Macwriter

Mac kills PC in so many areas. I find that my workflow crashes to a halt when I have to go into the office and use their Windows systems. I hesitated in downloading any Microsoft programs onto my Mac because I don’t like anything about them, how they are organized. Even using Excel, which is still far more substantial than Apple’s Numbers program, I am quick to get in and get out. The one shining Microsoft program out there is Livewriter. It is great. I does everything that a blogger needs and wants. It has two-way communication with accounts and one can write, post, and draw from with ease.

So I am trying out MacJournal. I am hoping that the latest update will address some of the workflow problems that I had. We’ll see. A big problem for me was the lack of tag support. Not that the program doesn’t use tags, it does. But that it doesn’t draw from the list of tags one has already started on an external server. Livewriter does this well. But other programs, not so much. Instead of a seamless work environment I am forced to print out a list of tags and hang it on the wall. This. is. stupid. Either that or I am stupid and I cannot figure out a workaround.

23 days

A week ago I cleaned my apartment, somewhat, and left my apartment of the past four years. While I liked the people that ran it, liked the layout and the neighborhood, I hated the specific location. Situated on a major traffic artery running uphill, I heard every vehicle as the owners gassed the engines to make it up the steep climb. It was impossible to keep any windows open and watch t.v., nor to sit on the balcony and enjoy a summer night with a book. The constant noise was too much for me and though there was some anxiety about my leaving for the unknown, I was also happy to be leaving.

While I was cleaning my apartment, putting everything into a storage unit, I had an opportunity to drive to another county and give three lectures on domestic violence and the military. I wasn’t paid, but I was happy to be able to do so. Improving the lives of veterans is my mission. Because things have become harder for me right now hasn’t changed my mission. Drive on… draw fire… charlie mike.

The week prior to actually leaving I ran a million plans in my head, from camping out to just sleeping in the truck. I still had my two cats with me, had three large boxes with change of clothes and some essential books on anger, CBT, military psychology, my laptop, and a brand new litter box and cat food. I checked into a motel with a decent room for two days while I started a temporary two-week assignment with the Reintegration Team.

Monday morning I drove to a place that does work for the homeless, including veterans. I gave my PTSD presentation which is heavy on military culture and bridging understanding.

When I get a very lengthy, invasive, and painful to make background check, which takes weeks to do, I should be able to get on full time until the end of the fiscal year. Until then I was trying to find a place to stay where I could take my two cats with me. Yet after two days, with no clear answer in sight, I took my cats to a friend who was looking to adopt. Her house is beautiful inside, the dog was more well-behaved than most people I’ve met, and the cats actually did very well readjusting. There is also a large yard for them. I think that all four of them will be very happy. When the reality of things started to sink in, it wasn’t until I was hit with the notion of getting rid of my two cats that I was overcome with anxiety. Heavy breathing, shortness of breath, tunnel vision, and more all at the same time. But before long I had it under control by turning off my emotions. And as I took my cats to their new home, both crying in their boxes, I walked a fine line between trying to comfort them and trying to shut off my feelings.

The next day I checked out of my motel room and then drove to my temporary job and checked in. Then I drove to my other job where I help counsel veterans. When it was over I drove to the storage unit my belongings were put and I grabbed a stack of pillows, and changed in to civies. I had to do this before the gates closed for the night. Then I got into my truck and drove. Not knowing where to go I went to the armory and stayed in the parking lot. The same the next night, though I was awakened by someone training another driver in the parking lot at 2:30 AM for a hour. And so it continued for the week. I’d get up and change in the armory or a restroom at the storage unit, go to work for reintegration, and then pile up my pillows in the truck and go to sleep.

When Friday hit I decided to try camping on the beach on the river. While I did enjoy the beach for the afternoon, I changed my mind about staying overnight and drove back to town. This time I decided to try a dark parking lot behind a store that has been closed down for a couple of years. Within fifteen minutes a Tigard police officer drove up and questioned me. He was cautious, telling me not to reach for things unless told to do so, and inquired why I was there. My story of “just trying to find a place to sleep” fit as my truck had various boxes and a stack of clothes in it. I told him that my military training schedule made me less desirable for work with a company, that this loss of income caused me to lose my apartment, and I was between places at the moment. He asked me if I was a veteran, and as he did so I could see a wave of regret and pity wash over his face for a split second. That emotion reflected back onto me. Being in the presence of this felt worse than anything else I had felt so far.

A few weeks earlier I had been asked to be a motivational speaker for a homeless veterans picnic. I remember lamenting that I couldn’t do enough for them, that I didn’t understand them enough to truly speak to them. I was told to not be negative, but positive. I spoke about my admiration for them, of how they answered the call of their country, how it was an honor to be counted among them as veteran. Whether I drag this experience out or not, consciously or unconsciously, it has proven valuable to me in giving me insight. My admiration for those homeless veterans was real and it has increased.

The police officer told me that I could not stay, that I had to go somewhere else and he recommended the rest stop down the highway past Wilsonville. I did’t want to make the drive, nor stay in such a busy place, but I did it. Getting there around midnight I found a shadowy spot and put up blankets in my windows to block light. In the park-like setting before me I saw many shadows of men moving to and fro. This was a meeting ground for various activities, including sex and drugs. I did not rest well that night as part of my threat radar stayed on, my pistol was ready beneath me, a flashlight for blinding was beside me. The next morning, amid sounds of semis cranking up and driving off, I sat for a while and let my aching body and cloudy mind adjust. I watched as two men from different cars made their way to a rendezvous in some hidden place. Apparently behavior that occurs near midnight occurs in the daylight as well.

