My digestion and metabolism won't cooperate. I keep finding myself overfull 10 minutes after eating despite not being full while I was eating. I'm hungry at all the wrong times. We're eating healthier and I'm even getting back to exercising but my body and my brain aren't on the same page somehow. Our closet is full of pants and shirts that just won't fit me anymore. I keep putting off going to Goodwill/SalvationArmy/wherever and buying more clothes, however, because finances are tight and I refuse to believe I won't lose some of this extra fat.

Stacey's officially looking for another job now. That makes two of us. She actually loves her job but the school system won't pay for decent workers so she's stuck with two co-workers who either aren't at work half the time or are dangerously (literally, in her line of work) inept and lazy. When the work isn't balanced the one person who IS doing a decent job has to literally bear too large a burden and it's hurting her physically. She may end up with a leave of absence because of it, which is good for her body but not great for our finances. I'm known as a pretty "liberal," "to each his own" kind of guy, but this is one of several ongoing situations where others' actions and attitudes are dragging us down financially. Life isn't about finances or material goods but when you're just barely making it, other people's actions really can put you closer to the edge.

Speaking of ugly situations...it turns out that Josh (who you'll know as Suspect #1 in the computer theft) has a bigger history than we thought. Ben found some of his old documents (and porn DVDs) left in his room. Collection agents are after the guy, apparently. Even bigger, a small claims court document shows that he owes a former landlord in the thousands of dollars for unpaid rent, damages due to animals and...(surprise)...things missing upon his departure. Even though no real proof exists for our current situation, it's just further evidence that what happened isn't out of his character at all.

I should really try and be less depressing.

Good news coming soon. Let's plan on it.

Today's break from work was getting a call from the detective investigating the theft of my computer. If only the suspect weren't so slippery...well, he's not entirely slippery. We know where he works. We have his license plate number. We'd just like to know where he lives. It's probably better that I don't know, but the detective will hopefully gain that information.

Today's funniest aspect about working here: the iced tea in the buffet one floor up sprung a leak, thus dripping iced tea through our ceiling. For some reason the idea of it raining Lipton in here amused me.

While absentmindedly fumbling through my pocket earlier, I found an old fortune cookie paper. "Plan for many pleasures ahead." On one hand, this makes me feel better about life. On the other hand, sometimes people tell us to plan for something that just doesn't happen. Believe it or not, I'm an optimist.

Time for a variety of updates and thoughts. Perhaps the easiest way is to just grind out some sort of chronology.

As of 10:25am this morning, I'm listening to "Waiting Room" by Fugazi. Sometimes the "Launch" online player is far too appropriate.

Friday night I talked with an insurance agent for quite a while. He said he was asking me quite a few questions and just letting me ramble to make sure that what happened to my computer and bass guitar wasn't just what could be classified as "mysterious disappearance." Apparently if something just "mysteriously disappears" it isn't covered by renter's insurance. He told me not to worry, that this situation was not that but indeed a theft. Forms should get to me early this week and we get can get this all taken care of. Not having a decent computer is really dragging me down in several areas, so this is some good news finally.
Later Friday night I went and saw The Rosebuds play. I'd fallen asleep watching the Cubs play earlier and by the time I left, Stacey had been asleep for about an hour. She woke up while I was getting ready to go and while she wanted to come along, she was just too wiped out.
(Quick divergence: We're both at the point, myself moreso than even she is, where our obligations and work drain us so much that when it comes time to actually enjoy ourselves, we're too tired and stressed out. "Welcome to life," I know. Stacey's fortunate in that at least her work is something she enjoys and is pretty fulfilling for her. Mine...well, mine is I think making me literally physically unhealthy, not to mention mentally jarred. The worst part is that by the end of the day I lack energy to do much of anything to help pull myself out of this.)
Anyway, Little Brazil and The Rosebuds were both quite good. The former seems to be settling into a fairly safe but enjoyable powerpop style (in the vein of The Pixies, old & heavier Weezer, perhaps Superchunk) and their set remains pretty solid. The latter featured a sound a bit sparse compared to the record (not that this was a surprise), in places relying on repeated powerchords pretty heavily. Then again, that's pretty much how the band has to do it within the context of the tour. The keyboards definitely kept the sound surging and the vocals, as on the record, were quite clear and song-driving.
I ended up spending time talking with a middle-aged gentleman wearing a Boston Red Sox cap. We watched the very end of the Red Sox vs. Yankees game and glad Boston pulled it off in the end. Turns out that's the only game of the series they'd manage to win. He really rocked out to The Rosebuds, same way as a young kid would. Here's a guy who's at least in his 40s, pretty smart man, getting excited at good music. Gives me hope that maybe I won't be unable to enjoy anything after the age of 40.
In between bands the bouncer plugged the jukebox to blare the Ramones. "Johnny died! We gotta honor him!"

