The furnace is working, for what it is worth.
.
.
I did the homework for today, forgoing sleep and a warm bed (I layer, so even in the very cold, I sleep warm and can kick a foot, arm, or most of my body out to cool if (when, and often) necessary). I did most of the work, but could barely rise after taking a bit of a sleep session. Taking the quiz was not good, I was slow from lack of sleep and exposure (cold does that). Then, I found out homework was not due until Monday! Argggghhhhhhhh! Oh well, I have most of it completed. And, when I came back, the cave was warm. The furnace has been fixed? restarted? who knows. If I can keep it together a few more weeks, I will be done. I was not even able to wake up early enough to make it to physics though, so I did not make it to office hours. I worry about that, a lot.
I must be honest, one of the reasons I want to live as inexpensively as possible (if I am starting a few hobbies and collecting a few guns and magazines and such), is to save up enough for my funeral. I know I will not live long. My high blood pressure and diabetes are oddities, not well controlled by medicine, but abandoning medicine all together will only aggravate that. My hope is to have 10K saved in a year or less just for that purpose. Though I think the V.A. could pay for my funeral (cremation if possible), the way they have been acting, I think they would just say my death is not disability related and refuse to pay. I cannot depend on them and so I will not. I might have 5 years or more, but I am looking at a more practical 1 to 3 year lifespan remaining to me. I will enjoy it as I may though, if I definitely want some money saved for that eventuality.
Often, I feel like I am staving off death. The scene from “Blade Runner”, where the anti-hero puts a square nail through his hand to stave off necrosis in his hand, and his death really, is what life so often feels like for me. School has helped me do that, acting as a square nail if through my mind, but it has become too painful to continue. Fighting this level of exhaustion while trying to run the gauntlet has become a living nightmare, never mind the normal doubts and troubles from this type of work. Just getting out of bed the last week has become a huge chore, again. Staying awake more than a few hours at a time is even a chore more and more frequently. Computer games can help with this, when I am finished with school. They extend my hours awake, if my functional real life abilities decrease from that. The games allow me to stay up 12 hours at a time, or more sometimes, but the rest of my life falls into decay, to put it more simply. With the games, I never actually need to go anywhere or do anything physical other than stay awake and consume something occasionally. I can grind levels or quests with minimal effort, even doing the easier quests or leveling when concentration and such decrease even further. The problem with them is that they are addictive.
Like I said though, two more weeks and I can take a breather and by then I will know whether I need to begin packing fast and heavy or whether I will have to wait for my lease to be completed in August before moving. I am dying, quick or slow, but much quicker than most. I have to hope “sooner” for anything I wish to do. Other than missing school in ways, I do not regret leaving. And, to be honest, I do not regret heading to death. I feel like I have been alive for centuries, millennia even. I feel so very old, so brittle, so battered, bruised, wounded, and heartbroken, that no pain of death of the sort I face, even 2 or 3 days of thirst, will make me reconsider. It is nearing time, if God wills it. Then again, maybe I will just suffer another agonizing age of decades before I go. Who really knows? I pray for neither, actually, though. Then again, God built this corpse to last, if I am weak within it. My feelings and sensations have little to do with the veracity of this body. A curse or a blessing only He knows. I only pray that I may live with and in grace, and die the same, in God’s time. A little rest will be nice, in any case, when school comes to an end. Perhaps I will be able to rise for church a bit more often. God’s house is always a comfort for these old dry bones, tired withered weakened heart, suspicious unsure mind, and spent soul.
But, not to worry. On the way home, I grabbed a few beers. I will goof the rest of this day, sip some Bud, and ponder nothing else. Even when all seems dark, it is not. Even at the end of a road, there are others ways to go. And even in the shadow, one can find a stone upon which to strike a match and enjoy a cigar or pipe. Who can fault that? *laughs*
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Two more weeks…
.
.
Exhaustion plagues me, a furnace which works randomly though which seems to have finally quit adds to my troubles, and finals fast upon me add together to my being addled. At least I am neither agitated nor as bad as I have been. I can still work, and hard, if only at times and not at just any time that I can do at my best. I spoke with my professor today, about most of the subjects I had pondered. I will need to do a little extra work but I think I will be able to pass, depending on the final, and there were a few other things answered. There is still something I forgot to ask. If I can wake early enough (it has been nigh onto impossible of late, literally, and made worse on the days the furnace does not work), I might be able to make it into office hours.
