.
.
Oh, I like what it is doing, over time. But getting on it and staying on it is a trick I haven't mastered. It looks like I missed a day and a half, which is why I was feeling a bit better. Not great, but I was coming out of the fog a bit. I got back on them yesterday and I'm back to troubling times. I know it gets better, but the time to get on them is rough.
I didn't get to bed until about 1:00 or 2:00. I did make it to town, bought meats, milk, and cream. Forgot butter. Oh well. I did see ribeye at $7 a pound, so bought several. I did make it to the local Christmas meal and enjoyed some of the show after, but had to leave. I am a bit twitchy in a crowd, but I myself have gotten used to it. It doesn't always bug me, unless I am really tired. But I think it does make other people nervous. So... I try not to be a bother. Now, when I get used to larger venues I can learn to settle a bit more, but that takes both practice and familiarity. When I was going to college I eventually settled down. Some of my classes had 500 people in them, if usually only half ever showed up. My smallest classes had 15 to 30 people, but that's still a large number for someone who has been singular for a long time. I am definitely out of practice.
The trip last night became quite dangerous. The road into town was just fine. However in town it looks as if they got freezing rain. I slowed way down and put the X'ter in 4-high. Then I saw the salt truck pass. I went ahead and did my shopping, but very carefully. I passed a pretty rough looking accident. A lot of vehicle damage, but no one looked hurt. I saw a woman driver, and the way things were set, it looks like she was at fault. Cynical about some things as I am, I passed on clucking. With roads like those, there are no good drivers. Good thing, to, I think. After shopping, I had to come back the way of the accident. As I came over the little bridge, with 4-high engaged, even at a very low speed, I lost traction and slid. If there had been an oncoming car or even if I had been going five miles an hour faster, I would have had an accident. The salt truck must not have come this way or it didn't work. White knuckle driving indeed. As I was leaving town I was just praying that what had hit down hadn't gone on to cover the road home. To my great relief it hadn't. I didn't see anything coming in to town, but then that doesn't always mean much if the humidity is light or... given time in the store that it might not have hit.
I woke late today. But it was so cold last night, the first serious hard cold I can remember. Or at least I think the hardest chill this year. To the bone. I did wake early, but couldn't quite make it out. Restarting meds again again might be part of it to. Gosh I hate medicines. I love what they are doing, and will keep trying, but... Yeah. Later.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Not bad, just strange.
.
.
I did get out! Woot! On the way I thought to stop for milk and cream. I am out. I realized I did not have what it would take to do that. Want meet "no". It was a will thing. The way is there, I just can't use it. Tired of mind to the point that getting to town was a push. As such, I couldn't get down enough from the "excitement" to get to bed until about 2:00. I was up at 7:00, a little before actually, anyway. Whatever. I am taking my meds and doing some other things regularly, little things. It's what I can do. I have a community meal to attend tonight. And maybe tomorrow or the following day I would like to go in to town to hit the stores.
A side note... What is annoying is having been brushing teeth for a lifetime, and gotten used to the gag reflex, mitigated it... but when so completely and utterly exhausted, I lose that sometimes. *gakh* That's not right! Funny, but not right. I was thinking, that must be what cats go through right before producing their three ounce bouncing baby furball. *gakh* Probably serves me right. For all those times in second through twelfth when I could fake a gagging sound that would get a bunch of sympathy from girls in my nahe. Only they weren't joking. *splat, splat, splat spat splat* Wee! Teachers really, truly, hated me sometimes. Good thing I moved often. *gakh!!!*
I had the oddest dream. I was working in some sh... third world poverty center. My mission wasn't important to the dream, only some things about the man I had to work with. He was an honest small-time crook. He couldn't be trusted, or paid, except when what he offered was solid, and after it proved out. The only reason he was being trusted was that the general effort was something that he supported, as much with his life as that type can be trusted to support as such. I really don't like liking those guys.
He lived in, and did his side business, from a tattered restaurant. His wife and younger children stayed in the living portion, having nothing to do with the eatery or shady business. He had four sons, two were old enough to begin earning money. School was survival, failure a serious easy option, regardless of guilt or innocence. It's a mean life there. We spoke, often, to pass time between events, meetings, and other business at hand.
We discussed his sons. One, the eldest, had definitely chosen to follow in his father's footsteps. He was being groomed to take over but that was still a long time off. His path, however, was set. The next eldest son was dithering. He didn't fancy doing the hard work of a low level godfather. The choices, the dirty, the mean, the nasty. It's not a job for the timid. The father was... for all his faults... a loving father. He was looking for something for his son, something else. I asked about college, an education. Hey, I was young then. Still believed in some things, if those things have decidedly gone down hill since even then.
The father just laughed at me. Seeming inarticulate, uncouth, ignorant, was just a cover. The man was well aware of the world in which he lived, the truths of the world, and even touched wisdom from time to time. He flat out told me he would not support that. Intelligentsia, he told me, had gone off the rails of seeking the truth and into some sort of codified lying about what is researches, how it tests, and what it is allowed to write. If he wanted to send his son into the world of make-believe, he would send him into the theater, which he wouldn't do to save his life. So... the academy was out. Maybe the military, or an apprenticeship. Plumbers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, they do honest work for an honest if modest living.
I asked about his daughters? Marriage. In a hard land, they have no place in hard business. They simply become commodities for bosses, business in general to cut wages, and as birth control should they choose employment. He wanted grandkids and wouldn't truck otherwise. Other than that, he left them to the care and instruction of his wife, put food in their belly, a roof over their head, bought them birthday presents, and otherwise left them alone. He suggested he was a better father for it, in his country, than most.
The man impressed me. I said I don't like liking these sorts. But some of them? Better than others. This one was doing what he could to improve his and his family's lot. He lived with a mean government and nasty people, in a dirty nation barely with indoor running water and some electricity. He was honest to his family, straight with "business", dirty as that was, and had a reasonable local and even international... reputation. Simply, he was a better man than I. Things like that learn you.
There was more to the dream, his dirty little deals, his willingness to threaten and do physical harm but a reluctance to step over 'that' line save for life or limb, and a few other odds and ends of good, bad, ugly, and just strange. Odd dream, but... more like memories. Who? Where? When? Or... just a dream of a man in the middle of a social and economic perpetual hurricane? Dunno. But I do remember the lessons. And I still don't like liking such men, or more the reality such men are faced with.
Later.
.
I did get out! Woot! On the way I thought to stop for milk and cream. I am out. I realized I did not have what it would take to do that. Want meet "no". It was a will thing. The way is there, I just can't use it. Tired of mind to the point that getting to town was a push. As such, I couldn't get down enough from the "excitement" to get to bed until about 2:00. I was up at 7:00, a little before actually, anyway. Whatever. I am taking my meds and doing some other things regularly, little things. It's what I can do. I have a community meal to attend tonight. And maybe tomorrow or the following day I would like to go in to town to hit the stores.
A side note... What is annoying is having been brushing teeth for a lifetime, and gotten used to the gag reflex, mitigated it... but when so completely and utterly exhausted, I lose that sometimes. *gakh* That's not right! Funny, but not right. I was thinking, that must be what cats go through right before producing their three ounce bouncing baby furball. *gakh* Probably serves me right. For all those times in second through twelfth when I could fake a gagging sound that would get a bunch of sympathy from girls in my nahe. Only they weren't joking. *splat, splat, splat spat splat* Wee! Teachers really, truly, hated me sometimes. Good thing I moved often. *gakh!!!*
I had the oddest dream. I was working in some sh... third world poverty center. My mission wasn't important to the dream, only some things about the man I had to work with. He was an honest small-time crook. He couldn't be trusted, or paid, except when what he offered was solid, and after it proved out. The only reason he was being trusted was that the general effort was something that he supported, as much with his life as that type can be trusted to support as such. I really don't like liking those guys.
He lived in, and did his side business, from a tattered restaurant. His wife and younger children stayed in the living portion, having nothing to do with the eatery or shady business. He had four sons, two were old enough to begin earning money. School was survival, failure a serious easy option, regardless of guilt or innocence. It's a mean life there. We spoke, often, to pass time between events, meetings, and other business at hand.
We discussed his sons. One, the eldest, had definitely chosen to follow in his father's footsteps. He was being groomed to take over but that was still a long time off. His path, however, was set. The next eldest son was dithering. He didn't fancy doing the hard work of a low level godfather. The choices, the dirty, the mean, the nasty. It's not a job for the timid. The father was... for all his faults... a loving father. He was looking for something for his son, something else. I asked about college, an education. Hey, I was young then. Still believed in some things, if those things have decidedly gone down hill since even then.
The father just laughed at me. Seeming inarticulate, uncouth, ignorant, was just a cover. The man was well aware of the world in which he lived, the truths of the world, and even touched wisdom from time to time. He flat out told me he would not support that. Intelligentsia, he told me, had gone off the rails of seeking the truth and into some sort of codified lying about what is researches, how it tests, and what it is allowed to write. If he wanted to send his son into the world of make-believe, he would send him into the theater, which he wouldn't do to save his life. So... the academy was out. Maybe the military, or an apprenticeship. Plumbers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, they do honest work for an honest if modest living.
I asked about his daughters? Marriage. In a hard land, they have no place in hard business. They simply become commodities for bosses, business in general to cut wages, and as birth control should they choose employment. He wanted grandkids and wouldn't truck otherwise. Other than that, he left them to the care and instruction of his wife, put food in their belly, a roof over their head, bought them birthday presents, and otherwise left them alone. He suggested he was a better father for it, in his country, than most.
The man impressed me. I said I don't like liking these sorts. But some of them? Better than others. This one was doing what he could to improve his and his family's lot. He lived with a mean government and nasty people, in a dirty nation barely with indoor running water and some electricity. He was honest to his family, straight with "business", dirty as that was, and had a reasonable local and even international... reputation. Simply, he was a better man than I. Things like that learn you.
There was more to the dream, his dirty little deals, his willingness to threaten and do physical harm but a reluctance to step over 'that' line save for life or limb, and a few other odds and ends of good, bad, ugly, and just strange. Odd dream, but... more like memories. Who? Where? When? Or... just a dream of a man in the middle of a social and economic perpetual hurricane? Dunno. But I do remember the lessons. And I still don't like liking such men, or more the reality such men are faced with.
Later.
Monday, December 2, 2013
So very odd.
.
.
