My First Christmas

Hi everyone - this is a brief message Doug asked me to post.

I'm working hard, learning and changing. Been sober since November 11th (Remembrance Day in Canada, Armistice Day in New Zealand - same thing).

The deal here is that we move through 3 phases of 42 days each. I'm still in phase one - identifying my issues and triggers.
Anyway folks, this is my Christmas card to you all.

Doug

RISE UP - by Doug Graves (December 2007)

Rise up to Higher Ground

where better things abound,

and eagles soar above the roar

and chaos strewn below.

Just catch the breeze and lift your wings,

be all that you may dare,

and leave behind the battlfield

where once you marched so bold.

Take flight, rise up to Higher Ground

and watch your dreams unfold.

Customized counter

Customized counter: "Customized counter Time until Monday, 17 March 2008 at 9:00:00 a.m. (Auckland time) 99 days 2392 hours 143561 minutes 8613693 seconds Alternative version It is 99 days, 16 hours, 41 minutes and 33 seconds until Monday, 17 March 2008 at 9:00:00 a.m. (Auckland time) Current time is 2007-12-08 16:18:27 (local time in Auckland"

The Warming

There are really only two choices in life. One is to do good and the other is to do bad. It's up to each of us to choose. When Christ gave his sermon on the mount he had lots to say. At the end of his talk a young fella was blown away and asked if he could follow. "Sure," Jehovah said, "Just give up everything you have and join the gang. He had lots and walked away.

Exasperated, after many questions about how to attain this or that, Christ said one thing. "Just love one another as I have loved you." What else matters? Money comes and goes and jobs come and go; the difference is what anyone leaves behind. What is your legacy?

Hone, come home. By now you have figured out something I learned some time ago, and that is that politics is best left to hogs at the trough. You have more to offer and there is an absence of leadership here. Hell, we are inundated with former clerks who don't have value or heart and they will spend the heritage that is so little and too late.

We need to invest in our children. Never mind if they can speak the reo or look the same color as you... just look into their hearts and make your choice. Life is just too short.

Ugly facts.

36 or so hours from now I am going into Detox and Rehab. It will take some weeks but this needs doing. I'm a pisshead and intend to give all of nurture, or nature, to exist. My churchmen have allowed me to speak tomorrow so I intend to at least apologise for whom I am. But...I'll never allow myself to be a doormat for anybody, so if they want to go, well let it rest on them. I declare no violence anymore, because I have had a guts full of it. Because in the end it is all about blaming everybody and pointing fingers. I have had a guts full of that too.

kanata

Jacques Cartier came to Canada in 1535, saw some Iroquois and asked them to meet. He asked where they were and they answered, "kanata". This was the Iroquois name for meeting place. Well it became the name for my country, Canada. Of course, the Poms got involved and battle took place on the Plains of Abraham in Quebec. Wolfe took on Montcalm and kicked his ass. The French have never forgotten this and have been bitter ever since. Shoot. They pretty much have their own state within a state, even their own immigration laws.

When WW2 broke out there were riots in the streets of Montreal because the frogs could not understand why they were being asked to fight. The Conscription Riots...never mind the war was in France at the time.

One of the biggest frauds of all time was General Charles DeGaulle. When Dwight proposed he broadcast the secret message to kick off D Day, he balked. This was some bastard living in London with only a servant for company, no damn army and he had the temerity to refuse. He came over to Quebec one year and finished his speech with, "Vivre Le Quebec Libre!" and touched off our Separatist battle that left Pierre Laporte garroted with a crucifix and the British High Commissioner, Cross, found in the trunk of a car at the airport.

The separatists went to Cuba, where they were celebrated for these brave acts. There was an amnesty and these guys all came back to professorships and government appointments. Many now sit in Parliament. How can New Zealand handle the hypocrisy? There is no upper house or supreme court worth a damn. They steal and will continue to steal until someone puts a stop to it. Public Works Act, Foreshore and Seabed.

Here we have a police force of rapists and crims, not all, but too many. With so much of their mana on the line you would figure they might do some good, but no...they go on a terror hunt for Maori. At least in the States you can take it to the Supreme Court, but there is no such place here. There were more casualties in Canada. A soldier jumped off a truck and the bolt on his SMG discharged a round into his chin. The bullet rattled around in his helmet for a bit and settled down. I spoke with the fella who trained him. He wasn't following order and discipline as advised. To me it is a shame that Canada, The United States, Australia and New Zealand declined to sign the Declaration of Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Shame indeed.
Next I want to talk about Shame Jones and his pal Sam.

John

Not my uncle. John was my best friend's dad. He was a senior cop as his brother Tom was. One night, John's eldest daughter was raped in an alleyway. Anyhow, night after night John and Tom cruised the neighbourhood. John had a 32 automatic he took off some mongrel. One night they stopped going out. He was a straight up guy. Lord knows, I kicked the crap out of his trust but he never lost his trust in me.
I was alone in the barracks one day and this fella called Dave decided to give me a hiding. He was half Russian and half Chinese. Anyhow, Dave presented himself and he was a mate of sorts, but felt I needed some comeuppance but just before he struck his first blow his body shook. Standing behind him was Jimmy who thumped him. I dodged a blow or two that day but knew a friend.

Robin

What the hell can I say about her. I met her during Caribana. We looked at each other and it was all locked in. I was married at the time to someone else whom divorced me. Unfortunately, the papers were served when Robin was there.
She thought we ought to go out one night. But when we got there everyone I knew was present. She bought the rings, signed the marriage certificate and arranged for my best man. Darn. The next day we were married, it is all kind of a blur.
One day she picked me up from work where I was making oak stairs for 9 bucks an hour. She was attending a local college, completing a diploma in Paralegal. Well, she got in the car. I got in the car. And she placed this big Glad Bag full of money beside me. There was $5,000 dollars of mixed denominations there. That's when I found out what she was really doing.
Well, that wasn't my life and I left. I was tutored by a couple of missionary sisters and it filled a huge hole in my life. Three months later my wife called me to say she had obtained a higher understanding...the same church. So, I went up there and about four weeks into the process she was arrested. The cop was a guy in a fur hat and he asked me if I knew anything about my wife. It turned out I knew nothing.

Months later, angry, but still going to church... in a different city, she dropped in and gave this arrousing testimony to my greatness. I bought it. She enticed me to come with her to a hotel room in the middle of nowhere. When I got there something was not right. There was a can of coke on the sideboard and a chocholate bar wrapper. Not things she would normally consume. "This is the wrong room", I said. I went home.

