Hog Calling

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 08:56:23 -0700

Buck is very talented when it comes to behaving like a primative neanderthal. He could easily take care of himself if he had to live in the wild, as long as he was supplied with ammunition and bug spray. He took me on a hog hunt this past weekend at his uncle's lake property. After fishing all day and catching nothing but four sun perch (and I'm certain it was just one foolish fish) we returned to the truck where he took his .243 rifle out which had been buried beneath the .410 and .22 he had also packed just to be safe. We walked a bit until we came to the first feeder and sat about 70 feet away from it. His uncle told him that it would be fine if he shot a couple hogs as they were rooting around his property and making a mess. I think we sat there for an hour and a half and not one hog showed up, even after the feeder went off and littered the ground with deer corn. Even though we had completely covered ourselves with Deep Woods Off, the mosquitos were still swarming us, not biting, but just being pests. Then Buck did something that caused chills to run down my spine: he cupped his hands around his mouth and squealed like a pig wrestling with another one. It was haunting and surprisingly really loud. I'm a bit ashamed to say it but it was a huge turn on for me. I don't know why but it was just too hot. We got fed up soon after and went to Whataburger, bringing the food back so we could sit on the dock in the middle of the lake and eat it while watching the sunset. Surprisingly, it was his idea.

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Finally, a day off!

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 11:14:05 -0700

For the first time in about two months I actually get a real day off. Tomorrow I get to sleep in late (7am) and take my time eating my cereal and sipping my coffee. I'll actually have time to watch the news long enough to get a decent weather report, then it's off to the gym! I miss my days off and being able to spend hours at the gym if I want to. Tomorrow I think I might stay at the gym for two whole hours instead of the mere 45 minutes every morning. Usually, on Thursdays, I help out at the K's by washing their three outside dogs and cleaning the three bird cages. The cages are gross and ant infested and the birds are terribly unhealthy and mean. They are alot better off than they were before, however. It takes about 2 hours to do all that, but if you include the time that it takes me to shower the grossness off me and nurse my allergies and bug bites, it's a job that takes more than half the day. And I can't relax and take my time at the gym in the mornings because I feel pressured to be at the their house before it gets too damn hot. I have every Thursday off from the Funeral Home, but lately I've had to go to the Everest office downtown to get "acclamated to the environment", like I was some sort of fish. On the contract for Everest, however, I'm only being paid for four hours in the office each week, and I already take care of that on Tuesdays. They pay me a VERY fair retainer twice a month to being on call and such, so I can't gripe too much...but the office is so cold and boring! It's so not like the funeral home.

What am I going to do tomorrow? Probably take my time at the gym, take a shower and shave BOTH legs (I usually only have time to shave one each day), then I'm meeting Buck for lunch, maybe I'll take Maya to the park and read a book, then clean the apartment. The apartment isn't too terribly dirty, since I spend most of my time in Buck's apartment. That is where I cook and sleep and such. Hell, I'll probably even go swimming.

Oh and by the way, I did have a four day weekend the weekend before last, when Buck and I went hunting and fishing with his friends. But we were traveling and away from home all that time,so I don't count it as an average day off.

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I love my job

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 08:41:40 -0700

I'm not too sure how I should introduce the events of this past weekend. Usually I try to give some background information first, but this time I think it might be better if I just spit the point out first, then maybe that'll uncover a more detailed analysis.

So, Dennis, or "The Cable Guy" as I probably referred to him in earlier posts, was up in South Dakota at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally last week. Thursday night, at approximately 11 o'clock, his harley struck a deer that jumped out of the ditch beside the road. He was thrown from the bike and was rushed to a small hospital, and immediately getting there, he was life-flighted to a larger hospital in Rapid City where he later died early Friday morning. After a sharp, hard blow to the head, he had lost consciousness, never regained consciousness, and later slipped into a coma before finally dying after an attempted life-saving operation to remove pressure from the brain. How did I know thats what the doctors wanted to do? Well...This is where I go into further detail.

I was spending the night with Buck when he received the terrible news alittle after 5AM Friday. While I headed to work a couple hours later (early, because I couldn't just stand around doing nothing at home) Buck went to Dennis' house to console and be consoled. He was considered to be the son that Dennis never had, and Buck looked to him as a more prominent and dependable Father figure. Buck called me while I was already halfway to the funeral home and told me that the family wanted me to help with the arrangements. I was honored and terrified at the same time. Dennis had told me on July 4th that if something were to happen, he wanted me to take care of him and his family. It was like he knew. I remember him being responsible in some way or another for many of my special moments with Buck, whether it was inviting both of us to his house for a party, or needing us to run back to a bar in the middle of nowhere to pick up some signs. So even though he was a man I didn't know too well, he was a genuine, down-to-earth father and husband and a great guy who made such a huge impression on everybody he met.