I'm back to a regular sleep cycle, but an odd one. In spite of being tired, sort of wiped out, and "floaty"(tm), I am actually only sleeping about six hours a night. Further, as distracted as I am, I can still do some things quite normally. If you viewed, from the outside, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Inside, it's like there is a lot of pressure pressing down on me. That could be high blood pressure, or something. It does feel physical but I can't quite figure it out.
Other than what has been coming in I haven't been eating. While I got dinner tonight, I think I might go to town and grab a quick easy bite. Maybe the drive and night air will do me good. Certainly doing something unusual is a good thing. Mazzy Star is haunting my thoughts, when listening to her or not. The girl is good, I'll give her that. While it almost seems accidental, it's more practiced than I would want to imagine. Accidents, in music, are messy, such as most jazz, and not to my taste. Baroque is as close to accidental and incidental as my notions can allow.
Hmm, yeah, got the haiku out then up. I'm glad I can put them out like that or I would have missed. If I do nothing else, there is that. It seems such a small thing, but it's not. It's a link, for me, to the world, and other people. I rarely like my poems. I'm not even sure how I can write them, being as... expressive as I am. I don't do... twitter... is it... because of the brevity required. Sure, I could, I suppose, but I won't. So... haiku doesn't make sense for me. At all. Still, I do it, and weekly if it's there and if the contest happens.
Yeah... Hungry again. Later. No, make that good night.
.
I'm back to a regular sleep cycle, but an odd one. In spite of being tired, sort of wiped out, and "floaty"(tm), I am actually only sleeping about six hours a night. Further, as distracted as I am, I can still do some things quite normally. If you viewed, from the outside, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Inside, it's like there is a lot of pressure pressing down on me. That could be high blood pressure, or something. It does feel physical but I can't quite figure it out.
Other than what has been coming in I haven't been eating. While I got dinner tonight, I think I might go to town and grab a quick easy bite. Maybe the drive and night air will do me good. Certainly doing something unusual is a good thing. Mazzy Star is haunting my thoughts, when listening to her or not. The girl is good, I'll give her that. While it almost seems accidental, it's more practiced than I would want to imagine. Accidents, in music, are messy, such as most jazz, and not to my taste. Baroque is as close to accidental and incidental as my notions can allow.
Hmm, yeah, got the haiku out then up. I'm glad I can put them out like that or I would have missed. If I do nothing else, there is that. It seems such a small thing, but it's not. It's a link, for me, to the world, and other people. I rarely like my poems. I'm not even sure how I can write them, being as... expressive as I am. I don't do... twitter... is it... because of the brevity required. Sure, I could, I suppose, but I won't. So... haiku doesn't make sense for me. At all. Still, I do it, and weekly if it's there and if the contest happens.
Yeah... Hungry again. Later. No, make that good night.
Stoned?
.
.
When talking with the people at the heart clinic, I indicated that I feel a little stoned. No, you know Doom doesn't touch crazy stuff. Coffee, perhaps beer from time to time and usually limited to a couple, is as heavy as I have ever done. In spite of drinking coffee, high dose, as my usual lately, I simply feel detached. I can only assume marijuana, for regular users, gives them this sense of things. Me? I don't like feeling like this, I simply don't have a way out of it. Psychological? No, but a lot of people who have physical problems that cause this are susceptible to the suggestion of others and go on to trust their foolishness. I've become a hard mental target. I simply don't trust, nor does suggestion work on me anymore.
.
When talking with the people at the heart clinic, I indicated that I feel a little stoned. No, you know Doom doesn't touch crazy stuff. Coffee, perhaps beer from time to time and usually limited to a couple, is as heavy as I have ever done. In spite of drinking coffee, high dose, as my usual lately, I simply feel detached. I can only assume marijuana, for regular users, gives them this sense of things. Me? I don't like feeling like this, I simply don't have a way out of it. Psychological? No, but a lot of people who have physical problems that cause this are susceptible to the suggestion of others and go on to trust their foolishness. I've become a hard mental target. I simply don't trust, nor does suggestion work on me anymore.
Ah, some rock I can dig.
.
.
So much of rock is... well... entertaining but... lacks any real substance. Some of it simply doesn't make sense. And, yea, sure, there is a place for that. There is also a place for rock that makes sense and is rightly minded. I have seen some rockers take a stand and support the right things, but rarely in their music. Until now. And, yes, I think I can do that. They have a couple of songs that work. One isn't commercially viable, to my understanding. The other probably so, if just for a subset of the population at this point. I'd be curious to see which you think is which, and why.
.
So much of rock is... well... entertaining but... lacks any real substance. Some of it simply doesn't make sense. And, yea, sure, there is a place for that. There is also a place for rock that makes sense and is rightly minded. I have seen some rockers take a stand and support the right things, but rarely in their music. Until now. And, yes, I think I can do that. They have a couple of songs that work. One isn't commercially viable, to my understanding. The other probably so, if just for a subset of the population at this point. I'd be curious to see which you think is which, and why.
The magic of words.
.
.
No, not abracadabra or alahkazam. No word holds magic. No grouping of words, no matter how difficult or nonsensical, can bring about a change that doesn't come from expression and understanding. From those two words, however, monumental change can be had. The two most magical words, spoken with sincerity, humility, assertively, or how ever spoken if aligned with events, can truly move mountains. Please and thank you have worked wonders in my life, given and received. But these aren't the only words, almost any word, group of words, or phrases, elicit the only form of magic we know.
Simple words, such as "this" and "that", can be used for a set meaning. Add them together, into nearly a sing song phrase, and you can build a shield. "What were you doing in town for so long?" "This and that." It is a weak shield. It is a first line of defense. In some cases, if one wishes to be obscure, or is too tired to discuss the issue, more work my have to be put into the effort. But it works as a quick defense from minor incursions, and barring it working as such, buys time to contemplate a secondary strategy.
Language is a beautiful thing. It allows us to do what animals can't, save by scent or other things. Even an animal can see many things, probably have emotional reactions to those things. They even learn whether a particular thing they see, or feeling they get, is good for them or bad for them, within their understandings. But they cannot share what they see, feel, or think. We take that one step further, and begin to take communication and turn it into artistic expression. A luxury upon a skill, evoking thought, emotions, stirring memories, creating memories.
Yes, magic. The magic is in us. Words merely unleash the potential. So, the next time you marvel at words, spoken or written, understand that without you there would be no magic. I am not sure which is the lock and which is the key. I don't think it is quite that simple. Not all words sent are receivable by all, even considering the words are understood on a basic language level. Not even all words sent and received are understood as they were intended. And yet... here we are. Magic.
.
No, not abracadabra or alahkazam. No word holds magic. No grouping of words, no matter how difficult or nonsensical, can bring about a change that doesn't come from expression and understanding. From those two words, however, monumental change can be had. The two most magical words, spoken with sincerity, humility, assertively, or how ever spoken if aligned with events, can truly move mountains. Please and thank you have worked wonders in my life, given and received. But these aren't the only words, almost any word, group of words, or phrases, elicit the only form of magic we know.
Simple words, such as "this" and "that", can be used for a set meaning. Add them together, into nearly a sing song phrase, and you can build a shield. "What were you doing in town for so long?" "This and that." It is a weak shield. It is a first line of defense. In some cases, if one wishes to be obscure, or is too tired to discuss the issue, more work my have to be put into the effort. But it works as a quick defense from minor incursions, and barring it working as such, buys time to contemplate a secondary strategy.
Language is a beautiful thing. It allows us to do what animals can't, save by scent or other things. Even an animal can see many things, probably have emotional reactions to those things. They even learn whether a particular thing they see, or feeling they get, is good for them or bad for them, within their understandings. But they cannot share what they see, feel, or think. We take that one step further, and begin to take communication and turn it into artistic expression. A luxury upon a skill, evoking thought, emotions, stirring memories, creating memories.
Yes, magic. The magic is in us. Words merely unleash the potential. So, the next time you marvel at words, spoken or written, understand that without you there would be no magic. I am not sure which is the lock and which is the key. I don't think it is quite that simple. Not all words sent are receivable by all, even considering the words are understood on a basic language level. Not even all words sent and received are understood as they were intended. And yet... here we are. Magic.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
To bed late, up early anyway.
.
.
The last few days have been anomalies. I am very tired, season, medication toils, and just because. I am tinkering with a new game, however, one that is rather involved. The game has been keeping my on my toes and interested, if at times infuriated. Something about just desserts, but that isn't the point AND hushut up. I believe *blink blink* that it was after midnight and closer to or past 1:00 when I collapsed into a pile of goo, after being up early yesterday, in the 6:00-7:00 region, after having gone to bed around 1:00-2:00. I played most of the day. I won a game on easy, after several tries. Unlike most games, if you don't manage several areas of the game, on top of the main part, you get to a point where advancing is impossible.
I woke to the most fantastic whistling. I knew what it was. A hawk, a bigger one. As I came to, however, I realized it was just a dream, probably. Sometimes those beautiful things we thought we understood were no such thing. Our minds, the world, and people, deceive us. It seems so cruel, people can be brutally harsh, even our own mind seems half created to break us. Foolish to hope, I thought. Then... something. It came again, then a third time. Some days... some days you get something mildly special, deserving or not.
You have several choices when playing a game like this. You can... crack open the manual or otherwise research the variables, then hit it hard or soft, figuring the finer details as you go. The other options involve less to no research and jumping in as if getting beat like a rude man at a boxer's convention. I almost always choose the latter. Oh, I try to auto-correct on the way, but it is akin to bowling. Once the ball is gone, or really, once you are in your stance, and have pulled back the ball... adjustments go from rather limited to there being no means of adjustment, and in the blink of any eye.
After a couple days of bloody noses, restarting the game after from up to ten hours of play or as little as two, yet refusing to read the manual or do too much exact research (I don't want someone else to play my game!), I made it through the first time, if on the easy setting. Not bad, really. I have to think few could do that, if nothing else the frustration level would keep most people away from playing that many hours. And I did figure out what is needed, and what has to be sacrificed to get it, at the lower levels. I have started looking at the trophies, which adds another tier of complexity to the game. Oh, this will keep me busy for a while. At least another week. I thought it might last months, but... no, I don't think that is there.
Yeah, it's a stupid thing. But I can do it, it pushes me in ways I can handle, and it keeps my noodle working. It's what I've got, folks. If I could be a plumber, I would. If I could make solid wood dressers, sure, I'd be at it. If I could get through engineering school, I'd be doing that. This is, literally, for me, right now, as good as it gets. Take it or leave it, that is my only choice.
