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“I wonder why I’m shivering in such infernal heat.”

Happy Tuesday, everyone.  I guess this is, traditionally, the day of Mars, since the Spanish word for the day is “Martes”, which I think harkens back to the Latin name for the god of war (Mars…duh).

At times, I find it strange that there even ever was a god of war (mythically, I mean‒I know that there never was an actual god of war).  I guess, given the human race, it shouldn’t really surprise me.  Heck, I’ve even been led to understand that the good ol’ god o’ Abraham was originally a war god, but I have less provenance for that conclusion, so take it with a pillar of salt.

Incidentally, it’s also 7-11 in the American dating system, and that’s mildly amusing, given the name of the ubiquitous, quintessential “convenience store”.

As you might have noticed, I did not write a blog post yesterday.  Unfortunately, that’s not because I was dead, in case you were wondering.  I suspect death is, if not pleasant, at least not as unpleasant as the way I felt yesterday and the few days before (and is much how I feel today, though somewhat less so).

I started feeling ill on Saturday during the day, with that general achy soreness one feels when fighting an infection.  Then by Sunday I started having a modest fever, and yesterday I was just wiped out and in pain and my back pain was also acting up worse than usual.

I still don’t feel great today, but I need to go into the office before too much stuff gets backed up with which for me up to catch.  I’m not completely sure about the grammar of that last sentence, but I think you probably get my meaning.  I suppose it doesn’t much matter.

Anyway, I’m still under the weather, but I don’t have any symptoms that suggest contagion, so I’m going in.  I may have some low-level bacterial infection somewhere, but if so, it’s difficult to tell where without more localizing symptoms.  I suppose it’s possible I could have an infection in and around the hardware in my lower back, but I would expect the character of my back pain to change at least subtly in such a case, and it has not.

Maybe I just overdid things with my walking in the morning last week‒if my calculations are correct, I walked about 40 miles total, and in the reputedly hottest week on record, or something along those lines.  Maybe I just overexerted myself enough on too short notice to have given my body time to adjust.

If that’s the case, I may regret taking the days off yesterday and the day before.  But then again, it would be rather disappointing to walk myself into oblivion just locally.  How drab and dreary that would be.

I suppose, in a sense, such a thing would be appropriate for me.

So, all that and other lifestyle changes may have affected my resistance to some ailment, and maybe I’ve just been fighting some low-level virus or something.  If so, it doesn’t seem to be too horrible a one, or at least it’s not acutely too virulent.

It’s a bit sad to think, but I probably will die alone, when it happens.  Of course, in a sense, everyone dies alone.  Even if you die at the same time as lots of other people, perhaps in some massive catastrophe, you die alone, since it’s not as though you can share the experience with anyone else.

Of course, by that logic, everyone lives alone too.  But maybe that’s just an impression formed by someone who is probably on the autism spectrum and who has gone through a series of reversals* that have left him sundered, at least physically, from the people with whom he used to be able to connect.

Anyway, the point I guess I’m making is that there is something non-futile, or so it seems to me, in dying with your loved ones nearby, for you and sometimes even for them.  I was very disheartened to have arrived too late for my final visit with my father, and could only say goodbye to him after he had died.  I was at least there for my mother’s final day or so, and I think she was aware that I had come.  She was quite out of it, but she interacted with me some.  I tried to start reading The Chasm and the Collision to her, which I had just published not long before…I think.  My recollection may be faulty here.  I have the impression that she just missed reading that, and I think it would have been her favorite of my books.

I don’t think I would have wanted my parents ever to read Unanimity.  It’s just too dark.

I think I may take an Uber to the train this morning.  It’s a bad habit, I know, but I’m still a little wiped, and the prospect of walking to the bus and then from the bus to the train is mildly unpleasant.  If so, I’d better leave soon.  I may write more of this once I get there.

And that’s what I’m doing, just for a short while.  I don’t want to make the post too long, but I figured I’ll let you all know that I got to the train station, and that I even got on an earlier train than I was expecting given that fact, because that earlier train was running late.  That’s a slightly amusing bit of irony, I think.  But I have a weird sense of humor.

Anyway, I’m glad I took the Lyft (not an Uber; my apologies to the branding and marketing people at Lyft) because even walking down the stairs from the bridge over the tracks kind of wiped me out and made me feel a bit breathless.  I wonder if I could have a low-grade lower respiratory infection without having a cough.  It does happen.  A low enough respiratory infection often doesn’t trigger the cough reflex; that tends to involve the upper airways.

Oh, well, who cares?  I’m probably fine, and if I’m not, well, it’s not the worst thing that could happen.  The only people really relying on me are doing so for business purposes, and those purposes can all be fairly easily adjusted.  I’m certainly not crucial or essential for anyone or anything.

Anyway, that’s enough for now.  I have over a thousand words of gibberish down so far, written on my phone.  I think for tomorrow I’ll try to remember to bring the laptop with me; my thumbs are getting sore.

Again, I hope you all have a happy “day of the god of war”, contradictory though that may seem.  Contradictions can be okay.  And at the same time, they can’t actually exist; they can only be spoken (or written, etc.) they can never be instantiated.

*I suppose it must have been an odd number of reversals, since an even number would have left me going in the original direction, and that’s clearly not the case.

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A short but sour post

Well, here I am again, sitting at the train station after having walked 5 miles to get here, and I’m writing a blog post using my smartphone.  Today, of course, it being Saturday, the trains run less frequently, and also, for unclear reasons, the train I’m taking is boarding on the opposite side from its usual one, the announcement of which is being repeated at rather excessive frequency.  Still, I guess it’s better for it to be overstated than under-announced; that way all those taking the train will be well-informed of the change.

Yesterday at work ended on a frustrating note, in which I just left about half an hour early, because someone had lit sage and wafted that horrible, disgusting scent around.  Now, I’ve tried to make it clear that the smell of sage gives me a headache and actually makes me nauseated; and it’s not as though it’s a necessity for doing business.  So, I was already feeling my usual stress from the noise of all the voices, and the overhead “music”, and I had a very bad day with respect to back pain.  Once I suddenly smelled that crap, and there was even some joking about the fact that it bothered me, I essentially said, “fuck this shit”, and even though it had been raining like crazy, I packed up my backpack and left.

Honestly, I’m just so tired.  If someone lights that shit today, I think I will leave when it happens.  I have to endure the noise of the people all talking and it’s at least arguable that the “music” is necessary or at least useful for business, but the sage is just a disgusting pollutant.  And, no, it doesn’t have any mystical or supernatural properties‒nothing does.  But it can invoke a metaphorical demon in me.

I hate people doing crap like that, at least once they know it is a scent that nauseates me (or anyone else).  But then, I’ve become pretty misanthropic over time, so to a good first approximation, I hate everyone, at least part of the time.  I don’t think I used to be this way.  What’s more, I don’t just have antipathy toward humans, but often tend toward pan-antipathy, which is not hatred of bread (though it includes it) but hatred of everything.

