It’s been a month since I last posted anything.  Since that time, I started an extended running odyssey and have been documenting it at my other blog, I’m Gonna Be 500 Miles.  I haven’t had the chance to really focus on anything creative, so this blog has been collecting dust.  I’m not abandoning it, though!  I will come back when my time clears up, which unfortunately may not be until late-September.  But I will be back.  Promise.  Until, follow my running adventures!


What Happened, Part 3: A New Disease

I’m awake.  I’m tired, but I stay awake.  I try lying on my back, my right side, my left side,  my back again, my stomach, my right side again . . . I can’t get comfortable.

I know when I’m about to drift off usually because my mind starts thinking odd thoughts seemingly on its own.    Suddenly the people I’m thinking about start talking on their own.  Other people I hadn’t been thinking of start entering the room.  We’re outside suddenly.  I’m in a car.  I’m at a football game.  The dream is starting.  My subconscious is opening itself to me.  It’s comforting.  Finally I start to get those odd thoughts.  I just need to let it take me now.  Just relax and let go.

No!  Something stopped me!  I’m fully awake again.  What was that?  My heart.  My heart knew I was falling asleep and it stopped me!  It was like a quick burst of burning sensation in my chest.  It knocked the sleep out of me.  This isn’t good.

OK, just relax and try again.  Stay in that same position.  Your head is resting close to your sleeping wife.  This is truly comfortable.  This is ideal.  Breathe slowly.  Just let your mind go again.  Ah, here come those thoughts again.  How wonderful!  I’m talking with an old friend.  He’s telling me strange things.  Just go with it.

No!  It happened again!  Why is this happening?  What is with my heart?  OK, try that thing you did when you couldn’t sleep the night before the bar exam.  Lie on your back.  No pillow.  Rest your eyes.  Don’t force them shut, just rest them.  Say the Hail Mary in your head over and over.  Don’t worry about how many times you say it, just keep saying it.  Let the voice in your head change as it wishes.  Don’t worry about the time.  Don’t worry about sleep.  Only focus on repeating this prayer over and over again.  Keep going.  Don’t stop.

It’s not working!  I’m not sure how much time went by.  20 minutes?  An hour?  I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here.  All I can think about is having to get up in a few hours, and that time seems to be quickly approaching.  Against my better judgment, I get up to check the time.  1:40am.  If I fall asleep now, I’ll have about 5 hours sleep under my belt going in tomorrow.  It’s not a lot, but right now that sounds glorious.

I get back into bed.  My wife wakes up.  She asks if everything’s OK.  I tell her I can’t fall asleep.  She’s concerned.  She asks if I want her to stay awake with me to talk.  I do.  When she’s sleeping and I’m not, I get more anxious.  I feel alone.  We stay up and just talk about whatever, but she’s very tired and starts dozing off.  I don’t stop her.  Why should she suffer just because I can’t sleep.

Another hour passes.  And another.  I’m not looking at less than three hours of sleep if I can manage to fall asleep now.  But I can’t!  My damn heart keeps flaring up the moment I start to drift off.  I’m not going to fall asleep.  It’s stupid to even try at this point.  But I can’t go into work like this.  Having only slept a few hours the previous two nights, going in this morning on absolutely no sleep would be a disaster.

Screw it.  I wake my wife up and tell her I’m calling in sick this morning.  She’s relieved to hear it.  She falls back asleep.

Sick?  I don’t get sick.  I haven’t missed a day of work or school on account of sickness in what, six years?  Seven years?  I don’t even get colds.  I’m impervious to disease.  It’s one thing I know I can offer that few others can.  I can be counted to never call in sick.  That’s me!  But here I am ready to call in on my fifth day on the job.  I couldn’t make it out of the first week.  It will seem odd, but who cares?  I don’t.  I’m not going in.  I keep my alarm on.  When it goes off, I send emails to whoever letting them know that I won’t be in today.

The freedom of knowing that I don’t have to worry about sleep anymore is relaxing.  It’s such a relief after hours of agonizing over falling asleep.  Who cares if I don’t fall asleep now?  I’ll just lie on the damn couch all day or for the next three days and rest then.  I’m at peace with this.  I rest my head next to my wife.  The odd thoughts come.  My heart doesn’t flare up.  I drift away.

