Mental Meanderings…

I’ve been ‘mentally masturbating,’ recently, with two niggly problems gnawing at my brain:

Bill and Jeri. Are we still friends? Do I want to still be friends?

It all revolves around the conversation we had (rather one sided, actually) regarding why he would not write a letter of reference, back in February (?).

He mischaracterized / misremembered the David Sherman episode, insisting that I did ‘nothing’ to help resolve matters (bullshit!); …to boot, that episode was the result of a total computer crash, which also crashed my backup Zip drive, as a result of a power outage, making it impossible to recover original work product including labor markets and job analysis. Nevertheless, the plan – contested by the client – was found to have been successful, resulting in a determination of employability, based upon MY casework.

He asserted that nobody at Kroger would work with me (Nancy Williams, for one) since a couple of cases had been spendy, though successful, because RRS had asserted that once a plan was in process, the mutual obligation was to ensure the success of that plan ….even if it cost a bit more (Andre Allen).

He said that he ‘had to defend me’ to Don Lane and Rich Wilson because of my ‘antics’; I never needed his ‘defense,’ nor sought it.. . both Don and Rich took issue with me – Don, multiple times, but I was perfectly capable of defending myself, and both Don and Rich grew to respect the quality of my tenureship, even with my ‘antics,’ which, to be fair, were not exactly consistent with expected Department decorum – sober, staid, without a sense of humor or witticism (that’s just not me, and Bill has KNOWN that for thirty some-odd years!).

The upshot though, is simple: as long as I’m running these arguments around in my head, there can be no resolution; I need to have it out with Bill – with the risk that forty years of friendship hits the rocks and smashes. C’est la vie, Que Sera, Sera. …but no confrontation is needed, immediately.

Financial Resources. My funds have done well, burgeoning beyond my expectations. I would want to take a portion – assuming my funds grow over the next few months, as they have the past several months – and find some means of utilizing that portion to the immediate and direct benefit of those who have suffered most eggregiously as a result of th pandemic.

The Global View, as it were, is that I have $500,000 spread across multiple accounts in IRAs, PERS, HSAs, Annuities and regular savings and checking; granted, subject to fluctuation – but, it can go UP as well as go down. The net take is that I do not have to work, anymore, again. I’m safe from the pandemic (as long as I’m careful). I even have sufficient funds with which to travel, should I wish.

July 7 2020: Mi Cumpleano. Christina wanted that I consider the following:

Terminally unique” is used to describe the feeling that one feels so alone in their situation that they believe that no one else could possibly understand. If you’ve ever had any of these thoughts, you’re guilty of terminal uniqueness: There’s no help for depression as severe as mine. No one knows how truly f***ed up I am.

I can ‘kind’a’ buy it… but would take issue with the idea that there is ‘no help’ for depression or ‘aloneness’ as severe as mine. It is quite possible that current medications *could* alleviate my general anxiety – but the caveat is that I would not be willing to cede control over the mechanism of my medication – in other words, if going on an anti-anxiety medication would require that I give up drinking… not certain I’m willing to go there.

07/08/2020: **Sigh** Another year older…but not deeper in debt. …bit the worse for wear, though – the pork didn’t quite pull, last night, so I slummed on MOW food, reserved the pork butt to finish it this morning, in the oven. It turned out essentially fine, thougoh a tad overdone. Net result yesterday was, a bit too much wine, and a too good hit of Talisker. Oh, well. Honor of the Sixty-Niners, preserved.

Bill and Jeri DID call, and we had an excellent conversation; Forty year friendship, intact, preserved, and celebrated. They good folk. **Check out ‘edx.org’ for free online courses.

July 12, 2020: Time do fly. Sleepless nights, punctuated by nights of exhausted but full slumber, tangible REM wanderings, meetings… Today is probably the ‘best’ day that I’ve had, since this damn virus invaded…and THAT is punctuated by the news, Friday, that Jerry Myron … may have COVID – he is currently awaitng test results, I am keeping him in my thoughts and prayers.

I have yet to envision a coherent purpose, goal, unbrella heading as it were, for where I want to take this, … do I just have nothing more to say that is pithy and relevant? …I think the problem is contrary: with Trump and his minion Republican Toadies, there is just so MUCH – ineptitude beyond imagining, bullying and cruelty befitting a third world Tin Pot Dictator, corruption without end, …and the utter, ongoing STUPIDITY – in the face of pending, literal , and compound DISASTERS, without a cohesive and intelligent federally coordinated and managed response to COVID-19 … before FLU season, and then… CLIMATE CHANGE, and multiple species extinctions.

