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 |  This is my blog & my hope, writing daily will help me see my progress and log supporters. |
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| Facing our fears only to discover they weren't as frightening as we thought... Achieving our goals, but continuing to look upwards... Performing random acts of kindness where no one knows but us... Waking up in the morning and taking that first breath... Embracing the fact that one day, we will no longer be here... Watching children play and hearing their laughter... Giving generously... Receiving graciously... Being honest with one's self, even if that may cause us pain... Being honest with others, even if that may cause them pain... Maintaining integrity as a core value... A healthy body and mind... Meeting new people, and the moment we realise we are having a positive effect on their life... Listening to music... Learning about and discovering new things that we didn't know about yesterday... Loving each and every person for who they are, rather than judging them on how we might perceive them to be... Forgiving to the best of our ability, no matter how hard that may be... Travelling to new places and immersing ourselves in everything that culture has to offer... Falling in love... Being in love... Love... Being true to your own beliefs... Helping those who are unable to help themselves... Looking for the positives in every situation... Sleeping in fresh sheets when they haven't been changed in months... Expressing that which is in our souls through the medium of writing... Caring about others, even if we feel they don't deserve it... Being selfless... Having the wisdom to understand the difference between taking what we need and being selfish... Living for today... Humility... Listening to and hearing what others have to say... Being assertive, even if it risks losing those closest to us... The quiet times... Being with people... Being on our own... Resisting the urge to speak... Overcoming our demons... Giving ourselves credit when it's due... Saying and meaning yes or no without hesitation... Finding the courage to make a stand when we didn't know we could... Smiling at people and seeing them smile back... Accepting we can only control our own actions... Crying without shame... And so much more. |
| I love quotes. I came across this on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/live/SrJgN72Ugww?si=9DO_9ZDVAJVdw3Bo It has hundreds of quotes by Gandhi, Churchill, Bonaparte, Franklin, Hemmingway, Carnegie, Kant, Camus, Huxley, Twain, Freud, Plato, Tesla, Maurois, Marx, Buddha, Einstein, Rockefeller, Confucius, Bismark, Aristotle, Kipling, Newton, Tzu, Russell and many more. Some of my favourites are... In literature, as in love, we are astonished at what is chosen by others...Andre Maurois A happy marriage is a long conversation which always seems too short...Andre Maurois If you want the last word in an argument, tell him, "Perhaps you are right."...Winston Churchill The simplest acts of kindness are by far more powerful than a thousand heads bowed in prayer...Gandhi Blushing is the most peculiar and most human of all expressions...Charles Darwin If youth knew...if age could...Sigmund Freud It is easy to fall in love...the hard part is finding someone to catch you...Bertrand Russell The self-assured believer is a greater sinner in the eyes of God than the troubled dis-believer...Soren Kierkegaard Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world...and I should know, I've done it a thousand times...Mark Twain Change is inevitable...but the direction of those changes starts with us, the individuals in every community, and not with the masses...whom we are so eager to blame for it all being so wrong...Yours Truly End quotes... A few days ago I was like a child who was learning to ride a bike (the bike being a metaphor for my life)...a child whose father had let go and allowed to ride freely and unassisted. And in those moments after the dealer called, my bike began to wobble. It's like I am watching myself now as I ride down that hill, gaining speed in sheer panic as I hurtle along. It was only once I got to the bottom of that hill unscathed, in the now, that I looked back and breathed a sigh of relief. During those moments of panic, I saw the faces of those I would have let down, and now, in retrospect, I see everyone who has shown me support...the metaphorical fathers in this story, who watched in fear, but then in pride as I lost, but then regained control. Today, no one is happier about that than I am. But it is comforting to know there are those who are proud of me. And that will hopefully make another wobble less likely, but if it does happen, far less scary. |
