Dear Face Paint

Dear Face Paint,

Anybody that has worked with me at camp knows three things about me: I like glowing things, food, and you (and not necessarily in that order). Those who have worked with me in other kid-friendly settings may not know about the glowing things (due to the daytime work hours of most other jobs), but they would know about the food and you.

So what's the guess on whether or not I like Halloween? Yeah - that's right - it's one of my favourites. And mostly because of you, Face Paint.

The thing is, most people my age find themselves in that uncomfortable area where they are most definitely "too old" for Halloween in a lot of respects. We certainly can't go out Trick or Treating at night for fear of coming off as creepy pedophiles. We generally can't dress up at our places of work because that's not exactly "professional" in most cases. So that leaves most of us only one opportunity for dressing up in costumes - Halloween parties. We all know how I feel about parties, so that one is usually out for me. So what is a you-loving, party-hating, twenty-something like me supposed to do on this most wonderful opportunity for glowing and painted faces?

Work at a middle school. That's right - the only reason I have the job that I do is because it guarantees me at least one day a year in which it is not only acceptable, but EXPECTED, that I paint my face. How great is that? And as you know, Face Paint, I have taken full advantage of this opportunity.

Today may have been my best school costume yet. I colour-coordinated a yellow-purple-green jester hat, a purple dress shirt (with bowtie), green knickers, and knee-high socks with my yellow-purple-green you. And I have to say I did a damn good job with my own you. A combination of mime, Cirque du Soleil abstract art, and Insane Clown Posse. I threw a tuxedo jacket (with tails), cummerbund, white gloves, and a recorder into the mix to round it all off, and let's just say - the kids f-ing LOVED it.

But as super-dope as my costume was, it didn't stop there. You, Face Paint, brought out my very best. Behind my painted mask of a face, the true Count came out. As I love to do while in costume, I proceeded to play the part of crazy painted jester throughout the day. The ultimate being a toss-up between: a) Playing Hot-Cross-Buns on the recorder with one hand while juggling two balls with the other; or b) Juggling three balls while jumping and side-heel-clicking at the same time. Have I mentioned that you make me more coordinated? I sometimes honestly think that I can do ANYTHING AT ALL with you on.

So when the school day came to a close, I had so much trouble letting you go. I set up a you-ing station at the kids' Halloween dance. I kept my you on during our weekly staff meeting after school. I considered keeping my you on for answering the door for young Trick-or-Treaters. But I didn't. I sadly washed you from my face (leaving a faint, eye-liner-like green residue around my eyes that makes me look very pretty, but unclean). It will probably take until tomorrow morning's shower to fully remove the you from my eyes.

And that's okay. Because I love you. And I see no need to get rid of you prematurely. If I could come up with legitimate reasons to wear you daily, I would do it in a heartbeat. It would never get old. I already regularly paint my face at camp (to the point where it is a new tradition for all staff to be you-ed for the camp-wide Capture the Flag game). As my friend Gate suggested, I should probably join some sort of performance troupe just so I can wear you on a regular basis. Even though most Performance Art is so ridiculous (see "Dear Performance Art"), I would be willing to do that just to have you on my face more often.

I was born to have you on. And to eat. And to play with glowing things. But mostly to have you on. And so I thank you, Face Paint, for making me whole every time I put you on. And I look forward to the next time I can come up with a reason for us to be together. Until then, don't ever forget what we can be together. Don't ever forget.

A Little Less of a Man with a Clean Face,
CVT

Dear Dark Chocolate

Dear Dark Chocolate,

When I was a child, there weren't a lot of sweets at my house. As a child, I amost never drank soda or any sort of artificial juices. I only really had access to candy on Halloween (and the weeks afterward, when I would save my candy for as long as possible - and beyond). Only on special occasions did my brother and I get sugar cereal.

As a result, we had to get clever. And one of those ways we got clever was by creeping into the food pantry and getting our hands on . . . baker's chocolate. I remember many an occasion when I would stand in the darkness of the pantry (door closed to further the clandestine aspects of the activity) gnawing on a large, bitter chunk of baker's chocolate. And then I would wrap it back up and put it in the box where I found it. And to be honest, I don't know if it was really a secret, or the only reason we had baker's chocolate in the house at all was for me (and my brother, I think) to gnaw on in the dark. Because I don't recall any times that my mom baked some sort of chocolate goodness from scratch . . .

But I believe that my childhood experiments led to my current affinity for you, Dark Chocolate. That bitter, gnawingly tasty treat that you are. I enjoy you so much. I do.

But only on special occasions. Because if I were to eat you all the time, I would cease to appreciate you. And neither of us would want that. Oh, no.

So tonight was one of those special occasions. As I plopped myself down on the couch to enjoy some mindless Monday Night Football watching, my thoughts wandered, and I realized that I had a bar of fancy you sitting in my room - totally untouched. And I knew that I must have you. So I willed myself out of my seat, ran downstairs, grabbed the bar, ran back upstairs, sat down, sipped some water, turned on the game, and unwrapped my special treat. And as I gnawed on my bar of you, I smiled.

I was tired today. Really tired. Mentally and physically. I'm still battling sickness and trying to keep it at bay, but it I am definitely NOT 100%. And so today wore me down a bit, and I was looking forward to an evening of nothing. But as I settled in to eat my dinner and enjoy said nothing, fatigue was wearing down my bones. Something needed to happen. Something needed to change for me to get my second mental wind enough to even THINK about writing tonight (or anything else productive).