I drove to a Borders books that I’ve been frequenting for the past week at night. The mornings found me going to a Starbucks to do online work for one job before reporting to another job, and then going to a Borders after work to continue. One thing was that I simply wanted a place to go. Today, as yesterday, I find that I can easily spend several hours in a coffee shop because I have nowhere else to go. I have work to do, however, and I spend some of my time working on a presentation (I have one tomorrow afternoon) or doing work for a study I am involved with. Late this afternoon I go to a friend’s house to do laundry. I’ve not asked about a shower yet… I’ll likely take one in the armory early tomorrow morning. If I can get a shower every two or three days I will be okay.

As far as another place to live, I’ve found one. Before moving out I had a place lined up, ish. Because of the job and such I’ve no savings left. What savings I did have, all $2000 of it, was wiped out by a cluster between financial aid, PSU, and benefits last summer. This new place, however, didn’t work out. The person checked emails infrequently and quit responding to my emails altogether. I had been counting on this and was this that had me get a hotel room. If I knew she was going to back out on me I’d never taken the hotel room and saved myself the $130. Lesson learned. Since then I’ve put out an ad on craigslist, emailed other ads, and so on, and eventually got a good hit for a place in North Portland. Wasn’t too thrilled about moving to NOPO as it is a drive through traffic for most of my jobs. Yet I was looking for anything that fit me. There were options here and there, but they all had the feeling about it as though I were a bum crashing on someone’s couch. Even some of the places where I could rent a room had this feeling about it. I’d rather camp out than be that. The place that I checked out is three single women living in a 4 bedroom apartment. There are also two dogs living there that seemed to like me (and I them). Yesterday I got the word that I can move in on the 1st. I am looking forward to it. I get along with women better than men. I am more comfortable with them and in return they’ll get a marine guard dog living with them. Don’t break into this house or I will bite.

I have another week to go before I can move in. Last night I went by my old apartment and checked it. I still have a key and, it being late at night and knowing that it will take a while before maintenance has cleaned/painted/recarpeted the place, I took two pillows and a towel and slept on the floor. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor, but what I hated was that I did not have the fan that I used to have. Because of this I could hear the downstairs neighbor snore loudly, and the sound of traffic was quite intrusive. I put some headphones on to some ocean wave sounds and finally drifted asleep after almost two hours of tossing around. When the morning came I left before any maintenance crews came around. I’ll try to keep this up for the next week if possible. If I show up near midnight and leave around 0600 I should be outside the range of any activity that might find me out. When they change the locks I’ll just revert back to the truck.

Earlier I was looking for videos for a presentation I am giving. One of them is a Bill O’Reilly video talking about homeless veterans and it is accepted by everyone on the show that 90% of the homeless veterans have substance abuse and/or mental health issues. At one point Bill dismisses that more ought to be spent/done for the veterans because you’d have to drag them in against their will to get them help. There is a huge disconnect here. Bill doesn’t get it and were I to talk to him he wouldn’t try to listen to me at all. Dress up a lot of the programs around here as they currently are and I have interest in going to them. Even now I am not interested in any homeless shelter or program, or anything at all. I want nothing to do with them. I am accepting aid from some of them because they will give me a footing to continue upward. One is a loan to make a payment on rent. Because I’ve spent nearly a week sleeping in a truck does not make me an expert. Likewise, suppose I have a place to live and I decide to stay outside one night to see what it is like… this too paints a very incomplete picture. For me to get a better idea what its like I had to feel hopelessness for the future. I had no idea what was going to happen or how to really change it. Once I felt this for a brief instant I had a deeper understanding. Now I look at the homeless around me and wonder what it is like to live with this feeling day after day after day. How does one get out of this state then? Even when I was in this state I monitored my feelings toward things. Like when I was confronted by the police officer who showed pity on his face. What do I feel when I read about various programs, aid lines, shelters? A lot of the time I feel like staying away. They are not appealing at all to me because they reaffirm my weakness, my inability to take action. I am infantry and even though things suck for me at times, I stick my nose down and drive forward. What do I want? What do I need? I could use some laundry facilities and a shower! Does sleeping under a tree bother me? Hell no!

So I imagine a place that I’d feel comfortable in right now. I imagine a coffee shop. There are computers available for internet access (finding jobs, entertainment, etc…) as well as books to take/leave for free. Show a military card and get a free sandwich or coffee. On the site are showers that anyone can use. there are some lockers with a lock you check out from the front desk. They have a copy of a key. You can use a locker for an entire day. There are donations taken for the place. Basic coffee and sandwich is free but you can buy more expensive stuff. There are also sponsored talks and meetings places here. This helps to make this a place for not ONLY the homeless to go but which is open to/for the homeless to go. Because it isn’t viewed as a homeless place to go it is desireable to go there. Imagine if Starbucks had showers on site and gave free coffee. I’m sure I’d be there a lot.

I am looking forward to moving into a place where I can get settled into a routine again. I have a routine now but it isn’t very healthy. I need to eat better (now I live off of fast food and such) and better hygiene and also working out. I’ll miss the Portland Marathon this year as I couldn’t afford the entry fee before the deadline, nor can I afford the nutrition I need in order to train effectively before the race. I feel good. I am an optimist after all. This experience was needed to help me focus, learn, and grow. Right now I am hungry and will go find something to eat. I am very fortunate in that I have jobs right now and, though I’ll likely have overdrafts for a few days, I am not going hungry and have some income. I remember what being hungry was like from when I lived in Eugene, though at the time I did have a roof over my head.

