The theology of procrastination

So I'm supposed to be writing a theology paper. But clearly, I'm not. I'm focusing on the "right" of God to be a judge and it's a pretty rough topic. But I am better understanding the depths of his love, which is odd considering I'm studying hell. Why do people go to hell if He is a loving God? Because He's a loving God. He gives us the right to deny him now and forever and if that's not love, to be consistently denied by your own creation, I don't know what is. It's like waking up each morning, letting your wife cheat on you because she has chosen to and repeating the process for all eternity. It blows me away that God loves us that much.

Update on the heart: I'm still not dead.

Update on my weight: Still too high, but I'm gonna try a circuit training thing they have at the local junior college.

Update on my wife: Very busy with school, still loves me. I think. We've been kinda snotty to each other lately. It'll pass. We love each other too much to let it stay with us for too much longer.

Update on my dog: Still smaller than me.

Update on my family: Still Schoons.

Update on my friends: Still drunk. Ever since the trampoline thing, life just hasn't been the same.

That's my take, and I'm not taking it back.

2 + 2 = 5

Here is a combination of things that don't work out:

Heart monitor
Explosive diarrhea
Nausea
Stress related to a desire to not throw up

In case you ever need to stay up all night, just mix these things together and try to sleep.

I might be dying

In the figurative sense, we all are. But something's going down with old ticker and it's odd.

Last Thursday I woke up and my heart was beating like I had just finished two cups of coffee. But I hadn't. So I went about my day and finally, after my wife got home from AZ, she listened to it and said, "yeah, something is going on here." She's smart like that. But I was very scared. Because it was my heart. If I was just excessively gassy, that wouldn't be anything. But my heart! The last line of defense separating the living from the dead. The only thing spreading vitamins and energy and oxygen and caramel to my organs. It's scary.

So I went to the doctor and they ran some tests on me. They drew some blood and took an EKG of me. Funny story with the EKG: The lady tells me to take of my shirt and then she leaves, but she leaves the door open. Not being a stickler for modesty, I start stripping, and about when my shirt is over my head, another nurse walks by and yells, "Why are you getting naked? What are you doing? Why is the door open?" Not having a satisfactory answer to all three, I said, "Taking off my shirt." She was more confused by this and grabbed my chart looked at it and said, "Oh, an EKG." I said, "Yes." And she started closing the door and said, "Why was the door open?" And I said, feeling blamed for the whole incident, "I didn't know any better." Which was true, because I'm certainly not the professional paid to protect privacy, I'm the chump who assumes that open doors are policy at Foothill Health Care Partners' facilities. All that to say, they hooked me up to a machine that said I was fine.

But I wasn't. The doctor listened to my heart and asked some questions (including "Any substance abuse?" three times in a row, like he could convince me that I had been using narcotics) and then decided to hook me up to a 24-hr monitor for my heart and check my thyroid somethings. So right now, I'm hooked up to the monitor and clicking buttons on it when I feel something gurgle and waiting for A) my heart to explode from the excitement, B) nothing, or C) the doctor to yell at me for my indecency and substance abuse.

Just a thought.

Blame it on the Tetons

I'm listening to Modest Mouse now. They just have a good sound.

Work is boring and everyone I work with is nuts. Tomorrow we're going to see Hotel Rwanda, but it's in LA, so we have to leave at 9:30, but we're going to breakfast first so we have to meet at Flappy Jacks at 8:15. The point is, the first email about the movie was sent just under a month ago and the day before the event we have had approximately 3000 different emails changing details. Oops, just got another email confirming tomorrow's plans. Sigh.

Chris Seals went to Missouri to visit a friend. His parents bought a house in Las Vegas and paid cash for it.

My wife is in Phoenix still. We talked twice yesterday. It was unfulfilling.

Time to feed the Beast.

Nappy Yew Hear

I'm not funny. But here's the deal:

I'm playing a game called the Chronicles of Riddick and I'm saddened at how involved with the game I am. I actually feel like I'm inside the game while I'm playing. Makes me scared. The game, that is, not the fact that the lines between reality and fiction have been eerily erased. No, just the fact that I have a physiological response to this game and that I interact with it scares me. It's different than being scared in a movie. Imagine that you can control a character in a movie. There is an emotional connection, no matter how faint, and that can end up controlling you instead. The point is, whoever says media doesn't control us is lying. They are big fat liars.

My wife is in Arizona right now and I'm not. That's cute. She is having fun with her family while I waste away on the couch. My own doing I'm sure.

We got a new car. The Pontiac sold to the transmission guy in western Phoenix for $300 and we are now driving a Camry. Good times and probably more reliable. We really enjoy it and I'm looking forward to having fun with it.

Not a lot else is happening. The work days melt by like stones in the cold and I'm tired from the lack of happenings. Oh well.

Peace.