10 true things 09/10/2017

1.)  Making an attempt to knit again - want to knit some socks for Sheila.  It would be nice to give them to her on her birthday.  . . . to cheer her up.  This of course means I have twenty days to knit a pair of socks.  Actually less than that because I need to ship them.

2.)  I am way to pissed off about political shit.  I gotta stop.  Seriously.

3.)  I got a rash that seems to be going away but it wasn't.  Kinda worried about it.  Is it a virus?  I gotta stop.

4.)  I went to dunking donuts this morning and got 3 chocolate cream filled donuts.  I love those.  I gotta stop.

5.)  Brought out my guitar yesterday and started playing.

6.) Today is Adam's birthday.  I called him.

7.)  I am anxious about the quasi-date I am going on next Saturday.  Mostly what I am worried about is that she will cancel out or stand me up.

8.)  It looks like it might rain today

9.)  I bought an audio book yesterday, called I am legion - bobiverse book 1.  Listened to it while I started knitting.

10.)  Just made myself some spaghetti with mild Italian sausage.

11 and 12 were like to much information.

13.)  I am thinking the last 2 items were not quite what you expected.   SURPRISE!  Anyway by my account, I am still sober.
14.)  Was going to hike today but I don't think I will.  I will knit and listen to my book and try not to eat.

15.)  So number 15 on my 10 true things list is that I do not like being corrected unsolicited.  For instance, I make some sort of statement, could be right, could be wrong, but my office mate will invariably chime in with, "Actually,. . ."  and then proceed to say the opposite of what I just said.  For instance, I said that I had a caffiene head ache and was talking about how caffeine is a vaso-constrictor.  He then says, "Actually, caffeine dialates your blood vessels."

caffeine headache cause

Well actually David, it doesn't.  But I am just getting my information from specious sources like WebMD,  American Journal of Medicine,  The Harvard Medical Newsletter.

Okay, I'm done.

Viewpoint Diversity

Now there's a new term.  Just learned this on this morning.

It would appear that higher education is being turned upside down.  We are entering a period where freedom of speech is in jeopardy.  Ironically it is starting at the very place where freedom of speech is supposed to be held sacred, the university.

I don't think Nazi is the appropriate term here because, the term Nazi refers to a political ideology that deterred free speech under Adolf Hitler just like the communist ideology in Russia that deterred free speech under Stalin.  I think Orwell my have the proper terminology in his book Animal Farm - that term would be "Pig"  It is the pigs that with the best intentions vie for change with freedom and equality being the goal.  However, in achieving the goal it is the pigs that ultimately claim to be "more equal" than the other animals and thus squash free speech or any other activities that may threaten their leadership or existence.  "If you are challenging a proposition that I hold dear then you are invalidating my existence."  Therefore you must be suppressed/oppressed.

Basically, pigs primarily refers to the SJW's and in general the alt-left.  And of course it goes without saying that pigs refers to the alt-right as well.  It also refers to most and probably all religions.  Anybody that does not want you to have a voice because of what you think or believe is a pig.  An example would be Melissa Click, Joseph Stalin, and Adolf Hitler.  (I think Adolf may have been envious or jealous of Joseph.)

So, in summary, viewpoint diversity is discouraged in today's universities.  The pigs are in charge.

That's about all.



Peace Out.

50 Shades of Gray - Fun fact.

One of the coolest things I just became aware of is the book, 50 Shades of Gray, is one of the most wildly popular books of all time.  It appears to be a story about a man who sexually takes advantage of a young college graduate and BDSM is the flavor of the man's sexual tastes.  It appears that at then end of the book the guy has to beat her for her to understand that they are not compatible?  Being the fourth-highest-grossing R-rated film of all-time it was released in 2015.  Here's the fun fact.  The popularity of this story about a man dominating a woman physically and sexually happens at roughly the same time as Donald Trump is running for the presidency of the United States.  This book and the movie are mega phenomena during a time of "moral outrage" against a so called "misogynistic" presidential candidate who grabs women by their pussies.

Jordan Peterson observed and noted the inconsistency:

Yeah, I don't understand it either.

Dear Roger Waters, please go start a war in your own fucking country.

I do, despite the way this letter is going to read, have a tremendous amount of respect for you.  In fact, if it weren't for you I would probably be a flaming conservative fascist asshat.

You are a genius.  You fucking bloody well know it.  Which, of course makes you arrogant.  But I gotta say you have the right to be.  There is no doubt that you were the brains behind the concept albums of Pink Floyd.  The lyrics, the messages, the poetry will be regarded as classic like that of Shakespeare.  I mean, dude, you left your mark on the consciousness of humanity.  So I am going to be really tactful here.

My problem is, is that the lyrics that you write don't seem to be all that congruent with your actions.  Ironically enough, your lyrics seem to be quite congruent with the actions of your counter part in Pink Floyd.

So when Trump got elected and you came out with your fist raised in the air and yelled, "Resist";  I am wondering what the fuck that meant.  I mean is it time to take up arms?  Is it a call to find out who these fuckers were that voted for Trump and well, invoke the final solution.  That's kind of what it looked like to me.  Do we spill blood at this point.

Being a resident of the country, it has been my experience that his time will pass just like Obama's did.  I applaud you on incorporating "Trump is a Pig" in your show.  I applaud you on voicing how much you hate Trump.  In this country you can say things like that.  You can say them loud.  Put those words in big ass fucking lights.  We call this Freedom of Speech.  Thank you for exercising it.

However, the "Resist" part, seriously, what the fuck does that mean.  If it is a call to violence for the Anti Trump people to fight the Trump people.  . . . It is almost like:

Anti Trump = Us

Trump = Them

I mean after all aren't we just ordinary men.   Maybe you could write a song about that concept except I don't think you really get it.  And if you did you better watch it. Don't end that second line with "men" because you will totally piss off the women and all the other millions of gender identities out there.  I know you totally wouldn't want to fucking do that.  (I am not being sarcastic with that last statement.)

It is almost like:

You're either for us or against us.

