Closet Extremist

In continuation...

Back to my "Truth" Discussion, or Rant or Whatever you want to call it.

We left off with "Fucking Universal". I see this type of behaviour all the time, and it ticks me off a bit. Someone will have an interesting idea, say scientology for example, and the next thing you know, there are thousands of people who are now taking it as the gospel truth. People see a phenomena such as street crime, and then believe that they can pass anti-gun laws to eliminate the problem. People simply become zealots with whatever thing they happen to have attached themselves to and then try to impart that ideology on everyone they can, directly or indirectly. By coercion if possible, and by force if not. AND PEOPLE BUY INTO IT WILLINGLY MOST OF THE TIME! Makes me want to spit.

I get so frustrated with people wanting to push their ideology off on me all the time. I watch a commercial for a movie, and I'm immediately supposed to "shit myself with glee" that Hollywood has graced me with the privilege of a new film. even when I can almost write the damned script for the movie from the title and the preview. A Mormon shows up on my front porch, and I'm supposed to change my core beliefs at the drop of a Watchtower. Because someone I've never met decides that Guns are scary/bad, I suddenly can't have/carry one.

It's just the amount of ignorance that I see around me. People do things because they don't know any better, rather than doing things for a specific reason and goal. If they do anything for a specific goal, it is generally motivated by moeny, or power (roughly synonymous concepts) to achieve personal gain. I have no problem with folks doing either, as long as they don't try to force me to do something that I do not wish to do in order to attain it.

There's more, but I'm done for tonight.

In answer to you question

Ran across this post by TNT (aka: Bee-Dubya) wherein she asks:

What would be your favorite tool?

I'm glad you asked. My favorite hapens to be a little widgit known as the Jimmy Bar. For working on large elevators, there's nothing better.

If you've got a thousand-pound peice of steel that you are trying to line up to another thousand-pound peice of steel in order to bolt them together, you use the pointed end and stick it through the holes of both peices of steel. The taper allows it to fit into holes of all different sizes, and let's you move the two parts in any direction. Once you get the bolts through another hole, you just pull it on out, and put a bolt in the hole where it was. Simple. The flattened end is used when your parts are close to something that you can pry against. We also use it to adjust the alignment of parts that have a slotted hole. Works wonderfully well, as that is what it was designed to do.

Iron workers use this tool all the time, and although I am not classified as one, there's a lot of similar activity's in building an elevator. Steel alignment, welding, anchoring metal to concrete, all like that. They mostly focus on keeping what they build solid, but ours has to move, and be solid. Pretty cool, I think.

So TNT, if you're interested in learning more about this implement, the next time I see you, you can play with my "Jimmy". ;^)

Truth of the Day

There is something about the "human animal" that fascinates me. It seems to be a very base instinct and it is inherant, in varying degrees, in all of us. I don't think there's a word to describe this type of thing specifically, but it is there nonetheless, and it bothers me. It's sorta hard to explain, but I'll give it a try.

I can loosely define this behaviour as: the ability to subscribe to a specific ideology, without any concept of its specifics, or conception of the lack of knowledge there may be in its regard. OR: The ability to explain away things that we don't understand, and take our explanations as fact.

It seems to me, that humans have an innate need to be able to explain everything that happens around them, and put them into some nice sort of order. "I don't know" or "There's not enough information to make a definite decision" are not acceptable answers to any type of "heavy" question, and not even to the lighter ones a lot of the time. This phenomena is what creates religion. The concept of "we don't know, but we must have Faith that our religion is correct". The concept is also applicable to environmentalists inasmuchas: "The Ozone layer is going to be depleted and we're all gonna die, so we must discontinue burning fossil fuels and spraying anything from an aerosol can".

Your religion may or not be the "one path", and the Earth may or may not be destroyed by gamma rays from the sun, but I think that you cannot prove or disprove either contention due to lack of information. Does that make one side right and one side wrong? No. It only, means that we do not have enough info. Most folks can't handle that answer, so they subscribe to the previously mentioned ideologies in order to compensate for the lack of information. There is simply something in the human psyche that cannot deal with not knowing, about anything, so we must create something to explain what we don't know.

It's something inside us that makes us create an explanation for anything that we don't truly understand. If you look back at the Greek Mythologies, you can see it quite clearly. There is a God of Thunder, and a God of Lightning, and a God of War, and a God of Love. Two of those four are things that we don't honestly understand the nature of, and two of them we do... Now.

