You only check in when it’s bad!

My faithful reader & friend once playfully commented, “you only check in when it’s bad.” So I decided I would check in today. It’s not all bad.

I have washed the dishes, cleared the counters, swept the floor in the kitchen, vacuumed the carpet, and walked the dog. It’s hot outside, but it’s not all bad.

I I tried to make this post yesterday, when, it wasn’t all bad. But unfortunately WordPress decided to take a holiday and completely delete my post after I thought I had successfully posted it. So here we go again. But it’s not all bad, as I have today to try again.

Mrs. M. has not returned home yet today from work. I am unemployed. But it’s not all bad, as Mrs. M. has a job. I do not wish the readers to factor in the idea that because Mrs. M. has not returned from work, this adds to the “not all bad” summation. We are trying. Sometimes very trying, but at least we are still trying.

I am also trying again, to find a job that will allow me to use my education, but as a paid writer and editor instead of as a field volunteer. I am trying to view my unemployment status as an opportunity, rather than as a desperate challenge.

I confess that writing while employed for fun and pressure release was more fun than writing while unemployed for pressure release. And I also confess that my writing then was it better, and more thought out than it seems to have been lately. Please accept my sincere apologies.

Prayerfully submitted,

D.M., M.Div.

“Why are you so angry?”

Oh, FUCK ME, do you REALLY want to know? I don’t believe it for a minute. One of the people I went to school with sent this to me…

76b06742e009e92852d70b0c586328deThat’s right, it’s mostly attitude. When I’m broke because we fix the cars and they re-break and then we get new cars and go further into debt and then my teeth start to fall apart because my childhood dentist was a bricklayer, and I have no money to fix them, my attitude about the broken teeth and cars is the thing I need to fix so my stress is gone. Yup. That’s right, but then, I bleed sarcasm, rage, and bitterness if you cut me, instead of blood. And I can’t afford to go to the doctor for that test either, because the last one was $700 more than insurance would pay, and my teeth are a few thousand more than insurance will pay. So sure. It’s my attitude.

A long time after I wrote the above, I think I’ll publish it. In a fit of hopefulness, I visited a dentist day before yesterday. The hygienist was very kind. No cleaning, just an exam of the carnage. But I have yet to get the treatment plan, which will likely be attached to an amazing price tag.

Still cynical? But it’s evidence I’m still alive.

Too Many Ideas…

When the Mania starts, I have too many ideas of things to write about, and too little time in the manic phase to actually write it all down. This being said, I have had an idea for two more books. How annoying. Will I write them? Will I finish them? Or, like so many other great ideas, will I start and then forget them?

Yeah, it’ll be the last one of these. Probably. If I could actually finish a book, I might be a successful writer. That’d be fun.

I’ve done some house work. I’ve mowed most of the grass. These things are easy in manic phase. If I can focus long enough, that is. Mrs. M has been away. She will be home in a few minutes, and will no doubt have critical remarks about what I haven’t completed.

God help me. I know that she loves me in her way. Which is to say, she loves me in a similar way as her dad loved me. She wants my best always, but I can’t achieve that. I can give my best some of the time. The rest is anyone’s guess.

It’s time to face the music. Pray for me. Pray hard.🙄🤣

My Life is Just Another Bad Country Song

1 My dad just died, a malpractice suit, sure,

But his kidneys were shot; there was no quick enough cure,

For that, his diabetes, or his stubbornness:

He chose to go, after a medical mess,

We told the doc what we wanted, but he refused,

And after we were ignored, and dad was abused,

Dad said to let him go; and if that wasn’t a bitter enough pill,

I’ve got to wonder how the hospital could dare send a bill.

2 Verse two was less lethal: I lost my job that was a wreck,

It’s been about six months, but I ain’t seen a check:

The unemployment claims people are dragging their feet,

Over paperwork, CoViD, and conditions to meet,

I’m old and frustrated, and I want to work,

I’d become self-employed if the boss wasn’t a jerk,

If it wasn’t for my wife’s job, and having charity to bless,

By now, we’d be out on the street, homeless.

3 There’s no train in the rain, no pickup truck,

But my car needs tires: one’s as flat as my luck,

If I could hop a train, I’d have nowhere to run,

Besides, who but me should have to deal with this much fun?

