Inside My Head

I admittedly am not timely sometimes about reading my comments. 

I'm the actor who says he doesn't watch his own movies. I'm the musician who claims to never to go back and listen to their music. I don't often go back and read my own posts after I draft them. I probably should - I'm sure I'd catch a ton of typos. 

But I did read the comments yesterday about my mental health. 

I want to assure you, it's at the top of my mind. Probably 710's too.

Besides seeing my ortho-oncologist the other day, I also "saw" my shrink. 

That is in quotes because it was just an audio call. Due to my lack of mobility, driving a half hour to see him seemed impractical and he agreed to a video session, but he couldn't get his end of zoom to work, so we just talked. 

Correction: I just talked. 

Correction: Babbled. 

g-d love him, but he starts each session with "what's going on......?".  He opened the barn door, so this is kind of on him. 

Though I messaged him while still in the hospital, it was just a head's up that I would probably bottom out about not being able to run. That was the last he heard of me. He didn't know until two days ago about the panic attacks, the conversations I was having with no ones,  my inability to focus or anything. Trust be told, he didn't even quite know about why I was hospitalized. 

He didn't know about my inpatient psych consult. 

So it was a Blobby free-for-all. 

I acknowledged this, the babbling. The stream of consciousness. It was more about my current feeling of inadequacies than my inability to run. While I am contributing a bit to the household, it's not a lot. I found ways to make my grabber be able to feed the dog, so.....one less thing on 710's list. I can shower on my own, freeing him up a little.  If he brings me all the implements and ingredients, I can at least prep dinner. 

Some normal behaaviour is returning, so he (and I) thought this would help with things. He told me what almost every single person in the hospital told me:  breathe. 

During so many tests, procedures and moving me, I literally held my breath thinking it would help. They'd literally notice I wasn't breathing and have to talk me through it. He was telling me to do the same - literally and metaphorically. 

I thought the panic attacks had stopped as it had been a week or more after getting home. But I had three in quick succession a few days prior to the call. None since. 

While I have joked about this making me feel and look older, from my ramblings the other day, I think it unlocked some issues on aging with which I've just kind of buried. The joke is, it might not be a joke.  ....and no one is laughing. Least of all me. 

Don't get me wrong, I'll still joke about it, just know it's probably deep seeded fear about my mortality, or something like that. 

To be good, we are moving sessions closer together for the time being, which is fine. I think things will be better once I can do some work or get off the fucking sofa. 

As I told my doc, I still think the shoe about not running and possibly the inability to run will drop at some point. I think there are too many balls in the air with recovery to be at that place just yet, but I know it will happen. 

Hopefully we will both be ready for that thud.

Song by: Radiohead

Panic !!!!!!!

Day 5 didn't go so well.  None of this has been going so well. 

It is different to be patient in your 20s than your 60s. You have more complications and don't rebound from things what way in which you prepared - should have been prepared at all. 

The EMTs made me laugh when they were getting info while I lay in the road.  Standard questions:  name, address, date of birth.  On the last one a few of them go - "oh happy birthday!"    It wasn't. I had been two days prior. But I wasn't expecting it at all and i was played face down, it made me laugh. Out loud. 

This is the second longest hospitalization that I have had. The last time I didn't have diagnosable mental illnesses. But hospital psychosis is a real thing - not that I have it. I know, because I told my team I needed a psych eval. 

I woke up having a conversation with someone who wasn't there. But I realized it. I knew it. And it was the third time during this stay that it happened. I finally had to say something to someone.  I also wasn't ruling out opioid induced conversations Meds are a fucked up thing. 

But I was also super antsy. Like I couldn't focus on a single thing for more than five seconds. The NYT games?  OMG - a disaster. I must have opened and closed Spelling Bee 145 times. Not even an exaggeration. As it would be explained to me later, it was probably a panic attack. 

I felt captive. I felt vulnerable. I wanted to be gone - out. Of the hospital. Not life. Earlier in the week with the massive amounts of pain, I did wish someone - anyone - to shoot me. 

It's a hospital. I still had to do the work. Peeing. Moving. Walking. Exercising. But I can't say it was a great day. 

Things were better when 710 came to visit. And while I love the man, I want him gone sooner than later. It's no fun watching me get vitals or cathed. Or worse, just sitting there. I'd rather he come say hi and stuff and rescue Shep. 

Yesterday also told me my next 12 weeks are going to suck. So many restrictions on my movements - I won't be shopping, or making dinner or walking the dig (I kind of knew that last one). No cleaning. No yardwork. Everything falls on 710 and I feel like a huge failure. 

