I haven't been in a slump like this since -- well, never. We are now 0-for-7 or 0-for-8 or ... who knows, I've lost count ... in our search for a new home.
This latest round of rejections and disappointment, though, was a little different from previous ones. This one had some slightly familiar "twinges."
I know that I shouldn't take this personally. I know that we are doing all we can and our agent confirms that our actions are reasonable and sensible. It is the other lunatics out there who are screwing us.
I've read all the recent reports -- housing costs in the Baltimore/Washington area have gone up more than 65 percent in the last 5 years, people are leaving D.C. and heading north with all the money they are getting from selling their home.
But -- and I say this more often now than I have in the past -- stress is the killer.
Several years ago, I had what I call a heart episode -- one that landed me in the hospital with several wires and tubes connected to me. I had all the classic symptoms of a heart attack (at the age of 36) and missed work for about 3 months while doctors and I straightened it all out.
Stress, they said. Pain in the keister, I said.
However, I learned all the relaxation techniques, exercised more and ate better. I dare say I'm physically better than I was 10 years ago. Mentally, though....
The mind can do wonderful things, if you let it. I remember reading a study that the average human only uses roughly 10 percent of the potential brainpower available. What are we doing with the other 90 percent?
Needless to say, my brain has been working overtime lately with the home dilemma, work pressure and personality clashes. And let's just say I was about 15 seconds away from dialing 911 last week.
I remember what it was like several years ago and I felt like I was headed in that direction again -- tightness in the chest, dizziness, nausea -- but I was missing some of the symptoms I experienced in the past. I rationalized; I agonized (probably creating more stress) and I decided to go grocery shopping.
The grocery store is my relaxation place. Don't ask me why -- it just works.
I got phone calls from my wife and my best friend -- checking up on me, I found out later -- and the dagger in my chest subsided.
But the pain is still there.
Does this mean we stop looking for a new home? No. The only thing that is going to make me feel better is to succeed -- I hate losing and I hate giving up even worse. I don't do well with rejection -- never have -- but then again, I have never been rejected so many times in such a short time span.
And I found out I can apparently project my stress onto others without even trying. One of the women I work with said she was stressed all weekend for me because she wanted me to succeed so badly.
I always wanted a super power -- but I'd rather be bitten by a radioactive spider. Projecting stress isn't that effective when fighting a bank robber. The image is pretty funny, though.
I'll survive. I always do. I just have to keep reminding myself that it isn't the end of the world or my life. There are more important things I have to do before I'm done and I'm not giving up that easy.
But I'll keep my cell phone charged and with me at all times -- just in case.
Tick, tock. No matter what happens, the clock keeps moving forward. And the sooner I realize that I am not Father Time or Chronos, the better I will be. I can't control other people do, I can't control what other people say and I can't control what other people feel. But I will control what goes in this column. Count on it! "I'm weak and I've gone hazy yeah."
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Monday, March 21, 2005
Get Off Of My Cloud
I was all set this time to totally rip Congress a new one for getting involved in the baseball steroids issue. I mean I was all fired up to question their direction and their thinking for getting into it when there are so many other problems they should concern themselves with.
I had my arguments ready -- baseball is a game, these are adults, what about high gas prices, what about the war in Iraq. I mean this is our national pastime, but does Congress really need to butt in?
I had counterarguments ready as well. The representatives on the panel constantly referred to protecting the children, which is all fine and dandy. However, why not protect them from drugs that have a broader impact and not affect just athletes.
I was ready!
And then, they decided they could go one better and get involved in the Terri Schiavo case.
I don't know Terri. I don't know what she wants. I don't know what was said between her and her husband.
I've never known anyone in her condition and I don't know how I'd react if this were happening to one of my family members.
But I do know that I wouldn't want that decision taken out of my hands. I do know what my family and I have discussed. Would a living will help? Sure, but that piece of paper doesn't change the thinking behind what was discussed.
