If you are flying internationally, avoid using an American-based arlines. They are getting too firm on their policies, all of which continually involve cutting back on service and adding more and more fees. European airlines tend to be more human. You have been warned.
I’m going to be spending a lot of money on flying I guess. If I want to see r at Christmas and pick him up and fly him back for the summer, that’s three tickets a year. I would like to even visit him in the spring if I could. My first tickets here were not paid for by me, as someone had a fanciful interest in my going.
That person has no idea of the economics that were involved in its impetus. I spent a lot of my own money is the short version, but also I didn’t want to come here to Arizona and leave Ricky.
I built a home with V in the first nine or so years of our marriage. The apartment itself and the damned furniture for it that took any excess money we had. I never had money in my pocket, and had to ask for any or steal from her purse. It seemed like everything was always breaking, too.
My struggle with our finances was on two points: one to pay legal taxes; two to tithe—give 10% of my income to a local church. Paying legal taxes in Poland was my first goal. I didn’t see how we could expect to be prosperous and have a totally clear conscience. There is a lot of tax corruption in Poland, probably more per capita than in the US. When I insisted to V several times that we pay legal taxes on our business, she became so bothered and adamant about it that I had to give in and let her do it her way. The marriage was more important. Her reasoning was that everyone cheats and that the amounts of taxes are unjustly high, that all politicians are corrupt, etc. My previous employers in Poland didn’t pay proper tax.
Tithing was the second battle. She was more upset by that idea. Walked around the city crying about the prospect of it, she claimed. I gave in on that one, too. I got around it by letting people of my church attend free. When I did that it seemed like things stopped breaking. But I wanted to tithe, thinking it would make things even better.
When I took the money onto my own, I began to give what I wanted to the thing I supported, church. My church was not a rich church and out of what little they had, they gave some to ministries in poorer countries. God’s kingdom costs money to run. I helped fund it.
I also spent on myself for once. A coffee roaster, the steel guitar, books, CDs, subscriptions to a newspaper, a beer keg, etc. Four things were long on my prayer list: cheddar cheese (hard to find and expensive in Poland—they have about a million types of cheese there, but they are all white and mild and similar—I don’t know why they give them different names.), maple syrup (maple syrup is actually cheaper in Poland), good coffee and beer. If I could get those and a newspaper, I was happy.
My business took a nose dive. You find me in Arizona, where those things are easy to get. A friend who helped encouraged me in writing asked me whether I gave up on the idea of tithing. I guess the jury is still out on that idea. But I can tell you I don’t feel as much faith in the idea as I once did (without saying whether I actually did tithe.)
Tomorrow I go to Poland and I guess I haven’t said yet that I have mixed feelings about it. I look forward to seeing r in the biggest way, of course—in fact I’m afraid I may want to stay. The other problem is I will be staying in my old apartment. I think you can imagine why that won’t be easy.
Happy reading. I’ll post from there if I can.
I did. You just read it.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
SGFE--Appendecies, index, afteword
That would be a great way to end my blog altogether, but here is why I write, according to notes I made to myself after I read that. I write to/for:
Get read by people.
Help others w/ the same sort of stuff I’m going through.
Work through my problems.
Break into writing as a profession, at least part-time.
I like writing.
But maybe I’m done. Nobody has read this except people to whom I referred it. And they didn’t follow or ask for more. No one was helped that I know of. I worked through my problems. But what can I write? I have abt 45 min. per day and don’t want to read and don’t need to prepare lessons. I studied English in college so I could become a writer. I knew I could also do teaching as a back up, knowing writing is difficult to get into as a profession. And I like writing even if you never read it. You know what my first writing idea was? Learning and Teaching Dead Languages. I think I’ll start that next.
Get read by people.
Help others w/ the same sort of stuff I’m going through.
Work through my problems.
Break into writing as a profession, at least part-time.
I like writing.