When one hates everything, one can either work to try to destroy everything‒which is a bit of a tall order if one does not have the Infinity Gauntlet‒or one can simply try to escape from everything, either temporarily or permanently.  Admittedly, the notion of “escape” can make it seem like something cowardly to some people who are insecure in their own courage, or who worry what other people think despite hating them.  But that isn’t terribly consistent, logically.

I’m tired.  It’s early morning, and I’m just now on the way to the office, and I’m already so very tired.  I don’t know what to do.  Every day it feels harder to continue.  What’s the point of it?  One thing or another is always frustrating, and very little is rewarding anymore.  I even tried to tempt myself with ice cream or cookies or Pop tarts at the convenience store on the way back to the house last night, but I couldn’t get interested.  I forced myself to get a candy bar in hopes of getting some indulgent, good feeling, but it was just disappointing.

Oh, well.  Life is inherently unsatisfying, as the Buddhists say.  I’m tired of it.

Maybe I’ll get hit by a car or get hit by lightning or something along those lines.  Or maybe I’ll get severely ill, or have a heart attack or a stroke.  It would be nice to have it all taken out of my hands so I don’t have to keep trying.

I don’t know what to do.  And I’m tired, so I’m stopping this post now.  Have a good day.

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Phoning in yet another blog post

Well, here it is, Friday, and I’m writing another blog post.  I’m doing this one on my phone, because I didn’t feel like bringing the laptop with me when I left the office yesterday.  I had to leave late, because all of a sudden, at the end of the day, three different people got deals, and of course they all had to be processed and recorded‒and fixed, when the first 3 credit cards didn’t go through.  Of course, the people who got those deals were long gone well before things were finished; Cat forbid that they should have to leave late just because they waited until the end of the day to actually put in serious effort.  Cat forbid they should worry about inconveniencing other people.

I had hoped to get the 6:15 pm train and then walk back to the house from the train station while talking to my sister on the phone, but that didn’t work out.  By the time I even left the office it was already well past that train’s time, and the next one is 45 minutes later.  I was too tired and stressed out to talk then, and it was too late to start walking.  I didn’t really do any walking yesterday.

This morning, though, I awoke too early, and after putting it off for a while I finally got up and showered and walked the 5 miles to the station.  And now, I’m on the train.  It would be nice to get to the point where I get an endorphin surge from the walk, but evidently I’m not at that stage yet.

I wish I had something more interesting to write about, so you kind readers could have something interesting to read.  Alas, my creativity seems to be at a local nadir.  As mentioned, I haven’t really read anything this week so far, whether fiction or nonfiction, except a few short blog posts and news stories, though I didn’t get to the end even of most of those.  Likewise, I don’t think I’ve listened to a complete podcast nor finished a full YouTube video, though I’ve started quite a few.  Maybe I finished some on Tuesday in the evening, when I got off work early, but I’m not certain.

Anyway, I’m sorry to be such a drag.  I’m not a good or pleasant person, and I doubt that I ever have been.  Certainly most people who know me have voted with their feet in one way or another.  I ought to follow suit, and just walk away from everything, forever, and for good.

I didn’t even listen to any music or podcasts this morning, other than songs that were running through my head‒mainly The Man Who Sold the World and Ashes to Ashes today, though some others probably peeped in here and there.  Nevertheless, I kept my earphones in.  They’re good to have in place so that other people will understand if you don’t speak or listen to them.  You can even bob and sway a bit, if such is your habit, and people might just assume that you’re listening to music.  I don’t know for sure.  It’s hard to say what, if anything, goes through other people’s minds much of the time.

Oh, by the way, I apologize for not putting in hyperlinks to the sites or locations of the books I mentioned yesterday, which I usually do.  I didn’t really do any of my final usual edit on the site, because I just didn’t care.  I apologize, but I probably will behave similarly today.

Also, by the way, there seems to be some issue with the embedded Twitter sidebar on my site.  It claims I haven’t tweeted anything, which is a damned lie.  Evidently, the twit who now owns Twitter, and the twits he has running it, have fucked it up and made it difficult to connect to it.  If it gets annoying enough for me, I might explore how to fix the embedding, but I’m irritated enough at WordPress themselves for changing their input system for the worse.  This is the problem with constantly trying to update and change everything out of a sense of worry over competition:  while all improvement is change, most change is not an improvement.

Oh, well.  People are stupid.  They probably always will be stupid.  Even the very wealthy and successful are generally idiots, as we see demonstrated all too often.  Even bloggers (such as I) are often idiots, if you can believe such a thing!  No matter how smart someone may be, relative to, say, insects or baboons, or their fellow naked house apes, ignorance is always infinite.

And, on that uplifting note, I’ll stop for today.  It’s at least a shortish post, right?  I hope you all have a nice Friday, and a good weekend.  I expect to be writing a post tomorrow, since I work tomorrow.  I will try not to die before then, since my coworker’s daughter’s first birthday party is tomorrow, and I wouldn’t like to inconvenience him.

Still, there’s only so long I can keep staying alive so as not to cause problems for others.  Goodness knows, most other people don’t seem to have many qualms about inconveniencing me, or anyone else.

Is it any wonder I’m tired of the world?

Anyway, please try to have a nice day.

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Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps, and they that blog see time how slow it creeps

Hello and good morning.

It’s Thursday, the long-standing day of what was my weekly blog, back when I was writing fiction that almost no one but my family members would ever read on the other days of the week.

I’m writing this at the house, because I decided to take the bus in to the train this morning, because I already feel over-hot and sweaty and, most importantly, quite mentally fatigued.  I thought I’d give myself a short break and do my walking in the evening today.  That way, at least, I don’t have to carry a change of clothes with me to the office and have it drying out in front of my little desktop fan most of the day.  Not that anyone complained—they didn’t.  But it’s mildly irritating.

I’m getting tired of doing this blog, especially the Thursday one, in which I use a Shakespearean quote that I’ve altered to squeeze in some form of the word “blog”.  Then again, I’m getting tired of doing pretty much everything.

I haven’t read anything at all this week, apart from the occasional snippet of a news article.  I have listened to some podcasts—mainly Sean Carroll’s Mindscape—so far this week.  His solo “AMA” podcasts are often better than the ones in which he interviews someone, though I’ve encountered some interesting people through the latter podcasts, and have bought books by them.  Still, I did that far more often for people on the Sam Harris podcast.  I’m not sure why that is.  Maybe I just have more in common thought-wise with Harris, or I tend to find his guests more interesting.

Still, I like the AMA’s for both of them, the ones for Carroll because he is a physicist, and so people ask him many physics-related questions.  He has more than enough expertise to address them, and he’s a good explainer and thinker.  I think in some ways that Sam Harris is a more careful thinker, a more methodical and cautious one; his long-standing meditation practice seems to serve him well in this.  He strikes me as almost Vulcan in character, though not in any straightforward, simplistic, “emotionless” sense.  In any case, I admire both men and like to listen to their thoughts and listen to their interactions with other intelligent people about interesting topics.