The surgeon came by. I'd only seen him in an OR cap and mask. He is kind of a stunner. I'd add a pic, but I looked and none of them did him justice. Also a bit on the spectrum I'd guess. But I he said I "walked" past his home when I was injured,  My immediate response:  "well where the fuck were you?".   He laughed. 

I axed him if he knew the doc who found me. He did not, but picked up his phone and called him immediately. I go, "no - I only wanted his email". He goes," this will make day. Trust me. "

The surgeon goes on and on commending the doc for his actions and giving an update on me. 710 and I can hear the elation is his response. I got to talk with the doc and thank him, figuring no one ever gets noticed for their good deeds.

So the day ended on a good note and maybe by evening's end tomorrow I will be home. 

Hopefully. 

Song by: the Roots

Too Darn Hot

I'm still on a nothing kick - this the last day of the first half of 2026. 

My anxiety has been up and down (currently up!). Right now we are just looking at heat.  .....well, and anxiety.

Walt lived through their heatwave in France a week or so ago - we are just starting ours. Two nights ago was probably the last night for a while where we could sleep with the windows open. 

We are currently in the 90s and will be inching up to triple digits - higher with the heat index - by mid-week. Still, it might not be as warm as Europe got. At least not yet. 

Marathon training starts tonight, but I'm not going. 

They're running three miles only - which is good for the heat, but I haven't run "only" three miles in months*. Today will be a treadmill day at the gym run - which I haven't done for weeks. But even 05:00 will be prob too warm to do 6.2 outside.  ...and worse luck - no one around to find my body for another 60-90 minutes.  ....should I succumb to the elements. 

Actually, I won't be doing training with the marathon group this weekend either. A. it's the 4th of July.  B. I have a race that day**. C. the marathon group is doing four miles. For my weekend runs I'd be adding at least 10 to that.  Oh, and it'll be in the high 90s. 

Yeah yeah, I gotta train in that, I get that. But I have two and one half months to train in the oppressive heat. I think I'm good not running with them two or three times. It's not like I'm not doing the work. 

* I laugh at myself when I way "only" in terms of miles. How did I become 'that guy'? 

** I gotta stop signing up for this race, when it's always 90+ degrees. Clearly I'll never learn. 

Song by: Erasure

Anxiety

I got nothing. 

Well, I do have anxiety. Have had it. Do have it. And the last few days have been at a higher level. 

...and man do I have a lot of songs with 'anxiety' in, or as, the title. 

It's just been one of those weeks where things aren't great. And that happens. How I deal with it is what has changed - or maybe how I don't deal with it. 

Running helps, but that is a finite amount of time, as I am not the Six Million Dollar Man. 

I think part of my state is that by occupation I've learned to be a fixer. I jump to the solution process whether asked or not. But that isn't working for me now - outside of work. At least sometimes. Frustration gets added to my already present anxiety which then gets kicked up a few notches by the frustration. 

I know this peaks and ebbs, but I'm not enjoying this peak. I'm unfocused. I'm moody (well.....moodier) and it is exhausting masking the traits when I'm not at home. 

This will pass......or at least lessen. I could call my doc, but I'm seeing him in a week, so right now I'm just riding it out. 

....well, I guess I did have something about which to write - and it had nothing to do with the fucking Reflecting Pool. 

Song by: Jason Isbell + the 400 Unit

Site of the Month

May is Mental Health Awareness Month. 

I've tried to be transparent about mine - or lack of sometimes - but figure any info is better than none. 

Last year we discussed 9-8-8 which is the Suicide and Crisis Hotline and the role of a psychiatrist and psychologist. 

But this is 2026 - and while I think 988 is extremely important, many people don't talk on the phone. Or don't like to.  Guilty!

Honestly, save for a few calls per year with one of my sisters and some important things to 710 and my weekly "call" (read: Zoom) with friends, I almost never use my phone for talking to people. Even my shrink is now in person, so that negates any number of calls during the year. 

I'm sure there is something newer than 'texting', but I'm an old man who no one has ever been able to clearly describe for me what snapchat is - and why it is. So I can't be bothered with too much new technology. But texting is what happens the most - between family, friends, even to confirm doc appointments. 

Anyway - where I'm leading.............

There is a Crisis Text Line that will put those in need in touch with someone who can help.......even with texting. 

There is an inherent kind of buffer when relating things via text. I think people say things easier this way than their ability to verbalize. I've been there. Sometimes you don't want to hear some words come out of your mouth - as they might be rooted in shame. But you might type them. 