But maybe I’m done. Nobody has read this except people to whom I referred it. And they didn’t follow or ask for more. No one was helped that I know of. I worked through my problems. But what can I write? I have abt 45 min. per day and don’t want to read and don’t need to prepare lessons. I studied English in college so I could become a writer. I knew I could also do teaching as a back up, knowing writing is difficult to get into as a profession. And I like writing even if you never read it. You know what my first writing idea was? Learning and Teaching Dead Languages. I think I’ll start that next.
SGFE--It's Beautiful, Man
This is eleven. There’s a new steel guitar book on the Market! It’s called Hal Leonard’s Lap Steel Guitar Method. I’m sinking all my hopes into it, even tho I ain’t seen it yet. That way I’d be off the hook of trying to provide you a substitute. I asked my mom to order it when she goes to Barnes and Noble next.
My legs and arms sometimes feel numb, like now. I have high cholesterol and wonder if that has anything to do with it. I get my healthcare through the VA hospital, and they have recently sent me cholesterol-lowering medicine. Mine is almost always around 250. I love fast food, cheese and everthing that is on that level of cuisine. I been eating a lot of Mexican fast food at Filiberto’s ‘cause I have so little time to eat and want to have eaten by the time I get home so I can have one beer before I go to bed. Also McDonald’s breakfasts have been being had by me.
Now I’m going to end this, pick it up next week and find some way to tie in this with that. I always do that.
I still get those pangs of not being w/ r.
There, I have already started the finish of this entry.
Last weekend I apartment sat for Steve, while he took his roommate to San Diego for a regatta. It was a nice weekend except for Saturday. That day I spent abt six hours looking at things I shouldn’t have. Oh well.
I’m terribly busy. But that’s good, I guess. I’m making money.
Everything I see reminds me of r. Maybe seeing parents w/ kids is the worst thing. But seeing any kid—even a teenager—makes me think of Ricky and being with him and fathering him. I miss teaching him things and explaining things and sharing things. The only picture I display of him is one of him sleeping. After a long half day of playing and just being a kid and fighting for his candy or whatever it is he wants, he sometimes—hopefully—conks out. That’s why I like that picture—it represents a day with him, not just a moment—even though it may just be of a spoiled kid sleeping.
I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stay here w/o r. The Phoenix area—which I feel is my hometown, even though I was born in San Jose, CA—is great to live in. I like the relatively clean air. Most days in Poland are one big cloud. I like the food in the supermarkets and restaurants. The big ones are open all night and have almost every foodstuff or ingredient I could ever want and could not get in Poland. Did I tell you I’d discovered Thai food? And I love the dirty little taco shops which make me spend too much money, get late home from work and raise my cholesterol. I like the book stores. I like the New York Times. I like how everything here is carpeted, air conditioned, spacious, clean and well-lit. I like the prices, availability and service. I like being w/ my family and if it weren’t for their support of me splitting from V, I have no idea what I would do or where I would be. I like spending time w/ Steve, whether watching questionable TV at his apartment or hanging out in restaurants talking and sometimes reading, where they have a dollar menu, free drink refills and lots of free tables. I love the warm weather here: all of my minor ailments are doing better—my gastritis, my right foot arch problem, my tennis elbow, my arthritic wrist. I like my job. I love learning abt Hispanic culture, which most of my students represent. I like people watching on the train. In Poland people are regular and predictable and less outstanding. A grandma is a grandma. A college kid is a college kid. You know who she is and what she does in her free time. The Poles would say that’s unfair thing to say, because they are all different. True, but I am talking abt general tendencies here. I like the public transportation, which is where I people watch—it’s clean and the drivers are usually friendly talkative and helpful. I like everything here. I like the TV. I like NPR and listen a couple of hours per day.
But I am going back to Poland in Dec. for two weeks. I ain’t sure it’ll be enough, though. I wrote above abt the things I miss connected w/ r and fathering him. Those bite me several times a day. I hain’t bought my return ticket yet and Mom says I should. I have a ticket to Poland, which is the return part of my journey here, but I am just now getting ahead on money.
I don’t know if I want to be a high school teacher either; I don’t feel it in my bones. That don’t mean it is not the right thing to do, and I am going ahead w/ it. I just don’t know if I want to do it.