What thfuck!  You're fucking British aren't you?  You didn't even vote in this election and yet here you are in my fucking country inciting violence.  The issue will get solved at the polls and don't gimme this load of crap about our fucking electoral college and popular vote shit either.  We elected Obama twice with that system. Hmmm. didn't seem to be a problem then now did it?  This is exactly why the fuck we had to revolt against the British and become our own country.  You guys lost your say so 241 years ago - just sayin'

I have friends that are trump supporters and friends that hate trump just as much if not more than you do - hell, they are even residents of this country.  Yet, both groups are my friends!  None of them are stupid. None of them are racist.  And none of them want to have a civil war over it.

Could you please go the fuck back to the UK and incite a civil war there.  Seriously dude.  

Yeah, I am being harsh because I do not want to go to war with my dear friends because some asshat that isn't even a U.S. citizen is inciting the country to do so.  You are just as bad as the fucking media.  Ya know.  this kinda doesn't even concern you.  It's kinda like none of your fucking business.  jesus fucking christ.

You know?  David strikes me as the embodiment of love and unity.  You strike me as the embodiment of hate and divisiveness.  How fucking ironic.  I choose love and unity.  Think about it.  Wonder how this would have read if I weren't tactful.

Should I contact this girl or not?

Not sure whether to contact her or not.

Oh by the way, I finally made it up Little Bear.

So, I created another account and another blog.  Yes another blog.  That blog and account breaks all ties with this one or any of the other blogs I have.

Okay, so I do feel like I am kind of stalking her.  But, no I am not.  I am just reading her fucking blog is all.  She doesn't write for quite some time and then she does.  She did two times fairly close together recently so I was going to comment on the last thing she wrote using the other account of course but alas I chickened out.  I am wondering if that would just freak her out and then she would either stop blogging or block me.  You know, nobody reads this blog.  I often think if somebody was reading this.  I would be encouraged to write more.

So she is writing about the stuff that troubles her.  She appears not to be too happy in her marriage.  Have no idea if she is married to the same guy she was 12 years ago.  I really do not want to interfere in that relationship again or in any relationship of her's for that matter.  I don't have any intention of meeting her.  It would just be nice to lament about life together.

Like I am doing with Sheila.

10 true things 082017

This is what today looks like.  It is Sunday and I have not spoken to a single soul since I left work on Friday.  It actually isn't that bad.  So I am going to write about the mundane.

1.)  The last caffeine I have had was on Friday morning. . . I am fairly sure.   I realized this yesterday afternoon when I started feeling a mild head ache.   I then decided that I would continue on and not have any excedrine like stuff.

2.) My knee is better.  It did look like this:

This was last Saturday.   This has pretty much kept me inactive most of the week.  I stayed home from work on Monday then went to the doctor on Tuesday and got a cortisone shot in the knee.   I really thought I would be going up Little Bear again this weekend and sort of prepared for it.  On Thursday I went for a hike up to about 7600 ft on Elden.  The knee did okay but it did give out now and then.  The more concerning part was that I was extremely out of breath.  On Friday, the knee seemed even better so I went for a walk at lunch.  Just as I was getting back it gave out.  And then the rest of the day I could feel it wanting to give out.  I then went up to 7600 ft again this morning and was completely out of breath.  I was wasted by the time I got to the turn around point.  I was going to try to make it to the boulders but at 7600 I called it.  Concerning!  My knee was sore and felt like it wanted to give out but it didn't.  It feels like it wants to give when there is a twisting action.

3.) I am debating on whether to go to the Sunday night meeting that seems to be folding.

4.) I have stayed off face book.

5.) I have tried to stay away from seeing Monika at work.  I have seen her but from a distance way down the hall or some thing like that.  This is just fucking nuts.

6.) I stayed inside the house all day Saturday (yesterday) did not leave once.  I actually slept until 3:30.   Hopefully to help my knee heal.  In the morning I could not put together the motivation to do anything other than watch Styxhexenhammer666 video so I just went back to bed.  I watched the videos while I ate the rest of my cinnamon toast crunch cereal.

7.) I have been watching https://www.youtube.com/user/Styxhexenhammer666  He is a smart ass kind of guy and is quite arrogant.  He completely lacks compassion.  Never the less he appears to make logical arguments.  He seems to be well read.  And of course he says a lot of stuff I agree with.  I ran across him when I was watching Lauren Southern do an interview with him.

8.) Speaking of YouTube, I have been binge watching it.   I will say that if I am watching YouTube it is better than the other shit I could be watching which for this weekend appears to be at a minimum. 

Thank you G-d.

I did get far too absorbed into the Charlottesville thing and then there was a Boston free speech rally which I started to go for.  Finally this afternoon I ended up on more uplifting stuff like Colin Furze

9.) Continue to miss Wendy.

10.) I decided to stop making soap.  It is kind of a pain in the ass and it seemed to be fun when Wendy was here.  Now it is just a pain in the ass.

Sheila - pointless if not hopeless.

contacted me while I was back at my High School reunion.  She gave me her number.  We ended up talking to one another for a couple of  hours and she indicated she wanted to talk again.  We did.  Then this last weekend she IM'd me in the middle of the night her time and I was dead asleep with a messed up knee.  I slept until 10:30 the next morning 1:30 her time just to stay off the knee.

She said she would be volunteering at a tennis tournament.  The text indicated she wanted to talk to me and asked if I would be around later that day.   I IM'd her that I would be around.  I called her around 5 my time 8 her time.  Her voice mailbox was full.  Later I went on facebook and the little green dot indicated that she was available for chat.  I sent her a message saying that I was sorry I missed her and wished her a good trip as she was going on a trip Mon, Tues, and coming back Wed - tomorrow.

I got nothing back.  It is crazy the way this works.  Valerie and Sheila.  I am getting used to it I guess.  I will let her go.  I got a cortisone injection and if it takes I will be climbing this weekend and Sheila will be but a memory.

I'll be brave, I'll be brave, yeah, I'll be brave.