My dog loves my daughter’s boyfriend more than me,

And my wife, despite my housework, stays frustrated with me,

As if it’s my own fault life’s doin’ me wrong,

My life’s just another bad country song.

Continue reading

It Still Matters

Despite my belief that the end is near, I also believe our choices still matter. Some would say, “If it’s all going to be over soon, who cares what we do? Let the good times roll! Let’s run the clock out, and have as much pleasure as we can.”

Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of the following truth: There is a God, none of us are Him, and He sets the “best standards” for human behavior, without so much as a consultation with a single one of us. (I know! How inconsiderate, right?)

He also sets the standards for what happens after the clock runs out. Your choices matter, until then. Choose well. Search for the Truth. You may hate knowing I’m right; you may want to scream at me to shut up, but the Truth is still there even if I’m not.

Find the Truth.

No Change (Excepting/Accepting) No Change, Until It’s Over

“There is nothing new under the sun.” So it says in The Text.

I’ve realized I’m at an impasse in my marital relationship. I’m not sure how it’ll pan out. I’m not leaving; I promised I wouldn’t. But it is an ongoing lack, an issue I wish didn’t exist. And it is a primary source of depression for me.

I can’t fix what I want, and I can’t fix what she doesn’t want. It’s not like crossing an item off a list. Without being too explicit, I made the mistake of asking, she requested I meet a list of demands as conditions of her incomplete surrender, I couldn’t meet the list in a timely manner, I got frustrated, and the moment was gone.

Sorry for being vague, but not sorry. Long story short, it was due to a lack of readily available resources, which I was apparently supposed to have been stewarding, but which I hadn’t seen since giving them to her to surprise me with. I’ll try again under better circumstances, and she’ll say “no,” again, for whatever reasons seem relevant, if the trend continues. Which really sucks. Or doesn’t, if you know what I mean. You know what I mean? Well, now you probably do.

I should be more considerate, and never ask. But the heart, as with the flesh, wants what it wants. Is love supposed to be easy? Is love supposed to be reciprocal? Is love supposed to even exist? I’ve read “Love is a Choice,” and “Love is a Decision,” and I agree. Then there’s a song teaching, “Love is a Verb.” All this does is cause me further frustration.

In love, one chooses: to ignore faults & failures, to do what needs to be done, to not complain, to speak (as it were) a different language in order to communicate its existence, to jump at the opportunities without any expectations. But what if it doesn’t pan out that way? Unfortunately, I’m tired, and after years of trying to meet her expectations, I now have expectations I think are reasonable, more reasonable than hers.

I’ve read “Inter-Act,” co-written by a married couple, followed a few years later by “Communicate!” written by a single member of said (I presumed formerly-married) couple. First, that made me look twice. Then, it made me laugh.

So, what else is new? After more than 10 years, my employer recently informed me I needed to find a new employer. It was technically my own fault. Mix depression, new medication for depression, insomnia and near-blackout exhaustion from insomnia, unpredictable emergency bathroom runs because that’s not an event one can schedule, and the moving targets of metrics and micromanagement, and suddenly I became an “attendance problem.”

This is a second source of depression. The absolute kick? I was 3 minutes late, on my last day. Not a half hour, not an hour, but 3 minutes. And in the course of the 3 months they were tracking, after changing my schedule, I’d been less than 5 minutes late to start, a few times, but never more than that. And the rest of of those times, it was because the work systems had failed to let me start quickly enough to meet their micromanaged metrics. Password updates, system updates, cookie blocks, and system outages, apparently for 3 months, I was responsible for I.T., and on call 20-30 minutes before my shift started, and after it ended, but they never told me or changed my pay grade!

They sent me an email with their terms of kicking me to the curb, that started “Dear Name.” Nice, right? Yeah, and depressing. So, I’m back to looking for a job, hoping for better, and different, than what I had. The job market is, allegedly, a seller’s market. Sure, but who’s buying what I want to sell?

So, in short, it’s my fault. I can’t meet impossible expectations. But if that’s the metric, can anyone succeed? In work, the metrics kept moving and changing, so I was made to look like a bad employee.

