I went back to blogging at my old blog. Occasionally. I am the world's slackest blogger.

It's early, and I am a couple minutes away from getting ready for work. I was just out on my little patio listening to traffic through the woods. And I was thinking about how the sound of traffic changes as the morning progresses. Early traffic sounds different. It is a different kind of person with a different kind of vehicle driving in a different way. Are there more dudes on Harleys getting to their shops early? Are there more dudes in work trucks with V8 engines pulling off the line quicker? The earlier traffic sounds surge and then die down. There are less vehicles out there, but they making their way.

I'll get on the road at about 8:10 or 8:15. I'll be with the other Toyota Corollas and Hondas and Nissans and so on. The noise of each individual car is much quieter. But there are more of us - so - our total sound is higher. And more constant. And only occasionally will you hear the slightly agitated high pitched sissy beep of our wimpy sounding horns.

The sounds at the office will be quiet at first. One or two people typing or clicking. The desktop support guys back there making goofy jokes. The server guys making cryptic statements, punctuating with trips to the coffee machine or where ever.

Meds? Or No Meds?

If you've read anything at all at this blog, you have probably surmised that I am a guy with quirks. Another way of expressing the concept of 'quirks' might be to express it as 'possible mental health issues'

...ya...

Today I am taking what they humorously call a 'mental health day' -- only, it is a little more for-real than the glib usage, in today's case. I'm already feeling a little bit better for having made this decision. I got some coffee going, and I also got some music going - music from where I'm 'from' ...I won't bore ya with play lists.

I'm feeling so much better in fact, that I'm almost feeling like I should go to work. But. I'll not fall into that trap. I'll go for a full day's worth of recovery, not just a pot of coffee's worth or one album's worth....

Anyway, last night, somebody with ADHD described to me the symptoms of ADHD. I have it for sure. Self-diagnosing is a dangerous path, I know, but I'm thinking I do indeed have it. I have all those symptoms. And more. I also have some serious...feelings of....it's hard to describe: it's a mix. I dwell on mistakes I have made. I dwell on memories of situations when people have rejected me or...'relegated' me (?) (right word?). I have depression too, but, who doesn't. I got it bad.

So the point that I intended to make is this: I'm struggling with the decision about whether I should 'see somebody' and 'find the right medicine for me.' Here are some of my worries: What if I get canned? Because I kind of suck at my job (not just pity-partying here, I really do suck at it, I couldn't configure myself out of the friggin can)...so, ya, what if I go on some medication, and then they lay my ass off...and then I can't afford the medicine nomore...You hear all the terrible stories of people who suddenly 'go off their medicine.'

Another concern I have is this: My ex-wife went on Pristiq, right, and she completely transformed into different person before my eyes. It was startling to see it...to see somebody you've known for 13 years...somebody you loved and who you know EVERYTHING about...to see them just change completely...to see the former parts of them melt away and see the mechanical being that emerges and does not seem to give much of a fuck about anything except mechanical things. She said she feels better though....so who am I to judge

Another concern or consideration is this: Maybe I ain't all that bad. Maybe I can do it on my own. I've put lots of effort and babbling in on the spiritual healing pursuits...I feel good when I read Good Stuff and watch videos of The Good Stuff and when I'm around people sharing in the Good Stuff....but the bad stuff still gets on me quick, hard and heavy. I can't spend 24 hours of all seven days with my nose in self-help books or spiritual books, I can't spend all my time watching satsangs on YouTube. I need some take-away healing. I need some take-away strength.

Earlier in the year, I started an account at Daily Strength, and I was posting and participating regularly for a while there. After reading how bad some people got it though...I thought: wow, I might not be that bad off. That doesn't necessarily help 100%, but, it gives one some perspective.

Nothing to Report

I drank lots of beer yesterday with my neighbor and this other friend of mine. We talked about all subjects and cooked up some slop and ate and watched this weird movie I have, Baraka. Their website describes the film:

Baraka is a non-verbal film, without words, actors or a plot. Instead, incredible, thought-provoking images from around the world show the beauty and chaos generated by nature and humans.

I have a few of these non verbal films out of this same strain. The first one I ever saw was Koyaanisqatsi (a Hopi Indian word meaning life out of balance). You can watch the whole thing on YouTube. It's these amazing camera shots of life, the busy nature of human life...chaos vs order type stuff.



Baraka shows a lot of spiritual and ritual type stuff. Koyaanisqatsi seemed more environmentally 'themed.' I've watched Koyaanisqatsi ten trillion times...there's nothing like it. If you ever want to see a film that's a little different, this is a good one.

Anyway, it was good to have friends around all durn day, and one of em is still passed out on the couch out there. We ended up at that dopey drum circle last night, and it was real dopey so we left. But I met a cool lady there, and we talked about the events like drum circles and so on (She's pretty high on drum circles right now...I'm kind of coming down off that high...crashin, more like). Anyway, she's into spoken word type stuff too, and I told her about the one I like to go to, and she might end up going. Cool cool. I'm not trying to hook up with her...it's just nice to see friendly, familiar faces of people who like to do the same kind of wacky things I like to do.