At six thirty that same night two homicide detectives dropped by, I was alone because it was a fireside and I didn't go. After lots of questions about who I knew and didn't know I said to them, "what has she done now?" Well, it turned out she had met this fella who liked to kill people. They assured me they were aware of everything and that I was being watched. So, my wife set me up for a hit... the boyfriend was in the bathroom of the motel room. Two people died. One was a landlady and the other a prospector; both shot in the head.
Gosh.

Docus

The best times I had were when we would do a Docus. It was a weekend away from wives and stuff. It was great because Terry would always do the math. He figured to the penny what it would cost and everyone would anty up and have a blast. I had just met this woman named Robin who robbed me of my cash. But offered to lend it to me to go away for the Docus thingy. Odd, I suppose, but more about her later.
Well we got there for two days of fishing and three nights of drinking. Rick...The Captain, had strict rules about things. We could drink our brains out but when we were on the water we had to be straight. Rick took charge of the first boat, a sixteen footer with 12 or so horsepower. Warren had my boat but managed to hammer half a dozen boats getting out of harbour. Rick said, "Warren, you're fired. Dougie you're driving." Well okay. We set off for the far reaches across the lake to get a fish. Warren caught one, a pike, about twelve pounds we let it go and headed back.
A little more about Warren.
One Christmas Eve there was a knock on his door. One of the kids opened it and some guy with a sawed-off semi automatic 22 walked in. He had just shot two cabbies, one dead, the other almost. He was being chased and hit Warren's house, completely by chance. Warren was a gun collector. He had everything downstairs, but kept a cool head. He kept the guy occupied while his wife got the kids to the basement. There was a cop at the window and he got them out.
At some point, the guy, holding a rifle to Warren's head got him out of the house and into his brand new Chevy Malibu. The snow and ice was thick on the window and the guy decided if he shot a round through the window the stuff would fall off. He was wrong. The safety glass collapsed and the plans changed to bring him back inside. On the passenger side Warren saw a cop creeping up the side of the car. When the mongrel got out of his side the cop got up and pumped a 38 caliber round into his forehead. At his retirement celebration, the guy turned out to be a chief or some such thing, he gave Warren the gun he shot the guy with. True.
On the way back from our fishing expedition we hit some bad weather. The swells were at least four feet of black, cold water, with a sixteen foot boat with little motor. It was touch and go. One wrong move and we would have been swamped, but we made it back and I will never forget the fear I had about my ability to get Warren home. Warren couldn't swim.

Uncle John

My mom's eldest brother was John. He joined the Black Watch and served throughout the war. He achieved some distinction in winning the Military Medal... a couple of steps down from a VC. He was in Europe somewhere and there were a bunch of Generals on a hill looking at the battlefield through their binnoculars when they came under fire. Uncle John grabbed a Tommy Gun and gutted the Germans and won his medal.


Well. Some years later I was a Master Cadet, selected to attend the Annual Camp in Banff, Alberta. It was a lot like Outward Bound. I was given the nickname 'Gator'. We had these Belgium mountaineers teaching us to repel and climb. The nights were freezing but when the sun crossed the mountaintops you were sweating. Fortunately, I had fake ID (courtesy of the Army) and we attended a session at the Banff Springs Hotel. Before Texas, it was the largest bar in the world. We're talking about a parking garage in the basement, where beer was delivered by the cartload for 25 cents a pop.

We were running a little low on doe so we decided to buy a couple of boxes and climbed this rather big hill. Unfortunately, we were in plain sight and somebody called the RCMP. Fortunately again, they were rather fat and as they climbed the hill I rallied our defences and used the only weapons at our disposal.... empties. We lobbed them at the cops and more often than not they rolled to the bottom, to our absolute delight. We ran out of ammo and the fellas were not too pleased to be herded into the cop cars. It was nightfall by then.

When we got back to camp the Colonel was standing in the middle of the road in singlet, underwear, and socks and garters... of all things. He was some pissed. But so were we. The next day we were ordered to wear our uniforms for discipline. I said no and put on my civvies.
Each of us was marched into the Colonel's office and he fanned out our plane tickets. "Pick one." he said. We were escorted to the airport, under guard. But to my delight I had chosen the one first class ticket out of the bunch. Which meant of course, unlimited free booze. Every time I got a drink I would look through the curtain to my mates and toast them.

When we got to Toronto various parents were waiting and grabbed their kids by ears, hauling them off to their fate. Uncle John picked me up, and laughed like a loon.

My Uncle Eddie

My grandfather was an Irish dockworker. Every time one of his kids turned 16 he marched into the school and took them out to work at the Northern Electric factory, where they made telephones. In those days people were paid in cash and every payday my grandfather stood in line and put his kid's paypackets in his back pocket and drank it.
To escape this lack of cash my mom used to sing in bars for spare change. There was a guy called, 'The Angel'. He was a quiet mobster who cooled people for a living. He looked after my mom and made sure she got some stosh from the cheapscates. Now for Uncle Eddie. I only met him a few times, but his story has some pinnache. He lied about his age and joined the army and was parachuted into Arnheim during the war. My grandmother read about it in the newspaper and called the Member of Parliament. Eddie was sixteen, so he was sent home.
Eddie was a kind of Robin Hood. He used to steal beer trucks, park them in Verdun, Montreal and invite all and sundry to help themselves. He also stole Eaton's trucks, full of clothes and park them on the street, acting as a sales clerk. He never asked for money. He would just say, "Alice, this is just your fit."
Uncle Eddie served a lot of time in jail for his predispositions, but he always had a smile on his face. The last I heard, he was living in Calgary, married, and happy. A life lived is better than none.

The Gumper

When I was a kid growing up in Beloeil, Quebec we had a neighbour called Gump Worsley who was a professional goaltender for the Habs. His real name was Lorne, but he got the nickname Gump after a comic strip character and it stuck. His son Dean was the same age as me and we hung out. He won two Vezina trophies and a number of Stanley Cups and whenever we went over to Dean's they were generally used as candy dishes and ashtrays. In those days professional hockey players were paid the same as salesmen, hence the need for off-season work as an alcohol rep for Seagrams.
The Gumper only wore a mask for the last seven games of his career of some 700 or so games. I remember watching a game at Dean's and out of the blue play stopped because his dad lay on the ice, unconscious. It turned out someone threw a boiled egg at him and knocked him cold. The Gumper played until he was 44 and gave up the game because of his fear of flying. His last season was with the Minnesota North Stars. He was traded for cash.

Where from here?