****************

It has been a couple of days. I thought I was moving in to one place only to be told the next day that there was a miscommunication between two of the coordinators. The room was no longer available. I’ve continued to search and thus far I’ve found nothing acceptable. What I am doing now is not distressing enough for me to accept just anything that is thrown at me.

What is distressing, sort of, is my cats. I forget about them and then something will occur that reminds me of them. Just now I am conversing with a friend via IM on the computer and she asks where the two cats are at. I tell her they are at a new home. Her response is “I bet you miss them and they miss you! They brought you joy every time you came home. I remember that.”

That statement was like a sniper’s shot on an unsuspecting target. I found a wave of sadness rolling over me and I had to blink away my emotion, turn and stare out the window, and wait for the moment to pass. Focus on the mission. Drive on… draw fire. A minute later I am once again fine.

Tomorrow I have two meetings with possible roommates to see if they like me or not. Then the weekend will be upon me. The last few nights I’ve been sneaking into my old apartment. I still have a key and I know that the maintenance crew takes a long time in getting around to resetting an apartment. It is more comfortable to sleep on the floor than in the truck, though that isn’t too bad. I wait until late at night, when nobody will see me, and I quietly slip into the old apartment with three pillows, a beach towel, and my laptop. Should someone break into my truck because there seems to be a lot of stuff in the cab, I care really only about this laptop. With this I am able to continue my mission. I can lose a lot of things, but not this or my truck. These two make my mission much easier.

*********************

I just attended a meeting of various concerns within the medical community. I was there as a veteran’s voice.

Walking back to my truck on a beautiful summer afternoon on a deserted campus, I paused at a walkway overlooking a children’s home. Oustide in the backyard was a child playing basketball. I stopped and watched for a few minutes. Miraculously I was nolonger who I am, but the world’s troubles evaporated and my concern was no further than the boundaries of the yard and the bounce of the basketball. It was a sublime experience and my needs were so very simple. To have fun, enjoy this wonderful thing called ‘summer’, and to feel loved (as an older sibling was doing a good job of playing at a level for the much younger one).

I turned and left, meandering down the path to find my parked truck. I stopped for a moment under a tree and enjoyed the sight and smell of sunshine through a young oak tree. In the tree a jay was bouncing between branches. I was already aware and basking in the glow of a calm, contemplative beauty… a feeling of peace. But what was surprising to me was the wells of tears. I found that I had a small string hanging from the edge of my soul and that when I tugged at it for a little bit I could feel that it was connected to deeper, heavier strings integral to the tapestry of my heart. I could feel the physical sensation of some emotion, but I couldn’t feel it. I knew that I wanted to cry, but for the life of me I had no idea why. And it would have been very easy to take a lighter and burn that loose thread… but while it was confusing for me, I found it comforting at the same time… it was the oddest reminder that I still had emotions even though I am adept at shutting them off.

***********************

I went to a few places and looked at possible homes. I met some very nice people of whom I wouldn’t mind meeting again under difference circumstances. As odd as it sounds, though one person’s room was too small for my needs I have strange desire to go do yard work with her. She is attempting to reclaim her yard from overzealous blackberries. She a sweet pit bull who loved belly rubs and all manner of things were growing in various pots and containers and corners of the yard. I shall have to make contact with her again. Another person was working on her Ph.D. and, when I told stories of running down that very street as a hasher, she became interested. I’ve likely recruited her to going to a hash sometime. I would like to go again myself someday. Two more people work as social workers and were interesting. And on and on.

But thus far nothing has felt… I don’t know. I keep trying to put my finger on it, hoping that I’ll know it when I feel it. If I were going by purely rational decision processes I’d have already chosen a place. All I need is a roof and a cot. Yet I’ve got that now… well… not the cot… a floor with two towels as sheets. I’ve gotten a text from a friend and it seems like this might actually be a good opportunity for me. It has a better feeling to it. So I’m going to see.

I told various people about my state and I’ve had so many offers of places to crash or the like. I sit and I think about my friends, and there are really a lot… were I to list a few of them here I’d feel guilty for not listing all of them and I know I’d also forget some and I’d feel worse about that. But whether that person lives in Eugene, Bend, Portland, Gresham, Hillsboro, various places in Arkansas, Arizona, California, or moving to California, Ohio, Michigan… and on… I am blessed. Here are affirmations of my true worth and I am humbled by its loftiness.

I am not a good partner. I am often called brave. Of this I do not qualify. It is no bravery to raise arms in violence. It is bravery sometimes to not fight. This is not a plea for pacifism, for I am no pacifist and the dogma of the moral view behind it I find to be flawed at a deep and basic level. I speak merely of the outward appearance of bravery as some say it to be, physical acts. Were I truly a brave person I would have talked better, opened up more, listened more, with the amazing women that I’ve dated. As I’ve told every one of them… I do not date people of poor character. I’ve had the great fortune of dating some truly wonderful people. This is not a pity session against me, for something must be good about me in order for all of these women to date me. As one told me… ‘I felt truly loved by you in the beginning’. Yet I lock up. Cannot seem to make it past a few months. It shuts off. And, instead of communicating, I run. I do not act with any integrity or bravery… I act the coward. I will stand with my friends against an army even if it means my doom. Yet I cannot get close, truly close, to someone as a partner.

