What did Jesus say about private things?
Matthew 6:5
Thank you
Keep going
Matthew 6:19-21 If we agree that this is True, thatās a great place to start.
Good night! šš¤
Thank you to the Gideons
Last edit I promise Stephen Mitchellās translation is my favorite
Just not tonight! š
The alphas seem to have hunkered down for the night. The jungle grows quiet. Furious s
Itās after midnight now. Shutting off the phoneā¦.now
Iāve been trying to decide what I want to write about. Or more accurately, what I should write about. Whenever I think about writing I get stuck trying to choose one thing.
It seems pointless. What do I want to accomplish by writing? Am I looking to convince others to what I believe to be true? Do I just want to entertain? Am I writing for myself or for others? So, I end up writing nothing.
So, tonight as I lay here in bed in my one bedroom apartment I want to write about my life so far. Iām dictating this into my phone. For several months now Iāve had a hard time getting to sleep. This has never been a problem for me before. I suspect itās because itās been a long time since my life has been stable.
I’m waiting for my divorce to be final. It’s been a year and a half since my wife filed. While it’s been almost a year since we agreed on the specifics, there’s been a paperwork snafu at the courthouse which has prolonged this ordeal. In turn this continuation of the limbo I’ve been living in has put me in a precarious financial position. I haven’t been able to plan for the future. I live month to month. So I think the stress of this uncertainty contributes to my difficulty getting a good night’s sleep.
I’m 60 years old. I spend a lot of time wondering what’s going to end up killing me. It’ll most likely be some kind of cancer. I don’t want it to be some kind of stupid accident. But then again, I don’t want a long drawn out illness either. If I’m lucky I’ve probably got about 20 years left. What will those 20 years be like?
I can already tell that I don’t think as well as I used to. I avoid complex decision making. I have the same memory problems that people that are aging are prone to. But I also have some cognitive issues when it comes to motivation to take care of basic needs.
For instance, it’s a major undertaking to just do the dishes, sweep the floors, or put away laundry. It’s just me here and I don’t really care about them. Except of course when someone wants to come over and visit and then I’m embarrassed by it.
John Cougar Mellencamp wrote in Jack and Diane, āā¦Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.ā Thatās how Iām feeling nowadays. I can hear the objections from others, but for me, life is getting monotonous.
I believe I’ve already fulfilled my life’s purpose. Procreation. The purpose of life is to pass on your genetics to the next generation. If you fail to procreate, you failed in life. You failed the generations that led up to you. I don’t believe in life after death. I believe in death after death.
The only thing about me that has a chance of surviving my death is my DNA. In 100 years there won’t be any trace of me left. I will be like the great majority of people who have lived and died over the last 100,000 years. One of the nameless billions of individuals that have existed on this Earth.
So if I have 20 years left what do they hold for me? It looks to me now that it will be pretty bleak. Climate change is a problem that weāre only just now starting to address. We lost precious time because of the denial of politicians under the influence of corporations that would lose money if we made the necessary changes to avert the worst of it.
In the United States, one of our major political parties wants to usher in a new era of Fascism. With the changing demographics of our country, the republican party is becoming a minority party. So wherever they can, they are gaming the system in order to stay in power, and rule as a minority. The next election in 2024 will be the most consequential in our nationās history. If Donald Trump somehow gets to the White House, our democracy will come to an end. But it may be that, regardless of who wins the White House, our nation will become embroiled in a Civil War.
Iām not a prophet. I donāt have a crystal ball. So of course, my pessimistic outlook may be completely wrong. But this is what I believe and it keeps me up at night.
My anger could kill me someday. That’s what I realized today as I tried to recover from a self-inflicted near-stroke. I thought my head was going to explode. At least that’s what it felt like. This wasn’t during the anger and road rage. It was about 3 minutes after the incident. Let me give you some background.
I have struggled with anger management issues most of my adult life. When I was in my 20s and 30s I enjoyed the feeling of righteous indignation. This didn’t come from a religious grounding, it came from my own ego. When I was at my maximum anger, I felt powerful and confident. I KNEW I was justified in whatever I was mad about and in my level of hate. I was right. You were wrong. I can say whatever I want, because I’m right.
I didn’t question whether I should be yelling at people. If I was right, and I’m always right, then it’s not my problem if you can’t handle the truth. Ironically it was when I was working for the post office that I was forced to confront my anger. “Going Postal” was a catch-phrase for committing workplace violence. I was never violent. I have never punched someone in anger. Felt like it, but never have.