I don't really have anything to report, no drama or sorrow I care to rip the bandages off of at the moment. I was just thinking: I'm lucky I have the few friends I have. There are people who know me and know my whole story, and they really root for me in this life struggle thing. I try not to burden people with my troubles too much, but these troubles do come up in conversation, you know, and there are some people, luckily, who give me good advice -which- if I was smart enough, I would heed.

My friend wants to drag me to a dum circle tonight...I mean...a drum circle. This particular drum circle is the scene of a particular crime, though, and I'm nervous about going there. (I am curious about whether them shoes are still hangin there though, maaan.) I do and I don't want to see HER there. Her friend has been texting me, Happy Thanksgiving...How you been doing...Hey, I been texting you...You still at this number? They tell each other EVERYTHING. Talking to the friend means talking to her. Maybe this is immature, a little bit 'I'm Not Okay/You're Okay.' I should respond to messages and accept hug offers and smile at all times, I guess. Or, I could go spraypaint something...leave a wacky note...and then sit there and be aware of it -and of all things, stand there seeing...take a bouncy ball out of my pocket and bounce it...take some golf clubs and a bucket of balls to an old grave yard and just start strokin em-- the balls bouncing around between memorials all crazy, like life-size pinball -- not out of disrespect, maaan, I have kin in there too (brother, mother, dad) - it's a temporary alteration of a false sad place (They ain't there. That ain't Them), a celebration at the world's saddest kind of place, and the only way I'd ever be able to drag myself back there. I hate graveyards. When I go to them, I am an emotional wreck for weeks. (I would never hit golfballs into a graveyard, I'm just kidding. Most people see graveyards as sacred, and I'd never act up in grave yard. Out of respect to people who already have enough grief. Everybody handles grieving in their own way, and the last thing a dummy like me should do is make suggestions. The best thing I can do when advice seems to be called for is to offer no advice. I don't know. I got mixed feelings on this. The best thing to do with mixed feelings is use them as ink.) Anyway...this Lady...whose shoes, I believe, are still hanging from a powerline in front of a bar...and her friend, and all those friends from that scene...maybe this is why I am so alone...because I take this attitude with people. I've given them lots and lots of...leeway though, lots of listening, lots of patience...money too! They stole from me! Ha. Hippies. Well: this century's version of hippies anyway.

A guy at work today told me I need to speak up more. I sit there like a lump, not saying a thing. I'm quiet to begin with (until I get to know ya), but this new job I'm in - I DO NOT SPEAKY THE LANGUAGE AT ALL. Servers and gadgets and apps and virtualized....thingies and seo and classes and objects and methods and parameters and blah blah blah. And it's not just the techy jargon. It's the power talk...We're gonna change the culture of this whole company maaan......and then there's the politicking and the psychoanalysisizing and the social anthropolologizing and all of it and then some. And then there's the simple fact that some people seem to wait for me to start speaking so that they can instantly talk right over me. Whatever. Let em. Let em shoot their mouths off. I don't want to be a rock star. I don't want to be a spoken word truth bomb dropper. Well maybe. Nah, not really. I don't know. I just want the paycheck, man.

It's weird to have somebody deliver such a deeply personal piece of advice like that -- at work. If I didn't love the guy, I'd have been offended. I still was a bit. But I'm generally down...lately...a bit. I got lost in the activities on Thanksgiving and got some peace from the mentals, but the whole creepin holiday season is vibin my face off. And this job is kicking my ass down the street. And the divorce crap too. And the post marriage rebound girl too.

I don't know. I don't want them to think I'm some kind of brain dead mute moron disabled dummy. Lots of work to do on ALL fronts getting myself right. Or: just focus and speak the good thoughts when they come. So many times, the following has happened: I thought of something relevant to the conversation but didn't speak up: Then, somebody else said it, and everybody was like yeah yeah right yeah true uh huh good point...

golfDrummin

Happy Thanksgiving!...to whomever might happen by... if ya celebrate it!

I was too worried about about work stuff to take days and days off to travel to see my sisters in other states...but...luckily a friend of mine invited me to his family's Thanksgiving throwdown. "Bring a pie," he said.

Feeling pretty good. Wow, I got on a real self-help kick there, posting all kinds of stuff about gettin my mind right and gettin my mentals right. Snappin back from collapses quickly, my friend(s)!

I need a new 'project' ...maybe I'll start back up on a previous project I let go...there are many. MANY. I have an old blog that I let go (reasons complicated). I posted on that blog for nine years off and on. I locked it down, deleted many posts, opened it back up, locked it down, deleted more...so now it's pretty lean and mean. I want to create an 'art book'...or something...an artsy/craftsy kind of book that I bind myself...I got all the writings I need. Nine years worth of wacky blog posts riveted together, industrial strength, distributed guerilla style.

I started scratching the following out in my little work notebook at work yesterday (I was worried somebody would walk up to me and look at what I was writing, ha):

I was born. My awareness arose. I'm here among the other humans. Other humans have created all kinds of stuff: laws, governments, technology...some of it is great, some of it sucks.

I have a right to be here, a right to be aware, and right to be joyful. No matter what the rest of the humans say or think or do. Really it's beyond 'rights.' It's beyond the concept of 'rights.'

