Tag Archives: Anticipation

Anticipation Nightmare

by Richard

If there’s one thing I forgot to take into account when I decided to take the job as a part-time tutor at the Wonderful Elementary School, it’s that I would have to deal with little dudes and little dudettes.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not an idiot. I knew I’d be teaching the little shriekers. It’s just that I forgot I would also have to put up with them.

Especially when they’re wound up so tight they could snap a spring in twain. And, brother, when it’s Halloween and they’re going to be going out to hunt up candy in only a couple of hours, they are wound — the heck — up. Way, way up.

Most of those kids who celebrate Halloween were up and down out of their seats faster than a hyperactive mole trying to escape the hammer. (Sure, there are some kids who don’t celebrate Halloween. I was told by one that his mom considers Halloween to be the devil’s birthday so it’s no reason to celebrate. There are times when I have a very, very hard time holding in my opinions. That was one.) The enthusiasm/excitement was contagious.

Kids who wouldn’t have their parents catch them dead wearing make up because they worry the parents might think they’re in costume, were grabbing onto their chairs with clenched fists to make sure they didn’t accidentally join in on the suppressed sugar-party-to-come.

All I’ll say is it’s a good thing I got to leave just after lunch. If I’d have had to stay much longer, there was a very good chance some of those kids would have had to trick or treat on crutches. Accidentally, of course.

Now my only problem is trying to keep myself calm until I can get out of the house and start trying to scare some people. Or something. I’ve heard. Not that I would do that on purpose. Only, you know, accidentally. Of course.

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Anticipation Iiiiiiissssss Making Me Hate

by Richard

Sure, people have been trying to sell you on ketchup for years by talking about how we just can’t wait for the catsup to start flowing out of the bottle and onto your plate or bun or whatever.

The ketchup company was, I think, pretty clever. It was trying to take a bug and turn it into a feature. That is, having to wait for the catsup to leave the bottle was a pain in the butt, but its advertising was trying to make us think all that waiting was building anticipation and making the taste even sweeter.

Blech.

I never bought into that.

I hate waiting. Hate, hate, hate.

Not a big fan of waiting is what I’m trying to say.

The worst days I ever had in any job I ever held were the days leading up to me leaving that job. Everything grated and all the stuff that used to be just okay, started making me feel like I should be ramming my head into walls just to relieve the pain.

So, of course, I’m absolutely in love with these days and weeks before we head out of town for a short vacation at the beach.

As the months slowly trundle off, the weeks roll away and the days vanish into the past, I’m beginning to scout around my home to see which wall could most use a quick update.

Wish me luck.

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Shouldering The Load

by Richard

I get it. By jimminy, I get it. I really, really do. You dudes can all stop now. Please.

Here is a typical conversation with a stranger, pick a stranger. Basically anyone who I bump into during the course of my day. Anywhere. Anytime. Anyone.

“Hey, what’d you do to your arm? Shoulder?”

Me: “Shoulder,” trying to move on because I know what’s coming.

Stranger: “Rotator cuff?”

Me: sighing, “Yeah, among other stuff. Had the biceps tendon reattached and had some of my clavicle bone shaved off.”

Stranger: “Wow.”

Me: “Yeah,” trying to leave, but knowing it won’t work.

Stranger: “You know, a (insert relationship here; friend, relative, acquaintance) of mine had that kind of thing. He said it was the most pain he’d/she’d ever gone through. I mean, it’s agony on wheels.”

Me: “So I’ve heard. I’m doing all right, though.”

Stranger: “You must not have started the physical therapy yet. Boy, that’s when the pain really kicks in. I mean, she/he told me she/he was crying like a baby every time she/he went to physical therapy. And it kept hurting all the time. For months. Said it was like having a knife jammed in there and then stirred around for good luck.”

Me: wincing in anticipation and starting to feel sympathy pains for my future self, “Um, yeah. Thanks for sharing.”

Stranger: “No, really. I mean, he/she had (insert some horrible, appallingly invasive surgery or medical procedure here) and he/she said that was nothing compared to getting his/her shoulder done and the rehab after.”

Me: feeling nauseous all over again, “Uh, yeah. Thanks for sharing. Again.”

Finally feeling my oats enough to be rude, that’s when I turn around and walk away. Very, very quickly. And normally bump my shoulder into something hard and unforgiving.

So, yes. I get it. I understand that it’s painful. I also know I don’t need to be reminded — constantly — of that fact. You’d think people would get the hint.

Unless — you don’t suppose? — it’s some sort of conspiracy, maybe. Maybe they are all out to get me. That must be it. I’m sure of it. You’re all trying to hurt me. I see it all so clearly now. I —

UPDATE: I’ve cut down on the meds a bit now and I think I should be all better. Just sort of ignore the previous. I know that’s what I’m trying to do.

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