unwarranted rained on my
heart this cloudy day
unwarranted rained on my
heart this cloudy day
felt like I wrote an
exorcism of the heart
it was blood on the
page never to be
seen or read no not ever
nothing more than the
notions of the heart
destined to be drafts much too
sad for voice or print
I’ve concluded without deep thinking or any
intelligence applied, that my electronic
world doesn’t differ very much from my
real world. Better said, it occurred to me that
they are parallel worlds subject to the same
dysfunction of mine at any time. They are
not exempt from my stupid choices or those
choices that result from my dysfunction.
Having said that, my healthy choices can
also happen in either world. So we can both
keep our sanity as I write this and you read it,
I’m not going to discuss my fantasy worlds
here. That content would be better suited to
a secret poems collection (toying with the
idea). Recently I told you I went back to
Windows for whatever reason. I am happily
typing to you from openSUSE in Firefox
today because I figured it out. My long love
affair with Microsoft is rooted in my gray
side, not to be confused with my dark or
secret side. Gray is that place where my
dysfunction bleeds into my light, healthy,
and joyful side. My world of light still has
some gray, some dark, some of this, and
some of that because I’m not perfect, but
healing. I’m far less dysfunctional today
than I was years ago—one year ago or forty
years ago, etc. After I loaded Windows this
time, I detected a false sense of hope. There
was no going back. (Not enough space here
to try and explain it; but I knew a bunch of
old stuff was feeding this simple choice of
OS. It wasn’t based on anything healthy.)
The simple fact is that I can choose Linux
as my OS without the dysfunctional strings.
Dysfunction tries to destroy anything good.
Somehow, I led myself to believe that I had
to keep up a level of electronic chaos in my
life. Not so. The dysfunctional reason why
I was flipping back and forth from OS to OS
was based on old fears. When I walked into my
office at home, sat at my red desk, and turned
on my laptop, I was flying through a self-made
black-hole. I was living my version of Jumanji!
Okay, I’m not really nuts, just working through
my life, through the residual effects of abuse.
Dysfunction becomes part of survival; like
making believe dark is light and evil is good.
I’m doing better. EMDR has been and remains
a life saver for me! I’m happier and I make
better choices. But dysfunction is something
I always have to deal with, something I always
have to choose not to do so I don’t screw up my
life. Better choices bring better consequences.
Am I getting unclear or bogged down here?
Let me give you my short list of dysfunction
defined based on my own life experience
as a result of childhood sexual abuse and
lifelong abuse in many forms:
dysfunction chooses dysfunction
dysfunction loves dysfunction
dysfunction attracts dysfunction
dysfunction produces dysfunction
dysfunction believes dysfunction
dysfunction doesn’t believe dysfunction
dysfunction destroys dysfunction
dysfunction can never be satiated
dysfunction lies (to you and everyone you
come into contact with)
dysfunction kills (you and everyone you
come into contact with)
I’ve said this before: no one deserves abuse
in any shape or form. It wasn’t my fault.
That is enough on that for today. No use
making us both depressed. Without healing,
without changes, a life of dysfunction (alone
or in dysfunctional relationships or marriage)
would have us believe that the chaos we live
in, the Living Hell on earth we are drowning
in, is “normal” and as good as it gets.
Don’t believe it. Wrong! Lies!
The Lord Jesus promised us an abundant and
joyful life. Dysfunction doesn’t believe that.
An unhealthy life, e.g., one filled with abuse
and dysfunction, isn’t able to receive anything
good. If you’ve been abused, then you don’t
trust God or anyone; you don’t believe God or
anyone. You may say you do. But you don’t.
(Dysfunction lies, remember?)
Well, I don’t call these poems “Odds and Ends”
for nothing! How did I get here today? How do
I bring this to a close? I’m reminded that God
loved us before we loved Him. So, it makes
no sense to believe I have to wait until I’m
“perfect,” totally healed, or completely
without dysfunction to make good choices.
I was so excited about walking the other
day. I was planning on walking today, but I’m
in too much pain. Unable to do it. That is a
result of circumstances not dysfunction. So, a
downward spiral is not my choice. I resist the
dysfunction baiting me; I choose to continue
in my peace and joy for today. Life is good. I
think I’ll go check the mail, then finish
watching the movie I started the other day.
And have a lovely peaceful hot cup of tea.
I just poured myself a prize. The last cup
of my morning coffee in my thermos.
Why a prize? Simple. I deserved one; to
celebrate that I shredded the huge pile
of waste paper in my home office. You
know the box that file folders come in?
Well, I use one of those as a to-be-
shredded paper bin. It sits on top of the
dusty seldom used record player in front
of my desk. The pile has been overflowing
long enough. It took me about an hour to
shred it all. I had to dump the small
shredder bin four or five times. No secret
stuff; mostly junk mail trying to sell me
medical or life insurance or trying to get
me to sell my house to them. Junk just
the same. A year ago last summer, we
realized the yard company had our water
system turned up to water too often so
they could justify coming every month to
trim and clean very little. Anyway, we fired
them for more than that over a year ago
also hoping to bring our water bill down.
She looked out the window yesterday and
remarked, “The plants are dying. They
weren’t dying yesterday, but they are dying
today.” We walked out back. Our backyard
isn’t much bigger than our car; one of the
smallest in the neighborhood. She was
right. I watered by hand yesterday and
tested the irrigation system today. I turned
it back on to the old settings. It is a drip
system. One hour from five to six in the
morning every other day. I have not been
able to get a straight story on desert plant
irrigation for seven years. Everyone you ask
has a different solution that requires more
math than I’m willing to apply to the task.