On Saturday Stacey and I went to this healthy eating and nutritional info thing at Wild Oats. I needed inspiration and may just have gotten some. I wish I had self-control. My mind is determined but my flesh is what seems to win out. Exercise is another weekly goal.

Saturday night eventually found me eating sushi and drinking (probably weak) sake. No reason, I just felt like it. That's relatively healthy.

On Sunday after Liturgy we were planning to go to another church for a Sunday School luncheon. Our main goal was to look at curriculum and network with other instructors. We got there and the place was buzzing and we just weren't up for that. We know how to get ahold of people there and will get more out of doing things in a quieter setting.

What happened next felt like a Seinfeld episode.
We live in an old Italian neighborhood. An old Italian bakery stands only a few blocks away. We've heard very good things about something they serve called "gouterouni" (terrible spelling, I'm sure, but it's pronounced "goo-ter-oo-knee") but for some reason whenever we've gone to order it they're missing some ingredient like dough (I kid you not) or potatoes. We decided to give it a go yesterday afternoon, figuring that they'd still have all the ingredients at five til noon on a Sunday. They must have because someone took the order for our vegetarian version of the gouterouni.
I walked in at 12:30, right on cue, very hungry, happy to finally try this magical food. Several old men wandered around behind the counter, drinking Bud Light and laughing at their own jokes. They couldn't find any trace of an order being taken. Some guy in the back said he took the order but they never did anything with it. The guy at the counter told me they'd get it done in 15 minutes (which turned out to be just over 20). I came back almost half an hour later, they gave it to me at a discounted price, and I took the gouterouni home. Stacey started slicing it and hamburger spilled out. They'd not paid attention to the actual order (if it ever really existed). At that point I was steaming and quite hungry. Stacey went with me. Our goal was to just get the money back. Her goal was to keep me from blowing up at the old guys so we wouldn't be banned from the store or something. I let off steam more than I should but rarely lose my temper. For whatever reason I was in the midst of losing it over some silly Italian food. We went in and they started apologizing, gave us our money back. They grabbed a vegetarian pizza that had just been made and gave it to us for free. Some other poor sucker probably went in 5 minutes later only to find his food not ready. Look for "Old men at Orsi's screwed up my vegetarian pizza" on Google and I'm sure some other equally pathetic fellow is whining in his blog/journal about it today as well.

I really am trying to get work done today (and even accomplishing a few things while writing this). Somehow mentally I'm just struggling. I have so many things to be happy about but once I get behind this desk, I lose most of my desire to live. I don't mind most of the projects in and of themselves, but things always seem out of control and about to turn over on top of me. The fact that the people who aren't doing the projects keep changing things around doesn't really help. The fact that my memory is lousy and I'm unorganized and can't focus with a lot going on around me doesn't help, either.

Despite last week's 90+ degree highs, we're somehow at fall again. For some reason I keep daydreaming about crunchy orange brown leaves and Michigan apple cider and playing baseball in my yard on State Line Road and every year's last days of Dairy Queen and my old cocker spaniel and family within 15 minutes and wearing comfortable old sweaters in the chilly autumn nights. I wasn't happier then. I'm in love now and couldn't have known then how great it is. I've found so many more and better things to care about and find joy and beauty and truth in. My spiritual life is infinitely better and getting moreso as time goes on. I'd never go back in time if I could. Somehow, though, this daydream still makes me tear up while ignoring my death-inducing work for just another minute.