So time came to receive his body from the airport and finally find out what sort of condition he was in. Obviously, the embalmers in South Dakota had something else on their mind, or were really rushed, because they completely forgot about the huge incision stretching from the back of his neck to right above his eyebrows. The doctors had made the incision and then stapled it together. A GOOD embalmer, practicing common sense, would remove the staples and restitch the damn incision. They were obviously not GOOD embalmers. And the pressure from the flight made it so much worse. I won't go into great detail, but it was obviously a half-ass job. The other funeral director and I stayed till midnight pulled out all the staples and surgical rags from incision, and when we got all that cleared out, we noticed that the doctors didn't even put the skull cap back in place. They had obviously sawed half the skull cap off to relieve pressure from the ruptured and expanding brain, but didn't even think to return it to its proper place. So in effect, there was nothing keeping all the gushy brain matter from leaking out. I've never seen an embalmed brain...or touched one...it was so neat. Then I remembered it was Dennis and I got pissed off again. I had to suture the incision back together which took about an hour. We cleaned him off and repaired some other half ass sutures and in the end, he looked 100% better. I dressed him the next morning in his usual Harley Davidson attire and his family and closest friends came a little later to view him. They were so overwhelmed at how good he looked, as they were expecting much worse.

I have to admit, and I feel alittle guilty for enjoying this so much, but it's a real ego boost to have so many strangers come up to me after the funeral service and thank me for what I did. I was honored to help and I'm just grateful that everything worked out well. The family had a party after the service which I missed because I had to go back to work, but Buck called me and told me that everyone was asking about me. So when I finally showed up to have a couple beers with the family, I was so surprised at how many people knew who I was! I'll never forget how it felt to have a big biker guy strut over to me and say "Cara, I've heard so much about you. I just have to give you a hug!"

Sometimes it's not so easy to say this, but I love my job.

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Kickin' Ass at the Firing Line