Enter my fancy bar of you. After eating a few chunks of you, I am more awake. More alert. And - currently - more productive. Not only were you delicious - a perfect blend of sweet and bitter and crunchy and soft - but you have also allowed me to write this letter in the first place. So, oddly enough, eating you has caused me to have the energy and desire to write a letter to you to let you know that I appreciate the energy and desire you gave me to write a letter to you to let you know that I appreciate the energy and desire you gave me to write a letter to you . . . etc. It's like one of those images of a reflection in a mirror of another reflection in a mirror of another reflection in a mirror . . .

Infinitely wonderful, I'd say. Because that's what you are. In small, carefully rationed doses, you bring joy untold. Once every five months, I enjoy a bar of you, and it is so special. It gives me this warm, cozy feeling - similar to sitting in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace with my family on Christmas Eve. Even more similar to standing on a stool in a dark pantry as a child. And that's a very good thing, indeed. Indeed.

So thank you, Dark Chocolate. For enabling me to write this letter to thank you. And for being so perfectly special. Every time I eat you, I feel like I just opened a present on a once-a-year, special day. And I hope that never changes.

Alert and Thinking About Another Chunk,
CVT

Dear Prophecy

Dear Prophecy,

I'm going to say out right that I'm Multi-Tasking right now. Yup. As I type this, I am simultaneously listening to a television program all about Nostradamus and the mysterious art of you. I was just watching my usual Sunday evening football as I got ready for an early rest, but then I flipped the channel during an ad and found a show all about Edgar Cayce. That show was followed up by the current one on Nostradamus. And it all led to me deciding to write you, Prophecy.

First off, you is absolutely fascinating. Whether it's complete B.S. (as I believe it to be), it's still so much fun to learn about. There are few things that captivate the mind more than the concept of predictions of the future (especially future doom and destruction). As a curious human being, I can't help but wonder "what happens next?" I want to know how it all ends. If the world is going to end in flames and apocalypse, I want to know about it, and I want to be ready for it. And that's where you come in, Prophecy.

You claim to tell me just that. Through your vague references and confusing words, you imply all sorts of exciting things for the future of this world. The best part? Many different yous foretell an up-and-coming End Times - and that's just so fun! Because this is the thing - I have always felt that if the world is going to end, I want to be there. Sure, I'll feel bad for all the people getting blown up and all that, but at least I'll know what happens. I think it would be oddly reassuring, as I lay on my deathbed, to know that I'm not going to miss anything by being dead because it's all going to be gone. Because who really wants to miss out on anything because the world goes on after our deaths? I don't.

But if I AM destined to pass on BEFORE the apocalypse, I would still like to know what happens. And the only real chance of that happening is through true you, Prophecy. If a real version of you was to show itself, then I could read that and know what happens after my death - kind of like reading the end of all the books I didn't get around to as I take my last breaths. Not a bad way to go out, if you ask me.

Of course, that all falls on a big IF - necessitating TRUE you. And that's the problem. Because reading any of Nostradamus' (or other prophets') verses can quickly demonstrate the silliness of most you. All the verses are so vague and chopped up and randomly put together that they make no sense at all. From that knowledge, it comes as no surprise that nobdoy has ever used his yous to accurately predict anything BEFORE the fact. Instead, people are constantly going back to his verses AFTER something big happens and then trying to make all the vagueness fit the actual events. And that's the key. A little bit of common sense reveals that it's a lot easier to make vagueness mean something if you have a meaning that you're trying to attach to it. And that's why Nostradamus and most you is a bunch of bunk.

Which is really too bad, because I would love to believe in you. I really would. It's a lot of fun to think about and wonder about. I love to talk about the predicted end of the world (in the Mayan calendar) in 2012. I mean - that's exciting! I really hope it's true. But - alas - I know it's not too likely. And that's because of how ridiculous so many yous are. Which hurts inside. You hurt me, Prophecy. But you also bring me such joy. Oh, the double-edged sword of love . . .

But I digress. Whether you are true or a bunch of fluff is not important, because I'm just not going to stop reading about you and having fun thinking about you. That being said, I figured that a letter to you needs to have some of my own yous in it. And so I shall end this letter with some visions of the future. Reader, beware - the following yous are not for the faint of heart . . .

"And so shall the moontimes pass into darkness,
The Sun shall hide behind it's gloomy mask,
And the dogged Count shall see visions of darkness projected unto the Future Land -

He sees the Earth rocked by quakes and floods in the year of tree reduction and direness,
The Eastern edge shall slip skyward as the West becomes tied to the elemental,
And no man shall escape the grip of the horrid Blight;

A man of Evil shall arise in the Land of Crooked Temples,
Bringing great devastation in the form of fire and tears,
And only the banding together of Captains from the war-bound
Shall meet the Flayed Man with common fortitude;

And as the mountains bubble fire in the Rim of Mountainaiety,
The ice shall melt in the cold lands of Winter
And Summer shall see ice on the rooftops of the South
And we shall know that the End cometh;

Heed this warning, oh Watchful Ones
Dare not disregard the drudgery of careful contempt
Or all I say shall become Present
And the Count must needs shake his fist in magnificent suffering from his Earthy ashes
And say:

Idiots."

So I Have Written,
CVT

Dear Sore Throat

Dear Sore Throat,

I've got a you right now, and I'm not so happy with that. Of course, with you comes the stuffed-up head and tiredness and a bit of aches, and I don't like any of those, either. However, it's you, Sore Throat, that bothers me the most for some reason.