The room is dark. Now that the sun has fully set I am surrounded by darkness in this empty apartment. Only the glow of my monitor of my laptop. A friend texts me about her upcoming class and the syllabus she is preparing. The street that has been the thorn in my consciousness interupts me with its louds traffic. I recall reading a study on anxiety disorders and their listing peaceful areas without noise as good for healing. I thought of my own PTSD symptoms and how much I hated my street that I lived on. Looking back over the last five years I feel as though I’ve lived a dream, that I wasn’t truly present. I feel as though I am waking up and I realize how tired I was and how tired I am still.

As I was writing earlier. I’ve had lots of opportunities for places to stay and crash. I admit that part of my reason for not doing so is pride. Pride is also something very important to the military. To understand how to help veterans in any area one must understand our peculiar brand of pride. How much of the helpers who try to save us are like the misguided missonaries who go to distant lands to save/convert/subjugate a foreign people.

But I get off track. I spoke to a soldier who was in some need on the telephone. The soldier confided in me that it seemed that everything happened at once. I could hear desperation and worry in the voice. I was acting as the Staff Sergeant on the phone call and identified as such I might be seen as a symbol of one’s failing. Put it another way, you don’t go to the trainer and admit to failing, you try harder. So I confided the things that happend to me. I did not go into details. Sometimes when someone tries to empathize with you it is thinly veiled disguise of “I’ve got lots of problems too… listen to me!” That is not my need. I’ve got places/people I can call on for that (thank you all). This was about the soldier’s need and I was the help. I simply said that I had lost a job which caused me to lose my apartment and that I slept in my truck. And then I immediatley asked some more questions about the soldier’s. Perhaps it was just me, but I thought I sensed a little more give, more sharing of the soldier’s part. More ‘listened to’.

I was conversing with a friend earlier and I told her that I am not a smart person. I’ve been told since I was very young that I am very smart. Yet my grades do not support this. I was never an A student in grade school, nor high school. I was mid level in my Marine training for avionics and electrician schools. Took me a while to get the broader concepts of various avionics systems down… but then I became quite good at troubleshooting problems on the bird.

I told my friend that I am not a smart person. I get by. If I do any healing with people it is certainly not from any intelligence on my part. If I am able to give any healing it is beacuse I operate from my weakness and wounds. I read a passage like this from a book recently and it resonated very strongly with me. I saw myself in those passages. This is why my current state is a true blessing for me. I lament not my current state. It is inconvenient, but no more so than a multitude of stories around me every day. I have it easier than most. When I consider that I might be able to gain from this twenty four days (-ish) I consider myself given an opportunity, a gift. The question now is will I be able to use this gift adequately? How might I help other veterans more? What words might I use? What approach?

I offer my prayers to the gods. I’ve given it before and I offer it again. My life in service to the design. I pray that I have the courage to live it, though I always feel as though I am merely taking the first step on a path. I can rattle of names of people who’s love, dedication, strength, perseverance all humble me greatly. Were I to have one finger’s worth of their heart I could move mountains. These people are giants to me.

Gods above and below, of the moon and the sun, of the wild rain and the moist earth, of the dancing fire and the wandering breeze. I stray from the path every day. Thank you for your constant patience with me, your repeated gifts. I wish to be a force of healing. I offer my life, such as it is, to whatever this healing might be.

********************

I sit in the dark utterly grateful for my life. It is the most sublime happiness. The memory of contemplated suicide in the past seems as the greatest of waste of the most amazing occurence ever… I exist.

****************

It was 23 days of carrying getting by. It wasn’t hard at all. I had sunk into the usual rhythm that seemed to define more of my personality than I thought likely. A typical day for me was to get up at 0600 or I’d sleep in until 0630. I was sleeping in my truck but after the cop found me I decided to not do that anymore. I did not like the park setting, too much activity for me. So I snuck into my old apartment as I knew the maintenance crews would take several weeks to finally get to working on my old apartment. What I didn’t count on was new neighbors… neighbors who liked to keep their front door open, come in later in the night, and have lots of visitors in and out, and babysitters early in the morning. So my window for getting in and out, unseen, was small. I’d get up early, sneak out, and drive to a Starbucks. There I would do some work online until time to go the the armory when people were there to unlock it. Then I’d shave and dress and start my work day. At the end of the day I’d go to a coffee shop and hang out until late at night when I could sneak into the apartment… or I’d go straight to the apartment before anyone was home yet. Once inside I was stuck inside until time to leave in the morning.

I didn’t have a bed, slept on the floor with a beach towel under and on top of me. I carried a jug of water to hydrate. I lived off of eating fast food and coffee shops.

The sense of desperation that I was feeling had dissipated once I let my cats go to a new home. Now I was just focused on doing what needed to be done. If I was going to gain any better insight I would have to move outside into the forest. The thought did cross my mind. I seriously considered it but decided against it instead as I was too busy with various jobs. It seemed to me that a dry cot, a place to shave and shower, and perhaps a locker to store one’s goods, would go a very long way among veterans who are trying to get back on their feet. It seemed that with those things, and perhaps a monetary loan toward job seeking (printing resumes, clothes, food, etc…) and there wasn’t much that I couldn’t overcome.

I interviewed several houses. I started to just machine gun the process, checking out as many as I could. Just when I had a place lined up, sometimes getting a phone call that I was the one, It’d fall through two days later. It is funny how fast a day turns into a week. I got a text from a friend telling me that she was looking for a roommate in her house. I accepted instantly. I knew her and liked her, that’s the biggest half.

So now I am in a small room just big enough to put a bed and a small desk, drawers, and two boxes. There is not nearly enough room for me to bring all of my things over, so I leave them all in storage. I look at this like a six month long deployment but easier. I’ll give this place six months which should allow me to fully make the transition from the bar industry to mental health, get into grad school, and so on.