I don't go back until early January, or so, to the doctors. I'm doing my best with medicine, but I honestly am hazy, with or without games. Actually, I pulled this title in the hopes it might help me keep my wires crossed. It doesn't seem to, so far, hurt or help. I think I have an haircut coming up. I'll call and find out today, if I can remember. I think it is Tuesday. My old phone had the calendar. Don't know if it still does, might have to check it. Gah! I hate that part, hadn't even thought of it. Hmm? That's all folks.
Good day.
.
The last few days have been anomalies. I am very tired, season, medication toils, and just because. I am tinkering with a new game, however, one that is rather involved. The game has been keeping my on my toes and interested, if at times infuriated. Something about just desserts, but that isn't the point AND hushut up. I believe *blink blink* that it was after midnight and closer to or past 1:00 when I collapsed into a pile of goo, after being up early yesterday, in the 6:00-7:00 region, after having gone to bed around 1:00-2:00. I played most of the day. I won a game on easy, after several tries. Unlike most games, if you don't manage several areas of the game, on top of the main part, you get to a point where advancing is impossible.
I woke to the most fantastic whistling. I knew what it was. A hawk, a bigger one. As I came to, however, I realized it was just a dream, probably. Sometimes those beautiful things we thought we understood were no such thing. Our minds, the world, and people, deceive us. It seems so cruel, people can be brutally harsh, even our own mind seems half created to break us. Foolish to hope, I thought. Then... something. It came again, then a third time. Some days... some days you get something mildly special, deserving or not.
You have several choices when playing a game like this. You can... crack open the manual or otherwise research the variables, then hit it hard or soft, figuring the finer details as you go. The other options involve less to no research and jumping in as if getting beat like a rude man at a boxer's convention. I almost always choose the latter. Oh, I try to auto-correct on the way, but it is akin to bowling. Once the ball is gone, or really, once you are in your stance, and have pulled back the ball... adjustments go from rather limited to there being no means of adjustment, and in the blink of any eye.
After a couple days of bloody noses, restarting the game after from up to ten hours of play or as little as two, yet refusing to read the manual or do too much exact research (I don't want someone else to play my game!), I made it through the first time, if on the easy setting. Not bad, really. I have to think few could do that, if nothing else the frustration level would keep most people away from playing that many hours. And I did figure out what is needed, and what has to be sacrificed to get it, at the lower levels. I have started looking at the trophies, which adds another tier of complexity to the game. Oh, this will keep me busy for a while. At least another week. I thought it might last months, but... no, I don't think that is there.
Yeah, it's a stupid thing. But I can do it, it pushes me in ways I can handle, and it keeps my noodle working. It's what I've got, folks. If I could be a plumber, I would. If I could make solid wood dressers, sure, I'd be at it. If I could get through engineering school, I'd be doing that. This is, literally, for me, right now, as good as it gets. Take it or leave it, that is my only choice.
I don't go back until early January, or so, to the doctors. I'm doing my best with medicine, but I honestly am hazy, with or without games. Actually, I pulled this title in the hopes it might help me keep my wires crossed. It doesn't seem to, so far, hurt or help. I think I have an haircut coming up. I'll call and find out today, if I can remember. I think it is Tuesday. My old phone had the calendar. Don't know if it still does, might have to check it. Gah! I hate that part, hadn't even thought of it. Hmm? That's all folks.
Good day.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
It isn't a bad life.
.
.
Even as out of sorts as I am quite often, the mind works fine back under the shield of useless, often, flesh. The will is good. The doctors don't understand. Truth is, I have seen something work on that part. Ritalin. Not for the stated purpose of slowing things down, but by speeding things up. Of course, that, like most medicines, is horrible to take. It pushes my body and mind enough to make the link that does not otherwise exist, for the most part. Which is why I believe it to be a mechanical medical problem. It is the linkage between the two that isn't able to draw enough power to allow my will to be acted on by my flesh to create and perform in the physical world. And yet my body takes care of itself, mostly. And I take care of thoughts. It's almost as if the two parts divorced, if not really by choice. Accidental transcendentalism, no doubt at all.
I still hope the medicines, as I can take them, continue to help my heart. I really think that is the key. I have seen vast improvements in the last few years, done a number of things not possible for decades, and really started to enjoy my life. Still frustrated by perpetual failure, and yet unwilling to quit, give up, or lower my expectations, I trudge on. You honestly can't imagine how hard life is, or how odd that one as weak as I could learn to figure out how to enjoy such a difficult thing. Being lost to flesh, always feeling as if I was under great pressure, sometimes with odd and terrible pain, often with some sorts of underlying pain just below my threshold to actually feel it if knowing it is there... always, or almost. And, yet, I do enjoy life.
I have seen what comes next. I do look forward to it, but in my time. There is no pain there, no hunger, no thirst, no need, not even any wants... and that was before heaven. Okay, there was one want, in my state. I didn't get to see heaven. Stopped before the gates. Whether for sin, awaiting judgement, or because it wasn't my time and God would know, I can't say with any definitive certainty, if what I remember leads me to believe I had to... wait because of sin. Even there, in a form of limbo, you can't imagine how easy it is. But I came to understand some things about there and here, and time. I will wait, but while I wait I will do my best at padding the odds that I won't have to sit on the porch next time I visit, but will be welcomed.
Hmm... just thinking. Yes, I write what I think. I talk as I think as well. If I trust to talk. Sometimes even when I do not, such as with doctors. Some things some people just cannot understand. I doubt if most people understand. I am different, in so many ways. I have reason to look at the possibility of being other than human. Whether damaged or not, my IQ puts me at least as an oddity. My physical size does as well. My resistance to death is miraculous. Even my sight, of things unseen, is unusual if prophetic only for my purposes, it was powerful enough to allow for a mostly dead man to cross the country and buy a home as a stranger in a strange land. So, discussing things with people who believe humans are biological machines with psychological software, all of which fits in a nice pat package, is probably... useless. Wasted breath. Even should they believe in God, that usually seems secondary to their faith in the sciences. Odd, since they know by practice that they have no real power. At best a doctor can buy time for someone to heal themselves. Why this one and not that, despite how it looks on paper? Ah, because life, and death, is a province only of God. I learned that as a warrior. Strange these so called men of science can't, won't, see it.
Just thinking and mumbling. Probably saying the same thing over and over, if hopefully in slightly different ways. Well, it is still the holiday, and I am still sort of enjoying some "time off". Later or good night.
.
Even as out of sorts as I am quite often, the mind works fine back under the shield of useless, often, flesh. The will is good. The doctors don't understand. Truth is, I have seen something work on that part. Ritalin. Not for the stated purpose of slowing things down, but by speeding things up. Of course, that, like most medicines, is horrible to take. It pushes my body and mind enough to make the link that does not otherwise exist, for the most part. Which is why I believe it to be a mechanical medical problem. It is the linkage between the two that isn't able to draw enough power to allow my will to be acted on by my flesh to create and perform in the physical world. And yet my body takes care of itself, mostly. And I take care of thoughts. It's almost as if the two parts divorced, if not really by choice. Accidental transcendentalism, no doubt at all.
I still hope the medicines, as I can take them, continue to help my heart. I really think that is the key. I have seen vast improvements in the last few years, done a number of things not possible for decades, and really started to enjoy my life. Still frustrated by perpetual failure, and yet unwilling to quit, give up, or lower my expectations, I trudge on. You honestly can't imagine how hard life is, or how odd that one as weak as I could learn to figure out how to enjoy such a difficult thing. Being lost to flesh, always feeling as if I was under great pressure, sometimes with odd and terrible pain, often with some sorts of underlying pain just below my threshold to actually feel it if knowing it is there... always, or almost. And, yet, I do enjoy life.
I have seen what comes next. I do look forward to it, but in my time. There is no pain there, no hunger, no thirst, no need, not even any wants... and that was before heaven. Okay, there was one want, in my state. I didn't get to see heaven. Stopped before the gates. Whether for sin, awaiting judgement, or because it wasn't my time and God would know, I can't say with any definitive certainty, if what I remember leads me to believe I had to... wait because of sin. Even there, in a form of limbo, you can't imagine how easy it is. But I came to understand some things about there and here, and time. I will wait, but while I wait I will do my best at padding the odds that I won't have to sit on the porch next time I visit, but will be welcomed.
Hmm... just thinking. Yes, I write what I think. I talk as I think as well. If I trust to talk. Sometimes even when I do not, such as with doctors. Some things some people just cannot understand. I doubt if most people understand. I am different, in so many ways. I have reason to look at the possibility of being other than human. Whether damaged or not, my IQ puts me at least as an oddity. My physical size does as well. My resistance to death is miraculous. Even my sight, of things unseen, is unusual if prophetic only for my purposes, it was powerful enough to allow for a mostly dead man to cross the country and buy a home as a stranger in a strange land. So, discussing things with people who believe humans are biological machines with psychological software, all of which fits in a nice pat package, is probably... useless. Wasted breath. Even should they believe in God, that usually seems secondary to their faith in the sciences. Odd, since they know by practice that they have no real power. At best a doctor can buy time for someone to heal themselves. Why this one and not that, despite how it looks on paper? Ah, because life, and death, is a province only of God. I learned that as a warrior. Strange these so called men of science can't, won't, see it.
Just thinking and mumbling. Probably saying the same thing over and over, if hopefully in slightly different ways. Well, it is still the holiday, and I am still sort of enjoying some "time off". Later or good night.
Cooking?
.
.
I must admit, I do watch cooking shows. Actually, from time to time, I would cook a truly marvelous meal. Actually, I cooked supper five nights a week, more if I was feeling up to it. She was required to do the dishes, if I would help from time to time. And both of us did the shopping. I couldn't trust her to buy the correct brands, so some of the things that lasted longer I could buy, and veggies once in a while so as not to get organics. Don't trust them.
Cooking is easy. The most intricate of items simply require paying attention. The real trick is getting several different dishes, cooked at different speeds and temps, to all be done at the right time and get those served while still hot. With enough of the variables tended, I could easily still cook more often.
Of course, some things are simply beyond my budget. Duck confit, for example. It is simple enough. But duck fat, rendered, costs about a dollar an ounce. Imagine 32 ounces of the stuff, which is about what you need to make the dish. I suppose you could strain it, and reuse it, for a while. But duck itself is expensive. My guess is, this dish was cooked by peasants, once in a great while, when enough duck lard had been rendered from other cooking, and as... a poor man's delight. Actually, most of the French style cooking was more akin to what people who starve do to enjoy their food more. Very small servings, but many of them. Just a theory, mind you... From a guy who often starves when left to his own devices.
