The quest to summit Capitol Peak has begun.

Oddly enough it all started with moving some bunk beds over to the neighbor lady's across the street.  She wants them for her cat.

The boys are coming over today to get stuff.

Look at this.  It's just there.  It's absence will be so conspicuous.

Show of hands, who here has had an appendage amputated with a carpenters saw (cross cut) no anesthesia - local or general.

My name is the last thing she wrote on the Calendar.
It was probably written at the beginning of November 27th
On November 27th she was somewhat incoherent.
She passed nine days later

Oh yeah, and done it themselves.

And on the way across

You don't look down.
You know all about down.
You've been there
You're there now

And on the way across
You see the other side
You see the fine tipped ridge that will get you there
And you don't look down

On the way across
to the left and to the right the land falls way
until 1500 ft below it returns
And the boulders that once towered over you
look like little pebbles in an over grown sand box.
and the lake below is nothing more than a puddle.

You regard this as a fact and nothing more.
You need not ponder the steep walls
that support the slim roof peak on which you stradle
To do so is pointless.
Also, you know all about gravity
You've lived in it your whole life.

There is no conjecture
There is no speculation
about the walls that fall away
and the gravity that persists
All that matters now is the other side
Conjecture and speculation will kill you.

On the way across
You see a place to rest
a place to sit and look back and see.
from where you came

And on the way across
You don't look down.
But never-the-less you inevitably do so
And when you do
no matter to which side you look
you will see the place you will come to rest
for eternity
If you keep looking down
If you begin to ponder
If you begin to imagine.

This now more than ever is the time to imagine the summit.

The quest to summit Capitol Peak has begun.

Bob Ezrin

His name keeps popping up everywhere!

Room mate moving in this next week.

Moving Sam's bunk bed's over to Donna's - neighbor lady across the street - tomorrow, Good Friday.

I will be moving a lot of stuff around.  I think I am going to be an emotional train wreck.

This really is what is happening.

"Trump is a pawn of evil Putin, but we want to disarm all Americans, risk a nuclear war, and stifle all free speech and expression and punch people we disagree with... because we're westernized and civilized. If you disagree, you're unamerican."

2 years and 3 months

Or one million two hundred thousand two hundred fifty eight minutes and seven seconds since she left.

Every so often I reach the end of the line.

"Oh no, here we go again." is what you are thinking.

 "No no no no no!  It's not what you are thinking."

"Does he actually know what I am thinking?" you may be thinking.

"What does he think I am thinking?" you may be thinking.

Well, I think what you are thinking is, "Here we go again with the suicide stuff."

To which I answer, "Nope, I am pretty much beyond that.  My kids have seen to that or at least the fact that they exist and there is no fucking way I would do that to them because it turns out they really do love me and I matter to them."

Of course this actually may or may not be true.  Obviously I must think it is otherwise I wouldn't have written slash said it.  The fact is that I feel this way.  I FEEL like they love me and I matter to them.  This is what they seem to project when I am with them.  This is actually big stuff here because I didn't always feel this way.  In fact, it isn't until recently, like maybe one and a half years ago, that I began to feel this way.

"Uh. . . . .Oookaaay." you may be thinking, "I wasn't really thinking that at all but thanks for clearing it up anyway.  Could you please go on about the "end of the line" business before I go to the next blog because this is getting kind of frustrating.  I mean with you trying to second guess what I am thinking."


The way I'm dealing. . .
with this feeling. .
Can't go on like this.
too long

Okay, I'm done.  I will now talk about the end of the line.  The end of the line is everything I do to make myself feel better - everything I do to "self sooth."  Ask yourself what you do to self sooth, to make yourself feel better.  For me it can be a number of things which are but not limited to (in the order they are killing me): hiking, listening to music, sleeping, working, writing, eating, eating sugar or chocolate, obsessing about some political thing, ranting about the state of public discourse over politics, drinking, obsessing over a woman, and sex.

Today, I reached the point where none of these things work.  They do not sooth me in any way.  They do not alter my mood.  They have no effect on the psychic pain I am feeling.  And so what I am left with is nothing but feelings.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!  Feelings!  It that what this is about?  You mean to tell me, I read all the way up to this point and you are going to talk about your stupid fucking feelings" your probably thi  . . . . .  Never mind.


Yes, I go to great lengths to avoid noticing them.  But today they became unnoticeable.  So I sit in the rocking chair listen to music - newagey kind of stuff -  cry, and talk to Wendy.  I wonder how fucked up it would look if someone were to observe this.  But then I think about how fucked up it would look if someone were to observe my thoughts, behaviors, and ultimately actions when I avoid doing dealing with the feelings.

What it comes down to is that I am in this house alone.  Alone.  No Wendy.  She was here.  Now she's not.  Did it really happen.  I've written about this before.  Never-the-less, I'll write about it again.

I got the pictures on the refrigerator.  I got the digital pictures on my phone, my computer at home, my computer at work, on a myriad of hard drives.  I got videos.  I got videos of her moving and talking.  Yes she really did exist.  It really did happen.  I am living in her house.

The scenario in which I am living is so fucking random.  I couldn't have dreamed it up in a million years.  Yet, I imagine it happens quite a bit.  There is a story line on the television show, "House" where Wilson ends up with this woman, moves in with her, she dies in an automobile accident, and he is left sitting there in her apartment and at one point in one of the episodes he describes the situation.  I was sitting here where I am writing this, watching that episode on my computer in disbelief as he word for word, except for the apartment part,  describes the situation I am in.   This happened about five months after Wendy died or should I say passed.   No, she died is what she did.

And at one o'clock on Sunday afternoon on the eighteenth of March,  one million, two hundred thousand, three hundred minutes had elapsed since Wendy's passing. . . .

"Biological Essentialist" Canadian code word for fascist

There appears to be an element of the left that is now becoming somewhat "right"? (ex. Jordan Peterson, Stephen Pinker. . )  Traditionally these figures would be considered liberal and to a large extent they still are. However, the left has been abandoning if not all out assaulting these people especially Peterson as they (Peterson, Pinker and the like) draw conclusions based on the scientific method that are unpopular or contradict beliefs held by the left.  example is gender differences, race differences, etc.  Just as science exposes truth that contradicts religious teachings which in many cases are held by the right.  And just as these right leaning groups object to these scientists and their conclusions so to do the left leaning SJW's object and vilify the scientists and academics such as Peterson and Pinker who's work contradicts the beliefs held by these groups.

The square root of the number of people in an organization do half the work.

What this means is the if you have 100 people in an organization then 10 of these people will produce half the output.

amped up

Amped up,
Face to Face encounter
Takin' care of business
acting out.

A few of the euphemisms all of which may or may not be employed this weekend.  Really I feel so fucking entitled.