Top 10 Explanations for High Functioning Deon

Ohh, yeah, if you can’t be manic and optimistic, pretend like fuck and eventually you’ll still be depressed and angry.  So it goes that yesterday I pretended to not be depressed.  I pretended I was fine and got dressed and got into my car and drove pretending not to be afraid of the other drivers.  I was less afraid than usual because I wasn’t leaving in the middle of rush hour, but I knew that since I couldn’t find my fucking cell phone until 5 minutes later than I needed it to be there on time, I’d be a little late.  I failed to pretend when the nonexistent traffic ground to a halt and then proceeded to mosey when I knew I was already late to get to the doctor’s office, but the other drivers either couldn’t hear or pretended not to hear.  I don’t like car horns, so I don’t use my own unless the rage is particularly bad, and yesterday it wasn’t.

I boldly got out of my car and smiled at some other poor schmuck and his kid in the parking lot, because why add my stress to their stress.  I held the door for them, because if I’m already 3 minutes late, who gives a fuck about being 1 more minute late? I pretended with the receptionist when she told me that my appointment was a half a fucking hour and 5 minutes ago, and she would have to reschedule.  I pretended to be OK leaving the office knowing I’d have to come back and might be late for work, and expressed my gratitude I could get it out of the way today and not wait a few more weeks.  I’ve been fine I guess without medication, my acting chops have proven invaluable at work pretending I accepted the new bullshit they shoved at me in the form of moving me to the ass end of the schedule without a pay grade bump.  Because having less money than I need is better than having NO money at all.

I went back and endured a little less traffic at 10, and pretended  with the receptionist again, acting as normal as I felt normal might act.  I pretended for the doctor, because why should he worry about me when there are far worse cases he could invest his time with.  I mean, someone who’s dying isn’t as bad off as someone who only feels like shit in his mind.  That shit was real shit when I got home, and it was nothing but stress, so it’s a good thing he didn’t get a sample of that.  It’s normally a whole lot more regular and a whole lot less displaying evidence of my stress level, so I was peaking yesterday morning because after I went before going to the doctor the first time, I went again after going to the doctor the second time.

Side effects of the medications cause me to lose weight, which is great, and add to that I have a new best friend to take on frequent and regular walks around the neighborhood, and add to that the stress of recent changes has, in small ways, affected my appetite.  So I’m not really eating lunch on the regular.  I eat dinner and then I might have some toast and I might add butter or peanut butter, as a late snack.  Yesterday I added a banana because if I didn’t eat it we’d need two more bananas in an aging condition to make banana bread, and frankly I was too tired to bake, and I felt like eating it wouldn’t make me nauseous.  No, I was nauseous before and after the doctors appointments, but not last night.  And I buttered that toast before I added peanut butter and that banana.  Elvis much?  I didn’t grill it, so maybe it’s not as buttery and artery clogging.

With my weight loss, my blood pressure has dropped into a quite normal and healthy range, and my stressed out pulse didn’t freak out the nurse practitioner.  I’m reporting some good news, people, can you believe it?  My resting pulse is at this weight probably normally 60, with the meds pushing it down into the 50s.  I’ve lost 5 more pounds, and I’m now closer to 200 than I am to 250, which feels nice and looks great… so why isn’t Mrs M climbing me like a softly barked, very solid sequoia?  Well, maybe I only look great if you don’t look too close…  There’s still the matter of the scruffy beard, which only hurts when I shave.  I get a razor rash, and I’m allergic to the shit you’re supposed to use to treat that.  And I get nicks, which seem like they’ll never stop bleeding (Waaahhh, would I like some cheese with that whine?) .  I’ll compensate by pretending I have the energy and motivation to clean, which is just fucking sexy if one isn’t taking one for granted and presuming the ambition exists.  I might be even more ambitious and sexy if there was an actual, erm… reward, for my efforts.  I push because shit’s gotta get done and who’s going to do it?

It worked out fine.  I kept my mouth shut; I didn’t bitch about anything.  I didn’t tell him about the stress at work, or the issues of my very beautiful, but allegedly pre-menopausal wife and her lack of a normal sex drive.  I can accept her age, but the drive has been in the same gear for almost our whole marriage.  And frankly, as gears go, there’s never been enough grind.  I compensate for her lack, by wanting sex about twice a day, in one glorious form or another.  And she compensates by saying “no,” which I want to respect.  “I said too much; I said enough.  I thought that I heard you laughing.” (fucking earworm!  REM?!

Maybe the earworms are trying to tell me to sleep.  AC/DC or Led Zeppelin to the rescue!)

Anyway, the doctor,  bless his heart, bought my act and re-prescribed meds I’ve been out of for a month, compensating for some of them with alternative substances (mostly coffee or herbal tea and liquor and vitamins, including hefty doses of vitamin D) and wishes for regular and frequent therapeutic, relaxing, stress relieving, full-body massage.  He’s a new guy I had never seen before who’s probably been there the whole time I’ve been a patient, while we were on different schedules.  It’s a medical group, and they all treat all the patients, although I do have a primary care provider who is a member of the group, I haven’t seen him in more than a year as our schedules haven’t been compatible.  So I saw this new guy and pretended I was OK with meeting another stranger, AND, he brought a tagalong, some kind of intern or something, to observe.  Anyway, I went to the drug dealer and got the scripts, and took a very late dose.  Did I sleep or did I stay awake to write this?  Did I mention insomnia if I take it too late?

Did I mention ADD and cyclothymia under a depressive tidal wave full of tree trunks and cars and busses and street signs and broken glass and suppressed emotions and other shit?  And did I mention I haven’t taken my meds in a month?  It’s a wonder I’ve written ONCE in the past month, but no, you’ve had to endure the torment probably 3 or 4 times, and twice yesterday.  FFS, Deon, shut the hell up!