When the time it comes around,

I'll be brave yeah I'll be brave

let me go now just let me go now!

My Aunt Passes.

Some Place in murica — Alice N. , 89, of some place in murica, passed away early Sunday morning, Aug. 13, 2017, at a hospice place.

Alice was born Feb. 6, 1928, in some place in murica, to Elmer and Ruth.

Our mom was a total reflection of who we have become, one who embraced individualism. She was non-judgmental to our beliefs and who we have become as our own person, whoever that may be. And for that we thank her.

Alice is survived by her daughter, Sally  of some place; two sons, Steve and Dale of some other places; five grandchildren, and four brothers.

In addition to her parents, Alice was preceded in death by her loving husband of 46 years,

Burial will take place at a Cemetery at a later date. 

Those wishing to contribute to Alice’s memory may do so

Condolences may be shared with the family.

News came today, we found a sea of air

When we went back nothing was there

A tower so tall it nearly left the ground

Still, when we looked, nothing was found

There was nothing out there, no, nothing at all

Nothing but space, nothing but ground

All the things I want, and the things I need

And there's nothing but stars looking back at me

But I'll be brave, I'll be brave, I'll be brave

When the time, it comes around

I'll be brave, yeah, I'll be brave

Just let me go now, let me go now...

We got the whole world hanging there

In our little sea of air

We got the whole world hanging there

In our little sea of air

We got the whole world just hanging out

We've got no sea to doubt

We've got the whole world hanging there

When you talk to God about suicide

When you never hear back, I hope you're still alive

And the part of you that never cared

You can leave it here in the sea of air

But I'll be brave, I'll be brave, I'll be brave

When the time, it comes around

I'll be brave, yeah, I'll be brave

Just let me go now!

We got the whole world hanging there

In our little sea of air

We got the whole world hanging there

In our little sea of air

We got the whole world just hanging out

We've got no sea to doubt

We got the whole world hanging there

We got the whole world hanging there

(the whole world hanging there)

In our little sea of air

Dear Wendy,

You left this world with someone loving you.  That someone was me.  There is no way around it.  I so love you.  It is clear I will never be with anyone else no matter how much I might want to be.  And you've seen it.  I want to feel the comfort of another but I felt the comfort of you and I am thinking that is pretty much all I need.  You left this world with someone loving you.  My Aunt Alice did not.  I don't know if my grandma on my dad's side did.  She did not get any love from me.   I could not love her.  There is a good chance my Uncle Gene will not either.  My dad will because I love him.  You certainly did.

I will climb every mountain I can.  I hope to die on one.   My greatest hope is that I die on a nice warm day in a scene similar to what you see below with my last words being, "Awe, fuck!"  And then if time permits I will visualize you. 

In our little sea of air.

My oldest son achieved Eagle Scout last year (2016) and he finally got around to having the ceremony (Court of Honor) where he is actually awarded the honor. (2017)  It is up to the scout to organize the ceremony to some extent.  Yes, it did take him a year to do this.  Apparently, he got the procrastination gene from me.

Part of the ceremony involves a sort of slide show where pictures are put to music.  The pictures show his history from cub scouts through boy scouts.  He chose the song and his mother arranged the pictures.

I think the range and breadth of activities shown in the pictures are amazing.   I mean I did the pinewood derby when I was a kid but that was about it.  These guys have done everything from ice climbing in Alaska to scuba diving in Mexico to canyoneering with the scorpions and rattlesnakes right in my backyard in Arizona.  Hopefully I will be going up with them to Alaska next year and also doing Clear Creek canyon in the next year or so.

A note about the music. . . . I may be completely wrong on this as I often am but I think in most boy scout troops they would not have allowed him to use the song he chose.   The song is "Sea of Air" by "Portugal. The Man."  Sounds like it would be an environmental song.  It is not.

That's about all.

Peace out.

Ok, So I am ready to go home now.

I guess the only way to get good at writing is to write.  Actually, I am typing.  I mean technically.

She hasn't posted since the 24th of July.  I feel like a stalker.  I wish she would post again.

It is just about 10:00 and the kids are still asleep.

So I am ready to go back home now.  She is going to have a little bit of a party prior to the Eagle Scout Ceremony for Unit one.  Oh yeah,  Unit one got his Eagle Scout, I guess it would be "badge?" last year.  He has never gotten the medal and paperwork that comes with it.  The Eagle Scout gets that at the Court of Honor.

I think Ronda is pissed at me.  God that sucks.  I think she was expecting me to do something that I didn't do and now she is pissed.

Anyway, Unit one had not done his Court of Honor.  So today he is doing it.  Ronda is going to have a party.  She invited the her friends Pam and Todd and their family and her sister and her sister's boyfriend.  Seems like a really super odd combination of people.  So Ronda will be talking with her friends Pam and Todd.  This is just going to suck.  I can't wait to tell you all about it.

So I am ready to go back home now.  Maybe this will keep me from feeling so bad when I get back home.  I guess I hadn't looked at it that way.

I talked to Tara yesterday.  I gave Tara the ridiculously stupid name of Elizabeth previously in this blog.  How 'bout we just call her Tara.  Elizabeth?  Really?  Shakes head in disbelief.

By the way, this is Tara - see figure "A" to the right.   I think I mentioned it before but she is with her boyfriend Roy.  It is an on again off again relationship.  When she wasn't with Roy we could really relate but now that she is with Roy we like so totally can't.  It just depressed me more to talk to her yesterday.

It All Starts with. . .

that first fucked up thought.  Today that first fucked up thought went something like this.  Nobody wants to go hiking with me soooooo.  I guess I will look at the ads.  I look at the ads and there she is.  She being the object.  This is such horrifying behavior for me.  Horrifying for the behavior in and of itself but it is also horrifying because it is my behavior.

Do I have to fucking spell out what the behavior is?  I mean seriously.  No.  I think I will kind of leave it cryptic.  Read the rest of the fucking blog if you don't know.