I am simply here.

I got this far and then something came up. I yanked this out of the notebook and folded it up and stuck it in my pocket. For some 'reason.'

Proceeding from here, I might say:

Everybody else is simply here too. We all felt the need to figure out systems to bring about some kind of order. These systems are naturally flawed. (They're a goddam good try, but they're flawed.) Some of the systems have been taken beyond...or outside the boundaries of... what is reasonable or just or wise or....(words beginning to fail here)...we've built all this stuff up, but we've left behind a lot of important wisdom...forgotten it, ignored it, couldn't fit it in...couldn't fit it in because of the character that our systems were taking....or something.

The institutions and systems are games. Games are games. If you don't play the games, everybody points at you and laughs and throws dirt clogs at you...and they put really hot balm in your jock strap so that your nuts really burn when you put it on...or they come up behind you and yank your pants down.

I guess you have to play the game as best as you can (or the best you care to. But inside there's a calm 'you' that is connected to all the other confused mother huggers out there.

I'm watching a LOT of videos from this guy Mooji. What I'm getting from him (and others) is that there's a deeper you. That deeper you is peaceful and seeing. All these problems and attachments that seem so very real -- they're invented.

The fun comes in the struggle to step out of these problems and attachments and give them the Divine Finger.

myBike

I'm trusting my 'mind' less and less so that I can trust it more and more. I'm trying to step back as many magnifications as I can...and still be close enough to able to play at this life game...I gotta play the life game some...I don't want to be sitting homeless in rags...I have to play at being 'this guy who works and knows folks and does stuff.'

If my life is a movie, though, I want to step way way back from the screen, further back than the back of the theater, back behind the projector room even...not quite out in the parking lot...maybe in the manager's office...maybe in the janitor's closet. Or something.

These negative emotions that get on me: fear, depression, anger...they're like a burning blanket I have to throw off of me. I just have to recognize them as feelings that will come and go...they'll go if I let them go.

There's an intense creativity that comes when you are really Seeing...I mean capital 'S' Seeing.

I finally did it. I finally took Monica's shoes and threw them over a power line. As mentioned before, the shoes are of the Crocs brand. I spraypainted them gold, and I tied them together with fishing line. I drove to the bar where Monica and I met. The bar hosts a drum circle every month, and that's how we met...at one of those dopey drum circles. I did this deed during a drum circle. The fuck if I know whether she was there.

I approached the entrance to the place. I was alone (obviously). People inside the place could not see me where I was standing - but people who were coming and going, of course, could see me. I didn't feel like doing this deed with people standing around watching.

I stood around the entrance smoking cigarettes and messing with my phone. Those frickn hippie drum circle types take forever to arrive and get out of their cars...and to get back into their cars and leave...with all their stuff...and they're always forgetting stuff...coming back out to their cars, "Yo, I forgot my didgeridoo."

Finally I didn't see anybody around. I tossed them once and missed, and they came down on the hood of this car, thud. (No damage.) I tossed them again and missed again, and then I realized somebody was getting in their car, just inside the gate, and they could see me if they looked over. I was like fuck it: I'm doing this. I don't give a fuck. So, on the third try, I really focused...took my time...i did my windup, kind of swung the shoes - and I tossed them. They hit the powerline in a kind of lopsided, off center way. One shoe spun and wrapped around the power line really fast, like a fuckin lasso or like Indiana Jones' whip. It zipped right around the wire and wrapped itself tight. The other shoe hung way lower and just kind of flopped down. I heard some stuff hitting the ground. Maybe it was some hardened bird shit getting shaken of the wire, I heard it hitting the grass nearby. As soon as I saw that the shoes were up there real good, I walked off to my car, down the street. I thought I heard a raised voice yelling something behind me as I walked...I couldn't tell what or who, and I didn't turn around to look. As I was walking to my car, I could hear a car coming up from behind me, and it was slowing way down. I did not look up or over. I just looked down and kept walking to my car. I think it was one of those Pontiac Vibes. The car drove by me really slowly, they must have seen what I did, and they were checking me out real hard. I was like fuckit. Whatever. I was thinking: "What are you pricks gonna do...make a citizen's arrest? Fuck off. Drive on. Nothing to see here. Go home and finger your beads."

So there were witnesses. I think I won't being going back there for a while.

So I got in my car and backed in, turned around, drove off. I ended up behind that same friggin Pontiac Vibe. I got confused, and I just wanted to get on i4 and fuck off out of there in a hurry you know. They had to get on i4 too. I didn't want to pass them or pull up beside them so I stayed behind them. I didn't want them to see my license plate. Because really, that's one of the only ways they could identify me. I didn't recognize anybody who went in or came out of the drum circle when I was waiting around to do the thing....maybe somebody could talk to somebody else and figure out that it was that quiet dude who used to come to the drum circles who nobody even knows the name of or barely talked to or liked...or...never fit in...whatever whatever times two.

I only stayed on i4 until the next exit, and then I got off.

This is what is known as bizarre behavior. I know this. I knew it before I did it.

I ain't crazy. This was an 'art project.'

goooal