Now that I mention that whole ADD thing, allow me to pretend to focus on the point of this blog entry… well, best I can pretend to focus.

Top 10 Explanations for High Functioning Deon

I don’t know if there are 10.  Maybe there are 35.  Maybe there are three or four.  But hey, I’ll brainstorm and see what kind of shit the dredges bring to the surface.

10.  Terror.  As much as I’d like to lie and tell everyone how brave and courageous I am, I am more like the cowardly lion before he discovered his heart.  As I said, I’m a briliant actor.  And “If I were the king of the fore-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-st!” …Nevermind.  Suffice it to say I identified with him and I know all the words to his song.  High functioning Deon is caused by terror.  I’m afraid if I don’t fight, the world around me will go to shit FASTER.  Oh, it’s going to shit, there’s no stopping that, but if I quit functioning and shut down as often as I wanted to, I’m afraid over time my house would become more of a hovel featuring both filth AND squalor, my boss would fire me, my wife would divorce me, my children would disrespect me even more, my house and car would be repossessed, (and I own the damn car!) all my teeth would break and I’d get a slow and painful infucktion that wouldn’t ever actually kill me but would torture me for a long, long time,  and all of my “friends” in the real world outside of this blog would express their disappointment and shun me with the promise to stop if I repented.  Please, shun me and don’t stop.  That last one isn’t a fear so much as “a consummation devoutly to be wished.”  And for fuck’s sake, if you’re not going to shun me, then give me motivational cash and gift certificates to your favorite steak house and burger places and to the various low-rent stores you’d never go to yourself, preferring to call the guy or visit classy retail establishments.  Suggestions I might use could be the local home improvement place, for wood and paint and plumbing and tools and other house-type items, the local convenience store with everything from groceries to clothes to greeting cards to bedding and furniture and new tires, the local auto repair shop so I can get my shock absorbers replaced, …the list of practical places goes on and on.

9.  Promises.  When I was young and hadn’t experienced much of life yet, I was much more full of hope than I am now.  I made certain promises to certain people.  When I make promises I like to keep them, and it drives me because if all I have that’s good is my word, then when I give you my word I will keep my promise or die trying.  I may do a half-assed job of whatever it is, especially if I’m exhausted, but I’m going to take a crack at fulfilling the letter of the promise.  If I care about the person I’ve made the promise to, I’ll strive for the spirit of the promise, which usually is better quality work than just doing exactly what I say I’ll do.

8. Compulsivity.  OK, at the risk of personal disclosure (what the fuck is a blog for if not for that, Deon?), I suffer from fits of compulsivity.  If I start cleaning it, I have to finish it, but thank God that only applies to whatever surface or area I’ve decided to clean.  It frustrates me if I don’t have time to finish, or if I finish only to look the next day and my wife or kids have messed it up all over again.  I did the microwave two days ago and I keep wiping it out.  Since I’m home and heating my caffeinated beverages I’ll invest an extra two minutes and wipe off whatever exploded in there.  The kids’ bathroom is next because I noticed the sink is disgusting and I am not picturing either of them cleaning it.  I cleaned the downstairs bathroom sink today, and it was just the sink, but it’s clean and shiny and it made me happier after the Doctor-induced panic.  Which brings us to the next explanation:

7. Caffeine.  So,  you all DO know lots of chemical compounds or molecules that end in -ine are stimulants, right? Caffeine, nicotine, cocaine, Amphetamine…  Well, prior to being actually diagnosed officially with ADD, and still today, my drug of choice is caffeine.  Coffee, tea, chocolate… I used to drink caffeinated sodas, but I don’t want all the sugar.  But it’s helpful, it fuels the concentration.  I love the flavor of a good coffee or tea.  I drink them plain, no sugar, no cream.  All I want is the caffeine molecules, and the water doesn’t hurt.  Ritalin isn’t like those, aka MethylPhenidate.  It is a stimulant, but it’s synthesized, since 1944, and it doesn’t act like a normal stimulant.  I bet if I did take ritalin, I’d be one of the rare ones that gets more depressed.  It’s a known potential side effect.  Concerta is a brand of the same but it gives my daughter hallucinations.  I don’t want to see scary things that aren’t there, since things that ARE are scary enough.  The more natural, the better.  Caffeine may technically be a “high,” but it’s natural enough to keep drinkers high functioning, including me.  Now…where did I put my coffee cup?  Coffee keeps me moving, even though my motion often seems to me to be more backward than forward.  I don’t have any bathroom difficulties, with or without caffeine.  But WITH caffeine, I spend less time contemplating how murder might make the world a better place.

6. Rage.  The list wouldn’t be complete without my rage.  Rage gives adrenaline better than fear.  There are different kinds of rage, as there are different kinds of fear.  Fear of disappointing Mrs M motivates me slightly less than being in a frustrated fit of rage at whatever button she pushed that really pissed me off.  Don’t you fucking ever dare tell her that.  I’m not sure if there’s an upper limit, a threshold I shouldn’t be pushed over.  She hasn’t reached it yet, as her body is very much alive and amazing, but if you informed her that rage worked better than fear of disappointment, she’d piss me off all the time just to get whatever shit she wanted done, done.  You don’t understand.  She’s not physically abusive, not really verbally abusive, just, she knows how to push my buttons in the worst possible ways if she wants to.  I dread her verbal jousting more than her disappointed huffing sigh.  Rage motivates me to go to work at this fucking cess pool where they abuse me mentally and fiscally, because it’s not as strong as my fear of being unemployed, and motivates me to work hard.  The company may not show their appreciation but I value my name enough to take the best care of the clients that I can, see also, #9.