Resiliency

I’ve worked hard to get my degree. Not as hard as others, mind you. Whenever I begin to think that my working many hours at a job, going out of town on training exercises, and having to still do a paper for a class in the process is a lot and a little self misery starts to pop up… I’ll meet someone who goes to school, has a job, and has a better GPA than me (though that is not saying much). It brings me back to reality and to stop moping around, get back to it.

Another one of my traits is optimism. This works well for me when things are bad, but I’ve found that when things are going well I will not try to make them the best. I am thoroughly and exceptionally average.

I left Gustav’s. I hated that place. Of all the places that I’ve ever worked, this place ranks as the worst. There is not a single fiber of my being that is lead to believe that there is any care or concern for the employees. I hated working there and, though I needed the job, it was a welcomed change to leave. I started applying at different places and in less than a week I had several offers. I took the one that I thought would be the best, a sports themed restaurant that shows ALL the games. After a week of training we opened up the restaurant and even though we had 7 bartenders (3 too many) I quickly showed I was a good one. I was given a fair amount of shifts per week and things seemed to be going well.

Two weeks after opening the restaurant I had to leave for military training. All in all I missed 3 weeks at the restaurant. When I did come back and asked for shifts again, and was given 3 shifts, it started a big fight in the bar among the bartenders that have been working while I was gone. I was viewed, by them, as the new guy and they didn’t want to give up their shifts. I understand their concern. I volunteered to pick up shifts at other locations and thought I’d be transferred. However it did not work out as the new location only needed me for three shifts to cover for a vacationing bartender.

Back to square one.

I managed to get two shifts scheduled and pick up an extra one (not enough to pay the bills) but soon found myself telling the company that I was leaving again for two weeks training in South Carolina. This training was important for me to get and I seized the opportunity to get it. Bars often sell their jobs on the premise that the industry is flexible in staffing, unlike the rest of the world. Not entirely true.

When I came back from training I had no shifts for the next week. The week after, 1 shift. The week after that, zero and also the week after that. I had already been looking and applying for jobs but we were now in the Summer months in Oregon, a time that is notoriously bad for bar business. Our rushes occur later, business is down in many areas, and staff fight for diminishing shifts. I was now in a deep hole, behind on everything, and looking at unable to pay rent.

I applied for unemployment. I do work three other jobs, however they don’t support me. One is one weekend a month, the other two average two hours or so a week. I must have filled out a dozen different forms online, drove to the unemployment office to straighten out some discrepancies only to be handed a phone and waiting for twenty minutes to talk to someone on the other line who didn’t really ‘hear’ me and my situation.

I’ve still not received anything. When I gave up that I’ll get no shifts from the sports restaurant, I went in to collect my final paycheck and saw I was scheduled one shift. I worked it… and entire hour and a half. Tips were so low that I didn’t even bother splitting them with the ungrateful bartender working who is always angry with me coming in (I expect she is threatened by me, I don’t know) for shifts.

Meanwhile I keep looking for work. I went to a bar to apply, was 12th in line, and when I was interviewed they told me I knew answers that nobody else knew. I am a very good bartender. I know my stuff. They liked me, I knew they did. But then they noticed that I was in the National Guard and my having to go away for 1 out 4 weekends did not sit well with them. I did not get the job because of that.

When I first came back from my second round of training I was told to fill out paperwork for active duty orders that would allow me to travel around and help veterans. When I started the process I learned that it would take a couple of weeks. Now that I’ve learned that I need a ‘secret’ clearance on it, and I do not have one, I’ve learned that it might take a couple of months.

And rent is past due.

I went and rented a storage unit and spent the weekend packing everything up. While doing so I got an email asking if I could go give three lectures to some veterans. I would be happy to. During the moving process I’ve given five lectures on three different days.

People have asked me where I am going and when I tell them the various contingency plans that I have, some get concerned and I can read shock on their face. Sleep in a truck? A tent? Oh no! It is this that keeps me from telling most people that have asked me. I know that among the many friends and associates in my contact list that I have many options. I’ve had keys handed to me, offers for money, and so on. This is not a scary place for me. I’ve been through worse, purposefully and not. I have lots of things going for me, I am not doing bad, and I am not in despair. I am, after all is said and done, an optimist.

The despair comes from my two cats. Having two cats severely limits my options. It hinders movement, places to stay, costs, times, and everything. The thoughts of getting rid of my cats caused me great distress. All of the emotional connections I’ve found it impossible to create with people for any length of time are made with my cats. They’ve been my ‘kids’ and many nights have found us three piled up on a couch reading books or watching t.v.

However, things have come to a head. I’ve stayed in a hotel the last two days and will be leaving tomorrow. To gain more mobility I’ve opted to give my cats a good home. Far down in the sub reaches of someplace within I can feel a twinge of the great sense of loss that I know is there. But if I’ve learned to do one thing very well over the past twenty two years, it is to cut off my connections. I do this very well, at times without my wanting it to. This skill, used with my own mother and some relationships, was honed into a very formidable skill after Iraq.

So now it is that I do start another job (tomorrow). Tomorrow I also hope to finalize moving in to a near perfect place to live, but the timeline on this is still up in the air. It could be a day or three.