--Finally got some compliance from the cops. I was at near-psycho level yesterday afternoon but kept pretty calm (yet insistent) when I got there. A sergeant took my report and upon my urging gave me a report # so I can work with my insurance agent. I listed J--- as the suspect and explained the situation. Probably nothing will come of it, but who knows. The important thing is that we can all get on with our lives.

--After spending my time at the police station downtown, I went back to the old pad to take care of a little business. Ben's got it looking good and hopefully can get decent roommates this time around. If you or anyone you know needs a room in Omaha for around $200 (+ utilities), let me know. It's in a major prostitution district, if that helps. The prostitutes never really bothered me. Sure, walking around I'd get asked if I had drugs, wanted drugs, or could help someone pay for his drugs. I never really minded. I always loved the comments I got from other people about the area. Maybe living in such squalor never bothered me because I live with a conscious knowledge that I could be among "those people" at pretty much any time, given any number of split-second circumstances. A hundred times I've been an inch away. The bills pile up, the bureaucracy smothers your chances. Your kindness blows up and other people leave you kiting checks, selling souvenirs, taking out tiny loans you'll take years to pay back. Job managers tell you to focus better, but the interest is killing you. When you don't know where the rent will come from, doing little things and filing and smiling customer service can't be high priorities. You can't afford the little things that sedate you and suddenly you realize you can't catch up, so you may as well be calm if you're going to fall. I see the synced-up polarity of calmness and desperation in the eyes floating around over there, downtown, here and there. Once you don't have to worry about falling down, things don't seem so bad anymore. Once you've fallen down, you're desperate at the fear of being trampled. At some point it's just easier to start believing in fate, maybe call it "the will of God," and be fine with what was probably coming anyway. Something people don't understand is that we're all addicts, we're all afraid of living a different way, and sometimes sleeping with one's fears is the best way to control them.

This past weekend one of the top leaders in the Orthodox Church, Patriarch Petros VII (Patriarch of Alexandria) and a few others were killed in a helicopter crash near Mt. Athos, a monastery they were about to visit.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/3647624.stm

Our church held a requiem mass for him Monday night. Stacey was quite tired and not feeling too well -- and with the next 3 days in a row being full of classes and such, we felt it best she just rest -- so I went alone and, in fact, Fr. Stephen and I were the only ones there . . . but it was quite beautiful. Sometimes I really enjoy just being the only person at mass besides the celebrant. I'm less distracted and can focus myself better on the prayers and the rest of the liturgy. I'm very drawn to observing the various offices (Matins, Sext, Vespers, daily Masses), something that conflicts with my terrible memory and busy schedule. I'm very apprehensive of doing this sort of thing merely to just do it, however. My upbringing trained me to be legalistic and bound to doing things just for the sake of doing them; I don't want my or my family's life to be one of "vain repetitions." Repetitions can be vain if not done in the right spirit or right reasons and they exist for us, not us for them. Anyway, I'm working toward a life of prayer and regular contemplation, keeping in mind that the right spirit is paramount.

This whole subject brings up another. In Western culture so many feel as if someone who is spiritual and even Christian is automatically unable to observe and intelligently understand what's going on around him/her, much less be someone whose writing, art, music, etc. is quality and worth. Much of this has come about as a result of fundamentalist/evangelical Protestant posturing and self-removal, but much of this comes also because many insist that for someone who IS a Christian or spiritual, all of what they have to say MUST be evangelical or declarative (and usually abrasive and/or silly as a result). Of course, one only has to look to the writing of Flannery O'Connor or the career of Frank Schaeffer to understand this is not necessarily so. In fact, for many whose Christianity is more traditional and liturgical their spirituality is more reflective than soapbox and their writing, art, and so on is done for it's own sake as opposed to being an obvious evangelistic vehicle. I mention all this because I'm at a point in my life where I want to focus a ton more on my own writing, be it critical analysis or fiction or whatever. I'm realizing that the more connected I am spiritually, the better I'm able to do all these other things. At the same time, the more connected I am spiritually, the less I feel "obligated" to push these things into writing that doesn't call for them.
Hopefully as I begin writing again I can toss some of it in this here blog...I realize that my self-indulgent rambling isn't necessarily worth the button-clicking some do to see it.