5.  Hope.  Or Depression.  I’m not sure which is stronger.  Hope.  I know, it’s adorably naive, isn’t it?  But really.  I can and do have hope for eternity, but the more depressed I get the less hope I hold out for the here and now.  So either my hope, or my depression, which feeds into my feelings of rage against society, fuels my perseverance.  When I’m feeling particularly hopeful is when I can do something that makes a difference and helps someone, even if it’s something small.  When I’m depressed, usually from watching the daily news Mrs M insists on having on in the morning, it just makes me depressed, less hopeful, and more angry at our so-called “civilization.”  I mean, for fucks sake, what the fuck is WRONG with everyone?  Idiot “sociologists” try to persuade me that crime is justified when there is an absence of hope.  I call that theory “interesting bullshit.”  Sorry, but there is no excuse for crime and violence and vandalism.  There are people in dire circumstances and they’re not out rioting or looting or mugging or destroying shit that doesn’t belong to them.  They’re on your local street corner holding signs asking for your spare change.  Give them something, even if you don’t have much.  Give them your lunch and go without for one day.  If you ate yesterday and got your coffee this morning, and you’re going to eat tonight, c’mon.  But yeah, crime and violence and vandalism, looting, robbery and rape aren’t symptoms of hopelessness.  They just make me mad.  They make me wish I was a superhero able to stop the criminals.  Crimes against children make me the most angry.  Pay your fucking child support, or you’re a thief and a child abuser, you stupid fucks.  That is NOT how you love your kid(s), dear deadbeat dick donors.  You should  be paying extra, to make sure YOUR KIDS are well taken care of. But instead you treat your own kid like shit and withhold the care you should be providing  because you want to stick it to your ex; do you not fucking care about your own fucking KID(s), you abusive, stupid, ASS HOLE?  Treat them at LEAST to the court required support, and THEN pretend you’re “Disney Dad” when it’s your turn to “have custody,” which is court-appointed doublespeak for “taking direct care of your child(ren) without their mother’s help” which, when you were together was probably “you letting her do everything without your help.”

I keep trying, I keep working, I keep on setting the best example I’m able to set, even with the emotional difficulties I have.  The rage and depression, and the hope that my example will make a difference eventually, or might make a difference now, keeps me trying to move forward even when life is pushing back hard.  See also #1.

4.  Music.  Music is an alternative wave that I ride for those temporary escapes from the focus on how tired I am.  It also is a channel of weirdly loose focus, that allows me to keep working on whatever chore it is.  Sometimes the lyrics remind me of profound truth, see “Get Back, Honky Cat,” and sometimes the lyrics don’t quite ring true enough so I tend not to gravitate toward those songs when I want to work.  But the profound truth of ALL of my labor is that I can handle it, and the reward of looking back at the successfully finished task is often enough encouragement.  Dishes can get discouraging, but the gleam after washing…  Bathrooms can be bad, but look after the scrubbing bubbles are wiped away.  The floors can be filthy, but look after I vacuum, or sweep and then mop!  I like a little bleach.  See also, this motivational musical number:

I figure there are two options:  Either brooms and mops, bleach and soap, or high explosives.  So far, the former are still working for me.

3.  Brilliant acting chops.  It’s quite possible that my forced enthusiasm is nothing more than a brilliant act, and I may just be so brilliant at it that I fool myself.  I pretend so well that I care about the dirty house, I can actually fool myself into vacuuming, emptying the lint trap in the dryer, mopping, wiping, dealing with the sorting act and deciding what’s trash and what’s treasure, chasing the paper, washing, drying and putting away laundry, etc.  Mrs M has been brilliantly handling the bills since she fought me for the checkbook many years ago.  She doesn’t fight fair.  Those eyes…  Those curves…  Still hot after more than 20 years.  When I say I love my family, that’s not an act,  …roughly 96% of the time.  Don’t hurt any of them or you’ll find out I love them to death, literally, and I don’t mean their death, or my death…  So I’ve learned to act like a French maid.  …I need one of those sexy French Maid costumes, but for a guy.  You ladies can keep your thigh-high stockings with the seams up the back, and garters.  I don’t think Mrs M will mind, presuming it’s masculine enough.  I can’t wear high heels.  They don’t look good on me and I fall over.  And I can’t wear the girly stuff, but something minimal with a soft, black, Stetson with the option of either a black ribbon around the crown, or a black leather strap, depending on my mood, pleated white silk tuxedo front and cuffs, and maybe black silk boxers, and black lace-up combat boots…  I don’t guess I could wear that in front of the kids.  They act all grossed out if I smile at Mrs M across the dinner table.

2. Alcohol.  Would be necessary if I actually ever tried to carry off the French maid bullshit above.  But it was a funny image, now, wasn’t it?  Alcohol keeps me in a high-functioning range when life is shit and I need a little medicinal relaxational motivational beverage at the end of a hard day.  It makes me more relaxed and less stressed out and better able to carry on conversations with family AND less focused on the effort of completing tasks.  Combine that with magical, motivational music, and I am good to do more housework.  Holy shit, what I need is a job that lets me drink something other than tea and coffee sometimes.  Tonight, probably The Rolling Stones.  Because, “Start Me Up.”  Yesterday, if I remember that long ago, it was Aerosmith.  But I like the older stuff.