Full disclosure - I've never used 988 or the Crisis Text Hotline. But a post-it with 988 written on it was stuck to my computer monitor in my office for longer than I care to admit. 

And Mental Health Awareness Month increase awareness about the vital role mental health plays in our overall health and well-being and provide resources and information to support individuals and communities who may need mental health support. 

The Crisis Text Line being one one of those resources. 

It's free. It's available at all times. All one has to do is text "hello". 

They are there to help, not judge. It might be hard to remember that when it is you texting "hello", but know this to be the truth. 

I have insurance to help pay for my support. And I still have to fork over the co-pays. Everyone isn't that privileged. I'm sure there is only so much one can do via text, but I'm also sure they'd be guiding those in need to additional resources, and based on their financial circumstances. 

I will continue to be an advocate for those with depression, anxiety and all that go along with them. I am by no means the poster boy for mental hygiene. but I'm trying. 

Continually trying.......

Can't Get My Mind Around You

Again - I was thinking of a 'nothing post' and then thought - nah. Not today. 

Here I am in the waiting room with all the other "crazy" people waiting to see their shrink mental health provider. 

HIPAA wasn't really broken since you can't see them, let alone identify them. Save me. I'm there. Right there. 

I guess it's room with elder white women - myself included. ...and our elderly white women problems? 

Oh, to be able to see the doc's notes. Unlike MyChart - which is powered by Epic and allows you to see your entire medical record, psych notes are much much much more protected. 

When NeuroPysch fell under my rule, even I had to have different credentials to see things. Normal hospital folk were blocked. That makes me seem like I'm saying I'm 'special', when it is probably just 'abnormal'. 

Anyway - I was all over the place at my session. I wasn't focused. Little, or no, linear thought processes either. I found myself touching my face a lot when I talked. And I took off my glasses at the beginning of the appointment, making it almost impossible to see the doc let alone his reactions. 

Who am I kidding? Like most psychiatrists, he shows no emotion or reaction. They rarely validate or invalidate much with a look. 

Looking back, I think removing my spectacles was a subconscious move on my part. Or self-conscious. Maybe I knew I was going to have a weird session and just picked some coping mechanisms.  ....or tell tale sings of anxiety. No real eye contact maybe made me feel safer.  Oh what a difference an 'n' and an 'f' make.  

Should that be the case, I don't think I accomplished that. N or F. I left feeling just as bent out of sorts as I was going in - and that rarely happens. 

Song by: the Philosopher Kings

Hallucinate

I'll take you on a small journey regarding a part of my mental health. 

In previous posts (ok, at least one), I referenced having Hypnagogic Hallucinations. 

I have them. A lot. 

Some days / weeks / months are better than others.

But they started a while ago and it took me almost a year to mention to my shrink, as I didn't know exactly how to explain them where they made sense. And because it made me sound crazy. And I was afraid I was.

I told him I knew I was awake and they almost all happened in the wee morning house. They were like a light show (most of the time) and lasted what seemed like 7-10 seconds each, but they were just continual until I'd finally get up. Mine weren't all light shows, some had people, places, scenarios. 

And somehow in those 7-10 seconds I back storied everything. It was exhausting. 

But the light shows were are all very Laser Floyd-ish.   .....or was Laser Floyd just something that happened in our Cleveland Planet-arium?

My psychiatrist put my mind at ease, giving it a name and telling me while it was considered a hallucination (which was the word I used to describe it - so yay for me for self-diagnosis), it was not due to, or indicative of, any psychosis. 

Oddly, I almost immediately felt better. 

If AI is to be believed, 70-80% of people experience these, usually when falling asleep. Mine are usually in the middle of the night. But make no mistake, these aren't dreams. I know I'm awake. I tell myself (internally) that I'm awake just to reassure myself I know 'this is happening'.

I should say 'told' myself. Past tense.  Oh, I still have the hallucinations, but now I lean into them, so to speak. I'm learning to co-exist with them and just let them ride. In a way, that has helped. 

Since they happen quickly, and there are so many of them, I almost never remember a single one, though I always think I will. 

.....until early morning yesterday. 

Technically, I don't remember anything about it - except two words. And you see them in the upper image. 

I literally reached over, got my phone, and wrote a memo with those two words - though I'm 99.9999% sure the first word isn't real. Then I tried to go back to sleep, but that didn't happen, so I started my NYT games instead.

I am aware that the volume and intensity of these hallucination happens during stress. I feel a lot of that with Minneapolis, ICE, the probability of ICE being sent to polling stations to intimidate voters to NOT show up, hoping the mid-terms won't be detrimental to the GOP.   So, they've been pretty constant lately. 

