A Guy Went Crazy

Boy, aren't we all lucky that I'm such a well-adjusted and happy person?

OK, I didn't expect you to believe it, but if you've known me a while, you have to know that I'm a lot better than I used to be. In the old days, and I'm talking up until about five or so years ago, depression would take over my life - it would point me in the direction of the chair and make me sit staring at the wall. I'm happy to say that I can now multi-task the occasional depression and still get on with the business of living and even interacting with people and having fun. It's an odd thing.

I finished my taxes tonight. My state taxes, it wasn't a last-minute thing, I had until May 1st. But this is about the latest I've ever completed them, and I kept putting it off and forgetting. I'm getting a refund, so I don't know why it's loomed over me like the harbinger of hate it's become, but I finally got to a point yesterday where I was thinking, "Hey, wonder if I call the state and say, 'Listen, I'm getting a $200 refund, but I really don't want to do my taxes, so would it be OK if I just didn't file and let you all keep the money?' they'll say it's all right?" To me it would be worth it.

I did my taxes tonight in less than a half-hour. I don't even know if I did them right, didn't double check, just went to the state's website, logged in, hit no, yes, yes, no, no, yes, put in some numbers, and hit "submit." And it's done.

The folks are home from Florida, and my mom still has a myriad of medical problems, most of them stemming from the fact that she won't do what she's supposed to do. She was finally diagnosed with psoriasis, and this diagnosis seems to have brought her to the depths of humanity. She was given, by her specialist, a prescription for a new drug that is supposed to manage the condition pretty well, but she was determined from the beginning not to take it. She still hasn't. Instead, she goes to other doctors and gets other prescriptions, and complains about her hands and feet and all the other places she breaks out, and this woman has taken enough prednisone to fell a small European country.

She developed a stabbing pain in her stomach/back region right before they started home, went for tests in Florida, came home without the results, and went for tests up here today. I've thrown up my hands many times in this whole debacle, but I always keep bringing my hands back down and trying to help her, suggest to her that she needs to stick with her specialist and go to no general physicians around here, but she won't listen.

And so I worry, and know that there's not a damn thing I can do for her unless she wants to help herself first.

But still, I've been relatively happy, and scooting right along with the business of living a life.

It's been a year since my dad was diagnosed with cancer. He had an appointment with his oncologist on Monday, had some bloodwork done, and is awaiting the results. His scan in December showed him cancer-free, and he came back from Florida looking as good as I've seen him look in ten years. But he worries about Mom, and those blood tests are still pending, and I have some Dad worry floating around me as well.

I think, and I know I'm going to hell for this, so you don't need to tell me I am, I think what bothers me so much about my mom right now is that during all this not doing what she's supposed to do she's whined and bitched and moaned and pissed constantly about it. She has psoriasis, for God's sake. My dad had fucking lung cancer and I never heard as much as a discouraging word through all the chemo and radiation and hair loss and skin burning off. Put it in goddamn perspective, Mom.

OK, that rant over, I'm still in good condition, and playing the clarinet and going to see the Hackensaw Boys and doing a podcast and having a fine old time.

I came in to work this morning to some rather shocking news. See, we've had a trainee for about 2 months now. A very green 21 year-old college graduate learning the ropes. It was some tough going, but he finally started opening up a little and letting us see he was indeed human, and I was getting to like the little guy. When I walked in the door, The Boss handed me a folded up piece of notebook paper. It was his resignation.

It was obviously very hastily written, I have an idea in his vehicle right after he left work yesterday, then placed on The Boss's desk for her to find this morning. He said nothing but glowing things about us and our efforts to help him and be friends with him, but he said he had some "personal problems" that were making it very hard for him right now, and that he wasn't giving the job the attention it deserved and he felt he was being very unfair to us all by continuing on. I knew that he'd just broken up with a girlfriend recently, and it apparently was a pretty bitter split, but I found out later from San, my friend, workmate, and mother figure, that there was other weird stuff going on with him as well. Living situations, apparently a pretty weird-ass family, he was alone in a town where he didn't know anyone....

So now, though again I'm living a pretty good life here and though again there's not damn thing I can do about it, I'm starting to worry about the little fella. I mean, he has to work somewhere, I'm assuming, and he'd mentioned to San that after work he goes home and sits on his porch, alone, till after dark, and now I'm worried he's going to do that 24 hours a day till he calcifies. I hope he doesn't.

However, what's really been looming over me has been hovering for about 3 weeks now. Every time I write the date. At work, on a check, I write the date and say it to myself. "3 weeks now." "It's only 2 weeks." "It's just a few days." And by that I mean the 1-year anniversary of the Virginia Tech shootings. April 16th.

And I say this like it's just popped into my head that it's time to remember it all. But it hasn't been that way, not for me, because I never really forgot it. I think of it most days. I think of it every time I drive back from B'burg, through N'rows, the town where my dad's side of the family always lived. That's where one of the vicitims was from, who my cousin Jacob knew when he was just a boy, though he wasn't much more than a boy when he was killed.

I think about it every time I see the campus. B'burg is pretty much built around Virginia Tech, and you can't drive to many places without seeing at least part of the campus. All I have to do is see one of those many gray stone buildings, and it comes back. I think about it when I drive down Main Street, where a church has 32 flags representing the countries of the victims. I thought about it during all the Hokie football games. I think about it every time I record my service hours for the VT Engage vounteering program. (Being in Community Band gives you service hours.) I think about it every time the television reports another case of campus violence.

I thought about it when the Dear Nephew was accepted to be a resident adviser at his university for next year. One of the first victims last year was an RA.

I thought about it last week when I was on campus seeing the Hackensaw Boys. It was International Week, and the hall where The Boys played was filled with happy people of all nations, in costumes, dancing and mingling and having a great time. And I was having a great time. But I was thinking.

Certain songs that have never meant such to me now remind me of the time. Of that week of shock and sadness, and of hope and togetherness. There's not much that doesn't remind me of it.

Yesterday it was very hard to let go of. It was unseasonably cold here, and snowed most of the day. It was unseasonably freezing that day. Bitter cold, it was. I mentioned to the girls at work I just couldn't shake the feeling, and they didn't really get it. I don't expect them to. I'm not sure I get it myself.

I knew none of the victims. I'm not a Tech graduate. I've seen and heard it before. A guy went crazy and killed some people.

But it's never happened in my place. My friendly mountains, my adopted B'burg, my second home. Home of my friends, my bands, the place I've gone to for most of my social activities for the last 25 years.

And I'll never understand it, but none of us ever will, and it's happened before and will surely happen again.

And so I continue to multi-task, and live my pretty good life while thinking about the horror of last year. I probably will for a long time, and I almost feel ashamed of that. I don't know why, but I do.

I guess because it's easy to laugh and joke and snark around. People don't want to hear that you can't stop thinking about some people who were murdered. And so I'll not talk about it anymore.

But I'm OK.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners. So give me your fake headlines.
- Honorable Mention goes to Kellie (with an ie), with her, "Elephant Dung Aids Some Nauseous Orlandoers." (Orlandoers? Is that what they're called?)
- Runner-Up goes to LilyG, with her, "Easter Duck Accepts Settlement - Now Orthodox." (Who sued the Easter Duck?)
- And we have a first-time winner this week, it's Duke, with his very vivid, "Exhumed Dinosaur Attacks Smithsonian North Offices." (I see a movie in there, Duke.)
- Thanks to all who played - you've all done very well!