July 16, 2020: I’ve actually slept this week – Four nights, running; yeah, my brain is still playing panice games when I first waken – Is that a headache? A fever? My throat is dry… have I been infected?? I know that I follow the recommended protocols, perhaps overzealously – remaining isolated, sanitizing and handwashing, masking… but there are still times when I feel as if someone has gotten too close, during conversation…so I spend the next week waiting…for the worst.

July 20 2020: I am sooo tired of this. Day after day of isolation, frequently without any interaction at all. Usually this kind of solitude doesn’t bother me, as when I go camping (will I ever do THAT again??). This is, however, seemingly without end or respite, for the foreseeable future.

I’ve an appointment, telephonically, with Christina, tomorrow… our last. I fervently hope that she has a few leads for me to pursue for followup – I’m not ready to fly solo. What I know is that I have been repeating, repeting, repeating, endlessly, with one perceived end – getting laid. That is, inveigling someone of the female persuation to replicate – essentially – what was done to me in the hospital. I never learned to assume my own domain over my sexuality, as a child/infant – which most little boys usually do, without female intervention. I never liked masturbation – I felt humiliated because I had to do it to myself… *couldn’t* find someone who would do it for me / to me.

July 21, 2020: The light goes on, a tad brighter; it was not just the sex – it was a ‘certification of approval,’ or ‘ok-ness.’ BUT – after talking with Christina today, I’ve a few other interesting insights. Christina pointed out that the approval underpinning of the sexuality aspect has elements of addiction. … ok, perhaps I was a sex addict. Upon further reflection on that, … my last sexual liaison was Christine Barvoets in 2009… started well, but ended, disastrously when I ran into her ‘punk street’ attitude … ‘effin’ this, effin’ that.’

But… the sex was good and she was attractive (otherwise).

Of interest, retrospectively, is that during my tenure at L&I, 2010 – 2017, I wasn’t exactly chasing wildly after sex… meanwhile, several women with whom I interacted along the way volunteered that in their opinions, I was ‘HOT.’… (Elizabeth and Helen, at Burien Honda, for two, Megan (?) at Bally’s, befofore I got kicked out…) So, the question that is elicited is whether ‘somewhere along the way,’ I became sufficiently self-confident within ntself, to no longer need the reinforcement of sexual affirmation… perhaps?

July 27 2020: Perhaps, some clarity. Christina had explained in a previous session that female patients of sexual abuse were helped to be responsible for their own pleasure, without outside intervention. For years, I felt embarrassed and humiliated if I had no other option but to masturbate – and always with a Centerfold right there, as if a third person in the room…. So… I’ve been niggling the idea of assuming independent domain and agency over my sexuality, kind of along the lines described above.

So, Christina had asked that I follow up with Anna, before our next (last) appointment. Abruptly, I opeted to not do so: I’d approached her last week, and asked for a time slot – never heard back. So, in essence… ‘so long, toots.’

The PANIC set in – immediate, gut wrenching, mind scrambling. Abandonment, falling, unreality. … of the same type that used to assault me within the marriage, or with Lucinda, Rosalyn (though that wasn’t sexual in origin), and Pam – that night down at the beach, just before she broke up with me.

Christina had hinted that my issues could have had elements of addiction cycle behavior… I need to find out more about that.

SO… is it possible that I’ve been *avoiding* entanglements specifically to avoid the potential for that kind of panic?

Anna *did* respond to me, and we did make an appointment; now, I’ve only to figure out the technicals of ensuring that I can video chat on FB.

BUT

07/29/20: OK. Given, having lived independently for 30 some-odd years, and worked successfully, being promoted, getting raises, etc., independently learned new skills – roller blading, cross country skiing, weight lifting, I have become self secure…self-confident, and know that I am attractive to women. I’m not going nuts, without sex. What I *wonder* about… is **what about if I were to become involved with a woman as a Dyad**? Would that ‘panic trigger mechanism’ suddenly appear, if I were ‘in the mood’ and my partner weren’t? That question, remains….

8/02/2020: It’s complicated.

There is the ancient, surgery associated anxiety when sex is ‘on the horizon.’