I have Sean Carroll’s textbook on General Relativity, Spacetime and Geometry, but I haven’t read very far in it.  It’s not that it’s too difficult; it’s well written, and everything so far makes good sense and seems clear.  But I just have a hard time forcing myself to go through it, or anything else, really.  I have the book at the office, like I have Zee’s Quantum Field Theory, As Simply As Possible, but I have to sit and actually read them, and there is no good time period during which to sit uninterrupted, even during my supposed lunch time.  And by the time I get back to the house—or early in the morning—I’m all but completely out of mental energy.

I also have Stephen Hawking’s book Euclidean Quantum Gravity (co-written with G.W. Gibbons) that supposedly goes into more detail on some ideas he mentioned in A Brief History of Time, and I’ve also hardly read any of that.  But, again, this week I really haven’t read anything, fiction or nonfiction.  I’m really running out of steam.  Nothing is very interesting.  Nothing is very fun.  I feel mentally exhausted, even though I’m getting more physically fit.  It’s just all very boring.

Maybe it would be better if I weren’t in pain every day, or if I had someone with whom I could really talk about things like physics and whatnot, on a regular basis.

I don’t know where I’m going with this.  Well, I’m going nowhere, of course, but that’s more long term.

Maybe I should just Uber to the office, so I don’t even need to walk to the bus stop.  Why not?  It’s not as though there’s any reason for me to save money.  I have no future for which to plan or prepare.

I feel a bit like Colonel Slade (I think that was his name) in Scent of a Woman, in that I might as well just spend whatever I have on minor diversions.  I have no interest in most of things in which he was interested, of course—no interest in Ferraris or escorts or fancy restaurants in Manhattan, or the Waldorf-Astoria.  I also have no interest in or expectation to find some high school student to walk me around—thankfully, I am not blind—nor to save my life in dramatic and touching movie-style fashion.

Also, of course, though I do appreciate and enjoy Jack Daniels whiskey from time to time—it’s probably my favorite hard liquor—I do not have a drinking problem, unlike the good Colonel, and I rather quickly get tired of alcohol on the occasions when I do drink it.  I could see myself getting habituated to Valium, in principle—the two times I actually took it, for medical reasons, are the only times in my life when I recall feeling “normal” and at ease in my skin—but I understand the nature of that process, and that such habituation would lead to feeling even worse in between doses.

In any case, I have no access to Valium (or any of its relatives), and have no intention to seek it out.  I wouldn’t trust “black market” Valium even if I knew where to look for it.

Of course, one might well ask, if I don’t really care if I live or die, what does it matter if I take something that isn’t actually Valium?  Well, if I were to be seeking Valium, it would be to try to experience that sense of feeling normal, perhaps for a third and final time in my life, and it would be terribly disappointing to get the wrong thing.  This is a situation in which it is better never to have loved at all than to have loved and lost, so to speak.

Anyway, I’m tired, and this blog post is already longer than I meant it to be.  This week has felt like a million years already.  So much for Pink Floyd’s line “every year is getting shorter”.  Of course, I understand that phenomenon, and I have experienced what is being described in the song.  But lately, time is moving more and more slowly, from a subjective point of view.  I’m dragging my feet, but the sun still just doesn’t keep up, and it certainly doesn’t feel as if it’s racing around to come up behind me again.

Of course, unless I’m secretly immortal, which seems ridiculously unlikely, it is certainly true that I am “one day closer to death” every day, as are we all.  But it still could be a comparatively long way off, at least if I leave it to its own devices.  If I do that, and experience life as I have been for so long, and if I live even only twenty more years (which would still have me die younger than either my mother or father, neither of whom had exercise habits or practices such as I do), it would seem a horrible semi-eternity.

I know, “semi-eternity” doesn’t actually make sense.  It’s akin to multiplying infinity times zero—it’s not a well-defined operation, mathematically.

I did invent a “number” in the past, which I called a “gleeb” for no particular reason, that when multiplied by zero would produce 1, making it, in a sense, “bigger” than infinity, or at least different.  I even worked out a little of the implicit algebra of the gleeb, during some down-time in the education department at FSP West.  It was silly, and it certainly wasn’t useful for any mathematical purposes, but when you realize that it implies that 1/0=gleeb, or 1/gleeb=0, and then start putting those identities into equations and the like, you can get some surprising and amusing results, such as that a gleeb raised to any positive power is just still a gleeb, and that the gleeb is, in a sense, the reciprocal of zero—though again, there’s no use or rigor to it.

Anyway, that’s that.  I want to go back to bed and try to go to sleep, but I’m not going to do that.  I work today, tomorrow, and Saturday, and it’s my coworker’s daughter’s first birthday tomorrow, so I wouldn’t want to interfere with his family’s enjoyment of that.  So, there it is.  I will need to survive until next week at least.  I don’t know if I’ll make it until next Thursday, but I expect I’ll at least write a post a day for the next two days, because that’s just me doing what I do every day.  I hope you have a good remainder of your week, whoever you are that is reading this.

TTFN

tardis-doctor-who

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I’m not tiptoeing but I’m walking a fair amount

Okay, well, it’s Wednesday morning, and I’m sitting at the train station, having timed my walk nicely to make me just miss the 6:10 train, so that I wouldn’t feel compelled to try to rush to catch it.  When I saw it arrive at the station, which I did, I was a bit too far away to have been able to catch it even had I sprinted.  So, my timing was good.

I’ve been walking to the station every morning this week, including yesterday*, which means that, as of now, I’ve walked roughly thirty miles since Saturday.  That’s no world record or anything, of course—a person in excellent condition could probably walk about thirty miles a day, if that were all they were doing, leaving plenty of time for rest breaks and sleep.  But it’s an improvement for me, at least.  Though I’ve had to adjust my wardrobe, bringing a full change of clothes with me, because by the time I get to the office, I look as though I’ve been swimming, I’ve sweated** so much.  As I think I mentioned before, I carry those little “scent bomb” sprays so I don’t offend anyone around me with my smell, and I’m reliably told that, at least in the short term, my sweat doesn’t actually smell too bad, which is not exactly high praise.

I changed the high E-string on my black Strat on Monday afternoon***, and I even played a little after that.  Nothing serious, it was just nice to hear the sound of the new string, and it was good to feel the stupid sense of pride in accomplishment in having changed it.  That’s rather pathetic, but I guess that should surprise no one, least of all me.

I’ve been wearing bilateral spandex supports both on my knees and my ankles, as I think I mentioned earlier this week.  This seems to be helping to minimize the degree to which the walking exacerbates my back pain, which is a hugely important consideration.  The fact that it helps also raises questions about the specific things that have caused the triggering of worsening back pain at other times when I did not use bilateral supports.