Oh... just thinking of food. Thanksgiving dinner reminds me of how hungry I can get. I've had odd foods, lately, off and on. What I can make, I do. But... I'm slowly running out of things, having been mucking around with medicine for so long. Remind me to never fall off it again. Though... we know it will happen. Actually, my father, the one I claim, had heart problems. My mother, in that family, jumped through hoops to keep him on his medication. I never quite understood the... horror she would go through when she realized he had missed a dose, and the efforts she sometimes went through to give him his medicine. Calling a friend, to get a ride, to go a hundred miles even once, plus having to figure out how to get someone to watch over me, or did she trust me? It was an iffy thing, for her, that last... plus there were obligations, since I was a foster child. Anyway, now I understand. And I know, now, how hard it was for my father to continue to take them.
I really need to figure things out. The problem is, is that I can't just figure them out. Every day, for the rest of my life, I am simply going to have to fight to just stay above ground. It seems to take a lot more than what I have seen to kill me, so I don't have much choice. I'm almost stuck in life. No complaints, finally, once I realized how things worked and started going in the right direction. I suppose, like a fish in a flood. Just face upstream even if you lose ground more than you take ground. It might seem like you are dead but... not yet. Oh, and watch for boulders, tree trunks, and perhaps even Doom. I always wondered if I ran over any poor fish, just trying to survive, in my white-water event. :)
Duck confit for dinner. Fresh, hand caught, trout sushima for lunch, while I'm at it. I can dream.
.
I must admit, I do watch cooking shows. Actually, from time to time, I would cook a truly marvelous meal. Actually, I cooked supper five nights a week, more if I was feeling up to it. She was required to do the dishes, if I would help from time to time. And both of us did the shopping. I couldn't trust her to buy the correct brands, so some of the things that lasted longer I could buy, and veggies once in a while so as not to get organics. Don't trust them.
Cooking is easy. The most intricate of items simply require paying attention. The real trick is getting several different dishes, cooked at different speeds and temps, to all be done at the right time and get those served while still hot. With enough of the variables tended, I could easily still cook more often.
Of course, some things are simply beyond my budget. Duck confit, for example. It is simple enough. But duck fat, rendered, costs about a dollar an ounce. Imagine 32 ounces of the stuff, which is about what you need to make the dish. I suppose you could strain it, and reuse it, for a while. But duck itself is expensive. My guess is, this dish was cooked by peasants, once in a great while, when enough duck lard had been rendered from other cooking, and as... a poor man's delight. Actually, most of the French style cooking was more akin to what people who starve do to enjoy their food more. Very small servings, but many of them. Just a theory, mind you... From a guy who often starves when left to his own devices.
Oh... just thinking of food. Thanksgiving dinner reminds me of how hungry I can get. I've had odd foods, lately, off and on. What I can make, I do. But... I'm slowly running out of things, having been mucking around with medicine for so long. Remind me to never fall off it again. Though... we know it will happen. Actually, my father, the one I claim, had heart problems. My mother, in that family, jumped through hoops to keep him on his medication. I never quite understood the... horror she would go through when she realized he had missed a dose, and the efforts she sometimes went through to give him his medicine. Calling a friend, to get a ride, to go a hundred miles even once, plus having to figure out how to get someone to watch over me, or did she trust me? It was an iffy thing, for her, that last... plus there were obligations, since I was a foster child. Anyway, now I understand. And I know, now, how hard it was for my father to continue to take them.
I really need to figure things out. The problem is, is that I can't just figure them out. Every day, for the rest of my life, I am simply going to have to fight to just stay above ground. It seems to take a lot more than what I have seen to kill me, so I don't have much choice. I'm almost stuck in life. No complaints, finally, once I realized how things worked and started going in the right direction. I suppose, like a fish in a flood. Just face upstream even if you lose ground more than you take ground. It might seem like you are dead but... not yet. Oh, and watch for boulders, tree trunks, and perhaps even Doom. I always wondered if I ran over any poor fish, just trying to survive, in my white-water event. :)
Duck confit for dinner. Fresh, hand caught, trout sushima for lunch, while I'm at it. I can dream.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Well... The turkey, et al, died, but the rest of us made out well, so now what?
.
.
Post holiday is sometimes the rocky part, sometimes the easy part. I would like to say that has to do with a personality type, but I can't quite do that. I have seen that change, in my life, through the aging process, but also depending on what part of the thing I was involved with and what demands were made shortly after. If, for example, I was on the pre-season cleanup crew, the cook or one of them, or the break down crew, or just a participant, has had something to do with with post season reaction. Whether it was one day off, then back to the grind, as on submarines, also played a part. Being alone or being with family and friends the whole time also played a part, but not always as common thought might suggest, not always.
Yes, foolish thoughts, considerations, constantly interrupt my life. Some threads I follow for miles, years, others go a short distance and are abandoned. I do note, however, that even threads that are abandoned can be picked up, even years, decades, later, as if I had never left off. Sometimes the old idea is simply updated, sometimes it leads into new area of thought. Just a note. This topic? I keep reviewing it. Not every holiday season, just one or two a year. Why? Ah. Because.
This year, while living alone for the most part, and going through fits trying to increase my medication which keeps me less social on top of things, but having a fine meal and good company for the day itself, I have had no problems with the season. Then again, if I hadn't been invited to a Thanksgiving meal I would not have known it was coming, that it happened, or that it had past. I guess being numb and a bit lost at least doesn't double the standard troubles of life on top of it, mostly. So it's not a usual year, mostly. Still, I got a mild hit of it.
After being invited, I did start thinking. And then a call to my mother after the fine meal, and I did get that little melancholy hit. It remains today, just a bit. While there is something about missing people, it is more than that. It is about a life lead, people known, and now gone, one way or another, places and events. I have had holiday meals with more people than most people could imagine. Beside having seven dads, three moms, and many family type settings, with cousins and uncles and family friends in those settings beyond what some could think possible, I have been a traveler as an adult, and traveled far and wide. With Roman emperors and pagan kings, with peasants and at least one priest, with the rich and the truly poor, I have found celebrations with many people. Good? Bad? People are just people, wrong as they might be, who do, sometimes questionable things as they believe they must. Only kings lack mud all about them. But all save one King, where they lack mud, they have the blood of many. Even the one King was graced with His own blood.
It is the people I miss. How could I know all of them? I ask, how can I not. And yet... missing them is not a regret. I would not care much for myself if so many were not considered precious memories. I continue, to this day, to add people to the roll call of Doom. I am glad for it. Tears simply being the price of one of the joys in life. Through them, I get some idea of why God calls, what He wants, and who He speaks of and to when He walked and when He called others to write. After years of cynicism, I understand why. Because you are precious. Now, scoot.
.
Post holiday is sometimes the rocky part, sometimes the easy part. I would like to say that has to do with a personality type, but I can't quite do that. I have seen that change, in my life, through the aging process, but also depending on what part of the thing I was involved with and what demands were made shortly after. If, for example, I was on the pre-season cleanup crew, the cook or one of them, or the break down crew, or just a participant, has had something to do with with post season reaction. Whether it was one day off, then back to the grind, as on submarines, also played a part. Being alone or being with family and friends the whole time also played a part, but not always as common thought might suggest, not always.
Yes, foolish thoughts, considerations, constantly interrupt my life. Some threads I follow for miles, years, others go a short distance and are abandoned. I do note, however, that even threads that are abandoned can be picked up, even years, decades, later, as if I had never left off. Sometimes the old idea is simply updated, sometimes it leads into new area of thought. Just a note. This topic? I keep reviewing it. Not every holiday season, just one or two a year. Why? Ah. Because.
This year, while living alone for the most part, and going through fits trying to increase my medication which keeps me less social on top of things, but having a fine meal and good company for the day itself, I have had no problems with the season. Then again, if I hadn't been invited to a Thanksgiving meal I would not have known it was coming, that it happened, or that it had past. I guess being numb and a bit lost at least doesn't double the standard troubles of life on top of it, mostly. So it's not a usual year, mostly. Still, I got a mild hit of it.
After being invited, I did start thinking. And then a call to my mother after the fine meal, and I did get that little melancholy hit. It remains today, just a bit. While there is something about missing people, it is more than that. It is about a life lead, people known, and now gone, one way or another, places and events. I have had holiday meals with more people than most people could imagine. Beside having seven dads, three moms, and many family type settings, with cousins and uncles and family friends in those settings beyond what some could think possible, I have been a traveler as an adult, and traveled far and wide. With Roman emperors and pagan kings, with peasants and at least one priest, with the rich and the truly poor, I have found celebrations with many people. Good? Bad? People are just people, wrong as they might be, who do, sometimes questionable things as they believe they must. Only kings lack mud all about them. But all save one King, where they lack mud, they have the blood of many. Even the one King was graced with His own blood.
It is the people I miss. How could I know all of them? I ask, how can I not. And yet... missing them is not a regret. I would not care much for myself if so many were not considered precious memories. I continue, to this day, to add people to the roll call of Doom. I am glad for it. Tears simply being the price of one of the joys in life. Through them, I get some idea of why God calls, what He wants, and who He speaks of and to when He walked and when He called others to write. After years of cynicism, I understand why. Because you are precious. Now, scoot.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Thanksgiving, one of those every day holidays.
.
.
Oh, certainly, a specific day to remember and be grateful. I would not begrudge that. I just believe that every day, or at least on any potential day, and frequently, we should go through our inventory in life and realize how good many of us have it. Rich, poor, middlings, bright, slow, tall, short, even those who are having troubles in life should easily be able to find things that are working out for them. Just that you draw breath means you have moments to consider or reconsider.
While I have a mumbling mouth full of fight in me, from time to time, regarding this or that, I am quite pleased with what I do have. Finally on the right course of treatment for the right problem... Finally in a home, with activities at least in the work, and many actually done, if not in great haste or any surety ever. Family, friends, a couple of cats, a vehicle, a little spending money, and a place to spout off about whatever might be troubling me. While it could be better it definitely could be worse. I have seen worse in my own life and seen worse still in other people's lives. No, I've got much to be thankful regarding.