Something about not being able to swallow comfortably is horribly annoying. The rest of the symptoms seem designed to emphasize how much you suck. I get all sorts of phlegm in the back of my throat, and that makes me want to (almost need to) swallow. But when I do, of course, my you hurts. So I end up walking this fine line between ball of phlegm sitting uncomfortably at the back of my throat and swallowing and aggravating my you. Either way - it's uncomfortable and quite annoying.

And then there's the cough. I have this obnoxious dry cough (the kind that doesn't actually do anything helpful at all), and every time THAT kicks in, I feel the pain of my you. And that's something I can't even really hold back. And what's up with the dry cough, anyway? This little hacking thing that sounds like I'm faking it because there's clearly no real purpose to it (due to the lack of mucous that ever comes out with it). It brings no relief whatsoever, and it happens out of nowhere whenever I least want to deal with it . . . Stupid dry cough. But - of course - if it wasn't for my you, it wouldn't matter so much.

At this particular stage in my you-development, though, at least eating doesn't particularly hurt. Drinking is a bit annoying, but it's not a struggle to eat yet, which is nice. Because when that starts happening (as I know it must), I am going to be hating you with all my heart. We all know how much I like to eat. We also all know that you're supposed to "feed a cold." And so your inflamed presence adds even more to my discomfort and sickness by slowing the eating process. It's totally un-called for.

And that's the thing - I don't know why you choose to act like this. On a general level, I think I take care of you pretty well. I drink water regularly and try to keep myself hydrated. I mostly say kind and nice things through you. I often take in wonderful, tasty food and pass it through you. And yet you still act like this. You still choose to cause me pain, frustration, and annoyance. And I can't really figure it out. I don't smoke. I don't drink alcohol (that could burn going down). Hell - I hardly even drink carbonated beverages. So what's the problem?

If you were only willing to communicate, we could work things out. Instead, you go this passive-aggressive route and get all sore on me without telling me what I could have done to prevent it. And so it's bound to happen again - an endless cycle that can only end when you choose to stop getting sore about things and telling me, instead. I just hope that happens sooner than later.

Trying Not to Swallow,
CVT

Dear Out the Door

Dear Out the Door,

So I'm just about to head you for a two-day staff retreat. Not only do I get to miss watching BC fall out of second place in college football, but I will sit for hours listening to poorly-explained budget information that I don't really care about (or understand), anyway.

More to come.

You,
CVT

Dear 30

Dear 30,

I am teaching probability to my kids right now. Here is today's warm-up question:

"My brother turns 30 today. Knowing that, if we randomly picked a year in which he has been alive, what is the probability that that year was in the 70s?"

Happy Birthday, Loyal Reader.

CVT

Dear Natural Sunlight

Dear Natural Sunlight,

Okay. So I've been hyping up this Light Therapy Lamp a whole lot. A LOT. And I really think it has made a noticeable difference during this first month of the dark season here in Portland. I have more energy, overall. I'm more positive and cheery. It's made a difference, for sure. But you know what I discovered in the last 36 hours? It ain't got NOTHING on the real thing, baby. Nothing.

Nope - you, Natural Sunlight, are so much mightier. You, Natural Sunlight, bring me untold joy that my lamp can never hope to replace. You, Natural Sunlight, are God's kiss on the forehead of a blind man who didn't realize he could not see until God kissed his forehead and returned his vision. Yeah - that good.

So how do I know this? Well, you came out for the first time - for real, at least - in close to a month yesterday. And yesterday was the first time in quite a while that I didn't use my Light Therapy Lamp. Why? Not because I suspected that I was going to see some you, but because I had the first of two football games starting at 9am in the morning (on a weekend), and I didn't want to wake up an extra half-hour early to bathe in artificial light. I figured the day's athletic endeavours (after close to three weeks without) would make up for it.

And the football felt great. REAL good. I had been eagerly anticipating my game(s) for weeks now, and it was everything I hoped. It felt so good to be running around, competing, and challenging myself physically. And the kicker? Towards the end of the first game, you came out from behind the clouds.

And this was no average winter-you that peeks out from the clouds in a hazy wash. Oh no. THIS was the you that I only really expect from Spring or Summer. It was WARM. And bright. And oh-so-cheering. Sure, we got beaten in the second game by a crappy team that we should have handled easily, but I didn't care. No way. I was playing football under the amazing rays of you beaming down from the sky. To feel warmth on my face caused by ANY sort of light was a miracle. For it to be you . . . Heaven.

But it didn't end there. It stayed more or less delightful for a chunk of the day and then went away. And I thought that was it. But then today happened.

I walked out of school to supervise the kids on buswalk, and I felt warm. Uncomfortably so in my short-sleeve shirt and long pants. I didn't know what to do. How could this be? What could make the outdoors warm enough for me to feel the desire to take off my shoes and let my feet BREATHE? What could keep me from thinking about how I had left my sweatshirt inside while I waited half an hour for a late bus with the children? I looked up - and it was YOU. And again - the glorious you of other months. The you that I had thought I had bid farewell many weeks ago.

And I loved it. I bathed in you. I was actually HAPPY that the bus came so late because it gave me extra time to soak in your seemingly-undiluted-rays. I smiled. I looked up in wonder. And I felt SO GOOD.