So it was during my first anger management peer group session that I finally started to question myself about my anger. There were people of all ages and ethnicities in our group. We talked about what we’ve done, what we’ve been through, and what the repercussions were for ourselves and the ones we love. To say it was eye opening is an understatement. It was a revelation.
Even with that revelation, I was a slow learner. I wasn’t yelling at my boss, but road rage was nearly a daily occurrence. Somebody cut me off? Ride that S.O.B.s tail. Someone driving slow in the fast lane? I’ll go around them, sometimes on the shoulder! I’ll get in front and then jam on the brakes. Why? To teach them to not drive slow in the fast lane.
Sometimes, believe it or not, people got mad at me! We would play stupid games and nearly get ourselves or those around us injured or killed. Why? Because these ignorant dumbasses need a lesson! I don’t know if it’s because I got older, but my body started reacting to these high-stress situations. When the adrenaline wore off my back would spasm. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest. My head throbbed with pain in time with my pulse.
So for over 20 years now I’ve been wrestling with my inner demons. I’ve come to recognize the the situations that trigger a near-instant retaliation for a perceived insult or lack of fairness. If I’m centered and grounded or just in a good mood I can now let them roll off my back. So what happened today?
It started with a typical trigger. I’m slowing down to make a right turn at a stop sign. As I get to a few hundred feet from the stop sign, I see the car behind me change lanes and accelerate to get in front of me. Oh no you don’t! I sped up to try to block them, but they were able to get in front of me. Ok dumbass, you’re in front of me now. Hope you’re happy. You’re obviously in a big hurry.
So what do we do at the stop sign? Well they make their turn because nobody is coming. It’s Texas so the speed limit for this road is 70 mph. What does Miss In-A-Hurry do? Slowly, very slowly, accelerates in the lane in front of me. It’s 2 lanes each way. I go around. Now the fun begins!
As soon as I get back in front of her, she accelerates to get in front of me. As she passes I see her turn to me, yelling and flipping me off. When she’s in front, I do the point at my head and twirl my finger as the international symbol for your crazy. She must not have liked that because she hits her brakes and we play the tail-gate game. She’s a rank amateur. I’m a pro. She thinks she’s going to impede my progress by driving slow in the fast lane? That’s why there’s a shoulder, so I can pass you on the left, silly!
I wasn’t really mad. At least I didn’t feel angry. I was kind of mad, but I wasn’t seeing red and completely out of my head. I knew that I had started it. I shouldn’t have accelerated at the beginning before the stop sign. That was petty. I knew it before we got on the highway. I was definitely on her ass as we started accelerating. That’s why she was going slow. She was paying me back for trying to keep her from passing me before the stop sign.
The stupid road rage games made me miss my exit. She got off at the exit and I drove on to the next one to circle back. As I was taking the exit, I started to feel my pulse pounding in my head. I started to get a little nauseous. The pressure in my head was unrelenting. I was actually frightened I might stroke out. It took a good 15 minutes or so for the pressure to ease and my heart to stop pounding.
Wow. What an idiot! That lady wasn’t to blame. It was me. My fault. I started the games. I continued playing the games. As they say, “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” My lack of self-control almost killed me today. I’m almost 60 now. Is that how I want to die? A stroke caused by my reaction to what someone else did? No.
I’m going to learn from today. I’m going to appreciate the luck I had that today wasn’t the day I died. It gives me a chance to reflect on what I’ve learned about myself over the years. I’ll accept that I’m going to screw up and learn from those screw ups. I can see that I’ve made progress in managing my anger. My goal is to never go through that again. Next time? I’ll strive to not be petty and just let the morons be morons. Wish me luck!
I saw a post recently asking the question, āIf you could ask God one question, what would it be?ā So that got me to thinkingā¦
Since most people in the US belong to some sect of Christianity, they picture their God as they believe Him to exist. They imagine asking Him about some detail about their faith theyāve struggled with in doubt. Or perhaps theyāve got a score to settle and they want to know why their loved one was taken. At least those are common threads.
My question would be something like why did you hide? I looked everywhere, inside and out. I never saw you. I called out many times. You never answered. Science has searched for you for thousands of years. Nothing. Physics hasnāt found Him. Biology hasnāt found a trace of a divine hand guiding evolution.