1.  Warrior Mentality – My sense of manhood.  Life is a fight to the death.  We all eventually lose.  But I’m just going to describe my heart here.  I don’t give a shit if you want to throw your inner feminine side out there, guys.  I just don’t give a shit.  And I also don’t give a shit if you want to grow a pair, ladies.  In MY personal inner being, lurks a warrior spirit, and life IS a fight to the death, and I don’t intend to lose until I’m dead.  Like the song goes, “Don’t try to push your luck, just get out of my way.”

There I go. Is it 8 PM yet? It’s Friday, Hallelujah. Maybe the song should be back in pajamas. That’s my armor, folks. All Ephesians 6 says to do is “stand firm.” I got that covered. In pajamas. And all I’m saying is my inner warrior is in a fight to the death with life. All those things I hate? I want to fix it. And if I can’t fix something because I don’t have enough training, so be it. If I can’t fix something because I don’t have enough money, again, so be it. But if I can fix it, or TRY to fix it and do a decent job, it’s worth the fight, I say, even as I bitch about how hard life makes something that should be easy and simple. Fixing a ceiling fan, or something that makes me climb a dreaded ladder, sure, I have panic, but I know I can do it if I climb. And then, of course, the damned screws always fall or refuse to thread correctly. Fixing a leaking sink, sure I can do it, but not if it’s broken and refuses to go back together correctly, and of course, there’s always grossness in the pipes to clean out and then they leak because the grime was holding hands and keeping the water on the inside. Household labors nearly ALWAYS take more time, more effort, more training, and more money than I walked in wanting to invest. Or, they frustratingly fall apart and require re-doing, which always makes me just shout for joy, or, they break to a point where calling the guy” is required, which costs WAY too much. I mean, fucking car repairs, really?! The guy is always tsk!-ing and telling me how I need this and that or the car will die in the middle of the highway and get me killed, and how he wouldn’t drive it like it is if he were me. But fuck you, mechanic, yes you fucking would, because if I were you I’d be charging $75 an hour labor and then shop and parts fees, and if you were me you wouldn’t be able to afford that shit.

I knew a lady once whose plumbing always fell apart on the holidays. Seriously, her hot water heater held up until Thanksgiving day, and then blew water all over her house. Her sink blew up on Christmas, I was waiting for the toilet to explode on the fucking fourth of July. And me? I once saved a “simple” plumbing thing until the holiday only to ultimately call the guy (I waited until the next day) to put it right. I HATE house repair projects especially when they go to shit, which is like down to 40% of the time because I’ve learned not to try a percentage of things I don’t really know shit about, and I know I’d do a shit job if I tried it on my own and then have to call the guy, which means paying for parts at least once and then probably twice, AND paying whatever hourly bullshit the guy can get away with depending on if it’s a holiday.  AND, in my own defense (STOP FUCKING LAUGHING!  …Oh, go ahead, knock yourself out.  Please.  Laugh harder, you’re still breathing and conscious.) In my own defense, over the last 20 something years, Mrs M has bullied me into a rage sufficient to learn how to fix a lot of shit.  Lighting fixtures, fans, vacuum cleaners, some plumbing, although I still have a dread fear of the water leaking or dripping, and I once rebuilt a damned shelf 4 times because she had too much shit stored up on them.  Shut up!! I was building it correctly, it just wasn’t strong enough to hold the weight.

0.  A sense of moral obligation.  I don’t see a lot of this in the real world.  This is why guys get what they want from a girl and then leave the girl to carry the responsibility all by themselves.  HIV/AIDS.  Herpes.  Gonorrhea.  Syphilis.  Scabies.  Babies.  Rabies.  Oh wait.  It’s a poem, a rap, with a catchy street beat:

STDs, you know they come in all sorts,
Viruses, bacteria, bugs or maybe warts, (that’s attractive!)
Chancroid, PID, gonorrhea,
pubic lice, scabies, chlamydia, (now, interactive!)
Trichomoniasis, HIV, and HPV,
Molluscum contagiosum, and hepatitis B, (It’s in your blood!)
Don’t be rash…, choose wisely, as the buyer,
Get yours today, they’re spreading like fire! (You’re leaking crud!)

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.  Committed monogamy is not a sexually transmitted disease.  Thank God I’m married.

You don’t see a lot of this because it’s not being advertised a lot.  The world, the media, your idiot peers, the advertisers, your favorite television shows, all glamorize how wonderful it is doing the dirty deed, as often as you can, any time you can, with anyone you want who wants you back.  Or front.  Or top.  Or bottom.  Yep, it’s great.  Shop around, bop around, hop around, they never show you the consequences unless it’s maudlin and you’re supposed to feel sympathetic to the um…innocent? victim?

The one thing that should never be advertised without a painful, flesh (not chemical) castration, behavior modification, lobotomy, and aversion therapy, is rape.  Rapists should be treated as harshly as possible, not get their name broadcast on the news (Hey, look friends!! I’m FAMOUS!!)  or worse, told they’ll likely never get caught.  In 2013 the estimate was that only 34.8% of assaults were reported, and it used to be even less.  In 2011 the estimate was that only 6.66 out of every 100 rapists were ever brought to any kind of justice, which by law might be some sort of fine, or might be a season of imprisonment.  So, the estimate is that 93 out of every 100 rapists get off and face no consequences whatsoever.  And that, readers, is fucked up.  I swear I didn’t make up the 6.66, which is fucking diabolical.  And this page, for some reason under the label BJs.gov… which I couldn’t make funny if I WANTED  to but for fucks’ sake, no pun intended, someone tried, it shows that the average jail time even if you ARE convicted of sexual assault, is  about 66 months.  That’s right kids!  Put someone through the trauma, and then the post trauma-tic stress of having to relive your unwanted attack, your damnable defiling of their private, personal, holiest of holy, sacred temple, whenever your innocent victim’s now traumatized brain puts them through it again, not to mention making it next to impossible to trust anyone in a romantic relationship ever again, not to mention causing difficulty with intimacy if they DO try, and then, after you’ve put your victim through that shit, if you’re one of the unlucky 6.66% that actually gets caught, charged, and fucking convicted of doing it, you MIGHT serve 5 and a half damned years and then you’re free to try again and see if you’re luckier the next time.  THAT is why I am in favor of drastic sentences and punishments for rapists, even though for some reason they won’t put a rapist to death, not even a person who rapes a child.