A neighboring family has invited me to their Thanksgiving feast. I asked if I could bring anything, but that was turned down cold. Oh, I understand. Families here are large. And enough food has been made for, well, many. Anything I could bring would be just an oddity, and unnecessary. Well, and as a bachelor who lives in a cave, possibly questionable. Hey, I can eat it but... yeah... All good. I will get in a shower, air dry a bit, and be read shortly. I can't remember if it is at 13:00 or 14:00 though, so I best rush, and perhaps call at about the 12:50 mark, which would give me enough time to make a timely appearance either way.
I hope you are doing something, even if just relaxing. Grateful to work, but grateful for time off as well. Happy Thanksgiving.
.
Oh, certainly, a specific day to remember and be grateful. I would not begrudge that. I just believe that every day, or at least on any potential day, and frequently, we should go through our inventory in life and realize how good many of us have it. Rich, poor, middlings, bright, slow, tall, short, even those who are having troubles in life should easily be able to find things that are working out for them. Just that you draw breath means you have moments to consider or reconsider.
While I have a mumbling mouth full of fight in me, from time to time, regarding this or that, I am quite pleased with what I do have. Finally on the right course of treatment for the right problem... Finally in a home, with activities at least in the work, and many actually done, if not in great haste or any surety ever. Family, friends, a couple of cats, a vehicle, a little spending money, and a place to spout off about whatever might be troubling me. While it could be better it definitely could be worse. I have seen worse in my own life and seen worse still in other people's lives. No, I've got much to be thankful regarding.
A neighboring family has invited me to their Thanksgiving feast. I asked if I could bring anything, but that was turned down cold. Oh, I understand. Families here are large. And enough food has been made for, well, many. Anything I could bring would be just an oddity, and unnecessary. Well, and as a bachelor who lives in a cave, possibly questionable. Hey, I can eat it but... yeah... All good. I will get in a shower, air dry a bit, and be read shortly. I can't remember if it is at 13:00 or 14:00 though, so I best rush, and perhaps call at about the 12:50 mark, which would give me enough time to make a timely appearance either way.
I hope you are doing something, even if just relaxing. Grateful to work, but grateful for time off as well. Happy Thanksgiving.
Veterans! Do not go the the V.A. for mental health "services".
.
.
No pain, mind you. Not this time, or for now. But this has sure been a long haul getting back on medication, trying to get things done before doing that, and mucking it all up trying to go too fast on starting them. At least I survived the push. Hey, take what you can get in some venues. I am doing this on my own. Despite what the doctors tell me, I know the medication exacerbates the problems, greatly. And I am all of 99% positive "the problems"(tm) are heart related. I don't know where these people went to school, but I doubt if I want to know.
Their job might be health in their area, but it is also as sales reps for as many other V.A. services, especially the dying ones like psychology, as they can push. Returning vets have been warned off of V.A. services, in these areas, because those services are used as a club against veterans. To try to cut them off from the world socially, through stigma, and even legally. I was not properly warned. This new generation seems to have gotten and are following up and taking seriously, the warning to stay away from the V.A. mental health system. Go to a local mental health clinic, if you must. Find a "doctor" you can trust. Private "doctors" can't, so far, turn your sessions into a legal club to deny you your constitutional rights, as the V.A. can and does. And did to me, in spite of the fact that I don't have problems in that area, just a political belief system they don't like. I believe in America, or the America I knew once. Not this socialist monster it has become.
I will use medical treatment that works, and to my advantage. I will not grant it any authority it doesn't deserve, I will not be forced into anything, and I will speak the truth about what the V.A. is and does. I know psychology cannot help, I gave it over a decade to do so and it couldn't, didn't even try. If I had to guess, I would say it's job was to keep me disabled. Finally, understanding how bad my heart is, regardless of the fact that I outperform almost all at my level of illness, I understand what the problem was and remains, and am working on it. Never again will I be defrauded by false promises of care they can't perform, the bureaucratic malfeasance of that union system and the parts of it that are merely in existence to self perpetuate it's own employment and financial gains at the cost to myself and others. You are merely a guinea pig for some of their programs. How is that for clearing up some fog? I suppose you can say it did help clear up the fog, in some areas, but at a hefty cost to myself. Then again, getting bitten by a dog will also clear up the notion of whether to try to pet a strange dog. It doesn't fix the tetanus you might get from it, if you weren't covered for that though.
V.A. mental health services are an outright trap to defraud U.S. veterans of their constitution rights and manliness. Nothing more, nothing less. In this case, they lost. I will use the remaining services to treat what is wrong, leaving the rest to rot and die in infamy. Hitler, the left, and Stalin would be proud of the work of the V.A. mental health in helping to disarm the very people who should be armed in America... the guys who believe in rule of law, who believe in people making their own choices sans government interference, and the guys who shoot straight literally and figuratively. In other words, the guys the bad guys should, and do, fear. Finis.
.
No pain, mind you. Not this time, or for now. But this has sure been a long haul getting back on medication, trying to get things done before doing that, and mucking it all up trying to go too fast on starting them. At least I survived the push. Hey, take what you can get in some venues. I am doing this on my own. Despite what the doctors tell me, I know the medication exacerbates the problems, greatly. And I am all of 99% positive "the problems"(tm) are heart related. I don't know where these people went to school, but I doubt if I want to know.
Their job might be health in their area, but it is also as sales reps for as many other V.A. services, especially the dying ones like psychology, as they can push. Returning vets have been warned off of V.A. services, in these areas, because those services are used as a club against veterans. To try to cut them off from the world socially, through stigma, and even legally. I was not properly warned. This new generation seems to have gotten and are following up and taking seriously, the warning to stay away from the V.A. mental health system. Go to a local mental health clinic, if you must. Find a "doctor" you can trust. Private "doctors" can't, so far, turn your sessions into a legal club to deny you your constitutional rights, as the V.A. can and does. And did to me, in spite of the fact that I don't have problems in that area, just a political belief system they don't like. I believe in America, or the America I knew once. Not this socialist monster it has become.
I will use medical treatment that works, and to my advantage. I will not grant it any authority it doesn't deserve, I will not be forced into anything, and I will speak the truth about what the V.A. is and does. I know psychology cannot help, I gave it over a decade to do so and it couldn't, didn't even try. If I had to guess, I would say it's job was to keep me disabled. Finally, understanding how bad my heart is, regardless of the fact that I outperform almost all at my level of illness, I understand what the problem was and remains, and am working on it. Never again will I be defrauded by false promises of care they can't perform, the bureaucratic malfeasance of that union system and the parts of it that are merely in existence to self perpetuate it's own employment and financial gains at the cost to myself and others. You are merely a guinea pig for some of their programs. How is that for clearing up some fog? I suppose you can say it did help clear up the fog, in some areas, but at a hefty cost to myself. Then again, getting bitten by a dog will also clear up the notion of whether to try to pet a strange dog. It doesn't fix the tetanus you might get from it, if you weren't covered for that though.
V.A. mental health services are an outright trap to defraud U.S. veterans of their constitution rights and manliness. Nothing more, nothing less. In this case, they lost. I will use the remaining services to treat what is wrong, leaving the rest to rot and die in infamy. Hitler, the left, and Stalin would be proud of the work of the V.A. mental health in helping to disarm the very people who should be armed in America... the guys who believe in rule of law, who believe in people making their own choices sans government interference, and the guys who shoot straight literally and figuratively. In other words, the guys the bad guys should, and do, fear. Finis.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
They are...
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.
Coming to take me away. Haha They are coming to take me away. Hoho...
Idiot doctors. They consider my fogginess a psych issue, saying it has nothing to do with the heart, even at end stage heart failure? Really? What kind of idiots are these people. I looked around the waiting room, after having to, again, again, again, validate, that, yes indeed I do have an appointment with the heart transplant clinic. That broad can't remember a face she has seen, and questioned about signing in, at least a dozen times? Really? That is a serious lack of recall, worse even than mine! Send HER to psych!
Oh, right. I looked around the waiting room. There were three other guys my age. Their hearts couldn't be in worse shape. All of them being towed around by a wife. All of them on oxygen. Really? And, what, these guys cook for themselves, clean, and take care? I doubt if one of them even drove to the clinic, let alone could learn calculus, diffy q, or take calculus based physics! Foggy? Of course I'm foggy. My damned heart doesn't work and I don't have anyone to feed me the pills, and that is only a problem when I fall off them. The nurse (practitioner) asked me about psych, so I pretty much, politely, told her to blow. So, she brings in the doc, one I haven't met before. As if he would have a chance. I told him to blow AND choke. I don't deal with quacks, pseudo sciences, or the incompetent. I'm not sure which psychology/psychiatry fits better, but I think it could easily be 100% of each.
I work on a simple principle. Either something works, or it does not work. How someone feels makes zero difference, unless we are discussing mechanical pain that needs to be alleviated. Bottom line, do either of those pseudo sciences do anything to get people back to work, to function, to health, or do they not. In my case, beside ignoring my real health issue and treating it, their medicines merely numbing my understanding of what was wrong, they didn't see me one ounce more functional. As such, and given that they missed a clear, obvious, and severe medical condition, I discount them wholesale... retail too I suppose, or whatever floats your boat.
If you want to be mentally healthy, engage with people, take care of yourself and your duties, enjoy your life rightly, and tend what is wrong physically and spiritually. Psychology is dead to both the physical and the spiritual. It is a gross encroach on what it doesn't understand, can't fix, and doesn't care about... the client. They are in it to sell pills or charge talking time. I would have better luck going to a fortune teller or phrenologist. Some of them believe what they are doing as well, and probably have a better scientific grounding to boot... somehow.
No, the heart medicine, when it is at level, does an excellent job. If he is telling the truth, and other patients don't share these problems with the medication, I would guess he doesn't serve many breeds, or breeds like me. They are just starting to finally figure out that not every species of man is the same. They don't all react the same to medication, they don't all behave the same to other stimulus. They are beginning to go beyond political correctness, if dreadfully, painfully, slowly. Most medical and other academics are the true knuckle-draggers, refusing to understand what they are seeing right in front of them. Perhaps, someday, they will not only agree to reality, but begin exploring it. Bleh.
Bp was high, when I got there. I was able to bring it down with a little rest of the eyes. But it still isn't quite where it should be. Blood syrum is still elevated but... one thing at a time. I didn't get much else done today. A new phone, but I shouldn't have had to pay for it, being that they have been well overpaid. But they could only use some of the over-balance, or so the manager said. Still, I was able to get the phone and the peripherals I wanted, and they still owe me over $400. It's the Samsung Galaxy Note III. I just like that it is the biggest phablet on the market. It's still small in my hand, a bit, but... It's as good as it gets. Car charger, battery charge pack, headsets, a case I can live with, and a warranty with virus protection.