Tonight I take my two furballs to a new home and let them get settled in. And then I am going to go have a shot of whiskey, or two, and hopefully talk to someone who doesn’t pity me or try to save me.

setting up a new appointment for counseling

It has been a month, ish, since my last counseling appointment.  I’ve had a long three weeks at school, work, and the guard.  I can’t blame my shortcommings on these, however, for I have had opportunities and time to do things… but have had no concentration.  I find myself doing nothing, or stupid wasteful things, for a long time and it is like I am looking at myself from within a tiny glass cube on the inside and cannot yell or pound the glass enough to get the other part of my mind or my body to do what it needs to do.  Right now I should be writing a paper… but I am not.  I did maintenance on my guitar to fix it, cleaned the bathroom, and laundry… and still haven’t so much as cracked open a text book or anything.  I will never hack it in graduate school like this. 

I told Deborah on the phone, just now, that I was sometimes getting messed up with my class, Literature of Warfare, and didn’t know why.  I don’t have PTSD… but the themes of sacrifice and waste resonate deep with me and will put me in an odd state for hours.  I didn’t tell her that after a class recently I felt like I was falling apart and wanted to call her and just let myself go… to cry and fall down on the floor and simply die.  But I didn’t want to impose on her and thought this a sign of weakness.  I wanted to call Taryn up for this, and thought that it would change her perception of me, as she thinks highly of me and not only are we becoming good friends, but we’ve made out on a few occaisions.  I thought of Eliza and do not feel comfortable giving in to her in such a manner. In the end I decided to suck it up, tighten my belt, fix my resolve, and push whatever it was back down inside and move on.   But it does bother me.  Even now, after just talking with her on the phone, I feel hesitant in bohering her, in reaching out to her, in asking her to give up her time and spending energy on me.  I feel so guilty in doing this… I should not be asking such from her.

I read up a little on Freud’s notion of transference.  It isn’t simply “falling in love with the therapist” though this does happen, but it is the projection of one’s feelings about their parents, or significant other, onto the therapist.  Or it could be the projection of the needs one has in a person onto the therapist.  And as I have felt very confortable with Deborah… and have wanted to open up to her… I’ve tried to look at what it is about her that I am finding alluring and am needing… is it simply the therapist’s approach to non-judging of the person?  I find this in Natassja, and perhaps I’ll find it in Taryn as well.  I know Gin will accept me for my weaknesses… yet I’ve not included her in these posts, though she is on other ‘friends only’ post.  I’ve had a relationship with Gin in the past and this impacts my openness with her.  How? 

I am, after having set up the appointment, in a somber mood.

thoughts on Her

I sooooo don’t have time to write this… but sitting here, looking out my window, thinking of my partner, I was reflecting on how it feels with her, how there is a lack of the usual pattern of thoughts, emotions and behaviors with me. How l feel very lucky indeed to have met this person. I mean… I do feel very fortunate… not to be with her… but to know her. I don’t think I would ever make that distinction in the past… but I make a very sharp distinction now. I look back in my mind to journal writings over the past year, the steady progression in happiness and contentment, really starting in Houston and a book by Thich Nhat Hahn, and finally getting to a point where more times than not lately I’ve been content and happy with being myself and not needing someone to make me feel good. I wasn’t looking for someone to fill a void because I had no void to fill. Unlike in the past when I wanted someone to fill a void of emptiness in me. I think of people who are lonely now and I want to tell them that love exists… but that it cannot live in a void and that a person cannot fill that void but really only reinforces behaviors and emotional responses (people can be a drug too). If you are looking for someone to fill a void, you are looking to fill a job description… how can you truly love that person more than you love the job description? I look at who I’ve been and who I am and who I want to be… and I am happy for all the shit that I’ve gone through… for it shaped me into who I am and who I am is a happy guy content to live his life in peace and mindfulness. If I had met her a few years ago we might not have hit it off. Aside from the fact that she would have been in high school, I would not have have been mentally and emotionally ready. But she is not filling a void in me, she is not filling an empty job position. She is something unique and rare that I’ve had the pleasure of discovering, and rediscovering every time I am with her. I take pleasure out of being with her and any experience with her. There is no void that she is filling, but she has added to the happiness and contentment that I already felt in my life.

I am now running late for work and I hate to be late.

An early morning letter

A pre-dawn letter written which sounded more like a journal entry… so here it is. Much thanks to my friend for being a recipient to the letter.

Hello

It is damned early in the morning and I am still up and about. What strange harpy doth distract my peace I cannot tell. Only that I am awake and in a matter of hours I shall take a bike ride to the store for the mundane needs of cat litter. It is an interesting life indeed.

Depeche Mode (Songs of Faith and Devotion) plays in the background (one of the best “total” albums released in my opinion). The night is quite, cars on the street are infrequent, the cats are played out and rest in randomly chosen spots.

For some reason I opened up my email program and looked into the list of names and from this pile I chose yours. I have no interesting story to tell, no perplexing riddle of the mind, no passionate observance on the wheel of life. So why this writing? I don’t know. I do know that such thinking is habitual and that as much as it is like me to write someone with a definite purpose in mind, it is equally of habit to do such for no reason. These self same characteristics move into realms beyond mere letter writing as well.

Again I have finished another lengthy trilogy of books. The month’s unemployment has afforded me something that I’ve not enjoyed much in the past two years, reading stories of fiction.

A fresh painting sits atop a bookshelf. It is watercolor only for the type of paint used, however very little water went into its creation, the colors thick as any oil painting, show a fairy tale castle perched atop a slender column of rock above an ocean of whispy, purple clouds.

