Monthly Archives: March 2011
All Jack Russell owners have to understand at some level that this is not a dog. It is a tiny, four legged demon with no bladder that knows no master.
I have been close to getting religion as many of you know. This may be how I understand that the Jack Russell is a tiny tool of the fallen angel. I am not sure. It pisses. Great Scott, does it piss everywhere, outside and inside. It chews. Oh, does it chew. Bastard chewed my new reading glasses and now I would like to punt him airborne every fucking time I see his little stupid puppy face. He can’t get along with my big dog. His hair falls off of him faster than a cancer patient. I don’t want him here anymore, that’s how pissed off I am with this dog.
Oh, but he’s such a sweetums! Who’s a sweetums?
Fuck him. It’s raining, and I have to take this little fuck outside now.
I am reminded by my wife constantly that I am a paranoid. It’s funny; I’ve always been what one might classify as “timid”, but that is not the same thing. I have a LOT of healthcare issues I need to work out, most all are mental, if I am to believe in my shamans, the doctors at the VA. I would find it hard to argue with them and my wife that something has gone wrong. Some wire has gone goofy and I’m stuck trying to repair it.
I spent a few weeks in a locked mental ward. In case you don’t know, this is like jail without bars. You are stuck there because you have been sentenced as not well, and until you can convince the trustys that you are behaving well, you may get an early release. Believe me now and hear me later, but you don’t want to do this. Some people have to. It isn’t that I can’t do it. I just won’t do it anymore. Which means one thing; I have to stay sane outside the locked door. It’s like a challenge, like a gauntlet has been thrown down-we’ll give you some drugs, and then we’ll see how good of a little doggie you can be if we let you out.
Something is wrong here. It’s like being…banished to life, or something resembling it, but as Johnny Lydon once asked…is this living? This careering? I sure don’t have a job. I wouldn’t do this shit so much if I actually had something better to do than talk to oh, maybe five people on this blog because I’m still having a temper tantrum about this one fucking bitch that went to high school with me who dared call ME a racist on Facebook because I had an opinion about a black Tea Party member who doesn’t think much of free speech. That means, ipso fucking facto, that she is also guilty of disliking free speech. I think that’s just as rotten as actually being a racist, which everyone knows goddamn full well that I am not capable of racism to the extent that anyone can control such a rotten impulse in one’s head at all.
I am left with a decision. I am a good writer, and I like to tell stories and like to hit “publish”. Should I go back to Facebook and be back with my friends to share?
I want everyone to consider what is happening on the other side of the globe today. Japan is in such danger, Colonel Gaddafi of Libya has declared war on his own citizenry, this is unacceptable and must stop. We have so much at stake these days, it is hard to even write without the heart getting so heavy.
I love the people of Japan. I love the people of Libya. I do not want to see any more harm. We cannot afford this type of strife!!!! Pray and petition your leaders, and that includes every weasel in Congress and even President Obama.
ENOUGH! The peaceful say. Enough.
I think that’s how you spell that Illuminus stuff. Anyway, has nothing to do with the dollar or whoever runs things, it’s my anniversary to my wife today and I just wanted everyone to know that I am well and quite happy with the idea that I can do something besides drink heavily or smoke for more than nine years. I can be married, be dad. That’s not much of an accomplishment, any schmuck can do it, but I think I do OK.
Hug your rugrats and your respective spouses. It’s a good day, for you too, I hope.
That’s a toughie, eh? Judging by the tone of Facebook last I looked at it, I would have to say yes. But I no longer know; these days I quiet myself with books and major league news blogs. The news is too weird to comprehend and I couldn’t possibly report all the dumb I see. The GOP is in power everywhere, and now no one knows why they voted for them.
Think about that, governorships, mayors, aldermen, commissioners somewhere, everywhere: Republicans hard at work doing…what? They came to cut a budget and suddenly realized: we can’t read one! They came to lower taxes and they found out their city budgets had no money! They came to stop an illegitimate socialist from killing your grandmother and suddenly realized that he wanted her to live longer than you did!
You are all insane, those of you who voted this way. I think you had a fever. That fever was called hate. I don’t know why you did that, but all you did was HATE President Obama his whole first two years and you all have your private, fruity assed reasons for doing it. My god, even half of what could be called a “left” in this country hate him now too.
What…what is your deal?
You’re going to have to make up your mind, sooner or later as to what you hate…is it President Obama, is it the United States, is it something far more odious in your souls that you need to discuss with a professional that you hate, or is it just that you are not a good person?
Look. I hate. I hate big time. I get it. But where are we directing it and why? The Internet is going to have a heart attack trying to find its way through all of the ick and yuck you keep putting all over it, much like the way you might do with your sick mother, whoever she may be to you? Kudos to those who do not.