| I love irony, even (or especially) when it affects me. I have a friend who moved away quite a few years ago. He met a girl and they lived in Tasmania until recently moving back to Queensland. My friend and I haven't always seen eye to eye, and since his return, the few times we have had conversations, it's become apparent that things haven't changed that much. I don't believe friendship should be solely based on similar viewpoints. In fact, different opinions can be a healthy thing, so long as both parties can accept the rule of when to agree to disagree. An example came a while ago whilst he was up visiting his parents and we were discussing his and his partner's want to start a family. My friend smokes pot...a lot of pot actually, and when he brought up the fact that after several years of trying, they still hadn't fallen pregnant, I asked him (quite literally) a somewhat sticky question...had he been tested to check his sperm count? This obvious, yet obviously not very comfortable question, brought an immediate response that there was nothing wrong with his swimmers. His argument was that he had fathered a child some eighteen years ago, and this provided him with his ticket to sperm OKness. Now, I must admit that I do, at times, have difficulty when it comes to social pretence. I lack tact and find it hard to pretend when there is an elephant in the room...I mean, it's a fucking elephant for God's sake. I also struggle to define the line between what is, and what is not my business. And upon reflection, this might have caused somewhat of a rift between my friend and me when I stated what was obvious to me, that if he was serious about starting a family, then he should just get his sperm tested for the sake of his partner and to rule himself out of the equation of why she wasn't falling pregnant. It seems that was more of a problem than I realised. Now, when I had a vasectomy in 2005, the doctor ordered me not to have unprotected sex with my then-wife, but to ejaculate as many times as possible in the two weeks post-procedure, before getting the all-clear (excuse the pun). I thought all my Christmases had come (literally) at once. I followed the doctor's orders, regardless of whether my wife was actually present or not. After all, it was my gift to her and I was going to enjoy the benefits while I could. Anyway, I think I mistook the reason my friend had reservations about delivering the 'stuff' I thought nothing of doing years before. I suspect he was afraid there may have been talk of his pot-smoking habit, and that was a subject he was not going to risk being on anyone's table for discussion. When I separated from my wife, one of the first things I committed to was being treated for HepC. I thought no one would want me given I carried a blood-borne virus, and the fear of having to reveal this deep dark shame made seeking treatment a priority. The irony came when after one failed attempt and then on the second treatment finally getting the news that I no longer carried the virus, I thought everything in my life would change. There was this anticipation that I would suddenly become this other person, and when I realised the only thing that changed was when I got a blood test, all it showed was antibodies, but no virus, I had a feeling of disappointment. This lack of change was something I struggled with for some time. There were, however, some positives other than I was no longer contagious and had a lot less chance of dying from liver disease. Before treatment, I stopped smoking pot, so I had the best chance of success. Being high on THC didn't feel like it did when I was younger anyway, and it was beginning to cause me to feel anxious, so giving up pot was a win-win for me. Unfortunately, this caused a problem that I never anticipated. I must admit that after quitting pot, and getting the all-clear with HepC, I substituted smoking pot by using more and more meth. This had a knock-on effect, and I lost most of my friends. After all, I was a junkie, whereas all they did was smoke pot. And now that I no longer use drugs of any kind, I thought I would be welcomed back with open arms by my above-mentioned friend. But it wasn't to be. You see, I don't smoke pot. If a person who doesn't drink alcohol hangs out with those who do, it can make them feel a little uncomfortable. And I assume this might be the case for me not smoking pot because yesterday when I called in to visit him, he mentioned inviting another friend of ours over that night to hang out and, in his words, have a few hotties. But, I was conspicuously vacant from the invite list. I had to laugh because the reality is that I don't particularly enjoy the company of those under the influence of drugs of any kind. I'm not a reformist and what others choose to do is their business, but I just think they aren't great company. Never mind, lucky for me I do enjoy my own company...and there is a lot to be said about that fact. |
| In 2018, while I was visiting Thailand, I was shopping (as you do) and found the coolest pair of shorts. I had to have them and was hardly out of them the entire time I was there...even wearing them on the trip home. In the five years since then, drugs have consumed my life. In fact, on the plane on my way back to Oz, I was already planning to score, and within a few hours of arriving back, I was high. That particular binge went on for a long time, and somewhere along the way, I forgot all about self-care, self-respect and pretty much everything except purchasing and using drugs. As a result, at some point in that journey of self-destruction, the shorts I thought were so cool, no longer fit me. For the last five years, I've kept those shorts in my drawers, hoping against hope that one day, I would be able to wear them again. I must admit, there have been times when I thought about taking them to Vinnies, so at least someone got to enjoy them, as I had for that short period of time all those years ago. But, in the back of my mind, there