Morning comes.  The alarm goes off.  I wake up, eat breakfast, put on my suit, and go to work.  Of course.


Day five.  I’m here.  Whatever.  I hang out and observe a misdemeanor court in the morning.  The assigned attorney actually isn’t employed by the DA’s office.  There’s a program where attorneys can sign up to work for the office pro bono for four months at a time.  It’s to help gain experience and possibly get your foot in the door at the office.  This attorney is a recent Marquette grad.  He needs a job, but in this market nothing is popping up.  So he’s giving away his services.  Three years of law school, tens of thousands of dollars of debt, nights of endless studying, taking the damn bar, all so he can have the privilege to work for free for four months.  What an industry.

Am I keeping guys like this from getting a job?  He clearly knows what he’s doing.  He’s not saddled with the handicap of expecting everything to be run differently.  He went to law school all of three blocks from the courthouse.  He’s been studying Wisconsin law for years.  And yet I have a job while he’s working for free?

I ask the guy if I can treat him to lunch to pick his brain about how the office works.  He agrees.  He doesn’t know my ulterior motive.  Right now, I don’t give a damn about how the office works.  I’ll figure that out next week and the week after and so on.  I want to hear about his story.  I want to hear about the massive amount of debt he’s got.  I want to hear about how he’s been wanting to work at this office for years.  I want to hear all that, because I want another reason to leave.  It’s chickenshit, I know.  I already know I want to leave.  I already know that I probably won’t.  But I just want another reason, and maybe this will be the one that pushes me to “probably will.”

We chat.  We eat.  He’s not too talkative about his problems.  I understand, I mean who am I that strangers would just want to open up to me?  He’s a good guy, though.  Whatever happens with me, I really hope things work out for him.

We head back to work. I watch court for a few hours, then head back to the charging area.  Everyone’s in a great mood.  I join them in that mood the best I can.  If nothing else, I’ll have the next two days to myself.  I haven’t looked forward to a weekend so much in a long time.  Until then, people are chatting.  People are laughing.  People are swearing.  Finally, 4:30 comes around.  Everybody leaves early.  It’s the weekend.


The two days off bring a new sense of optimism.  I survived the first week!  That’s the first step.  Maybe I will be able to do this for the long-haul.  I start to open up to people about it.  I finally call my mom back.  I tell her that it was tough.  I tell her about everything that went wrong.  But I’m not overly negative.  She thinks I’ll be fine.

My wife and I go to a party at her aunt’s house.  I talk about the job to her family there.  Some stuff.  Overall, the talking helps.  It really helps when I hear somebody respond with shock or disgust.  “Wow, they really don’t seem like they have their act together!”  Thank you, I really did need the validation.  You have no idea how much at this point.

I sleep fine Friday night.  I sleep fine Saturday night.  No heart flares.  Just hitting the pillow and drifting off like I’m used to doing.  Then Sunday night comes, and I’m antsy.  I hit my pillow and it’s more of the same.  I start to drift off, my heart flares up.  But then I focus.  I focus on an event.  I focus on a memory.  I relive that memory.  I don’t let my mind get away from that memory.  I’m not going to worry about anything right now, I’m just going to be inside this moment again.  A little time goes by, and I fall asleep.  I get six hours of sleep.  It’s wonderful.  Things are looking up.

What Happened, Part 2: Can Anybody See Me?

I go back into the room with all the attorneys, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.  We talk for a bit, I think.  Probably more like they talk for a bit.  They’re swearing so much.  I try to force myself to be comfortable.  Just smile and laugh when appropriate.  Too soon to interject with any joke or anecdote today.  Maybe by the end of the week.  Nobody’s even looking at me.  How many new people do they have coming in and out of here that they just let one stand there and not inquire about anything about?  I’m new!  Isn’t that alone somewhat interesting?

After a while, we all disperse.  I see one of the attorneys from the room in the hallway.  He’s looking at his phone, maybe texting, maybe surfing the web.  I decide to force the issue.  I stop to chat with him.

“Hey, it’s Bob, right?”


“How long have you been working here.”

“10 years.”

“So I take it this place is alright, then.”


“Did you work anyplace else before here such that you can compare it?”


“OK, then.  I’ll see you around.”