O doctor! Lady doctor
hiding the secret benzo
but hearing my soul sick answers weary call quickly
and candies my brain
like trust and love which will be given back to all my loves
There is nothing funnier than my family when they are running late for something. It’s a known trait on my fathers’ side, because he has OCD. He’d take legendary showers, half-hour to forty five minute events while everyone else wondered what he was doing in there. His showers were full of guttural nonsense, vulgar ways of saying vulgar words like “sonovamother” ” or “hooyoobitch” (these translations may not be completely accurate because I am accessing a directory that is about 25 years old) but let’s just say noise was made that I never heard in my life when my Dad got under the water. He never made it to work on time, consistently late almost an hour but he had seniority so it was no big deal. The guy worked nights, babysitting gigantic magnetic tape machines that kept a massive shipping company float in New Jersey.
These things weren’t funny then-it caused many other anguish producing memories that I cannot talk about here yet, but watching my own family’s disastrous and confusing escape from the house(save for me) helps loosen some heartstrings,as Miles Kurosky says. The only one not ready is me. That is because I don’t get to go out, I have to buckle down the house for the family’s reentry. Which, I must remind myself, is a job that has no ignominy attached to it.
Sometimes, when your bipolar is upset, you must have done something to upset your bipolar. You may have just used that word. Now they are telling you what an idiot you are for making up words.
Here’s a new word that is less offensive to bipolars. Try this out.
The educated bipolar is immediately calmed to find that someone has used proper medical terminology to explain its behavior. Don’t come to him and tell him/her he is “manicky”. He/she will likely tell you to get fucked if you can’t deal with the bipolar.
You of course are free to say whatever you want and certainly think whatever you want but it is my opinion that you are talking the fuck down to me if you dismiss me with a word like “manicky”.
One more thing that upsets bipolars is when you don’t acknowledge when they are depressed. There ARE two poles to this disorder and my question to those amateur psychiatrists running around is why are you not addressing the bipolar when he/she is depressed? You’re always happy as hell to declare me “manicky”, but my depression is irrelevant. I see. They would call it Manic Disorder. I do not have “Manic Disorder”, do I?
Try and remember this. It’s not a difficult one. Your respective bipolars will appreciate you for this.
Is this a bad question? I ask myself every day if I believe in myself, does God have his doubts and his bad days like everyone else? When he doesn’t believe what is happening on the globe, does he quit listening and leave it to Christ?
Twice today I have fallen in disgrace to irrational fear. Does God? Do you? What would be the best thing to do in a scenario wherein you think God or whoever has your back? Is he here, watching and laughing about Japan?
When we took over Ibn Sina in Iraq’s “Green Zone”, we had to immediately decide who would stay as Iraqis went and who didn’t. Must’ve happened at a level I could not comprehend as a Specialist. As I have said, I was tasked to look after the pharmacy, and our reach was far and wide as far as the number of drugs available to us, as in “U.S.”
An Arab worker came in looking for headache relief while I set up. They know paracetamol over there is the NSAID of choice. Our equivalent is acetaminophen. He was one of our janitors, I think.
Did I give him what he was asking for?
I can no longer remember. I hope I did the right thing and gave him a little. That would be me overcoming my irrational fear. Once I went to an Iraqi barber. Ultimate sign of trust to me, to allow a man from a country that we had burned and battered give me a haircut. He used a straight razor. He even cut my nose and ear hair with string. His services were a dollar. I gave him five. You find me the barber with that kind of heart and I will kiss your ass.
Another time, I was told to “wand” Iraqi craftsmen(carpenters, painters and the like) into the hospital. I had very little stomach for the job since I knew that for them to simply have a job was enough for them and they did not need to bomb their employers out of business. I recall wanding halfheartedly as these smiling men reported to work. There was a trust I had in them that I could not shake. You see, I believed in the mission, until it went on too long, which would be around June of 2003, past the time that Don Rumsfeld said would be the right time. They never wanted us there in the first place.
I don’t know what I am ultimately trying to say except that I have issues with whom to trust. Everyone has gone mad. God either exists or not, and if this is his master plan, I mean, I have no choice to follow it but damn God, you don’t have to put a hit on everyone all at once. You need a chill-pill more than I do and that is saying something.
And between one dog who constantly licks his balls, and another who is contemplating an owner change if he doesn’t go back to Colorado where at least he could roll in the snow.
My wife has entered a professional business; when I ask her when she is coming home, the answer is a curt “when I’m done” and I have to deal with that. Ativan helps choke off rage very well, so I took one. I’m sure I have put her through enough without Ativan that I should just hush up.
I wander the house aimlessly, frightened by simple reflections and recollections. It is a painful process for me, this coming home and staying home. I have never been left like this before. It’s odd.
The world is in terrible pain, inside and out. You’re all going nowhere fast. Check the headlines, Speed Racer, your reactor could be next as the world heaves terrible sighs about how much it wishes you to get the fuck off of it.
There had better be more love in this world before the next catastrophe. Pay attention to the goings-down before you get all bent up in your own trip, can you dig it, Billy?