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 08:48:04 -0700

I knew it was bound to happen. Buck has animals stuffed and hanging all over his apartment. My favorite is a pheasant posed as if in-flight and mounted on its side directly above the television. He has pistols, rifles, and shotguns locked up in a huge gun safe in the garage. Yesterday we were just lounging around in his apartment after having lunch with my parents when his dad called. He talked for a bit and cut a sly glance over his shoulder at me, "No, Sir. We're not doing much, just kickin' back watching some TV. Sure, I'd like to go. Let me see what we have going on tonight and I'll give you a call back." Then he hung up and dumped himself onto the couch beside me with the most suspicious smirk on his face and asked me, "What are you doing?" Before I knew it we were getting ready to go to the Shooting Range: he was pulling shells out of his dresser drawers, dropping a leather shoulder protector thingy on the bed, and laying a rifle and a shotgun on the floor infront of the couch. I put on one of his Harley Davidson shirts because mine was sleeveless then he patiently started telling me all about the guns lying on the floor, letting me hold it and put it to my shoulder and look through the sight. I couldn't believe how heavy it was! My arm was sore and tired just after holding it up for a could minutes! The Range was out in Spring a little bit away so I had plenty of time to get all nervous and fidgety. I didn't mind telling him that I was terrified but that I wanted to try just so I could say I made an effort. We got to the Range and he drove around for a bit so I could get used to the noise and watch some of the men fire Trap and Skeet. We plan to make a trip to Medina, Texas for a Dove Hunt on Labor Day and he wants me to get the hang of it before the actual hunt. After meeting up with his Dad in the shop and buying some more shells and some ear protection for me we went out to the Range with his 247 (I think? It's 24-something) Winchester. It was friggin' loud out there! I was watching a guy close by with a similar rifle and saw how it threw his shoulder back each time he fired! I put the ear protectors on and I could hear my own heart racing. We went out after the cease fire was called and hung up our targets. Mine was the one on the left and his on the right so we could see how well we did afterward. I watched him shoot the first three shells then he let me sit down in the booth. At first he just let me hold the gun for a bit and let me watch him load the three shells. He showed me how to turn the safety off and how to hold the butt (?) really tight against my shoulder. I was so friggin' nervous! I was surprised I wasn't shaking. Everytime I had the bullseye lined up in the sight and I had my finger on the trigger I would wuss out and drop the gun. I knew I was going to either love it or hate it and I really wanted to love it because I knew Buck really enjoyed hunting. He was really patient, by the way! He stood right behind my right shoulder and told me to just keep trying, to hold the gun tight against my shoulder. Finally, I aimed again and pulled the trigger. Lo' and behold! It didn't hurt! It threw my shoulder back a bit but didn't hurt at all. It's funny how it doesn't seem as loud when it's your gun. I couldn't imagine trying to shoot, though, without the ear protection. Buck showed me how to empty the shell and reload and I fired the remaining two shots then reloaded another three and shot those without a problem. My shoulder was getting alittle sore so Buck let me wear the leather shoulder guard. We took turns shooting three at a time until cease fire was called and we got to go out and check the target. The first time I checked the target I had hit the bullseye once and all the other shots hit the circle right outside the bullseye. So if the Bullseye was 10 points, all the others were 9 points. Buck was so impressed. He didn't hit bullseye at all and only had a couple in the 9 point range. We fired some more and the next time I checked the target, I had four in Bullseye! I did have two out of the seventeen I fired that hit along the edge of the target, giving me no points. I had a great time! Towards the end some dark storms were beginning to roll in over the firing range. It looked so beautiful. While we were driving back Buck called his Dad and told him he would have to get rid of me if I was going to keep outshooting him. He asked if I would be able to shoot a Deer or a Dove and not be freaked out. I told him that if he was as patient with me as he was today that I would probably try anything once, but that I had no problems hunting deer. Let me just say, he was impressed. He held my hand the entire way home. I impressed him again later that day with my tree climbing skills when he took me to his job so he could start up his old blue Chevy truck that he's been working on. It was sitting back in the field behind the shop where he works. It wasn't raining as hard so I went over to a tree and proceeded to climb it while he tried to get his truck running. When he looked up I was half way up the tree, straddling a branch and giggling. He watched as I slowly made my way back down then gave me the keys to his Ford truck so he could follow me home in his Chevy. When we got home he showed me all of his other guns and explained why each was different and which one could be used for what. Then he made me the best Tunafish sandwich ever and fell asleep against me on the couch while I listened to the storm. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

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Monster Trucks, Whataburger, and Back Rubs, Oh My!

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 08:34:48 -0700

I couldn't think of another title to better describe the past few weeks kickin' around with my new boyfriend. We've been together for only a month and a half and so far I've only found one small flaw: I fear he's a bit homophobic. I discovered this while watching Broke Back Mountain for the third time on TV (love it!) and he began to whine and fidget beside me. I've seen it on TV only so of course they didn't show the business part. After a while I believe he actually got into it but I had to swear to not tell any of the other guys. The K's invited me to the Gay Pride Parade not too long ago but it was on a weekend I was on call and couldn't go. I told Buck and he sort of cringed. And then again, I was watching a great Lifetime movie on TV called the Gwen Arajou Story. The movie is about a boy who has always believed himself to be a girl and as he grows older he begins to dress like a woman and play himself off to be a real woman, finding a boyfriend and everything. And the poor girl gets murdered! It's really sad. So when Buck began to fidget and groan I stole a quote from the movie and told him, "He's a girl at heart," but I'm not sure that I changed his whole opinion. As long as he doesn't get violent and he's accepting enough of other people to respect their own views and beliefs, then I won't kick him to the curb.

Getting back to the title, Buck took me to the Mud Boggs where they race the really big trucks. It was great! I loved it! I got all muddy! After that we went off-roading in one of his friend's truck. I had a blast and I can't wait to do it again. Buck told me that there is something similar next month up in Huntsville and his own off-road truck that he's building should be ready by then.

Whataburger sort of turned into our special place ever since he kissed me for the first time while leaning over my chicken-finger basket. We go there about twice a week for dinner

And he gives the most amazing back rubs! They feel so good after a hard day hauling caskets and clutching the steering wheel during rush hour traffic.

There's a lot more sprouting up that I'll blog about later on as they develope, but for now I'm just happy.