My doc asked about them at our Wednesday appointment. He didn't really respond when I said I was just trying to co-exist with them. At least I didn't get a negative reaction.  .....but there isn't really any solution to them. No medical or medicinal treatments. 

But there you have it - one aspect of my mental heath journey.

Song by: Dua Lipa

the Doctor

On my latest call with my shrink, as always, I'm 'in the room' first, awaiting his log-on. I've been brought up with the 'if you show up on time, you're late' mentality.  (This does not apply to open houses or parties per se). 

The doc gets on the call, and is chuckling. 

On personal Zoom with my friends I have typed my name in as 'Blobby'.  I forgot to change it back. There was little explaining to do - and I never brought up (nor have I ever) the blog. 

Dith told me I should. I said it could save some therapy time. She countered that it might add to it. Which is totally fair. 

Therapy went fine. At the end of the call, when we normally make our follow-up(s), he mentions there is a change to his schedule. The pause before that had me wondering if he was leaving the practice, but alas he is not. However, starting in 2026 he is no longer doing tele-health. 

On some level I knew this was probably coming. Dr. Spo had mentioned it in his blog for his patients. 

CMS* - for some unknown reason - is no longer reimbursing providers for tele-health visits. It's insane - and that's coming from a mentally challenged patient. 

A year or so before Covid, CMS had plans to greatly increase tele-health visits over the next five years. That was their goal. Adherence rates to these appointments are much higher, as patients clearly don't have to travel to see their provider. 

Space is facilities are classified as DO (Doctor's Office) or OH (Hospital Office). Oddly, the office in the latter does not have to be in / at a hospital. It is how the building / facility is affiliated. Depending on the designation, DO or OH can (or can't) charge for certain things. Lots and lots of details behind each. BUT, OH charges an 'administrative fee' which is usually picked up by insurance. When there is not a physical visit, you can't charge that fee. 

While Medicare and Medicaid pay or don't get charged these (respectively), it's no loss to them. It's no loss to the insurance company either. It is a loss to the practice. Those administrative fees do pay overhead - staff, brick and mortar, utilities. 

Covid really jumpstarted the increase in tele-health, so I'm not quite getting the 180. But it is. No doubt some BLOTUS related bullshit. Dr. Fucking Oz or something. 

So, come January, I will be actually meeting my therapist. In person. He's local-ish. It's gonna be a 30-40 minute drive each way. I suppose I could go with another doc, but ugh - I don't wanna start over. I'm 2.5 years into this. 

We will see how it goes. As it is January, I'm expecting it to be -9F or 15" of snow. Or both. 

*Center for Medicare and Medicaid Services (yes, it should be CMMS, but it's not)

Song by: Loudon Wainwright III

Age of Anxiety I

I do not like when anxiety rears its ugly little head. 

Unfortunately for me, that running tumble I took in April really did a number of my phone. Granted, it was getting up there in years, but it never quite fully came back to life after they "fixed" it. It had finally gotten to the point I could not ignore replacing the damn thing. 

Yesterday was that day. 

There was a time when I loved going into the Apple store. 

I'd go in just to look, knowing I needed and wanted for nothing. Maybe that part was key. Going because you want to versus you must might make all the difference. 

710 has also been pushing me to get a new laptop, as the one I'm typing on doesn't really accept all OS updates due to its age. I kind of mentally shut down when he brings it up, even as a helpful suggestion. 

But yesterday. Ugh. I got to Apple ok. Well, the parking lot. And I sat there for 10 minutes psyching myself to go in. I put on my big boy pants and walk in knowing I'd be accosted. And I was. No less than five times just before and at the first table. 

At least at our Apple store there are probably one customer service rep or "Genius" for every 2.4 customers. It becomes claustrophobic and suffocating.  .....at least for me.  

"I'm just looking" passed my lips so often I lost count. Not so deep down I knew which phone, storeage size and colour I wanted, but I felt the need to see it and touch it - so yes, I could have just ordered it onlne and had it shipped.  ....but I didn't. 

I could have been out in 10 minutes had I just ripped off the band-aid and let someone help me. But not....I moved on to the laptops..........with a barrage of people asking my needs. One, Peter, not leaving my side and I pretended to look through the specs and pricing.  Peter was annoying me. 

I finally just went to look at a wall of cases I'd never buy just to get out of it all. Lo and behold the one Apple rep in a ortho boot was sitting behind me, craning her neck to see if she could be of assistance.  

AGGGGGRRRRRRHHHHHH.

Biting my lip and tongue, I walked right back over the phones and told the Apple employee what I needed. 

