In the last two weeks, I’ve been spending my days off from the University as somewhat of a day-labor-guy. I spent the weekend pouring concrete and shovelling mixed concrete into the molds. Those steps were the ones I sat on to take a break the other day.
Last weekend, I helped my father-in-law hang drywall and run a few water-lines. I wasn’t paid very well, but when we got down there it looked like a wood frame and a mess, now it looks like two rooms, sort-of. I plan on taking my wife to see how much we got accomplished sometime this week.
I recently undertook a First-Aid course, the full shebang, and passed with flying colours. It’s great knowing that if a hairy situation came up I’d maybe able to know what to do, and help somebody.
Someone recently decided to tell me much of their life story, and I managed to listen.
Sounds like a small thing, but for much of my young adulthood I was too plagued by anxiety and insecurity to just calm down and exist for someone without interrupting every five minutes to ask if they really did want me around. I’m proud to have gotten over that, and to have learned to listen to my instincts long enough that I could actually help someone.
Last weekend I had just one hour to learn a piece of choreography (with singing, no less!), then perform it with a group of other dancers in front of around 200 people, many of them friends or acquaintances. I flubbed a couple of parts of it, but made it through successfully otherwise, plus I didn’t injure anyone throwing buttons into the audience at the beginning!
I flew on a plane, all by myself, for the first time since I was nineteen years old and the first time since I developed my bizarre, crippling fear of flying about six years ago, to attend a dear friend’s memorial service in Portland, Oregon. While there I was able to offer support to his partner, his family, and all of our mutual friends. Everyone was nothing less than flabbergasted that I did such a thing, and it was expressed many times how proud they were of me, how very thankful they were to me for coming and how impressed they were. And dammit, I’m pretty proud of and impressed with myself as well.
I started taking a martial arts class. I’ve wanted to since I was a kid but never had the nerve. Apparently I have the nerve now. It’s great! I guess I’m proud of myself for trying something new.
3 years ago (yeah… I am pretty hard on myself, so it has been that long…) I was working at a local police department as a dispatcher. A woman called and told me that when she got out of the shower, she found her house was completely engulfed in flames and she was trapped in her bedroom. To make matters worse, she refused to leave the house because she was naked and the smoke was to thick for her to find clothing.
I dispatch the PD, FD and EMS to the scene as well as talking to her on the phone convincing her to leave her house. Ultimately she ended up being pulled from the house topless and a police officer put his jacket over her.
She was in the hospital for a while with lung damage, but she made a full recovery.
My newish boss (been in this new job since June of this year) looked at me the other day and said, “I’m glad we have you with us, Rigs”. yay, me. (never received a word of positive feedback from old boss in 6 years)
I was honest with myself and with someone else this week–barebones honesty. Hurting, vulnerable, risky, humiliating honesty. And the world didn’t come to an end. How 'bout that?
Yesterday at 8:00AM I cleanly dropped a running buck with a single offhand round through the heart and lungs at 125 paces. It was a fine piece of shooting and I was proud of myself and my old .300 Savage for being up to the task.
<sniff> That’s beautiful, man!
In October I shot a bull elk in the head with a .45 because the ass who gut-shot him was too busy freaking out about it being an illegal kill to end the poor things suffering. I would be proud if I shot the idiot immediately after, as it stands it’s not something I’m either proud or ashamed of.
Tracking some else’s wounded bull several years ago and going up in front of the Division of Wildlife with an animal that didn’t match my tag, I guess I can hold my head up for that one.
Poor thing had a foot blown clean off but was a good two points short of being legal (I suspect the guy that shot him realized he’d screwed up and chose to let him suffer). I tracked that damn thing for miles, and me with a bad knee from slipping in a snow covered deadfall. One clean shot to drop him, cleaned and quartered, hauled it out, called DoW and set up a meeting with a game warden. The guy started off hostile but I had no remorse and told him I’d take whatever penalty there is but I’m not going to let an animal suffer. He thanked me and sent me on my way.
He took the meat, and being in a CWD area I mentioned that a headshot with the howitzer I carry didn’t leave much brain to test for the disease. He (the DoW officer) replied “That’s ok, we give the meat to shelters”
I’m proud of the work I do every day at the hospital, because without the tests I do, doctors can’t treat their patients.
I’m also proud of myself because I managed to move to the US and I’ve survived the first 8 months of living on my own, far from home, just fine so far.
That’s what appealed to me, the vintage look. It’s based on illustrations by Alvim Correa, a contemporary of Wells who illustrated the 1906 edition and got to be friends with H.G.
Interestingly, the illustrations actually show a variety of sizes and shapes of war machines, which I guess makes sense if you think of the machines as surrogate bodies.
The weekend before Thanksgiving, I flew to Boston by myself to visit my sister. I even had to change planes in Houston. My sis met me at the airport. When it was time to leave I took the T all by myself to the airport from her college. I even had to change lines. I only freaked out/panicked a little when I couldn’t figure out what shuttle to get on to get to my terminal.
Why am I so proud of this? Because I am agoraphobic. Not severely, but enough to keep me from going to the grocery store or the mall by myself. I pretty much don’t go anywhere by myself. Ever. But I missed my sister so much I overcame that to go visit her.