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A New Independence

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 09:30:38 -0700

Yesterday I felt that I could really celebrate a personal independence. Too often we wear our masks and try to be something we're not in an attempt to have a good time. Atleast that was how I felt when I was with Poodle and his family, like a third wheel trying desperately to keep up. I would have never known there was a group of people who clung to the simpler pleasures in life: a good thunderstorm watched from the garage, a game of horse-shoe, a few cold beers, a teetering baby chasing after a harmless english bulldog, and a few huge biscuits made from scratch. At first I felt guilty spending so much time with Buck, it seemed that we were going too fast. Dylan made a comment on my last post that helped put things in perspective. Who's to say that we're not going too slow? I wanted to know how Buck felt about me sleeping over every night so, again, I tested him. I told him that I felt guilty and I that he would probably get more sleep if I slept in my apartment that night, though I obviously didn't want to. He was too cute! He groaned and kicked his feet a bit under the covers and starred at me as I started to put my clothes on, "Why would you go and do that? You seem to sleep better down here anyways. I feel like I must be the luckiest man on the planet when you're lying next to me. Plus, you'll just be lying in your bed dreamin' of my ass." And once again I kicked my pants off and climbed back up into bed with him. Now, it's pretty much understood everynight that I'll be sleeping with him, and I do sleep a lot better. I especially like those last twenty minutes after the alarm goes off when he presses the snooze button and wraps his arms around me. He's threatened to call in sick every day this week but I won't let him. This morning we were lying on the couch watching a movie when he was supposed to already be heading to his dad's house. He picked up the phone to call his dad and tell him he was sick, but I made him go on.

Last night I had a great time. We went to his boss' for a big dinner and a few hours just lounging around the pool. I learned how to play Horse-shoe and got alittle closer to his friends. I was on-call yesterday and this weekend and I ended up receiving a call from a woman who's mother is about to pass away. I had to disappear for about five minutes to speak with her on the phone, when I came back to the pool Buck's boss told me that he believed me to be the perfect person to handle such a sensitive job and that he wished I'd be the one to take care of his arrangements when the time comes, which is the best compliment a mortician can receive. We left his house around 9 and went to the lake just in time for an impromptu memorial service for a late veteran and a tribute ceremony for a few service men there last night, afterwards we said the pledge and settled down for the fireworks. Buck and I sat on the beach and, despite the mosquitos and being paranoid that the hospice nurse was going to call me, I had the time of my life. On the way back home I told Buck that if I were to die right now he needed to know that this was the happiest I'd been in years. He held my hand the entire drive back home, and just for the record, he reached for my hand. He's such a tragic sap.

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All Bucked Up!

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 13:46:56 -0700

I havn't added any updates lately as I have been desperatly trying to clean up all the icky but refreshingly bold mess that I've stepped in. I was so safe and comfortable in my relationship with Poodle that I overlooked the importance of being able to touch and kiss and hold somebody close. When we were together in bed or on the couch, I thought it was normal to not want him breathing too close to my ear or not being able to stand the pressure of his sweaty palm against my skin all night. It wasn't until Buck moved in next door that I realized I might be missing something. Poodle always liked to tease me, saying that if I ever found a cowboy to take me two-steppin' and who enjoyed quiet evenings outside under the stars in the bed of his truck, then I was allowed to call it quits and run off with Mr. Fantasy. So I never bothered to look. It was only a fantasy for me and a joke for Poodle.

It wasn't long after Buck moved in that we began hanging out together at the pool, loading a cooler of beer into the back of his truck with his friend Denver teetering on the tailgate. And pretty soon it was just Buck and I soaking in the pool after work for two or three hours until 9 o'clock rolled around and we headed back home. In these first few weeks I found out that Buck and I shared a favorite movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, which we watched one night in his apartment. And he wasn't foolin', I tested him by asking what was going to happen next, and he could practically narrate the entire movie. This guy has dead animals that he shot stuffed and lying around his apartment, including a couple deer and some wierd fowl. He has an F150 and two harleys in his garage, one which he is repairing. Oh yeah, he's a machinist and guarantees me that he could fix my truck if anything happened to it.

Buck was out of town at the Lonestar Rally the weekend of Father's Day, and that Saturday was the night that I broke it off with Poodle, claiming that the long distance was just too hard and that I believed we didn't have much in common. I thought it should have hurt a bit more and I feel a little guilty for only losing one night of sleep. I made myself skip breakfast the next morning just to be fair. Seven years. Seven years that I have been with one guy and didn't cheat. I don't regret anything about my relationship with Poodle, I had a great time and I have many wonderful memories. And I'm better because of him.