My thoughts turn again to a charming young woman at a local bookstore. I had seen her often (as I visit this place, Borders, often enough) and our eyes had looked upon each others, framed with smiling face, often enough. Sitting with a local RPG group and inquiring as to the possibility of joining their weekly escapades I nudged a woman near me whom I had met only an hour before and inquired her opinion as to the age of yonder woman whom I had smiled at often enough before (and her to me). To my surprise this strange woman got up and inquired at the lady herself and came back to report to my somewhat embarassed self that she was only twenty years in age (I had guessed 24) and that she remembered me as a regular patron of the bookstore and being cute as well. I was going to give my phone number to her, but did not do so. Opting instead to walk the aisles of the store, browsing any and every book which caught my eye, as was my custom, and purchasing a wonderful CD (Zen Breakfast) after having listened to it the past three trips with longing. Twenty years of age. Who knows anything at the young age of twenty? There was so much to see, to know, to learn… so far that I myself have learned in the ten years since I’ve been that age. How could I ask her out. But aside to the more philosophical aspects of this question my mind went to the more practical. I reflected once more on my current straits, the financial situation, the fact that I was nowhere close to having rent money ready and was still a bit over a week away before my job started. I recalled also how my car battery had died because I left the interior light on but how this mattered little since I had a great leak in my radiator, making it impossible to run the engine without overheating. She is still at the bookstore and I am with my cats and a book.

Today while walking down the pedestrian walkway near the front doors of a local software company I casually came across one whom I loved greatly but who casually wrote me a Dear John email and went back to her old boyfriend, stating that he was thirty and decided that he didn’t want to be that age without someone important in his life. Stopping for a moment I chastised her for still smoking after hearing her statements of quitting a few months earlier. She casually mentioned that they are moving into a house. As if I were happy about it. I should be. Love and concern for her happiness does still well within, but if ever I felt the venomous posion of envy and hatred for another soul, it is what I feel directed at this other man. And of him I desire quite strongly to never meet him for this would give face to that demon which mocks me from behind the moon in the sky.

On my desk rest a beautiful picture frame, with a lighthouse, beach, and rocks as the theme. Within that picture is a woman I left in Texas. This woman and I, knowing of my move to Oregon in four short months, threw ourselves together in body and soul without regard for the fragments that it would leave behind. At the height of my passionate fury towards the environmental fight, where an idealistic and zealous heart was making radical changes in my life without care or concern… I came very close to staying in Texas. And not just in Texas, but in a small town of no importance and with nothing of value by way of school, organization, opportunities, arts, or culture, save only for the fact that she was there did it matter.

Achilles sits on the window sill and sets to straightening out the ruffled fur of his coat after I have messed it up.

I read my tarot cards the other day and they showed me some heartening signs. But I do not feel the traits assigned to me. I feel, instead, more fully the reversed five of swords in the seventh position (bottom of the staff in the Celtic Cross spread). This card speaks well of my feelings at this moment and there is no doubt that were I do another spread, this card would resurface.

I look around at my surroundings and I compare it to my new neighbor in the apartment complex. His apartment is filled with the obvious signs of his family’s money. Mine seems to be pieced together and held by spit and glue. My bookshelves are pieces of wood held together by bolts; one of them is merely planks atop cinder blocks. It is an accurate expression of my life it seems…. held together by duct tape and band-aids. Yet I never wear band-aids either. Should I have a cut I often ignore it and let dirt and blood fill the wound (even though I have completed EMT training twice and know better) and if a bandage is infact necessary and if a sock won’t work I simply use some sort of paper and scotch tape for a moment.

In my email mailbox there are a few occurences that I should update on the county green party’s alert page. A few feet from me sits a book on Jungian Archetypes and Mathematics. Before me lie a few letters from a concerned grandmother whom I need to write and call to tell her that I am doing okay. Behind me sits a bag with my workout towel in it reminding me that I need to perform a workout tonight since I feel rested from the last one (which was overly taxing on joints and muscle tendons as nutrition is not high on list of luxuries at the moment). Before me sits a catalogue for classes for a community college and I know that I need to set into motion events that will at least get me into some sort of education for the Spring semester. A few receipts sit on my desk, waiting to be entered into my money management software. I don’t want to be reminded of how little is in the bank. I care about these things only because I tell myself that I should… but I am unconvincing.

I don’t know why I write to you know. Common courtesy would require that I write to you with news of happenings in my life or to inquire as to the events in yours. Yet as it stands there seems to be no purpose in this other than some sort of discharge. Then discharge it shall be. But naming this such, unlike the medieval belief that such would give power over demons, does not reckon such power now.

I bid you a good day and more

Eddie

Jubba da go bo VOT!

I don’t know… I am listening to Star Wars music and this just popped out of me. I can almost hear one of the aliens on the movie say this.

I’ve been chatting with a friend for a while now thanks to Yahoo Instant Messenger. Sorry… but I think it is better than the ICQ. ICQ just adds way too much CRAP and AOL is the spawn of Satan… so that leaves me with Yahoo (also a denizen of Hell). It was good to hear from her as I’ve not chatted with her for some time. I have a few friends on my list scattered about the world. A dear one in South Africa, one in Portland, one in Seattle, and others are spread out here and there.

Anyway… It was good of her to talk to me. I don’t know if she ever reads this LJ thing or not.. but if she does… “thanks”.

I’ve gotten some confusing runes and tarot cards for myself lately… all follow the same theme and I am struggling to understand it. But understanding is dependant upon opening to the possibility and this is exactly the theme of the cards. I am lying to myself in some respect and I don’t see why. This would help explain this funk that I’ve been in… but I’m still lost. One thing greatly hindering my sight is the added stress of being unemployed. I put in more resumes today and the level of places that I am going to are so far beneath my ability as a bartender/waiter that I am almost assured of getting nothing. Why hire DaVinci to paint by numbers?