Right now I am sitting in my ex-wife's house on the couch with one of the lounging units extended.  Across from me is my oldest son, super dude,  actually "The Super Dude" named so because he is a, well, . . . "Dude" and he also just happens to be super just like my other two sons.  He is reading a magazine and listening to music on his new head phones.  Okay, well, now he is looking at his phone.  It doesn't look like he's texting maybe just watching something.  I think I have digressed.

Look where we've come from.  Take a look at where this blog started.  This moment is good.  This moment is good enough.  Perhaps this moment is as good as it gets.  Of course this is not good enough for me.  And so,  back to the fucking thought.

I think it all started with my ex-wife yesterday.   She was late getting out of here and she had to drive up to the mountains to her friends'  Ann's house.  She hates driving, my ex-wife that is.  My ex-wife hates driving.  She seemed particularly annoyed.  I told her I was sorry and stupidly offered to stay at a hotel.  She said, "We'll talk." which means that yes she is in fact annoyed and she is rethinking the whole me staying at the house thing.

And so as I am writing this what flashes through my mind is:

I need to come up here less.  But I just told her that I want to come up more and thought that maybe once a month would be good.  She seemed to think that was okay a couple of months ago.  I don't think she still holds that same sentiment.

After she said, "We'll talk."  she said something about I could come up and camp with the kids.

Me, "Hmmm. not so sure I want to do that one."  Me again. "I think I will just com up less.  I thin I will tell her I won't be back up until maybe late October."

Back to the behavior.  The craving has gone away primarily because I have "taken care of business" as what's his face and I say.  I decided to just hang out here with the chilluns. Units one and two.  Unit three went for a sleep over and Units one and two had to work.  I spent most of the time in my ex-wife's house alone.  Yes, I don't think I will be back up until late October or early November.  I think that is enough for this post.

The Quest.

"Yeah, like I can't do this no more."  And so started the quest.  Focus on the quest. It may not get me out of here but at least it is something to do.

"I would like to say I just got burned but no it is more like I just burned myself.  You don't know until you try.  Back to the quest."  At least it was nice to see Myra back.

On he went.  There were others.  He could see them - climbing as well.  He could barely make out the bodies on the side of the wall ascending through the gully and then on the summit two more people.  "How they must feel.  This would be me someday.", he thought with envy.  The southwest ridge first and then the gully.  Nobody would do the southwest ridge it is too long and too strenuous.  Two miles of brush, then over a mosquito infested creek covered in thorns and stickers, then the climb in earnest, through more brush and then four thousand feet of talus and finally the ridge starting with knife edge followed by the gap in the mountain, the minor summit, the down climb and finally the summit proper.  He could only dream of the day, the moment, that moment.  That moment he was watching two people experience and another two about ready to.

Then it would be the gully followed by the traverse.

Realization.

Most people actually do make it out.  He'd seen it and experienced it for himself.  It was nice when he would find someone to walk with.  He had just been walking with someone who found their way out.  Sometimes they would just vanish like Myra but other times he would just start losing the connection with them until they would become transparent like a ghost. They might fade in, become a little more vivid, fade out, come back in like clouds parting and then fade out completely and they were gone.  Which was the case with Tara.  Now he was alone.

Many people don't make it out and now he knew he would be one of them.  He started seeing the signs that the other's before him had seen.  Primarily it was the dead ends.  He was a master at spotting them.  Plus, he knew he had done too much.  He had done too much damage.  Even when he got out he started right in again. Actually to be honest he had never stopped.  He'd been doing it since age 11 as he had been programmed.  He'd been trained, became a master at it and then, well, that is all he knew.  These skills that were now second nature to him were no longer needed and maybe this is where one ends up?  He began to wonder.

It occurred to him, "On the outside, she had not faded.  She died.  Or, was she killed?  He couldn't couldn't distinguish between the two but it didn't matter.  People die here all the time.  The death is usually horrible not like in the other world.  "The other fucking world." he ruminated.  He did not know how to get there and figured this was it.  Suicide. not an option.  You come back.  He'd seen those that come back, just right where they left off.

"There must be some kinda way outta here said the joker to the thief."

The Sun did Shine but then. . .

Eleven years later.  Eleven fucking years later.  He came back through.  He was on the trail back in the same area where she had left and on a whim he decided to take a detour just to see.  Just for shits and digs.  A little shocked he saw some of her stuff, not much but it was hers for sure.  She was back.

A lot had happened.  He had found the way out and was able to see the sun and blue sky.  The smoke was gone.  There were no fires.  The vegetation was green and lush.  But here he was.  He was back in this world.  The world of the rain.  And this time he knew.  He knew the rain was not going to stop.  ever.  He knew he would not be getting out this time.  On December 8th of 2011 the first of the thunderstorms had come in.  It was huge.  But what would come in 2015 would make that first one seem like just a drizzle. There was a let up but near the end of 2014 the rain was constant and would get much worse until Dec 6th of 2015.  That following morning he woke up on the cold wet earth look back from where he had come and just like 10 years before almost to the day the way back was gone.  All he could see was the dark fog. The rain continued.

He had been in this world for one and a half years trying to find a way out and there she was and she was in the rain too.  This time he would leave her alone.  But he decided as long as he was in the area he would check in now and then but he know she would probably leave. He would just have to watch her from a distance.  Maybe she would notice him and contact him but that would be the only way they would ever talk if they were to ever talk again.  He'd gotten use to false hopes.

It had just occurred to him that maybe she had found a way out all those years ago and now she was back in. "Eleven fucking years ago!" he thought.

She's writing again. So good to see.

May 31 2006

He looked straight ahead with an air of determination. A rain drop slid down his nose and clung to the end as he surveyed what lay ahead. The mist had now turned to rain. She was gone.

MyRiseAbove said...
JUNE 06, 2006 1:58 PMI'm here.

How lovely, the sound of her voice.  He could only imagine.  But at 1:58 in the afternoon on June 6 of 2006 his world would light up as it always did when she would say something.  They walked on.  He in relief.