And then I walked back in the building and proceeded to get no work done at all as I just happily ate and chatted with some visiting high schoolers (graduates from the middle school last year who just can't stay away) while they carved pumpkins with another teacher. And I didn't want it to end. I stayed at school longer than I normally would because I was just so damn chatty and energized. When I kept trying to go back to my room to get some work done, I'd get distracted and then find myself wandering back into the cafeteria to hang out some more. I never ended up doing anything work-related at all. And I don't care. Because you made me feel so good.

So then I left school with Gate (who is my co-worker these days), and we just sat outside and enjoyed the remnant warmth as you faded away. And the whole time my leg was bouncing, and all I could do was think of various "master plans" that would be funny to do and ridiculously crazy. So much so that I couldn't stop even when he probably didn't want to hear it, anymore.

And I'm STILL there. I still feel all excited and chatty and energized. Normally, this is when I start thinking about bedtime, but right now, I'm just typing away, wanting to share every little moment with my Loyal Reader, even though - deep down - I know he doesn't particularly want to hear it. But again, I don't care, because I feel GOOD.

And I owe it all to you, Natural Sunlight. YOU have made me feel this way. You must have tired of hearing "Light Therapy Light - this" and "Light Therapy Light - that" when you knew the truth all along - it's not even CLOSE to you. And I appreciate you coming along to lay the smack down and reclaim your rightful throne forevermore.

Does that mean that Light Therapy Lamp isn't great? Hell no. Without my Light Therapy Lamp, Winter would kick my a-- all over again. Without my Light Therapy Lamp, my kids would hear me get all tired, stressed, and/or frustrated from time to time. So I am NOT saying that my Light Therapy Lamp is anything but great.

But I AM saying that you are so many steps above. And that I love you. And I always will. And no artificial light will EVER stand between us. It will only keep me pushing on until we can be together again.

So - until that day comes - thank you, Natural Light, for kissing me on the forehead these last two days.

Truly SEEING Again,
CVT

Dear Bad Parents

Dear Bad Parents,

Overall, my job doesn't get to me the way it really "ought to." In my line of work, all I do is deal with kids who have been screwed every-which-way and who often end up without a future because of all of that injustice. I watch kids with no chance start overcoming the odds and then fall back into the f-ed up life they were dealt and disappear. I develop relationships with kids who - by nature and situation - are likely to fizzle out, drop out, and vanish. And yet, I've learned not to let it get to me - because there's simply no good that can do. I just enjoy the ones that are there and try to teach some math. Anything else that happens is a lucky accident (because, doing the work I do for any length of time and getting even halfway good at it delivers the message that there's no "changing" or "saving" lives in this line of work). And that's okay. Because life was never fair to begin with, and getting worked up over every single injustice is a sure-fire way to end up locked up or jumping off a bridge. Some things end up positive, too.

But some days . . . some days . . .

Some days I get slapped across the face with the blatant awfulness of some you, and I can't just shake that. Insecure, f-ed up, selfish, scared you that take it all out on their kids because they don't know what else to do. Now, these you aren't exactly bad people, either, but there are times when it's hard to feel that way.

Today was one of those days. And I'm not really going to go into it. But I had a parent come in today with his child and meet with me. It ended up poorly. Basically a whole lot of threats and anger aimed at the kid for one little slip-up in a school year full of perfect grades and great behavior. The mom apologizes to me for all the problems her kid has brought on. A kid who I think of as one of my easiest and highest-performing students.

And then they wonder why their kid decides to lie every once-in-a-while. Maybe because that's the only time the kid can get some f-ing AKNOWLEDGEMENT.

So here I am, having to listen to this crap without punching anybody in the face. Without setting the you on the defensive or having the kid see the you get called out by a teacher. Without letting on that we're not all on the same page. And I was able to deflect a little, but it's another one of those times when I know that there's just nothing I'm going to do to make it any better. Because this was ten minutes. If I did anything to make those ten minutes slightly less horrible for the kid, I still have done nothing (and will end up doing nothing) that keeps home from being horrible. And that's that.

And so I find myself thinking about it tonight. Trying to put it aside and relax on my time off. But it's just not happening.

So I'm writing you, Bad Parents. To let you know that I see you. I get it. In spite of how awful you are, you are not the same as bad PEOPLE. Insecure people - yes. Scared people. People terrified of their inability to raise their kid. People insecure about their own abilities. So they put it on the kids. Just like everybody else puts their own fears and insecurities on everybody but themselves. I get it. I see it. But how do you tell a kid that without it being even more detrimental?

"It's okay. Your dad just says that because he's sad and insecure about his own ineptitude, so he desperately latches on to hurting you to show that he's 'trying.'" Right. Tell a kid to pity their own parents. That's a sure-fire way to create comfort and satisfaction.

The best part is knowing that my kids (the ones I work with) are going to internalize the sh- they get now and pass it down to their own children. That's the best part.

But I want to be clear here, Bad Parents. This is not an "alternative school" thing. This is not an "at-risk" youth thing. It's not socio-economic or race-related. Oh no. The greatness of you is that you exist everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. I'd say that you are equally represented in every demographic. Terrrible rich parents. Terrible poor parents. Terrible young parents. Terrible old ones. Mind-damagingly terrible white parents. Mind-damagingly terrible black parents. Straight parents. Gay parents. Doctors. Teachers. Clerks. Electricians. They all suck equally. It's probably one of the few ways in which all people truly ARE created equal. Go equality. Thanks for that, you.