One can survive everything, nowadays, except death, and live down everything except a good reputation. - Oscar Wilde

Well, five sleeps from today I will be locked up with a dozen or so addicts of various afflictions. Being the coward I am, I have whittled away what I can in the meantime, in preparation. This column of mine will be silent for a while. Seven days of detox and six months of rehab. I am an alcoholic. But modern medicine has porcupined me with a plethora of anti-depressants as well. But no blame on them, I was looking for a quick fix and jumped in with both feet.

What comes out at the other end will be interesting.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. If you make up your mind not to be happy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a fairly good time. - Edith Wharton

I've made the decision to do just that. Lusting after anything; whether it be money, love, and happiness, is frustration. Have you ever applied for a job when you really needed it? There is a desperation that is smelt by the panel. The best thing to do is dress down and act as if you really don't give a crap if you get the job. They will chase after you forever.

We try too hard for the things we really want. I'm convinced if we just think about what we want then it will come to us. Don't worry, be happy.

The Circle of Life

The circle is the most perfect of all. It starts, moves in a logical motion, until it meets it's mate. Everything has a beginning and and an end. Marriage, death, jobs... etc. But these things are the small picture, and there is a bigger picture.
Before we experienced this human experience; beginning with birth, we were kindred spirits in Heaven.
It began with a choice between as do all choices, that this might happen. God said, or asked, that he had a path. One of his born sons, Lucifer, disagreed; but his other son, Jehovah said, " Thy will be done." No questions. War ensued and a third of the spirits faught on the side of Lucifer, but were defeated and cast into some other realm.
Those of us alive, or whom exist, have lived a life faught on the side of God. Even the Muslims! Because only those who won could experience this Human Experience. What Christ showed us was how we could resume our status with God after this experience was over.
Miscarriages, suicides, deaths at a young age seen contrary to a higher power bent on our progression, but somebody once advised me that this was because Satan only has power or influence over us while we are in this human condition. Those that go early are only being given an exit from experiencing and trying to overcome the adversary and given the chance to go home.
So if something unfair occurs in your life and you feel shortchanged; just relax, take it easy, theyre be time to find it out.
Much love.

Phone Calls

I have been on a bit of a jag calling friends and family lately. To a point they have been great. I'm looking at a date of November 5th for detox and rehab which will see me away from my friends and family for some months. I'm not too concerned about the affect on me so much as the affect on others. Keep the faith.

Ants

Ants are kind of good things. This country is full of ants. But they are a community of sorts. When you watch them they make contact with each other as the carry on with some kind of work. It only takes a second but they touch and carry on with their work. As long as they stay outside everything is fine, but when they come into your house you have to spray them.

Beautiful People

I have been grateful enough to have touched certain people in my life. New Zealand has been a tough nut because they don't share me. I was born and raised in a different country. Why should they care? But the Human Experience is universal, and we all share that. I bled when the All Blacks came home, and especially suffered when Dougie Howlett suffered a breakdown of sorts, cause I thought he would have made the difference, and so did he. Hence. I love my former workmates at REAP. Everyone, from top to bottom. I was never in your class of action and committment but thank you none the less for letting me be a part of your family.

Accentuate the Positive

I have a new resolve. And that is to focus on good things. Some of the stuff I have written in the past has been pretty vective and to those who might have seen it I am very sorry. Nobody is perfect, we are all just trying to get along and make our way through this thing called a human experience. Let us just put it down to a weakness I have to blame others. After all, thinking it is your fault is sometimes just too much on top of the guilt and anger we carry on our backs.
So a new start.
I'm going to try and write about the beautiful things in life, but if I faulter from time to time just put it down to a bad day.

Clutching

Gosh, what a state. Down to my last beer and knowing the next one will be provided at noon; but at the same time we will have decide between sausages and meat. Oh what the heck, nobody dies from starvation anymore, I am a pretty creative cook and will turn shit into something consumable.

Needs

I don't think for a minute that anybody reads this stuff, but if you do and have the means, please drop off a 12 pack of New Zealand lager. It is the cheapest drop. And I wish I didn't have to do this but my addiction has yet to be treated and so the resources required to keep me going and the family going are always stretched to the limit. Hey! If need be I would be willing to work for it. It seems I'll be going into rehab and treatment sometime next month and that will be the end of all this crap. Maybe I just want to see if anyone actually reads this. But, read between the lines.

A Broken Man

ROMEO D’ALLAIRE: "I walked down one of the main roads here in Ottawa for about an hour. I stopped and bought a bottle of scotch. And I walked to the—to the park, sat on the bench, and I was reliving my mission. The booze was—I mean I was just drinking it like that out of the bottle. And I was just like any other rubby-dub or person who is left homeless, screaming and yelling and crying and drinking. I was screaming for them to kill me."

Lieutenant General Romeo D'Allaire was poised to become Canada's top soldier, but like any soldier of worth he sought an assignment that would give him the mana to walk the walk. He was 54 years old when the United Nations assigned him the command position in an African nation called Rwanda. He was in charge of a mixed bag of soldiers from a variety of nations.
He knew something was going to happen and warned the suits at the United Nations months in advance.
It was Friday in New York when the carnage began. He called the UN and got an answering machine. When he finally did get in touch with his superiors he was told to do nothing. So he had a ringside seat at the slaughter of 800,000 people. All of the different troops called their home nations and were told the same.
The above quote was taken from his memoirs. I wish I had been there, either in Rwanda or sitting beside him on that park bench. In some ways I was there. Hold fast Romeo.

Old vs New

I love God, and I figure he loves me too. I love church too. But getting inundated with constant reminders about your failures leaves me spiritually bereft, no matter whether it is true or not. Why is it the glass is always half-empty? The Old Testament is all about smiting and flooding and generally wiping everybody out from time to time. What Jesus Christ gave us was a sense of hope. He smote no one. He generally went about protecting the least of us and telling us he loved us unconditionally and told us there was only one thing: "Love one another, as I have loved you."
Recently, at church, a fella told me he held a degree in Civil Engineering; which seemed impossible given he had only returned from a mission two and a half years ago... got married... and began working for a firm. But rather than challenge the facts, I chose to leave. Pride and one-upsmanship doesn't do too much for what I hope is a spiritual experience for me each Sunday. Judgement is also anathema to spiritualism and it is my failing. I'm not sure whether I should go to church and simply ignore the things that make me angry or study the words of a man who made no judgment, forgave everyone, and loved everyone.