It would only be a couple of days later that she would stop coming around for good.  He went back to the usual spot where he could find her.  All her belongings - everything packed up and gone leaving only the matted grass and broken twigs where she had slept.

The rain continued.

More on Mercy Street.

45 Mercy Street - Poem by Anne Sexton

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant's teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.

Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was...
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
me,
with the stranger's seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.

I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.

Pull the shades down -
I don't care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?

Not there.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks. 

Anne Sexton

No Valerie

E-mail to Tara:

No, No hike.

I did go for a hike up Humphreys with some guys from work.  While we were on the hike my phone dialed Valarie's number. (pocket dial)  This is very weird because her number wasn't up on the que for dialing.  I hadn't called her. . .  actually ever.  Usually a pocket dial will happen with the most recent person I talked with on the phone or someone on the the top of my contacts.  She was in neither.  We had texted though and calls can be made from the text app.  And that is probably what happened.  However, I had had a text conversation with one other person after her.  It should have pulled the most recent one which was not her but it didn't.

  

So she got a message on her phone with a bunch of thunder and pocket sounds.  I was actually just getting back into treeline on Humphreys when it happened. My phone did all kinds of other things which I explained in the message I sent her when I got home.  Here is that message:

"Hi Valerie. It looks like my phone pocket dialed you while I was on my hike so you may have gotten a messed up message. You weren't alone though my phone also sent a gibberish e-mail to my financial adviser, opened my bank app, and sent a gibberish text to a coworker. . . Sorry. I am really embarrassed. Thanks for talking with me yesterday - it really helped. Hope you're having a good day."

I did not get anything back. Nothing.  Not a "That's okay. hope you had a good hike." or anything like that.  My fucking higher power is working over time to do for me what I can't do for myself.  Awesome.  Yes she would be better than suicide but it looks like it's suicide.  I am fucking being punished. 

I am actually having a really bad day in case you couldn't tell.  I am very weepy and missing Wendy.  I really feel like shit.  I really feel alone.  I really fucking hate this.

I really hope I die soon.

Take care

Andy
_____________________________________________
The next post.  45 Mercy Street a Poem by Anne Sexton seems to get it.

searching for a street sign - 

namely MERCY STREET. 

Not there. 

Valerie.

I can't believe I did that.  We both went up to put the books in the box after the meeting.  I said, "Can I talk to you after the meeting?"  She said, "Yes."

We talked after the meeting.  I asked if the offer still stood to call and talk to her.  She said, "Sure." I told her that I need to reach out.  It seems like everyone I talk to is going through wonderful times.  It seems like she is going through a trying time in her life and I have been well for the last four and a half years.  I can not go through another winter like last winter.  (Holy shit that was horrible. - as an aside.)

As we talked she talked about schedule and that she would like to go for a hike.  (Totally did not see that one coming.)   I told her I was going to be gone for basically two weeks and that I was going to go up Humphrey's Peak tomorrow with some people from work at around 8 am.  I immediately got a look from her like, "Are you sure you want to do that?"   I said, "Yeah, I know.  You think it's too late to start the hike?"  She said, "Yeah, I wouldn't start that late.  The storms have been coming in around noon."  She then said she had been thinking about going up Humphreys but was going to start around 6. (Once again, did not see that one.)  I told her that that sounded like a better idea.  She said she had made other plans for tomorrow but wasn't sure if they would work out.  If the plans fell through she would do Humphrey's.  (Coincidence?)  We seemed to both arrive at "That would be a good hike to do together."  So I am supposed to text her tonight to see if she is going up Humphrey's tomorrow at 6.

Now I am all fucking nervous and shit.  Really?  Come on!

It feels that possibly she might be thinking beyond friends. . . I hope.  I can not read these things at all.  But it needs to be friends for what ever we do together.  But it would be so nice if it went straight to waking up together Monday morning.  The other thing is Humphrey's is a bit of a "commit."  If things go south then there we are on the side of the mountain on a rather strenuous hike.  It is 3500 ft over 6 miles.  Once again, it is just two acquaintances basically going out on a hike.  It would be no different than a meet up.  But it would be different than a meet up because we would be talking about intense stuff I would imagine - actually I would hope.  Like I said, totally did not see this one coming when I woke up this morning.

I don't even know her and I am wanting to be in a relationship with her.  I am a drowning man grasping at anything to save my life.  I am not saying she is "just anything." but I don't know how crazy she might be.  There is a lot of drama in her life which I could get dragged into.  She did talk about how her ex-husband who she calls her "former spouse" is finally taking AA seriously.  She can her it in the way he talks and that gives her hope.  Seems like if he "got" the program she might be drawn back to him and . . . well, you know, that would be a bit painful.

If I had to bet.  I would bet I will not be hiking up Humphrey's with her tomorrow.  It will be a bit relieving if she says the other plans are on.

Then I go up Humphrey's at 8 am and get struck by lightening.  Really not a bad option so long as I don't survive.

Sobriety Sets In. . . Crap. . .

I think I gotta nother Marcia (“Mar see’ uh” not Marsha) thing going on here.   Read the previous post.

Tell Me Lies. Tell Me Sweet Little. . .

Monika tell me a sweet little lie, like you love me.  Except, leave out the “lie” part.  I would so love to hold you, feel the back of my fingers gently brush the side of the beautiful dark skin of your cheek.  I wish I could say these words to you.

I so loved it when you came into my office this morning.  We were bantering.  I told you that you were getting chunky which of course we both know is not even close to being true.  I am so smitten with you.  You were talking about how old you are.  You’re 28!  Hello!  You’re a girl, such a lovely young girl.  At one point I raised my hand up in exasperation about how “old” you think you are.  You then, met my hand with yours in kind of a playful sort of punch.  I wasn’t expecting it.  The feel of you skin on mine.  It was a very soft hit and long enough for me to feel.

Sometimes, maybe most of the time, I think that the possibility exists.

Sept 11, 2004

It was three years to the day after “The September 11th” and one and a half years prior to my stay at the psychiatric hospital that I would first lay eyes on her.  But we actually did meet on September 11th 2004.  I am crying as I write this by the way.