Beside considering photography, I have been thinking about another hobby and a means of staying in the math and science arena a bit. The Chinese and Japanese (and Koreans, well, many or even most Asians) have a form of painting in which they paint words. I had thought about this before, and even purchased some things to work with it. But then school picked up or I fell down and I never went further with it. I walked into an arts store yesterday and spoke with a shop keep who actually does more than work there. He not only knew what I was talking about, he has been to China, and he has looked at and into this type of art! He was quite gay, but once I gave specific cues that I was not, I was able to work with him well enough. Beyond, when I described using such techniques combined with mathematical and scientific formulas instead, not only did this sound interesting to him, he sort of lead me to another consideration. The medium and ink or watercolor used are typically two types of paper, plus ink(s), and watercolors. However, he began discussing acrylics. He talked about how they could be used to create spatially deep or overlapping images. What came to my mind, immediately, was, rather than one formula overlaying another formula(s) or frills and trills (scroll type work seen in monk hand written copy work, for example) over or under the formula(s) which he suggested, was much more exciting if that was interesting as well. I considered the possibility of overlapping geometric shapes and the formulas that define them, their volume, or such. Painting so that the formula(s) peek through the geometric form, or vise versa. I see a great deal of potential for such things. Probabilities and statistics could cover a natural setting, with the numbers of presented flora and fauna barely visible over the actual artwork (or under it, I would have to tinker with that all a bit before I am more sure). And, even with photography, if I develop myself, some things could be added there too, I am almost sure of it. What is more, I could pick up a basic Asian “lettering” art set for well under $100, and very possibly well under $50, only adding other specialized supplies if or when I get to a need.
No, life is not over. Not by a long shot. I am tired. I am ending my collegiate career and setting aside hopes for an actual career. I am depressed, or more deeply saddened, by those facts. But I am not going to roll over into a hole or die. As long as I can sleep when I can do nothing else and then I can do some of the things which interest me when sleep is not commanding, I should be just fine. I realize that quitting medicines will have some impact but then they have not, after 7 to 10, 11, or 12 years (now?), been able to control my blood pressure (or diabetes) not even discussing my major and underlying health issue, what hope do you think I really have for modern medicine? I am sure it works for some but I am pretty sure there are some it has no means of healing or helping except for very minor or explicit things such as broken bones or revivification (that last if it is God’s will, I think even the atheists know they have little to do with that, or any healing, really).
I have started to wonder about myself a great deal lately, medically. I am not sure but that my diabetes has little to do with alcohol or sugar, but everything to do with how much is eaten, what is eaten, and other factors that are not known to me thus far. The other day, after drinking 3 shots of scotch (trying to sort out which Balvenie I prefer, 12 or 21 double casks or 15 single cask), and eating a large pasta meal (twice actually, if I make it, I try to eat it consecutively until it is gone (if I like it and I did, thank you for asking!)). The next day my blood sugar jumped to 335 or 350 (somewhere in there, from a previous 125 a week earlier). It just so happens my nurse was visiting, and she read me the numbers, the score, and a bit of the riot act (I am honest, and I thought it might have been the snifters of scotch and told her, and I do like her and allow her to make such a fuss which she rarely does). The next day my number dropped to 125. So, I was curious (and thirsty, plus I need to reduce stock for my move, you must know that?). I chilled a bottle of port, one I enjoy greatly. (If port is not supposed to be chilled for purisms sake, I do not care. I bought it, I like it like I like it, and that is that.) After the chilling, I commenced to a tasting. I could not be sure, so I tasted it gone (and I am still not sure, I will have to order some more). Now, port is not just rather strongly alcoholic (compared to beer or such), it is also sweet (sugary of sorts, though I think just naturally, not added sugar) and rich. A bottle of that is like drinking, I do not know, perhaps six or seven cosmopolitans or something (cannot be sure, have not tasted one of those… girl drinks I think?). Anyway, I tested my blood sugar that very next morning… 122.
I think breeds just do not fit the standardized testing and medical trials. I think diabetes, for me, is based on the feast or famine existence some of my ancestors lived. When feasted, inactivity (caused by high blood sugars) would ensure lethargy and leisurely living. Low blood sugars would ensure the hunting urge, and hone the nature to such ends, causing acuity, strength, and other natural talents to peak. And the problems of such a lifestyle lead to an incapacity for “civil living”, which in the end, destroyed their (our) culture. I also wonder if some seasonal affects, based on genetics, do not occur. How many winters with no heat, or even actually buildings which could heat well, before a gene develops to induce greater sleeping periods? As well, those particular ancestors did not live long. The average was more like 19. A 40 year old to them would be like an octogenarian (or more) was a few years ago (less so now). Find out just how old the Lakota chiefs Custer ran into were, no really, go look. Whatever the case, I believe I collected an odd mix of genes. These genes are neither European nor Indian. They are not even strongly favored in one region of either of those, I come from four nations. In other words, I am probably a genetic mess. I will fit no model for health science. Some of what they seek to fix is merely what I am, some of what they seek to change is just the way it is. Oh, the sugar thing is part of the reason, I think, there is such a high incidence of alcoholism on reservations. I do not think I got all of that gene, in that I have not fallen into that trap at all, though I must have gotten some of it in that I can drink massive amounts, and did in my younger partying days.
