June 10, 2021
Breakfast was early, around 4-something. Looking at my notes from a few weeks ago now, I replicated a thrown-together
concoction consisting of 1000mg vitamin C, oatmeal with: apple cider vinegar, spinach, mustard, oregano. It was actually
hearty and tasted good. Will have the same thing tomorrow morning.
Life is still up in the air for me, but I'm hoping for the best. Filling out these disability forms for an appeal of my status
is mentally taxing because I have to fill out the forms on paper, using information that is readily online to authorized parties,
but I guess they just want to see if I can actually still spell and string sentences together by hand.
I'm not bitching about in particular, it's just this four-walled-whirlwind of Life is usually the same every day, and then my brother
gifted me this computer, which I still don't know how to operate efficiently. Then "they" said my status has changed and I have 60
days to appeal, which is plenty of time, but...
being ill, living in a ssri medication-induced complacency, rapidly expanding technology, the pandemic, stressing about the possibility
of having to look for work...
I got left behind 40 years ago, technologically.
3rd grade - the year of my parent's divorce, being a star student in elementary school, body
constantly changing in front of my eyes. Shame, agony, feelings of abandonment and betrayal, and anything else
that might fit on that list if there was time. Sane father, crazy alcoholic mother. Father is upstanding citizen and says fuck this.
Mother gets drug dealer lawyer and counterfiles for alimony and child support. Wins that and proceeds to blow through 1200 dollars a month minus
however little she has to spend on anything real, which she decided was not much but that lifestyle.
That is when I shut down, though. In the 3rd grade. 9 years old.
I went into mental and emotional hibernation to survive.
I did find that I was good at sports, but not until I was about 13. At at the time I didn't realize it and was
The two best things I did was throw and run. That way I could either attack you or outrun you. I wasn't going to
chase you down.
I wasn't a fighter, I wasn't taught to fight, and I wasn't going to start getting in fights just to learn.
But there are quite a few memories in other people's minds of me drilling them with either a football, baseball, bamboo shaft, kickball or anything else
handy or footy that I had picked up and aimed at their heads from 35 feet away or closer. Or maybe I knocked what would have been some memories out of them.
It was always a one-shot strike from me, too. My intentions were always to stun. M. Wolfe, C. Adams, M. Gessler, K. Janes, and others...you know who are. Or maybe again,
you don't. Pilows, balled up socks stuffed into a tube sock to make a sock-mace against my brother and sister. Silly games with them like doo-doo man, alligator man, roller-moller, all
usually played on our mom's large bouncy bed when she wasn't around.
I think it was Diahrrea Man, actually. I was on the bed slithering around and I was diahrrea man. If I touched you, you turned to diarrhea jr., and had to suddenly start behaving like running, droopy
poop. Never gonna see that on a game show.