I'm not sure where Congress and President George W. Bush feel they are helping and why they think they can get involved in individual cases. Have they opened the door to other people who want changes to their particular case? Are they setting precedent that nothing decided by a husband and wife cannot be considered binding unless they get it in written form?
There really is something scary about all this. How many more of my personal decisions are going to be taken out of my hands by 435 congressmen and a president?
This may be a decision and a debate that needs to go forward, but it does not and should not happen with the passion and speed that they are moving at now. This is something that should be carefully considered, not reacted to.
And this is something they shouldn't be involved in at all. Ultimately, who do we need to protect ourselves from -- our family or a "well-meaning" Congress.
Now, I'm scared. I don't have a living will. And I should. But I don't want Congress involved in my family's very personal decision. And now, I have to react. But get the heck out of baseball! Leave my sport alone. Fans will deal with those players who cheat, but I don't need Congressional interference to straighten out my game. I'll do that with my attendance, because the best place to make sure the owners and players get the message is in the wallet. "Imperio!"
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
I had my arguments ready -- baseball is a game, these are adults, what about high gas prices, what about the war in Iraq. I mean this is our national pastime, but does Congress really need to butt in?
I had counterarguments ready as well. The representatives on the panel constantly referred to protecting the children, which is all fine and dandy. However, why not protect them from drugs that have a broader impact and not affect just athletes.
I was ready!
And then, they decided they could go one better and get involved in the Terri Schiavo case.
I don't know Terri. I don't know what she wants. I don't know what was said between her and her husband.
I've never known anyone in her condition and I don't know how I'd react if this were happening to one of my family members.
But I do know that I wouldn't want that decision taken out of my hands. I do know what my family and I have discussed. Would a living will help? Sure, but that piece of paper doesn't change the thinking behind what was discussed.
I'm not sure where Congress and President George W. Bush feel they are helping and why they think they can get involved in individual cases. Have they opened the door to other people who want changes to their particular case? Are they setting precedent that nothing decided by a husband and wife cannot be considered binding unless they get it in written form?
There really is something scary about all this. How many more of my personal decisions are going to be taken out of my hands by 435 congressmen and a president?
This may be a decision and a debate that needs to go forward, but it does not and should not happen with the passion and speed that they are moving at now. This is something that should be carefully considered, not reacted to.
And this is something they shouldn't be involved in at all. Ultimately, who do we need to protect ourselves from -- our family or a "well-meaning" Congress.
Now, I'm scared. I don't have a living will. And I should. But I don't want Congress involved in my family's very personal decision. And now, I have to react. But get the heck out of baseball! Leave my sport alone. Fans will deal with those players who cheat, but I don't need Congressional interference to straighten out my game. I'll do that with my attendance, because the best place to make sure the owners and players get the message is in the wallet. "Imperio!"
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
Monday, March 14, 2005
The Cartoon Solution
I do a lot of driving -- to work, to the store, to hockey games, to look for a new house -- and I get to see a lot of drivers.
And I get to see a lot of drivers do dumb things -- not using a directional signal, driving while (talking without hands-free, putting on make-up, shaving, etc.), speeding past police officers sitting on the side of the road.
But I guess my biggest pet peeve is those people who don't know what "yield" means.
The Animaniacs, a cartoon favorite of mine because of the wit, did a very small bit concerning yielding. Bear with me.
Two of the Animaniacs, Yakko and Dot, were trying to save their brother, Wakko, from the Grim Reaper. The Reaper told them they would have to play a game to save their brother's soul.
In something reminiscent of a Calvin Klein ad, the dialog went something like this:
Yakko: "We accept."
Dot: "To accept is to yield."
Yakko: "To yield is to allowing oncoming traffic the right of way."
Dot: "Your breath is like the breeze off a landfill."
Yakko: "Food particles are wedged between your teeth."
And then shadow boxing between brother and sister begins. Great hilarity.
The point of this cartoonish example is the truth in their words. No, not that your breath is like the breeze off a landfill (although there is something stuck in your teeth -- ewww.)
