.
.
But I have been triangulating back toward the saddle. Putting my foot in and going up as far as I can as long as I can. Piecemeal, slow, and backwards sometimes, I have done what I can as I could. I finally purchased caffeine in an easily dispensing form. Coffee production had come to a halt due to production complications. Still not awake, always behind the 8-ball, but still trying. We will see if I can make today a bit more fruitful.
I am hoping the docs have something because there is little I can do. Pushing is nice, but there has to be some kind of break, some 'new weapon in the war', some change of strategy. While I am doing a thousand percent better here than in Iowa, in that I maintain awareness, so can set goals and keep many more of them, I am still fighting exhaustion beyond what most people can know. Sleep apnea sufferers can fully understand the sense of exhaustion, but I have been tested out of that. Imagine having sleep apnea symptoms for the last two decades, full blown, untreatable, hardcore. There you go. They so want it to be psychological. It gives the doctors an out.
Well, a call today to try and realign something that got missed last Monday. When my other appointment, the main one, was canceled, I lost track of the little one. Ugh... So be it. I will do what I can, at this point, to amend that. Perhaps a bit more cleanup in the house, another shower and then a soak bath? Attention to grooming. I might even get a haircut soon, schedule one. I need to get up again. We will see.
Alright, that is all the news from the war front. Just have to keep trying.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Oh yeah? Yeah!
.
.
Really really.
New page, next day, time rolls on, and perhaps more with me than not. I woke later than I had hoped, but within the timeframe needed, to get me to SLC in time for the first of several events there. As I am sitting there, just... sitting there but not going back to sleep, the phone makes a funny sound meaning someone is calling because that sure as hell is not a ring. One of my appointments for the day has been canceled. The other one is non-vital, a thing that can be done on any day, so I will reschedule it. I would rather not travel today if I do not have to. I am still in recovery mode. I will call them within the hour.
Not wishing to waste a lot of spent focus, I decide a shower and gum mushing episode would be providential, or something. The biggest word I could probably put together at the time I set forth on those operations, however, was probably more in the range of 'Good! It r good to wet!'. And, it was indeed good, might even have been providential. I might know what that word even means in... a while.
Still, even if I still partied like the party did not stop until yesterday, as if I was drinking like I was at age 30 or so, and is partying would earn me favor, fortune, and love, and feel like I just woke up from it, I think I know what the problem is and will be fixing it. Oh yes, I will be buying soda as soon as I can get out. Maybe today. If the snow has not hardened to rock, I will try to use the blower on it. If it has, I have new temporary concrete.
I dreamed an odd dream last night. A girl, young and foolish, decided to seduce her brother for fun, fashion, and as a lark. Of course, as many larks want, this one went wrong. She lost control and her brother could not be controlled. He would take her when he could, she could say nothing, she had opened the door. Now, her mother did not know who or what, but knew her daughter and was sure of one thing. She asked, as mothers do, ever so slight of questions. The door to the answers was slammed so tightly shut, no information was yielded no matter how passive or direct and powerful the questioning went... of course. So, she took the daughter on a trip into town. They went to a store where, she asked her daughter to look at a set of rings, promisary rings. When the daughter asked what these rings required as a promise, the mother took the daughter to a section of 'greeting cards', allowing her to pick them up and read them. Actually, not allowing but encouraging the reading.
The daughter picked up a card, and it read something along the lines of; 'Thank you for having decided to offer me life instead of the other choice you had, I am and will always be grateful for your choice and sacrifice...' and so on. Of course the daughter had thought of this potential. Of course it all was considered. But until that moment, it had no real context. The dream sort of ended there, or that is all I remember. That and a bit of horror on the part of the girl. Strange that I would have such a dream. Even given Jungian theory, if I have that right.
Oh, something else that has been on my mind... well, two things. First, the notion that one man, who spends his time lifting his mind, using it for all manner of learning and practice, might be considered great. And yet, not. Not only will he fall short, he may and probably will fall shorter than the man who simply lives. As great as our capacity for good is our capacity for evil. Even taking good and evil and simplifying it to wrong and right should suffice in this notion. The more man thinks, the more incorrect he becomes. Philosophical, logical, and linguistic function lead only to greater folly, for any man.
While I appreciate the art of these things, I would not wish to go that rout. I am, for the most part and given a choice (and when functioning) a man of function. Does it work? Can you repeat it? Is it worth spending the money to make it work and repeat? Deciphering the wisdom of ancient men and their works, while laudable in an academic (non-collegiate, non-university, academics that is), it is merely a toy for the wealthy who have the time and resources to devote to (quite often) nonsense. Aristotle? Tolstoy? Even my favored Americans (if at least one may have not preferred to have been called American) Twain and Poe? Fools, the lot. Follow, believe, understand, it is folly. Rich men, or men of leisure, with followers and someone who just happened to maintain what they wrote to some degree of accuracy or not. Men are fools.