If the FBI is  reading my blog and my browsing history I think it’s hilarious because I just looked for information about what kind of plants grow best over a buried dead body.  I didn’t find any, which is disappointing.  We planted flower bulbs over both of our guinea pigs which died of old age, which is disappointing because they only live 8 or so years at the maximum, and ours lived that long and then just quit.  The flowers grow every year around Easter, which is just after when both died, which is a beautiful reminder that we loved the guinea pigs.

I looked it up not actually planning anything, just thinking that if victims and their families who actually love the truly innocent victims ever decided to handle the situation in a way that feels more just than fucking 6.66%, it might be nice to plant something to remind them when they walk by the hidden grave, known only by justice… I mean just us…, that the world has one less monster walking around free. If they are allowed to roam free, they are 93.34% likely to hurt another person and fucking get away with it.  Worthless animals that hurt people for their own sadistic pleasure need to be put down.  http://cdn.hark.com/swfs/player_16x16.swf?pid=kpmgdzqllc<br/> <a href=”http://www.hark.com/clips/kpmgdzqllc-the-twilight-zone-theme-song&#8221; style=”font-size: 9px; color: #ddd;” title=”Listen to on Hark.com”></a>”>Funny thing, right after I wrote the thing about the FBI, my whole internet crashed for 15 minutes

I did NOT start this blog with the purpose of ranting about rapists, but there it is.  Rage as a motivator.  I’m switching to Channel #2 in just a short while, but I wanted to write about having a strict moral code.  The world needs people who set high moral standards, and also needs those same people to be gracious when others don’t measure up to their personal holiness.  I listened to some jackass talking about how he posted some shit on someone’s social media about how the guy needed to be a higher class of guy if he wanted to attract a higher class of girl.  And he said some more shit about how he wasn’t trying to pass judgement.  Then what the fuck WERE you trying to do, because it sounded like you suck.  I mean suc…ceeded at exactly that.

I DO have a relatively strict moral code and I DO strive for it, despite failing all the damned time.  And I’ve learned there’s a good reason for my failures, although they suck.  I mean there’s at least one good reason.  I have learned more about extending grace,  because I am so very aware how much I need it for myself.  If you are holier than thou, you don’t need grace and you love to flaunt your perfection and look down your snoot at the poor helpless sinners asking them why they don’t “just” be a higher class of godliness.  Pious fucker.

The world doesn’t need more judgement.  Judgement’s coming, don’t get me wrong.  But we Christ-followers don’t need to be the ones to bring it.  No, what the world needs is more grace, more forgiveness, more honest, Christ-like love. “Neither do I condemn you.  Go and sin no more.” Or how about “God have mercy on ME, a sinner!” ?  I may never go home after praying feeling fully justified, and maybe that’s a good thing.  It keeps my heart in a place where I can encourage people, because we’re all the same.  Instead of offering no hope, and only judgement, Christ followers need to understand how to do something very important.  But some are so holy they don’t need it themselves, so they forget how to offer it.  “It” is mercy.  If we offer it, Christ followers, to those who need it, the world will believe us when we say Christ gives it away.

The book of Hosea is a fascinating story, God commanded the prophet Hosea to make his own LIFE, a picture of how God loves people in spite of everything they do, so it’s fitting that Jesus quoted it.  Hosea 6:6.  Matthew 9 is full of example after example of how Christ followers should NOT ACT.  Jesus is being loving and kind and forgiving, and the holier than thou set are being all judgemental and looking down their noses at JESUS, for Christ’s sake, (hahaha) thinking they’re better than JESUS.  And he quotes Hosea in the middle, saying, not in my exact words, “No, you religious freaks, that’s not how you love people.  You love people by learning this:”

 Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. 13 But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

Jesus loves you, but you have to know you need his love and mercy before you can really understand it and receive it.  If you don’t need it because you’re already perfect (in your own eyes), then fuck off.  If you desperately need it like I do because you know you’re SO far from perfect it’s completely hopeless and depressing, then you’re ready for it, and not only that, after you’ve accepted it, you’re ready to share it.  As long as you don’t become one of those tight-assed religious freaks who forgets how they used to act and uses their newfound lifestyle as an excuse to not help others, not love others, and pass judgement without mercy.

-1.  Mercy.  Mercy motivates me.  I need it.  But it’s beyond just need.  I’m starving to death for it.  I’m desperate.  And the desperation motivates me to express mercy, and acceptance, and forgiveness, and grace, which are the very heart of Jesus, in my very imperfect way. I am sorry for failing to share more often and more clearly, but this is where i am.  And as much as I hate everyone, God compels me to tell you that He loves you.  And as much as I hate it, I’m supposed to show you.  This is me showing you, even if my own heart says you’re a complete ass hole and I don’t want to.
So yeah, I’m “high functioning” despite all of the shit life dishes out, despite my boss, my budget, my bitching, my brood.  I have to be.  I also want to be, even when I don’t want to be.  So that’s what I’ve decided to be.  I’ll keep trying harder, even on days when I don’t want to get out of bed.  And there are lots of them.  I still push myself and go do what I have to do, motivated by one of the above, to keep going.

