An open letter to I15 Construction Workers

Dearest I-15 Construction Workers

We've been together a long time.  We have our special together time every morning.  Me, trying to get to work, you trying to stand there and look productive.  But this morning I had an experience that made me somewhat unhappy with you.  You see, you have an annoying little habit that we've been sweeping under the rug.  I feel like it's time that we just discussed it out in the open.

So here's the thing.  You like to switch up which way the lanes move around.  I guess it's exciting for you to put up cones where I used to drive, while drawing new lines for me to follow. Then you like to change the new traffic pattern once again, and repeat that process willy nilly.  It seems to give you some kind of thrill.  I'm not here to judge your habits, it's just that that particular habit almost killed me today.

Because of your thrill seeking, it is nearly impossible to see where the lanes are.  You don't bother to erase the old lines, you just draw new ones.  With each iteration it becomes more and more difficult to see which lines are intended as lanes, and which ones are intended as art.  So there are lanes going in every direction and it is anybody's guess which ones are real.  So that brings me to the method of my near execution.

This morning, I was driving along minding my own business. Suddenly, the guy to my right decided he should follow some lines going left. The guy to my left decided he should follow some lines going right. I just wanted to follow the lines going straight. It is anybody's guess which of the three of us was actually following the true lane.  Neither of them seemed to notice or care that they were about to run into me. I quickly surveyed my options. One option was to try to squeeze between them like the Knight Bus.

This was the more awesome but less practical option

So I decided to go with the less awesome but more practical option.  I slammed on my brakes and let the two of them come together  (they didn't collide, their respective lanes went side by side, they just didn't leave room for me).  After regaining my composure, I discovered I had moved one lane to the left.  I'm not quite sure how it happened, but the important thing is that I'm alive.

Now, my dear construction working friend, it should be noted that had I been killed in this incident I would not have blamed the poor souls who didn't know which lane to drive in.  I feel that they are victims just as much as I was. No, if I was killed I would blame you.  Also, it should be noted, that I would haunt you until the day my wife dies.  (Once she dies, we'll be partying it up in the spirit world together, and we'll have better things to do then haunt you.  But until then, I've got nowhere to go.)

That's right, if I die because of all the lame construction going on, I will bring terror into your household for decades.  And we're not talking just eerie apparitions in the middle of the night.  Certainly there will be plenty of that, but you haven't seen me dance.  That is a terror in itself.  I'll be dancing, and rocking it up all night long.  So just keep that in mind, as you stand there trying (and failing) to look busy.  You may want to wrap this project up.

With love,
Your dearest friend,
Jeff

Reading: It's that important

So the title may have been a bit misleading.  You probably thought you were going to get a post about how important reading is.  I happen to think reading is very important.  I do it a lot.  To prove to you how much I like reading, I would like to share this image of me in my earliest days of reading, at the precious age of 3.

Making reading cool since 1984

But, like I alluded to earlier, this post is not a persuasive essay on how important reading is.  (Although the coolness of the above picture is a persuasive essay in itself.  They say a picture is worth 1000 words.)

It turns out this is a post about the strange things my wife does while sleeping.  Last night I was sleeping quite soundly when there was a tap on my arm.  I, of course, woke up and looked up at my wife who was waving her arm in the air.  I wasn't sure if she was stretching or saying hello.

I was perplexed by the situation and simply asked her, "why did you wake me up?"  Every time something like this happens I am always seeking to find the logic in the situation.  It never occurs to me that there is none.

Her response took her a minute or so.  It was as if speaking had become particularly difficult.   But she eventually forced all of the words out. "Because..... you....... didn't....... read........ enough."

Like I said earlier, I read a lot.  I have since I was 3.  Last night I read for about 30 minutes before going to sleep.  But apparently that wasn't enough to earn the right to slumber.  In my total confusion, I asked, "Read enough of what?"

She was extremely offended by my insolence in asking such a rude and ignorant question.  She groaned for a few seconds before saying angrily, "I'm too tired!"  and rolling over.  I told her I loved her and that I was sorry I made her angry.

So, if you're tired, just ask yourself if you've read enough.  If you haven't, well, don't tell Robyn.