The one thing I can't say for sure is whether or not this is a global phenomenon. I lean towards thinking that Americans happen to make especially you, but I can't be sure. Statistics would probably show me that parents the world over are awful and producing sad, angry children. That's probably why war is never going to end. Because you create these children that eventually end up running all the major corporations and governments of the world - who take out what you did on the rest of the world.

This isn't my most positive letter, is it? Oh, well.

I WOULD like to take this opportunity to mention that - in spite of all my experience with you in my line of work (and overall life) - I never had you of my own. I have my mental problems, of course. But it certainly isn't my parents fault. I think they did a really good job, overall. Because they are part of that .5% of the world called "GOOD parents." So thanks for that, Mom and Dad.

Too bad you couldn't raise the rest of the world.

I think I'm just going to wrap this letter up now before I think of more depressing things.

This didn't feel particularly cathartic.

Dark,
CVT

Dear Fall

Dear Fall,

I know I complain about Portland weather a little bit. Or a lot. Okay - I complain about Portland weather about 8 months out of the year. And then I spend a good portion of the rest of the year complaining about how the weather is GOING to be when the good weather ceases to be. I know I do that.

However, today I want to appreciate the weather. And I want to do it during a season of (somewhat) darkness. And what I wanted to appreciate was you.

Actually - let's back track a second. Because - when I think about it - I'm not really appreciating the weather. Not really. I'm appreciating the season of you, and not necessarily the weather that comes with you. Because, to be honest, I don't really appreciate you weather. I don't like the rain all that much. I don't like the darkness. I don't like the slowly disappearing hours of sunlight.

But I DO like the prettiness. That's right, Fall - you're pretty. REAL pretty. That combination of changing leaves with sunlight shining through post-stormy clouds . . . Now that's something beautiful. Real beautiful. I mean - there are times during the summer when it's really pretty. I love a 9 o'clock sunset as much as anybody. But there's no season that is as pretty as you, Fall.

And I can't really explain it to those who don't understand. The fiery combination of reds and yellows and browns and oranges in the trees overhead when driving down the street. Seeing various muppet-head fiery shrubs and groomed maples in lawns. The beautiful wash of colour on the streets after the leaves have fallen. It all just goes so well with the dramatic you weather.

When winter rolls in, it's all the same. A whole lot of darkness and gray. Summer is constant sunshine (which I love, of course, but it's not exactly "dramatic"). And then there's you. A battle between yellow sunlight and rainstorms. Dark, shiny wet streets gleaming in the late-day sun through a brief cloudbreak. Patchy clouds rolling back in and blasting us with rain. You is a time of high contrast - a black and white and gray world set off by random bursts of you leaves and passing sunshine. About once a day during you I find myself catching my breath and thinking, "That's beautiful."

And it's time that I acknowledged that publicly. Because I so often complain about the weather or get all dark and gloomy about how it's going to be. But I need to live in the now for a second and just appreciate what you brings. And just admit that I enjoy you. I LIKE wearing vests. I really do. And I like playing football in weather that's cool enough to keep me from feeling my skin burn and dry out while running around.

Not to mention how much I love watching college football - which occurs throughout the you. And it's actually not a bad time to be doing the job I do. Things are slowly shifting as I type this, but the kids still have a little bit of appreciation and seriousness during this time, and they aren't as rowdy and angry as they will definitely get come winter.

You're the beautiful calm before the storm, so to speak, and I appreciate that. Time to catch my breath before the true darkness sets in. And I thank you for giving me that opportunity.

Yes, thank you, Fall, for the transition you bring. Thanks for easing me into the dark times. Thank you for the beautiful sights and inspiration.

No thank you for raking.

But I'll take it to get the rest.

Enjoying Vest-Weather for a Few More Days,
CVT

Dear Back on Track

Dear Back on Track,

It's really tough getting you after being sick. Especially after being sick and then having to work the whole weekend, and then having to go back to work without having gotten any real rest from working even after being sick. It's tough.

I had a few opportunities over the last couple days to get you with this blog thing. I did. I'm not going to lie about it because there's nothing to lie about. That's just how it is. I could have done it. But I didn't want to. The act of recovering from sickness puts me in this state of mind where I don't have to do anything I don't absolutely want to do in the name of "getting better." It's kind of nice, really. But then there's always the battle with myself when I start reaching that point in time that signifies the line between being lazy and recovering. And it's a tough boundary to cross.

Why? I think we've been over this, mostly. It's due to my whole momentum-based life. If I allow myself the excuse of sickness to not do something, the more days I allow myself to use that excuse, the more momentum that builds up. Then, next thing I know, I've been okay for three weeks, and I haven't done anything but lie around "feeding my sickness," and I feel worthless and overly full. It's dangerous. Getting you is no easy feat for a momentum-based man such as myself.

But that doesn't mean it's impossible. Because - of course - I have this thing called pride. And that pride causes me to need to be productive with my life or else feel like a piece of excrement. And I don't like feeling like a piece of excrement. Therefore, I find myself getting you in spite of my natural tendency to latch onto any excuse for NOT doing something productive with my time.

And it's really quite amazing, I think. If I could share the experience of being inside my own head, I think people would realize what an epic struggle that can be and become very impressed with my extraordinary strength of will in being able to overcome that and do something like write this letter. Very impressed, indeed. Sometimes, I get so impressed and proud of myself for overcoming that struggle that it almost overwhelms me and causes me to use being overwhelmed as an excuse not to continue. It's kind of crazy, really.