In marriage, it’s also my fault. I’m supposed to self-sacrifice without any expectations, and I’ve failed: I’m not dead. But I made a vow, and so did she. You can’t just break a vow as easily as you can quit a job. I want what I want, I can’t have it, and I’m supposed to accept this without being frustrated in my marriage. If I truly love her, I’ll gladly do all the things she wants me to do, without a murmur or an expectation, and this should make me happy. For some reason, this doesn’t work both ways, and for some reason, it doesn’t have to. I know this, but I don’t understand it.

Do you know anybody who’s hiring, for a work-from-home writing and/or editing position? Let me know. Do you know a hypnotist who works cheaply? Let me know. If I can find both, and it works out, I will be happy. If I can find a really good hypnotist, and win the lottery, I will be deliriously happy.

I promise to come back to WordPress, for each and every one of my loyal follower. But I make no vows before God, to do anything, ever again. It feels like that one vow has caused all sorts of complications: feelings I can’t sort out, towering emotional highs and even lower lows, trying new things like plumbing and automotive repair and then having to hire mechanics and plumbers, and exciting adventures, meeting new people, and traveling, to recover from, etc.

Oh, and if you’re wondering where I’ve been wasting all of my time, I’ve been being ignored on Twitter (@deonmumple) and murmuring about life, the universe, and the small ants that have taken up residence in my house’s walls, the little bastards. The kids are adult loafers who’ll be more successful than I’ve been, so I’ve been watching them achieve goals. I almost hate to admit, I’m proud of them.

I’ve also become nearly convinced the whole shit-show will be over soon. That’s right, I’m a sandwich board, a bullhorn, some paint, and more motivation away from becoming the guy on the street proclaiming “the end is near.” My guess has to be at least as good as all of the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ many guesses, or the late Reverend Camping’s, or anyone else’s.

When is the “blessed event,” that sets in motion the 7 year Tribulation promised by Daniel, Jesus, Paul, & John? (George & Ringo came along MUCH later, people! Come on!) All right, I’ll tell you, but you have to get right with God, and join me in heaven when I’m right.

When I’m right, Jesus is coming in the clouds to rescue us from this and what’ll be even worse that’s yet to be, on:

September 16, 2023, 11:45AM EDT.

You can bank on this as much as any other doomsday prophesy. Except I’m right. This is a well-informed, educated guess, after careful Bible readings and detailed calculations I won’t bore you with.

Having said all this, loyal reader, I hope you get everything you want, and I hope I figure out how I’ve somehow already got everything I need and find contentment with it. And then, or sooner, like, now would be good, I hope abundance surprises me with everything I want. I’ve said these things before, so again, nothing new except change.

Sorry! But at least the end is near! Do NOT be late, not even by a minute, for this one. Seriously, having calculated this out, even I’m feeling a bit spooked. Be ready. Maranatha. Amen.


“Fuck You” Syndrome Triggers Alarms

Sociologists and psychologists have recently become aware of a new trend emerging in contemporary, first-world society, particularly noticeable among the digitally-enabled. Dubbed “Fuck You Syndrome,” it is the complete rejection of any labels, assigned to one individual by another individual, with the intent of causing social anxiety and inducing feelings of inferiority. “This independent thinking is very dangerous to a rather large group of people, who have grown accustomed to gaining the benefit of a free, extra advantage for themselves and their social group, through the use of accusatory labelling,” said one scientist.

Accusatory Labelling includes, but is not limited to, assigned groupings such as:

Privileged. Racist. Islamophobic. Mysogynistic.  Homophobic, and its’ cousin, Transphobic. Mentally Ill. Conservative. Liberal. Prejudiced. Religious Fanatic. Gun-Rights Fanatic.

Most, if not all of these terms are being used to either attribute or exaggerate character flaws, giving them seemingly indefensible, negative implications. Consider the following “definition” from the popular, crowd-sourced Urban Dictionary:

Trumper:  “A person who is usually uneducated, ignorant, misogynistic, close minded (sic), racist, sexist, homophobic, white supremacist, conservative, pro-life, anti-poor, pro-war, anti-science and hateful. Is usually white, redneck, selfish and blindly supports Donald Trump.”

The labelling here shows a somewhat extreme example of accusatory labelling. “Fuck You Syndrome” rejects and refutes nearly every single label in this “definition,” apologizing for nothing.