I have a thing for dates.  It annoys the shit out of my friend JD.  But when something happens in my life that is kind of a big deal I will remember the date.  I remember when I moved down here.  My family and I left on August 19th.  They stayed with me for ten days and then left to go back up to Colorado.  My first day of work down here was August 30th.  Leaving Colorado was a big deal.   Leaving my job up there to come down here was a major upheaval in my life.  Turns out it was also a major upheaval in my ex-wife’s life as well.

Things were spinning out of control up there and something had to change.  The place I was coming to work was a great place to be employed.  The company is always or at least was always ranked in the top 100 places to work for either by Forbes or Fortune magazine.  All these years later, it turns out for me at least, they were right.

So this brings me to something I wrote a number of paragraphs back and that has to do with sex addiction.  It seems to be somewhat a controversial topic.  It also has a horrible stigma attached to it.  For some reason the term sex addict conjures up pervert in one’s mind.  I am not a pervert.  I am probably like 40 percent of the male population in the United States that seems to be obsessed with pornography on the internet.  With me, it interfered with all other aspects of my life that I sought help through the twelve step fellowship of Sex Addicts Anonymous.

There are a number of fellowships that deal with sex; SAA is one of them.  There are also Sexaholics Anonymous,  Sexual Compulsives Anonymous, Sexual Recovery Anonymous and Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.  Since sex is a natural human/animal function similar to eating it is called a “process” addiction.  I am not sure why.  I was and hopefully still am in SAA.  Sometimes people will refer to these types of meetings as “S” meetings.  In 2004 there were two “S” meetings, SAA and Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous or SLAA.

My first SAA meeting down here was on the Thursday before my family left.  That would have been August 26th.  I drove myself to the church and as I approached the  entrance on the side there was a large fellow with long hair pulled back into a pony tail.   As I walked up he said, “So you got this thing too?”

“Yep.” There are more like me down here too, I thought.  I went in and maybe another person showed up and we had a meeting.  After the meeting, the large guy, Jeff, I will call him told me that there is another meeting that meets on Saturdays which is called SLAA.  He said it did not deal so much with sex as it did with “love addiction” which, as it turns out, I probably experienced with the first woman I had sex with.  I decided  would give that one a try too.  I mean I wasn’t going to be doing anything else other than going to work.

On the 29th my ex-wife, then wife, and three kids along with my sister drove back up to Colorado.  My sister had come out from Georgia to visit with us as we “transitioned” me down here.   The following weekend I flew back up to Colorado for the weekend.  That would have been the weekend of the 4th.  The weekend of the 11th was my first weekend her without my family.  It was on Saturday the 11th of September, 2004 that I went to my first SLAA meeting and saw her.

So there you have it.  I met the love of my life at a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting.  That meeting is now defunct.  That’s a whole story of itself.   In my opinion, I don’t think either of us had the love addict thing going on.  She didn’t have the sex addict thing going on in the slightest.

My first thought when I saw her is, “You gotta be kidding me!”  I thought this because she was absolutely beautiful.  The room, by the way, in which the meeting was held was and still is disgusting.  It is a very musty smelling room in the basement corner of a church.  The room was the same room the SAA meeting was in.  When I went to the SAA meeting, I thought, “Yeah, this is about right. A musty smelling shit hole of a room for a piece of shit such as myself.”  But then, at this other meeting she shows up.  I thought it was some kind of mistake.  Then as the meeting went on and I realized that she actually meant to be at that meeting, I thought, “She’ll be here for maybe this meeting or the next and then we’ll never hear from her again.”

I would actually go on to hold a resentment against her for being as pretty as she was and attending the meeting.  It felt like it was some kind of conspiracy.  It felt like life was saying, “You are such a decrepit piece of shit that here is this beautiful woman that is pretty much pure as the driven snow.  You get to look at her, see how wonderful she is, and watch her life just unfold beautifully as your life goes to shit.”  Such were my thoughts in those first few weeks after arriving.

My life did go to shit.  It took some time though, about a year and four months.  She along with a couple of other people were there to witness it all.  And they were there that Saturday night November 26th of 2005 when I came into that meeting and cried pretty much through the whole thing.

Thanksgiving 2005

Thanksgiving 2005, not a good one.  Yet it sure is one to put in the memory books that’s for sure.  The last fifty two hours prior to say nine a.m. on Thanksgiving is kind of a blur, a fog at best maybe.   I know I am going to be seeing my wife but more importantly I am going to be seeing the psychiatrist, the guy that I think is going to determine my fate.

Here I am on the side of the wall.  I can not down climb because I have no idea where there is a safe place to put my feet if I were to attempt to lower myself down.  A majority cause of climbing accidents happens on the down climb where a climber can not see where to safely put their feet.  Up is my only option.  To stay, and call for help, well, that’s just ridiculous. So, I stick my arm in a crevice between two rocks.  I frantically search above me for another rock to grab onto.  There are a couple of flat rocks maybe the size of pancakes but there really is nothing.  There are just featureless flat surfaces above me.   I actually have a go pro camera on the top of my helmet.  It sees that there is nothing to grab on to.  Later the video being taken of this event would confirm this fact.  If the camera could talk to me it would say, “There’s pretty much nothing up here.  Don’t know what to say to you dude but unless you can get your ass a little higher on this wall your’re pretty much fucked.”  Technically this is called “Cliffed out.”  I can’t go up and I can’t go down.  My attitude is, “Fuck that! I am going up.  And if necessary I will die trying.”

So what I am going to do is lodge my arm tight into the crevice between two rocks.  I test each rock again and again.   They are both actually really huge.  Essentially they seem to be integral to the mountain.  These rocks ARE the mountain yet I still don’t trust them.  I test some more.