Why, even Einstein and Freud have their devoted idiots in spite of being quite wrong. Freud has been debunked fully and clearly and yet the cult of psychology has no means of ferreting out the incorrect. They merely build a side study department for those who will not comply, a side study which is just as likely to be department chair or head up the whole of the pseudo science lead. Both provided theory which is taught to people who merely learn well, but who cannot see well enough to know what they are taught is incorrect or how, unless that too is taught, and that teaching itself is probably erroneous.
So, pick your heroes. Base it on whatever you wish. We all need heroes. But think about it. Is another mortal fool man going to be your hero? I went through that, tossing all save one. I look up and down at no man who abides my attentions. I will grant this one is a better fighter, that one can maintain a farm or ranch better than others, this one seems to touch on wisdom by choice, vocation, or avocation in excess of the others. But none are to be trusted or given undue grants of my sovereignty. I give nothing, save to one.
Just... clearing some baffles. Mr. Coffin, you may assume scheduled heading and speed at your leisure. Aye, aye, captain.
.
Really really.
New page, next day, time rolls on, and perhaps more with me than not. I woke later than I had hoped, but within the timeframe needed, to get me to SLC in time for the first of several events there. As I am sitting there, just... sitting there but not going back to sleep, the phone makes a funny sound meaning someone is calling because that sure as hell is not a ring. One of my appointments for the day has been canceled. The other one is non-vital, a thing that can be done on any day, so I will reschedule it. I would rather not travel today if I do not have to. I am still in recovery mode. I will call them within the hour.
Not wishing to waste a lot of spent focus, I decide a shower and gum mushing episode would be providential, or something. The biggest word I could probably put together at the time I set forth on those operations, however, was probably more in the range of 'Good! It r good to wet!'. And, it was indeed good, might even have been providential. I might know what that word even means in... a while.
Still, even if I still partied like the party did not stop until yesterday, as if I was drinking like I was at age 30 or so, and is partying would earn me favor, fortune, and love, and feel like I just woke up from it, I think I know what the problem is and will be fixing it. Oh yes, I will be buying soda as soon as I can get out. Maybe today. If the snow has not hardened to rock, I will try to use the blower on it. If it has, I have new temporary concrete.
I dreamed an odd dream last night. A girl, young and foolish, decided to seduce her brother for fun, fashion, and as a lark. Of course, as many larks want, this one went wrong. She lost control and her brother could not be controlled. He would take her when he could, she could say nothing, she had opened the door. Now, her mother did not know who or what, but knew her daughter and was sure of one thing. She asked, as mothers do, ever so slight of questions. The door to the answers was slammed so tightly shut, no information was yielded no matter how passive or direct and powerful the questioning went... of course. So, she took the daughter on a trip into town. They went to a store where, she asked her daughter to look at a set of rings, promisary rings. When the daughter asked what these rings required as a promise, the mother took the daughter to a section of 'greeting cards', allowing her to pick them up and read them. Actually, not allowing but encouraging the reading.
The daughter picked up a card, and it read something along the lines of; 'Thank you for having decided to offer me life instead of the other choice you had, I am and will always be grateful for your choice and sacrifice...' and so on. Of course the daughter had thought of this potential. Of course it all was considered. But until that moment, it had no real context. The dream sort of ended there, or that is all I remember. That and a bit of horror on the part of the girl. Strange that I would have such a dream. Even given Jungian theory, if I have that right.
Oh, something else that has been on my mind... well, two things. First, the notion that one man, who spends his time lifting his mind, using it for all manner of learning and practice, might be considered great. And yet, not. Not only will he fall short, he may and probably will fall shorter than the man who simply lives. As great as our capacity for good is our capacity for evil. Even taking good and evil and simplifying it to wrong and right should suffice in this notion. The more man thinks, the more incorrect he becomes. Philosophical, logical, and linguistic function lead only to greater folly, for any man.
While I appreciate the art of these things, I would not wish to go that rout. I am, for the most part and given a choice (and when functioning) a man of function. Does it work? Can you repeat it? Is it worth spending the money to make it work and repeat? Deciphering the wisdom of ancient men and their works, while laudable in an academic (non-collegiate, non-university, academics that is), it is merely a toy for the wealthy who have the time and resources to devote to (quite often) nonsense. Aristotle? Tolstoy? Even my favored Americans (if at least one may have not preferred to have been called American) Twain and Poe? Fools, the lot. Follow, believe, understand, it is folly. Rich men, or men of leisure, with followers and someone who just happened to maintain what they wrote to some degree of accuracy or not. Men are fools.
Why, even Einstein and Freud have their devoted idiots in spite of being quite wrong. Freud has been debunked fully and clearly and yet the cult of psychology has no means of ferreting out the incorrect. They merely build a side study department for those who will not comply, a side study which is just as likely to be department chair or head up the whole of the pseudo science lead. Both provided theory which is taught to people who merely learn well, but who cannot see well enough to know what they are taught is incorrect or how, unless that too is taught, and that teaching itself is probably erroneous.