Now that I have written you abt how I feel and time has passed, I may be able to accept not moving back to Poland. What the fuck? Can I leave my kid alone? I mean can I leave him alone until he’s twelve, when we (or is it just I?) plan to move him to the States to live w/ me?
I just listened to some recordings of him on my phone. Here is a transcript:
Me: Say it.
R: Eh, A eye on your head!
Me: Can you say anything else for Uncle Steve?
R: Yeah
M: What?
R: You tell something him.
Me: Uh, mustard all over your face!
R: He didn’t hear you.
Me: (laughing) Well he’s gonna when I play it. Anything else? Say bye bye Uncle Steve.
R: Bye bye.
Me: See you next year maybe.
R: Unintelligible
Me: (as he grabs at the phone) Oh no no no.
Me: Go.
R: Ok.
Me: Say it.
R: A refridgerator on your head! He didn’t hear me.
Me: Well, I have to play it for him later.
Me: Ok say sth
R: Wheels
Me: What else you gonna say?
R: eh…
Me: How about Now I lay me…
R: Now I lay me…
Me: down to sleep…
R: down to sleep house…
Me: I pray the Lord…
R: I pray the Lord house…
Me: My soul to keep.
R: My soul to keep house.
Me: Jesus watch me through the night.
R: Jesus watch me through the night balcony.
Me: And wake me with the morning light.
R: And wake me with the morning light house.
I used to pray w/ r every night that I could. Most nights it was a joke w/ him, like above when he would add a word, usually “house” to every line. But every third or fourth night, he would pray sth serious. That was beautiful.
My legs and arms sometimes feel numb, like now. I have high cholesterol and wonder if that has anything to do with it. I get my healthcare through the VA hospital, and they have recently sent me cholesterol-lowering medicine. Mine is almost always around 250. I love fast food, cheese and everthing that is on that level of cuisine. I been eating a lot of Mexican fast food at Filiberto’s ‘cause I have so little time to eat and want to have eaten by the time I get home so I can have one beer before I go to bed. Also McDonald’s breakfasts have been being had by me.
Now I’m going to end this, pick it up next week and find some way to tie in this with that. I always do that.
I still get those pangs of not being w/ r.
There, I have already started the finish of this entry.
Last weekend I apartment sat for Steve, while he took his roommate to San Diego for a regatta. It was a nice weekend except for Saturday. That day I spent abt six hours looking at things I shouldn’t have. Oh well.
I’m terribly busy. But that’s good, I guess. I’m making money.
Everything I see reminds me of r. Maybe seeing parents w/ kids is the worst thing. But seeing any kid—even a teenager—makes me think of Ricky and being with him and fathering him. I miss teaching him things and explaining things and sharing things. The only picture I display of him is one of him sleeping. After a long half day of playing and just being a kid and fighting for his candy or whatever it is he wants, he sometimes—hopefully—conks out. That’s why I like that picture—it represents a day with him, not just a moment—even though it may just be of a spoiled kid sleeping.
I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stay here w/o r. The Phoenix area—which I feel is my hometown, even though I was born in San Jose, CA—is great to live in. I like the relatively clean air. Most days in Poland are one big cloud. I like the food in the supermarkets and restaurants. The big ones are open all night and have almost every foodstuff or ingredient I could ever want and could not get in Poland. Did I tell you I’d discovered Thai food? And I love the dirty little taco shops which make me spend too much money, get late home from work and raise my cholesterol. I like the book stores. I like the New York Times. I like how everything here is carpeted, air conditioned, spacious, clean and well-lit. I like the prices, availability and service. I like being w/ my family and if it weren’t for their support of me splitting from V, I have no idea what I would do or where I would be. I like spending time w/ Steve, whether watching questionable TV at his apartment or hanging out in restaurants talking and sometimes reading, where they have a dollar menu, free drink refills and lots of free tables. I love the warm weather here: all of my minor ailments are doing better—my gastritis, my right foot arch problem, my tennis elbow, my arthritic wrist. I like my job. I love learning abt Hispanic culture, which most of my students represent. I like people watching on the train. In Poland people are regular and predictable and less outstanding. A grandma is a grandma. A college kid is a college kid. You know who she is and what she does in her free time. The Poles would say that’s unfair thing to say, because they are all different. True, but I am talking abt general tendencies here. I like the public transportation, which is where I people watch—it’s clean and the drivers are usually friendly talkative and helpful. I like everything here. I like the TV. I like NPR and listen a couple of hours per day.