Nothing, it seems, is what it seems. Being a breed means I am not only a breed apart, it means I am a breed alone. And, no, dear children, being dysfunctional different does not make me “special”, just broken. Then again, I would not change it. I think because of some of these things, and what they have lead me to, added to the fact that I am attended (far beyond my desserts, if I have come to accept that too), I do enjoy my life and will try to enjoy the next breath and the one that follows, ad nauseum, until the breath no longer flows and the spirit which allowed it to do so is rendered to it’s real owner, maker, and master, if then only until he appoints the time for breath to be once again returned to me, perfected. I will take what is behind whichever door even if it is nothing more than one more breath, Bob. Some say, “Is this as good as it gets?”. I say, if it is, it is not all that bad. And, it will be perfected, if we allow it to be.
I am fried, I think I will take another nap to try to be fresh for homework. Goodnight, for a while. Oh, my landlord got back to me right away. While I was writing this. He will try to get someone in. You have to appreciate a truly honorable landlord. In spite of my paranoia and occasional mean spirit, even when justified, he will be missed (as will this place, except for the neighbor(s) thing). Then again, one of the tests for any place I finally end up is that such men are not rarities, like here, so that finding such a landlord will not be a surprise... Though, no matter, he has been exceptional. He will be missed, personally.
.
Exhaustion plagues me, a furnace which works randomly though which seems to have finally quit adds to my troubles, and finals fast upon me add together to my being addled. At least I am neither agitated nor as bad as I have been. I can still work, and hard, if only at times and not at just any time that I can do at my best. I spoke with my professor today, about most of the subjects I had pondered. I will need to do a little extra work but I think I will be able to pass, depending on the final, and there were a few other things answered. There is still something I forgot to ask. If I can wake early enough (it has been nigh onto impossible of late, literally, and made worse on the days the furnace does not work), I might be able to make it into office hours.
Beside considering photography, I have been thinking about another hobby and a means of staying in the math and science arena a bit. The Chinese and Japanese (and Koreans, well, many or even most Asians) have a form of painting in which they paint words. I had thought about this before, and even purchased some things to work with it. But then school picked up or I fell down and I never went further with it. I walked into an arts store yesterday and spoke with a shop keep who actually does more than work there. He not only knew what I was talking about, he has been to China, and he has looked at and into this type of art! He was quite gay, but once I gave specific cues that I was not, I was able to work with him well enough. Beyond, when I described using such techniques combined with mathematical and scientific formulas instead, not only did this sound interesting to him, he sort of lead me to another consideration. The medium and ink or watercolor used are typically two types of paper, plus ink(s), and watercolors. However, he began discussing acrylics. He talked about how they could be used to create spatially deep or overlapping images. What came to my mind, immediately, was, rather than one formula overlaying another formula(s) or frills and trills (scroll type work seen in monk hand written copy work, for example) over or under the formula(s) which he suggested, was much more exciting if that was interesting as well. I considered the possibility of overlapping geometric shapes and the formulas that define them, their volume, or such. Painting so that the formula(s) peek through the geometric form, or vise versa. I see a great deal of potential for such things. Probabilities and statistics could cover a natural setting, with the numbers of presented flora and fauna barely visible over the actual artwork (or under it, I would have to tinker with that all a bit before I am more sure). And, even with photography, if I develop myself, some things could be added there too, I am almost sure of it. What is more, I could pick up a basic Asian “lettering” art set for well under $100, and very possibly well under $50, only adding other specialized supplies if or when I get to a need.
No, life is not over. Not by a long shot. I am tired. I am ending my collegiate career and setting aside hopes for an actual career. I am depressed, or more deeply saddened, by those facts. But I am not going to roll over into a hole or die. As long as I can sleep when I can do nothing else and then I can do some of the things which interest me when sleep is not commanding, I should be just fine. I realize that quitting medicines will have some impact but then they have not, after 7 to 10, 11, or 12 years (now?), been able to control my blood pressure (or diabetes) not even discussing my major and underlying health issue, what hope do you think I really have for modern medicine? I am sure it works for some but I am pretty sure there are some it has no means of healing or helping except for very minor or explicit things such as broken bones or revivification (that last if it is God’s will, I think even the atheists know they have little to do with that, or any healing, really).
