FedEx, will you marry me?

So, I ordered this thing I need for work and was a little annoyed that the company I ordered from requires someone sign for delivery and they only offer cheap shipping through FedEx. But I figured I'd suck it up and try to be a good sport. So after processing my order and shipping it out, the company sent me an email with a tracking number.

I entered the information at FedEx's website and was surprised to see they expected the delivery date to be Friday. So on Friday, I stayed home so I could sign for the package. I checked the tracking info again that morning and it showed the package had gone on the delivery truck. I rubbed my hands with a creepy look in my eyes and said "goodie," or something like that.

Then, the trouble started.

I waited around all morning, catching up on email and downloading some Three-Six Mafia missing from my collection. Around lunch time, I went to the FedEx site to see that the tracking info had been updated again with the message: "can't locate recipient."

Considering this is a pretty key part of the service provided by FedEx, I decided to call them and investigate. I navigated the automated phone menus until I reached a robot whose voice was almost indistinguishable from a real human customer service rep. She confirmed that my address was correctly listed on the package, put me on hold, checked the delivery status, and returned to tell me the driver had never put the package on the truck because he didn't know how to find my address.

My eyes rolled over and over in the back of my head like the wheels of a slot machine. UPS, Mapquest, Google Maps, and "crazy stalker lady" are all able to find my house without any trouble. I have even heard rumors that since their merger with Kinkos, FedEx has access to computers...and yet...

Their drivers don't know how to use Google or can't be bothered with the trouble of consulting--oh, I don't know--a map of the area before heading out for a day of driving around on the company's dime listening to the classic rock station. Isn't finding places an important part of a delivery man's job? I'm perfectly willing to unload the stuff when it comes. He can stay in the truck, cranking the AC. I just want the items I ordered. Please, FedEx...can I have my stuff when you guys get done playing box hockey with it at the warehouse? I can link you to my address on Google Maps if it helps. Of course, that's assuming your drivers can read. I know it's asking a lot.

Sigh. I'll stop ranting now. I promise.

We'll see if the saga continues when I do this again on Monday.

For now, I'm off to try salvaging a half-day's work...

Complaining

I'm tired and can't see the eclipse for all the clouds rolling in. That would perhaps be an interesting metaphor if there wasn't an actual eclipse tonight.

My calcium is low and potassium high. I'd rather not know about my blood pressure. I'm crumbling under stress, broke, and out of good ideas. The skin on my fingers is peeling and they hurt too much to indulge in an hour of what I describe as guitar playing.

My eyes are exhausted from a strict diet of non-fiction. My head hurts for reasons I can't pin down. I haven't been getting enough sunlight.

I'm drinking a lot of water and it tastes boring.

Sadly, I'm not experiencing the usual joy I get from a bit of good-natured complaining. Maybe it hasn't been all that good-natured, lately. Consequently, that's another of my complaints.

My laundry is caught up. I only have a few dirty dishes. I got a pretty good haircut this week. There are plenty of groceries in my cupboard. I even smell good at this particular moment. I guess the word for it all is "w00t-w00t!"

But I don't feel "w00t-w00t," inside. I'm not sure I ever have. To be perfectly honest, I don't have any idea what "w00t-w00t" means.

I blog a lot when I'm in a complaining mood and post very little of it. The process is cathartic, but after rattling off a few pages, I feel more run down than when I started. Then it's time to get a few hours of worthless sleep. My flood of words--some of them quite buoyant and entertaining, mind you--never seem worth revisiting when I wake to the next day of complaints.

It could be depression, but I'm the last person who should be spouting off amateur medical diagnoses.

I used to post things pretty willy-nilly. If I wrote something particularly good, I'd tuck it away in a folder somewhere, as to not sully it by tossing it on the world wide waste heap. Everything else, I'd pin up for everyone to thumb their noses at. I figured, "What's the worst that could happen? People take a glance and correctly determine it isn't worth their time to read?"

Now, I don't feel like posting at all. I don't trash much of what I write, but I might as well for all the good it's doing. I'm so hard up for cash, I can't even afford to run it through the printer. I guess it truly is "only worth the paper it's printed on." I'm not so much embarrassed by these pointless diatribes. It's just that every word is a painful reminder of time I should've spent making something of myself.

You're right.

Now, I'm just being self-pitying.