But I am getting you. For real. It starts with this letter, but it continues with getting back to work on the song I began before my little sickness took over. Then it moves into catching up on my teaching preparations at school, so that I'm not scrambling every morning to get ready for the kids (because I usually do all of that in the afternoons, but my sickness and need for recovery caused me to leave earlier than usual, taking away from that valuable time). After that? Play two football games this Sunday and try to get back a little bit of that shape I lost over the last two weeks of near inactivity. And then I'll be completely you.

Of course, that makes me think of all the other ways I could get you in terms of things I was doing in the past that I stopped doing. Drawing is one of those things. Cooking is another (although I DID cook up some halibut for dinner tonight - not bad). Reading would be nice. Calling various friends with whom I have not conversed in many months.

There are a lot. So many, that it's almost overwhelming. Which makes me not want to do it at all.

But I shall overcome. Because getting you is important to me. And I have this Light Therapy Lamp, and the only way to prove that it truly works is to up my productivity and keeping-in-touch-ness over the course of this winter. And so I shall start with this letter, continue through football, and keep going all the way through writing the next great novel.

That's how important getting you is, Back on Track. So thank you for providing that motivation and keeping me focused. Because - otherwise - I might just be lying on a couch eating salty potato chips right now - and forevermore.

Sitting in a Chair in Front of a Computer, Instead,
CVT

*It's also hard to get you when this website won't allow me to attach a photo to go with this letter, as I have become accustomed to. ARGH.

Dear So Much for That

Dear So Much for That,

Remember that last letter I wrote to Rest about how much it had done for me and how I felt much better? Well, you! I woke up this morning feeling a little bit left of awful, and I don't see it getting better anytime soon. My stubborn a-- is going to still try to go to work and teach the children (because that's the kind of thing I do when I'm sick). We'll see how that all works out.

Getting better, getting shmetter. You.

Trying to Hydrate,
CVT

Dear Rest

Dear Rest,

What a difference two days make, no? We go from a letter to "Energy to Burn" to one to you. The world flipped upside down in blog form.

So - yesterday, I was sick. From the beginning of my school day, I was feeling out of it, and a little bit nauseous. I had some beginner's stomach troubles, and I just couldn't focus. Everything in that told me that I was about to come down with something bad. Probably a flu. So I made the decision to leave work (relatively) early and get my a-- home to you.

And so I did. I came home and immediately got myself into my sleeping clothes. Then I played around a little bit with some music (because too much you would be a problem) for an hour or so. And after that, I was ready for a lot of you. And I'm talking A LOT.

Because I got myself into bed around 6pm. Just laid down and watched an episode of Blue Planet on my computer. It was good. But even while I was watching it, I found myself getting sleepy and thinking about turning plain you into actual sleep. So, the minute I was finished watching the show, I closed it up and went to sleep.

That was about 7pm.

And guess what? Although I didn't sleep all the way through to the morning, I still slept until morning. Sure - I woke up a few times, but I pretty much spent 12 hours in bed yesterday, and about 11 of those hours in some close proximity to sleep.

And today - I felt better. Not 100%, of course, but better. It was Parent Night tonight, and I was able to be my usual charming, witty self as various older versions of my kids came through the building. In fact, when it was all over, I found myself lingering a little bit to chat with the rest of the staff about all sorts of random things. And I could have left immediately.

And so I wrote this letter as a testament to how important and powerful you can really be, Rest. And to thank you for it. From the quality of this letter, it is obvious that I'm not totally clear in the head, but I have come a long way from my fearful yesterday when I thought I was going to have to use some personal days for - gasp - actual illness.

That would have been horrible.

So I just wanted to thank you. But I'm not going to linger over it or write anything better, because I'm not dumb, and I don't want to play with fire. So I'm going to get some more you right now. So tomorrow can be even better.

That's all.

Still Not Entirely With It,
CVT

Dear Energy to Burn

Dear Energy to Burn,

Hey - how you doing? Guess what I had today? Yeah - that's right. I had you. Plenty of you. Oh, yeah.

And why was that? That's a good question. A really good question. There are a lot of possible answers. Let's try to give all of them. Because if we don't give all of them, how are we ever going to figure it out?

The most probable of causes (or the biggest one, perhaps) is my past weekend. I went up to Seattle this weekend to see my parents (they were up there for a conference). And what can I say about that trip? We had some good dinners. We talked a bunch. And did NOTHING else. I mean - nothing. Now I don't blame my parents for this nothingness that we did - not at all. It was the weather. Since anything even mildly interesting we wanted to do involved being outdoors, it didn't help that it was crappy and rainy the whole time. So I ended up stuck in a hotel room for most of a weekend - getting no exercise (mental or otherwise) and napping constantly. There was nothing else to do. It was just: wake up and blow time until dinner.

But again - it was still good seeing my parents. It always is. Even in spite of the rest of the trip. But that definitely didn't help me use any energy (and I missed my weekly football games that I play in on every other Sunday).

Speaking of playing sports, another reason I had you today was likely that - last Thursday - we didn't do Open Gym with the kids. That's usually a good time to play some basketball and burn some energy with the kids, but we had to cancel it because of grades. And so my two opportunities of the week (Open Gym and Sunday) for real exercise were taken from me.

So I rested a bunch, and exercised very little. And on top of all that comes my little Lamp. It definitely seems to trigger an afternoon burst of energy for me. We might even call it an afternoon burst of you. Because I got all antsy around 4pm today and just needed to get out of the building. But then I didn't know what to do with myself when I was out of it. And since I hate all forms of exercise for the sake of exercise, I did not take care of that energy. Thus - you.