But I am going back to Poland in Dec. for two weeks. I ain’t sure it’ll be enough, though. I wrote above abt the things I miss connected w/ r and fathering him. Those bite me several times a day. I hain’t bought my return ticket yet and Mom says I should. I have a ticket to Poland, which is the return part of my journey here, but I am just now getting ahead on money.
I don’t know if I want to be a high school teacher either; I don’t feel it in my bones. That don’t mean it is not the right thing to do, and I am going ahead w/ it. I just don’t know if I want to do it.
Now that I have written you abt how I feel and time has passed, I may be able to accept not moving back to Poland. What the fuck? Can I leave my kid alone? I mean can I leave him alone until he’s twelve, when we (or is it just I?) plan to move him to the States to live w/ me?
I just listened to some recordings of him on my phone. Here is a transcript:
Me: Say it.
R: Eh, A eye on your head!
Me: Can you say anything else for Uncle Steve?
R: Yeah
M: What?
R: You tell something him.
Me: Uh, mustard all over your face!
R: He didn’t hear you.
Me: (laughing) Well he’s gonna when I play it. Anything else? Say bye bye Uncle Steve.
R: Bye bye.
Me: See you next year maybe.
R: Unintelligible
Me: (as he grabs at the phone) Oh no no no.
Me: Go.
R: Ok.
Me: Say it.
R: A refridgerator on your head! He didn’t hear me.
Me: Well, I have to play it for him later.
Me: Ok say sth
R: Wheels
Me: What else you gonna say?
R: eh…
Me: How about Now I lay me…
R: Now I lay me…
Me: down to sleep…
R: down to sleep house…
Me: I pray the Lord…
R: I pray the Lord house…
Me: My soul to keep.
R: My soul to keep house.
Me: Jesus watch me through the night.
R: Jesus watch me through the night balcony.
Me: And wake me with the morning light.
R: And wake me with the morning light house.
I used to pray w/ r every night that I could. Most nights it was a joke w/ him, like above when he would add a word, usually “house” to every line. But every third or fourth night, he would pray sth serious. That was beautiful.
Friday, October 16, 2009
SGFE---Beer o' clock
Julia and Julia made me miss cooking, too. There in Poland I had a well-set up kitchen. I brewed beer and rootbeer, made cheese, bread, pancakes and homemade sausage, and over the years made things like fig newtons, mustard, chocolate peanut butter cups, “Snickers,” salsa, guacamole, flour toritialls, corn tortillas, “Cinnabons,” orange marmalade, etc. I also made fruitcake yearly, and I made a bouche de Noel each year and put a picture of it in my journal. Oh, those long winter nights when I’d put on Jim Lauderdale or Songs in the Key of Springfield or A Charlie Brown Christmas and whip something fun up. The whole kitchen would be a mess by the time I finished, because I use the time when things are cooking to prepare the next steps of a recipe, not to mention interruptions. But by the time I would go to bed, it was clean and in order. Ricky recently requested muffins, so I had to email V my recipe.
I don’t know what else I can write about that I miss in Poland, unless it is connected with Ricky. We had a nice apartment. And, of course I miss my friends Luke Newrok and Andy Tchibo. I had a good church there, too, conservative in theology but liberal in practice, where the people really cared about me. R would go there with me. V didn’t go but stayed home and did Christian Yoga and watched breakfast shows. She went to Catholic church once every couple of months. On cold days I took him to church by sled, pulling him behind me. There was no Sunday school, so we would go upstairs and play with toys. When the weather was warm enough, we’d go outside. We’d fellowship and the happy throng—Andy and his crew and us and whoever else—would wander back home, where I’d usually make waffles.