-2.  Maybe it’s really not me.  Maybe it IS my choice, but maybe not entirely.  Maybe it’s Something Else.  

Life In Denial, Part Deux

Maybe I should say part five.  In my previous article I mentioned several ways in which Americans are in denial about the 2016 presidential election.  But wait!  There’s more!  I don’t sleep much when I remember to take my meds, so I have lots of time to read and watch the news, in spite of myself.

If you are and were a rabid Clinton supporter, or possibly a rabid Trump supporter, click over to someone else’s blog now.  You will not like what you’re about to read.  It’s just not pretty, no matter which side you look at it from.  (Take that, grammar Nazis!  For you non-grammar-Nazis, the rule was “a preposition is something one should never end a sentence with.”)  I didn’t like any of the candidates, and I’ll decline to let ANYONE know who I voted for.  You can guess, and I won’t confess.  But I voted.  I’ll confess, this article is pissing ME off even as I write.  I know where this is going, so after I finish it, if I decide to post it, I’m going to be so upset I’ll have to go somewhere else myself just to get away from it.  And there’s a few beers in the fridge waiting,unless I resort to my standby vodka.  Shit.  I’m almost out of vodka.  So, beer then.

Why am I resorting to alcohol?  Because, friends, America is fucked, and it’s not Trump’s or Pence’s fault, not Clinton’s fault, not Obama’s fault, not Putin’s fault, not Kim Jong’s fault, not Hassan Rouhani’s fault, not even Theresa May’s nor Benjamin Netanyahu’s nor Jorge Mario Bergoglio’s fault.  It’s our fault.  We’re fucked, because too many Americans are fucking idiots. Obama, Clinton, Pence, and Trump, may well be fucking idiots, but it’s not their faults.  Shakespeare wrote, “The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars (celebrities, well-known wealthy people, well-hidden wealthy people, politicians), but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”  Of course, when he spoke of stars, he meant our fortunes as supposedly spelled out by the relative positions and interpreted meanings of the celestial bodies.  But I mean to say that politicians do not bear the full blame for the shit America is in.
pogo
It’s your fault, it’s my fault, as citizens of this nation, that we have chosen between two Americans who best represented America.

In Clinton we have a woman for all women (and some men), someone powerful and opinionated, who stands up for a woman’s right not to be bothered with the potential impact a man might make in her life whether he’s good or not, a right to make choices and damn the consequences for anyone who might get in her way, a right to decide whether to live for herself or live for others or to try for a little of both.  She takes charge and makes choices and listens to her own heart and pursues her own dreams, and occasionally she forgives herself if she might not be able to hear someone else’s heart or consider someone else’s possible dreams over the importance of her own heart’s drumbeat.  (Subtle, ain’t I?)  She forgives others (she didn’t murder Bill, did she now?) unless they’re irredeemably deplorable people, and when she makes a “mistake,” she thinks a little forgiveness isn’t too much to ask.  A woman for all women, she had enough mystique (charisma, intrigue, scandal, lies, money, fame, and ambition) to represent the we we could be if we had enough money, ambition, fame, and just enough of a lack of moral principles.  She has the experience as a stateswoman  and is accustomed to making deals where you accept what you can get and deal with the negatives as you can.  She unified people who most closely aligned with her principles, good or evil, and some of us stood with her.

You can call me a misogynist, despite your knowledge of my love for all women in general and my wife in specific, because I blamed Mrs Clinton at least in part, for her husband’s well known (and it’s certain, many not well known) lapses of moral character.  Bottom line, it was his fault and his choice, and his stupidity.  But.  If a woman commits in marriage to a man, she commits to care for him and encourage him, by any means.  I don’t know what went on behind closed doors, but there were evident problems.  I’m sorry if you don’t like other people’s opinions when they’re different than  yours, but I believe, (let the metaphor be heard) if a woman sets the gourmet meal of all his favorite foods in front of him (and he should do the same for her) and lets him pick what he likes often enough at home, he won’t be as likely to go out sneaking to the shitty little fast-food burger joints around town.  If you cook, but you never cook something he really likes, he’s eventually going to crave it enough to go elsewhere to have it.  You don’t have to be a master chef, you just have to try the recipe even if all the ingredients aren’t just like on the cooking shows. He’ll be happy, and your cooking will improve with practice.  It’s out there now, so I expect I’ve lost readers for saying it.  If I made you mad, remember, I told you not to read it.  If I made you quit following my blog, fuck off and read someone who writes better than me; I know damn well there are a LOT of better writers.  If I do apologize, it’s only for writing as though a specific set of readers would actually read this article.  I wrote it that way, I’m calling them idiots, but most of my actual readers aren’t.  So since you’re not an idiot, don’t take offense when I call the people I’m writing about, idiots.  They are, you’re not.  Sorry in advance.