In fact the opposite has been found. The study of the natural world around us has lead to the scientific consensus that the Universe, Time, and Space began with The Big Bang. Life has evolved on Earth. Thoughts are bio electrical interactions among nerves in a brain. Before science, God was the most logical explanation for why we are here, how we got here, and what the difference is between living things and dead things. Now that we have science, insistence on His existence is just wishful thinking.
So if I were to find myself in the unlikely position of asking God one question it would be, āWhere the hell were you?ā
I am a proud cold war veteran. I served in the US Navy while Vladimir Putin was serving in the KGB. The Commies were our sworn enemy. Still are. What’s left of them anyway, the Russian Federation. They and China want our country to fail; along with an unfortunately growing list of other countries. But for me “Commies”, especially as an epithet belongs to those two countries.
Russia is not a communist nation anymore. But it’s leader-for-life wants to restore the glory of the old Soviet Empire. But he really isn’t a commie. He’s a totalitarian. China is a communist nation. A big powerful communist nation that runs on communist principles. As far as I know. I don’t know that much about them or communism actually. Except that they want the entire world to be a communist world state with it as it’s natural leader. They’re aggressive and tenacious. They are our enemy in international relations and if left unchallenged would run rough-shod over its neighbors.
So, can you tell them I am not a “Commie”? Because what I am is a member, dues-paying member, of the Democratic Socialists of America. So my politics are left of center, but they are not Commie. Socialists are to the left of us. Communists are the way out there. Just like those fascists nazi cosplayers who marched through our capitol July 4th are on the far right of MAGA. Hopefully far away, but that’s up to the individual MAGA.
So the MAGA megaphone that is Fox News has been blasting the air waves with misinformation and misrepresentation of what DSA is and what its members believe is a tenet of DSA-ism. Yes, there are some really lefty politicians who are a part of the DSA that have extreme views. I agree with some on principle, even if I think they are extreme in their rhetoric.
I’m not a DSA scholar. I joined the DSA in 2016 when the DCCC stole the primary from Bernie to crown HRC as the democratic candidate. I’ve been paying dues mostly every month ever since. I have voted against Trump every chance I’ve had. I was depressed after the 2024 election when 3 million people who voted for Biden in 2020, couldn’t be bothered to vote for Harris. I have no doubt, ok maybe a little doubt, that Trump won the election without interference from Musk, but it’s a good conspiracy theory. Americans voted for the same guy that violated his oath. Knowing he was going to be tried for his crimes against our nation’s top secret files. We’ll never know now what Jack Smith found out in his investigation that he was ready to go trial with. But I digress. Trump is our president. You voted for him. We collectively elected him president. Again. SMH
Anyway, don’t get all of your news from one place and don’t let someone do the thinking for you. Do your own research, but take into account that every news source has a bias. Including you. It’s easy to disregard out-of-hand things you don’t agree with. It’s hard to suspend our judgement to weigh the evidence objectively. Find someone who has the opposite opinion you have. Someone you can trust. Make friends with them and be honest with your opinions. They’ll let you know where you’re full of baloney. Those are the best friends;.
I’m a cold war veteran. I’m a proud DSA member. I’m a proud American. I’m not a commie.
But I am ANTIFA!
Exactly 45 years ago today I was on a Greyhound to Fresno. I had enjoyed a great 4th of July party where I was proud to tell anyone that would listen I was joining the navy in a couple of days.
It was a classic bbq. Burgers and hot dogs, corn on the cob, and watermelon as far as the eye could see. The Stars & Stripes were everywhere. Laughing kids chased each other with water balloons and squirt guns. Adults patted me on the back and said, “Good for you. See the world!”
There I was in the summer of 1981 riding a bus to the AFEE’s station in Fresno. Armed Forces something something. I may have missed an F. Anyway it was a shabby little office in central Fresno that I had been to previously getting my pre-enlistment physical. I had to get two waivers to join when I did.
One waiver was for my ankle. When I was a child I had climbed up a 4×4 that was leaning against the house. As I was trying to get up it, I got splinters in my hands. When I got scared walking around up there, I didn’t want to climb back down. So I jumped. I guess because I was a kid instead of breaking my ankles, I just sprained one terribly. From then on, if I just sat on my ankle wrong, it would dislocate and I would be unable to walk for days. When I got to be a teenager, my parents finally got tired of me doing it intentionally to get out of chores they had it surgically repaired.