I have started to wonder about myself a great deal lately, medically. I am not sure but that my diabetes has little to do with alcohol or sugar, but everything to do with how much is eaten, what is eaten, and other factors that are not known to me thus far. The other day, after drinking 3 shots of scotch (trying to sort out which Balvenie I prefer, 12 or 21 double casks or 15 single cask), and eating a large pasta meal (twice actually, if I make it, I try to eat it consecutively until it is gone (if I like it and I did, thank you for asking!)). The next day my blood sugar jumped to 335 or 350 (somewhere in there, from a previous 125 a week earlier). It just so happens my nurse was visiting, and she read me the numbers, the score, and a bit of the riot act (I am honest, and I thought it might have been the snifters of scotch and told her, and I do like her and allow her to make such a fuss which she rarely does). The next day my number dropped to 125. So, I was curious (and thirsty, plus I need to reduce stock for my move, you must know that?). I chilled a bottle of port, one I enjoy greatly. (If port is not supposed to be chilled for purisms sake, I do not care. I bought it, I like it like I like it, and that is that.) After the chilling, I commenced to a tasting. I could not be sure, so I tasted it gone (and I am still not sure, I will have to order some more). Now, port is not just rather strongly alcoholic (compared to beer or such), it is also sweet (sugary of sorts, though I think just naturally, not added sugar) and rich. A bottle of that is like drinking, I do not know, perhaps six or seven cosmopolitans or something (cannot be sure, have not tasted one of those… girl drinks I think?). Anyway, I tested my blood sugar that very next morning… 122.
I think breeds just do not fit the standardized testing and medical trials. I think diabetes, for me, is based on the feast or famine existence some of my ancestors lived. When feasted, inactivity (caused by high blood sugars) would ensure lethargy and leisurely living. Low blood sugars would ensure the hunting urge, and hone the nature to such ends, causing acuity, strength, and other natural talents to peak. And the problems of such a lifestyle lead to an incapacity for “civil living”, which in the end, destroyed their (our) culture. I also wonder if some seasonal affects, based on genetics, do not occur. How many winters with no heat, or even actually buildings which could heat well, before a gene develops to induce greater sleeping periods? As well, those particular ancestors did not live long. The average was more like 19. A 40 year old to them would be like an octogenarian (or more) was a few years ago (less so now). Find out just how old the Lakota chiefs Custer ran into were, no really, go look. Whatever the case, I believe I collected an odd mix of genes. These genes are neither European nor Indian. They are not even strongly favored in one region of either of those, I come from four nations. In other words, I am probably a genetic mess. I will fit no model for health science. Some of what they seek to fix is merely what I am, some of what they seek to change is just the way it is. Oh, the sugar thing is part of the reason, I think, there is such a high incidence of alcoholism on reservations. I do not think I got all of that gene, in that I have not fallen into that trap at all, though I must have gotten some of it in that I can drink massive amounts, and did in my younger partying days.
Nothing, it seems, is what it seems. Being a breed means I am not only a breed apart, it means I am a breed alone. And, no, dear children, being dysfunctional different does not make me “special”, just broken. Then again, I would not change it. I think because of some of these things, and what they have lead me to, added to the fact that I am attended (far beyond my desserts, if I have come to accept that too), I do enjoy my life and will try to enjoy the next breath and the one that follows, ad nauseum, until the breath no longer flows and the spirit which allowed it to do so is rendered to it’s real owner, maker, and master, if then only until he appoints the time for breath to be once again returned to me, perfected. I will take what is behind whichever door even if it is nothing more than one more breath, Bob. Some say, “Is this as good as it gets?”. I say, if it is, it is not all that bad. And, it will be perfected, if we allow it to be.
I am fried, I think I will take another nap to try to be fresh for homework. Goodnight, for a while. Oh, my landlord got back to me right away. While I was writing this. He will try to get someone in. You have to appreciate a truly honorable landlord. In spite of my paranoia and occasional mean spirit, even when justified, he will be missed (as will this place, except for the neighbor(s) thing). Then again, one of the tests for any place I finally end up is that such men are not rarities, like here, so that finding such a landlord will not be a surprise... Though, no matter, he has been exceptional. He will be missed, personally.
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