Swear to g-d:   "let me see if I can find someone to help you". 

Are you fucking kidding me?  

Why not you? Or one of the 173 employess within spitting distance. 

Oddly, I caught Peter's eye all the way over in laptops and he came over the assist. He had to pass at least a dozen other reps standing around. I'm not even sure he could do phones, but what the hell. He helped. 

As we moved through the process my anxiety was less than before, but still palpable. At least to me. But he helped me spend an inordinate amount of money - which I know is part of the anxiousness - on a phone that is orange. 

I did ask him one laptop question as we waited for the device to arrive from somewhere in the back. He emphatically told me not to get one today - phew - as if I waited until the 28th, I'd get a $175-250 Apple gift card, depending on the model I'd want. 

Part me me just wanted to get it now and never ever ever have to come back. The other part of me was thrilled I could just leave.................and I'm cheap so $175 bucks is $175 - even though you can't use it on that purchase, which seems silly. Just knock that off the price. 

So I got my new phone and went back to the car where I sat for 20 minutes. Just sat. 

The phone remains in the bag. It was too much energy getting the phone. I did not have the mental capacity to try to move everything over. I will try to do that this weekend sometime. 

Baby steps. 

Song by: Arcade Fire

Positivity

I think anyone who knows me - or thinks they knows me - wouldn't use 'positive' to describe me when going through the first 1000 adjectives. 

It's possible I left off a 0 there. Perhaps two. 

....and this was before therapy. Not that my shrink has made me a ray of hopeful sunshine. He's just a man, not a miracle worker. 

So, as you know I don't read or watch news, I didn't know until yesterday that the Department of Defense has been renamed the Department of WAR. 

The uppercase was me. Though I don't rule it out that this is truly how it is now spelled out. 

So much for DOGE. How much $$$$ do you think will go into all new signage and stationery?  Since it is the former Defense depts, I'm going with BILLIONS. 

Tell me again why it wasn't named Ministry of War?  

I mean, that's where we are now, right? 

But it also trickled down to me about RFKKK's hearing and how he imploded, though I take no stock in that. It was in front of the same pussies who confirmed him in the first place. To do anything about it would be more a reflection on them - and they're not going to let that happen. They'll just double-down like they normally do. 

I also heard about a huge "spontaneous" protest in DC, taking over and shutting down the streets. Church bells across the District ringing out. 

Lord, let this be the start of a real revolution. 

See? That's me being positive.  

Don't get used to it 

Song by: Prince

I Think I'm Paranoid

During my last psychiatrist visit, earlier this week, I started the session by asking my shrink, "do paranoid people know they're paranoid?" 

I thought it a reasonable question like in the Sixth Sense that dead people don't know they're dead. Or in reality, it you have a mental illness, are you aware enough to know you do? 

The questions semi-stems from a post a while ago here when I was ranting and railing about the government and I called myself 'paranoid or an alarmist'.  What I actually said was that my readers probably think I am..........which got me thinking. 

Well, which got me overthinking. 

Which is a problem for me. A big one. 

Anyway, the answer wasn't that clear cut, but some do, some don't. I'm sure there are moments of lucidity where they recognize behaviour, but if they put two and two together, who knows. 

I was told I did not have any psychosis. Or he didn't see that in me. So......maybe? 

His conclusion was that I was spiraling, which is accurate (see: overthinking). My problem (well, one of them) was he didn't give me any coping mechanisms to avoid that or get out of it in a more real time scenario. 

I bring this all up because I'm back at square one today (well, yesterday, but I can guarantee you it will continue today).

The post where I deemed you deeming me 'paranoid' was one of ICE getting $750 BILLION dollars and me calling them the SS - and truly believing this is where we are. 

I'm thinking I'm less paranoid and back the fatalist that I've always called myself. As it turns out, I might be afraid of fatality. 

J. F. C. 

Folks - this is what was called the Hitler Youth. 

Is called. Present tense. 

I'm sorry - this is all out in the open for everyone to see. Granted, most people are morons and either didn't learn this the first time, or retain it should they have been taught it at all, but fuck!

I'm not even touching the child labor laws, which are on the way out anyhow. I don't ever want to hear about gays 'grooming' kids. These guys are grooming killers. 

I did roll my eyes at Dean Cain becoming an "honorary' ICE agent.  FFS - there is no way he's getting Lois & Clark residuals. And doubtful he could get off his shift at Long John Silvers to actually be an ICE agent. But 'honorary' can't pay anything. 