But even as I am getting more and more behind in bills and more and more anxiety builds from looking for jobs… I walked into one bar today to put in an application. Seated around the bar were a few rednecks yelling and milling about, smoke in the air, the same small, hopeless, dim, dirty bar room, the same crusty glasses, the same crap for beer and the same level of expectations for the bar. I turned around and didn’t stop. I abhorred the place… I would die before I went there.

I find myself wondering sometimes… just what is all this anxiety worth? What is it that keeps me doing this? Why do I have to make so much damn money? Because of the weird system of things we have created. We don’t pay people enough to make a living and we have to work our ass off to keep up. Keep up with what?

I had a thought… to hell with it… take a train to the north… someplace in Alaska… and live out in the wild. To hell with rent, to hell with insurance…. my concerns would be getting enough ammunition for a gun so that I might try to hunt for enough meat to get me through the winter. Build a little cabin out in the wild and either survive or die… that simple. None of this crap that passes for normal life now. I’ve been a supporter of capitalism for a while yet, but the fact that the machine of capitalism pushes people to have to work more for less is crazy. Fucking bills bills bills.

Argh! I am going looney. I am expecting a letter from the city tomorrow telling me that I am accepted to take part in the selection process for police officer. I see no reason why I shouldn’t make this. I have a lot going for me. The only thing that may hurt me is that I can sometimes be too damn smart for my own good. hmmm

I hope my friend come to Eugene this weekend. We are supposed to have a cup of coffee.

Someone was shot outside my door

Here it is… another day. It has been quite some time since I last sat at this particular computer, While I do a lot of work on the computer at my place of employment, I rarely come home and write since I have been putting in so many hours. But I feel as though this is a stepping stone. To what, I don’t know. I have just changed my word processor to Word 97. I am hoping to work with the same type of program as what is required of me. At school this was WordPerfect, but now it is Word. I loke some of the features of Word. One of which is the header you see on the top of the page. I like the ability to include a gif into my document and the easier preview capability.

Okay, so I have changed looks in word processors, what else. I have also changed looks in attire. I must wear a tie to work every day. I like this better than wearing the bennigan’s uniform to work every day. Also, I am not as stressed out when I come home from work. It feels more like I had a good days work instead of a hard day’s work. But I look forward to buying some jackets and a suit or two (three or six). I will probably have to enlist the help of Eileen in this matter… I am not that good when it comes to fashion.

I slept late today, till about 11:20 or so. I didn’t get to bed early as I was babysitting Christian. He amazed me with some of his increased skills. He has come a long way since last I saw him. He seems to be trying to get a sense of self sufficiency, or to use more apt terms, the devolopment of the ego. It is very interesting to see, what a joy it must be for Eileen to chronicle his development and to see how far he comes every day. This must truly be one of the great joys of parent hood. Perhaps someday I too will be able to experience it better.

Last night, while watching Christian, I heard one shot, then followed by about three more in rapid succession. I knew what it was and instantly I went on alert and it was only Christian that stopped me from instantly running outside to intervene. I don’t know why, I was already in motion and had the door open to leave, with a weapon in hand (although the weapon was nothing more than a stick, I will make it do) and had stepped out on the balcony. Christian, sensing the alarm in me and perhaps shaken by the loud noises, began crying terribly. I stopped and went ot Christian. I could not abandon him and I did not want this to be a moment which would define who he was. Child development is very important. I did not want to impress upon him anything. I turned to him, closing the door behind me and he latched upon me. He would not let go of my shirt and was crying furiously telling me he was scared. I realized that my behavior was not helping, so I turned into a calm, passive person and told him everything was okay. While I rubbed his back and whispered in his ear that he was okay, he calmed down. I sat him on the couch and gave him a pillow. He seemed to be okay. I went to the door and said that I was on the other side of it. He still seemed okay. I then went outside and locked the door. I then ran to the scene, which was only a couple of feet from the bottom of my stairs. I ran to the body and there were four other people there, friends probably, and they were yelling and screaming at him to hang on. I had brought a towel and there was a wound on the upper left area of the chest. I placed the towel there and told a bystander to apply direct pressure. I then went to my car and grabbed my stethoscope and blood cuff. I chedked the pulse of the wounded. His pulse was very weak and thready. His breathing was shallow and regular. The biggest problem was trying to get the friends to calm down. I heard the distant sound of the ambulance and I told a guy, in a loud and authoritarian voice, to stand in the middle of the street and direct the ambulance to us. I then refirmed to one of the guys the need to keep direct pressure on the wound. Then the ambulance had arrived and I then got up and left. I did not get any stats or a correct assessment of the victim. I was a little too late to effectively do anything of value. I then went inside and got Christian. He was still a little shaken up, but was hanging in okay. I grabbed him, put his shoes on and took him outside. By this time there were police on the scene and people actually came out. I thought that it would be a good idea to take him to see Eileen. Mom is a very important part in a sense of security. He wanted to hold my hand in the car.

At Bennigan’s, I told Eileen what happened and it did Christian good to see her. We stayed an hour and then came back home. We watched Barney twice and then fell asleep. Eileen came and picked him up and that was that.

Now it is Sunday and I have not seen a movie in quite some time. I believe that I am going to go see one. If I could do it while getting my tires fixed, I will do this.

But I am enjoying my day off. I am going to go outside and enjoy it.