For the US Navy, when they looked at the x-rays of my ankle, they said it was a compound fracture and medically disqualifying w/o a note from my doctor explaining that my ankle was now fully functional. Waiver approved.
The other waiver was for my age. I was only 17. I wouldn’t turn 18 for a couple of months so my parents had to sign paperwork. One was in Alaska and one in California. Not easy, but it got done. Waiver approved. I could join the navy now.
As I was processing through the AFEEs station, I saw the recruits from all of the branches of the services gathering in their groups. Most were like me, straight out of high school, although some were older. One of the older guys (mid-20s?) came up and started talking to me about why he was joining the navy. I remember he was a bouncer at a bar. I was only a month out of high school. He impressed me immediately as a guy who had been places and done things already.
We would have to stay overnight at a cheap motel and wait for our plane ride to boot camp in San Diego early the next morning. Being a grown ass man, he could and did, go to the store and buy beer. After having spent the last couple of years having my prematurely balding best friend buy beer with a fake ID, this was also impressive. As the night wore on and we got more and more drunk he gave me a life lesson. No, nothing bad if that’s what you were thinking.
It was a demonstration of willpower. If you are properly motivated, you can do things you wouldn’t have thought you could. As his example he held out the plastic rings that had formerly held one of the 6 packs together. He folded it up until it was a single ring. He handed me the ring and said, “Hold it with one finger hooked on each side and try to pull it apart.”
I gave it a mighty pull, but it was useless. I couldn’t do it. Then he said in my face at increased volume, “Now imagine someone is attacking your mom! If you can’t break this, you can’t help her!” Sure enough this time I split the rings easily. It was a silly demonstration and point, but for some reason it has stuck with me since.
The next morning we were awakened by the sound of the shuttle bus horn blaring, waiting to take us to the airport. Hungover we grabbed our bags and ran out to the bus. A couple of life lessons indeed. First, don’t try and keep up with a guy who weighs twice as much as you, (and an ex-bouncer to boot!) in drinking beers. Second, you can summon strength, courage, or whatever you need with the right inspiration. I think the faithful know this too. If you seek devoutly in a time of need, help can be found within us.
I have changed so much in the 45 years since getting on that Greyhound to Fresno, I can hardly remember being that naive kid. It was all so exciting and new. I hope you had a great 4th of July. I hope you feel proud of being a part of this great country. I know I do. And I’m a Democratic Socialist!
You don’t realize what you’ve had until you’ve lost it. Or at least that’s the way my life has gone. There are plenty of people a lot worse off than me. Yet I find ways to whine about the life I lived. No Ragrets! Why can’t I remember that I wanted this time of my life to be one of contented reflection on a life well lived. No a bunch of second guessing about coulda, woulda, shouldas.
For me what I miss most, and have the hardest time holding on to are friends. Not work friends. Not neighbors that you wave and say hi to but can’t remember their first names. No. I miss the friends you can talk to about anything. The ones that call you on your boloney. The ones that remind you of the person you are and the promises you made.
People change. Hell everything changes. We try to hold on to the now because it’s so precious. But if you hold onto it, it stops being what it was. In fact it kills the reality of it and you’re just left holding the ghost of what it was Friendships can be like that.
I’ve had several best friends through the years. I had good friends in high school. I’ve been married twice. I served 6 years in the navy. Looking back it seems like every friend I’ve made I’ve lost. Usually thrown away. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes stupidly.
Some friends turned out to be rats. Some have just been lost to time and distance. Some friends were more like acquaintances. I could have a shallow-warm relationship with a buddy at work or back in the navy. But I wouldn’t have told them anything personal. I wouldn’t have stated an opinion I didn’t already know we shared.
Out of all of those pseudo-friends I’ve got one left. This friend is someone I could talk to for hours. Unannounced virtual visits. Just a pop sound and we were off on a conversation that could last long into the night. Nobody else would’ve gotten a response like that from me. I screen all of my calls. I ghost my relatives’ texts. But not my friend’s. I wish now I had kept them. It’s been many months since we got to chat last. It doesn’t look like that’s going to change.
But time marches on, things do change, and friendships may fade. I haven’t heard from this friend in a long time and miss the time we shared. Humans aren’t meant to be alone. We’re meant to live with our families and friends. The people we’ve spent our lives with. In many ways the modern world is setup to make that difficult. Somehow by being more connected with social media we’ve become detached from human interactions. They’ve been replaced with memes and talking points.