The Bambino

George Herman Ruth also called the 'Babe', was a great baseball player. What many people don't know was that he started out as a pitcher and accumulated 86 wins, including several World Series pitching records. He played for the Boston Red Sox and was traded to the New York Yankees so the owner of the Red Sox could pay off his gambling debts.
The Babe, also known as the Bambino, switched from pitching to right field with the Yankees so he could hit every day instead of once every four days. One year he hit 60 home runs, a record deemed unbreakable. Considered the greatest player of all time, his record was broken by another Yankee named Roger Maris. Maris was a sensitive fella and through the course of his record setting season lost all of his hair under the pressure. Yankee fans actually booed when he got close. Roger eventually hit 61 home runs until Hank Aaron broke the record, and a steroid assisted Barry Bonds broke Aaron's effort.
For 86 years the Red Sox suffered what was called 'The Curse of the Bambino' and never won another World Series until 2004.

The Big Train

Lionel Pretoria Conacher was born in Toronto in 1900 and was a most incredible athlete, excelling in Professional Football, Professional Hockey, Professional Baseball, Lacrosse, Wrestling and lord knows what else.
In one day he played a game of Professional Football with the Toronto Argonauts, played a professional baseball game with the Toronto team and later that night suited up to play a game of professional ice hockey. He is a member of the Football Hall of Fame, Hockey Hall of Fame, Lacrosse Hall of Fame, Wrestling Hall of Fame, and probably a couple of others. He retired and became a Member of Parliament, being elected twice. At 54, he was playing a game of softball and suffered a heart attack and died. What I marvel at is that at 51 I have not done a smidgen of what The Big Train accomplished. His son Brian went on to play professional ice hockey and was a member of the last Toronto team to win the Stanley Cup in 1967.

In Who's Interest

I had a professor in Uni called Solly Patel. He was brilliant; a South African of India descent who moved to Canada. At the end of every class, and often throughout our classes Solly used to say softly, "In who's interest?" This has stuck with me. I often find myself assessing this or that and asking, "Who benefits?"
The answer usually suffices.

The World, written by Paddy

Howard: I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It's a depression. Everybody's out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel's worth. Banks are going bust. Shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there's no one anywhere that seems to know what to do with us. Now into it. We know the air is unfit to breathe, our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had 15 homicides and 63 violent crimes as if that's the way it's supposed to be. We know things are bad. Worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy so we don't go out anymore. We sit in a house as slowly the world we're living in is getting smaller and all we say is, "Please, at least leave us alone in our living rooms. Let me have my toaster, and TV, and my steel belted radials and I won't say anything." Well I'm not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad. I don't want you to protest. I don't want you to riot. I don't want you to write to your congressman because I wouldn't know what to tell you to write. I don't know what to do about the depression and the inflation and the Russians and the crying in the streets. All I know is first you've got to get mad. You've got to say, "I'm a human being. God Dammit, my life has value." So, I want you to get up now. I want all of you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it, and stick your head out, and yell, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" I want you to get up right now. Get up. Go to your windows, open your windows, and stick your head out, and yell, "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!" Things have got to change my friends. You've got to get mad. You've got to say, "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!" Then we'll figure out what to do about the depression and the inflation and the oil crisis. But first get up out of your chairs, open your window, stick your head out and yell, "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

Ella

Ella Fitzgerald was a gifted dancer and was selected to perform at the Apollo Theatre. Unfortunately, she broke her ankle the week before and was heartbroken. Her father said, "you've got such a lovely voice, why don't you sing?"
She did. She won. And the rest is history.
I have another friend and her name is Peti. She was born on route through a forest where no roads ran. She made it somehow and became a wonderful person in my church. She has a wonderful daughter too. How is it that no other man can see what I see. She is a gifted woman of God. To be truthful she is a handful, but brethren think of the adventure before you!

On the Bones of my Ass

How to phrase this... Being broke is not a good thing, a statement. Not being able to earn is a dash to me because from the age of 16 I always earned. And wasted. But I'm no longer talking about my money, because I have none, I'm talking about my family.
When my wife chooses between having meat or beans it is not about dietetic choice, it is about choosing between my alcohol needs and food on the table. I don't think anyone reads this crap but if there is anyone out there who can help I would be grateful. I think about 0800labour as a part time solution but frankly, I'm not up to it.
I hate having to choose between the two needs but my memories of the horrors give me adequate fear to eat beans. I hate using up the family resources to feed my habit... and I don't expect the extended family to do much.
My father-in-law has harboured something of a grudge. He has no hesitation in giving everything to his sons, but he expects the husbands of his wives to take care of them. He's right. Unfortunately, my wife has been saddled with a problem of balance... how do I keep my hubby from the DT's and put food on the table. I would like to go somewhere to get dry and sober but I can't. By mid-morning my knees start knocking, my vision gets blurry and I can't do much more than lay there. If there is help out there now is the time. Take my wife to lunch.

Jimmy Hoffa

I was a Teamster. It was one of the most satisfying jobs in the world. Being Unionised you could tell anyone to, "Go f___k themselves. The money was good. I could load or unload a trailer with the best of them. I learned how to pick up a ten cent piece with a forklift, off the ground. Someone taught me how to shunt, so I became a shuntman, ferrying trailers, full and empty into the 200 doors of our terminal.
We had two shop stewards; John and Eddie, and you best not try and cross them. The two of them also offered loans between paydays for 20%, and I took advantage of it from time to time. There is a funny story here.
There was a Teamster conference in New York back in the 70's. Eddie and John and another guy went to it. After the conference they decided to park at a park and have a couple of beers. They met a couple of girls and were invited back to their place. The party went on. At one point one of the fellas looked into the bedside table and came across a great large black dildo complete with straps and stole it. Eventually, they made their way towards the Canadian border, and as a lark they mounted the apparatus onto the face of a comatose compatriot in the back seat. The customs people were not impressed to see what looked to be a perverted Rhino in the back seat and breathalysed the lot. All guilty. They were passed over to the Canadian authorities and sent on their way.
Many years later, there was another conference... this time in Los Vegas. Unfortunately none of them could re-enter the United States without some serious lawyer work. It worked and they got there. Eddie started playing blackjack and kept winning. By the end of it not only did they pay their lawyer's fees, but had plenty in the back pocket to have some fun.
My fondest remembrances is of finishing work at 3 o'clock AM and going to the parking lot where Eddie had a Ford F250 Pickup with a hardback. When the back was lifted it presented a full bar. Eddie had some guy fit the back of the truck with a cooler, ice bucket, and slots for various spirits. To be able to drink at Eddie's truck was a privilege, reserved for some and not for others and I was happy to be one of the chosen. We used to play touch football in the parking lot until the sun came up and the suits showed up. Fun times.

