moment to send me some feedback.  Thanks for coming.  Please come back soon.