There is something about a person that makes him/her want to put things into specific versions of black and white. There are no indefinates, and if there are, we'll just explain them away. It's Fucking Universal.

I'll continue this thought when I'm a little more coherent than I am now. Later kiddies.

I frickin' KNEW it!

There's been a dark cloud hanging over me for the last few day's. Things have been going too well, so I've had a vague feeling of dread and foreboding hanging about me. Well, the "other shoe" has finally dropped.

It started last friday, when I arrived at a new building to install the elevator. Wait a minute... It actually started Thursday. Thursday, we moved our Gang Box (kinda sounds dirty don't it?) over to the new jobsite. After we get things unloaded and into the building, I had a little chat with the job Superintendant. He advised me that they didn't have any equipment to unload the truck with. No forklift, no Boom lift, not an unloading sausage. I made a call to the office, and they said that they would "take care of it". Oh yeah, I'm so sure.

When we showed up Friday, we were expecting the truck to arrive with the elevator between 10am and noon, so we got to work preparing the hoistway, and generally getting things lined out. After futzing about all morning, we discover that the truck won't be there until 1:00pm. Crap. After we get back from lunch, the truck finally arrives, and now we've got to unload the SOB. Wait, I forgot to mention the rainstorm. You know, the one with 45 mile an hour winds, and the torrential downpour, and the lightning, and the tornado warnings.

I clmbed aboard the forklift that the office had "taken care of" only to realize that it was (around 1962 or so) originally a farm tractor that had been converted to be a forklift. The problem? Oh, there's no problem. I like operating a piece of equipment that has a forward and reverse pedal other than a selector that puts me into either gear. when you step on the forward pedal, it also applies the gas, so the RPM's climb, the more pressure you add to it, then WHAM that sumbitch finally decides to drop into gear, and the whole lift (including whatever precariously balanced load you are carrying at the time) jerks violently as the machine starts in its intended direction. The same thing happens when you apply the reverse pedal.

Unloading crates that weigh around two thousand pounds with this type of machinery is quite a dicey proposition indeed. Not to mention the fact that the "machine room", where the hydraulic pump and tank are to be installed, is on the second floor. The only acces that we have to the second floor is through the fire escape stairs at the back of the building, and the goddamn lift doesn't reach up high enough to get the machine and the tanks of oil over the railing for the staircase. Beautiful. We left it for today to get done.

After we had stacked the rails, and gotten some lunch today, we decided to go ahead and get the pump and a couple of barrels of oil up to the second floor, by tying them to the bottom of a platform lift, that would reach up that high. there wa no incident in getting them up there, and all things went extremely well.. until I decided to descend the aformentioned fire stair.

Who, in their right minds, decides to pour a staircase only partially? Hmmn? Didn't think you'd know. You see, a normal staircase is compased of a steel structure and supports, and the actual treads (where you put your feet. Do I have to explain everything?) are concrete that has been placed to fill in the space that is not steel. Each tread can be likened to an ice cube tray, made of steel and without the water in it. It is a bowl, that is not comfortable to walk on until it has been filled...with concrete. Savvy?

As I was coming down the stairs, I discovered that all was not completed here. The top level was poured full of concrete, all the stairs down to the middle landing were filled, the middle landing was taken care of, and the stairs down to the ground level were not. My left ankle can attest to this fact. It's the one that gave way when I was traversing this stairway in an expedient manner.

Dangit! Now my ankle hurts, and there's nothing to blame but "cruel fate". I wonder what else fate has in store for me? I'm prepared to wager that a broken fingernail is in my near future.

I KNEW something like this would happen.

Pitchers of Booze and Behinds!

AS you may or may not know, I've been known to draw a little, and paint some too. I reported a little while ago, that I'd completed the Boat naming project, and I neglected to offer you any images of the event. For that, I apologize. Thanks to my Sister, I can now regale you with the snapshots that were taken of the "event" in question.

Here goes:

As you can see, I'm in the process of cutting the masking away from the areas to be painted. This process is extremely tedious, and it's also hard on the knees, but you'll see the payoff shortly.

Here I am dilligently "knifing out" the tape that was in the way. I'm pretty focused on hwat I'm doing, as I'm using a razor knofe that has a permanently exposed blade. One false move, and I lose a finger. I LIKE my fingers, so I'll not be looking up, thankyouverymuch.