remained a sniff of hope. I knew that as long as I was using meth, there would be no way I could lose the weight that had gradually built up around my midsection. There are people who use amphetamines and lose weight, but for me, the opposite is the case. It was a cycle of while I was high, I wouldn't eat for days. Then followed by gorging on high-calorie foods like chocolate and processed foods, which my body demanded after the (assumed) famine came to an end. Five months ago, when I decided to give quitting meth another try, I got those shorts out and tried to put them on. My guess is, I was at least three to four inches off doing them up. This then became my mission, and every month or so since, I have gotten them out to check my progress. And each time I did, I could see the transformation and the inches shrinking away right before my eyes. Then today, as I was getting ready to go to my psyche session, I happened to think about those shorts. By this stage, with the number of times I had tried and still couldn't fit into them, I had no expectations of actually being able to wear them. But when I pulled them up over my knees, the realisation that it was going to be close filled me with hope. When I relayed the story to my counsellors and then showed them the shorts I hadn't been able to wear in five years, a real sense of accomplishment must have beamed from my face. Later, I reflected on what would have been if I had made a different choice the day before. I wouldn't have bothered to try those shorts on and who knows when the next binge would have ended. All I know for sure is that I like the life I am living now. I have achieved one goal (getting back into my shorts), but there are so many more to come. The reality is that each and every day is a success, as long as I don't allow addiction to take over and once again rule my life. Ash and Tamara didn't train with me today, but I didn't allow that to be an excuse for me not to get out there and work my ass off. And as I completed my ride after weights, for some reason, I had the biggest smile on my face...in fact, it's been there all afternoon. |
| I am thankful to a lot of people, both here at WdC and my life in general. There are too many to name right now, but I want to acknowledge some of those who have stood by me, supported me and have never given up on me...even in those moments when I had given up on myself. First of all, I want to thank Hummingbird...both in my personal life and online...without you, I would have been lost long ago. Also, a huge thank you to WakeUpAndLive...a long time ago you took me under your wing and taught me so much...you were the one who encouraged me to start blogging and gave me the name...for that and your unending support, I am eternally grateful. JustLeJenD...you are my rock when things aren't going so well...thank you for always being there. Thank you also Dog, Shadow Prowler, Stik's on a Boat, Wordsmitty, Kare Enga, Sumojo, QPdoll, ruwth, Lilli, Schnujo, Hard Bop Macaroni and Benjamin Black (even if we no longer talk regularly), Prosperous Snow and Naomi (for your generosity in reviewing my work) and everyone else who reads (and my Tuesday group, who don't) my blog...thank you. It was WakeUpAnd Live who emphasised to me the importance of being accountable. At the time, I was struggling (and the fact of the matter is, I still am). I couldn't see then just how important the shield that accountability provides would end up being...that was until today. I sometimes have premonitions. It's not like I can predict things that are going to happen, but at times, I get these feelings that either through universal knowledge or coincidence, come to be. Two days ago my blog post mentioned the doorbell ringing and my fear and anxiety of what I would have done if it was a dealer. I've blocked from my phone anyone who could bring me to temptation. The problem with that is, I still get a notification, and the message simply gets put into an easily accessible blocked file. Today I got a message from a dealer asking me the question..."Did I want anything?" I knew as soon as I saw 'blocked message' that it would be someone I didn't want to speak to. But we all know that is almost impossible to ignore, and in that instant, thoughts of using raced through my body. My mind screamed at me, "NO!" But a massive surge of adrenaline made any logical assessment of the reality of what I was considering, extremely difficult. My heart was racing, my palms began to sweat and for a few minutes, I held my phone in my hand in a state of virtual panic. Several times, I went to message her back to arrange a meeting, but each time, something made me stop. The shield of accountability that everyone in my life, youself included, has placed over me in order to protect me and ward off relapse, worked. And now that the adrenaline has dissipated and logic has assumed its rightful position in my mind, I feel more relieved than proud. I know I should be proud of myself. I passed the test...be it a little shakily, but a pass is a pass. And when it comes down to the fact that if I had given in to temptation no one knows what might have come, even death, is why I am expressing so much gratitude to everyone who has been there in the past and are here today. Because in those moments of terror, whilst holding that phone in hand, it was everyone who had shown me love