So now that we know where my you came from, we must analyze whether or not you is a good thing. Right now, I find myself leaning towards "No." It's not exactly fun to feel all antsy and anxious with nothing in mind to do. I don't like craving exercise when I know that I'm not going to get it. It may very well cause me to have trouble sleeping tonight. It's hard to say.

But I don't really dislike you, either. Because you, Energy to Burn, are something that I have become accustomed to lacking during the dark winter months. Getting up in the morning becomes hard enough for me, let alone getting energy to do anything real. So I'd say it's a bit of a welcome problem at this point in the year. It might cause some problems in the dead of Winter if I'm all cooped up and not able to get out (due to the weather), but I'm sure I'll come up with some way to deal with it. You should certainly make me more productive. At the very least, my room should end up cleaner than it normally is through the winter. That's not a bad thing.

So - overall - I think I thank you, Energy to Burn. I thank you for existing at all on a cloudy day. I thank you for being a welcome dilemma at a time when I'm used to the exact opposite being an issue. And I'm sure some of my friends and loved ones will be thanking you, as well, when having some you translates to me actually talking to and seeing more people this time around.

Ooh. That reminds me about a couple people that I've been intending to call for a LONG time. Maybe I should do that.

Anyway - thanks, Energy to Burn. I'm going to use my you right now to get a little bit of room organization done. Yup.

Looking All Around with no Known Purpose,
CVT

Dear Packing

Dear Packing,

I'm about to go on a little weekend trip to Seattle. I'm leaving today (Friday) and coming back Sunday. I am headed out in a couple hours. But before I'm ready to do that, I have to do a little bit of you. And the strange thing about that is that I'm putting a lot of thought into you.

Why? Why is that strange? Two different questions. I'll answer them in reverse order. It's strange that I'm putting really ANY thought into you because it's such a ridiculously short trip. There should be a maximum of TWO clothes-changes over the course of the entire visit. So two shirts, two socks, two pairs of underwear. We all know that I wear pretty much the same pair of pants every day, so there's no need to put any thought into it. So that should be it. Nothing more. My packing should be done in a 5-minute time-span. Which it probably will be, once I actually physically DO it.

But that's the issue. For some reason, I keep putting it off, as if it's some sort of "Big Deal." I'm thinking about it as if there needs to be any further thought thrown into it. As if I need to prepare myself to do some you. Which is absolutely ridiculous. It's this strange, pre-travel ritual I get going. I make sure I have my ticket and any important information the night before. Then I try to think of all the things I might need to entertain myself while I'm in the act of travelling TO or FROM my intended destination. Then I think about all the random things I might like to do while I'm ON the trip. Then I think about the possible weather, and how prepared I need to be for that. Do I dare bring one pair of pants if it's going to rain? Because then I might get my pants all wet, and then I won't have a way to change. Should I bring a pair of athletic shorts? Because what if I have the opportunity to swim or something (which I'm supposed to be doing to keep my f-ing knee strong), and I didn't bring them? Is the reading material I have with me sufficient for this length of trip? How long do I foresee myself reading in one go?

All of these things go through my head. Which is probably a good thing if I'm going on some multi-month travels to a foreign country. That makes sense. Got to be prepared. But it doesn't make so much sense when I'm going on a two-day trip to another city three hours' drive from me. That's just silly. But I do it all, nonetheless. No matter the length of my trip.

And for all those who know me, this probably comes as a huge shock. I'm not one to really stress ANYTHING at all, let alone the act of you. I'm not some anal planner and organizer that worries about things being just so. If I forget anything, I'll have no problem rolling with it. So who cares? Why does the CVT, of all people, give a flying f- about you, Packing?

Well, it's because I have this strange compulsion. What is that compulsion? Well, it's convenient that that question was asked because I was about to answer that. Should I? Why - I shall.

My compulsion is the need to pack as lightly as possible without leaving out something vital. I'm all about minimal uncomfortability while travelling. And that generally entails limited baggage, so there's no struggle involved in carrying it around town, or the airport, or wherever. If I can get away with just a backpack - I'm going to do it. Sometimes, even if I can't get away from it. But at the same time, I'm all about having a well-stocked, easy-to-access, while-I'm-in-transit bag. This is a smaller bag with all the important things I need for my travelling pleasure while in the physical act of travelling. That means music, journal, reading material, etc. And it has to be easy to access and light.

So I'm always sweating every detail and trying to decide what I can go without on a particular trip without regretting it. Therefore, the question about weather is always a big one for me. Because cold-fighting gear is generally bulky, I always want to leave most of it at home. But that's a big risk because if the weather turns, and I'm not ready for it, it can be a disaster. Such difficult decisions I have in my life, no?

But the decision has been made for this trip. Sweatshirt and vest. If it rains, it rains, and I'll just have to get myself out of it. If my shoes are soggy, it just gives me the excuse to stay inside all day tomorrow and watch college football. And if my teeth don't get brushed - well, I never do that, anyway.

Just kidding, Packing, in a minute I'll be you a toothbrush. After all, it's pretty light.