I then stopped for a bite to eat. A Mexican joint, but a better one. I wasn't sure about the hottest of choices, but after asking a few questions I did go for it. No hotter than my habanero sauce, and I got some on the side to sample. Perfect, actually. I think the lass that answered my questions, and then brought me some, thought I had over-maneuvered and would regret it. She was in stunned silence as I chowed down with nary a complaint, or request for milk, just consuming my tea at my usual pace. My guess is it is too hot for her. Well, and she saw a gringo, not Doom. :) I needed it. Their hot sauce, like mine, is really only a medium heat for my pallet. That said, I think I have decided medium is good enough. I'm not going to mess with anything hotter. I just don't feel the need to test it, push it, or such. It works. No heartburn, no reflux, I didn't even boil over and start to sweat. Okay, my hot sauce, that I make, is probably a touch hotter. So... there. Like I woman, I underestimate what I can do. Like a man, I test it. It's a trick that throws people, especially chiquita who think they are so smart. :) Ah, but it was cute, watching her expect a fail only to see me sail right through. Yum!
Later!
.
Coming to take me away. Haha They are coming to take me away. Hoho...
Idiot doctors. They consider my fogginess a psych issue, saying it has nothing to do with the heart, even at end stage heart failure? Really? What kind of idiots are these people. I looked around the waiting room, after having to, again, again, again, validate, that, yes indeed I do have an appointment with the heart transplant clinic. That broad can't remember a face she has seen, and questioned about signing in, at least a dozen times? Really? That is a serious lack of recall, worse even than mine! Send HER to psych!
Oh, right. I looked around the waiting room. There were three other guys my age. Their hearts couldn't be in worse shape. All of them being towed around by a wife. All of them on oxygen. Really? And, what, these guys cook for themselves, clean, and take care? I doubt if one of them even drove to the clinic, let alone could learn calculus, diffy q, or take calculus based physics! Foggy? Of course I'm foggy. My damned heart doesn't work and I don't have anyone to feed me the pills, and that is only a problem when I fall off them. The nurse (practitioner) asked me about psych, so I pretty much, politely, told her to blow. So, she brings in the doc, one I haven't met before. As if he would have a chance. I told him to blow AND choke. I don't deal with quacks, pseudo sciences, or the incompetent. I'm not sure which psychology/psychiatry fits better, but I think it could easily be 100% of each.
I work on a simple principle. Either something works, or it does not work. How someone feels makes zero difference, unless we are discussing mechanical pain that needs to be alleviated. Bottom line, do either of those pseudo sciences do anything to get people back to work, to function, to health, or do they not. In my case, beside ignoring my real health issue and treating it, their medicines merely numbing my understanding of what was wrong, they didn't see me one ounce more functional. As such, and given that they missed a clear, obvious, and severe medical condition, I discount them wholesale... retail too I suppose, or whatever floats your boat.
If you want to be mentally healthy, engage with people, take care of yourself and your duties, enjoy your life rightly, and tend what is wrong physically and spiritually. Psychology is dead to both the physical and the spiritual. It is a gross encroach on what it doesn't understand, can't fix, and doesn't care about... the client. They are in it to sell pills or charge talking time. I would have better luck going to a fortune teller or phrenologist. Some of them believe what they are doing as well, and probably have a better scientific grounding to boot... somehow.
No, the heart medicine, when it is at level, does an excellent job. If he is telling the truth, and other patients don't share these problems with the medication, I would guess he doesn't serve many breeds, or breeds like me. They are just starting to finally figure out that not every species of man is the same. They don't all react the same to medication, they don't all behave the same to other stimulus. They are beginning to go beyond political correctness, if dreadfully, painfully, slowly. Most medical and other academics are the true knuckle-draggers, refusing to understand what they are seeing right in front of them. Perhaps, someday, they will not only agree to reality, but begin exploring it. Bleh.
Bp was high, when I got there. I was able to bring it down with a little rest of the eyes. But it still isn't quite where it should be. Blood syrum is still elevated but... one thing at a time. I didn't get much else done today. A new phone, but I shouldn't have had to pay for it, being that they have been well overpaid. But they could only use some of the over-balance, or so the manager said. Still, I was able to get the phone and the peripherals I wanted, and they still owe me over $400. It's the Samsung Galaxy Note III. I just like that it is the biggest phablet on the market. It's still small in my hand, a bit, but... It's as good as it gets. Car charger, battery charge pack, headsets, a case I can live with, and a warranty with virus protection.
I then stopped for a bite to eat. A Mexican joint, but a better one. I wasn't sure about the hottest of choices, but after asking a few questions I did go for it. No hotter than my habanero sauce, and I got some on the side to sample. Perfect, actually. I think the lass that answered my questions, and then brought me some, thought I had over-maneuvered and would regret it. She was in stunned silence as I chowed down with nary a complaint, or request for milk, just consuming my tea at my usual pace. My guess is it is too hot for her. Well, and she saw a gringo, not Doom. :) I needed it. Their hot sauce, like mine, is really only a medium heat for my pallet. That said, I think I have decided medium is good enough. I'm not going to mess with anything hotter. I just don't feel the need to test it, push it, or such. It works. No heartburn, no reflux, I didn't even boil over and start to sweat. Okay, my hot sauce, that I make, is probably a touch hotter. So... there. Like I woman, I underestimate what I can do. Like a man, I test it. It's a trick that throws people, especially chiquita who think they are so smart. :) Ah, but it was cute, watching her expect a fail only to see me sail right through. Yum!
Later!
Before the alarm, in spite of little sleep.
.
.
I would like to say it is because I believe this clinic is the only medical hope that has panned out. While that has some weight, lends it's gravitas toward my efforts, that isn't enough. Sometimes my body works better or doesn't seem to work at all. I just happen to be able to at least swing at the ball yesterday, today, and probably tomorrow. Whether I connect or not will depend on if I can actually make it there on time. No matter my will, or even my consciousness and awareness with proximity to an event, whether I make it, even now, is a more finely crafted test from reality than any final I took in mathematics, physics, or other topic. My mind and body have to both be working in at least a minimum configuration. Those finals I took before were dependent upon study. The test I take getting to the hospital cannot be known, learned, studied so as to be known, in advance. Every single event, outside my home, even a trip to the store, is a test. At least having some sorts of days and nights, in regular time, has become almost normal, once medicine has been maximized, if that slips from time to time.
I had almost let judging slide, if not by will rather than not having awareness. Still, I didn't. While it was late Tuesday, that is within my preferred schedule, just no later. And I just happened to catch it. I'll take a last minute save over being a day late, or a week... but I do understand. I'll take coming in just on target. Even if it wasn't, perhaps, my best work. It also wasn't my worst. I remember at least one time where I merely judged. No encouragement, no attempt to frame and serve the thing, just words. I know, not many do what I do, but people out there have real lives. People, places, events, schedules, bosses, people to be taught and guided professionally, husbands, wives, pets, other hobbies, the rest. This, for me, regarding people, other than a visit every few months with a doc, and weekly visits with the neighbors(tm), are it for... duties. Other than trying to do, and often failing, the very minimums in life on my own. So... I have time. Lots of it needs to be at least sitting. At least I don't sleep like I used to have to sleep. Ever heard of the Sleeping Jesus*? How about the sleeping grumpy Jesus? So, with so much time needed with my bottom planted, I have the time to put in some effort. Haiku has become my virtual flower garden. :p
*Don't worry your pretty head. I am claiming no such thing, merely, chuckling at the cluckle-headed herd that dares even say such a thing... well, and poking a stick in my own eye while I'm at it. If you can't laugh at yourself, pick someone else. But... why not laugh at everybody all at once, self included? Call it a chuckle pot pie casserole. Saves on psyche dishes! :)
A little music was needed as I wake. Well, needed? Wanted. I just need that extra little bit to help. The alarm would be going off just right now. I've already had a bit of coffee and am almost 'feeling it' already. But... I need just a touch more. Oh, and yeah... I think I absolutely astound the doctors. I know I keep saying that, but every new doc I face, I get a facefull of it. Some of them don't like it, at all. They know I have ridden a line that isn't supposed to be possible. Well, and coupled with my completely politically incorrect notions, I am, to the practicing gentry, a monster as if I walked off a werewolf set but kept some part of it. Some of them are pulling for me to die, don't know why I haven't. Some of them hope I make it. Not sure what form it might take today. At least the regulars have become polite, some of them even started out that way, mostly. People in my condition really usually don't last long, not even as long as they have been seeing me. I guess I can't blame them for not believing this was and has been the problem for 25 years. It's... unpossible! :)
Life can be difficult. But there are little and big things to smile about on almost any given day. Even if I can be grumpy, or some suggest. Pointing out that a tree is taller than a house, however, is not a slight, or other facts. It is only in a population where feelings are given precedents to reality that someone such as I finds himself on the outs with civil polity. Then again, I like pulling some of those strings anyway. Thankfully, I don't even have to work at it. Just by continuing to breath I am a dig at it. I can't do this forever, but I can do it far longer than most suspect. I like doing it too... finally. :)
Later.
.
I would like to say it is because I believe this clinic is the only medical hope that has panned out. While that has some weight, lends it's gravitas toward my efforts, that isn't enough. Sometimes my body works better or doesn't seem to work at all. I just happen to be able to at least swing at the ball yesterday, today, and probably tomorrow. Whether I connect or not will depend on if I can actually make it there on time. No matter my will, or even my consciousness and awareness with proximity to an event, whether I make it, even now, is a more finely crafted test from reality than any final I took in mathematics, physics, or other topic. My mind and body have to both be working in at least a minimum configuration. Those finals I took before were dependent upon study. The test I take getting to the hospital cannot be known, learned, studied so as to be known, in advance. Every single event, outside my home, even a trip to the store, is a test. At least having some sorts of days and nights, in regular time, has become almost normal, once medicine has been maximized, if that slips from time to time.
I had almost let judging slide, if not by will rather than not having awareness. Still, I didn't. While it was late Tuesday, that is within my preferred schedule, just no later. And I just happened to catch it. I'll take a last minute save over being a day late, or a week... but I do understand. I'll take coming in just on target. Even if it wasn't, perhaps, my best work. It also wasn't my worst. I remember at least one time where I merely judged. No encouragement, no attempt to frame and serve the thing, just words. I know, not many do what I do, but people out there have real lives. People, places, events, schedules, bosses, people to be taught and guided professionally, husbands, wives, pets, other hobbies, the rest. This, for me, regarding people, other than a visit every few months with a doc, and weekly visits with the neighbors(tm), are it for... duties. Other than trying to do, and often failing, the very minimums in life on my own. So... I have time. Lots of it needs to be at least sitting. At least I don't sleep like I used to have to sleep. Ever heard of the Sleeping Jesus*? How about the sleeping grumpy Jesus? So, with so much time needed with my bottom planted, I have the time to put in some effort. Haiku has become my virtual flower garden. :p
*Don't worry your pretty head. I am claiming no such thing, merely, chuckling at the cluckle-headed herd that dares even say such a thing... well, and poking a stick in my own eye while I'm at it. If you can't laugh at yourself, pick someone else. But... why not laugh at everybody all at once, self included? Call it a chuckle pot pie casserole. Saves on psyche dishes! :)
A little music was needed as I wake. Well, needed? Wanted. I just need that extra little bit to help. The alarm would be going off just right now. I've already had a bit of coffee and am almost 'feeling it' already. But... I need just a touch more. Oh, and yeah... I think I absolutely astound the doctors. I know I keep saying that, but every new doc I face, I get a facefull of it. Some of them don't like it, at all. They know I have ridden a line that isn't supposed to be possible. Well, and coupled with my completely politically incorrect notions, I am, to the practicing gentry, a monster as if I walked off a werewolf set but kept some part of it. Some of them are pulling for me to die, don't know why I haven't. Some of them hope I make it. Not sure what form it might take today. At least the regulars have become polite, some of them even started out that way, mostly. People in my condition really usually don't last long, not even as long as they have been seeing me. I guess I can't blame them for not believing this was and has been the problem for 25 years. It's... unpossible! :)
Life can be difficult. But there are little and big things to smile about on almost any given day. Even if I can be grumpy, or some suggest. Pointing out that a tree is taller than a house, however, is not a slight, or other facts. It is only in a population where feelings are given precedents to reality that someone such as I finds himself on the outs with civil polity. Then again, I like pulling some of those strings anyway. Thankfully, I don't even have to work at it. Just by continuing to breath I am a dig at it. I can't do this forever, but I can do it far longer than most suspect. I like doing it too... finally. :)
Later.
And so it ends, and begins.
.
.
A very nice showing for the contest this week! The regulars and the irregulars were called in and the contest went very well. There is something about the raw power of mother nature that seems to bring something out of us? With tornadoes and hurricanes, perhaps it is a venting of all the bitten tongues we have endured for peace. For volcanoes, all of the hidden anger. For lightning, perhaps the will to action, and possibly terrible consequences, that can seemingly happen in less than an instant. All for good or ill, perhaps. Our savage nature encapsulated by our will to do good, all of it in an odd dance that natural phenomena show but in a larger format than what we can exhibit? Maybe. But the draw is there, it seems.
.
A very nice showing for the contest this week! The regulars and the irregulars were called in and the contest went very well. There is something about the raw power of mother nature that seems to bring something out of us? With tornadoes and hurricanes, perhaps it is a venting of all the bitten tongues we have endured for peace. For volcanoes, all of the hidden anger. For lightning, perhaps the will to action, and possibly terrible consequences, that can seemingly happen in less than an instant. All for good or ill, perhaps. Our savage nature encapsulated by our will to do good, all of it in an odd dance that natural phenomena show but in a larger format than what we can exhibit? Maybe. But the draw is there, it seems.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Finally, a little bit going.
.
.
I finally got to the judging. So tired and out of it lately. It wasn't that the judging was impossible. Oh, it's a task, but a favored one. I love balancing, comparing, reading and rereading, thinking, even discussing within my cranium. I merely get lost of flesh and mind. I... didn't realize time had flown so quickly. Tuesday evening, for me, for this, is quite late. Often I have it done, or close, and ready to publish Tuesday Morning. I often have it completed, save for final judgement (with room for any overnight deliveries to be added to the considerations), with music, most of what I will be saying, and everything. Not this time. Still, I hope it came together well.
Tomorrow I have a very early appointment in SLC. The heart clinic, again. I got a reminder call. Which is good. While I have my alarms, calendar, and smart phone updates, I can still get lost in... what I am lost in... a fog that obscures time, the date, and my relationship to it. My guess is the heart clinic, like no other, knows this aspect of having a bad heart. All I can say is that the calls are... helpful. Hmm, maybe a bit more sleep, setting the alarm, and being out by 5:00 or so.
.
I finally got to the judging. So tired and out of it lately. It wasn't that the judging was impossible. Oh, it's a task, but a favored one. I love balancing, comparing, reading and rereading, thinking, even discussing within my cranium. I merely get lost of flesh and mind. I... didn't realize time had flown so quickly. Tuesday evening, for me, for this, is quite late. Often I have it done, or close, and ready to publish Tuesday Morning. I often have it completed, save for final judgement (with room for any overnight deliveries to be added to the considerations), with music, most of what I will be saying, and everything. Not this time. Still, I hope it came together well.
Tomorrow I have a very early appointment in SLC. The heart clinic, again. I got a reminder call. Which is good. While I have my alarms, calendar, and smart phone updates, I can still get lost in... what I am lost in... a fog that obscures time, the date, and my relationship to it. My guess is the heart clinic, like no other, knows this aspect of having a bad heart. All I can say is that the calls are... helpful. Hmm, maybe a bit more sleep, setting the alarm, and being out by 5:00 or so.
Haiku Monday - Lightning
.
.
It came to me in a flash. Whether you wish to consider it a bolt of, a strike, or some other aspect or concern regarding lightning as well, or just as a figurative notion, all good. Beyond, in all the ways one could contemplate the theme, it is natural. Whether a weather phenomenon, an idea of great import, or a bolt of rage that boils blood, the thing can happen at a moment, without notice, and not truly be something we understand or even craft. At once it can be overpowering, illuminating, even destructive. But, seen from the safety of distance or time, it can be a gorgeous thing.
The rules are simple. Three line poems, with 5-7-5 as the syllable count. Using question marks or "~", "-", or specific 'turn' words for emphasis or to set a change in notions is a fine option but not required. Using a seasonal word to either frame the poem to a date, or indicate the current solar placement, is a fine finial as well. Just reminding what is traditional.
So, show me what you have seen, done, been. Enlighten me, shock me, rock me, and do your best to emulate the notion. To throw one out in order to get the ball rolling, I offer:
.
The rules are simple. Three line poems, with 5-7-5 as the syllable count. Using question marks or "~", "-", or specific 'turn' words for emphasis or to set a change in notions is a fine option but not required. Using a seasonal word to either frame the poem to a date, or indicate the current solar placement, is a fine finial as well. Just reminding what is traditional.
So, show me what you have seen, done, been. Enlighten me, shock me, rock me, and do your best to emulate the notion. To throw one out in order to get the ball rolling, I offer:
in the briefest time
from calm to fix'd and fearless
ears burn'd to a crisp
I've knocked on a lot of doors. Some regulars, some we haven't seen in a while, but not everybody. Just trying to drum up more poetry and a little breath in the contest. If I didn't knock, be here anyway, dang it!
Chirp... chirp? *boom*
.
.
Never le minde.
I am floaty, but good. The flu is gone. I can't do much but I am awake as often as I can be. And I can be often, perhaps too often. My sleep schedule is still a very strange mix of days and nights and afternoons and I have no handle on when or what will happen. It's sort of like when you are very sick with something, only without the suffering and pain. Medicines are very potent, and they really hit me harder than others, at least these kinds. All good though. I keep trying to figure out up from down, night from day, and what I can do, what needs to be done, and such. I've never been able to even try in these states before this last set of attempts. All good, urhm, I think?
I did get a call back from a lady at the V.A. payment center. She seemed a wonderful woman, too. I think she thought I might be mad. And, well, I am. Just not at her. She didn't do this, or fail to do that, she is just the lady handed the problem. I thought the hardest thing dealing with this would be to get approval, since these are so old, back to April of 2010. Oh, sure, I had gotten approval, one way or the other, but that doesn't mean they kept a record of it, or that approval means approval. You just have to work with the government often enough to know that it is rarely clean, neat, good, right, solid, or on task. And, even then, they might pull up some reason to not pay. Time is often something, regardless that it was not me... You know what I mean.
As it turns out, approval, in these cases, meant just that. They were, have been, and remain approved for payment. The problem? No one tried to collect. Either that or... well... there are other options. As is, the conversation went well and she felt bad. I feel bad for her feeling bad about something that wasn't her doing, but appreciated the sentiment. Or, something like that. I'm in a cloud, so thinking straight and writing as fast as I think can lead to... oddities. But I simply can't edit. In any case... that was a very good start to a, hopefully, conclusion to this harassment from creditors and maybe a clearing of my credit report..
She tried to contact the credit collectors, but they couldn't talk to her. At least, not without my permission. So, I had to call him, get permission recorded, call her back, and now wait for the two of them to speak. I think the credit bureau didn't want to get paid, not what the V.A. was willing to pay them. Which, actually, was the hospitals problem. They didn't want a mandated amount. So, they came after me. Thinking they could harass me to death, or get me to surrender and pay them their inflated prices. I hope they choke on the pittance. They charge the uninsured a lot more than the insured, as is. Money, money, money. Criminals, if you ask me.
But, this should be sorted out before long. And... I do get to enjoy socialized titans battle it out. The feds almost always win those fights, when case law and procedure are mandated. Bleh. Later.
.
Never le minde.
I am floaty, but good. The flu is gone. I can't do much but I am awake as often as I can be. And I can be often, perhaps too often. My sleep schedule is still a very strange mix of days and nights and afternoons and I have no handle on when or what will happen. It's sort of like when you are very sick with something, only without the suffering and pain. Medicines are very potent, and they really hit me harder than others, at least these kinds. All good though. I keep trying to figure out up from down, night from day, and what I can do, what needs to be done, and such. I've never been able to even try in these states before this last set of attempts. All good, urhm, I think?