My feet are on a ledge that is probably four hundred feet above the rock tailings below.  There are of course jagged rocks sticking out of the wall that I would probably bounce off of on my way down.  The next ledge I can put my foot on is probably at waist level.  Attempting this move is fatal.  I am thinking I would probably push myself off the side of the mountain trying to get my foot on that ledge.  This ledge has a landing of maybe four inches and is slanted downward at about a 45 degree angle.  So I am going to ask my bicep on my left arm really nicely if it can do me a favor.   I mean a really big favor and that is to raise my body up the wall so that I can get my knees on to that fucking ledge.  Once I get my knees onto the ledge there appear to be plenty of options for hand holds on my right side that are within reach.  Word back from the bicep is, “I’ll give it everything I’ve got but you only get one shot.”

Similarly, every word I choose to say to the psychiatrist must be carefully considered, vetted, and tested in my head again and again.  I’ve seen the movies – both comedies and horror films where the inmate/patient tries to convince the doctor or doctors that they aren’t crazy.  I know this is not done by saying,  “Look doc, I’m not crazy.  Really, I’m not!”  I know this is also not done by “trying” really hard to appear sane.  To be honest, I don’t have a clue how to convince somebody I am not crazy.  By crazy I mean not a threat to myself or others.

However before I meet with the psychiatrist my wife will be coming by.  I am hoping we can resolve this.  I can go home, we have thanksgiving, and move on.   I am also thinking this is probably not in the cards.

They come to get me or call my name or what ever.  I don’t remember.  And I go to the room on the right of the entrance hallway.  My wife sits across from me and the mediator sits to my left. The room seems to be warmly lit.  I remember she was wearing a white button up sweater.  This seemed to make her look more. . .  I want to say older but really I think the right word is “mature” or maybe “grown up.” I did a lot of talking; apologizing, acknowledging my wrong doing, begging for forgiveness.  I suppose it was just the same old garbage I was telling her over the phone.  I think I went on for maybe fifteen minutes.  She didn’t or wouldn’t say anything.  The mediator asked if there would be anyway we could come together.  I looked at her in anticipation of something soft.  And as if the mediator had said nothing at all  my wife says, “I want Floyd to go back and learn to love himself.”

I’m thinking, “What the fuck did she just say?  You gotta be fucking kidding!  Learn to love myself?  What kind of new age psycho babble bullshit is that? I am going to go  back and learn to love myself. Hmmm.   How will I know when I have succeeded.  How will she know when I have succeeded?  What are the measurables here.   If I achieve this lofty goal of “loving myself”, what then?  This is so fucking nebulous.”   I actually didn’t think these words but the dialog here is the essence of what I was feeling I suppose.

That was all she said.   It occurs to me at this point that when this woman is up against the wall or when she sets her mind to do something she will not under any circumstances fail.  It’s not that failure is not an option.  It’s that failure simply does not exist in her universe.  This also means that as an adversary, I don’t stand a chance.  At this point I couldn’t see this.

We both stood up, she handed me my suitcase and looked at each other.  I asked her if we could hug.  She had one tear running down her cheek, left or right, I don’t remember but it was one her cheeks.  She just shook her head no and walked out.  “I can go home, we have thanksgiving, and move on.”  Uh, yeah, right.

I started to feel a little bit smaller in the world.  I started to feel a bit more insignificant.  I started to feel like I was in the middle of the ocean.  And I think I heard someone or something say, “Ahhh, We may have something to work with here!”

Okay bicep, it’s go time.  I got called again to see the psychiatrist.  This time I went through the door on the left.  On the other side was a hallway.  Doors on either side of the hallway opened into examination rooms.  I was led into one of them.  I think I waited awhile until the guy came in.   I think we talked a bit.  I answered all questions as truthfully as I could. (bicep is doing it’s thing)  I gave him my assessment of my behavior and tried to convince him of nothing.  I did tell him I have no intention of harming myself.  What I want to do is go back and begin working a very serious twelve step program.  This was the absolute truth.  In fact, I wanted to go back and get so fucking recovered that I could ram my recovery down her throat!  I didn’t say this though.  Thank you bicep.

He said something like, “When you leave here we have absolutely no idea of what you are going to do.  We know what you have done.  We know what you have intended to do.” referencing my recent activity.  “We need you to sign this statement that says you are not going to commit suicide.”

Once again, I did not say this but thought,  “Really?  You’re joking, right?  I mean I can sign this but what are the consequences if I, say, engage in a breach of contract here.  What are you going to do put me on death row?”   I did question the purpose of signing such a document.  I don’t remember any answer.  I am sure he gave one but I don’t remember it.  I signed.

With that signature I was allowed to leave.  They said they could not take me home and asked me where I would like to go.  The bus stop for the bus that went to the airport was the only option.  Nothing else came to mind.

I did have lunch there.  I had my 2005 Thanksgiving day meal in a psychiatric hospital – an experience I had no anticipation of ever having.  I anticipated I would get married one day.  I anticipated getting a job, owning a house, owning a lawnmower, and having children.  Life sort of goes that way.  I go to college, get a job, and come to the part of the story where I meet a girl and we get married.  But somehow, “Okay, we have come to the time in the show where we have our Thanksgiving day meal in the neighborhood psych ward.” did not appear anywhere in the script – at least the last time I read it.  I had had some pretty lonely Thanksgivings before and even some family drama ridden Thanksgivings before but this one had a certain je ne sais quoi feeling of hopelessness – a quality of desolation I had never experienced before.  In fact, I had no idea the feelings I was experiencing even existed.

And of course, on this day.  On this Thanksgiving day, 2005, I ate my meal without the thought of gratitude entering my mind.  It didn’t exist to enter my mind.  We probably said something as a group before we ate but it was lost on me.

I opened the suitcase my wife gave back to me.  My cloths and any other possessions were just mashed into the suit case almost as if she was trying to optimize the distress level of the mashing and mangling of cloths.  “This doesn’t look bad enough.  I know I can do better.”  The image of her pulling a shirt out and then putting a belt in and wrapping the shirt around the belt then stepping back to get an over all view as if she was hanging a picture on a wall came to mind.  “Hmmm, no, I think it would be better if we wadded up his dirty underwear around his toothbrush.  Yes, that looks much better.”  My reaction to what I saw in the suitcase was, “Yep that’s about right.”