Local Body Elections

If anybody is standing for election then please read this. It is too late for the upcoming election but the lesson is sincere.
Rule number one: Go door to door. And never go alone. The opposition will sit you down for a cuppa and cake and somebody has to remind you of a compulsory obligation. But people have to look you in the eye and touch you to vote.
Rule number two: Identify who they are. This means ascertaining whether or not they will vote for you. The first question is, "Do I have your vote?" The second question is can I put a sign on your lawn. This will tell you enough to put an x or a y beside their name.
Rule number three: Having identified who is on your side or theirs you need to act. Take all the y's and make sure they are reminded, if need be take them to the polls.
Rule number four: If you don't have more y's than x's conserve your money cause you are gonna lose, unless it rains.
Getting elected is a science, not a toss of the coin.

Co-morbitity

Hate is a terrible thing to unleash on the world of people around us, but it is worse when you hate yourself. Lies are terrible things to say too, especially when you say them to yourself. I have been reading about hate and lies and recognise, all too well, that I have allowed them to dominate my thinking. And there are a lot of us out there, throwing blame and accusations at our friends, co-workers, and family. The key is to learn about yourself and begin to admit and take responsibility for what is true.
The truth is that from the time I can remember my mother was a drunk, a happy drunk most of the time, and my father wasn't. It was not unusual to find bottles of beer hidden around the house. When I was five or six I remember coming home for lunch from school and being packed off to the corner store with a note for the grocer and my red wagon. I would hand over the note, he would load up my wagon with a case of 24 Molson Exports and a couple of packs of smokes. Most nights my parents fought over my mother's excessive drinking. Eventually it got to be too much and my sisters, my brother and me were packed off to foster homes.
The funny thing was my foster parents drank more than my own family and considered us a nuisance. Without going into details; the next four years were a nightmare. We were visited by a Social Worker once a month and I would tell her about the abuse, but she didn't believe me. When I was 11 we were given back to my mother, now divorced from my father (he visited twice in the four years we were wards) and introduced to 'Uncle Mac'. Strangely I remembered him from years earlier. That was when my mother crawled out the living room window with a suitcase and across the street was this man yelling at my father to come outside. The man was holding a two by four.
Anyhow, time passed and we moved to Toronto. I was twelve. We lived in a fairly nice place and I started high school. That was when I started to drink. I found I could tolerate school drunk or stoned and mostly kept to myself and read. One day I was called into the guidance counselor's office and was introduced to a psychologist because one teacher realised I was pissed every day. The psychologist, a woman, set up a tape recorder and asked me some questions and I quite happily spilled out my story... I never heard from her again. When alcohol wasn't available I acquired hash and pot. My locker-partner was a dealer and when he couldn't be there I was designated a sort of sales clerk and was paid off in dope.
At sixteen I was kicked out of school and out of the house. I lived with a guy I knew, worked in a warehouse and spent my off-hours drinking. Life was good. When my friend was transferred out of town I came home again and on my 17th birthday Uncle Mac drove me down to the recruiting office and I spent the next few years in the Armed Forces. The army was kind of fun... especially happy-hour from 4 until 6pm when a beer or a shot cost 25 cents. I woke up most times on the floor so I wouldn't have to make my bed in the morning. A few times I woke up in the Mess Hall toilet stall with my pants around my ankles. There were a few tense moments in the forces but I won't bore you with the details.
From time to time since then I have stopped drinking and dakking, but occasionally something triggers off an episode. The death of my Brother-in-Law, Bo, rocked me to the bottoms of my feet. The after effects has resonated inside my head and that of my family since then. I tried to lose myself in work and bad relationships but it was no use. One day I found I had spent a whole day at work staring at the computer log-in.
Diagnosed as depression, I have been taking a strange mix of anti-depressants that don't make me feel any better, so I went back to my old friend, booze. Recently, I suffered withdrawals for the first time. A full-blown case of the shakes... hallucinations... and nightmares.
I have travelled this path long enough. I do believe there is light at the end of the tunnel and that I am still alive for a reason. But first I need to dig deep, clean up the carnage that has cluttered and ruined past relationships and opportunities. Detox is no longer an option, it is a necessity; followed by 20 weeks in a rehab centre. I am on a waiting list, and still drinking but at least now - after 51 years - forty of them spent drunk and stoned most of the time, I know I have a problem. Let's hope I have enough time left to try and make some amends, be a good father and husband, and be of some worth to this world.

Quiet Healing

I came home tonight after attending a group session with other people travelling the path I am on. I am struck by the similarity between our experiences and struggles. Mine continue, as do theirs. What binds us together is honesty and understanding. I have established a routine for my day centred around study, exercise and meditation. Mind you, it has only been the first day so don't hold your breath.
Day by day is the only thing I can hold on to. I am on the waiting list to get into detox and rehab for my various addictions, and as a coward who avoids pain at any expense I am trying to cut down on the substances that cloud my decision-making and ability to be a useful person. Cold turkey is only good in a sandwich. I try to avoid people these days, but temper this isolation with attendance at various 'safe' meetings. One of the first real epiphany's for me has been the lack of relationship with God. I thought I was on safe ground there because I go to church very regularly, unfortunately the tone of discussions within his house are people oriented ideas about right and wrong. I know these things to be true, but being reminded how sinful I am leaves me feeling worse than when I walked through the door. I need to investigate my relationship with God on a personal level and in the meantime clear out the debris of my past. Only then will I be able to become the person I hope to be.

Heartbreak Hotel

Well, another World Cup, and another loss. Hand it to the French; they either allowed themselves to be beaten for the past three years and saved their skills for when it counted or they put everything they had on the line and showed maximum heart. I recon we create a secret training facility on Chatham Island and stock it with the very best players in the country... enough for three teams, and have them play each other. Then we put together an All Black team of veterans to fulfill our international obligations. When the 2011 World Cup comes around we will present this new team out of the blue. All the preparations from the opposition will have been made to counter and beat the B team and then we roll out the very best of our youngsters.
We give away too much in International play. We kick the crap out of everybody, while they sit in the bushes. I thought Graham Henry's rotation was a great idea because it kept everyone guessing... his mistake was putting a questionable mixture on the field that day. The team he put on the field was not our best... what he was saving them for, I'll never know. The difference was only a couple of points and give it to the French, their play was pretty solid. Tana or Dougie may have made the difference. Graham Henry is no fool though. I believe we should keep him on for 2011 because he strikes me as the sort of guy you don't fool twice.

