CAR POOL TUNNEL SYNDROME

I've always thought it was such a funny name that I never call it correctly.  Car pool tunnel is far better than carpal.  Whatever dude. 

Anyway, I had planned on writing a whole blog entry about some bullshit while I sat here on my lunch break but then I started thinking about how often my hands hurt.  Getting old is some shit - I never really expected it to happen so quickly.  Since about 1997 or whenever the fuck I first got my new computer - total spoiled kid - definitely before Y2K, I've been typing.  When I wasn't typing in my Word Document diary circa 1999 listing to DMX and Eve - I was playing Super Nintendo.  If I wasn't playing Super Nintendo, I was spending hours in front of the TV while it rained playing Mario Kart 64 and seeing how quickly I could bet Super Mario 64 without taking any bathroom breaks.  Then it was Tony Hawk - don't even get me started. 

In middle school, it was AOL chat rooms - A/S/L.  How creepy was that shit?  Sometimes I can't even imagine how bad that could have gotten or gone but I've always had a good head on these shoulders.  Even when I'm stupid, I'm smart.  In high school, I spent every waking hour and mostly every hour I shouldn't have been awake on AIM.  If it wasn't on AIM talking to boys that I had crushes on trying to impress, I was writing in Open Diary, then Live Journal... the list is endless.  If I wasn't typing, I was writing.  If I wasn't writing, I was doodling.  Even in school, I probably wrote more words and doodles than I ever took actual notes.  I don't even remember studying for a single test.  Not even the SATs.  All I cared about were figuring out my own thoughts, not everyone else's.  Side tracked.

I wanted to write this entry but all I could think about is how much I type.  My job for the last 5 years has been to type - data entry, emails, blah blah blah.  For 8 hours every day, all I do is type.  Then I go home and I type more bullshit - Tweets, Tumblr, this shit.  If I'm not typing, I'm texting (Blogger editor is telling me that texting isn't a word - REALLY!? get with it) or writing notes that I don't need in my phone that I forget to ever look at again. There are days were I start to feel the pain in my hands from the constant movement and it frightens me.  I am already a crazy hypochondriac - the last thing I need is to actually feel like my hands might be joining the leagues of the CAR POOL TUNNEL.  What happens then?  I need these bad boys - they are my biggest asset.  I've built a career with these things that for so long I took for granted. 

Regardless, getting old is getting lame and even though I fully enjoy the wisdom and experience and craziness that I have been through - my body is starting to tell me that it didn't enjoy everything quite as much as I did.  I haven't even started on the worst of it all, the many nights and days I spent doing nothing but trying to secretly destroy myself.  Yet, that is for another time and another story for when I feel like I have the energy to put myself through it again.  My energy has been sucked dry - by the vampire called me.

Back to work.  To type some more.  And you know, answer phone calls of people who want me to then type things to them.  Comon hands and fingers and wrists - bare with me.  I love you.