I’m not using back supports, of course—when I was first dealing with my back problems, I rapidly concluded that back braces are worse than useless, at least for me.  But certainly, having a side-to-side differential in the way one walks can produce an irregular torque on one’s lower back that could easily stimulate worsening pain, especially when repeated over a five to six mile walk, which is, after all, about 13,000 steps.

Anyway, that’s about all that’s going on with me.  I didn’t do anything to celebrate the holiday yesterday, other than to write my related post and to get off work early.  I didn’t sleep particularly well, even for me, because I kept waking up throughout the night thinking that someone was knocking at my door, only to realize quickly that it was just the sound of moderately distant fireworks going off.  There were even people still setting off fireworks when I got up this morning and when I was walking to the train station.

I remember when I was very young that fireworks and related loud noises terrified me horribly, or maybe not so much terrified as just elicited a profound displeasure.  Some of my earliest memories are of being overwhelmed by the noise of fireworks, and of having to be carried (screaming) out of the showing of The Three Caballeros cartoon at Disney World once they started shooting their guns.  I’m still not a big fan of noise, especially chaotic noise (though I like fireworks now for their appearance), and if it were not for the fact that I love music, I think I would happily try to make myself deaf.

Of course, I am enjoying listening to podcasts and audio books while walking, so I would lose that if I were deaf, but it’s not as though such things are crucial.  On Saturday, during my 6.7 mile walk back from the movie theater, I didn’t listen to anything, and that wasn’t a problem.  In fact, thinking back to my above comment about someone walking thirty miles a day, I don’t see how one could listen to something for such a long time without their battery running out quite early in the process.  Walking thirty miles has to take on the order of ten hours (or more), and I’m not sure that anyone’s cell phone could play e-books or podcasts or music for that long, or even close.

Maybe silence is just better.

Anyway, it’s never truly silent, because I’m always listening to tinnitus in my right ear.  But that’s just one of those things.  Even if I were to develop full hearing loss I might still have that tinnitus, like an amputee with phantom limb pain.  If that were the only sound, and I didn’t hear all the stupid noise of people talking at the office and so on, I think it might be worth it.

Well, that’s enough for today.  I don’t think I’ve said or written anything of any use to anyone, but that’s pretty much par for the course for me.  I’m not looking forward to work today, nor am I looking forward to leaving work at the end of the day, nor to much of anything else.

I hope you feel otherwise than I do, though.  I wouldn’t want to try to convince anyone else to feel dysthymic or depressed or to be in despair.  I don’t admire foolish or delusional optimism, of course, but reasonable positivity is hard to denigrate if one is being honest.  I wish I were built to be that way, but it just doesn’t seem to be the case, though it can be quite irritating when one feels rotten.

Oh, well.  There’s no place to ask for a refund or replacement for the suboptimal product that I am.  All I can do is lodge my complaint, as I’m doing here, in case someone out there might be able to fix me, or at least so that no one out there is too surprised if I finally succumb to my mental issues, which could happen pretty much any day, honestly.  I’m more or less always seriously mentally uncomfortable, and it wears me out, and there’s really nothing happening in my life that compensates for it.

I want rest, or at least I want oblivion.  I guess we all have that waiting at some point.

*We worked yesterday for half a day, in case I didn’t mention that during my post.

**That doesn’t feel like a proper word.  The past tense of “sweat” feels like it should be just “sweat”.  However, Word’s spell-checking function is not highlighting “sweated”, so that probably means it’s the standard past tense of that verb.  Weird.

***That was the string I broke when I kicked the guitar in intense frustration (not related to the guitar) a few weeks or so earlier.  I tend to take my frustration out on things that I’ve created or that are important to me, largely because I feel that I have a right to do so, but also because I tend to direct my anger inwardly.  Whenever I get angry, I tend to divert much of it to myself in response to the simple fact that I’ve allowed myself to be angry.  It makes me feel pathetic and weak and that I’m a horrible person.  So I’ll tear up music that I’ve written, or drawings, or other similar personal expressions of creativity, and if I can’t do that, I’ll break things that have some importance to me, and if that doesn’t work, I may just directly hurt myself.  Of course, in kicking the Strat, I covered both of the latter—my right big toe was almost certainly fractured, because it’s still sore even weeks later.  That’s okay.  Fractured toes are just things that need time to heal (not heel).

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Independence Day is worth celebrating

Well, it’s Tuesday, the 4th of July, and in the United States, it’s Independence Day.  It’s often just referred to by the people of America as “The 4th of July”, rather like the holiday “Cinco de Mayo” in Mexico, but I strongly prefer to refer to it as Independence Day, because that way we are more likely to remember what is being celebrated:  The official beginning of the United States of America as an independent nation, as announced in the Declaration of Independence.

I’m a fan of the Declaration of Independence, and I encourage Americans at least to read it every year.  It isn’t very long, and if you want, you can sort of skim through the list of grievances.  But the idea of the Declaration is important.  To my knowledge, it was the first founding document of a nation that explicitly states that governments are not ends in themselves, but are means for the protection and support of the rights and well-being of the people of the nation.

I know these ideas weren’t original to the founders of the United States, but as far as I know, it was the first time they were declared, in an official document, as the reason for existence of a nation, of a government.  Not God, not kings, not some “greater good” that supersedes a person, but the rights of each individual person, and of all of them in total, are the point of a government.

And, of course, the stated “self-evident” truths are interesting:  “That all men* are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these** are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”  Then follows the statement that people make—or tolerate—governments as a means to an end or ends; they are not ends in and of themselves, and if they’re not doing what they’re meant to do, or not doing their job well, it’s within the rights of the various people to change those governments and try to make something better, though this should not be done lightly.

Many people, quite correctly, point out that there is hypocrisy in the writing of the Declaration of Independence.  Many of the founders were slave-holders, and they all clearly had less-than-ideal attitudes toward women, and toward the rights of native Americans and so on.  This does not invalidate the Declaration of Independence, because the ideas expressed within it are bigger than any individuals of any given era or of any given outlook and set of prejudices.

The ideas in the Declaration of Independence are aspirational.  It’s not saying “this is what we are,” but “this is what we strive to become, what we think we should be.”

One does not hold it against someone if, on the day they begin a new diet and exercise regimen, they are not already paragons of physical heath and beauty.  The whole point of the regimen is to become better than one already is, and this, I think, is the spirit in which one should take the Declaration of Independence, (and the American Constitution)***.

We were not perfect then (the “we” is a bit presumptuous, since none of my ancestors, as far as I know, were in the US before the end of the 19th century) and we are not perfect now, but there is little room reasonably to doubt that we are better now than we were then, as individuals, as societies, as a civilization.