His eyes were on his phone the whole time.  Maybe it’s an important message he’s reading.  Or maybe he’s just a dick.

I go back to the void that is allegedly my office.  I leave my pens and my legal pad on my desk.  Finally, there’s something useful in the room.  I head out for the day.

I drive to pick up my wife.  This time, I can’t even chat.  I’m upset and she knows it.  We drive home without saying anything.  We go inside and don’t talk for a while.  Finally, I do talk.

Breakdown #1.

It’s loud.  It’s frantic.  I’m jumping around.  I stop to sit, then I stand up and jump around some more.  I start yelling that I made a terrible mistake and that I shouldn’t be there.  She’s scared.  I can’t blame her, I’m out of my mind.  We go for a walk to try to calm me down.  It doesn’t work.  Finally, after my mind going back and forth about whether I actually could develop the gall to quit after my second day, I resolve that I will stick it out for one solid month and then see where we go from there.  I can do that!  If I just tell myself that I can leave after a month, I’ll stop worrying so much!  That night we go to bed and I fall asleep no problem.

I wake up at 4am.

Not totally unusual, but this time my mind starts up and it doesn’t slow back down.  Come on, just relax and go back to sleep!  You don’t want to be groggy as well as stressed out at work!  Not happening.  I give it an hour, but nothing’s happening.  I can’t find a single position that is comfortable.  My wife is sound asleep next to me.  I wish I was her right now.

At 5am, I give up.  I get up before anything useful can be accomplished.  I go and watch a bit of the early-early local news.  At 5:40, I get my gym stuff together.  I head out to the gym and get there just as it opens up at 6am.  I get two miles in on the track, but obviously I don’t have the energy that I normally have.

I get back home at about 6:50.  My wife is up, and she’s worried.  She’ll be worried a lot the next few weeks.  I shower, eat my usual eggs and toast, and off to the highway again.  Off to my secret parking spot.  Off to the security dance.  Off to confusion, stress, and awkwardness again.  Day 3.  Just 29 days to go.


I had no point-person to turn to on my third day.  My trainer had kicked his heels clean of me yesterday afternoon.  I don’t really have a place to be or anybody to see at this point.  I go back to the room where all the attorneys were hanging out, the cussing matriarch’s temporary office.  The matriarch isn’t there yet, so I wait.  8:30 comes and goes, as does 8:45.  She shows up at about 8:50.  She tells me to shadow another attorney on the floor for the day to get a handle on how cases are entered into the system and the paperwork that’s involved.

I can do that!

I find a guy who’s about my age.  I had been introduced to him before.  He’s an ex-cop who just started a few months ago.  He’s alright, but slow to really warm to people.  Either that, or he just really doesn’t have much of a personality.  Nice guy, though.  I think we’ll get along fine.  He shows me the process.  Every case, no matter how small and mundane has an officer come in with the reports to talk about the facts.  He listens and read the reports and puts about 1200 marks in the computer system.  Then he quickly types out a probably cause reports for a proper information.  He then swears the officer (HE swears the officer, hand up and everything!) on the veracity of the information in the report, then packages everything up to get ready to send to the preliminary hearing.  Throughout the process, he says to me once or twice something infuriating that I’d hear many more times throughout the next week or so.

“I’m sure you did this in Arizona.”

No.  No I did not.  I did not because the process is very different down in the desert.  Down there, things actually make sense!  OK, I concede that had I gone to law school in Wisconsin and did my internship in a Wisconsin office, the procedures in Arizona would probably seem batshit crazy to me.  But I didn’t.  I was trained in a completely different manner, and I need training.  I need much better training than what I’m getting.

Lunch time comes.  Today, I am not buying a lunch.  I brought a microwavable soup and an apple.  I am set to eat on the cheap!  Somebody had told me that a lot of the attorneys eat in a large conference room on the 8th floor, on the other end of the building from where my office is.  I head down there.  As I walk up to the door, a 30-something attorney is coming out.

“Can I help you?”

“No, I was just coming in.”

“Do you work here?”

“Um, yeah.”

From the room, which had gone silent when my attempt to enter was blocked, comes laughing voices, “It’s the new guy!”  I get let in.  Awkward, and I’m sure I’m red-faced (as I’m prone to get).  I find a seat at the crowded table.  There’s over 20 attorneys in here.  They’re talking about cases and whatnot.  I can’t follow any of it, obviously.  And of course, they’re swearing.  I eat my lunch without saying a word.