and care that my thoughts went to. I don't want to say that I chose not to use drugs today BECAUSE of you, but you were there and as much as I didn't want to let myself down, I didn't want to let you down either. And who knows...you might have saved my life just by clicking and reading this blog. That is profound, and I hope you understand that is not some BS talk...that is a fact. In group on Tuesday, I was asked by Katie to speak directly to the group about what I would have said if that doorbell chime wasn't Ash and Tamara, but was instead, a dealer. Two posts ago, my fantasy was to tell the dealer to fuck off and never set foot on my property again, and I think everyone would expect me to say something like that to the dealer who messaged me today. But the fact of the matter is, the person who messaged me today is not evil, and even though she would, if I allowed her, take advantage of my addiction, she herself is an addict and is no better or worse than I am. And so, my reply to her message was simple. No thanks. She responded with, "No worries"...and then asked how I have been. I pondered this for a few moments before replying...and I quote (bar leaving her name out)... "I've been really good. Before I saw you six weeks ago, I hadn't used in 3 months, and I haven't had anything since. Except for that one week, I've trained every day. I'm still seeing my Counsellor, so everything is looking up for me. I own my own home now and don't owe a cent to anyone, so choosing to continue to do shit would be madness. I hope all is well with you. I know that you are a good person and one day soon, you will make the same decision as I have. Good luck with everything"...unquote. Addiction still plagues me, so for me to judge, abuse or try to make others who are addicts feel bad is not helping anyone, not even me. |
| I have a problem. You see, there's this 'thing' that happens every time I share a piece of my writing (and it is especially true when it comes to poetry) with someone. And it doesn't seem to matter if I have known them for five minutes or fifty years (literally). As most of you would be aware, it is very difficult to KNOW what a person is or is not going to like when it comes to art, and in a lot of ways (the main way being self-preservation), I will look back and regret not choosing something different to share with these seemingly silent types. If I could have one wish (that was strictly for me and didn't involve ending world hunger or finding a cure for cancer), I would wish to know if every writer goes through the same thing as I do when it comes to sharing our work with others, which goes a little like this...we choose a piece we think they might enjoy, then send it to them and wait a week or two before realising there will be no reply forthcoming. Silence is for me the worst sound, and I hear it a lot. This is probably paranoia, but it almost takes on a life of its own...where I will fill in the gaps and begin to imagine what they thought of the poem, and why they said nothing about it. I mean, even if they didn't like it and told me why, at least that is something...feedback to reflect on. And, of course, in my attempt to understand, I will come up with, "Neil, the reason they didn't say anything was because they hated it." Or worse, they were indifferent, and it had absolutely no impact on them whatsoever. I understand that art is subjective, and the ideal way to share our work is to instead of sharing individual items, share our entire backlog and let them choose which piece fits into their idea of what good art is. I know I should give without expectation...and that is how I should look at this. But, because I put so much thought and effort into my work, only to have it ignored, is a test I am failing badly. I thought I would try an experiment...the couple from group, Ash and Tamara, with whom I am becoming better friends and seeing more regularly now that we are training together every second day, have become (unknowingly) my guinea pigs/crash test dummies, and this is the price they must pay for using my gym...that they must endure one poem before they are allowed entry. Tamara actually mentioned to the group on Tuesday night that I am a really good poet (as surprising as that was to her and everyone else). And so today, I went down a completely different route to the first poem I read to them both. This time I read "That Perfect Day"  and although the reaction to the first poem was good, this one got the reaction I have been waiting so long to hear. Once I had finished the recital, I received an invitation to their wedding...but only if I would recite that poem. And I couldn't ask for a better reaction than that.The thing is though, if I had sent it in the usual way, the only thing I would have heard is crickets. This suggests that it isn't them not liking my work, but not bothering to read it...which is sad for all concerned and does nothing to make me feel any better about this 'thing' that has become such a problem. |