Right now I want nothing more than to have several hours of rest and drink several beers, followed up by a lazy morning. I don’t want sleep so much, though I suppose I am not getting enough; I want rest. I have been subbing for sick teachers at my school, and consequently have to come right home and go right to bed and get a minimum of sleep starting at an hour that is much earlier than normal for me. I take naps, which helps. Now I have a cold myself.
That sort of routine of the evening and morning make life for me. After a day of teaching, I get off the bus at abt ten o seven and shop if I need sth, or I just go straight home. When I get home and start preparing my dinner, the theme of Family Guy starts playing in my head. I eat or take my dinner to the living room for two episodes of the show. At midnight I have beer—at this time black and tans: Guiness on top of Bass. (A barkeep in London once warned me not to order one if in Ireland.) Also at that time the good tv is pretty much over and I should turn it off and blog and play guitar instead of waste my time watching news about celebrities’ bikinis and the like.
If I really get into the blog, I’ll have a third beer, but I usually will have played steel by then. I now know all of Cold, Cold Heart.
I hit the shower at abt one a.m. and get in bed at abt two or two-thirty. I would go later if I was in my own place. Right before bed I read for abt five or ten minutes.
A writer once said that a successful day depends on a leisurely breakfast. I agree. Coffee—four cups—and a good newspaper with an international view (NY Times, Gauridian, etc. are ideal.
I don’t really turn on until the afternoon, which is when I’m ready to operate at full tilt.
Even when I worked as a machinist and got up at 4:45 every day for years, I still operated like a night owl who was trying to go to bed early and never really got into a good habit. Early to bed, early to rise saps life if you ax me. Some of the most self-righteous people I have ever met regarding jobs and sleep hours are farmers.
But it’s really nice to have money again, for the first time in three or four months. Steve no longer has to buy all my meals when we go out. I can drink better beer (I still want to homebrew—waiting for my own place. I just wish I had time to enjoy life. But the three-day weekend is coming—I only work Monday thru Thursday.
Thursday five o five. Beer: 30 is almost here.
I don’t know what else I can write about that I miss in Poland, unless it is connected with Ricky. We had a nice apartment. And, of course I miss my friends Luke Newrok and Andy Tchibo. I had a good church there, too, conservative in theology but liberal in practice, where the people really cared about me. R would go there with me. V didn’t go but stayed home and did Christian Yoga and watched breakfast shows. She went to Catholic church once every couple of months. On cold days I took him to church by sled, pulling him behind me. There was no Sunday school, so we would go upstairs and play with toys. When the weather was warm enough, we’d go outside. We’d fellowship and the happy throng—Andy and his crew and us and whoever else—would wander back home, where I’d usually make waffles.
Right now I want nothing more than to have several hours of rest and drink several beers, followed up by a lazy morning. I don’t want sleep so much, though I suppose I am not getting enough; I want rest. I have been subbing for sick teachers at my school, and consequently have to come right home and go right to bed and get a minimum of sleep starting at an hour that is much earlier than normal for me. I take naps, which helps. Now I have a cold myself.
That sort of routine of the evening and morning make life for me. After a day of teaching, I get off the bus at abt ten o seven and shop if I need sth, or I just go straight home. When I get home and start preparing my dinner, the theme of Family Guy starts playing in my head. I eat or take my dinner to the living room for two episodes of the show. At midnight I have beer—at this time black and tans: Guiness on top of Bass. (A barkeep in London once warned me not to order one if in Ireland.) Also at that time the good tv is pretty much over and I should turn it off and blog and play guitar instead of waste my time watching news about celebrities’ bikinis and the like.
If I really get into the blog, I’ll have a third beer, but I usually will have played steel by then. I now know all of Cold, Cold Heart.
I hit the shower at abt one a.m. and get in bed at abt two or two-thirty. I would go later if I was in my own place. Right before bed I read for abt five or ten minutes.
A writer once said that a successful day depends on a leisurely breakfast. I agree. Coffee—four cups—and a good newspaper with an international view (NY Times, Gauridian, etc. are ideal.