There is the ‘performance’ anxiety in general

There is the ‘age-related’ anxiety about erectile dysfunction

There is the anxiety relative to my needing the woman to be a co-initiator, at least, if not the clear aggressor;

I don’t seem to get rampant erections, on my own – the erections are kind of half-assed, as if my penis wants to be somewhere else. Physiological? Psycho-emotional?

Meantime… this pandemic is endless, and I find it difficult to maintain motivation, ambition, …interest, in spite of all my myriad strategies.

August 5, 2020: …And, suddenly, I’m terrified. I awoke abruptly at 2:00 AM, a bit of respiratory raspiness that isn’t usual, and complaining intestines, which resulted in some relatively minor diarrhea. Got through the night, went for a solitary walk (why is it still dark at 5:30???), and am engaged in working ‘air’ weights and 2.5 # weights, to ensure that my left arm is back online (perhaps I should pen a novel about ‘My Left Arm…?’ … worked for Roger Moore – NOT 007) . I am exhausted… and still terrified, though the minor symptoms have diminished, for now – my hysteria is on high alert, ever watchful…. Actually managed to tamp down the panic enough to get a ‘decent’ BP reading of 139 / 54, and took my temperature multiple times by feel, once by thermometer – all seems well, and there has been no recurrence of symptoms, which were vaguely consistent with occasional IBS and heartburn symptoms…. So, my thinking is that I will continue eternal vigilance, distancing, masking washing and sanitizing, call the Consulting Nurse line just for backup, but plan on going ahead with MOW delivery, tomorrow, since it is contactless.

Several hours later, five walks, a few ‘sits’ and an hour with Anna, I’m finally beginning to feel somewhat coherent – though I still feel like shit with only 4-5 hours sleep. …an early glass of wine… Now, 9:00 pm, and I’m on myway to beddie-bye (a little loaded…)

August 12, 2020: The pandemic still rages, Trump as inept and assinine as always – states still unable to get sufficient supplies, Republican Trump sycophants mimicing and compounding Trump’s stupidity. I find myself increasingly hopless and fearful, uncertain how it may be possible that I could avoid infection, even as I dutifully adhere to all recommended protocols.

August 13, 2020: Trump is trying to shut down mail-in voting, Ron Johnson, in the Senate, is trying to bogusly ‘investigate’ Joe Biden and Beau Biden for ‘fraud’ back in 2016 – and SAID that he inended to help Trump’s re-election bid…. THIS is in public view, fully reported by the (I suppose, ‘fake’ ) media… this is America?????

All this is taking place in the public sphere, and yet… nobody is going to JAIL??? They are openly talking about obstructing the 2020 presidential election, and NOBODY is screaming bloody blue murder???

August 14, 2020: Another day, still no kitchen drain, the car has a minor leak somewhere, the stationary bike a warped wheel… and I hesitate to get anything done, because I dread contagion.

August 16, 2020: Another panicked, pandemic dream – have been having severe issues with anxiety, all day, certain of my own, imminent demise. Little sleep last night, but, I’ve actually done a relatively decent job of keep myself from an out and out panic attack – which is progress.

Yes. I am scared. BUT. I know how to protect myself. I’m taking proper precautions. What scares me are the ‘needed’ things: kitchen drain (plumber); car tuneup, and so forth.l What compounds this is…well TruMP. He is shredding normal bureaucracy, blocking the Postal Service, curtailing the census, early (denying millions of minorities needed funds and services)… and NO ONE is stopping him. Where’s Underdog??? Rocky and Bullwinkle???

August 18th, 2020: Horrible day – awoke at 5:30, which was disorienting, but I at least thought I was feeling relatively well – until I had to go over Freddie’s to pick up an assortment of small cat food flavors, to try to get Giselle to eat. From that point on, it was rapidly downhill, info a combined asthma / panic attack by 10, during which, I was certain I was dying….

It is the unending pandemic, unending fear, unending isolation, boredom, wonky vision, wonky leg (left) and of course that fucking CORN which makes me feel like a doddering ol man! I damn near feel as if my body is falling apart, bit by bit…, which, of course, it is, …and with which I take great UMBRAGE!!! …as if that’s gonna get me anywhere.

Now, dinnertime, and I’m still experiencing waves of anxiety – thank God, it is **wine time**.