In other interesting news, the first person has been sentenced under Nebraska's new law that makes animal torture a felony.

And, finally, a blog post these days wouldn't be complete without an update on the theft situation.
This past Friday, September 10, I finally got ahold of the "C Shift Sergeant" of the Omaha Police Department precinct where the officer who came out and took my initial statement (August 27) works out of. The sergeant looked around and told me that they have absolutely no record of anything having happened. Nothing whatsoever. On top of that, the officer who came out never called me back...I had left him a message the Friday before. The sergeant told me I'd have to call in and make my report by phone. He said usually they were busy so I'd just have to leave my name and phone number and they'd call me back sometime to get it. I told him that I work in an office job all day and can't just drop everything for 15 minutes as soon as someone calls for that...and that my cell phone doesn't come in well at our new place. He then told me I could go downtown (the main police station) and ask for one of the phone interviewers to come talk to me in person. I did so Monday night and was told by the front desk person that they don't do that. I tried calling in a report from there but of course they were busy. So...almost 3 weeks later now we're stuck in a situation where the police have nothing about this (despite the fact that I watched the policeman write something down), I keep getting the runaround, and I can't even file with my insurance about this whole thing. No wonder people turn to crime so much... unless there's some big sensational self-glorifying sting involved or quota to fill, don't count on getting too much help.

I know I've reached a sad state when I'm so bored by my internet options that I end up doing work that isn't, you know, immediate. Or write forgettable insipidities here. Now there's a word that works better on the paper than on the tongue.

I logged into "Blogger" without really anything on my mind to write about. I just need to write a little. My head's been cloudy since I woke up at 5:30am and the coffee has yet to really affect much of anything. I'm at work and have things to do but little focus and less motivation. Too bad, yet good thing I don't have my own actual office. Then again, if I had my own office I'd probably also be in a job I'd want to be doing at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning. I'm looking for one, actually. Sunday night Walker came over and the three of us watched the first three episodes of "The Office," a BBC comedy. I found it very funny and far too spot-on. Hopefully I'll get to another three episodes sometime soon this week.
Stacey and I are both pretty enthused about our Sunday School teaching. She's got tons of great ideas for the younger kids. I'm working on a fairly different (at least to me) approach for the older elementary and high school class (which generally consists of two siblings). We're going to really focus on learning discernment within our American culture. Not some list of "good music versus bad music" or Focus on the Family type thing, but actually THINKING about these things, learning wisdom. The whole thing is really sort of frightening because I'm not exactly the wisest person in the world, but I know God is with us and I feel confident that we should be doing this.
The whole computer theft thing really keeps bringing me down. I feel frustrated that we're pretty much sure who did it and what happened but can't do anything about it. The police haven't even done a file on it yet, which is what I need for insurance purposes. I really want to get going with the insurance company so I can get a decent computer to work on again. Of course, there's still a matter of a $250 deductible and I'm not sure how we'll afford that...things will work out eventually, though, I hope. I still often have a difficult time not getting either utterly depressed or angry over the whole thing, unfortunately.
Hmm, I started this Tuesday morning, saved it as a draft, and here I resume.
Not much else to say, though. I've decided that starting this weekend I'll be pushing myself on my studying to take the MAT. Not the Metro Area Transit (though one does need to sort of study up in order to take that) but the Miller's Analogy Test, which I must take (well, that or the GRE) in order to get into Graduate school.

The best thing I could do for myself today is sit home and play solitaire and listen to REM records. Instead I'm at work trying to be a Good Secretary and not snipe at people on the forums who absolutely refuse to use their minds.

The more I think about it, the more I realize it could be quite some time before I get a decent computer to get the zine going again and such. That $250 deductible looms large. I called the police last night to find out about a report and still nothing. This afternoon I'm supposed to call the sergeant of the cop who came out and took my report originally. Should be another fun opportunity to get no helpful information whatsoever.

My dad noted in an email a couple days ago that when we talked on the phone Labor Day I sounded really stressed out and as if life's frustrations were really getting to me. I think he's probably right.