On a Scale of One to Ten: I am Dolphin.

Seriously, on a scale from one to ten, one being: I'm awake, I put the right shoes on the right feet; and ten being: Oh my gosh, that guy looked like Gerard Butler (when in fact the guy in question was a coat rack); I find myself settling around: Dolphin.

10 hours in a room and hallway, constantly rolling wet paint over textured walls can do that.  I'm not sure if it's an after affect of the non-existent, non-detectable paint fumes my eyes seemed to pick up.  Have you ever tried to stare opened eyed at a mountain of snow?  No?  Try it for 10 hours and that's about what my eyes felt like.

After messing up in every way possible, even while being told what not to do, I got the hang of paint rollers, paint liners, drop cloths and the fact that paint will never come out of clothing. . . .ever.  I really did find out the depth of patients one needs to handle beginning painters.  I have none.  My brother-in-law has an incredibly deep reservoir of patience that I never thought possible.  He never took away the roller and put me in the corner (which I did mentally) nor did he kick me out of the project and tell me to go play in traffic, he just kept on painting, talking and leading me by example.  I know once or twice he probably wanted to pat me on the head (with a folding chair) and say it's okay.  By the time the day had run it's course, we had one bedroom and one hallway coated with three to four coats of paint (including primer).  Now it's on to the baseboards, shelves and carpet.  Do worry brother-in-law, I won't roll the roller backwards.

While spending all my time yesterday industriously working, I came to this realization.  In high school, while other males of my age were studiously memorizing different teams, players, moves, logistics, scores, records and other such things I spent my time memorizing and learning to recognize bands.  Particularly 90's rock bands (I blame my father).  Brother-in-law had his phone playing Pandora.com and eight times out of ten I could name the band.  I don't know whether I should be proud of myself or ashamed.

On the upside of all this, I escaped to Target for an adventure with my wife.  We both were a dolphin on the tiredness scale and thought we should get some Christmas shopping done.  So naturally we came out of the grocery isles with a sweater, salted caramel hot chocolate, chocolate Tim Tams, bagels, Ovaltine and regretfully no tuna fish.

While in line for the checkout next to the couple expecting twins, buying a body pillow, our bangled and pierced cashier twittered over all the pregnant women in her line, telling everyone her friend was pregnant, how she was going to spoil it, baby sit it, love it, squish it, bounce it, turn it into puddy and press it against the Sunday funnies, and so forth.  Hopefully the baby will survive the encounter, and come back unpierced.

I wonder if they will ever make a body pillow the shape of a P. . . .for Pregnancy.

Oh, and speaking of Ovaltine, I don't think I have ever experience it's chocolaty goodness until today.  I have to say between huge gulps all I could think of were these:

I love my life.

New Beginnings in Familiar Places

You know that feeling you have the night before a big test?  Or the day before you are leaving on a plane bound for outside the small boundaries of your known galaxy?  How about the time your were in a school choir in elementary and it was the night of your first big performance, or just before the ref blows the whistle for your first game of little league soccer.

Mix that with the feeling of Christmas Eve, the night before you birthday and the first day of October and that's about how I feel right now.  Not to mention the relief that comes with the ending of Monday.

Tomorrow I have a job interview.  The first one in months, and what do you know, it some place I've been before, for two plus years.  I've been willing the weekend away hoping that tomorrow would come three days ago, and now it's here.

Wish me luck and send good vibes my way, I'll need them.

Have you ever felt so connected to your work it has become a part of you?  I'm not meaning that you get so involved with it that other pursuits in your life become meaningless and you morph into a horrible robot that has only one goal in life: to work.  Not that.

Have you ever felt that you were not merely content with the job you have, but feel like your life was being inspired to be and do more than the simple nature of your employment?  Life seems to have a new light.  I probably sound absolutely crazy, but it's how I feel, at least at eleven o'clock at night.  I feel the same way about my future career.  (Which is a giant float enigma waiting to be caught by good students all around.)

I feel so passionate about helping others achieve their goals.  Nothing makes me smile more than to see others progress.  It's the process I enjoy most, helping them take those steps to greatness, being better than they were the day before.  There is something so wholly organic that I can't help but to be captivated by the strength of a human being.

People have asked me what I want to be when I grow up, first of all I don't want to grow up.  Second, I want to give aide to those who are in need.  Many assume I mean to be a counselor for one's employment, or for delving into the human psyche to reveal the damaging past that made the person who they are today. (Not to say that those are very relevant and important jobs in society, they just aren't for me.)

 No, I want to help those in need of getting back on their feet after a harrowing experience that life throws at them.  I want to help someone recover from the limits of their mortal frame, move past road blocks, and rise above to become great persons than they once were.  To travel the long road as a companion, friend, and guide, urging them to move forward, not look back and strive to live their experiences on planet Earth to the fullest.

I want to be an Occupation Therapist.

(no idea what they are, just send your questions my way, I'll shed some light on the subject.)