Angry with life, myself and everything

I don't even know where to start. Fuck it. I won't. It doesn't help.

Things to write about, too exhausted to start

 

I took a trip to the coast. It was a one night stay in Fortuna. I left early Friday morning and got back Saturday afternoon. I'm still wiped out from the driving. I want to be able to say how it went, detail the stops and minutia of my little excursion, but I don't have energy enough to do it. Plus, there are a few other details of life on the moon that I feel need discussion, but I have no motivation to write. Whoever reads this, be glad, you are getting a break from my whining and sniveling on and on about my "feelings" or lack of them. Nothing to see hear. No excitement from this quarter.

Muhammad mows down the mountain

 

I'm only calling it that to avoid putting the word "mushrooms" in the title. I figured it would be less of an NSA trigger if I saved it for the body of the text, but who am I kidding? 

Muhammad, in attempting to alleviate his depression, decided to try a micro-dose of magic mushrooms. So, the title should read, "Muhammad mows down the mountain, micro-dosing magic mushrooms." Or something to that effect. Gotta maximize the alliteration.

I'm guessing I'm just not cut out for this type of therapy. The idea is that you take a minuscule dose of the hallucinogen, and it enhances mental clarity while lifting the fog of depression. 

What a load of horseshit! Stupid+Mushrooms=More stupid. It mainly made me stupid(er) and lessened my ability to function at the normal everyday tasks that I could at least manage to accomplish with my regular old, non-enhanced brain. 

Eye-hand coordination, spatial awareness and focus were all diminished, while a heightened sense of paranoia and a feeling of a lack of control of my own actions prevailed.

I was sold on the idea of micro-dosing by a few articles that I read, where it was claimed that you would gain all the beneficial brain stimulating properties of this powerful drug while still being able to fold laundry. 

"Take a small dose, and go about your daily activities. Everything will taste better, look brighter, and you'll be open to new ideas."

Poppycock! I find my own naturally occurring state of consciousness, as fucked up as it may be, to be far superior to this impaired, scared, dumbed-down version.

So, what was on my plate for the day that made me declare this experiment a failure? Just a little light lawn mowing. 

Uh, stupid decision #1: never operate power equipment while experimenting with a mind altering substance. I'd have done better smoking a ton of weed and jumping on the mower. At least I'd be in familiar territory. And weed tends to make me more focused and less agitated.

This mushroom stuff just threw off my calibration for everything. I hit way more rocks, stumps and protrusions than normal. I was less able to navigate potholes and corners. Even backing up was sketchy. 

It was like I was asleep at the wheel, or just barely waking up and finding myself headed straight for a tree and having to avert collision constantly. I missed large swaths of unmowed grass on multiple passes, while focusing on eliminating a single dandelion became an obsession. I found myself continually mowing into my dusty exhaust because of poor choices of direction.

The smartest thing I did was admit I was licked and give up for the day. I'll have to assess the crappy job I did tomorrow and redo major portions with the benefit of an unimpaired brain. Now what can I do with the rest of my day? 

I'm 2 hours and 8 mins. in at this point. Maybe a nice, safe morning of breakfast and television until my brain and body decide they want to work together again. Who knows, I may find cooking to be a more formidable task than I'm giving it credit for. We'll see.

Fuckin' shrooms. For the second and last time, I'll say "never again."

Diane...again

 

Not too much this time. Just a passing dream. I was somehow in a wannabe little relationship with her, but not even to the point where she knew I really liked her. But we were friends, and I'd go over to her house and hang out. 

On this occasion, I was at her house, and we were going to eat pizza or something, but she had a cold. Her house had that "I'm sick, so I'm not cleaning shit" look to it. Not her usual fancy decor, but I could hang.

I went outside to try to re-park my big rig diesel, but I was having some trouble getting up into the cab. It seems they had made the driver's door entry compartment for someone 3 feet tall. I couldn't climb up and contort myself, no matter how hard I tried. 

I decided I was going to try to shift it into neutral while outside the cab and then maybe push it back several feet by hand. Yeah, it didn't even sound logical in the dream.

There was more, but I'm struggling these days to remember anything dream-wise. They just evaporate, mostly.