He has me do some menial tasks to make me feel useful.  I take some papers to this woman.  I go ask this one guy a question.  I go copy a CD of photos for disclosure.  I’m doing stuff, man!  During one of my gopher stops, I introduce myself to a member of the staff.  I say it’s my first week.  She says that she remembers how hard it was when she first started.

“Why’s that?”

“Because they don’t train you here.”

“They really don’t train you, like at all?”

“Nope.  It’s pretty bad.  They just toss you in there.”

“Wow.  I thought it was just me!”

It’s not just me!  It’s not that they just figured that I’d know exactly what to do because I was a prosecutor somewhere else!  They don’t train anybody!  They are that stupid!  They are absolutely OK with have ridiculous amounts of incompetence and inefficiency in their office!  The thought is equally terrifying and freeing.  At least I can stop worrying about when they’re going to teach me the ropes any further.  They’re not!  OK, then.  Eff it.

At the end of the day, a more senior prosecutor comes in to chat.  He’s slightly plump with a white mustache.  He is the walrus in this story.  He talks fast, but listens fast, too.  He’s direct, and he points when he talks.  He asks what schedule I have.  I say I don’t have one.  He says that’s going to be fixed.  By the end of the week they’ll have a plan for me that will start the following week.  Until then, I should just stick around with the ex-cop and keep learning about the charging process.

Hey, that sounds like a plan.  A plan!  Relief!!!  I say to the walrus, “I know we just met, but I am not above hugging you right now.”  He smiles.  Amusing.

Things are looking up.  I head back up to my office.  In the elevator with me is a female attorney who I had heard had attended the University of Michigan.  I try to converse, and try to be one of the group in the only way I know how at that point.

“So, you went to Michigan?”

“Yeah.  And you’re a Spartan, right?”

“You’re goddamn right.”

I feel majorly awkward saying it.  I swear, but usually I’ve had a few or I’m watching sports.  I don’t swear at work!  But there I did.  It felt wrong.  I resolve never to do it again.  They’ll just have to deal with my clean mouth.

I head home with the positive news that they have a plan for me.  My wife is relieved.  Dinner.  Some TV.  Bed.  I fall asleep, no problem.

This time, I wake up at 3am.

I’m up, and I already know how this story goes.  I don’t even give it ten minutes.  I get out of bed.  I read a bit.  I watch late-night Christian TV (we get a Christian channel despite not having cable, and some of their programming is just too oddball not to watch).  Some two and a half hours later, I head to the gym again.  I’m becoming a 6am regular.  Two miles more.  I usually can do three or four when I’m just casually working out, but I don’t have the energy today.

Home.  Shower.  Eggs.  Toast.  Tie.  Suit.  Kiss goodbye.  Highway.  Parking spot.  Security dance.  I’m in.  Day 4.  28 days to go.


There is nothing particularly note-worthy about this day.  I observe more case entering.  I perform more menial tasks.  I am given a case to enter in myself!  This is learning.  Just doing something right away that counts.  I do it well enough, I think.  Whether it’s good or not is inconsequential.  It’s in the system.

The day drags on.  I have lunch in the big room again.  Soup and apple again.  I’m probably going to lose weight on this job.  Afternoon drags like the morning.  Things are boring, but I can handle boring.  I’ve been bored most of my life.  This is what I’m good at.  I’m tired.  Of course, I’ve been up since 3am!  I start to think that I hope that doesn’t happen again tonight.  But then an awful thought creeps in.  It’s one of those thoughts that just slides in without much notice but then sets fire to your brain.  It’s the worst thought I could possibly have.

“What if I can’t fall asleep at all?”

That’s a bad thought.  Don’t think that!  You know it’ll just stress you out and it’ll be a self-fulfilling prophesy!  Don’t worry about it.  Just go home and relax.  You’ll sleep fine tonight.

I go home.  Dinner.  TV.  Brush teeth.  Contacts out.  Lie down.

“What if I can’t fall asleep at all?”

I don’t fall asleep.