Here is the result of spraying copious amounts of paint on the areas that weren't masked off. I'm proud that I could keep it between the lines, as I'm the one who made the damn lines.

Here are the miscreants caught in the act of "tagging" a perfectly innocent houseboat. I'll tell you what, if I ever catch me one of them graffity-ers on my proppity, I'll blow a hole in'em big enoughh to swim a catfish through. "Git off my land!".

Here's the dang payoff. The finished product. Perfection at its very best. I mean, it only took an additional four months to get to this point, but I've alway's said that "You can't rush perfection".

Or something.

I can quit whenever I want

I mentioned yesterday that I'd been shooting air-guns quite a bit, but I failed to mention that my roommate had gotten a Daisy Powerline 880. Actually, he got an 880S, which included a little 4 power scope in the package. All I can say is, buy the gun, just the gun. The scope is crap. We futzed with it for three days, and the tightest shot group that we could get with it was about four inches, at a 30 foot range. Let me tell you kids, that sucked, so he went out and got himself a little better scope for it. Much, MUCH, improvement. Now he and I can actually hit what we're aiming at with it.

This afternoon, I got off of work a little early, and had to stop by the Wal-Mart in order to pick up some contact solution, which I got with no trouble. The problem is that I used to work at the store I was shopping in, so I felt obligated to walk around and speak to a few acquaintances that I've made there. One department has a girl working there who is absolutely HOT, so I always stop by to see if she's there. Unfortunately, it's the Sporting Goods Department.

When I amble up to the counter, I realize that it's just Ernie working today. No biggie, I like Ernie, so I decided to have a chat with him to see how he's been faring lately. As I sidle up there, he is suddenly called to do a "customer Service" chore out in the Toy department. Crap. Well, I guess I'll wander over to Electronics, and see if the other "Hot Chick" is working today. Much to my dismay, the air-gun section of the store is situated between where I currently am, and where I was going, so I stopped over for a peek at the new merchandise. I'm thinking that it might have been a mistake.

I came away with a Crosman PumpMaster (Shut Up Harvey) 760, and a scope to adorn the top of it. (You may have noticed that my scope is the same as my roommate's excepting its coloration, and you'd be correct in your observation. However, mine is prettier and has much more panache, so I Win!)

I first rey it with "open" sights, and find it to be fairly accurate., but when I mounted (Shut Up Harvey) the scope that I was "just a shave" off the mark to the left, so I made an adjustment. I "shimmed" out the right rear corner of the sight so that it would come In-line with the barrel, and found that I was "onto" something. Something like accuracy.

This evening we played many shooting games with our spent aluminum cans. First, there was "dancing can" wherin, after the can is knocked over, you proceed to make it spin and whirl in the most interesting way. From there, I came up with the idea that it would be fun to see how many shots a can could sustain before falling over. Both of our rifles were compressed to max capacity, so we laid on. he won one, and I won one, and damn it was fun.

For the final test of "shootage", I decided upon a ture game of sport, Camel hunting. You see, I smoke Camel Lights cigarretes in a "Hard Pack" (Shut Up Harvey), and you may have noticed that there's a Camel printed on the front of each pack. Your objective (If you choose to accept it) is to "kill the Camel". At this time, it's getting dusky-dark, but we continue unabated. After several rounds, we resolve that he is a good shooter, but I am more consistent. He hit the camel 3 times, and so did I, although my misses, were between his legs (Shut Up Harvey), and his were all over the place, we both managed to hit the target with every shot.

I cannot explain to you how much fun I'm having with this. Just rest assured, that I'm not addicted to shooting. Nor am I better at it than my roommate. It'd get him upset to know that, and we wouldn't want that, would we?

Same-same.

I'm too tickled with myself right now to blog well. (What's different?) At least I'm blogging, so shut up. Ahem. As you might notice, I've changed the quote at the top of the site from a "misqoute" to a direct one. This means that I finally have a copy of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy once again. My last "copy" included the first four books of the Trilogy (if you're not a fan of these books, just rest assured that I wrote that last correctly) and I loaned out my copies to a freind of mine. A few years ago. I'm not sure when I ran across the first book, but it is copyrighted 1979. The next one is in 1980, then 1982, then 1985, and a short story in 1986. The last one was (I believe) compiled from the author's notes, and (certainly) was copyrighted in 1992. I started reading them when I was in my early high-school years, and began amassing my tomes at that time. I think it's been more than 7 years since I loaned those books out, but I can't be sure. For some reason, I'm having difficulty remembering who I loaned them to, else I'd be crawling all over them to get 'em back. Now I have an "Ultimate Hitchhikers Guide" which provides all of the works in one hardbound form.