Oh, yeah. While I was parking my truck, a big black guy came over and climbed into bed with her. I wasn't too happy about it, but I recognized that we weren't really even dating, so I just kind of sulked a bit. 

I think I was scheming about how I was going to woo her away from this guy, but nothing ever came of it.

This is Bullshit! A Comprehensive Field Guide

 

Having spent a lifetime as an expert in the field of bullshit recognition, I feel as if I have already written the book on what is bullshit. 

In all of life's situations, there needs to be someone who can point out (in case there is any question or doubt) just what is and what is not bullshit. There might come a time when it is handy to have a reference guide, in case I'm not around to point it out for you. 

This book will not attempt to interpret your own particular bullshit, but it will provide you with a template for categorizing the various types and degrees of bullshit that exist. It is up to you to decide what fits where on the scale of "that's nothing" to "complete and utter bullshit."

Statements like "never bullshit a bullshitter" are, in themselves, bullshit. 

Why? Well, why not? Why not bullshit a bullshitter? It seems to me that if you are looking for a litmus test to see if your bullshit is going to pass muster, why not run it by a professional? If your bullshit can fool the bullshitter, you have truly achieved mastery, and your bullshit should work on just about anybody. 

Also, a bullshitter will be more likely, as a practitioner himself, to forgive the sin of bullshitting. You might get a twinkly-eyed "Aw, come on" but not the jaw dropping, self-righteous gasp of a non-bullshitter.

I should mention that this book is a companion in the series which includes "Andrew's Big Book of What is Cool" and "The Big Book of What is Gay." The term gay, in this case, is used in its most inclusive, and least politically sanitized sense. It is an umbrella term, which can cover many non-homosexual items, situations or people. 

Long before "gay" was the exclusive property of a specific group of people with certain sexual orientations, it was an adjective. I'm returning the word it to its former usefulness. This will undoubtedly piss off a lot of people who would like to claim ownership or are averse to the term having any negative connotations. 

Sorry. My lens, my perspective, my book. If you don't like it or agree with it, write your own book and make up your own definitions.

"Cool" doesn't suffer from so much baggage and will not need a lot of disclaimers or non-apologetic explanation. Something is either cool or not cool. This will be a completely subjective reference table, just in case anyone was wondering about the coolness or non-coolness of any particular thing in the universe, from my perspective.

Back to the bullshit at hand. I had to repair my water heater for the I don't know how many-eth time in the past 5 years. I think I came across the exact root or roots of the failure, though. One, in particular, was the fact that it was rated for 115 volts, and I have been operating it on 220v for most of its life. 

I seem to remember something about the guy who installed telling me, "we can't find another one this size that runs on 220v, so just flip one side of this double pole breaker and you'll be aight." I promptly forgot about that and flipped on both sides at my earliest convenience. 

The other issue was the quality of the well water. It is chock full of minerals, which, interacting with the heating element, create an internal short and make a thick, goopy sludge that is almost too thick to drain from the drain valve. I actually had to blow compressed air into it to get this gelatinous crud to ooze out.

So, a new circuit breaker, thermostat, a 220v heating element and rewire job and I have hot water again. Where does this fall on the scale of bullshit? 

"Fuckin' bullshit!" 

I hesitate to go with Major Fuckin' Bullshit out of a sort of "knock on wood" mentality of not wanting the universe to up the ante of the type of bullshit it is handing out. Some things, like, oh, crippling, long-term illness, for example, could push this way back down the scale, almost to "that's nothing," or at least petty, insignificant bullshit.

I've had to deal with all kinds of bullshit, so I'm becoming adept at sorting out which level of bullshit I'm dealing with at any given time. Whether you're an ascended master, or an everyday hot-head, if you are honest, you will have to admit that life has its share of bullshit. 

"Don't try to shit down my back and tell me that it's raining. At least pee on me, because that would be more believable."

I'm stealing that quote, and I'm not gonna give credit to the person just yet, because that story has a backstory and right now we're not even in the same volume of reference material. But it's a good one, I promise you that. A real hair-curler. More on this later.

