The Disease

I am diseased.

I have a fatal disorder that is slowly killing me.  My prognosis is guarded.

The symptoms of this disease are many.  The most serious of which is loss of control of bodily parts.

It started with the skipping.  Down halls.  Into conference rooms.

And then it spread to my mouth.  Word hemorrhaging.  Things I wouldn't have said, say, six months ago.

Like when I said, "Oh, good!  We're finally forced to read a book that I actually like!" In a staff meeting.  In front of my boss.  Who I love.

Who used to like me.  Before I became afflicted with Short Timers' Disease.

I've been especially atrocious to my team.  I say things like, "I'm assigning this project to you because (uncontrolled laughter) I don't want to do it!"

And, "We'll do a follow-up analysis in October.  I mean YOU'LL do a follow-up analysis in October."  Followed by unconstrained giggling.

Short Timers' Disease.

I bring brownies to my staff meeting, put my feet up on the table and share my infamous Multicollinearity Rap on YouTube.  I hadn't intended to share.  It just happened.

Only a Short Timer would be so reckless.

Another symptom of STD is Adrenalin rushes.  They manifest themselves as I carry folders and notes to co-workers who will pick up my work.  I explain the importance of each and cross my fingers that they will find the project as intriguing as I did.

I throw away files.  Reports.  Binders.  Stuff.  And more stuff.

I dance my way to the shredding bin.

I carefully decide who gets the good stuff from my office.

Christine wants my Alien Abduction Lamp.  And the binoculars, so she can watch the Canada Goose nest next spring.  (I will miss that.)

Jeff will get my Official Tom Brady Deflategate Whoopie Cushion.  

I'll give Bettye my red blanket so she can survive the air conditioned induced winters that last 365 1/4 days a year at our campus.

Elle will receive my Barbie Doll pens and Cathy will get my "I'm silently correcting your grammar" placard.

Salem gets my fake hand because I know she will use it to scare small children.

Matthew and Max will each receive a pair of my Meat Locker Mitts.  Since neither of them is ever cold they can use the Mitts as cube artwork.

My last day is September 29, and I fear that my STD may worsen by then.  I'm thinking of bringing my unicycle to work, and finally mastering the damn bike by maneuvering through the maze of cubes with my arms outstretched.  

On my last day, when the only items remaining in my office are my Barbie Roller Blades I will probably begin to dance.  On top of said desk.

Security will likely be called to my office.

"Lou.  Get down.  It's time for you to leave," the guard will say.

I will invite the guard to dance with me.  When he says no, I will reluctantly step down, miraculously maintaining my composure.  I'll throw my purse strap over my shoulder and head out to my car, holding my head high.

Until I scream, "Wait!!!!!"

The Security Guard, who by this point will likely be annoyed with me, will say, "What, now?"

As I run back to my office I will shout over my shoulder, "I'm not going anywhere without my Barbie Roller Blades."

Honing a Hobby

I'm really no different than other parents.  I just want best for my kids. 

I want Kevin to have all the advantages he needs to succeed in life.  

Sure, he has a lot of toys and is well dressed.  But he really hasn't been involved in the arts since his starring role in Anything Goes. 

I worry about his lack of intellectual stimulation. 

I suppose I should be placated by his focus.  He does have incredible stamina.  (God knows his sisters couldn't stay on task for half as long Kevin when it comes to chasing balls.)

But aside from dropping Busy Bones on the floor, squeaking his ball, and barking at cats, birds and squirrels, Kevin really has no hobbies.  

Research has found that kids who have a hobby are generally healthier, both emotionally and physically, than those whose main activities include watching TV and playing video games.  And squeaking toy balls.

To that end, I decided to teach Kevin how to play the piano. 

He approached the piano with curiosity, carefully studying the music.  I gave him a quick lesson in music theory.  We started out with O Sole Mio, in the key of C.  

He listened intently as I explained the time signature, and how quarter notes get one beat.

And he began to play!

 
Sure, he missed a couple notes, but it really wasn't bad for his first attempt.

In fact, at the risk of sounding like one of "those" parents, I think he's rather gifted.   

Just Like Oprah

When Oprah Winfrey was in her twenties she knew she was going to be a millionaire by age 32. And look at her now! She's the world's first Female African-American Billionaire. And how did she make her fortune? She set clear and ambitious goals on both the professional and personal levels. “Whatever your goal, you can get there if you’re willing to work.”

Oprah was my inspiration when I set that stretch goal of making my own Alien Abduction Lamp this week. I get goose bumps just thinking about it.

Do you see the similarities? Oprah was born to an unwed mother and survived an unimaginable childhood to achieve her fame and fortune. I, too, had roadblocks to success. You see, I was born with no 'handy' genes. Although never officially tested, experts believe my mechanical IQ to somewhere between 20 and 24.

I've tried. How I've tried!

Who could forget the (so called) "easy to assemble" patio rocking chair I assembled back in 1986? It looked great when I finally finished, about 8 hours after I started the project. It wasn't until my neighbor rocked a bit too enthusiastically, toppling backwards and hitting her head on the cement that I had the epiphany. The long ends of the rockers should be on the back, not the front. (Thankfully no stitches were required.)

One could argue that making an Alien Abduction Lamp was too big of a project for someone like me. Sure, there were only "9 easy" steps and 5 ingredients, but my history did not support the  attempt such an endeavor and the odds of success were infinitesimal. But, like Oprah, I refused to listen to skeptics.  What do they know?  I had a goal. 

Oprah had to overcome many hurdles to reach her goals. I, too, had many hurdles. My first was that I needed a Dremel. Since I had no idea what a Dremel was, I posted the question on my Facebook status update and within a couple hours my friend Tiffany told me I could borrow her Dremel. Hurdle # 1 eliminated. Oprah would be proud.

Next hurdle was finding a Touch Light. My question stumped 3 employees at Lowes before I found it on my own sitting near the light bulbs. Hurdle # 2 eliminated. But if I thought finding the Touch Light was difficult, disassembling it was even harder. I took a deep breath, thought of Oprah, persevered, and hurdle #3 was over-come.

At the risk of boring my readers, let's just say that the hurdles outnumbered the "9 easy steps" by a factor of 3 to 1.

But just like Oprah, I set my goal, followed the plan, overcame obstacles and achieved success.

It's a lot like the movie Hoosiers, which is based on a true story, where a high school coach and the town drunk lead a small-town basketball team on an improbable run to the Indiana high school championship game, despite all the odds.

I'm thinking someone should make a movie about my Alien Abduction Lamp project. The true story of a small-town geek with limited abilities tackling a project of unimaginable scope and magnitude. And succeeding.

Despite all the obstacles I encountered, my Alien Abduction Lamp shines brightly on the suspended cow. 

Now If I could only get Kevin to stop barking at it.