A contemporary sociologist staunchly defends the practice. “Accusatory labelling evokes an appropriate response. We’re the first generation to recognize a long history of enculcated advantages given to some, at the expense of others. The responses that these advantaged people should have is to feel remorse, to realize the ways culture has promoted them and continues to promote them, to own a sense of indebtedness, and to set the present, and future generations on a course of reparations.”

Enter “Fuck You Syndrome.” “Fuck You Syndrome” calls this entire line of “reasoning” unreasonable, illogical, and ridiculous. In an open-ended survey of people with “Fuck You Syndrome,” the most common response to accusatory labelling was, “bullshit!”

Sample responses to the accusatory labels included, to cite a few,

“Do we hate, or abuse, or oppress women? Ask our wives. I’ve washed more dishes, done more housework, changed more dirty diapers, while we both hold down full time jobs. Ask our bosses. I’ve watched, and celebrated, when deserving, qualified women were promoted over me. I was taught to treat women with respect, and to be chivalrous.”

“Privileged? I respect the law, I work hard, and I watch people walk in knowing less, who politic and ass-kiss their way into positions over me. They either don’t last, or they walk in on good people who know and do their jobs whether some idiot tries to micromanage their jobs, while learning what their team is doing, or not. More often than not, they’re applying for the next job before they’ve started mismanaging the one they just lucked, or charmed, into. I’m qualified for more, but I’m not privileged enough to get it. I’m glad I have a job, but I sure as hell wish they’d pay me what I’m worth.”

“If I were privileged I’d be a lot better paid than people I supposedly have some privileges over. If I’m privileged, why do I have to work so hard, and still not receive any tangible benefits that are any different than anyone else?”

“Phobic? I’m not afraid. I have religious, social, and philosophical reasons for rejecting the lifestyle choices, beliefs, and behavioral choices I’m accused of being ‘afraid’ of. It’s not fear. It’s believing that there are absolutes in life, right and wrong, that all human life is valuable and has purpose, and that what people do can have either detrimental, or beneficial impacts on other people, whether done in public or in private. We are spiritual beings, and all human life is interconnected.”

“Racist? I don’t hate people at all. My friends at work and church, and my neighbors, are great people, from all races. What I hate is when I see people treating other people with disrespect, or disregard. For example, presuming I’m racist and privileged, without even looking at how I treat people, and without looking at my life and my career opportunities.”

“I’ve tried to make smart choices, thinking through the consequences. I show respect for authority and other people’s property. I think I show a reasonable degree of awareness and sensitivity to others, just as I expect from others, regardless of race or beliefs. Would I change how I act based on someone telling me I’m in this group or that? No. I’m not in the wrong, here. The label, if it’s not accurate according to how I perceive myself, must be wrong.”

“Why the fuck do some psychologists, and the SCHOOLS, for fuck’s sake, support and defend children, who are a) in denial of reality and basic scientific facts, b) rejecting their own identities, desiring to be someone, and something, that they’re not, and c) slapping their parents in the face, against norms and mores and deeply held religious beliefs? What happened to a parent’s right to raise their children, and to guide them and protect them from self-destructive behaviors and life-choices? Teachers are forced to deny the real, verifiable scientific classification, to deny the very science they should be allowed to teach, and to accept, embrace, and positively reinforce a child’s fantasy, delusion, or psychosis. This isn’t anti-science, ignorance, homophobia or transphobia. This is rejection of plain, foolish, stupidity!”

“Why is the person formerly known as Bruce Jenner revered in the media as a hero, just because he has lots of money, had his natural sex organs chopped off, bought fake boobs, takes chemicals to look less manly, put on a dress, and picked out a new name? That’s not ‘courage.’ ‘Courage’ is running into danger to save people. Courage is doing the right things when everyone is doing wrong, or doing nothing. Courage is speaking the truth when others want you to shut up, while they broadcast their lies, and demand that everyone believe them.”

The news media is also fond of blanket labelling. It’s almost as if they are part of a movement of subterfuge, telling their audience they are fair and unbiased, but by inspection, demonstrating a social slant through the divisive accusatory labels used to report stories.