So, pick your heroes. Base it on whatever you wish. We all need heroes. But think about it. Is another mortal fool man going to be your hero? I went through that, tossing all save one. I look up and down at no man who abides my attentions. I will grant this one is a better fighter, that one can maintain a farm or ranch better than others, this one seems to touch on wisdom by choice, vocation, or avocation in excess of the others. But none are to be trusted or given undue grants of my sovereignty. I give nothing, save to one.
Just... clearing some baffles. Mr. Coffin, you may assume scheduled heading and speed at your leisure. Aye, aye, captain.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Some things come to mind...
.
.
On days like this. I was actually starting to pick up and do well. Days were my domain, exercising was beginning, cooking was beginning, the kitchen and house were beginning to be maintained, and at worst I had an occasional hiccup. The last few days prove effort has nothing to do with it. Sleep and wake cycles have been completely tossed in the air. I have been completely unable to control when I go to bed or wake up, snapping awake at random times, unable to fall back to sleep, and my efforts have been true, solid, and pathetically ineffective. All I get for my efforts is deeper exhaustion and this wonderful mini-migraine that might be about to mature. Ah, well, what else was happening? I cannot say I am bored. Much like being at sea in a heavy storm, it has moments which are at least... breathtaking.
Still, there are things I would like to get to doing. It is much more difficult when the battering from the loss of control leaves me unable to focus, makes work many times more difficult than it should be, and complicates the simple idea of maintaining the focus to pick up my butt from here and put it over there. I have to take something for this headache today. I have been ignoring them, for the most part. They started, perhaps, a week ago. They have been intensifying. Though not quite nauseating, they are brutal.
The good news? Besides Jesus Christ? (just covering the bases) That would be that even if life is a little confusing, memory is good, clarity of notions is good, etc. I may lose focus, but I remember losing focus. And, yes, memory is that important and more. It does not matter what else you do if you remember nothing. You cannot set goals, you cannot push, you cannot change directions.
Some Tylenol down the gullet, a cup of coffee being introduced, and I will see about today. The only thing I changed was my consumption of (Splenda based) diet Coke. I do consume coffee, perhaps not as much. But then I thought coffee had more caffeine? I may, simply, have to go back, then ease away from the junk. Perhaps that is all there is to it?
Anyway, I might be all junked up, but I still think about you all. Your little mouse lives, walk through the stars, or whatever you want to term your life here is of interest to me. Must be cool, if sometimes sad, to be God. If he knows the bad in all of us, he also knows the good. The stuff no one else knows. I think if there was too little of that, if not by flood, He would again destroy man. He really would. So, be good for goodness sake? Yep. :) Later.
.
On days like this. I was actually starting to pick up and do well. Days were my domain, exercising was beginning, cooking was beginning, the kitchen and house were beginning to be maintained, and at worst I had an occasional hiccup. The last few days prove effort has nothing to do with it. Sleep and wake cycles have been completely tossed in the air. I have been completely unable to control when I go to bed or wake up, snapping awake at random times, unable to fall back to sleep, and my efforts have been true, solid, and pathetically ineffective. All I get for my efforts is deeper exhaustion and this wonderful mini-migraine that might be about to mature. Ah, well, what else was happening? I cannot say I am bored. Much like being at sea in a heavy storm, it has moments which are at least... breathtaking.
Still, there are things I would like to get to doing. It is much more difficult when the battering from the loss of control leaves me unable to focus, makes work many times more difficult than it should be, and complicates the simple idea of maintaining the focus to pick up my butt from here and put it over there. I have to take something for this headache today. I have been ignoring them, for the most part. They started, perhaps, a week ago. They have been intensifying. Though not quite nauseating, they are brutal.
The good news? Besides Jesus Christ? (just covering the bases) That would be that even if life is a little confusing, memory is good, clarity of notions is good, etc. I may lose focus, but I remember losing focus. And, yes, memory is that important and more. It does not matter what else you do if you remember nothing. You cannot set goals, you cannot push, you cannot change directions.
Some Tylenol down the gullet, a cup of coffee being introduced, and I will see about today. The only thing I changed was my consumption of (Splenda based) diet Coke. I do consume coffee, perhaps not as much. But then I thought coffee had more caffeine? I may, simply, have to go back, then ease away from the junk. Perhaps that is all there is to it?
Anyway, I might be all junked up, but I still think about you all. Your little mouse lives, walk through the stars, or whatever you want to term your life here is of interest to me. Must be cool, if sometimes sad, to be God. If he knows the bad in all of us, he also knows the good. The stuff no one else knows. I think if there was too little of that, if not by flood, He would again destroy man. He really would. So, be good for goodness sake? Yep. :) Later.
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