Moving into Phase Two of You,
CVT

Dear Tentative Results

Dear Tentative Results,

It's been close to a week now. Six days of owning (and using) my new Light Therapy Lamp (as well as my dawn simulator). So what do I say so far? Has there been any noticeable difference? Is it still too early to tell? Here are my you for the first week:

First - the methodology. We already know the materials/equipment. And the hypothesis (that it will change my world). The methods are simple. Every morning when I wake up (after a quick trip to the bathroom and some food preparation), I spend a half hour under my Lamp. RIGHT under it. Shining at an angle towards my eyes, about 18 inches away. I tend to read up on the college football news of the day, check my e-mail, eat - that kind of thing. All the while I'm soaking up magical light rays. Then I go to school (or wherever, depending on whether it's the weekend or not), and I see how I feel.

Now, it's been ugly and rainy most of the days since I got my lamp. There has been a little sunlight, but not much. And it has been dark upon my awakening these weekday mornings. Not to mention it's already dark right now (about 7pm). And it's only going to get darker.

Point being, though, that the lack of sunlight this past week helps to lend strength to the you of this initial week of experimentation. If it had been sunny, there would be no point writing this letter. But it hasn't. And there was (a point).

Now - the data/you. Granted, most of it is anecdotal, but the data is as follows: I'm in a pretty good mood right now. I've been relatively energetic at the end of the school day. Last night, I was kind of antsy and move-y at this same time. There's been little to no school-related stress going on for me (in spite of the fact that it's currently grading time). I was social this weekend and able to actually be friendly to some new people. Waking up in the morning hasn't been too difficult. And once I'm up, I'm positively AWAKE. I've been playful with the kids and even their craziness hasn't gotten to me this week.

The you? I'd say it's working. For real. It's early yet - I know - but it seems too obvious. Yesterday, after a full school day and more from having to do grades after school, I ran a little shopping errand. It was pouring rain and dark, and the sales clerk ended up screwing up the whole process and having to start all over again, which caused my time at the register to take well over 20 minutes. But I was fine with it. I even laughed at the manager's stupid jokes. I was in no hurry. I just rolled with it, took my purchase (when it finally went through) and headed out into the rain. Without my Lamp, I'd imagine I would have written some letter of "Dear Stupid People" or something similar.

So I'd say my mood is improved.

But I understand these are only you. Not infallible results. It's based on a lot of subjective measures. But I still think it's true. We won't know for sure, of course, until some time in February - but the you definitely give me hope. The winter here may be survivable.

That doesn't mean that I won't complain about it, of course. Not at all. And that doesn't change the fact that I should probably move to a sunnier clime. But it will make it all just a little bit more bearable and make it just a little bit more likely that I'll do something productive with my time during the dark days of winter. And that's a great thing. Hope is a great thing. And that's what you have given me, Tentative Results. And I'll take hope however I get it.

So thank you. Thank you for turning the winter into an intriguing experiment over the end of my productive/social life for half a year. That's the glory of the you I am experiencing. And I just hope that it stays this way.

Looking Forward,
CVT

Dear Portable Computing

Dear Portable Computing,

You has come a long way, no? Just look at the photo I am enclosing with this letter - that was you back in the day. You was UGLY. Nothing like how you looks these days. Nothing like it at all.

But it's not the looks that I'm writing about (although laptops are pretty hot these days), but the portability of you. Because, right now, I'm sitting on my couch and writing this letter while watching Monday Night Football. It's not the most exciting game, really (but what pro football games ever are?) - but the CONCEPT is quite exciting, indeed. Why? Well - it's not really because I'm doing my blog right now. Been there done that (at least in terms of Multi-tasking). It's because of what I was doing BEFORE I got side-tracked and started writing this letter. And that - my friend - is my grades.

My school is on a trimester system. And we divide each trimester into 6-week grading periods. Which means that - as it has been six weeks since school started - this week is the last week of the first term. And THAT means that it is time to do grades.

"Doing grades" at my school doesn't necessarily mean grading papers (although it does, at times). What it means is writing personal comments for each and every student in each and every class that speak to their actual behavior and work in class. This is a relationship-based school, see. And that means I have to write meaningful comments - that give students their strengths but also supplies them with things to improve on. For EVERY class.

Yup - a big pain in the ass. It takes forever. It means a lot of long days and late nights throughout this week. And I hate that. But there's no getting around it, so I had to come up with a plan. Some way to get my grades done without feeling like I was stuck at school with no escape in sight. And so I turned to you, Portable Computing.

That's right - you was my savior. I went home (after doing grades at school for about an hour) and got out the old laptop, sat down on my couch, turned on the tv, and got to work. And so, for the last hour and a half, I have been knocking out the grades while enjoying some professional football. It's almost relaxing. I mean, there's multi-tasking, and then there's Multi-Tasking.

So now I'm going to have an hour and a half less work to do later in the week when I'm more tired and want to do anything but stay at school typing comments. And that's a wonderful thing. You is a wonderful thing, Portable Computing.

And the crazy thing is - just a few years ago, I wouldn't have been able to do this. Without modern laptop technology (which allows me to have gotten a five year-old computer that can do this stuff) and wi-fi capabilities, I'd be spending an extra hour and a half at school tomorrow. My brain would then be oozing out of my ears as I tried to bash my head through my desk, and my comments would be rude and insight-less. And then what?

The children would suffer. And we don't want the children to suffer, do we? Of course not.

And so I thank you, Portable Computing, for making this all possible. The people thank you, as well. And the children. Always the children. But now my thighs are getting too hot (and I'm wondering about the "grandchildren"), so I'm going to sign off now.

Thinking About Cup o' Noodles,
CVT