Sunday night Buck came back from Austin, alittle red from the ride back on his bike. He called me and asked me to go with him to a BBQ buffet down the road a bit. On the ride over I asked him all that had happened, then he asked me what I did. "Poodle and I broke up." And that was pretty much the hot topic for the night. That was the night that we watched Fried Green Tomatoes, and no, he didn't put a move on me. I enjoyed that night with him. The next day we soaked in the pool till about 9, and I began trembling and shaking from not eating too much that day, as the stress of the break up finally hit me and I had lost my appetite. He took me by Whataburger and bought dinner which we brought back to his apartment. Only after I ate my last chicken finger did he look over and ask, "Can I kiss you?" and my entire body melted into his couch. Long story short, I spent the night. I know, I think I broke a lot of rules, but it felt so good. He had an arm around me all night, and I never thought I would ever enjoy being so close to somebody.

I'll share more later.

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My Last Laugh

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Wed, 14 May 2008 19:10:30 -0700

First Priority after losing job- Finish requirements for Embalmer's License.
Second: Beg the K's for a few more extra hours just to hold me over.
Third: Get a job.

This couldn't have worked out any better. Sure, last week I made myself sick I was so stressed and jogging probably would have helped had I not been too exhausted from lack of sleep and a horrible loss of appetite. But within 24 hours of quitting my job of almost two years and on the verge of losing 60 embalming cases, only two autopsy cases away from getting my Embalmer's License, I found another Sponsor for my embalming provisional (though on the other side of town). And then, just the next day, I stayed at the Mortuary until 11pm and got my two needed cases! YAY! All that is left on that end is to get the paper work all together, copied, mailed, and, hoping the commission doesn't kick any cases for whatever reason, I'll get my license!

With the first priority taken care of, I then mentioned to the K's my predicament and they were more than willing to shovel more hours on top of the few I already have each week. So a daily routine of simply feeding the animals and basic horticulture (just add water), turned into a couple more hours a day of helping Suz with the house work and socializing (playing) with the new African Grey Parrot named Skolah.

When I wasn't trying to translate a dozen different beeps and rings (oven, dead smoke alarm, fax machine) that Skolah so skillfully imitated, I was driving all over Houston dropping Resumes, calling the Managers to see if they received them, and driving by dumpy, unkept Funeral Homes to see if I would ever consider working there. Luckily, I had saved a certain business card from a man I had met downtown while filing a DC. I remember him telling me he owned his own funeral home and mentioned that he would be looking for help soon. After finding his Funeral Home tucked into a pretty business park, I called him up.We met for lunch today at Olive Garden then met back at the Funeral Home for a small tour and more talking. Come to find out, he owns the funeral home and runs it all by himself and was desperately searching for someone to teach the ins and outs of the business. Guess who fits the bill?

ME!

The first thing he told me over Lunch was something like: "I only remember people who impress me." He said that when he first ran into me downtown he was impressed with how professional and mature I was for someone so young and new into the industry. I was equally impressed with how successful his business was! I can't drop a hint as to which funeral home because much of his marketing is web based, which is the reason why his business is so progressive and strong. I kept his card for much of the same reasons as he made a point of remembering my name: because he struck me as an owner who proves the vitality of his business through his own hard work and effort.

Not even a week has passed after quitting my job, and I found a better one with MUCH better pay and a definate opportunity for advancement. Oh yeah...did I mentioned I'll get a lap top?! So I can go with him to family's houses to make arrangements?! AWESOME! He already has it! He showed me!

What's really cute is that he is just equally excited as I am.

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It finally hit the fan

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Wed, 07 May 2008 18:40:43 -0700

You know somedays when you wake up with a huge, ominous knot in your gut and you just know that something bad is going to happen?

Yeah, one of those days. But other than that sense of dread tip toeing behind me I woke up surprisingly chipper. I was already expecting to have a rough day so I decided to jog 3 miles and finished at a new record time. I even allowed myself the priveledge of checking out Agassi's rear while he stretched and flexed infront of me. He knows it drives me crazy. I was so psyched to go on a service today with Shonna that I dressed up really nice: skirt, three inch stilettos (yeah, sis...three inches), and a beautiful white, lacey shirt. I styled my hair (which was hacked off yesterday and is now 4 inches shorter) and carefully did my makeup. Here's some pictures before the sh*t hit the fan. Don't mind the bird.:

IMG_1188

IMG_1179

Carabird4

To make a long, horribly depressing story short, Shonna and I had just arrived at the church when she remembers that the prayer cards forgot to be printed. She knows I can handle a service so she takes the Lead car back to the funeral home to get them. I start the procession with the minister and the family into the church, and it's seamless. Then I wait paitently for Shonna.