It’s going to require continuing effort, with strict rigor, to continue getting better, by whatever measure of “better” we might choose.  There is much work yet to be done.  Maybe civilization will never be perfect.  Perfection is a rather woolly concept anyway.

So it’s not unreasonable to celebrate Independence Day (though we now are quite close allies with Britain, from which nation we declared independence).  It’s not a celebration of enmity, but perhaps more analogous to the celebration of a child having left home and having become an adult in its own right.  Maybe that’s a condescending attitude, I don’t know.

But I’m a fan of the United States in terms of ideas and approaches, though there are many things about it that are imperfect.  I have no sympathy with anyone who would say, “My country, right or wrong”; that’s no better than saying, “My street gang, right or wrong.”  Loyalty should be earned, and I think that, at its root, the idea and practice of the United States, for all its faults and its continuing need for improvement, is worth at least provisional loyalty.

The USA has the capacity, and the inherent goal, to get better.  It doesn’t—at least when we are honest—claim to be perfect or divine (or even divinely inspired) or the best possible government that could ever be.  It carries, however, an implicit intent always to continue improving.  And that’s something worth celebrating.

So, Happy Birthday, USA (in the words of The Bears’ Almanac)!  Happy Independence Day.

happy independence day

*Note that here, of course, is an example of the greatest injustice in human history, the ages-long failure to recognize that the majority of humans (i.e., women) are fully human.  When I think of how many Emmy Noethers and Ada Lovelaces and Marie Curies and how many George Eliots and Brontës sisters and Mary Shelleys and so on were out there but never had the chance to become what they might have been, I want to weep.  It doesn’t seem unreasonable to suppose that the human race might be twice as scientifically and mathematically advanced and have twice as much great art and literature, if only women had not been repressed throughout the ages.  Nevertheless, we can’t hold the writers (mainly Jefferson) of the Declaration of Independence too blame-worthy, at least relative to others, in this failure.  As late as the 1960s, and in as forward-thinking a show as Star Trek, the opening invocation still said, “…to boldly go where no man has gone before.”  It took until the 1980s with TNG to correct that to “…to boldly go where no one has gone before.”  They continued to split the infinitive, however, so some progress still remains to be achieved.

**Please note the clear implication that these are not the only rights that are considered unalienable or self-evident.  Of course, George Carlin, in a famous routine, pointed out that, at least in a certain way of looking at things, you have no rights, because those rights can be withdrawn and are allowed to you by those in power.  However, this isn’t necessarily logically correct.  Just because rights are infringed, even for decades or centuries or millennia, does not mean that those rights might not exist.  From a certain point of view, all rights are human inventions, are “fictions” of a sort, but based on many reasonable foundations of morality, rights are implicit, and they accrue to individuals.

***Which, after all, contains the power to amend itself, like an AGI that can change its own code, and that power has been used more than two dozen times since the thing was created.  Inherent in its writing is the recognition that it is not a perfect document as it is, but it is an improvable document, and it can, in principle, work toward better and better government asymptotically.

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Viewing, walking, carrying, and planning

Well, it’s Monday again, the start of a new work week and also the first blog post of a new month.  It’s also what I refer to as Independence Eve (in the US).  Why not?  We have Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve.  Why not an “Eve” for the national holiday celebrating the official founding of the country?  I encourage you all the read (or reread) the Declaration of Independence tomorrow.  It’s not very long.

I’m writing this post at the train station for the moment, though I will probably be finishing it on the train, or even at the office, since there are only about eight minutes until the arrival of the next train.  The reason for all this will become clear shortly, for those who are interested.

It was a relatively eventful weekend for me.  I decided to force myself to go to the movie theater* on Saturday morning for a matinee showing (not to be confused with a manatee showing) of The Guardians of the Galaxy 3.  I allowed myself to do this—or negotiated it and gave myself added incentive, since I wasn’t exactly keen on going to the theater per se—on the agreement that I would have some movie theater popcorn while there**, and then would walk back to the house after the movie (I took an Uber to get there…I thought it would be unkind to arrive at the theater sweaty, in case it was crowded).

I did do that walk, about 6.7 miles, in the afternoon heat and humidity of south Florida.  It was not easy, but that wasn’t unexpected.  I did take two twenty-ish minute breaks, one at a bus stop and one in a very lovely little park, where I meditated a bit in the shade to relax.  That was useful both because of the heat and the walking and because of the stress of having gone to the theater.

I enjoyed the movie, but even though there was very low attendance, I still had to deal with someone sitting in my assigned/purchased seat.  As if I need that kind of trouble.  The person/family was gracious about moving, but I don’t understand why it should have been an issue!  In modern movie theaters, the seats are assigned.  Why would one sit in any seat other than the one for which one had paid?

So, I felt very tense and stressed out by even the modest number of people around me at the movie, but at least while the movie was playing I was fine.  I even laughed out loud two or three times, since it was a funny movie.  I also thought that the guy playing the High Evolutionary looked really familiar, and then last night while re-watching a video of clips about how “The 11th Doctor is a Bad-ass”, I realized that the actor who played the High Evolutionary had played a secret service agent in Doctor Who series 6 episodes 1 and 2 (The Impossible Astronaut and Day of the Moon).  I didn’t just trust myself, though I was fairly convinced, but I looked the actor up on IMDB, and confirmed it.

That’s kind of fun.  He was excellent in his role as the HE, and that should at least help encourage actors who are, at present, in supporting or even “background” roles.  Of course, Karen Gillan had major roles in both things, but she herself had also appeared previously in the 4th series of Doctor Who (The Fires of Pompeii) in truly a bit part, where she was so heavily made up that you wouldn’t recognize her if you didn’t know it was she***.

Anyway, it was a hell of a walk back from the theater, but my choice of boots seems to have been quite good, and I wore knee and ankle spandex supports on both sides, and I think that helped make sure I didn’t have too much of a problem with recovery.  I took it comparatively easy on Sunday (my laundry day, in any case), but overall I still walked about four miles total over the course of the day.  Then, this morning, I’ve already walked to the train station, which is about five miles, and I have another mile to walk from the station to the office.  So, I’m getting a fair amount of walking in since the start of July.

I want to get to the point where I can walk more or less indefinitely, because I have a challenge I dream of undertaking, at which I would either succeed or die trying.  I’ve mentioned it before, though I don’t recall how much detail I gave, and I won’t go too much into it now, but I will say that part of my walking yesterday involved going to buy some groceries—not many, but some—and bringing a hiking-type backpack to carry them, in order to test it out.  I’m pleased to say that it worked very nicely—if anything, it’s better and easier than my day-to-day backpack, which I guess makes sense, since it’s meant for carrying rather significant amounts of weight in challenging circumstances.