Unsolicited Commentary: Why We Need a Zombie Apocalypse

We’ve all seen the headlines.  We’ve all read the stories.  Some of us have even stupidly Google Image searched for the photos (if you haven’t, do not).

Could it be happening?

It happened in Florida.  It happened in Maryland.  It happened in that devilish wasteland of murder and chaos, Canada.  And all within the past week.  What does this all mean?

Is the zombie apocalypse upon us???

The Center for Disease Control (CDC) says no.  Of course, they may be lying  . . .  but probably not.  OR ARE THEY???  No.  These incidents are  just the result of drugs (read: bath salts) or mental illness (read: vegetarians finally snapping).

And I for one am disappointed.  I think we, as a society, need a zombie apocalypse right about now.  A massive outbreak of flesh-eating undead would be a welcomed phenomena in these times.  Why?  Because it’s probably the only catastrophic event we’d actually be prepared for!

Think about it.  A major terrorist attack sends our society and economy into a tizzy.  A hurricane hits, and it’s Beyond Thunderdome almost instantly.  We lose power for a couple of hours, and we start looting for guns and iPads.  Heck, we can hardly watch our team lose a basketball game without setting our couches on fire anymore!  Time and time again, we have proven that we as a society cannot handle even the slightest calamitous event without sh**ing ourselves (figuratively, most of the time).

But when the zombies come, most of us will know exactly what to do.  Most of us already have a detailed plan that we’ve been meticulously formulating for years.  We know exactly what weapons we’ll need.  We know exactly what means of transportation we’ll need.  We know what exactly kind of shelter we’ll need.  We know exactly where that shelter is, and we already know the most direct path to that location by heart.  And we know the annoying pissant we’re bringing with us to toss to the zombie horde as a distraction to aid in a getaway.

When the zombies hit, you will see a wave of precise and instant human coordination and efficiency the likes of which the world has never dreamed.  The true fulness of human potential will be revealed.  It will be a stunning and beautiful display of the power of the mind, body, and will, and will serve as the impetus for a more glorious future for all mankind.  At least for everyone who isn’t eaten or shot in the head.

Don’t try to deny this.  Everyone who has seen a zombie movie has actually seen several zombie movies and has, however internally, formulated a zombie survival plan.  It is a human reaction as natural as sneezing when breathing in pepper, coughing when inhaling smoke, and crying during the final scene of Harry and the Hendersons.

So while this recent wave of people-eating is probably just a fluke, hold out hope still.  You know, I know, and the Department of Health and Human Services knows that the day will come.  Rejoice in that knowledge.  Until then, put down the bath salts.

(Image source: http://handsonblog.org/2011/10/31/volunteering-tips-for-the-zombie-apocalypse/)

Daily 15: Rewriting the Season Finale of Sherlock

Scene continues.  Sherlock and Moriarty on rooftop.  Sherlock is standing on the edge.  The wind blows powerfully across the rooftop towards Sherlock.  Civilians traverse back and forth on the sidewalks below.

Sherlock laughs.

Moriarty: What?  What is it?  What did I miss?

Sherlock steps off ledge.

Sherlock: You’re “not going to do it”?  So the killers can be called off then.  There’s a recall code or a word or a number.  I don’t have to die if I’ve got you.

Moriarty: Oh.  You think you can make me stop the order?  You think you can make me do that?

Sherlock: Yes.  So do you.

Moriarty: Sherlock, your big brother and all the king’s horses couldn’t make me do a thing I didn’t want to.

Sherlock: Yes, but I’m not my brother, remember?  I am you.  Prepared to do anything.  Prepared to burn.  Prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do.

Enter below: Watson

Sherlock: You want me to shake hands with you in hell, I shall not disappoint you.

Moriarty: No.  You talk big.  No.  You’re ordinary.  You’re ordinary.  You’re on the side of the angels.

Sherlock: Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.

Moriarty: No.  You’re not.  I see.  You’re not ordinary, no.  You’re me.  (laughs)  You’re me.  Thank you, Sherlock Holmes.

Moriarty extends his hand.  Sherlock takes it.

Moriarty: Thank you.  Bless you.   As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends.  You’ve got a way out.  Well, good luck . . . .

Several explosives detonate on the far side of the rooftop.  Immense smoke rises from the explosion site and is carried across the rooftop by the wind, engulfing Sherlock and Moriarty.