Thirty minutes pass and I'm still waiting.

Finally, I see the Lead car pull around and...Sheria steps out. Our office manager. The only woman with a pair of balls big enough to intimidate Michelle and the only person holding the funeral home up. When I ask what happened to Shonna, she's almost at a loss for words and simply says: "I'm not sure about the details, but when I left I know she was either fired or she quit."

I was in utter shock. Michelle called another funeral home to send a Director out to help me with the graveside. Shonna and Sheria both met me at the cemetery: Shonna was in her car and Sheria had taken the Lead car, I had to hitch a ride with the other Director. We sat in Shonna car for the longest time just bawling and bitching. I had already made up my mind a long time ago that if Shonna ever left, I would leave. I'm already a licensed funeral director, so there would be nothing keeping me at the funeral home.

So that's what I did. I quit. As soon as I got back to the funeral home I quit.

I still need two more embalming cases and I'll figure out how to get those tomorrowm, since Michelle threatened me that if I left the company, I couldn't volunteer at the Care Center anymore. That's BS. Plus, everyone at the Care Center hates her. I'm positive that I can finish my two cases despite what she says.

Despite a very emotional and stressful day, I have no regrets about leaving. I can work full time for the Kostelacs and make much more money, atleast temporarily, while I call on some old friends at other funeral homes outside the company. One in particular I know would hire me in a heart beat, though it's quite a commute.

Oh yeah, here's a picture of me after the whole ordeal. I've been crying all day. My eyes are puffy.

Caraafter

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My Job is Depressing

nobody@vox.com(OxygenGirl) — Sat, 03 May 2008 09:25:07 -0700

If you included all the weeping and bawling I've ever done while PMSing, watching Grey's Anatomy, and shouldering all the shit I've had to put up with from my boss, it wouldn't come close to totaling the amount of tears I've cried after a hard, emotional day at work. So many of my families from the funeral home ask me how I'm able to do it every day, walk hand-in-hand with death while smiling and tra-la-la-ing and yet be so helpful when they're falling apart. They always tend to assume that I'm just a hard-ass and brush their grief and heartbreak off like it was just some lint stuck to my skirt.

The fact is, it's my job to help those who temporarily lose their direction. It used to unnerve me to witness a grown man cry and I would just shy back and twiddle my thumbs and wait till he stopped. Now, I understand and know that when a man steadies himself against a couch, simply being right there beside him makes all the difference.

So, I'm seemingly fine while the mother of very young motorcycle crash victim tearfully asks me if tomorrow's service is her final opportunity to say goodbye; the father notifies me that I'm supposed to sneak in and out of the chapel during the visitation to make sure nothing is leaking from his son's left ear and stealthily fix it if there is something leaking; and the brother belts out a serenade to a full house because the microphone isn't working. However, when I step into the shower later that night, I wash every bit of that off and cry till my eyes feel like they're going to topple out of my head. This is perfectly normal and healthy and is called Catharsis ( a release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit).

But everynow and then I'm thrown a curve ball.

A young man called the funeral home when I happened to be the only person working and asked me to help him arrange his own funeral. Easy enough. After answering all his odd-ball questions about cremation and nailing down all the nitty-gritty details of the service, he still had not told me if he was sick or not. It's my experience that when a person is faced with his own mortality they usually like to talk about it. So, I asked him gently, "This may be none of my business...atleast not yet....but..", no I didn't say that, that would be horrible! OMG! I asked him, "Matt, I'm just curious, and don't feel you need to answer this, but is there a reason you're making these preparations now? Are you sick?" and he replied: "Well...-stuttering and such-...It's just a very long story and I don't want to bore you with it. You've been so helpful, more than I expected you to be." And he was all gracious. He called the next day and my boss picked up. He asked for me and when she said that I wasn't there but she asked for his name and told him that she would tell me that he called, he said, "Uh...My name is Logan...and don't worry about it I'll call back." He didn't want to give her his phone number...or his real name. He did end up calling me later, but only to ask the same questons as he did the day before. All the girls in the office think he is suicidal and only trusts me now that he likes me. It's weird.

I'm alittle freaked.

I've lost a considerable amount of sleep and appetite and it's all his fault, or mine for being sensitive. He hasn't called lately, and I feel I should be thankful for that.

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