Supposedly, exercise such as walking is supposed to be beneficial for depression.  I’m not so sure it’s the case with me.  In the past, I usually only exercised thoroughly (which I often did) when I had already been recovering from depression.  It seems very clear, in my case, that the exercise was a consequence of the abating depression, not its cause, because I’ve long since been in the habit of exercising, and even now, at my worst, I still do dips and pull-ups and things five to six days a week.  Anyway, if I can push myself to walk and walk and go longer distances and maybe even undertake a great challenge, such as I have in mind, I might either succeed at treating—and maybe even curing—my depression, or otherwise, perhaps, at dying in the process.

Of course, it has not escaped my notice that I might succeed at treating my depression and then end up mortally harming myself.  That wouldn’t be so horrible.  I enjoy irony like that, and it wouldn’t trouble me to die ironically—or, at least it wouldn’t trouble me any worse than would dying in most other possible ways.  In any case, I think it’s almost certainly better to die while wanting to live than to live while wanting to die.

*I don’t think I’ll go the movies alone again in this life.  It’s just not enough fun to warrant the stress.

**I wanted to put Goobers® or Reese’s Pieces® in the popcorn, which was my personal tradition for movie theater popcorn, but alas, they did not have either of those candies available.  I was forced to make do with peanut M&Ms®, which is a worthy candy but, unfortunately, just not quite the same.  I did have a nice, “small” Mug® root beer, though.

***That’s the same episode in which Peter Capaldi first appeared in Doctor Who before returning as the 12th Doctor.

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It’s the end of the week as I know it, and I feel…

It’s Friday.  This week, that means that I have the next two days off work.  I wish I had something fun to do tomorrow or Sunday, but really, my only goal is getting my laundry done on Sunday morning and trying to get a little bit of extra sleep if I can.

I don’t have any friends with whom to do anything fun, and I don’t want to try to achieve anything interesting or useful with anyone.  And if someone were to surprise me with anything other than, for instance, a trip to some kind of inpatient psychiatric facility (pre-paid), I would not be terribly happy about it, though I guess if it were someone I haven’t seen in a long time I might be happy, depending on who the person is.  But that’s not going to happen, anyway.  Actually, neither of those things is going to happen.  As far as I can see, I’m just going to continue as before.

I guess it’s somewhat noteworthy that this is the last day of June in 2023.  Tomorrow begins a new month, the month of Julius Caesar, huzzah (If June had 31 days, then July would begin on Sunday, and we would have a Friday the 13th in July, but alas, this is not to be).  Rent and power and water and other bills are all coming due.  I don’t really care about all that.  It’s not like I have anything else to do with my money, other than get new Kindle books or what have you.

Even that’s getting harder as time passes.  There just aren’t really any new books in which I’m interested.  I still can’t seem to read any new fiction—or old fiction for that matter, not even my old favorites.  There are no shows I want to watch, and no shows that I really want to rewatch, and very few movies.

I suppose I wouldn’t mind seeing The Guardians of the Galaxy 3, but I don’t want to tempt myself with movie theater popcorn and whatnot.  Going to the movies and not getting popcorn and maybe Goobers and such would just feel terribly sad, quite apart from going alone.  Anyway, I’m trying to avoid such foods.  They tend to make my overall energy and health feel worse, and that’s not something I need, obviously.

I rather wish I had been familiar with Uber and Lyft on that first weekend, when I was considering going to the theater to see GotG, and before I had made my current dietary changes.  At that time, I meant to ride my bike there.  However, I had increasing trouble with my back when using my bike, and then the front tire went flat and everything, and now it’s just sitting there upside down under the overhang, a little way outside my door.  It was yet another waste of money and time and effort.  And it’s too far to walk to any theater to see the movie without arriving sweaty and gross—and, again, right now I’m avoiding movie theater type foods.

I was thinking of walking to the train this morning, but I’m really not up to it.  I’m getting a better handle on shoes for walking—or, technically, boots in this case—at least, and I now have three pairs of identical black lightweight hiking boots, which are good for the ankle support and for the general feeling of having my feet in armor.

But walking is a bit unpleasant just because it’s so very hot and humid right now in south Florida.  This probably comes as no surprise to anyone out there.

I regret coming to Florida, to be honest, though I think the state is quite beautiful, physically, in a great many ways.  I like all the plants and the reptiles and birds and amphibians, and even some of the arthropods (I like spiders, and dragonflies are also very nifty).  But most of the worst things that have happened in my entire life have happened since I’ve come here.

Not to say that there aren’t compensations, of course.  My daughter was born in Florida, and I wouldn’t change her existence or nature for anything.  But it would have been nice, once she was born, to have gone back north.  Imagine if my kids had been able to be in White Plains (where I lived before moving to Florida) and so had been able to go to one of the best public school systems around.

Actually, they’ve both done quite well with respect to their education, as they desire it, and maybe the added pressure of being in a more competitive system would have been unpleasant.  I don’t know.

Anyway, the past is done, so it’s pointless to dwell on changes to it.  And I cannot change the present, obviously, since it’s actually already happened/happening in each given moment.  And the best anyone can do is try to steer toward preferred futures, but it may be, as a matter of physical law, that the future is set and inevitable and/or partially random and unpredictable.

As far as the experience of limited minds and beings such as we are, though, the future feels like something over which we have at least some degree of control, or at least through which we have some ability to steer.  It’s limited steering, of course.  It’s not as if we were in a car and driving; it’s not even as though we’re in a sailboat with a rudder.  It’s more as if we’re surfing, and if we do it as skillfully as we can, we might be able to surf in the direction we more or less would prefer to go.

Me, I think those reefs up ahead look inviting.  There are lots of sharks in the surrounding waters, too.  It would at least be a bit exciting, though perhaps painful and frightening at the time, to go there.  Then again, there’s also that whirlpool over yonder; that might be interesting, too, and probably a bit quicker.

I’m not much of a surfer, however, even metaphorically (non-metaphorically, I’m not a surfer at all).  I don’t think I’m surfing on the chaos of reality anymore, anyway, and I don’t think I have been for a long time.  I think I’m just treading water.  And it’s not as though I can just build myself a surf board, or a raft, or a boat or a ship, or anything else, out of the water in which I’m floundering.  And there are no vessels on the (admittedly quite limited*) horizon (though I do keep trying to send up flares).  So, I’m kind of just stuck here, treading away, until I finally tire out and go under.  I don’t know what else to do, but I’m already terribly fatigued.  I guess it’s “good” that the ocean water is salty**, or else it would be harder work to stay afloat.  Or maybe it would be better if it weren’t, so I could tire out more quickly and just have everything done.

Anyway, that’s enough of all that.  I’m sorry, it’s not an interesting blog post.  I think I’ll head out now.  Maybe I’ll get an Uber or Lyft to the train station.  I feel too lazy even for the bus.  We’ll see.

Have a good weekend, please, if you’re able.  If you’re with friends and family, for goodness sake, don’t take them for granted.  Not that you probably do.  Anyway, thanks for reading.