I don’t really turn on until the afternoon, which is when I’m ready to operate at full tilt.
Even when I worked as a machinist and got up at 4:45 every day for years, I still operated like a night owl who was trying to go to bed early and never really got into a good habit. Early to bed, early to rise saps life if you ax me. Some of the most self-righteous people I have ever met regarding jobs and sleep hours are farmers.
But it’s really nice to have money again, for the first time in three or four months. Steve no longer has to buy all my meals when we go out. I can drink better beer (I still want to homebrew—waiting for my own place. I just wish I had time to enjoy life. But the three-day weekend is coming—I only work Monday thru Thursday.
Thursday five o five. Beer: 30 is almost here.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
SGFE--Table of Contents
Steel Guitar for Regular People Installments
1 Why buy this book, introduction, preface and thanks
2 Selecting a guitar and other necessary equipment
3 From Hawaii to Nashville: History of the steel guitar
4 Some simple licks to encourage you and some warm-ups you should practice every day (or so)
5 A bunch of tabulature songs
6 How to read music for the steel guitarist
7 A bunch a real songs
8 Faking it
9 Sharing it
10 The greats
11 Resources
1 Why buy this book, introduction, preface and thanks
2 Selecting a guitar and other necessary equipment
3 From Hawaii to Nashville: History of the steel guitar
4 Some simple licks to encourage you and some warm-ups you should practice every day (or so)
5 A bunch of tabulature songs
6 How to read music for the steel guitarist
7 A bunch a real songs
8 Faking it
9 Sharing it
10 The greats
11 Resources
SGFE--Shrink This
Now I have said what this blog is all about. Here’s what’s going on now. Everything is good here in my new station in life except being away from Ricky. Background: I lived in Poland with my wife for ten years before coming here. That ain’t really what I wants to write abt. What I want to write abt is Chuck, the stepdad. You may have read the letter I sent to him, as copied into my blog a few entries back. He never wrote me back. Can you believe it? I guess I’ll have to ask him abt it when I get a chance. He doesn’t want me around, I know. I am very well-received here by my family, except by him. My mom is very helpful and understanding in my international breakup situation, but he ain’t. The rest of my family and my friends are very good too. Except him. I just want to have a good relationship with him, that’s all. It could be jealousy—I don’t know. When my mom’s sister was breaking up with her husband, she came to live with them, too, and he resented it. He dotes on my mom. She doesn’t like it.
I’m listening to Chris Wall’s Just Another Place. It’s difficult to listen to that album, because it’s the one I used to listen to when I took Ricky out to the playground. That’s another painful memory. I miss fathering as much as I miss him. He told me on Skype that he wants to play with me. When he asked me why I can’t meet him at our church in Poland, I said that it’s because I have to work in Arizona and it’s easier to find doctors here. Those are good reasons, but not the whole truth. I can’t tell him that his mom doesn’t like me or love me and was becoming violent.
I was turning over and over in my sleep today how I didn’t feel like getting out of bed to catch the bus to catch my flight on the day I left. But I was already packed, and she would become hysterical if I didn’t. She becomes hysterical over small things too—it’s just worse when it’s a big thing.
R received the package I sent him today: two books (a Spongebob one and a tractor one), Starburst candies, Popcorn flavored jelly beans (which he didn’t like), some brown sugar, a cup and kids’ meals Yo Gabba Gabba! toys (from another show he watched while here with me).
He says he wants to talk to me when he gets home from school, which is 6 a.m. my time. He doesn’t talk or even stay at the computer when I call him at 8-9 p.m. his time. But I don’t know if that’s just what he’s saying now, I’ll have to see.
I’m reluctant to make comma splices like the one above, but I guess it is acceptable since it’s short. I don’t give a rip about she don’t though. Weird. Because I know it’s she doesn’t. A preposition is something you should never end a sentence with. Hey, my machine didn’t correct that sentence. Just checking. It corrected me on façade a few installments back though. But I recorrected it to facade. Sentence fragments? No problem for me. By the way, in British English titles of books, shows, songs, etc. are not underlined or italicized, so I shan’t be doing either henceforth, and certainly not both.