In Trump we have a man for all men (and some women), someone powerful and opinionated, who stands proudly and builds an empire.  He stands up for himself and promises to stand up for our country, and not let anyone take any unfair advantage of us.  If someone wants to come to America and respect American laws and culture and heritage, maybe even make friends and come over to the house, there’s no problem.  We’ll share our grilled steaks and a few beers, but if someone wants to sneak in through a side window in the dark and steal our shit, that’s a different matter.   Trump fearlessly, thoughtlessly and selfishly spoke, seeming like he was almost deliberately trying to piss people off. And yet we know he’s right.  He’s right that we need to figure out what to do about people who want to come to America and kill us, but wrong in his proposed approach to that defense.  Not all illegal aliens crossing illegally into the United States over the border  with Mexico are criminal rapist drug dealers.  Most of them are hard workers who just want an opportunity and haven’t figured out how to do it the legal way.  But some drugs come from Mexico.  The very act of sneaking across the border without proper documentation or declaration of intent makes the one who does this a criminal in the eyes of our current law.  And occasionally an illegal alien from Mexico or some other country turns out to be a psychopathic perro who doesn’t want to shit in his own back yard.  Not all Muslims seeking to get into the United States are bent on destroying heathen American lives, and peace amid the illusion of safety, even if it costs them their own lives as a sacrifice to their god.  But occasionally one Muslim, or another, or a couple, (or an alleged Christ follower,  or a group) goes rogue due to overly dogmatic doctrine, doing things contrary to what most say is “mainstream.”  They’re called “radical.”  Both Muslim and Pseudo-Christian terrorists call themselves “conservative,” and say their interpretations and applications of their sacred texts are correct and justified.  In actual fact, a  person or group perpetrating run-of-the-mill crime OR hate crime are just fucking criminal, that’s all.  And there’s really no way to know who might do what next.  We’ve seen what the so-called “sleeper cells” have done in Paris, and Nice, France, Belgium, England, and what a single attacker did in Canada as well as what a sleeper cell was plotting in Canada.  Occasionally even Americans do some pretty stupid things for a cause, however misguided.  While they may feel like their motive is for a greater good, their actions are just criminal. (Thanks, NC NOW, for the insightful article)  Do NOT try to tell me that a true Christ-follower would ignore His commandments , instructions, and teachings (footnote to the last link: mainstream Jews of Jesus’ day hated Samaritans).  Why the idiots in the KKK were allowed to announce an endorsement is beyond my comprehension.  Why they don’t abhor their own souls for their inherent hatred of others    Now, I’m not saying we can’t respectfully disagree, discuss, and debate.  But IMHO, any unprovoked murderous attack “in the Name of Jesus” is not done in the name of MY Jesus.  It’s just done by someone who wants to discredit His real message, or prove they’re an asshole.  I’m sure many peace-loving Muslims feel the same about radicals who call themselves Muslim.

Trump doesn’t play a character on TV trying to appeal to the broadest cross section possible.  He’s the same guy he’s always been.  An irritating braggart who still manages to be very rich and very successful.  He welcomes opportunity, and when opportunity comes along, he grabs life by the pussy and rides it until he gets what he wants.  He’s an unapologetic, brash, loud, proud idiot.  He’s the we we all would be if we had his finances, his persistence, his luck, and his lack of good manners and tact.  He offered this leadership style to America, standing on the proof of his wealth, power, and success, and some of us invested.

And why did it come down to these two?  Because, American voters:  We’re idiots.  We damn well knew the character of both of these people, and yet those are the two we chose, out of fucking 321,420,000.

So the election is over, and one side didn’t win.  And in the modern era, what does that mean?  Protesters, because we’re idiots.  Clinton understands the election laws, the election process, and knows how to gracefully and lawfully step aside when she lost the electoral college vote.  Her concession speech evidenced her understanding and surprising grace.   Trump wasn’t prepared to accept a loss, but Clinton handled herself with perfect poise and dignity, and issued a call for unity.

So what do Americans do?  Act out in a temper-tantrum of civil disobedience and rioting against Clinton’s clear instructions.  Dumbasses.  Go home, you’re not doing what your leader says, so who exactly are you following?  You’re as bad a hypocrite as the self-proclaimed “Christ-followers” who do the violence and terrorism and shit.  And you delude yourself into thinking you’re doing something positive, but you’re a criminal.  She said:

…we must accept this result and then look to the future.

Donald Trump is going to be our president. We owe him an open mind and the chance to lead. Our constitutional democracy enshrines the peaceful transfer of power and we don’t just respect that, we cherish it. It also enshrines other things. The rule of law, the principle that we are all equal in rights and dignity, freedom of worship and expression. We respect and cherish these values, too, and we must defend them.

Clinton supporters denied that Trump told the truth about the broken Electoral process, and now they’re upset about the results.  Trump said it was broken, and if you’re a Clinton supporter I would bet you believe him now.  You have as your scapegoat the electoral college.  Except that the electoral college is national, constitutional law.  Clinton is aware of this, and in the name of respect for the law and the love of peace,  she told her people that she’s now going to support Trump as President, and her followers should do the same, and do the good they would have if she had won.  I was very impressed she included Galatians 6:9 in her speech.  I was impressed by the tone of acceptance and peace.

I was unimpressed (and sadly, not the least bit surprised) to hear the pride of Trump, in himself, no mention of any Bible or any other sacred text of any kind, and only a last-minute inclusion of gratitude to Pence, who may be one of few reasons why Trump somehow won.  No, it’s very clear to those who are really paying attention, that the only person Trump really loves, is himself.

And what’s even worse than Clinton supporters rioting, there are a few too many isolated reports of fucking idiot people claiming to be in Trump’s camp who may or may not be doing or saying hateful, racist, homophobic, islamophobic (or any other religio-phobia), ignorant, criminal things.  Vandalism, terrorism, assault?  Fuck you.  This is why he didn’t really want the endorsement from the fucking KKK.

Go home and stop doing your hateful, shitty, criminal acts.  You’re idiots.  You aren’t doing it right, you’re not even following the instructions of the guy you supposedly support.  He said:

“Now it is time for America to bind the wounds of division, have to get together. To all Republicans and Democrats and independents across this nation, I say it is time for us to come together as one united people.  It is time. I pledge to every citizen of our land that I will be President for all of Americans, and this is so important to me. For those who have chosen not to support me in the past, of which there were a few people, I’m reaching out to you for your guidance and your help so that we can work together and unify our great country.”