So my friend, because I forget but then remember my promises, I’ll keep writing because I said I would. I have to trust that you’ll remember your promise to read it. It’s hard without feedback, but I’ll keep trying. I don’t deserve the privilege of calling you my friend. So I’ll accept it as grace.
I’m decaying. I can feel it. My mind is failing me. I can’t remember details of memories I know I used to be able to recall. I can’t understand some things at all that I used to grasp intuitively. I can’t even calculate in my head like I used to. I’m only 62. I thought when I turned 60 I’d probably have about 20 years left. Hopefully most of it in good (enough) health. Now I’m wondering if I’ll even know when I’ve turned 70.
I used to love reading about philosophical concepts. I struggled with free will and morality. I read St. Thomas Aquinas’ proofs of god. I read about quantum physics. Now I hardly read at all. Somewhere along the line I quit questioning and decided I knew what was real. It didn’t seem like researching was getting me any closer to the truth. The truth became unknowable. Whatever the truth is, I wasn’t going to discover it in a book. I wasn’t going to find an answer there. Just someone else’s opinion of it. Books became arguments that different sides used to sway public opinion. Or was that me that changed?
There’s something about living 60 years that teaches you things you can never get from a book. I know that’s cliche. I remember how interesting the world was when I was a teenager. It’s not that it was different then than now. I’m different. I can look back and compare my own understanding of something then to what I’ve learned just by being alive for awhile. Here’s an example.
The first time I read The Hobbit, I was in 8th grade. I loved it. It was a great story with magic and dragons. It started a love of fantasy that has continued to this day. I got into D&D as a teenager and had characters called Elrond and Saruman. When I read the LOTR again as an adult, I was moved to tears by the heroic loyalty of Sam for his friend Frodo. What changed? The words were the same. It was me that changed.
So here’s the thing. Why do we pretend we don’t change through life? Why do we try to recapture youth? Why do we stick to old traditions even if they aren’t relevant or even wanted anymore? Why do we fight so hard against change?
I think this is the last one I write. I miss you. I don’t know if you even read this stuff anymore.
Tracy Chapman is “Talking ‘Bout a Revolution” as I stare out the window. It’s a little past 8:30 in the wilds of Wyoming. I’ve had my first coffee and my first vape. I’m staring at a world that is slowly waking up too. The chemicals of the world begin to mix. Gasoline and sin gets a Sunday morning going.
When you just let the world be out there it’s easier to just be yourself in here. Behind my window I don’t have to be polite. On this side of the glass there is peace and serenity. Except my coffee’s cold. Time to make another cup. Might as well enjoy another hit of the vape while I’m up. There’s no judgement on this side of the window. Just a Sunday morning coming into view.
The Beatles have taken over for Ms. Chapman. They’re getting high with a little help from their friends. I used to grow my own weed. You wouldn’t just pick it and smoke it, like you wouldn’t just pick and smoke tobacco. You have to harvest it and let it dry. The stickiness of freshly harvested weed and the smell of rows of drying buds is something I miss.
America would be much better off if we were all small farmers, handcrafters, artists, or shop keepers. Where the doctor would come to your house when you were sick. Where the baker provides fresh healthy breads, rolls, and sweets so the town can enjoy them. He makes a living, he participates in the economy, and the people eat good food. Small individual transactions and interactions. That’s a real community because everyone actually knows everyone else.
Sorry I’m stoned, so this is going to meander like my mind. I got to spend a couple of days with my daughter and her family. She had intentionally shut me out of her life about 5 years ago. I didn’t know why. Even after talking to her about it, I’m still not sure I know why. But I knew then that whatever she needed to do, it was necessary. I trusted her.
She is so smart. Like, genius smart. I always thought I was smart. Nope, I’m older now but I don’t think I was ever that smart. A brain that refuses to slow down. Thoughts relentlessly force themselves into her consciousness. When she’d share what was going on in her head it came out like a torrent from a fire hose. A powerful stream of logic and knowledge that would annihilate any rebuttal of her understanding. It was zero to a thousand and I was overwhelmed.
Your kids are supposed to surpass you. You put them on your shoulders so they can see farther. You support them when they’re young so they can step up when it’s their turn. You let go so they can become what they’ll be. I was the first in my family to get a college degree. My daughter is preparing to defend her doctoral thesis. She’s a former marine (once a marine always a marine Semper Fi), a gold star widow, a mother of a neurodivergent son, and survivor of SA. Fierce feminist. So self-aware of who she is and what she wants to do. She’s almost achieved her academic goals, then comes social change. She’s going to change the world.