No. Not really. Apathetic, maybe. I think "bitter" would be too strong a word.

But I'm not going to get into a semantic argument with myself. It's neither the time nor the place (though, in other post I've argued blogs are exactly the right place for such bullshit and defended the mantra that there is no time like the present...though I believe I was writing about the contributions I could make to humanity's gene pool). However, we don't need to revisit these platitudes at the present.

Complaints are usually not worth anyone's time--unless, of course, you have a professional obligation to give them a polite listen before dismissing them. But they are a symptom, inevitably leading to the question, "What's your deal, bro?"

I could offer my stock answer that I need a little cash and a bit of the jet setting lifestyle I could grow accustomed to, but those are just band-aids to cover up the real problems. Not that I'm ripping up checks or turning down invitations to Victoria Secret parties. No, the real problem lies somewhere in my general incompetence, social anxieties, and failure to effectively turn my hopes and dreams into concrete success.

The yes-men I surround myself with have complimented me for years on my considerable talents. Yet, as they can't offer a shred of proof to confirm my athleticism in the bedroom, I consider their glad-handing to be overzealous hyperbole. Love is truly blind, but it doesn't pay the bills.

But back to the eclipse, I was trying to glimpse tonight...

Maybe the point of observing a lunar eclipse is in not seeing the moon. I mean, you're not supposed to see the moon if the light of the sun is completely blotted out, right? Everything is supposed to be bleak and dark.

Yet, I just went outside and could see the shadow moving. A crescent of moonlight has started shining down through the clouds. Things are looking a little brighter. Maybe the real magic of an eclipse is discovered only when the light comes back.

Now, there's a metaphor.

The point is, simple things matter. Keeping yourself involved in the lives of the people you care about, having a little income, and taking care of basic needs are all important. If dreams are a distraction instead of a motivation to help you make your life complete, it's time to get new dreams.

So, yeah. That's the answer. I need some new dreams.

I think.

Sheesh. I feel more run down than when I started this thing.

But, hey. I'm not complaining.

Out With A Whimper and January Haps

I haven't posted on here lately, as things have been kind of chaotic and busy. 2007 went out with more of a whimper than a bang. Over the holidays, I wrote a song about how I don't like Christmas. On New Year's Eve, I went out on the town with a couple friends. We proved there's nothing more futile than desperately trying to will a good time into existence while sensible folks are drinking at hotels or home with loved ones, watching Times Square on tv.

I've had a cold off and on for the last three weeks. Not atypically, I've been poor, dirty, and tired; staying alive by eating every variation of rice and beans I can come up with. I finally made some money mid-January and was able to enjoy it for a whole day before mailing all but 54 cents of it to my insurance company. It's been hard to find work lately. I wonder how "excellent handy's" looks on a resume. I never really considered it a talent, but I can't remember giving myself a bad one.

Otherwise, I've been playing guitar, scriptwriting, and consolidating computer data in preparation for a backup of my digital heap. I think it can be a dangerous impulse for someone to want their whole life digitized.

What are my nieces going to think when one gives me a finger painting and I say, "It's a great picture, but what am I supposed to do with it? Do you think you could scan it first and send it as an attachment?" They'll probably stop giving me finger paintings and start just giving me the finger.

I suppose there really are some things that won't fit on a hard drive. (For everything else, there's MasterCard?)

I've been playing with Twitter a little more recently. I'm following a number of other people's "tweets" as the savvy micro-bloggers call them. There are some different ways people use the service, ranging from immensely informative to painfully self-indulgent (that would be me). One user I follow exclusively posts interesting quotes. Another posts comic book news. Another posts hot deals available on the internet. I'm hoping that by following some people who make great use of Twitter, I may eventually be able to put together better posts than "just ate a fudgecicle," or "bathroom break...brb!"

Anywho. There are more posts and internet antics on the way. I've just been a little swamped lately. I'll be back in full gear in a couple weeks, so stop back by for more here and on my other blogs (linked in the sidebar). Hugs and slobbers.

Twitter.

I'll hopefully be ramping things up here soon. But in the meantime, you can keep track of the haps with the Twitter widget I've added to the sidebar. It's a micro-blogging tool I'll try to keep updating with thrilling news like "ligz has indigestion" or "ligz is taking a long winter's nap."