That is why I checked, saw the old settings,
and just turned them on. Maybe too much;
maybe not. You can be sure of one thing.
Our water bill is going up. Just another
reason why I’d be happier living on the
eleventh floor anywhere. Remember, I’m
color blind. Dead or alive the plants look
about the same to me. Not my thing. I have
no idea what is supposed to flower or not.
Fall in Indiana meant only one thing to me.
Leaves fall. And I had to pick them up. I’ve
been telling people my whole life, I’m a city
boy, and I’d love to live in the city. That
eleventh floor dream is still with me! Streets,
sidewalks, buildings, people, crowds. Someday.
I can dream, can’t I? Don’t get me wrong, I’m
thankful for our sweet home and love it. Yet,
there is a part of me that misses the sites and
smells of the city. I confess—I’ve always
loved the smell of diesel. Trucks, tanks, APCs!
And downtown. Downtown any town smells.
Meanwhile, my coffee is about gone. Not so
with the antibiotics. Day five of ten. (I’ll
spare you the laundry list of drugs that
started with a shot of Prednisone last
Wednesday.) Thank God for my NP who I
got in to see fast. (Over the counter always
fails. Why do I still try it?) Looking out the
window, the wind is picking up, so I’ll wait
until about six to take the garbage out so the
cans don’t blow down the street. I wonder
what the wind is like downtown on the
eleventh floor? May happen, may not, but
my mind is on the eleventh floor today.
I need to listen to some of my old records,
too. Good stuff. Good jazz. Good classical.
Great vocals, etc. Why did I stop doing that?
about Thailand Korea
soothed by lunch steamed rice
I went down
this week for
not as bumpy
as I thought it
I transferred in
that year. It
came and went.
much with class
photos the size
of a postage
better than I
Her entry was
cute. I found
her but couldn’t
Looks like we
steady at the
end of my
I know we
broke up, but
I wasn’t myself.
I didn’t know
then what I
If I screwed up,
it was probably
me, not you.
Anyway, my life
and I didn’t know
it then. (Blocked
child abuse works
that way. Sorry.)
Sixty-four was a
from the fact
that home life
sucked and I
was afraid of my
own shadow, it
wasn’t that bad.
Did I write in her
yearbook? Do you
think she’ll read
Sadly, I’ve never
gone back. Some
things we don’t
get to do or do
Don’t know why.
Was it fear that
kept me away?
But this surprise
trip down memory
lane has shown
me that I can
chose to remember
The work day is about to end but we just
got back after a comfort food lunch and
shopping for grocery basics. Lunch before
grocery shopping helps keep one from
grabbing goodies that are not on one’s
list. (Assuming you are using a list.) Big
coffee decision this morning to return to
our old breakfast blend. Not to be found
at our little store, so we were on a quest.
Big WalMart had it. On the way home we
gave each other that look that said stop for
a comfort dessert on the way home. So,
dinner is highly unlikely. I was hoping to
write with more joy than I have today, but
I have a headache and horrible throbbing
searing neck pain that set in on the way
back home. Tomorrow is the neurologist;
I’ve never seen one. If he’ll see me, as I
didn’t sign one of the mandatory forms. It
says I’m subject to a certain random test
out-of-pocket on every visit if they require
it. I disagree. A work order should be
enough as needed. Why do they have to
make it so difficult? Why do they think I can
pay for tests just because they feel like it? No
doubt they have good reasons, but I rather
ask first. I didn’t need the healthcare system
until last year; now that I need to use it, it is
a pain in the neck. I have enough neck pain
thank you very much! Why do forms have
millions of check boxes that don’t apply? My
answer: “See attached.” Next page. “See
attached”. Next paragraph. “See attached.”
My attached make more sense. I keep up
a spreadsheet of my medication and
treatment history. Tab 1: Current Medication
and Supplements; Tab 2: Medication-Treatment
History; Tab 3: Medical History. Is it to make it
easier for staff? Yes. But also for my sanity.
“Come in 15 minutes before your appointment
to fill out the forms.” Are you serious? No way.
Not humanly possible. Giving you the whole
enchilada since 1956 or so takes a while; more
so by hand on poor forms. Why don’t doctors
have technical writers like me or someone
competent to make their forms. Not to mention
the memory issue. “Your forms on-line were
roughed out by the Flintstones. Not usable.”
I didn’t tell her that. I was thinking that. She
said the website was broken as are the forms
and she’d mail them too me. Hence, my
spreadsheets are like gold. And keep writer’s
cramp to a minimum. My printing isn’t like it
used to be; it is worse. Did the best I could.
All forms should be done as PDFs that can
be filled out and signed using Adobe Acrobat
Reader DC on a PC.
“Houston, we have a problem.”
Every office has an admin type who is
trying to create their empire and takeover
the world. So, they create a document that
no one else can edit and put a locked PDF
on-line that no one can use. (Admit it, there
is an admin control freak near you, maybe
only a cube away. Worse, it could be that
person who got fired, sort of, and got a lateral
transfer to HR; trying to kill you from HR.)
The coffee she didn’t like this morning is in
my thermos. It should still be good about now
and may drive this neck pain away.
To the docs, PAs, and nurses I love, my kudos.
You are doing a great job in hell every day. If
only you didn’t have patients! To the
incompetent types I alluded to, “Ready or not,
here I come!” (For tomorrow’s 07:30 check-in.)
And for right now, coffee here I come. Oy vey!