Consider the following two examples:

1- The news media seems bent on grouping a large group of people under the blanket term “mental illness.” The problem with that blanket is that it covers symptoms ranging anywhere from mild, circumstance-driven depression or anxiety, to severe paranoid schizophrenia, hallucinations, dangerous, destructive impulse-control disorders, psychopathy and sociopathy. The “mental illness” label is trumpeted whenever there is a school shooting. The media reports often say “the shooter suffered from bipolar disorder,” failing to adequately research what bipolar disorder is, failing to understand what it causes in most sufferers, thereby failing to accurately report the cause of the escalation to violence. A fairly well constructed, broad overview of various classifications of mental illnesses is found on WebMD, reviewed in April 2019 (

Most bipolar sufferers, just to clarify, are not ticking time bombs, dangerous people, prone to random, violent outbursts. On the depressive part of the wave, milder sufferers may just want to cry, stay indoors, lie in bed, and be left alone, and severe sufferers may be self-destructive or suicidal. On the manic side, sufferers may have energy to spare, and may clean, complete projects, be more socially active, shop, gamble, indulge in bingeing behavior, and/or feel increased sexual desire. At either extreme, the behavior is more self-destructive than outwardly destructive.

The “mental illness” label may fit people, but it is not socially constructive, nor adequately descriptive. On the contrary, a person diagnosed and treated for their specific, non-violent mental illness may be unfairly categorized or even deprived of certain constitutional rights, just because in their struggle, they sought professional help, even just once. When the media refers to “mental illness,” they almost always imply “out of control, and crazy,” These words cannot, and should not, be equivocated. It’s unfairly stigmatizing.

2- The news media is more obvious than not, in efforts to support the gun-control lobby. It is truly horrific and tragic to hear about people going on murderous rampages. It is terrifying to think of innocent children, just going to school, who may face one of these psychopathic lunatics. However, news reporters seem poorly focused on fact, and sharply attentive to hype. Following any such report, there are always interviews with witnesses or family. Statements from activists inevitably follow, blaming legislators and politicians for these terrorist attacks, and demanding greater restrictions on guns. At the top of their hit list, “assault rifles,” or “assault-style rifles,” for which the activist has no specific, clear definition. Minimal research offers that an assault weapon can be switched from semiautomatic to fully automatic. But fully automatic guns are not legal for civilian use in the United States. Additionally, the much maligned AR-15 is often misconstrued as an “Assault Rifle,” although “AR” is short for “ArmaLite Rifle.” It is a semi-automatic, and cannot be switched to fully automatic. The gun control advocate has no practical suggestions for how enacting new, more strict laws will stop law-breakers from obtaining firearms, and demands restrictions that will only impact law-abiding gun owners.    (

Those who practice advantage-seeking accusatory labelling could be responded to in kind. The accused could easily resort to name-calling. Terms like ignorant, power-grabbing, closed-minded, racist, gender-confused, liberal, pro-baby-murder, anti-science, society-and-values-destroyer, hateful, selfish and lie-propagater, might easily be tossed back.

But perhaps there is a better approach. Refusing to kowtow to social pressure by just accepting these labels is not sufficient in itself. While the label-thrower hands out accusations, the response cannot be one in kind. It must be firmly rational, well-researched, and even somewhat understanding, in sharp contrast to the rabid, intolerant, illogical name-calling being done by those who are forcing their destructive views onto society, demanding that any other opinions, religious beliefs, or scientific data, be silent.

Conservative might be a fine label. But if the so-called progressive sociologists, pseudo-scientific psychologists, and other squeaky wheels want to try to mis -label those who stalwartly, and courageously, hold to traditional beliefs, rational thinking, and time-honored societal views, they may end up with a simplified, distilled, concentrated response:


Fuck You.

Decade-Dent Disappointment

Well, 2020, for a fresh start all full of hope, you suck so far. And for a fresh start all full of hope for clarity and renewed vision, you really suck. And for the hope of getting things on track with renewed energy, …

I think you should have gotten the idea, 2020, that is, if you gave a shit and had a clue.

I am nowhere, getting nowhere fast. I live at home; thank God I work from home, and I don’t go out unless my family strong-arms me.  So how the hell, about 2 weeks before the CoViD19 death-inducing “arse-spraying mayhem”(1) reached the vicinity of my bunker, did I pick up some alternate mayhem? It’s not fatal, at least not yet. But it progressed from one day of a sore throat to a week-and-a-half of relatively breatheable chest congestion, with no fever, to today’s chest congestion and intestinal …shit?