Blogging is better than journaling, which I also do, but I can’t tell you why. Maybe because there is the outside chance that I’ll get a reader. I used to say that journaling was almost like seeing a psychologist. Blogging is like seeing a couple of them. I need them right now.
I’m listening to Chris Wall’s Just Another Place. It’s difficult to listen to that album, because it’s the one I used to listen to when I took Ricky out to the playground. That’s another painful memory. I miss fathering as much as I miss him. He told me on Skype that he wants to play with me. When he asked me why I can’t meet him at our church in Poland, I said that it’s because I have to work in Arizona and it’s easier to find doctors here. Those are good reasons, but not the whole truth. I can’t tell him that his mom doesn’t like me or love me and was becoming violent.
I was turning over and over in my sleep today how I didn’t feel like getting out of bed to catch the bus to catch my flight on the day I left. But I was already packed, and she would become hysterical if I didn’t. She becomes hysterical over small things too—it’s just worse when it’s a big thing.
R received the package I sent him today: two books (a Spongebob one and a tractor one), Starburst candies, Popcorn flavored jelly beans (which he didn’t like), some brown sugar, a cup and kids’ meals Yo Gabba Gabba! toys (from another show he watched while here with me).
He says he wants to talk to me when he gets home from school, which is 6 a.m. my time. He doesn’t talk or even stay at the computer when I call him at 8-9 p.m. his time. But I don’t know if that’s just what he’s saying now, I’ll have to see.
I’m reluctant to make comma splices like the one above, but I guess it is acceptable since it’s short. I don’t give a rip about she don’t though. Weird. Because I know it’s she doesn’t. A preposition is something you should never end a sentence with. Hey, my machine didn’t correct that sentence. Just checking. It corrected me on façade a few installments back though. But I recorrected it to facade. Sentence fragments? No problem for me. By the way, in British English titles of books, shows, songs, etc. are not underlined or italicized, so I shan’t be doing either henceforth, and certainly not both.
Blogging is better than journaling, which I also do, but I can’t tell you why. Maybe because there is the outside chance that I’ll get a reader. I used to say that journaling was almost like seeing a psychologist. Blogging is like seeing a couple of them. I need them right now.
Friday, September 25, 2009
SGFE--Devil in the Details
I talked to Ricky on Skype today. I axed him if he still had the Fisher-Price toy called Warren Waters. Before we went to Az together, he was axing me for “a robot on a motorcycle,” and I really had no idea what it meant. Sth like The Terminator cop? A new toy I ain’t seen yet?
Well, when we got to Az, “Uncle” Steve had a gift waiting for him—Warren Waters, who looks like the Terminator in something like a space suit, on a quad. And it magically fit the bill--Steve had more or less bought it over another on a whim, uncertain that Ricky would like it and if he had made a good choice. Steve presented it and axed Ricky if he wanted it or if he should give it to sbdy else. He didn’t say anything, just pointed to his chest. That was his first communication w/ Steve; as he’s shy and kind of slow to warm up to and talk to new people. You couldn’t get that toy away from Ricky, and I was in a real panic when I started packing a month later and couldn’t find it immediately.
I been watching the show Hoarders on TV on Saturdays, my TV day. It’s about people with OCD who hoard things obsessively—food, animals, trash, whatever. The rooms in their homes are essentially inaccessible, not to mention unsafe and unsanitary. My own anxiety is high, even though talking to r on Skype helps. Maybe it has sth to do w/ being in a new sitchiashken. My first anxiety attack occurred in Midland, Tx, on the evening when my family had just moved there. I was fifteen. I was high as a kite on some pot my brother-in-law had shared with me and went out for a walk and got lost. Ever since then I have suffered with anxiety.