You aren’t doing any of this.

Instead, you’re in this for yourselves and you’re worse than the stupidity of Trump’s campaign trail foolishness, and multiplying it by several thousand.  Trump said offensive things before and during the campaign.  If  the charges are truthful, he DID offensive things before the campaign.  Trump offended practically everyone and still won the electoral college vote even though Clinton apparently won the popular vote (but not by much).

It’s a Civics lesson, kids.  We’re by and large idiots, because most don’t even know how it works, and we’re idiots because we don’t realize this:  The electoral college was conceived not because of poor communication, but because all the way back in the 1790s the leaders knew the average uneducated American peasant wasn’t very bright, so the popular vote may not always be the best choice for America.  The Electoral College is the failsafe to prevent the ignorant American commoner from fucking up the country, and the ignorant American commoner is us.

We can undo the 12th constitutional amendment, but the rioting in the streets is sad evidence we can’t undo ignorance.  Repealing a constitutional amendment has been done before.  They repealed prohibition, thank God.  It’s a simple procedure but it takes time and either a significant vote by Congress-both House AND Senate, or an even more sweeping call by State legislatures.  Prohibition’s repeal was done by the State process, but that was a hugely popular idea.  It would take a long time to do the State process for Clinton.  And Congress moves even slower.  After it’s done, we’d probably be too late to undo Trump.  It requires either a National Convention or a Congressional proposal  And if we did, it wouldn’t undo what the current electoral college has decided for America.  It wouldn’t allow retroactive installation of Clinton even if she did win the popular vote.  She didn’t win by a high enough majority to undo the constitution.  It would probably take longer than 4 years to amend the constitution, even if it did ultimately pass.

In other news of ignorance, I’m hearing about a possible Presidential pardon of Clinton by Obama before he leaves office.  Except that’s nonsense because it would imply Clinton is lying when she says she hasn’t done anything wrong.  If Trump makes good on his campaign promise to investigate Clinton, what will he find out?  We know of a trail of several and varied scandals that Clinton’s had her hand in, from Watergate to hostagegate.  $400M and we only got 4 of our 8 hostages set free.  Can Obama write a pardon like a blank check, that exonerates her without implicating her?   Can Clinton get that carte blanche for anything that might be discovered without confessing what she’s done?  And if that happens, and then we do discover something, are we allowed to riot in the streets until Clinton is un-pardoned?   Should Obama be investigated?   Of both Clinton AND Obama, one wonders what skeletons we’d find in their closets that aren’t recently put away halloween decorations.  Would we want their smug smiles slapping down the papers that officially forgives them for anything they’ve done that was against the law?  And would we be content with letting them get off scott-free for what they did?

Not that I have the time to riot.  I have to work so I can stay, just barely, above poverty, at least until any new minimum wage hikes start.  If that happens, then I’m back to the lower end of the poverty  scale, because whatever the new minimum wage is, that’s the new poverty.  I’ve worked a long time at keeping a job so I could earn more than that, and I’d rather the politicians, or worse, the American people, NOT push me back down to the bottom.  Fucking idiots.

Is 4 AM too late to have a beer?  Or is it too early?

Go Home.

I hate cliches and catch phrases, but ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!

I cannot believe what is happening in America.  We are becoming more and more lawless every day.  Ferguson Missouri is a flashpoint for stupidity.  I am not interested in a race riot, or a race war, here in the United States.  I want us to get along with each other and be friends.  Why, in the 21st Century, is this even an issue?  Why are sociopathic idiots free to roam the streets?

It’s a setup for martial law under the command of the U.S. Army National Guard, and strictly enforced curfews.  Do we really want to live in THAT country?

To the protesters:  You’re getting part of what you want.  The only thing you aren’t getting is blood for blood, and you can’t prove a case of executive or judicial prejudice because, admit it, you weren’t there.  The police officers are resigning left and right, dropping off the force that swore to serve and protect you.  Maybe some of them felt guilty, so they quit.  Maybe they felt afraid of you lawless lynch mobs.  Admit it.  Now that two policemen have been shot in cold blood, that is what you are:  a lynch mob.  Thank God they are expected to survive what you brutal beasts did to them, you fucking animals!  So after the police who have been trained resign, because they don’t feel able to protect and serve and still go home to their families, you’re still rioting in the streets demanding blood.  Some of you have decided that if you can’t get the blood you want, any blood is good.  So you’ve shot and tried to kill two innocent people in exchange for one man who may or may not be guilty, but who was tried and found not.  Now go home and wait for the friendly remaining officers to knock on your door because they figured out it was your gun that was used in the attempted murder the two cops in cold blood, and they figure you pulled the trigger.  When they come, please surrender peacefully or expect consequences.  You’ll probably get off light, because they didn’t die.

We still live in a civilization governed by law.  If you don’t abide by those laws, expect consequences.  To the attempted murderer or attempted murderers:  I hope they catch you, and quickly.  The men you shot and tried to kill were only symbols to you, but they didn’t get to go home to their families after your little party, and you did.  They weren’t guilty of anything except showing up for work, and for that you tried to execute them.  You didn’t even know who they were.  I hope they lock you up so you don’t get to go home to your families, ever again, sometime very, very soon.

I do not want lawless mobs running the streets at night.  If you are unlawfully assembled, I want you sent home or locked up.  I would prefer that you go home.  I do not want destruction of property, looting, burning or any other kind of chaos.  Since the other policemen are resigning, maybe all you protesters should go sign up, get recruited and trained to serve and protect, and show us how to do it the right way.  Or are you afraid of a little friendly protest party?  If you’re afraid of your own party, I think my suggestion should be implemented:

Go Home.