| Tonight, I attended my Tuesday group meeting. There were the usual crew...myself and four others, plus two new guys. When there are seven people, it's a struggle to get around to everyone twice and so, getting two chances to speak becomes almost impossible. This is where a strong facilitator is important. To make sure the session moves along at a constant pace and nobody uses up too much time. Despite the numbers, the session went well and everyone had a short, but fair turn. Ash and Tamara (the couple from group) are coming over again tomorrow to do another weights session. I've been getting to sleep earlier and waking earlier in the morning, which is allowing me to get through more work throughout the day. I'm getting more things done around the house...one job at a time. I'll know in a couple of weeks if my application to access my 401k will be granted. I am confident about it, but we shall see. All is well and I am happy. |
| It doesn't happen very often, but when my doorbell chimes, it fills me with a certain amount of dread and anxiety. I've blocked from my phone those who would have me back on their books as a regular paying customer, dependent on the product they want to sell me. The only other way they can contact me now is by physically calling into my house and knocking on my door...with the best of intentions, of course. And so it was this morning when I heard the familiar tune go, ding dong. My heart immediately jumped into my throat, and in that instant, I felt a surge of adrenalin run through my body. Sitting here now, I am asking myself a hard question...what would I have done if it was a dealer and they had offered me drugs? In all honesty, I can't answer that because I am still vulnerable and in that instant, it is possible I may have made a bad decision. I wish I could say I would have told whoever it was to fuck off and never set foot on my property again, but those words are just a fantasy and I will never really know for sure what I would have done. It is disappointing for me to have to admit that...and all I can say is thank God it wasn't a dealer. It turned out to be the couple from Tuesday's group meetings. They happened to be out on a walk and for the first time, called in for a visit. They are pretty cool, and we sat talking for a while before I asked them if they wanted to do a workout. And so the three of us trained together...rather than the alternative of if we had met six months earlier, when we may have instead been using drugs. I remarked halfway through our session about that fact...and how much better it is to feel healthy and strong, rather than being a slave to a drug that takes everything away and gives little in return. We all agreed, I mean, it's so obvious, and yet, so compelling. When I first realised we live no more than a few hundred metres apart, I was concerned about the possible negatives that might come from becoming friends with others who use the same drug (and I must admit that I still have some reservations). The rule of thumb is to avoid this kind of situation because if they relapse, that may influence me to relapse...or visa versa. So far, this hasn't happened, and as we continue our own individual journeys of recovery, my hope is the opposite will ensue. |
| I ride my bicycle every day. It can be hazardous out there, but in general, if I concentrate and don't let my mind wander, it's pretty safe. In any case, for me, the benefits far outweigh the dangers. Riding is something I truly enjoy, and the fact that I've been riding bikes since childhood, I'll keep on riding until the day I can no longer mount the seat. A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I'd had an accident whilst out riding. I wasn't focused on the road ahead and ran into the back of a parked car. I thought it was time to get the bike checked over, so I booked it into my local bike shop for a service. And the news wasn't good. Unfortunately, when I had the accident, it cracked the frame down near the rear wheel, and because it's made from composite materials, the expense of getting it repaired is more than the bike is worth. Carbon fibre is light and strong, but it's also quite brittle. Because it is so light, it makes great bike frames...so long as you don't throw the bike down the road, like I did. Polymer materials are strong longitudinally (pulling them apart), but if for example, a bike frame takes a hit from the side... laterally, then not so much. The bottom line is my bike is a write-off and is now only good for spare parts. I bought the bike six or seven years ago, which isn't a bad run considering how much it gets ridden. I have no one to blame but myself for the accident, so rather than get upset or angry at the news, I did what I needed to do and bought myself a brand-new bike (how awful...LOL). It's silver and black and shiny, and that first scratch is going to hurt a lot. I didn't want a frame made of carbon fibre, it's too expensive and way too brittle. So, this time I chose a bike with a frame made of aluminium (with carbon forks and seat post). It weighs a little more than my old bike, but it's negligible. The advantage is next time I hit the road (in a bad way), the frame shouldn't crack like it did on my old bike. I took it out for its first spin today. The running gear is smooth and the set-up feels right. I'm a Google Local Guide (level 6) and have been writing reviews on local businesses for the last seven years. I don't usually tell (unless it's a restaurant or I'm looking for a discount) them so that I get a realistic idea of the service they provide. But, I have to admit in some instances, I will mention it, especially in situations like today. It's hard to know if that was the reason the sales guy gave me a good deal (they have a high mark-up on retail anyway, to allow for a discount so that we THINK we are getting a great deal), or if I would have got it anyway...but in any case, I'm a pretty happy camper today. |