*I say this because, if one were treading water, one’s head would only be a foot or so above sea level, and so the horizon is very short, being a function of the height above the surface and the radius of the Earth.  Thus, as your height above the surface goes to infinity, your horizon asymptotically approaches half of the planet, though of course you would be having trouble with the limits of angular resolution and the amount of light dropping off as the distance squared and so on.  If the Earth were flat—which it is not—the horizon, even from a foot above the ocean, would be indefinitely large, limited only by structures that got in the way, and any haziness that attenuates light.  If the Earth were flat, then from the top of Mount Everest, with a good enough telescope, you could see everywhere on the planet.  You can’t, of course.  The world is round.  This has been understood for thousands of years, contrary to popular conceptions about the ignorance of people in the past.  Eratosthenes knew it 2200 years ago, and even used clever geometry to measure the Earth’s circumference, to within a few percent of the modern best measurement.

**Oh, by the way, did you see the recent reports about the shifting of Earth’s axis (a very small one, but real and measurable) that’s been caused by redistribution both from melting of glaciers and from the extensive pumping of ground water and the redistribution of that and the glacier water into the ocean?  It’s interesting that I was just talking about the changing angular momentum of the Earth by such things shortly before that report came out.  It makes me feel almost clever, though I did have a bit of a self-deprecating (though far from unhappy) head-slap moment when they mentioned the changes due to depletion and redistribution of ground water.  That had not occurred to me.  It’s always nice to have new facts and notions pointed out that make such sense.

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Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my blog alone.

Hello.  Good morning.

It’s Thursday again, and I’m still writing this blog post.

I’m also still alive, which I guess more or less goes without saying, since I am using* the present progressive form of the combined verb “am still writing”, albeit with part of the “am” contracted with “I”, and I mean it literally, and as far as I know, one has to be alive to be writing, at least if one is a biological organism.  I also certainly don’t see how one could in any sense be the gerund, “writing”.  That’s just a weird notion.  Imagine Groot saying it that way:  “I…am…writing.”  Strange.

I had a pretty stressful day at work, yesterday, but perhaps not as bad as it might have been.  If you expect the worst, you’ll only be pleasantly surprised‒though “worst” is difficult even honestly to consider, since there are so many ways and by so many measures that something can be bad.

Anyway, I actually decided to leave the office early after finally getting the very involved payroll work (and other office work) done.  I took an Uber back to the house, which was not as expensive as I thought it would be, though it is not something I could do very often.  It brought me along a route that I had never taken before, and that’s always nice.  Well, it’s not “always” nice, I guess, but in this case it was.  I learned firsthand a bit of new geography about the roads near where I live, and that’s rather fascinating, albeit not terribly exciting.

I also forgot, or neglected, to bring the laptop back with me, so I’m writing this on my smartphone.  That will hopefully keep it shorter for you than yesterday’s post, which is probably good.

I don’t feel much better than I did yesterday, though.  In fact, shortly after posting my post yesterday, I felt a brief, light, almost giddy feeling, as if I got some benefit from just sharing some of those bitter truths, and declaring some of my possible intentions.  It didn’t last long, but it was there.

Anyway, though this is a day of bad remembrance for me, I don’t want to do anything drastic today or tomorrow, nor at least early next week, because it’s my coworker’s birthday next Monday, and it’s his daughter’s first birthday a day or two after that.  So, here I go again, not doing something** to get me out of here because I don’t want to spoil someone else’s day or week or whatever.

To think, I used to fear that I might be some kind of psychopath because of my difficulty connecting with the way other people thought, or to care too much what most of them thought of me, and my fascination with villains of some stories and comic books and so on.  Now, I suspect that was always some manifestation of (possible albeit not diagnosed) Asperger’s or whatever you want to call it.  Anyway, I think I’ve talked about some of why I envied and admired villains before:  they are weird, they are outsiders, they think differently than the people around them, they are pretty sure they can run things better than the more ordinary characters, and though they are weird and are outsiders, people don’t mess with them, generally, certainly not in any casual sense, because they are dangerous, and they really are exceptionally competent.  This doesn’t apply to all villains, but generally to the ones I like most.  Doctor Doom, in particular, I suspect to be on the autism spectrum, so to speak.  He has many attributes of the syndrome, especially when he’s written by someone who gets the character well.  On the other side of things, Batman is also an interesting possible dweller on the spectrum, though of course, both he and Doom have other psychological issues due to their traumatic histories.

Anyway, that’s all not truly  important.  Maybe I’ll explore it more, sometime‒though I doubt it.  I’m just trying to say that I may well try to survive at least to and possibly through next week, and then probably to the weekend, since I am scheduled to work next weekend and don’t want to leave my coworker and others hanging on the week of birthdays (and after a national holiday, though that has less impact on the office).

It’s kind of pathetic when one’s only reason for continued existence is that one doesn’t want too abruptly to inconvenience one’s coworkers.  That’s somehow more pathetic and sad even than just being alone and depressed and suicidal in the first place.  It certainly can’t keep working forever.  It’s hardly the sort of thing Frankl was talking about in Man’s Search for Meaning.

It’s certainly not going to give me the strength to keep going indefinitely.

In all honesty, I can’t even guarantee that I will avoid leaving my coworker in the lurch in the week of‒or even on the day of‒his birthday or that of his daughter.  All other things being equal, I prefer not to do so, but I’m in tremendous physical pain right now, for instance, to say nothing of dealing with the daily cacophony, and my strength and my reserves are quite low.  I’m not sure quite how low, nor am I clearly able to gauge them except by seeing when they finally run out.

Anyway, that’s about all I’ve got in me to write, today.  I make no promises about tomorrow or whatever, but I do pretty much know that I will not be writing a blog post this Saturday, since I am off this Saturday.  Well, I’m always off, ha ha, when you get down to it, but you know what I mean, I think.

And now, please fill in the end-of-post goodbye sentiment of your preference, and know that, if it’s a well-wishing thought towards you, my readers, it’s almost certainly something I would honestly endorse.

TTFN

weariness

*That’s a present progressive form as well.  It would be even weirder to say “I am using” and mean it as a gerund than it would be to use “writing” that way.

**I sometimes think of silly things such as imagining that “something” is the present participle of the verb “to someth”.

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“Don’t think I need anything at all.”

“No, don’t think I need anything at all.”

It’s Wednesday morning, and this morning I’m writing this blog post on my laptop computer, which at the moment of writing this sentence is, in fact, resting atop some form of my actual lap.  Actually, it’s more on my right thigh and lower left leg, the latter of which is crossed over the former in what’s sometimes called a “figure four” posture, rather than being a true, traditional “lap”, like you might find in Lapland (presumably at discount prices).  Unfortunately, though useful, that figure four posture puts strain on my left knee—at least if it’s in any kind of sore state, which it is at the moment—so I’m probably going to have to switch that out.

I’m really tired, even for me.

I’m tired of trying.  I feel that I’ve been trying hard all my life, and in many objective senses, I honestly have.