I'm really enjoying it. (*#1)

Last Saturday, my roommate decided that he was going to buy a BB gun for the Eight year old daughter of his (live-in) girlfriend, in order to teach her how to shoot. He is a gun afficianado, as I am, as found that she was interested in it due to a weekend gathering with his family. He asked me to join him when he purchased the rifle (he primarily shoots them), and I came away from the incident with one of these. DAMN, I'd forgotten how much fun it is to "plink" with a small-bore pistol. For the last few evenings, I've been destroying a bunch of beer cans and paper targets, in my own back yard! Yoou see, I live in a fairly good sized city, so they frown upon shooting actual firearms within the community. Air Guns are okay, so off we go. I'm not certain that my roommate has "bad eyes", but I can attest to you that I can hit my target more accurately than he can, when he's using a rifle with a scope, and I'm using a pistol with open sights.

He'll knock a can over after a few shots, and I'll take my pistol and put a hole in the long end of it. we've had many-many hours of fun doing this, and I'm a little dissappointed tht I don't have any night vision capabilities, or I'd still be out there.

I'm really enjoying it. (*#2)

I've been building an elevator, and taking my time with it, approximately a mile and a half from my house, and the install has gone extremely well. Sure we've had a few issues, but the majority of the time has been spent "going easy" and quite well. Sure there's been a few moments, but they've passed easily enough, and we have been making progress without even trying. Work has been extremely good lately.

I'm really enjoying it. (*#3)

*#1 Things are going good, so I've not been blogging.

*#2 Things are going good, so I've not been blogging.

*#3 Things are going good, so I've not been blogging.

In all seriousness, I'm certain that things will not be this way for much longer, but I intend to enjoy them while they're happenning. Trying not to dwell on what might be bad about things has done no end of good for me.

I hope it does the same for you.

I Do Not talk funny

Everybody seems to think that Graumagus has an accent to his speaking voice, and I have been accused of the same thing. Let's take the Pepsi Challenge and find out how bad it really is.

Yep, that Dixie quotient is up there pretty high, but there's a lot more Midwestern in there than I thought there'd be. Let's see, I'm from New York (Upstate) but have lived most of my life in the South, my roommate is from Washington (mid-state), roommate's girlfriend is from California (San Diego area). I gueass that accounts for all that Midwestern and Yankee foolishness in there. Nevertheless, I think I talk just fine.

Have little purple blanket. Will Travel.

Once again, I was called to the scene of the upheaval. The cats (all four of them) had decided that a little robin was needed for their entertainment and culinary needs. Since it was raining today, they decided that it would be more fun to bring the bird in the house. As it is generally known, birds can fly, so the little scamp eluded the cats by hanging out on one of the blades of the ceiling fan. The curtain-rods weren't as good, as the felines can climb.

Under normal circumstances, we would just open the sliding glass door, and the bird figures out that there is way to get as far as away as possible, and therfore it splits the scene. Not this bird though. Too easy. He decided to lead me on a merry chase from the ceiling fan, over to the curtain rod at the window, and across the room to the curtain rod above the sliding glass door. The Fully-Agape sliding glass door. After the first eighteen laps around the living room, I decided that more extreme measures were needed. Thus, the purple blanket was deployed. I hated to bring out the big guns on him like that, but he was being obstinate.

The stupid avian actually managed to elude the "Purple Blanket of Doom" not once, not twice, but three times. But me and my blanket are not to be denied. I lowered the boom on that little critter, and ensnared him in my inpenetrable purple cage. Luckily, I had a pair of work-gloves around the house, so I was able to grab that nasty, little, disease ridden animal and fling it out the door to his freedom.

"No-Problem Ma'am. I do this all the time."

I'm thinking of starting a freelance Critter Removal Service. Give the stinkin' ASPCA a run for their money. Nothing can stand against me and my blanky!

A little prayer.