I do gotta say, the menu item on the left bar in Spanish is just fucking hilarious to me. Though I applaud anyone in the Hispanic community going to this site to read what is going to happen to them. 

Honestly, I think it was better when I thought you thought I was paranoid. 

Song by: Garbage

Save Me

May is Mental Health Awareness Month - if you didn't know. 

I didn't. 

At least until last week. 

I thought I'd touch on it before the month slips away. 

A while back, I vowed (maybe too strong a word) to try to break the stigma on mental health issues, but documenting some of mine. I feel I have been only semi-transparent - which makes me believe I have my own stigma with which to deal. I'm trying to change that. Good of place to start as any is right here. 

Did you know when you call to make an initial appointment with a psychiatrist or psychologist, the first question they ask isn't what your name is?  Nope.  

"Are you having suicidal thoughts?"

Depending on your response, the second question is: "Have you made a plan to harm yourself?".

Yes, you should be able to deduct how I know the second question. 

As odd as it might sound, the question, and my answers, were a little jarring. Even to me. And I was experiencing these first hand, but never had to verbalize anything outside my own skull. It is a weird mirror that is held up - and an uncomfortable one at that. 

At least for me. 

And since I called a number of places, these questions seem to be the standard. 

I am coming up on two years since those phone calls. I had some low-lows and some stability. There are, as of yet, no high-highs. There might not be. It's all a metaphorical dance. If I can stay away from the low-lows, I call it a win. 

I've made no secret that my lows as of late come from this administration. Vile. Cruel. Destructive. I guess I didn't know or think I'd see evil coalesce like this in my lifetime. I am flabbergasted daily and daily I'm surprised that I'm surprised. The hole, the evil, is just never-ending, and they just keep digging. 

The post image was of my monitor at work. And yes, I had a post-it with 988 on it staring back at me daily. It wasn't like I needed to remember the number. It's not even necessarily that I needed the number. The post-it did keep me in check though. Just an important remembrance that there was someone should I ever need someone. 

That post-it looks like it is hanging on a thread. Somedays I know how it feels. 

BLOTUS and RFucKer Jr were planning on defunding the the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. 

Seriously. 

Just do away with 4-1-1 while you're at it. Actually, I don't put that past them either. 

As of a few days ago, funding for 988 seems to be secure (breath is not being held). However, they are looking to shut down a specialized line for LGBTQI youth this upcoming October.  You know, National Coming Out Day. 

I shit you not. 

America has a youth mental health crisis, and LGBTQ+ youth are four times more likely to attempt suicide than their peers. 

Honestly, I'm surprised it's only 4x more likely. 

In theory, 988 could (and would) take those calls, but counselors for this at risk youth population have specific / deeper training. It would be nice if all counselors could be trained to this level, but who knows. 

Naturally there is no surprise that this administration would target anything gay to just be that much more hurtful. That they are youths is just a plus for them. They do like easy targets. And do hate the homos. 

You can understand how this country, as it stands now and the direction we are going, is making it necessary for this service. I get "they" don't care, which is why it is doubly important to have such a phone line. 

Song by: Fleetwood Mac

It's a Mistake

I'm in one of my moods. Depressive, that is. 

While I still try to avoid news, it is just impossible. The little that comes my way is never good. And I mean, ever. 

You probably all see it too, probably more than I. Honestly, I don't know how you all cope, but none of this ever seems to roll off my back. It just saturates my insides - and it's ugly. 

I don't know if this is a throwaway post or not. It was intended to be, just so I could say I "wrote" today and kept the 17 year streak of posting daily. 

But I saw this quote from Pedro Almodóvar and clearly it's not 'up', but it oddly made me feel a little better. 

Should it even be acknowledged by the administration or MAGA, it will be tossed into the gay / foreigner / liberal bucket - decride and derided.

It still made me feel "better". Or seen. Or something. 

Song by: Men at Work

It's All Shit

As of late, I have not seen anything that encapsulates me in any manner - let alone doing it in 12 seconds. 

Song by: Iggy Pop

Down

I'm barely getting news blips and those  that do come through are just making me fucking down. Like, REALLY down. 

And most, if not all, are Musk related. 

For some reason, Tesla is getting a $400 million dollar contract from the U.S. Government. 

People at the FDA who were looking at Musk's Neurolink were all let go. 

People at the FAA were let go and replaced by Space X personnel. 

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Ironically (not really) Musk's DOGE isn't looking into that. 

There are no longer any checks and balances. Conflict of Interest means NOTHING. 

Dismantling democracy for financial gain.....and power.   Period. 

Maybe someone in the government or the courts are really doing something about it - but if so, none of those stories are filtering down. I'm convinced they haven't because they don't exist. 