| When I came up with the idea for this post, I wasn't thinking in terms of popular body parts we see on someone else that we know we like. However, in saying that, I do have to admit that I am an ass man (please, don't get mad or call me sexist...after all, I'm just a man). But, to clarify exactly what I am aiming for here, and at the same time, hopefully gain a reprieve for my somewhat misogynistic confession of liking certain ladies' bums, this post isn't about attraction at all, it's about functionality. And so...without further adieu, welcome to the most popular body part awards ceremony. I'm your host, Dr. Gonzo and I'll be bringing you all your favourite body parts (and some you never even knew you liked). There will be those you can see in the mirror (or at the beach) and some others that play a less glamorous role in most of our lives, yet are important just the same. They play a less visual, but more supporting role, and just like on the stage and screen, there needs to be the stars of the show (faces, boobs, asses, legs, hair etc) and the mostly unloved co-stars (hearts, lungs, livers, kidneys, intestines etc). The nominations for the most abused body part are... The liver, for its role in cleaning our blood of all the crap we ingest. The brain for its ability to make new neural pathways when we have destroyed the old ones. The heart, for pumping away, even when clogged with fatty tissue that we don't care about...at least, until it doesn't. And the winner is...folks, for the first time in the history of body part awards, we have a three-way tie...congrats to all three nominees for doing a stellar job, even if we don't deserve their commitment and dedication in keeping us alive. And now, the award for the hardest working, yet least acknowledged body part...and the nominations are... The spleen, for its role in fighting off infection. The pituitary gland, for playing a small walk-on part in hormone production and for its role in helping produce the milk that feeds us in our infancy. The cast of fifty sphincters, for their role in keeping things in and letting things out when we need it most. And the winners are...the cast of fifty sphincters. I for one cannot think of a more deserving body part to win this award. I hope this helps shine a light on the plight of these mostly ignored and humble muscles, without which, we would all suffer extreme bloating until we eventually explode. That wraps up another year of popular body part awards...I can see the times are a changin when the stars leave empty-handed and the quiet achievers get invited to the most glamorous of post-ceremony parties...see you all there. |
| I wish my Mom could see the house as it looks today. After ten years of being a caregiver and care receiver, we were in a rut. Eventually, cleaning became only surface deep...a gesture rather than a mission. And now that I have trashed most of the furniture, uncluttering, and thereby revealing the hidden places, nooks and crannies that were easily overlooked, these places are now receiving the attention they sorely needed. My friend showed up on time and we worked for a few hours. Once all the heavy lifting was done, he looked at the mess, cobwebs and crud that no one had seen in decades and took off like a rat up a drain pipe. I had to laugh and certainly didn't expect him to help clean. I truly appreciate the fact that without him, I wouldn't have been able to get to this point. But as is the way of things, as my friend drove away, I looked around with the realisation that the real work had only just begun. I felt defeated only a couple of days ago, and now, with the end almost in sight, there is a renewed vigour. I've been on my feet since mid-morning, first attending my psyche session, then onto the bank. Once home, I had a quick bite to eat before my friend arrived (at around 2:00 pm) and I haven't stopped since. It's now 8.45 pm. I've been playing music all afternoon (atm I'm listening to Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here), which has helped pass the time. My feet hurt like crazy, but I'm far from finished. Perhaps in another hour or two, I will stop for the day. Then in the morning, I will continue until I am satisfied. I can't remember the last time I felt this tired...or this content. Life is changing (for some reason, I have tears in my eyes). With a little luck and a lot of hard work, for the first time in a very long time, I think I'm going to be OK. |