So good morning! The world is spinning, time marches on, and we sit wondering what it’s all about. I get to hear from my sons how the Rush concert went last night. That they went together because they wanted to and not because their dad took them warms my heart. I did something right! We spend our Sunday mornings hanging out playing computer games or watching TV shows/movies together. They’re in California so it’s an hour earlier. I’m up before them and wait for them to get up. I was surprised they wanted to get together online after the concert last night. We’ll see when they actually get up. It’s always understood to be a flexible start time. Sunday mornings are precious.
I wake up on Sunday mornings looking forward to the time I’ll spend with my sons. I enjoy my solitary lifestyle, but I wouldn’t want to be completely cut off from socializing with my friends and family online. Like with my recent conversations with my daughter I can get overwhelmed with face to face interactions. I need to go sit by myself for awhile after a lot of talking with others. I used to hate going to parties. I enjoyed the parties up to a point. Then I had to leave. Like right now let’s go. I guess I’ve always been weird. No wonder I live alone.
So on this Sunday morning I leave you with my sincerest wish for someone I don’t know, that you have the greatest day you’ve had in months. I hope you have great weather and good conversations. I hope you find a reason to look someone in the eye and smile. Smile knowing that this is a great day. Smile knowing some days aren’t. Smile knowing you’re forgiven for what you’ve done. Smile knowing you’ve done the best you could.
I should at least respond to the daily prompts. Just to write something. To exercise those writing muscles.
I donāt really want to. I do it out of guilt.
One hour a day. Why canāt I spend just one hour a day writing? Because Iād have to force myself to. So I donāt for days. I consider it, but Iām having too much fun doing other things.
Iām retired. I donāt have to do anything. For some people that would mean they can finally focus their time on the things they want to do, but couldnāt because of work commitments. For me retirement has been about answering the question, āWhat DO I really want to do?ā
I donāt have a way to judge the weight of what I want to do with what I should do. If I can do what I want. If I donāt have to compromise. Why should I force myself to do something I donāt want to do, but should do, instead of what I want.
I know it sounds like the dilemma of a spoiled, petulant teenager. Thatās the way it usually feels like too. But the sad part is, it can be paralyzing at times.
Deep down I know it doesnāt matter. I climbed out on an existential ledge and I canāt get back. Once you begin to understand just how vast, ancient, and ambivalent the Universe is, and human tragedy is objectively insignificant. Famines, plagues, wars, and other mass human casualties are just part of the process of an evolving universe. A comet wiped out most life on earth at one time. Some day, inevitably, not only each of our individual lives, but all life will end. So if I donāt write a blog entry, itās not that big of a deal.
So why do I feel guilty when I donāt write? Because I made a promise to someone. Our family motto is Remember Your Promises. It is so hard. But Iām trying sweetheart. Iām trying.
For a person who likes to think a lot, I hate thinking about the details of life. I have a hard time making myself do what I need to do. What I should do. Because what I usually end up doing, regardless of my first intentions, is the easy thing.
As someone diagnosed with OCPD, I know that I am prone to obsessing over lists. I’ve found through self-examination that those lists don’t have to be written down. If I have it in my head that A must come before B, then I won’t even really think about B until I finish A. Let me see if I can give you an example.
I have been in this apartment now for a year. When I first signed the lease, my intentions were to live in this cheap apartment while I paid off my credit card. Well, here I am a year later and my credit card balance hasn’t changed. I’ve used as much as I paid. I did pay off some other debt, but for the most part the last year has been a wash financially.
During that year I did not keep that original intent in mind. That has been a constant issue in my life. Here I’ve been around since the 60s and I still don’t really feel in control of my life. Oh sure I’ve got freedom and liberty out the wazoo. But when it comes time to making an actual choice, ease all of a sudden becomes a primary attribute. Instead of keeping in mind my original intention of saving money, I order DoorDash because I have money in the bank and I don’t feel like cooking. There I said it. I got it off my chest. I’m lazy and will never have nice things.