This weekend went far too well. Even the shortfalls turned themselves into good things. Yesterday, I decided that I would head on down to the Marina, and spend some time with the 'Rents. I arrived (unannounced, as usual) only to find that they were gone. It appears that they had gone on a cruise with the people from two boats over, Bill and Gracie. They had taken George, my uncle Bob and his wife Donna, and Julio, all together on Bill and Gracie's boat. Julio was there to work on rebuilding the roof of B & G's boat, and he had to do a bunch of sanding and such on the roof, so the cruise happenned to ensure that all the dust didn't make a mess of the marina. Bob and Donna and Mom and Dad were along just because they enjoy the company, and like to ride down the river in houseboats. George was there to drive the boat, as he used to be a tugboat driver on the Mississippi.

Now George happens to own the houseboat right across from my Sister and Brother-in-Law's boat. We also got him to come to work at the Elevator Company, so he's not only a friend, but a coworker. He's also the guy who I was painting the name on his boat for. He was gone, and all the people I'd come down there to see were gone, so I took it upon myself to complete the job I'd started back in December. I had talked to my Dad on the cellphone, and told him my intentions of finishing the naming of George's boat, and I was a little worried that he would rat me out. I shouldn't have been. All reports consist of: "George was really tickled to see the names on the sides of his boat finally finished". It was a nice surprise for him, and that was my intention.

Later that day I got together with the Blog-Daughter (See the frickin' sidebar) for dinner. We went to Rafferty's, and had a grand 'ole time. Dead cow parts were consumed, and many waitresses were grandly harrassed. I got to see the little book of "100 X-Rated Shots" for my trouble. Damn, that was entertaining.

Today, I went back down to the Marina, and got to hang out with the parents, see the sister, and the In-Law, and got to hear from George how pleased he was about the paint work. All in all, it was a great weekend. I hope the week goes as well. But (there's alway's a but) I'm sure it will end up with me face-down in a mud puddle and a bulldozer on the way. I'm certain to get into a situation that puts me into a coma for three years, and the only women who will lust after my inert body will be sexed out biker chicks.

Pray for me.

Dark clouds on the horizon

Day three on this job, and it frickin' rained...a LOT. I mean rained "like pouring piss out of a boot", kinda monsoon-type rain. But (there's always a but) the jobsite has been gravelled, so there's no mud, the temperature was in the mid sixties, and the hoistway is completely enclosed so I didn't get wet. Did I mention that the pit floor got poured so we could go to work? Well it did, and we did.

I worked a full eight hour day today, and once again the satisfaction of my chosen profession sinks in. We never put ourselves in a "strain", and managed to get the pump-unit in place (Hydraulic Elevator for those that are uninitiated), the rails stacked, both of the jacks in place, and the car sling is built. Not a bad day's work. This car is what I would call "Hospital Sized", in that it is about 6 feet wide by 10 feet deep. It's being installed in a music store, so they will need the room to carry drum-sets and the like from the warehouse/receiving area (downstairs) up to the sales floor. This install is going in extremely well, and I believe that it's gonna be a fabulous elevator when it's completed. What can I say? I Love/take pride in my work.

So I am now three-for-three on good day's this week. This is an ominous portent. I'm now completely certain that not only will I get a stomach virus that will have fluids pouring out of my every orifice for three day's, but I will have to work three twelve-hour day's (Through the weekend no less.) in order to make up for some horrible mistake that I made somewhere. It's no use. I might as well just not get out of bed tomorrow.

Why's it getting darker?

Got to the jobsite yesterday, and found that the contractor had not poured the pit like he was supposed to. Aparrently his supplier did not deliver the concrete until 5:00 PM, so he didn't bother to do any work on it. When we showed up, they were just completing the process of shovelling out all the mud and trash out of the pit, so we started looking for something to do. We decided to go ahead and get Ford's gang-box from the shop, and bring along the pipe machine as well. I went and got a few masonry (if you pronounce that last "masonary" I'll give you a fat lip) bits for the hammer drill. I got a four and a half-hour day out of it.

I came on home, and took one look at the yard. Bad idea. Can't put that off anymore, so the yard is mowed and I got a few other minor chores taken care of. Suppertime rolled around, and I realized that I hadn't eaten anything up to that point, so I gave Sarah a call to see what she was up to. She'd just finished a tile job, and was as hungry as I was, so it's off to the Texas Roadhouse for some dead cow parts. After a big steak, potato, salad, and the fresh bread, I was feeling quite chipper, so we hung around and had a few beers, and a bourbon or two.

