Progress and Meth Heads

It's been a while since I've last updated. I don;t have much to say, to be honest, as far as climbing is concerned. I've spent a lot of time climbing 5.10's and 5.11's. I'm going for mileage these days, not hard sends. My technique needs work, and nothing more.



Second clip ground-fall potential. Minimum Creep (5.11c)



What's interesting is to think back to two months ago and see how far I've come. Not just in climbing, but in other aspects of life. Yeah, sure, I sent a 5.12a, but more than that, my technique has become honed, my endurance has increased as well as my strength. My greatest worry isn't falling, but the possibility of ground fall (like in this picture; if I had blown the clip and fell, I would have hit the ground). Though that's always been a fear, it's not one you get over, you just keep moving. 

Even though I'm less likely to climb with weekend warriors now than two months ago, the few friends I've made climbing with those weekend warriors are great. I may even be hitting up one of them, Cody, in Las Vegas to climb in Red Rocks for a week.

The people I climbed with two months ago are more than just strangers to me now, and I know who I enjoy climbing with and who I don't.

Work at the gas station has eased up a bit. I'm working a lot, and as any part of life, I've fallen into a grove that has shown me what corners can be cut, and which ones can't. Some of my coworkers I would call friends. I've never called in sick, covered plenty of shifts, come in on my days off, worked fifty-five hours in one week, and I am okay with it. I'll have a great reference for when I try to get another job out west.

And at the same time, I've been able to build up my own thoughts and beliefs, which are little. My veganism is still present, and I can assure anyone that asks that it's certainly not faltering. Though my own perspective has changed.

Interesting, huh?



Story time?

It was a slow Tuesday night at the gas station. I'm running the first register, which means I stand behind the counter, twiddling my thumbs as Kay runs around and hectically cleans anything and everything she can get her hands on. Twice a week I work with her, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. She is a good worker, and to be honest, in her youth, she could have been a fifties pin-up girl. No joke.

Well, some woman came up to my counter. As I was ringing her out, spewing my stock phrase platitudes, she started to tell me of her ill father in the hospital. My condolences probably seemed shallow, and the woman didn't seem to notice.

Her hands moved slowly, her eyes floated around in her head. He speech was lumbering and she had to stop mid-sentence, repeat the last word and then continue talking.

It took her at least five minutes to count out all of the money she had. Then another five to decided which color rose would be appropriate to purchase for her ill father.

"I'm sure the sentiment would be appreciated no matter which color you got him," I told her, trying to get her out of the store. She was high. A space cadet in another universe.

She put a pale orange rose on the counter. I rang it up.

"Have a nice day," I said, thinking she was about to leave.

Instead she reached into the grocery bag, took out the instant Maxwell House coffee grounds and poured them into a cup of hot water.

The bags under her eyes told me she hadn't slept in a while.

I started to ring up other customers on my register, but she was blocking the counter. It was frustrating, and my tiny bit of sympathy for her kept me from ushering her out the door.

On and on she rambled about things that I can't even recall. Most of it having to do with her father.

She then took out a container of Coffee Mate and poured it into the instant coffee. What could I do but move to the other register and ring people up. Her father was in the hospital, and even though she is high, and there is a chance she is spouting more bullshit than Glen Beck, I still couldn't find the nerve to kick her out.

As I was ringing up more customers on the other register Kay goes up to my register.

"Can I help someone?" she shouted to the anxious customers, most of which has a disgruntled manner about them.

As she rang up one of the customers, the girl, blasted out of her mind, leaned over the counter with the cup of poorly made coffee extended out to Kay and asked her:

"Does . . . does this taste good to you? Do you know . . . if this . . . this tastes alright? Try this, is it good?"

Kay just stared at her, and all I could do was turn my head and giggle as I tried to give someone their change.

Finally after twenty minutes the woman left the store. Then she got into her Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Stupid. She was driving like that, completely in a state of incompetence.

My manager came out, she had seen the whole thing, and laughing told me that she was just hiding. Then she saw the woman in the Jeep.

"Oh, lord, is that woman driving?!"

"Yeah, I think so," I said. It already crossed my mind that she shouldn't be driving. Yet, I wasn't doing too much about it.

"Go get her license plate number," my manager told me. I did. The cops were called, but not before the woman took off down the highway, not even in the direction of the hospital.

I don;t know what happened to her, but to be honest, I hop the cops found her before she sent that Jeep tumbling down Slade hill.

The rest of the day all I could think of is which is worse: that someone would do that to themselves than suicide. It's a strange thought, but the only conclusion I could think of is that both would affect people emotionally, while one could immediately end the lives of others.

And even more relevant, two of my coworkers were just fired for drug use. One of which tested positive for meth, who also worked for Powell County Schools as a substitute teacher.