Closets and Closed Off Rooms

Everyhome has a dirty closet. You know what I mean... the place where you stash things before other people come over. Sometimes it can get out of hand and you begin to use the room outside the closet and it gets full of crap. The door to this room stays closed, but every once in a while you go inside and shudder, with the resolve to get at it tomorrow. We have such a room. And it became more than a job; it became a nightmare.
Today I resolved to get at it. I was sober, so I gathered up a garbage bag and a bunch of boxes and opened the door, and then the windows. Where to start? I started with the obvious garbage. You know, stuff that stands out like: candy wrappers, used ear buds, empty packaging and the assortment of arms, legs...from forgotten gifts and happy meal inserts. Six small shopping bags later, I separated the clothing from the pile, unrecognisable from washed stuff and dirty stuff. Every time I sorted a layer off the top I found something I had been looking for and set it aside.
But, I also found some stuff that concerned me. There were: ball bearings, pins, sewing needles, 2 retractable knives, four pairs of scissors, etc. I thought about the children and others who might have ventured into that room and hurt themselves. I knew though, that the stuff had been put there to keep it away from loved ones. I sorted through unopened mail, reports, pencils and pens, cookbooks, etc. At the last... with most of the stuff sorted and stuffed into the garbage I came across a single phillips screw about an inch long, lying under the bed and so I put it in a container with all the other odd stuff.
Feeling pretty good about this accomplishment I picked up the clothing and put it in the wash house and started the washer. I thought I would open a window to let in some fresh air and noticed that the latch was loose. Upon close inspection I discovered one of the screws had let loose and then I remembered the screw I had come across. I had to get to the bottom of the jar, but I found it and got a screwdriver to set it. The latch works good now.
Another thing that happened was that at the beginning of the cleanup I came across one of my grandson's books. This is a book of maps and stuff made up of puzzles and it was open. Every once in a while through today's exercise I would find a piece and it became the fun part about today to find the place where it was missing and fit it in. By the end of the day I had the book complete except for three pieces.
I am going to continue to look for those missing pieces and put the puzzle together. Who knows, they may be in another room or missplaced somewhere else in the house. It is not particularly important to complete the puzzle though, perhaps I'll just make some and fill in the blanks.

Good Fences make Good Neighbours

As I look out my front door I am caught between two neighbours.
The one on my left is a retired couple who spend their days puttering and working their garden. The fence that separates me from them is straight and high. One day my neighbour asked me if I knew anything about plants. "No," I replied, "I wouldn't know a weed from a flower." He then pointed out several flourishing and quite disruptive weeds, so I cut them down and moved them into the compost.
The fence that borders the neighbours to my right is falling down and rotten. And in all the years we have lived here I have only exchanged words with them when the dog barks or they see my grandson doing something they don't like. A friend walked me home from church two weeks ago and looking to the left gave out a hearty, "kia ora" (the maori word for greeting). There was no response. He tried again. "Kia ora te whanau" (maori for hello the family). Again, there was no response. I stewed for a couple of days and after the woman of the house was stalking us again from the front yard, I told her to bugger off and mind her own business (actually it was a little more and a little worse). Next thing I know the husband came out and gave me a few choice words about how I had spoken to his wife. I asked him if he was prejudiced towards Maori? "Look into these eyes boy," he responded. He was doing what any husband would have done and I begged his pardon for what I had said. He turned away and told me to fuck off. The next day I wrote a short card and put it in their mail box asking for forgiveness for my behaviour... a week later there hasn't been a response.
I began thinking about the difference between good and evil, or Godlike behaviour compared to Satan's. I realised that what had come out of my mouth was indeed evil.
What separates these two solitudes - these two neighbours - these two behaviours, is a very simple thing: Satan does his best to cajole us into reacting, in kind, to his prompting. With God however, he meets adversity with forgiveness and love. Well the only thing to do is forget about the exchange and try and be a better neighbour... the forgiveness part may take awhile. But that's okay; the sun rises everyday and there is always tomorrow. Or I may have to build a bigger and higher fence, to give them no cause to see me or my family and friends.

UFO's

When I was a pre-teen many years ago, living in a distant, cold place, I was packed off on an errand to the corner store to buy something. It was dark out and so quiet, windless and beautiful, you could hear your own heartbeat. I tend to look at the sky at night and I saw a green, cigar shaped light move silently across the horizon. I marvelled at the sight, but didn't say anything to most people.
Two weeks ago, I was sitting on my doorstep looking up at a beautiful sky full of stars and caught sight of a shooting star moving from west to east - nothing odd about that. Then I saw another shooting star moving from east to west - something made me keep watching and I saw a third shooting star moving from south to north. All this within the same patch of the night sky. I called my family out for what I expected to be a continuation but I was alone in the experience. Logic dictates that objects would have to be moving in the same direction because the earth spins in a fairly consistent pattern, as does the little bits that find their way into our atmosphere and burn up. Do I believe in UFO's? Not really, but what did I see?

Moe

I have been haunted by a man called Moe Norman for a while. He was a nobody to those who don't know much about the game called golf. He had a talent for hitting golf balls with unerring acuracy, especially off the tops of Coke bottles. Described by one person as a "high functioning autistic", Moe would show up at Canadian golf tournaments and win. This pissed everyone off. The bourgeousie of golf laughed at his costume and his hitting style, but Moe pressed on, sleeping in his car, and winning. Jack Nicklaus sought him out among many others whom had heard of him. He talked funny; a kind of staccato stutter of half-finished sentences. But anyone touched by Moe knew they had witnessed something special.
He played a round of golf with Sam Snead once and both of them had long approach shots to the green. Sam laid up. Then Moe took out what Sam thought was too much club and advised his friend not to try for it. Moe said, "I'm not trying to clear the water... I want to bounce the ball off that walkover bridge." He hauled back, struck the ball, and it bounced off the bridge and came to rest in the fairway, just in front of the green. Wayne Gretzky played a round with him once and marvelled that the man used just one tee through all eighteen holes. Without ego, Moe commented he once went a whole season with one tee.
Moe joined the PGA Tour for a while and never once won a tournament. The laughter at his dress ... and address, was a constant source of open amusement from the other players and the gallery. But Moe had feelings and packed it in when it got to be too much.
Moe went on to win seven Canadian championships and when he finished pro golf he retired to a driving range somewhere in the United States and gave folks tips and a bit of a show. He lived in a small trailer at the range. Year after year Moe was nominated for the Canadian Pro Golf Hall of Fame, but never made the grade.
I was watching the golf channel one day and Titleist, the Company was announcing some new products. As almost an adjunct, the corporate fellow also mentioned that the Board of Directors of the company had passed a unanimous decision to give Moe Norman $5,ooo (US) a month until his demise, in recognition for his contribution to golf. Moe Norman died at 75. He was eventually admitted to the Canadian Golf Hall of Fame, but I will be always grateful to the people at Titleist, for their class and for representing the best of what America stands for.
Out of solidarity I should have used their balls. But frankly, my game is so bad, and their balls are so precious that I would have had to give up everything... live in a trailer... and work gathering struck balls in one of those tractor contraptions people aim at.