| Because of the heavy workload of moving stuff out of the house and to the sidewalk, and the pressure I put myself under since I lapsed five weeks ago to train harder, yesterday, my body screamed at me to please stop. I must admit it was a battle not to (at the very least) get out on my bike. Addiction comes in many forms and I know all too well the negative feelings that come when I don't exercise according to a set routine. But today when I hit the gym, my body thanked me and I easily cruised through the double. I saw my GP this morning to get a referral to see a specialist orthopedic surgeon about my knee. There's no cartlidge and it's now bone on bone. The knee swells if I'm on my feet a lot, like I have been over the last few days. Severe Osteoarthritis and a torn ACL cause me pain and grief. The only solution is to swallow pain meds and eventually, have knee replacement surgery. It'll be a few years before that happens because the titanium joint only lasts ten years and the surgery is so traumatic, they recommend it only be done once in a lifetime...meaning another two to three years of pain. The funny part is I can ride a bike without issue, but walking is a different matter. In the meantime, losing weight will help take pressure off the joint and strengthening the muscles in my legs will help support the knee. The last few days I've been struggling, not just physically, but mentally. Having to do everything on my own takes a toll. But today, I rounded the corner and most of the house is now done. There are just a few heavy items to carry out and I've managed to rope a friend into coming tomorrow to lend a hand. I've had no cravings and I feel positive about the future. In saying that, I still need to take it one day at a time. I know she (methamphetamine) is still there waiting for me to fall and if I do, she will pick me up in her loving arms and take everything I have worked for because...she will share me with no one. |
| My feet hurt, and I'm sure lots of other people's feet hurt when they take their shoes off at the end of a long day. The trouble for me is I'm not used to being on my feet all day, and because the last two days I've been doing a lot of work clearing the house of unwanted stuff...my feet REALLY hurt. I had another real estate agent inspect the house today. He seems to think it will be a quick sale, but I'm having reservations (anxiety) about the wisdom of selling. I didn't think I had any other option but to sell, in order to pay out my siblings, but there may be another way...accessing my superannuation (401k) early. I'm fifty-nine in a month, but under the rules, I can't withdraw any funds until I am sixty, unless I meet certain criteria. I'm confident I can meet the requirements, and if so, can then pay out my siblings and retain ownership of my home. If that happens, I can then lease the house and use the funds to live off while I am overseas. And if at a later stage, I return to Australia permanently, I'll be guaranteed of having somewhere to live. On the flip side, if I do happen to find an idyllic place to live out the rest of my life, I can then sell the property. Another advantage of doing this is real estate ALWAYS appreciates over time and at the moment, interest rates are rising, which means it isn't the ideal time to be selling a property. I have St Vincent de Paul charity coming early tomorrow morning with a truck to take what I don't want, and they do. The rest is going out on the sidewalk for curbside collection. More work for my sore feet, but all for a good cause. |
| I have only entered two writing comps in the two years I have been a member here at WdC, and it's unlikely that I will again. And although 0 from 2 may appear like sour grapes, I don't want to acknowledge that it may very well be the case. I get that for every competition winner, there will be many other entries that don't win. And the consolation prizes on both occasions were that I did learn a lot about myself and how to deal with the disappointment of losing. Another bonus was I did get two items that I am very proud of, and that is something no judge can ever take away. I have a confession to make...I am competitive and I don't like to lose (which upon reflection, has both positive and negative effects). Because of this competitive streak, on both occasions, I put my heart and soul into the work I presented to the judge/judges. One "Knock Knock...Who's There" entry was awarded second place, and choosing to ignore, purely for ego's sake, that there were only two entries in that particular category, is a story I am sticking to. In the second competition, I entered "Worlds Apart...A Love Never-Ending" . The piece was, according to the judges, too short, and didn't meet the parameters of what they believed a short story should be (even though the word count was within the terms set for entry)...never mind.I believe in every word I produce...be that a static item on my port or here as a blog post. I take my time and give a lot of thought, not just for my own ego, but to try and entertain and bring something to the reader that they can then take away, and hopefully, will change them in some small way. There are times when I wonder if it is worth it, then later, after I put those thoughts aside (and my dummy back where it belongs), is when I see that the real benefits from my efforts are not just for others, but also very much for me. I didn't graduate from high school, and learning to write on a level that is acceptable to me, has been a real challenge. I still have a lot to learn; about grammar, sentence structure and all of the other things that go into producing a good read...things that a lot of people just know. I'm proud of how far I have come, and the moment I felt the most pride was when I was made a preferred author...an achievement I never even considered, let alone in under two years. We all have dreams to do with our art, and as writers, the reality is those dreams are unlikely to ever come to fruition. But, winning competitions or getting that book deal isn't WHY we write. