So glad no one reads this…

Bloggers make big bucks, this comes as a great surprise to me. I’ve blogged since 1997. Yup. Back to the days when one had to know HTML, before WordPress, blogging used to be called something else — like an online diary or something.

Paragraph line breaks are back. Who knows why? Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do or die.

In the beginning, I wrote about how screwy this small town was. Now I accept its foibles, its odd governmental policies and the conservative attitudes as well as the ridiculous “it’s heritage not hate” mindset. 

It confuses the newly minted Washingtonians. It being mindset, government, inability to create policy that helps all citizens. Recently, the city governmental unit turned down the State’s proposal for a new throughway. Good on them, the new road would have decimated at least 3 housing communities all in the name of safety. Those of us who live here know that some strategically placed left-turn lights would save the citizens. Not road widening.

So, if you read through all that, good on you. A town of 10K …

See you in the funny papers, life is too weird,

Me

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No Oxy in the House

When I decided to cease taking oxycontin, it meant more than just simply stopping a certain drug. I think almost everyone knows that oxy cessation causes physical and mental reactions, all of them devastating and difficult. There were many reasons I stopped Oxy.

Small town, big conversations. I simply didn’t want to be known as a person with Oxycontin in my house.

I knew my neural pathways were damaged by the six years of oxycontin use. Remember my disclaimer: I was under a pain clinic’s care, took only the prescribed dose and went to my monthly appointments to secure pain medications. More than Oxycontin, my doctor’s care included steroid injections as well as general physical care (almost to a GP level). Pain clinics, legitimate ones like the one I went to, have to take the whole of the patient, it can’t just be pain management.

Chronic Pain is its own disease.

Now I have to train an internal medicine professional all about my pain levels. She doesn’t know me from Adam (who could be my neighbor, small town lol). Each visit requires me to run down, for her, what is going on with me. She only sees page one of my symptoms and illnesses, the minor irritations I’ve mentioned over the last year.

The fibromyalgia and the herniated C3-C7 disks are on page seven or eight.

I want to scream at her to read my MRI results from last year’s scan. Or read the CT scan of my neck. But they’re so far into the encyclopedia that is ME that she’ll rarely get past page 4 or 5, let alone page 104-105.

I’m through with oxycontin. I’m so over Vicodin, no more opioids in this body. I’m learning to cope with minor drugs like Tramadol, I’m still taking my Lyrica and at the new drug is Abilify — to deal with the flip side of a bi-polar moment. Or as we bi-polar people say: the creativity during a manic phase is welcome more oftentimes than not but the onslaught of crippling bi-polar depression can certainly go straight to hell.

Bi-Polar Depression grabs sanity in a physical as well as mental way.

Depression. Fighting it hard these days. Makes me paranoid, makes my self-esteem plummet, makes me distrust those who profess to love or care about me.

Thanks for not reading, as usual — I’ll see you in the funny papers.

-me

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A writer needs a muse

It’s difficult for a writer to compose without a specific audience in mind. Each blog post here has a person behind it. No one need understand who that person is, for the most part.

So, as you don’t read this blog, keep in mind — the reader, the audience — could be you.

Today is bitterly cold and tomorrow will see temperatures near 70degreesF. From a wind chill of 9 to a day of high 60s — welcome to my world. I can’t help but wonder if the pocosin affects the weather. Perhaps climatologists smarty pants types need to come down here to the swamp. Life in the Lesser Dismal never fails to amuse. Another perhaps — perhaps everyone should endeavor to consider life complete once a visit to the pocosin has been achieved. Pocosin Power.

Perhaps our area swamp gas rivals that of the swamp gas coming from the orifices president-elect and his Republican cronies? Draining the swamp? Personal swamp gas reduction resulting in renewable energy source? If someone could harness that warm emission from either source, we could heat homes in winter, thereby fracturing the demand for electricity and natural gas, thereby fracturing the energy drain.

Others suggest cow farts and the use of methane gas to generate electrical power. I’m all for harnessing of cow farts but the cows would surely be hampered by what I think a contraption would look like — a reverse CPAP type structural piece functioning to remove air rather than blow it. Perhaps, if I could create a prototype, I could/would then be on Shark Tank and win the big prize of investor relations and influx of cash to promote and create/manufacture my device.

The Reverse Negative Continuous positive airway pressure System for the harvesting of cow flatulence.

Created and conceived by none other than the blogger no one reads. Brilliant. Attach one of my RNCPAPS to the administration-elect and thereby save the world this winter.

Thanks again for not reading. See you in the funny papers.

-me

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Joan and Joni concert

I’m here to give a shout out to my favorite duo:

Allison Shapira and Kipyn Martin who put on a fantastic show at the Arts of the Pamlico last night. The show, titled

Joan and Joni

is more than a tribute to Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell. It’s a walk through history as these two remarkable young women explain how a song came to be or who it was meant for or the general folk history of a Baez classic. Kipyn Martin sounds so much like Joni Mitchell — it’s eerie and amazing. But — she’s her own woman. Being able to “sound” like someone else is a rare gift, especially if the someone else is Joni Mitchell or Joan Baez.

Listen to Kipyn sing an original song on YouTube:

and to listen to Allison Shapira is to become elevated into the moment where sheer talent and incredible melody marry, you are stolen from reality and transferred into a place of comfort and joy.

One of the Joan and Joni videos with Allison Shapira’s amazing voice on YouTube videos:

as always, thanks for not reading (or listening), see you in the funny papers
-me

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Ghosts in Wilmington NC

There’s something wrong with WordPress. The last update eliminated paragraph breaks. This looks f’ing awful… Get ready for a run on story, until I can fix the line breaks, we’re stuck with it. so sorry …………… only breaks when I use headings ….  

 

Sometimes what I have to tell  you is so complicated that therein lies the difficulty in the telling. Where to start, what details to tell, where to end the tale?

 

Such is the story of the Wilmington  haunted house. It belongs to a friend who recently began to occupy the dwelling. The first night, drawers opened in empty rooms, lost objects appeared in plain sight on the couch and other anomalies occurred. Of course, being the little shit that I am, mocking ensued. Disbelief. My humorous outlook multiplied tenfold when the haunting entities included a goat. Yes, a goat haunting.

Someone heard a goat.

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Thomas Erskine on the Advantages of Free Speech

When men can freely communicate their thoughts and their sufferings, real or imaginary, their passion spend themselves in air, like gunpowder scatter upon the surface; but pent up by terrors, they work unseen, burst forth in a moment, and destroy everything in their course.

(Rex v. Paine, 1792)

That’s what is on my mind today … free speech and its consequences. With or without.

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Afterimage by Helen Humphreys

Superb book. I have to quote it here for a while, sit back and let the words flow into you. This is, unquestionably, one of the most beautiful paragraphs I’ve read in the last ten years. Eldon is a map maker, late 20th century, eating alone in large formal dining room — on an English estate.

Eldon bends his head over his plate of underdone turkey, which has been hacked from the bone in rough, stringy wedges. There’s the whicker of the clock being wound in the hall. A bract of vines at the window. The cut heads of roses float in a crystal bowl, one turning slowly in the whispery light, bumping against the others, turning like a compass disk toward the thought of North.

Let’s not stop there, here’s another, Annie is the new maid in Eldon’s estate house:

When you just sit somewhere and don’t move, the whole world comes to you. Annie sees thing she has never noticed before. Birds and insects circle in the trees above her. Flowers tilt their heavy heads toward the soft-grass ground. The smells of the summer are wide. She looks up at the sun strained through a mass of cloud. How is it then that she sometimes misses Mrs. Gilbey and Portman Square. It is only because it has been familiar to her? …

once again, I thank you for not reading.

See you in the funny papers.

afterimage, a novel by Helen Humphreys, published by Metropolitan Books 2000. Exquisite book.

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Flunked my piss test

How funny is that? Had to go a week later and pee again, for Tramadol. Peeing for Tramadol, not even an opioid. Ridiculous. Apparently I need to drink a LOT of water for a few days before going to the doctor, in case the random testing begins anew. Point taken … no more amphetamines or salad before doctor appointments.

thanks for not reading…

see you in the funny papers.

 

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The Beckman Trade-Off Triangle

Years ago, longer than life I think, my mom learned the Beckman Trade-off Triangle. If my Photoshop / Illustrator skills were up to par — I’d draw it for you. Instead you must envision it. A perfect triangle, each side a word: CREDIT — KUDOS — COMPENSATION.

If you research trade-off triangles today, it’s a whole different kettle of fish. Project management rules the day: Resources abound. Time, Cost, Quantity. Not so with Beckman.

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Divestiture of Valued Objects

Here’s my Christmas thought — I would like to tell my children and their spouses/significant others this: Come to my/our house between December 25-January 2nd and choose five (5) items you want. Then take the Five Items with you. If I do this every birthday and Christmas (my birthday and theirs) I figure I can empty my house in 17 years. This divestiture includes my random object removal process via Goodwill and Salvation Army to accompany the What Do You Want method.

two times a year for me + my children twice a years x = 2me(17 years) x 4adults(2x Yearly x 17 years) or something over something multiplied by that something and divided by the amount of shit I’ve collected in my 62 years.

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