Nothing is an Accident

A recurring theme throughout the writings of Paulo Coelho is similar to those found in 'The Celestine Prophesy' - the idea that nothing in life is coincidence, that even a smile from a stranger should not be something dismissed as insignificant.
When I asked my wife why she bought 'Flowing Like a River' she said she had passed by it for about a month, constantly being drawn to it, but not purchasing the book. One day she succumbed and made the purchase. At about the same time, a friend of her's was going through a terrible drama. This woman and her partner lived just down the road. One night he lost it, presented a sawed-off shotgun and threatened himself. The friend called the police and my wife and I woke up to a loudhailer repeating over and over, "___ come out. Put the gun down and come out." At about 5am he did - and shot himself on the front lawn.
She gave the book to her grief-stricken friend. Sometime later, the friend mentioned the book, saying it was her bedside companion throughout those difficult times, especially when she was alone. My wife had not even opened it.
She bought a second copy and although she started it, she did not finish it. I picked it up and from page one I was captured. She bought 'The Alchemist', written by the same author and I am almost finished it. This book is an allegory; the story of a boy on a journey - very representative of the journey we all face in life, full of twists and turns. I could identify with the protagonist. Unlike me, however, he listened to his heart, often through chance meetings. I don't know how the book ends, but in this case it doesn't really matter. The message is enough and I know I will read it again. I don't keep many books because I tend to give them to friends and never get them back, which means I will probably have to purchase another one when I get the urge.
Nothing is happenstance in this journey called 'Life'. The pain and suffering we all go through is part of the forging process that tempers the steel of our soul. In the end, if I had the opportunity to choose to be anybody else, I would say, "NO!" I'm not sure I would wish my life on anyone else and besides, this is the path both myself and God agreed to before I was born, and when I understand it better I hope to share that path with many other fellow travellers out there. My pal Roger wrote a song called, "Why". It always reminds me to stay humble and celebrate the achievements of my brothers and sisters. I'm not sure how 'The Alchemist' ends... just as I'm not sure how my life will end. The secret is the journey and you can sleep through it and ignore the beauty that each new day brings... it's all about choice really.

The World of Depression

Many people oscillate between two base lines; the first being what society declares as 'normal', the other marked by Maslow's idea of needs, want's and necessities. Many lives journey on a more or less regular path between these two extremes. Unfortunately, when things happen in our lives that go far beyond testing and into the realm of distress the normal bar lowers a few millimetres. The journey is the same distance between those extremes which means something has to give, somewhere. In many of us it means we travel well beyond the borderline of one extreme or the other. In the case of trauma; especially at a young age, the distance travelled does not allow one to find their way back. Pharmaceutical companies tell us that if we consume their products then we will have what we need to come back... but the reality is we become anaethesised into believing we have reached home... when really we are just experiencing false comfort in this new world.
The destination rests within each of us to discover, much like the butterfly or bird, or salmon that leaves the nesting place to make a long journey and does not fret the return, but instinctively knows how to get back. God tells us, "does the bird worry about where the next meal comes from?" (this is of course a paraphrase). I will help you find the way.

Going digital

The great thing about computers is not the improvement after typing. The really awesome thing is that my words are being converted to a series of I's and O's, unintelligeble in their sequence but somewhere.. out there.. something converts it back into words... this leaves me with the possibility that they will not die... that somewhere, out there someone will discover it, perhaps an ancestor, perhaps an alien, who will know that at one time, somebody was....

Presumption

Dear Friends:
I had no longer finished a bitter message to Paulo Coelho, when, if I had checked my E-mails I would have seen that I had jumped ahead of the response. Forgive me Paulo for lacking faith.

Shoeless

Shoeless Joe Jackson was one of the greatest hitters in baseball history. As fate would have it, he was a member of the 1919 Chicago Whitesox team that were later to become known as the 'Black Sox'. To those who don't know the story, this team was accused of fixing the World Series. Although they were acqitted in a Grand Jury investigation, the first ever commissioner of baseball was someone called, "Judge Kennisaw Landis", and he super-subjected the law of the land to censure and ban the starting nine of the Chicago team from ever playing again.
Joe Jackson hit over 300 and caught everything that came his way during the series.
Later, until his death, Joe and his wife ran a liquor store in Georgia. One day, Ty Cobb came into Joe's store and made a purchase. "Don't you know me Joe?" he asked.
"Sure I know you Ty... I just wasn't sure you wanted to know me."

Drug Trafficer

Well, now that I am out of work I have decided to become a drug trafficer (trafficker?...note to do spellcheque). Since I am not a national here I figure the cheapest thing that will happen is deportment, cause I really figure that I will be as successful at that as anything else, so culpability will be minimal. Anyhow, given the amount of SPAM that is out there pharmaceuticals is a lock. I have gotten my doctor to test for everything I may need and have been particular about 'penile defficiency and erectile difficulties', because they seem to be hot commodities. Anyhow, my poor wife will be able to specify... under oath, that these are not falsehoods. At best I can expect some pocketmoney, or a free trip home (note to Department of Tobbaco and Firearms, IAM a Canadian... so piss off. The only Rico Act I follow these days is Rico Gear) also while I am at this business I am also curious as to whether the NSA really does filter my E-mails!

PS: If found guilty, I am going to blame everything on my father-in-law, JJ for shooting Miti after he bit my cousin ED (Miti is pronounced "mitty" over here, but now that I think of it he says "mighty" quite a lot).

Ground Control to Major Tangi

I'm not sure if the spelling is write (sic) but yesterday was not one of my shining moments. I received a phone call from Wellington confirming my attendance at a soiree (paid for by the people... through their government mandarins ). Unfortunately the flight was to leave at ten past six and it was already four. News to me. Fortunately, I called my wife for her advice on the wisdom of me travelling so quickly following my latest unfortunate walk with the Black Dog, and as luck would have it she advised against the trip and I thanked her.
Now for a bit of background. I had imaginings I was to be received and honoured for past good works (long past I'm afraid). These illusions continued to haunt me as I stewed. Sensing a mood shift my wife went off to shop for our dinner and kindly enquired if I would like a sampling of one of New Zealand's fine lagers. No thank you, says I, I'm fine. Again, perhaps sensing a storm on the horizon, my darling bought me two lovely cold lagers anyway. I was sampling the second when I heard the drone of the plane winging its way to the party.
My wife prepared a lovely dinner and I ate it with all the fake good humour I could summon while inside I festered, red-faced. Imagine then later in the evening when I chose to send her out for refills, minutes before the shops were to close. She returned empty handed and crying while I stood there dripping wet with self pity. Then, came my shining moment when I accused her of somehow conspiring to ruin my day. I hope I am able to somehow make it up to my friend. I mean, sure I'm going through a bit of turbulence but somehow I missed the beautiful sunset right through my first class seat window. Hei tangi, indeed.