My anxiety takes different forms over the years. It started in sleeplessness due to thinking if I relaxed my heart would stop. When I was in the Navy it briefly morphed into thinking I had to say things I didn’t want to say to people; when I got out of the Navy I went thru a hand-washing phase. After I dropped out of grad school, I went through a long period of struggling with wanting to (or thinking I wanted to) give my life to Satan. Now my anxiety tends toward the bizarre impulses. I can’t really go into what my thoughts are like but look up the site bizarrethoughts.psych.org 2 see the kinds of bizarre kinds of things people can get completely obsessed on thinking they want to do.
Vie is now suing me for child support, and maybe I’m having more anxiety because of that, too. I been married ten years and I can tell you my marriage is the one area of my life where I have had the most difficulty finding coping tools. When she talks to me or writes to me and starts in abt my fault and her necessary reaction, I instinctively start fighting back but really have always felt that none of my words are the right thing to say. Abt half the time I mange to keep my mouth shut and reply later if sth sticks with me. On more than one occasion V threw things (sometimes at me) and pushed me and yelled at me or beat on me and backed me into a corner. I knew I could floor her with one punch and when I noticed myself making a fist involuntarily, I knew that was not good.
If you have your guitar now, the best thing to get started playing a few licks is to go online—you tube, etc.—and look for some vids of steel guitar. Practice them and you will immediately get some satisfaction. Also practice dampening the notes after you have played them--with the edge of your hand is best. Buying a book to help you is a whole other story—the reason you are reading this is because there aren’t any good generally-available instructional books out there on your instrument of choice.
Well, when we got to Az, “Uncle” Steve had a gift waiting for him—Warren Waters, who looks like the Terminator in something like a space suit, on a quad. And it magically fit the bill--Steve had more or less bought it over another on a whim, uncertain that Ricky would like it and if he had made a good choice. Steve presented it and axed Ricky if he wanted it or if he should give it to sbdy else. He didn’t say anything, just pointed to his chest. That was his first communication w/ Steve; as he’s shy and kind of slow to warm up to and talk to new people. You couldn’t get that toy away from Ricky, and I was in a real panic when I started packing a month later and couldn’t find it immediately.
I been watching the show Hoarders on TV on Saturdays, my TV day. It’s about people with OCD who hoard things obsessively—food, animals, trash, whatever. The rooms in their homes are essentially inaccessible, not to mention unsafe and unsanitary. My own anxiety is high, even though talking to r on Skype helps. Maybe it has sth to do w/ being in a new sitchiashken. My first anxiety attack occurred in Midland, Tx, on the evening when my family had just moved there. I was fifteen. I was high as a kite on some pot my brother-in-law had shared with me and went out for a walk and got lost. Ever since then I have suffered with anxiety.
My anxiety takes different forms over the years. It started in sleeplessness due to thinking if I relaxed my heart would stop. When I was in the Navy it briefly morphed into thinking I had to say things I didn’t want to say to people; when I got out of the Navy I went thru a hand-washing phase. After I dropped out of grad school, I went through a long period of struggling with wanting to (or thinking I wanted to) give my life to Satan. Now my anxiety tends toward the bizarre impulses. I can’t really go into what my thoughts are like but look up the site bizarrethoughts.psych.org 2 see the kinds of bizarre kinds of things people can get completely obsessed on thinking they want to do.
Vie is now suing me for child support, and maybe I’m having more anxiety because of that, too. I been married ten years and I can tell you my marriage is the one area of my life where I have had the most difficulty finding coping tools. When she talks to me or writes to me and starts in abt my fault and her necessary reaction, I instinctively start fighting back but really have always felt that none of my words are the right thing to say. Abt half the time I mange to keep my mouth shut and reply later if sth sticks with me. On more than one occasion V threw things (sometimes at me) and pushed me and yelled at me or beat on me and backed me into a corner. I knew I could floor her with one punch and when I noticed myself making a fist involuntarily, I knew that was not good.
//////////////
If you have your guitar now, the best thing to get started playing a few licks is to go online—you tube, etc.—and look for some vids of steel guitar. Practice them and you will immediately get some satisfaction. Also practice dampening the notes after you have played them--with the edge of your hand is best. Buying a book to help you is a whole other story—the reason you are reading this is because there aren’t any good generally-available instructional books out there on your instrument of choice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)