August 22, 2020: Mildly hungover, and worse for wear, … again. Martini Friday started responsibly enough, …, but then, I suckered myself into calling Walter, which, of course, led to a bit more bourbon, then yet a bit more…. It WAS a wonderful, wandering conversation, yet another reminder of how much I’ve treasured having him and his family in my life… since high school! But, still…

…last week was not a good one, in terms of alcohol consumption. No, I’m not getting drunk, or even inebriated, but I am exceeding my own guidelines – which disturbs me, muchly. In fairness, I was experiencing extreme anxiety and panic attacks last wee, … BUT; ‘Danger, Danger!!!’

August 29, 2020: A better week, than last, at least in terms of anxiety and fear. I heard frdom Cousin Julian that they’d been forced tp evacuate due to wildfires. Unsettling, at the least. Heard today that they’d been allowed to return, with all, well, on the home front.

The Republicans, with the repulsive Trump ogre at their lead seem as repugnant and unmoored from reality as ever, describingn a reality that is reminiscent of ‘Newspeak’ in George Orwell’s ‘1984.’

Spoke with John… much like Jerry Cloyd – we can finish each other’s sentences – and he agrees, totally re the ‘1984’ reference to ‘Newspeak.’ Helps me keep my sanity, as limited as it is…

Mary and I are trying to negotiate a massage. I’ve bee procrastinating, out of fear. My thinking now, is that I don’t think I want to even chance it, until after the election.

August 30, 2020:

Bad night, awake since 3:00… nothing readily identifiable – just a memory of Alpine, when we were moving to Closter, living in the cabin there over the summer… hmmm…Alpine? Ten Mile River? I think, Alpine. I got my first baseball mitt for my birthday – the purple first baseman’s glove. Anyway, one night while there I had a nameless nigiht terror, probably about 1:30 or so in the morning… I went into Mom and Dad’s room, terrified. They looked so strange, in sleep, somehow, terrifying, threatening, alien… I was too afraid to waken them.

September 11, 2020: Still safe, so far as I know… having been terrified the past several days – having to hazard the post office, and next week, the auto mechanic, and still having to reconvene a dental appointment…. Terrified. Abjectly. …and the smoke from the multitudinous fires, unable to exercise.. tried running, yesterday mornning… HA!!!

So…still single, still solo at 69…??? I kept running into Albuquerque – and making that damned left turn….shit.

The question that emerges, during Martini Friday, is… if, back when I was dating Rosalyn, IF I had acquiesced and agreed to couples coounseling – during which I would have had to reveal everything that I eventually revealed during the next 15 years of solo counseling – would the emotional clarification and growth have been expedited? …Would Rosalyn and I still be together?

Well, shit… now a bit loaded… Later.

Later, back at the Ranch… now the 16th:

Have been unable to run, or even walk, since Thursday, due to the overwhelming pall of smoke from the wildfires – sometimes so thick that I can hardly see the retirement facility across the street… this is … utterly horrid, and boring as hell,to boot.

The weather is *supposed* to break tomorrow or Friday, perhaps even bringing some rain…

Se[tember 22, 2020: I would call Anders, and wish him happy birthday, but when I last approached him a few months ago, about rapproachment, he quuickly ruled it out… still carrying a grudge because I demurred back in 2012 when he wanted the three of us – Fran, Anders and myself – to get together. I declined, because it’d become routine, whenever we did, for Anders and Fran find some little, minor thing (didn’t matter what) about which they would then ridicule me, call me stupid, say ‘Can’t you do anything???’ So…no, thanks, I don’t need that. Anyway…

It is once again possible to breathe, walk, run, workout without choking on smoke. But, otherwise, I am more depressed and hopless than ever, as Ruth Bader Ginsburg has died, allowing Trump to appoint yet another conservative zealot to the Supreme Court – which, of course, Moscow Mitch wants to cram through before the election – never mind that LAST time, he said just the opposite – that the ‘people’ should be allowed to speak.

I can only imagine…a country quickly becoming minority white, with ever increasing numbers of ethnic diversities, increasing numbers of young, of LGBTQ people, and suddenly being governed by a cabal of old whites, rolling back minority rights, voting rights, women’s rights, abortion rights, civil rights…. Even already, Pig Barr is threatening to cut funding for Democratic-governed cities permitting peaceful protest in response to police racism and brutality.