I've stupidly made calls to my sentator's offices, but they're both new GOP hires........so, if they took the messages at all, they ended up in the circular file. 

Honestly, I feel like I'm living at the end of times. It's all just so fucked up. 

Song by: Stone Temple Pilots

Keep On Movin'

While yesterday's post was not really an aberration, I just sometimes hide my despair better than I did yesterday. The actual post may have seemed a departure from the norm a bit, but in my pea brain, it really wasn't. 

After the post published I was at the gym before the crack of dawn and worked out hard. Cardio. Weights. Stretching. Shower. 

Never discount the feeling of a good shower. 

Since my stress fracture, cardio and stretching have all I've been doing. I reintroduced some weights with PT, but a lot of that went to the side when I was rehabbing and just focused on recovery. 

The rest of my day was staying at home and looking after a still recovering Shep - more on that with the Saturday post, but believe me, the post from yesterday included some of that angst as well. 

710 stayed home for part of the morning but then headed to the office. I told him I would skip running last evening so he wouldn't have to rush home to keep tabs on the doggo. 

He insisted I go run. He knows me well enough to know I (and he) would be better if I continued to workout and get my endolphins. 

Honestly, I was looking for a reason to skip the 4 mile run. It was going to be in the teens and dark and as I've said before, when depression hits, it is REALLY easy to skip activities. With his correct insistence, I geared up and went. 

Eventually, I'm glad I did. The gym doesn't always get me out of my head, but running does. As I've said before, I'm not good enough of a runner not to have to think about it constantly while it is happening. 

And for as long as I've done this, I always forget one of the first truisms of running: the first mile is always a lie. 

This first mile sucked. The cold air spurred my asthma. Blech. I thought, I'll just do three miles. But at 1.5 my breathing was better (not good) but my stride really picked up. My thing is not really about catching up with and passing people in my group. I'm happy just to keep up. Yet here I was passing some really good runners. 

I'd end up in the top half of all out there and I even finished before all the folks who opted for only three miles. My time was the best it's been since I've been back and I even stopped briefly. 

As I sit here and type this, I feel better than the few days before this. I know it won't last, but it is a nice respite from what has been a constant barrage of bad news and my overall feeling of dread. 

Ok. Time to wrap up. Have to be at the gym at 05:30. 

Song by: Soul II Soul

Help Me

Honestly, there are days when I see my shrink where I'd think a 5¢ bill is considered massive overcharging. 

Yesterday was one of those days. 

Generally, I like my doc. I think there are some days I just don't like myself. Or my surroundings. Or anything. 

Yesterday was one of those days. 

We had not talked since the inauguration and well, let's just say, the conversation from my side was not pretty. 

It's kind of his fault. He opened with, "how are things going.....?"  I mean, c'mon! It's almost like he was asking for it. 

I covered every doom and gloom thought and scenario I had in my head. My hyper-anxiety was also on the agenda and attached to the doom/gloom thing. It really just came down to how much evil there is and no one seems to care enough to do a thing - and I don't know what to do. 

My problem with yesterday was I was looking for answers and while logically I know that's not what he's there for that specificity, I still wanted................something.  Anything? 

I have no idea what that something / anything was, but more than just pivoting to my meds and if I think they're sufficient. 

My dosage increase happened at first of the year, so that uppage might be off-set by post-inauguration. We both think it might be too soon to keep increasing the dose or just changing tactics where pharma is involved. 

Yeah we talked about the fine line eliminating all social media vs burying one's head in the sand. He already knows I don't read or watch news and while I've whittled down social media, it still sneaks through. People talk too. I can't avoid everything. 

I won't say he was without suggestions. Suggestion. Singular, I suppose.  Have I thought about leaving the country. 

Constantly. 

How much of a reality that actually can be is another discussion. 

On the upside (?) we for the near future, we will be meeting more often. That seems necessary - at least on my part. 

Song by: k.d. lang

Winter Winds

My therapist and I were discussing my on-going anger issues yesterday. 

While I have not fully divested from social media, I have cut WAY back. News, as little as I would see, is now almost non-existent. 

My anger is just coming out in other ways. 

Yesterday was also the last day of our city leaf pick-up. Our taxes are substantial, so at least they collect our leaves every year. Always twice, sometimes thrice. But they put out a notice that there will be no third time this year. Budgets, I'm assuming. 

We also have a yard service. They are ok and they are to do four leaf cleanings per fall, but we were unsure if they had done three or four already.  Last week, I raked and used the leaf blower because the last leaf collection was to be last week. They never showed and then changed the date to yesterday. 