I did get a call back from a lady at the V.A. payment center. She seemed a wonderful woman, too. I think she thought I might be mad. And, well, I am. Just not at her. She didn't do this, or fail to do that, she is just the lady handed the problem. I thought the hardest thing dealing with this would be to get approval, since these are so old, back to April of 2010. Oh, sure, I had gotten approval, one way or the other, but that doesn't mean they kept a record of it, or that approval means approval. You just have to work with the government often enough to know that it is rarely clean, neat, good, right, solid, or on task. And, even then, they might pull up some reason to not pay. Time is often something, regardless that it was not me... You know what I mean.
As it turns out, approval, in these cases, meant just that. They were, have been, and remain approved for payment. The problem? No one tried to collect. Either that or... well... there are other options. As is, the conversation went well and she felt bad. I feel bad for her feeling bad about something that wasn't her doing, but appreciated the sentiment. Or, something like that. I'm in a cloud, so thinking straight and writing as fast as I think can lead to... oddities. But I simply can't edit. In any case... that was a very good start to a, hopefully, conclusion to this harassment from creditors and maybe a clearing of my credit report..
She tried to contact the credit collectors, but they couldn't talk to her. At least, not without my permission. So, I had to call him, get permission recorded, call her back, and now wait for the two of them to speak. I think the credit bureau didn't want to get paid, not what the V.A. was willing to pay them. Which, actually, was the hospitals problem. They didn't want a mandated amount. So, they came after me. Thinking they could harass me to death, or get me to surrender and pay them their inflated prices. I hope they choke on the pittance. They charge the uninsured a lot more than the insured, as is. Money, money, money. Criminals, if you ask me.
But, this should be sorted out before long. And... I do get to enjoy socialized titans battle it out. The feds almost always win those fights, when case law and procedure are mandated. Bleh. Later.
The problem with charity.
.
.
Giving, for the poor, the ill, the widow and her children, and others who have no means of earning an income, is seen as a reasonable thing by many. there is worth to the effort. There is a reason for it. There is also at least one very strong reason against it. Most churches have ignored the problem, even supported the problem, through their work.
The problem is, at one time, it was understood, that the state did a specific set of things and the church did a certain set of things. Further, giving to the church and the state were kept to 10% each, if those were required. Men were taxed 10% by both and it was enforced. Today? How much you pay in taxes can be as much as three to four times that, just on federal taxes. Toss in state taxes, taxes and fees for doing business (you didn't think Verizon or AT&T were paying the tax/fee for Obamaphones, did you), and the rest and we are paying a fortune in taxes, not even including property taxes on automobiles, gasoline, and our homes. The government makes more on a gallon of gasoline than the refiners do!
Churches, many/most/all of them have supported these government moves to redistribute wealth. They did not look over the program well. Essentially, as in Europe, as failing as it eventually is, giving both taxes for what the government does, plus charity for redistribution, to the government, cuts faith out of the market. In Europe, as here, that was part of the intent, and it worked swimmingly in Europe. My church asks that we give 5% to the church and another 5% to various charities of our choice. I have to ask, does the government count? And, where are they asking me to get the 5% I am supposed to give to them. As lower middle class, even though my income is not actually taxed directly, I pay a significant amount in taxes. I am taxed on doing business, get this, with my own government at times!
No, just some thoughts. If your church supports a socialized government, one bound to redistribution, I think you should ask whether by giving so much to the government, do you really need to give to your church. I think churches had best decide whether they believe they can continue to pursue a methodology of forced charity that prices them out of the market, or not. Do they want to just make enough to just preach, without outreach or charity? I am not even sure I can do that. Actually, I don't have much choice. I suppose I could give up having a home, or car? Is that what they are asking? I do wonder if those in charge of most churches aren't actually trying their damnedest to end Christianity... one government charity at a time.
.
Giving, for the poor, the ill, the widow and her children, and others who have no means of earning an income, is seen as a reasonable thing by many. there is worth to the effort. There is a reason for it. There is also at least one very strong reason against it. Most churches have ignored the problem, even supported the problem, through their work.
The problem is, at one time, it was understood, that the state did a specific set of things and the church did a certain set of things. Further, giving to the church and the state were kept to 10% each, if those were required. Men were taxed 10% by both and it was enforced. Today? How much you pay in taxes can be as much as three to four times that, just on federal taxes. Toss in state taxes, taxes and fees for doing business (you didn't think Verizon or AT&T were paying the tax/fee for Obamaphones, did you), and the rest and we are paying a fortune in taxes, not even including property taxes on automobiles, gasoline, and our homes. The government makes more on a gallon of gasoline than the refiners do!
Churches, many/most/all of them have supported these government moves to redistribute wealth. They did not look over the program well. Essentially, as in Europe, as failing as it eventually is, giving both taxes for what the government does, plus charity for redistribution, to the government, cuts faith out of the market. In Europe, as here, that was part of the intent, and it worked swimmingly in Europe. My church asks that we give 5% to the church and another 5% to various charities of our choice. I have to ask, does the government count? And, where are they asking me to get the 5% I am supposed to give to them. As lower middle class, even though my income is not actually taxed directly, I pay a significant amount in taxes. I am taxed on doing business, get this, with my own government at times!
No, just some thoughts. If your church supports a socialized government, one bound to redistribution, I think you should ask whether by giving so much to the government, do you really need to give to your church. I think churches had best decide whether they believe they can continue to pursue a methodology of forced charity that prices them out of the market, or not. Do they want to just make enough to just preach, without outreach or charity? I am not even sure I can do that. Actually, I don't have much choice. I suppose I could give up having a home, or car? Is that what they are asking? I do wonder if those in charge of most churches aren't actually trying their damnedest to end Christianity... one government charity at a time.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Just odd. Numbers, health, life.
.
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Trying to keep track of what kind of visitors I receive is a bit of a hobby. No, I don't track you, or them, or those. I trust because I don't want to know beyond what you say. I probably do see beyond but that's... not by choice. Google Analysis is pretty much useless. Reroutes or outright foreign visitors aren't logged by them. Blogger itself is probably the most accurate, though even it doesn't show the full numbers. How can I tell? I have had 11 visits with 21 comments to the haiku contest. I have done some checks, blogger seriously doesn't count my visits. I know this by viewing old posts to see if they show up in the 'visited' queue. They don't. Even so, not counting my five or six now posts, that still leaves four comments without visitors showing as having visited.
As to foreign visits from Russia, France, China, Canada... I simply don't know. They never show as having visited any of my posts, just my main page perhaps? Usually. Tracking doesn't show all, or allow them to be separated. No, I don't mind one way or the other. This blog is just the ramblings of an odd man out. It isn't written for readers, mostly. A diary of sorts, as deeply as such a thing could go. No, just a hobby of trying to figure out how many actually visit is just an ego thing, curiosity to know who would find it worth reading, and such. Never mind, just... I wish I could find a service that works at counting and being able to see what is being viewed, perhaps generally who is viewing what. I found out how to make it so that I don't count though. Many others have as well. It's in the cookies.
That feeling I have the flu is back. I expected it. I thought it would hit much harder. Perhaps being off them just a short bit this last bounce has made it so going back on carvedilol isn't so bad? Dunno. I've only been having this side effect for a few days, but then last time, when it hit, it hit hard. Hopefully the rest of the side effects I will be going through are weaker, perhaps non-existent. I'll be seeing the docs the middle of this week again, I hope.
Yes, questions. Life doesn't offer answers. You find yourself not knowing something, you do some research, talk to people, then you just have to dig in. Sometimes you create the answers, solutions sets, or reality. It's not easy navigating life, but I am used to this. I've pulled impossible tricks out of invisible hats and just walked on before. Some say I am doing it just by being alive, if I think it is they who are confused on this point. Usually. Decades to live, possibly love... it just isn't over until it is over.
Hmm... A nap I do believe. Hopefully a short one. I ditched the alarm yesterday and almost made it a short nap without it. Almost. This time I do need to be up by mid-afternoon. So... I will set it. I just won't be stingy with sleep. It'll be a firewall, not a nag... Have a great day. Oh, sorry about any misspellings or poor grammar. I just don't have enough left to edit... for now... Yeah. Good day.
.
Trying to keep track of what kind of visitors I receive is a bit of a hobby. No, I don't track you, or them, or those. I trust because I don't want to know beyond what you say. I probably do see beyond but that's... not by choice. Google Analysis is pretty much useless. Reroutes or outright foreign visitors aren't logged by them. Blogger itself is probably the most accurate, though even it doesn't show the full numbers. How can I tell? I have had 11 visits with 21 comments to the haiku contest. I have done some checks, blogger seriously doesn't count my visits. I know this by viewing old posts to see if they show up in the 'visited' queue. They don't. Even so, not counting my five or six now posts, that still leaves four comments without visitors showing as having visited.
As to foreign visits from Russia, France, China, Canada... I simply don't know. They never show as having visited any of my posts, just my main page perhaps? Usually. Tracking doesn't show all, or allow them to be separated. No, I don't mind one way or the other. This blog is just the ramblings of an odd man out. It isn't written for readers, mostly. A diary of sorts, as deeply as such a thing could go. No, just a hobby of trying to figure out how many actually visit is just an ego thing, curiosity to know who would find it worth reading, and such. Never mind, just... I wish I could find a service that works at counting and being able to see what is being viewed, perhaps generally who is viewing what. I found out how to make it so that I don't count though. Many others have as well. It's in the cookies.
That feeling I have the flu is back. I expected it. I thought it would hit much harder. Perhaps being off them just a short bit this last bounce has made it so going back on carvedilol isn't so bad? Dunno. I've only been having this side effect for a few days, but then last time, when it hit, it hit hard. Hopefully the rest of the side effects I will be going through are weaker, perhaps non-existent. I'll be seeing the docs the middle of this week again, I hope.
Yes, questions. Life doesn't offer answers. You find yourself not knowing something, you do some research, talk to people, then you just have to dig in. Sometimes you create the answers, solutions sets, or reality. It's not easy navigating life, but I am used to this. I've pulled impossible tricks out of invisible hats and just walked on before. Some say I am doing it just by being alive, if I think it is they who are confused on this point. Usually. Decades to live, possibly love... it just isn't over until it is over.
Hmm... A nap I do believe. Hopefully a short one. I ditched the alarm yesterday and almost made it a short nap without it. Almost. This time I do need to be up by mid-afternoon. So... I will set it. I just won't be stingy with sleep. It'll be a firewall, not a nag... Have a great day. Oh, sorry about any misspellings or poor grammar. I just don't have enough left to edit... for now... Yeah. Good day.
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