While sitting at the bar, a couple sits down to wait on their to go order, with their two-year old boy Connor. What a cute kid. We had a lot of fun playing with him, and talking to his parents. Dad is a pilot, and Mom is a speech therapist. Needless to say, the conversation was interesting and they enjoyed talking with us as much as we did them. All in all, a decent day. I'm two for two now, so I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think I see its shadow already.

A pretty good day.

I got a rare treat today. I worked a six-hour day. Yes, I said Six Hours. The pit for the elevator that we started the installation of today is three inches too deep. The contractor has to fill in the difference with concrete before we can continue. Ah, a nice, light day.

Another good thing is that Ford and I have teamed back up for this one. I like working with the guy, and we tend to have a lot of fun while putting in the elevator. We had a good time catching up today, and we got a few things done despite the setback.

After I left the job today, I had to go down to the Home Depot to get some bolts that we needed, and I went ahead and bought a few tools while I was there. I've been debating getting a set of cordless tools for better than a week, and I finally gave in today and got them. I got the Ryobi Super Combo, and so far I'm very pleased with myself for the acquisition. The price of this set was about $170, as opposed to something from DeWalt whose combo kits go for around $500. I've used a few of the Ryobi products before, and found them to not suck, so it was a done deal.

But (there's always a but), the absolute bestest part about this new elevator install is the fact that it is a mile and a half from my house. What? Not 150 or 300 miles? You heard what I said. 1.5 miles. You have no idea how cool that is for me. Not driving for 5 hours to get to work is such a treat.

So far, a great start to the week, but I'm sure I'll get over it.

New policy

Freinds. I am instituting a new policy here at the closet, in hopes that the content will rise back up to levels that haven't been seen in awhile. I've decided that I'm not going to type anything after I've had, say, two beers (or an equivalent bourbon). I'm tired of looking at my site and seeing all the misspellings and incomplete thoughts that have become quite prolific around here. Hopefully, this measure will bring back a little more "actual content", and have the added effect of me cutting down on my drinking, just a tinge. We'll see how it works out.

Hectic

So, I was talking on the phone to Eric last night, and he asked me "When are you gonna make out to another Pool-Night?" Unfortunately, I don't frickin' know. (BTW, I completely forgot the numbers you gave me for your cell. I tried to call back, but I couldn't find the right combination of numbers. Sorry.) I've been trying to shoehorn some semblance of a "life" into the periods of time when I'm not working. It's kind of trying when you had a week like this last one.

I've travelled something on the order of 1250 miles, went from working in Tuscaloosa, Alabama (decent town, not too big, not too small, cosmopolitan where it needed to be.) to Robbins Tennessee (No cell service, front of the sign reads "Welcome to Robbins", back of the sign reads "Thanks for visiting. Come back again"), and put in a 54 hour work week. Personal time is at a premium. Wednesday night, I went out with friends, and was up until 2:30 in the morning. Thursday I worked nine and a half hours, and still went out with a friend that evening. Also, I was offerred the opportunity to go to the Nascar Busch series race up in Bristol, TN, which I promptly agreed to. Today, I got to do a light day of only eight hours, and got home to a housefull of kids. Three eight year olds, and two fourteen year olds. All female.

While I was trying to wind down from the week, I got a call from Tammi, and she suggested that we have supper tomorrow night, as she is going to stop over on her return trip to Orlando. The time-frame for her arrival could conflict with the race, so I had to call my cousin and beg off at the last minute. I feel like a heel for doing it, but I'll not have many more opportunities to see Tammi without a ten-hour drive being involved. The racetrack will still be a couple of hours up the road, so I gotta go see my Tammi-licious while she's nearby.

This is a normal week for me anymore. I make a plan, and it changes, and then it changes again. I have to make time for my family, and I have to make time for my friends, and it is very difficult to justify that with a career that is very demanding on my time and taxing on my mind and body. Sometimes things (and people) wind up slipping through the cracks. I HATE that. Thee are people I want to spend time with, and there are things I want to do, and they never seem to justify themselves, so I am constantly making concessions. It makes life a bit...hectic.

But I wouldn't have it any other way.