I just got back with the last load of items I had in storage. This is an A before B thing. I’ve had what little earthly possessions in storage 1,000 miles away during this year. It was mostly old books I’ve already read or will never get around to reading. There was a TV stand I’ll put to use. Some knick-knacks I forgot I still had. A propane/gas powered generator. That was really the only thing of value. It cost over $1,000 for gas and hotels. Was it worth a year’s worth of storage and the time and cost of retrieving them?
When I got back I started unloading them. Then I started classifying the books and making stacks. I love making stacks. I had a couple of bookshelves in storage, but they were too big so I just broke them down and disposed of them. So now I have rows of books on the floor waiting for shelves. I’ve got stacks of clothes waiting for a dresser. I’ve got stacks of plastic boxes full of computer equipment in the front room waiting for a place to put them.
When I got back I felt like I was coming home. Not just my apartment, but my home. Unloading the books and knick-knacks have really helped me feel like this is my home. So yeah, it was worth it. Too me.
While I was coming back, I spent a lot of time thinking about how I live my life. How auto-pilot I’ve lived for decades. I let my wife handle all of the details of life. She paid the bills. She did the shopping. She brought home clothes and I wore them. She picked out the food and I ate it. She planned our vacations and I went there. The divorce has been final for years, but I’m still drifting.
I’ve kept a host of plates spinning in my head of “things I’d like to do someday”. Writing. Streaming. Video Production. Guitar Playing. Camping. Chess. And because they’re always spinning I can go from one to another depending on my mood. But I never get around to actually doing them. I just keep the idea spinning in my head.
How can I live the life that I intend? It seems to come natural to the winners in the world. Elon Musk is notorious for sleeping onsite at Tesla or SpaceX until problems were solved. There are some things I need to practice in order to develop fluency. Things I need to learn before I can pull of the advanced ideas I have. So I know what I need to do. I need to make a list.
The longer I stay in Wyoming, the more I find to love. I came to Wyoming last year looking for a place to live. Cheaply. There’s more than one reason Wyoming is the least populous state. But those reasons have resulted in some cheap rent, and I’m happy for that. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.
My great-grandfather was adopted by a man of Irish heritage named McLaughlin. Growing up I was proud of my Irish heritage. I loudly celebrated St. Patrick’s Day, cheered for Notre Dame, and made sure when giving my name it was, “Capital m, small c, capital L…” My mom had t-shirts made with the Mclaughlin family crest. Why?? We weren’t Irish!
Supposedly the child that was adopted Mr. McLaughlin was a Native American kid adopted from the Wind River reservation. So that made us part Shoshone! My grandad had very bushy eyebrows. That was supposedly because of his native heritage. My grandparents lived out there retirement years in Arizona. They adopted Native dress and jewelry. As if they were elder indians living on the reservation. We’d call that cultural appropriation today. I guess they thought it was just easier to pretend they were what they looked like, rather than be what they were. It sort of makes sense for my grandad, after all he was supposedly secretly native. But my Grammy?
I got a DNA test done. 0.0% Native American. There’s some hint of Irishness, but mostly my ancestry comes from England and Northern Europe with a trace of African ancestry. My suspicion is my biological great-grandfather was of mixed-race African ancestry and his dark complexion was attributed to Native instead of African for acceptability reasons in 1890s Wyoming.
The puzzle-solver in me wants to find out where my great-grandfather came from. But now I have to try and find the birth, baptism, or adoption records from 1890s Wyoming. It was just barely a state! I think he came from either Wind River or one of the Catholic missions/schools of the area. I don’t know if I have enough interest to maintain an investigation.
Especially when there’s so much to look at! If you like looking at geologic strata tilted at angles when you’re driving, Wyoming is the place for you! Just don’t bring a light trailer as it is likely to get blown over in the near-persistent 50mph winds the state is know for! But my goodness the views you’ll see out your window as you drive across the beautiful state!
Ok, just one example of how awesome this place is that I just discovered. In northern Wyoming there’s a beautiful majestic whit mountain called Heart Mountain. It’s like a huge white rock plunked down on a base of lesser rock. It turns out unlike most of the rest of the world, the older rock is ON TOP of the younger rock. Rocks are supposed to get older the deeper you dig. How’d this huge big old rock end up on top of the younger base? Millions of years ago a 40,000 square mile section of a mountain broke free and slid at about 50 mph for over 30 miles. Heart Mountain is just the tiny remainder of the result of the world’s greatest landslide!