He has also, publicly, asserted that the courts – with all his concervative judges – will assure that he wins the election.

I haven’t slept well in a loooong time – I’m essentially exhausted, continually anxious, and it is all I can do to keep my imagination (at least somewhat) in check. It is all but assured that he, and his Republican minions, will force through his appointee before the election, ensuring a conservative court majority for generations. How this will play out in a country which is rapidly becoming more progressive and diverse and younger… could be… messy?

Exacerbating everything is Giselle – she stopped eating after her last checkup – even after all tests came back ‘nominal.’ I finally tried tuna – and for a few weeks, she was scarfing tuna at a can a day; until this past weekend. Now she won’t touch it – nor shrimp, sardines, crab. I bought some checken breast tenders, yesterday, and sauteed one for her this morning, and minced it up. She ate it right down, then begged for more – but when I minced some more and put it in her dish… nope. I’ve nothing else to offer her.

September 30, 2020: Horrid, horrid day. I slept well, did a good full weight workout this morning. Sometime during the morning, I became suddenly terrified that I’m dying. Today. That terrifying fear has controlled me, all day, along with feelings of being disconnected, dissociated, fading away… and I’ve been intermittently panicking, all day. Nothing seems to alleviate the feeling, for long.

So. Final thoughts if this IS ‘it.’ Giselle, my darling cat of 14, has lymphoma, and will need TLC and a home; she is to be treated with prednisone, in the refrigerator. She is sweet, and right now is eating ONLY chicken breast meat – either cooked or canned. She is an INDOOR cat.

My will is complete, my attorney is Celia Barlow; we’d not yet completed end of life care directives, but, hell – if I die tonight, that is not an issue. and essentially final with a coouple of ending provisions: I am to be composted, which is legal in Washington State. Springer Smith and her SO, Emma, know the details. Let me grow a giant Doug Fir! When Giselle dies, please have her join me….

Michael McPherson is to be gifted any sports equiipment that he wants – my .22 rifle, Trail bike and Triathalon Bike (Bianchi). He can also have my computers if he wishes, along with the SONY Bravia screen – with the proviso that the drives be wiped, beforehand.

Aftermath: In the course of self-medicating a bit too liberally last week, I called Springer – she apparently called Jeri who then called me, to make certain I was ‘ok.’ How utterly AWESOME is that???

October 11 2020:

I thought I was fine, when I awoke, this morning, when the whole morning spun haywire and I had a hard time hanging on to any center; it took me most of the day to kind of regain it.

I was in the midst of a routine, light workout, when the CO alarm started bleeping even as I had put new (though old) batteries in it yesterday, in the midst of all teh antics around changeing, then rechanging the two smoke alarms, because I didn’t realize the CO alarm was going off, as well. Then, the ongoing battle to try to get Giselle to eat; we DID try a towel wrap later, with limited, bhough insufficient success, so we’ll try again tomoorrow. IF I can get her securely and comfortably wrapped, we’ll move on to trying to actually medicate her, orally. FAILING that, I’ll call Laurelhurst to try to work something out….

The media reports seem too damn optimistic, regarding the Democrats’ chances, next mongh. I do NOT want to get my hopes up, only to have them dashed, as they were in 2016, when this would-be-tin-pot-despot usurped power, and began wreaking havoc on our republic.

October 12 2020:

…and, again… with the horrid certainty that I’m on the doorstep of death, with exhausting anxiety, inability to breathe easily, feeling disociated from my self and reality, and terrified. thank heaven, it’s almost time for a glass of wine.

…the next day, blustery and stormy – I awoke suddenly at 1:30 AM, and was not able to get back to sleep. Interestingly, in spite of that, there is no recurrence of the extreme anxiety and fear which I was experiencing, yesterday. THAT, a least, is kind of nice, although I’m dog tired.

November 3, 2020: The most singularly consequential election of my lifetime, for certain. IF Trump should win a second term, and his Republican enablers maintain control of the Senate, I fear that our Democratic Republic experiment is doomed, and the Sixth great extinction will indeed ensue, with catastrophic results.

IF, on the other hand, there emerges a blue tidal wave of historic proportions, and the Democrats win control of all three branches of government, perhaps – perhaps, we can avert disaster, curtail the pandemic, restore healthcare coverage and expand it, put an end to Republican disenfranchisement, restore sensible immigration, and restore our alliances. Please, please, please,… let it be so.