It is those (not even) immortal words, "to yield is to allowing oncoming traffic the right of way." That does not mean speed up to keep up with the car beside you. It also does not mean to merge over into the lane of traffic that is CURRENTLY OCCUPIED by my car.
What it does mean is to wait for an appropriate opening -- possibly slowing down a bit -- and merge safely into traffic. I, as the driver in the main lane, will attempt to move over to another lane so you can get in easier, but don't go all road ragey on me if I can't do it.
Maybe this is all about courtesy -- something sorely lacking in our lanes of traffic. People who wouldn't think about butting in line for tickets (how rude!) wouldn't think twice about sticking their 1.5 ton monstrosity of metal in a slot way too small and at speeds that rival some NASCAR races.
Be safe, be polite and be patient. You have to yield to me, but I may choose to yield to you if you are nice.
Stress makes people notice the weirdest things. After receiving a call about another house bid being rejected, I just started staring out the window of our apartment. A squirrel carrying a nut hopped by, stopped, and started digging a hole -- presumably to bury his nut. I saw him jam the seed into the ground, replace the dirt over top and tamp it down with his tiny paws. He then sat up, paused, and began to dig the dirt all over again, where upon finding his treasure again, pulled it out of the ground and ate it on the spot. What does it all mean? I guess all that digging made him hungry. Just another surreal moment in my world. Glad I could share it with you. "So that's why you have a gas-powered garlic press? No, I have that because garlic must pay."
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
And I get to see a lot of drivers do dumb things -- not using a directional signal, driving while (talking without hands-free, putting on make-up, shaving, etc.), speeding past police officers sitting on the side of the road.
But I guess my biggest pet peeve is those people who don't know what "yield" means.
The Animaniacs, a cartoon favorite of mine because of the wit, did a very small bit concerning yielding. Bear with me.
Two of the Animaniacs, Yakko and Dot, were trying to save their brother, Wakko, from the Grim Reaper. The Reaper told them they would have to play a game to save their brother's soul.
In something reminiscent of a Calvin Klein ad, the dialog went something like this:
Yakko: "We accept."
Dot: "To accept is to yield."
Yakko: "To yield is to allowing oncoming traffic the right of way."
Dot: "Your breath is like the breeze off a landfill."
Yakko: "Food particles are wedged between your teeth."
And then shadow boxing between brother and sister begins. Great hilarity.
The point of this cartoonish example is the truth in their words. No, not that your breath is like the breeze off a landfill (although there is something stuck in your teeth -- ewww.)
It is those (not even) immortal words, "to yield is to allowing oncoming traffic the right of way." That does not mean speed up to keep up with the car beside you. It also does not mean to merge over into the lane of traffic that is CURRENTLY OCCUPIED by my car.
What it does mean is to wait for an appropriate opening -- possibly slowing down a bit -- and merge safely into traffic. I, as the driver in the main lane, will attempt to move over to another lane so you can get in easier, but don't go all road ragey on me if I can't do it.
Maybe this is all about courtesy -- something sorely lacking in our lanes of traffic. People who wouldn't think about butting in line for tickets (how rude!) wouldn't think twice about sticking their 1.5 ton monstrosity of metal in a slot way too small and at speeds that rival some NASCAR races.
Be safe, be polite and be patient. You have to yield to me, but I may choose to yield to you if you are nice.
Stress makes people notice the weirdest things. After receiving a call about another house bid being rejected, I just started staring out the window of our apartment. A squirrel carrying a nut hopped by, stopped, and started digging a hole -- presumably to bury his nut. I saw him jam the seed into the ground, replace the dirt over top and tamp it down with his tiny paws. He then sat up, paused, and began to dig the dirt all over again, where upon finding his treasure again, pulled it out of the ground and ate it on the spot. What does it all mean? I guess all that digging made him hungry. Just another surreal moment in my world. Glad I could share it with you. "So that's why you have a gas-powered garlic press? No, I have that because garlic must pay."
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Hulk Smash!
Sorry for the lateness of this week's post. I have to say that I have been totally distracted by personal business -- so much so that I have lost countless hours of sleep and a few more strands of hair.