Under supervision I changed into clean cloths and was escorted out of the psych ward and into a van.  I rode in the front seat with the guy for the half mile it took to get to the bus stop.  Once again, as I think about it, it amazes me just how close and convenient every thing was.  Everything was within the neighborhood.  It seems like that could have been maybe a selling point for housing location.  Great location for mental breakdowns, conveniently located to a hospital, psychiatric hospital and bus stop.   I got out of the van with well wishes from the driver, waited for the bus, and then was off to the airport three days earlier than planned.

My feet are now on the ground at this point.  I think I have made a couple of steps and of course the altitude gain is negligible

The nightmare is fully realized and coincides precisely with reality.

The psychiatric hospital.   The pod is accessed by double doors.  A short hallway from the double doors leads to a common area and the central nurse station.  On that hallway to the right is  a room and on the left is a door to somewhere.   Major events, well, sort of major events would happen in that room and behind that door.  From the common area and nurses station another hallway heads off in the opposing direction of the entrance hallway.  On the left side of that hallway are class rooms on the other side are rooms for the occupants of which I was one.

In the common area is, of course, a TV which, of course is on. . . all the time.   There are the things one would expect in this room things used to pass the time, the TV of course, a shelf with board games and jigsaw puzzles, institutional chairs and couches.  The predominant colors of the room are pastel orange, yellow, and avocado green.  In one of the walls there is a little cubby with a phone, a land line phone.  That morning, anytime someone was not using it, I was.  Once again, all to no avail.  I started giving up after lunch.

I think I actually remember wondering what she was telling the kids.  I think I was wondering just, “What was she doing?  Please just get me the fuck out of here” was mostly what was going through my head.  I still wasn’t quite accepting of my situation yet.

Like I said, I signed up for classes.   I am thinking they might have to do with anger management.  I would eventually learn that one does not manage anger.   In my case when anger was present it reigned supreme.  I had yet to learn this though and it wouldn’t happen here.  I think some of the classes dealt with the “12 steps.”  Most people seemed to go to the classes as something to do, something to pass the time.  Me I went to the classes because I wanted to show them that I wanted to learn – learn how to not be there.  Just a heads up here but there is no class or number of classes or any type of education or knowledge that could have ever prevented from doing what I did.

Being the introvert that I am I really didn’t interact with any of the other patients/inmates.   I don’t think anybody there was really having a good time.  I remember there were a number of people that were severely depressed.  The following is from the category, “I thought they stopped doing that in the 1930’s” These people were so depressed that they underwent Electoconvulsive shock therapy also known as EST or EcST.  Look it up.  It’s real.  They stick something in your mouth to prevent you from swallowing your tongue and then they shock the living shit out of you.  I am sure there is more to it but I will just leave it at that.  These people seemed very very flat to me.  Almost no animation and no emotion and talked in a monotone.  But what the hell they weren’t depressed.  One guy swore by it.  I think he may have been in there for his ninth time?   The guy said something to the effect of, “Fuck the 12 steps, EcST is the way to go.”  It actually made me think that it might be for me too.  That thought evaporated fairly quickly though.

The 12 steps were talked about a lot both in the classes and in general conversation.  This is where I learned the 12 steps were actually only six at first and they came from a group that called themselves the Oxford Group.  I didn’t believe a word that guy said.

So I spent all of Tuesday and all of Wednesday there taking the classes and thinking, “I just need to get the fuck out of here.”  By Wednesday morning the obsession with wanting to call my wife to get me out of here had passed.  I knew it wasn’t going to happen.  What had taken it’s place was resolve.   It was probably on Wednesday that I found out I would be talking to a psychiatrist on Thursday, Thanksgiving day 2005.  I also found out my wife would be coming to visit me Thursday as well.

Sitting in the Wreckage

I woke up.  I woke up wondering where I was and how I got here.  Same questions I had about 4 hours previously went through my head.  I had to fill myself in on the details – kind of like they do on TV when they have a double episode.  The salient scenes of the previous episode are shown to give the viewer a sense of where the story left off.  In my case the story left off at me in a psychiatric hospital.  I had to list out the events using my fingers like I was counting.  See if you can count along with me:

I stick out my thumb; “going to bed with the kids,”

Then index finger; “woke up,”

On to the middle finger;  “wife not at home,”

Ring finger;  “wife out drunk,”

Now the pinky; “I got pissed,”

Next hand stick out thumb; “threatened suicide,”

then the other index finger; “cops showed up,”

On to the middle finger; “took me to the hospital,”

And finally I stick out my ring finger; “ambulance ride to psychiatric hospital.”

The light in my head begins to dimly glow orangeish red.  “I am in a psychiatric hospital held against my will.  Hmmm, interesting.”   I felt the need to scream.  This can’t be.  Holy shit, this really is reality!  I am in a fucking psychiatric hospital!  Yeah, I’ll put an exclamation mark on that last one.

A brief google search was fruitless on the matter but judging from the 1937 video on youtube it took the Hindenburg maybe 45 seconds to go down.  In 45 seconds the ship goes from a buoyant sound structure to a heap of metal on the ground.  In a similar fashion and maybe just as spectacular so did my life.  That morning my life was a mangled skeletal smoking frame amidst burning puddles of diesel fuel.

Everything goes hazy here.  Bits and pieces come through but the exact details are not quite clear.  I made more attempts to call my wife from the phone in the common area – all to no avail.  In total I am guessing that I tried to call my wife maybe 125 times.  She answered twice.  Her only words, “I am protecting me and the kids.”

So, I probably had breakfast.  There were classes.  I really don’t remember what the classes were about but I signed up for most of them.  Just like in “One Flew Over the Coo Coos Nest”, I do remember a lady handing out meds at the center counter of the “Pod.”  Yes, I was in a Pod for severely mentally stressed people – the kind of people that you had no idea what they were going to do next.  You know the unpredictable ones.  I was one of the unpredictable ones.

I was considered crazy.