Sorry. I mean, “arse-spraying mayhem.” But, before you laugh at my predicament, as fortune would have it, I’ve had so many years of training as a <i>financial</i> tight-ass, my sphincters have that shit under control. And the rest is being half-owned by dextromethorphan and phenyleprine.

I’m wasting the acetaminophen the dealers threw in, since the only headaches I’ve had were from over-taxed sinuses from blowing my nose from allergies, since this off-brand virus hasn’t given me nasal congestion or a fever.  Except, of COURSE, the one that’s ONLY cured by… MORE COWBELL!

So yeah, the new year COULD be harder, but I sure as hell hope it stops trying so damned hard. I thought last year sucked, but this year is ridiculous.

I confess, the conspiracy theories are amusing, and I’ve seen how things that would have been worse if people were not under quarantine. But seriously, can we stop inciting panic, encouraging anxiety, and showing off how stupid some people are when pandemic becomes pandemonium? I promise my single loyal follower, reader and friend, more on this to come.

I wish I’d have been informed, and financed, well enough in front of this, to have listened to the apparent wisdom of the comedian who suggested it years ago, and bought that pallet of toilet paper before hoarding it became de rigueur.

Have a great mayhem… I mean a great day. Wash your hands, and sanitize your surfaces often. Most important, keep breathing.


1- This expression, among other colourful epithets and free-flying, profanity-dripping insults, I first heard on “In The Loop,” a movie and tv series featuring the late Doctor Who actor Peter Capaldi. It referred to diarrhea.

IV – My “Darksome Path”

I walk down a road of failures,
Leaving behind broken dreams,
Waiting, hoping, struggle, cry,
Warriors walk beside me, falling,
Unseen demons, dying screams,
Praying, wishing, asking why,
Dropped to my knees, you won’t kill me!
Stand again, walk through the pain,

Dropped to my knees, blinded, can’t see,
Stand again, walk through the pain.

-DM, 3/2/2020

Deon Who?

Gone but not forgotten… I mean forgotten but not gone, I am the always late, never great, Deon Mumple.  Since I’ve last written, there have been lows and lowers, I don’t get high, OR highs. Sure it’s depressing, but I’m on medication for that, which doesn’t do shit except cause insomnia during which I should be writing,  but instead I’m busy accomplishing nothing of any lasting value or actual worth.

So, I’m late again, by which I mean still.  Sorry for causing any alarm for anyone who followed this blog.  Oh. Nevermind.  Unless you’re the one who read with more than clinical disinterest.

Since I have last written, cars have broken down and been minimally repaired, and my own lovely money pit is only $2K behind, but runs without the things that would make it actually be safe to drive.  Other things have broken down and also have been minimally repaired, and we’re still alive but still in a general state of irreparable or unaffordable decay.

For unknown reasons and/or medication side effects, I have almost no energy and almost no manic days during which to catch the chaos.  I’m still doing mostly the same things I was doing including forcing myself to go to work every day and putting up with the bullshit.  Home isn’t exactly the same, I’m putting up with  significantly less bullshit at home, for which my family has well-overcompensated.  The less bullshit I accept as something I can tolerate, or shovel away for my own sanity, the more bullshit there is.  Too much to write about or shovel.

The boss has me back on a stupid mid-day shift start, which puts shift end at a stupid late time.  Still sucks just as bad as the last time.  I finally got a day off and washed a shit-load of laundry, my own for a change, in between hot flashes and sleeping and washing all the fucking dishes.  After which Mrs M got home and bitched about what wasn’t done and how what was done was inadequate, so no changes there, either.

The point of the article though, was to be that I had a paradigm shift.  All this time I’ve kept visualizing myself as a tool on a shelf collecting dust, but I was wrong.   I’m not a tool, except for not realizing it.  I’m dead and buried like a seed trapped underground.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  I know I’m supposed to leverage whatever good I can, except I’m still not sure how to properly leverage whatever good this is, in this position.

All this said to say, I’m alive, still facing the stupidity and my specific brand of insanity.  Good luck with yours.