Below: Civilians and Watson look to the rooftop.  A large billow of smoke cascades over the edge of the roof.  Another large explosion occurs on the roof.  From the smoke falls a burned body towards the ground.

Watson: Oh God!

Watson rushes towards the site where the body lands.  Watson is knocked to the ground by a passing bicyclist and emerges dazed.  Civilians gather around the body on the ground.  Watson pushes through the crowd towards the body.

Watson: Oh no!  Oh my God!  Sherlock!  It’s him!  No!  Oh no!

Watson checks the body’s pulse.

Watson: Oh, God!

Watson sits crying.

Enter: Paramedics.  Paramedics remove the body from the scene.

End Secne.

Scene: The bedroom of a rural château in the daytime.   Sherlock is lying in a single bed. 

Sherlock awakes confused.  He looks around the room and observes a video camera above the door to the room pointed at him.  He rises and walks towards the door.  He opens the door and peers out, seeing an unoccupied hallway.  A cough is heard coming from down the hall.  Sherlock slowly walks towards the direction of the cough.  He enters  a kitchen

Enter: Roberson.

Roberson: Oh, Mr. Holmes, you’re up.  Good.  I assume you’re feeling a bit groggy.  There’s some coffee ready, if you’d like some.  And there’s plenty of breakfast items in the refrigerator if you care to make yourself . . .”

Sherlock: What am I doing in Ireland?

Roberson: Ah, yes.  I suppose here is where I am to inquire about how you could possibly already know you’re in Ireland.  Well, I’m sure it’s actually quite obvious.

Roberson dials a number on his cell phone and puts it to his ear.

Roberson (into phone): Scott?  He’s up.  Yes, bring the car and case around, please.  Thank you.

Roberson puts the phone away.

Sherlock: Answer the question.

Roberson: Well, don’t you first want to know who I am?

Sherlock: That’s hardly important at the moment.  What’s far more important is why I just woke up  in Ireland when last I checked I was on a rooftop in London!  Once we get that out of the way, I’d be happy to entertain your introduction!

Roberson: Well, we had to get you out of England.

Sherlock: Why?

Roberson: Well, because you’re dead.

Sherlock: I’m dead?

Roberson:  Yes, quite dead.  Blown up and tossed ten stories.  Nasty scene, really.  And we couldn’t risk keeping you in London.  It’s far too congested right now.

Sherlock: Dead.

Roberson: And you do have so many fanatics still looking for you like you were bloody Elvis Presley!  Not wanting to believe that the great Sherlock Holmes has met his demise.  We had to get you away from all that so you could clear your head for a bit.

Sherlock: So, I am dead!  Lovely!  Well, in that case I suppose I’m doing pretty well for myself right now, standing upright with my full wits about me, and talking to a divorced recovering heroin addict with glaucoma in his left eye who drinks at least 10 cups of coffee every day!  What is this place?  Who are you?  Where’s Moriarty?  John.  My friends!

Roberson: They’re fine.  Not one was harmed because the defusing event occurred.

Sherlock: My death.

Enter: Scott, carrying a briefcase.

Roberson: Ah, here we are.

Scott hands briefcase to Sherlock.

Roberson: That should be everything you need.  Now, to sum up: You’re dead.  Your friends are fine.  There’s coffee on for you.

Sherlock: Everything I need for what?

Roberson: Oh, that’s really none of my concern.   Not right now, at least.  (To Scott)  Are we all set?  Then let’s go.

Roberson and Scott leave the room and walk towards a parked car.  Sherlock follows.

Sherlock: Moriarty!

Roberson: Oh, that’s really none of your concern.  Oh, and because nobody ever told me, coffee is harder to kick than heroin.  Good day, Mr. Holmes.

Roberson and Scott enter the car.  The car starts.

Sherlock: The Fog!

Roberson looks back.  The car drives away.  Sherlock returns to the kitchen and opens the briefcase.  Inside he finds a wrapped stack of British pounds, a pair of shoes, a set of clothes, and a copy of the Times with the headline “Sherlock Holmes Falls to Death After Rooftop Explosion.”

End scene.

(Image Source: http://cultfix.co.uk/sherlock-the-fall-how-did-he-do-it-15975.htm)