I thought going to college was stressful. I thought getting married was stressful. Both of these life-altering situations pale in comparison to attempting to buy a home for the first time.
I jokingly state to anyone within earshot that I have a reservation already made at the Sinai 7 Chest Pain unit. I've already been there once so I know the accommodations very well.
We have been searching for about a month now for a new home -- one that we own. Apartment living can only go so far and there are still wedding presents that are in boxes and haven't seen the light of day -- and I've been married for about 18 months now.
It isn't the visiting of homes that creates the stress. Actually, that is the fun part because you get to see the insides of homes and see what people have done and how they live their lives.
It isn't the poring over of legal papers. I have a great theoretical mind, not theoretically have a great mind. At one time, I entertained thoughts of becoming a chemist or physicist -- but pesky colorblindness got in the way of that.
The bandying about of huge numbers doesn't really bother me at all -- because it is all on paper. I'm sure once I actually have to write those big numbers that it will be a different story altogether.
No, the biggest stress creator for me is picking out a dream home, figuring the finances and then waiting to see if your bid gets selected. And then the disappointment that follows after you get rejected.
I don't do rejection well. There hasn't been a job where I have interviewed that I have not been offered the job. Nearly all of my previous relationships have ended amicably without either side's feelings getting hurt in the process.
But to find out that I can't have a home where I have already planned out where my desk is going, which way the bed will face and where the cat litter box will be created enough turmoil to power a small city -- like Los Angeles.
Family and friends are trying to boost my spirits. I appreciate it greatly. And I know we'll find a better place that we love even more.
But this still stinks. Good thing I'm taking it out on my computer and my hockey opponents. I just hope they are as understanding when the next rejection comes.
I think most of this comes from wanting not to fail, feeling like I can do the heavy lifting and being the strong one. I'm feeling very weak and tired. Usually, that's when I'm most dangerous. Fair warning. "This is what you get when you mess with us."
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
I thought going to college was stressful. I thought getting married was stressful. Both of these life-altering situations pale in comparison to attempting to buy a home for the first time.
I jokingly state to anyone within earshot that I have a reservation already made at the Sinai 7 Chest Pain unit. I've already been there once so I know the accommodations very well.
We have been searching for about a month now for a new home -- one that we own. Apartment living can only go so far and there are still wedding presents that are in boxes and haven't seen the light of day -- and I've been married for about 18 months now.
It isn't the visiting of homes that creates the stress. Actually, that is the fun part because you get to see the insides of homes and see what people have done and how they live their lives.
It isn't the poring over of legal papers. I have a great theoretical mind, not theoretically have a great mind. At one time, I entertained thoughts of becoming a chemist or physicist -- but pesky colorblindness got in the way of that.
The bandying about of huge numbers doesn't really bother me at all -- because it is all on paper. I'm sure once I actually have to write those big numbers that it will be a different story altogether.
No, the biggest stress creator for me is picking out a dream home, figuring the finances and then waiting to see if your bid gets selected. And then the disappointment that follows after you get rejected.
I don't do rejection well. There hasn't been a job where I have interviewed that I have not been offered the job. Nearly all of my previous relationships have ended amicably without either side's feelings getting hurt in the process.
But to find out that I can't have a home where I have already planned out where my desk is going, which way the bed will face and where the cat litter box will be created enough turmoil to power a small city -- like Los Angeles.
Family and friends are trying to boost my spirits. I appreciate it greatly. And I know we'll find a better place that we love even more.
But this still stinks. Good thing I'm taking it out on my computer and my hockey opponents. I just hope they are as understanding when the next rejection comes.
I think most of this comes from wanting not to fail, feeling like I can do the heavy lifting and being the strong one. I'm feeling very weak and tired. Usually, that's when I'm most dangerous. Fair warning. "This is what you get when you mess with us."
Touch 'em all with me, whether you agree with me or criticize me. I like the way you think! Tell me your opinion. Write to me or add a comment below and tell me what you think or if you want to join the ever-growing e-mail list to have my column delivered right to your inbox.
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