So yesterday morning, late enough not to be a huge asshole, I fired up the blower again to do the last remaining leaves. 

You know, when the lawn service does the work, I don't care (or notice) that there are stray leafs here and there. When I do it......ugggggh.  The O in OCD really shines. It is not pretty.  And it's horribly time consuming. 

The blower was no match for Mother Nature. I had to get the detritus to the west side of the property. The winds were brisk and constant and coming directly from the west. 

It was a one step forward two fifteen steps back scenario.  The leaves would just come back into my face.  ....and I was fighting the clock too, before the city came to get the debris. I ran out gas twice trying to get it all done. 

I was so irrationally angry.....................at the wind. 

Not about it - at it. 

Yeah. I know. 

My poor neighbor Andy, putting up this Charlie Brown-ish xmas lights, heard me say, "MOTHERFUCK!" well more than once - and over the drone of the leaf blower, and from across the street. I should apologize at some point. 

Perhaps my anger / frustration was just redirected at the weather; something else I cannot control (like news and politics), which then makes it more frustrating, creating that so-called vicious cycle everyone talks about. At least that was the discussion with my shrink. 

Irony #1 - as I was having my therapy session, right after I "completed" the leaves, the yard service showed up to do their final clean.  710 stopped them, saying we didn't know they'd be back and it was completed. 710 said they high-5'd each other going back to the truck. 

Irony #2 - the city never came to collect the leaves. 

Song by: Mumford & Sons

Trying

I don't think I'll have this problem with my therapist. 

I mean, he's decent looking and all, but he's no Jeremy Allen White. Who is?  I mean, besides Jeremy himself. 

Forget the Bear, his Lip on Shameless was just fucking awesome. And I'm forgetting in advance his portrayal of Bruce Springsteen in an upcoming bio-pic. No one needs to see that. 

My shrink and I are trying to get my medication adjustment right. Or better. It was ok. But then you know, Election 2024 really fucked everything up - in so many ways. 

I'm not at square one with meds, but I'm not where I should, or need to, be. 

One thing somewhat helping me is running.

I'm on week 12 of not, and it is fricking frustrating. 

Last Saturday, I went out with the Old Man's Running Group. I dressed to run instead of in my walking clothes. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I figured I could always walk in running gear, but it doesn't work the other way. 

....and I ran. Slowly but deliberately. And only 3.12 miles. I was the first one back. Everyone else ran 5 or more. Even most of the walkers did at least 3. And then I proceeded to do all my PT exercises right there in the park on top of a pic-a-nic table. Maybe I looked foolish. Didn't care. 

At the bakery, everyone asked how I felt. I said to check back in 6-8 hours, as that would be the test. But I didn't feel bad. Sore, but not hip sore. More like 61 year old who hasn't run in 12 weeks and just ran a 5k sore. 

As I left for 'the run' before anyone in the house was awake no one saw how I dressed. I kind of got a mild riot act read to me from 710.  "Did they SAY you could run?".  I'm sure I was antagonistic when my reply was, "well, they didn't say not to......". 

Yeah. I'm a dick. I get it. 

That all said, I felt great all day. Mentally. It freed me up somewhat. It wasn't super long lasting or anything, but it shows - at least for me - how much physicality helps with mental and emotional health. 

I'm sure my shrink and PT will both have some words about me running - I mean, should I tell them. I have a few days to make that decision. 

Song by: Ella Fitzgerald

Only an Expert

Yes, I know it's another Laurie Anderson post. 

I'd apologize, but I would't truly be sorry. 

This time it is not music or performance art. It is Ms. Anderson reading an essay (of sorts) off her phone by American writer, historian and activist Rebecca Solnit in regards to the 2024 election. 

We are a week in and my anger - yes, grief is long gone - still has a tight grip on me. This has been a discussion with my therapist and myself. I honestly don't know if it will go away, or as I told him, I'm not sure it want it to. Or if it can. Or should. 

Part of me really wants to be able to let this go, or at least somehow compartmentalize it. I'm not sure how, even if I truly wanted it to happen. 

I hear Ms. Solnit's words here. I don't disagree with them and Anderson's voice makes everything sound not just better, but rational......but once the reading is done, my core feelings of distain rise back to the top. 

I get it. I'm a broken record. I just about fucking flipped when Stephen Miller was named as Deputy Chief of Staff for the new administration. Evil embodied. And that's saying something in this administration. 

I post the below for some of you who are struggling, but probably in a better place than I. Here's hoping I get there. 

Song by: Laurie Anderson