Getting My MOJO back

A good day today. Worked at a mate's place and we built a cabinet with power and ventilation for a server and UPS system. Forgot my meds which left me kind of restless when I went to bed... thought I would just bluff it out. However I kept jerking awake when I thought I heard something... a bang or thump... had a couple of nastie 'post-acid-like' flashbacks. So I awoke and had a chamomile tea. It is just after 5am. Am resolving to cut back on the drinks and smokes because I am wondering if I am headed for a heart attack. Rapid heart beat, with the slightest little twinge of pain every once in a while. Other than that am feeling pretty good all things considered. I think I am supposed to be in Wellington today... to receive some recognition, but unless they make the travel arrangements I don't think I will be there. I enjoyed tussling with my grandson and dog last night and after we had finished reading his book and felt his little body quiver with sleep thought about writing a children's book.
The premise is: a boy who, through some quirk of nature actually breathes through his ass -the sphincter inhaling and exhaling the air that keeps him alive. Of course that would mean he shits out of his mouth, sneezes are a bit messy and smelly, and burps... well, you just imagine what it would be like for this fellow to go on a date. You'd have to kiss his ass.

A Good Day

Today was a good day. I learned a new kiwi phrase..."cutting 15" which refers to how much beer one drinks at a dip. So I drank 15 beers, and this may seem alot but when morning comes cutting 15 means being cut off..because you drank it all the night before. Anyhow I spent a lovely morning of not doing much. Canada was beating Wales at half time and that alone was a reason to cut another 15, and if we had won maybe 30. We got our moko home today and I enjoyed a great evening with him seeing who farted the most. I cut 15 there too. Loved having our daughter over for dinner. Ana was a close second in the farting contest.
Today was a good day.

A Fresh Outlook

I am going to try to concentrate on enjoying the little things over the next little while. I will start writing for pleasure again and concentrate on my CISCO training. I am going to beg off on my trip to Wellington, scheduled for next week, and stay close to home. There is lots of tidying up to do and I need to get to it. I am looking forward to getting things straightened out. But most important to me is having my family settled down and unworried.

Goodnight Sweetheart

Well, I've decided to take the next step in existence by crossing the veil to the next. I tried but pharmaceuticals are so slow as to make it "cry for help" instead of the outcome. I have rigged a noose in the garage and think that may work so long as the dog keeps quiet. I think about what is left. But the truth is there is not a whole lot to look forward to ...bad teeth.... subsistence on some kind of old home care. Some sadness for others but really no real value in the end. So stay tuned and we will all see how it turns out.

The Best

One can only count on the people that hang in there. If you have - one hang on to it. They be mates or not. Life is good, but only with people that make your life better not worse. But there are devils and angels everywhere. The trick is discerning them.

A Day off Work

One day before my AA meeting and I am getting as pissed as a billy goat. Walked into work and announced I was going home. Stopped off at the beer store for a box and came home. Frankly work has dissapointed me and I could care less about it. Tomorrow I am going to AA and I do it frankly. Booze has always been a get-a-way from life and it's time I faced the music. I am going to court and pleading guilty. It has to end and if it means time in the clink well I take full responsibility. Odd being a different person in a different land, they could take y0o as some carpetbagger or a human being. Time will tell. I will post the results of my case. I expect the worst.

Luck

As luck would have it I married a beauty. Full of forgiveness and love. Last week I got caught for drinking and driving. In fact I almost ran over the bastard who caught me. If I had been going fast enough I probably would have gotten away with it. Just a smudge of green paint on some poor bastard. Well I'm guilty.
I recognise that booze WAS a coping mechanism. I'm going to kick the bastard for good. I wan't to be dry for my grandson. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Even though it doesn't seem so. Be pacient. Hang in there.

still crazy after all these years

There is nothing good about depression. It's like stepping barefoot into dogshit and hopping to the toilet to scrub between your toes with a toilet brush. The truth is, once the black dog is upon you and one or two triggers are pulled it makes you think about finding a double-barreled shotgun and blowing the back of your head off. People do not handle the insane very well. Support workers in doctor's offices don't look you in the eye when they talk to you. Pharmacy staff lecture you publicly about taking the cocktail of medications that keep you going. Family members resent the constant attention you require and begin to compete for attention with their own drama. Work associates avoid you, or bother you with questions like, "how are you today?" Of course you lie and say, "Capital. Any better and I couldn't stand it!"

In fact people begin to bother you. I recently hung a sign that read 'No Entry' on my gate in bold red letters but this just seems to encourage them to test it to see if it means them. There is very little to look forward to. Nothing is good. Life itself is exhausting.

Those who have been there know what it is like; the way ex smokers understand how hard it is to quit. The insane have become the pariah's of our culture. We have closed down mental institutions to save money, medicate the shit out of nuts and hope for the best. But for the truly suffering, hope is the one thing they need to be scripted for.

Idiggraves

It Started as a work thingy

As pressures mounted and deadlines accumulated I found myself staring at a blank computer screen unable to even complete a game of spider solitaire. My hands shook and I realized the fraud was over. I saw a doctor who presecribed Prozac, then Resperdal, then Clonazapam and somehow these concoctions allowed me to live. My workmates were divided between those who thought I was a malingerer and those who cared. My family much the same. My wife thank god chose to accept the breakdown. I saw a clinical psychologist who assessed me as being on the short end and suffering from Post Traumatic Syndrome and work related stress. It all came to a close for me. Work people forced me back but not before making an effort to end my employment with them. Fortunately, I had my wife and I'm no dummy. Together we cobbled a deal that sees me working half time and taking a course or two. My therapist chose the month of January to take a long break and the days have been staggered between ultimate bad and some good. But always I wake up with a vomit and shaking hands. Somehow it is holding together.

Insane in the Membrane

Sorry I haven't written lately but I recently suffered a mental breakdown of life shattering proportions. I expect this happens to everyone eventually... the accumulation of life's baggage. But it's not pretty and can either lead to rehabilitation or death. I am choosing the opportunity to reinvent myself to be the person I should have been instead of living the bullshit existence I have pretended to.

Idiggraves

Idiggraves

Recently I went insane. A full-blown nervous breakdown that shook me to the core of my ankles. The next few posts will deal with the stigma of going through this with full details.