I was never a slacker in school.  I graduated with all “As”, I was class valedictorian, I was a National Merit Scholar, all that bullshit.  I got a full ride scholarship to Cornell, without having anyone with any kind of real background knowledge or connections about how to apply to a high-level university or anything.  We certainly had no “connections”.

Anyway, you all know all that stuff:  blue collar town, scholarship to college, heart defect discovered and heart surgery done during my first summer of college, significant mood and (temporary) cognitive side-effects from open-heart surgery, leading to switched major.

Graduated with honors*, had a temporary (but severe) estrangement from my parents** due to issues involving my now-ex-wife.  Was administratively discharged from the Navy for health reasons related to the heart defect and also to my mood disorder.  Was not able, at that age, to finish my novel-in-progress, and so decided to go to medical school.  Got the distribution requirements easily enough, went to medical school on a partial scholarship, had some pretty bad trouble with mood disorder during third year or so.  Did residency, had kids, moved to Florida to start practice.

Had a back injury, with consequent chronic pain, worsening mood disorder, divorce, “temporary disability”.  Tried to do at least part-time medical work to help other people with chronic pain, but was not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to certain things that are beyond the straightforward (i.e., trying to help people with chronic pain but not realizing that some people—some patients and people with whom I worked, as well as the State itself—had ulterior motives of one kind or another) and thus not even recognizing that there was a chance that I could be arrested or charged with anything, since I wasn’t trying to do anything wrong…I was just doing what I saw as the essence of my job (trying to relieve suffering), and had no desire even for personal enrichment.  Seriously.  I gave away most of what I made to other people.  I’ve done that a lot, and consistently, throughout much of my life.

I’m stupid that way.

Then, of course, I went to jail and prison, and I haven’t seen my kids in over ten years.  I haven’t spoken (in any sense) with my son in that time***.  I’m still in chronic pain, my mood disorder is as bad as ever or worse, and I’ve recently discovered that I’m possibly/probably on the autism spectrum, which would explain a lot of my not understanding or expecting the issues that led me to be arrested, among other things.

It probably also explains part of why I had so much trouble with (for instance) dictating charts after I went into private practice.  I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that last bit here, but that was a nightmare for me.  I had the most horrible time trying to dictate chart notes, and always ended up getting backed up—a lot—no matter where I was in practice.  It seems all the other doctors and everybody just loved dictating charts; they thought it was so much easier than writing.  For me it was like trying to build a sand castle using knitting needles.  But I didn’t understand why I had so much trouble with it, I thought I was just being lazy or weak or something, and I just had to force myself to learn to do better, so I kept on trying, and I kept on getting backed up (severely) over and over again.

It’s a stupid idea, anyway.  Writing and speaking are two different kinds of processes, and organization and recording of medical notes is better done in writing.  Also, that way there’s also not delay in getting the notes into the chart.  I couldn’t speak and say the things I’m writing here with anything approaching the speed and clarity with which I am typing them.

Nowadays, I think most medical charting is done using portable computers, which—if the system is good—is probably an excellent option.

Anyway, all that leads up to now, when I’m living alone in a single room (with attached shower/bathroom), in a house that is not my home, working at a job that I’ve worked at basically just to keep myself alive and fed while writing fiction…but now I’m no longer writing fiction, I’m no longer doing music, I’m no longer doing anything apart from this blog.

Tomorrow would have been my 32nd wedding anniversary.  Though I’ve been divorced longer than I was married, it’s still an important, or at least consequential, day to me, though I’m guessing it isn’t as important to my ex-wife.  I don’t know, I think I’m a member of a species that mates for life to a single mate (though clearly that was not the case for her).  I certainly have no desire to get romantically involved with anyone else ever again—it’s not worth the risk.  I also can’t imagine anyone wanting to get involved with me.  The few minor attempts I made after my divorce were laughably bad.

There’s nothing good coming down the pike.

And no one is going to help me, I’m pretty sure of that.  I’ve sent out coded and not-so-coded distress signals, here and elsewhere, over and over again, in various ways, some of which are perhaps opaque, but others of which I think are rather obvious.  Maybe it’s just a case of some form of “the bystander effect”, I don’t know.

I’ve tried to do therapy again**** (online this time), with limited and very temporary effects, and I’ve called 988 and spoken to the very lovely person who was there—they deserve all the plaudits and support they can be given.  (I’ve tried to call it more than once, the first occasion of which involved a misadventure due to T-Mobile’s bad service at the time).

It’s all ultimately not getting me anywhere.  I’m not accomplishing anything or contributing anymore to the net worth of civilization.  I’m certainly not contributing to my own well-being, because I don’t think that even exists.  I’m just adding my little, inconsequential bit of entropy to the eventual (probable) heat death of the universe.

I need to die.  I’m just having a hard time working up the nerve to do it.  I wish I had a drug or alcohol problem, because the use of those is associated with higher rates of suicide, and even “accidental” overdose death, but I don’t seem prone to such things.  I have large bottles of aspirin and acetaminophen and naproxen that I could take, but such means are unreliable, and the process tends to be quite drawn out.  I don’t own any guns anymore.  I did buy two helium tanks and a non-rebreather mask and tubing, but setting that up and applying it turned out to be difficult, and I didn’t have a good place to do it.  I hate the idea of leaving a mess for innocent people, though that may be unavoidable.  That’s also the main reason for not just cutting various arteries open after ensuring that I’m adequately anticoagulated—I’m not afraid of blood (and I’m demonstrably not afraid of cutting myself), but I know other people are, and I don’t really want to traumatize others more than I already have in my life, if I can help it.

I had a rather strong bourbon and diet-Pepsi last night; alcohol is supposed to help one harm oneself, but it’s just made me feel more tired today than usual because of worse-than-usual sleep.

Anyway, that’s enough for now.  I don’t know if or what I’ll write after this.  I hope the rest of you are feeling better than I am.

*After initially missing the deadline for my honors thesis, thinking it was due a month later than it was, and having to write the whole thing—52 pages!—in one weekend.  I might have gotten more than a basic cum laude if I’d been better able to manage deadlines and all that, but it was never my own idea to try for honors, anyway.  Not that I regret it, but it was not my ambition.

**And more indirectly, in consequence, with the rest of my family, since they were caught between.  I feel very bad about that, and about the time I missed with them and my parents, all over someone who left me in the end.

***His choice, not mine.  We have exchanged one email in that time, and he sends along his thanks via his sister for birthday presents and the like.  He’s a good person, and I love him and am proud of him and do not blame him.  He’s not much better at dealing with things like this and with other people and with radical changes of circumstance than I am, and I think he was badly hurt by everything that happened.

****I’ve gone to at least four or five therapists, and I’ve even been (very briefly) hospitalized once for depression while I was out on bail.  I’ve tried at least seven different anti-depressants with mixed results, at best.  And here I am.