Hummingbird

 

Today, while on snail patrol, I was standing and staring kind of vacantly into the distance. I was near my flower pots, which are producing a bumper crop of forget-me-nots this year. All those flowers came from seeds I gathered last year out of a crop planted from a single seed packet. 

The seed packet was given to me by the realtor who was working with us to sell us the house, part of a promotional marketing gimmick. She's also sent little calendars and other seasonal reminders, which were always helpful. "Turn your clocks back." "Prepare for winter." Always insuring that you'll never forget Alisha Fickert, the agent who is always there for you.

I was standing in front of these pretty pink flowers, not thinking about anything in particular, when a hummingbird approaches from my left and begins working the blooms on my bank of flowers. It was very methodical and determined to not miss out on any available goodies as it went from one end of my brick and board shelf to the other. I don't think it missed a single flower blossom. 

It either didn't see me, or it made the decision that I wasn't anything worth abandoning its process over, because it came right between me and the flowers I was standing in front of, less than an arms length away.

I said, "Hello, hummingbird. Nice to see you. Stop by anytime."

It didn't seem to mind that I was talking to it and continued on until it had reached the very last flower, then it flew away. A little tree frog caught my attention at this point, hopping out of the way as I walked back toward the house.

"Hello, little frog. Nice to see you, too."

And that was that. I said hi to my dog Whiskey and went to fetch him a Milk Bone, which I keep close by at all times, in case I encounter him in my travels. Ok, we're just about all caught up. 

Oh, and I told both of my cats that they are good kitties, one because she is always retrieving a piece of string for me, and the other just because she is luxurious and doesn't mind showing off her belly at the drop of a hat.

That's it. I'm still alive. And taking notes.

Titanic Lite

 

I am living my life as if I'm on the Titanic, if the Titanic had hit a slightly smaller iceberg, and the breach in the ship's hull was letting the water seep in at a little bit slower rate. Everything else is the same: certain doom, the hopeless futility of taking any kind of action to save the ship and the complete absence of any kind of timely rescue effort.

It's not too bad, all things considered. It's a five star vessel. Sure, it's terminally gutted and will never make it to port, but the accommodations are still pretty much intact. You are free to move about the boat, and there is a sense of devil may care when it comes to rationing or restraint. We're all gonna die, fuck it. May as well drink the good scotch and light cigars with hundred dollar bills.

A few people are still doing their regular jobs, swabbing decks and polishing the brass railings, but it is out of habit. The realization hasn't sunk in yet that nothing really matters. Unless it does. Maybe it's best to just treat it like the ship still has a hundred years of voyages left in it. Everybody stay the course; no one panic or go on a bender of riotous debauchery.

Knowing you're doomed, destined for the grave, should really motivate one to live fully, right up until the last moment. But some of us are barely living, barely making a scratch on this earth, although the sun is shining, and there are no forecasts of icebergs.

I wish I had something interesting or new to report

Since I don't, I've felt it best to just keep quiet. It's not really so much fun documenting my failure at living life. I'm just going to curl up into my snail shell and suck on the side of a wall until I dry up and fall off.

Ok, I thought of this. My new supplements are actually doing something. I don't know how positive it is, though. I am mentally more, I dunno, "awake," if that's the right word? My insomnia has gotten worse, my ability to sense my own pain has diminished, and I'm unable to not think. I needed to find a remedy that just boosted my positivity, not one that made me a more energized negative person. 

I'm sure this is where CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) is supposed to kick in.  Change the thoughts, change the programming. Change the programming, change your life. I'm just spinning my wheels with a turbo-charger attached.

So, that's the new thing. A slightly elevated level of energy with which to do my same boring-ass, mired in the mud routine. Like giving coffee to a drunk, you now have a wide awake drunk. So, giving energy boosting supplements to a depressed person, viola, a depressed person with ADHD. 

I do think they are helping my body work out some of it's issues with low metabolic function, though. My dry eye is actually improving slightly, along with the cysts on my conjunctiva. But the lack of sleep kind of defeats the overall health benefits. Kind of a short term fix, like caffeine or uppers. You can't sustain the energy level, and you wind up crashing or doing damage to your body.

I'll get back to you, if I'm not dead from over-winding and snapping my little rubber band. Or if I think of anything newsworthy to report, as in lifestyle improvements.