Hi. It’s been way too long. I’ve been recuperating. I’ve been obsessing. Every once in a while, I’ll check online compulsively. Hey, I’m neurodivergent in so many ways, you’d think I shoulda been committed. I wonder about how much the few people I’m close to put up with me more than they accept me. I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t hang out with me if I was someone else. But I’m stuck with me, so I’ve learned to accept that I am going to put a severe strain on any close relationship.
That’s a lot of Is. Not is. The plural of I, however that is written. I guess I really do like talking about myself more than anything. Look, more Is. This is getting ridiculous!
Here’s a good example of my biggest problem lately. It’s a form of procrastination. It’s being paralyzed into doing nothing because the choices of what I could do/ should do overwhelm me. I started writing this because I was overjoyed to see my old friend had liked something I wrote a year ago. I wanted to write directly to let them know I saw the like, but knew that would probably break the fragile thread of connection. So then I had to decide what should I write to let them know that I saw the connection and wanted to respond.
My first impulse is almost always a bad one. I don’t trust myself to do the right thing, because I’ve failed at it so many times in the past. First I was going to like something back. I read some of what they’d been writing and was in the process of clicking like, when I saw the list of others who had liked it. Yep, there was The Other. Ok, glad I didn’t do that.
So my next thought was to write something over there. But The Other would just see that and cut the thread. So here I am. Writing to hopefully maintain the connection without bringing attention and eventual breaking of said connection.
The title is a little misleading. The fog hasn’t cleared. It’s still swirling around keeping me from seeing any path forward. Just glimpses of possible future intersections of fate. I can’t keep the fog from obscuring my long term sight. It hems me in with whisps of ideas that coalesce and then disperse, never to be seen again.
My attempts at self-regulation are pathetic. As soon as I try to organize around a concept, I skip to another and lose my focus. Why haven’t I written? I can’t keep focused on an idea. I could write my memoir. I could write a sci-fi story about the collapse of our satellite infrastructure. I could write opinion pieces on politics, religion, and society. Every day ideas for these topics come and go in this decomposing brain.
It limps along trying to keep me solvent, healthy, and fed. It has to fight itself though for any gains. The constant complainer-in-chief, the self-assessing eye that never sleeps and never misses a mistake. The choir of ghosts in my head that watch what I do and mumble about what the others must think. And their gasps when I trip. It’s weird to be me. It must be even weirder to know me.
Thank you my friend. I’ve missed you. I’ll try, really I will, to write so you have something to read that you didn’t expect. You didn’t look for it. But it was there anyway. Waiting
The realization Iām seeing and hearing on the left is, stunned shock. They voted him in anyway?
Sure the ultra-MAGA are embarrassing to everyone else but themselves , but it wasnāt them who put Trump back in power. It was a two-parter.
First it was all of the āmainstreamā conservatives who heard what crimes Trump had been convicted of and accused of (now never to be adjudicated and tried for) but were ok with it. They were ok with his friendship and fawning of other autocrats.
In fact with the US Supreme Court being a āConservativeā lock for the next 30+ years, and their past decision that a president canāt be held criminally liable for āofficialā acts, he will almost certainly commit atrocities. He will push his authority bigly. He will provoke confrontation.
Heās said he will pardon the convicted and sentenced J6th Insurrectionists. Bannon, Proud Boys, and the like are gearing up and preparing. Protests. Like youāve never seen.
While Trump got a majority of the popular VOTE, he doesnāt have above 50% approval ratings. He doesnāt have the support of the majority of Americans. So there is a large group of left-leaning voters who are looking at their fellow citizens in disbelief.
First they look at their friends and family on the right and canāt believe they voted for him knowing what he is going to do. And theyāre ok with it!
Second they look at the millions of people who voted for Biden, but couldnāt muster the urgency to get up and do it again for Harris. Knowing what Trumpās going to do!
I thought Iād be mad. Maybe later. Now Iām mostly sad that my fellow Americans have gotten it so wrong. Surely theyāre somehow uninformed of what a monster he is. They couldnāt be ok with that too? Or do they really want a king?
Because thatās what theyāre going to get. Weāve made the biggest mistake (hopefully) of our lifetime. Iāll be hear to say I Told You So!
Trump loves to tell the story of The Woman and The Snake. Look him up on YouTube. He LOVES to tell that story. Why? The punchline, āYou knew I was a snake when you took me in!ā His eyes shine with delight as he gets to it. He is the snake. Heās back!
Everyone is Doing the Best They Can 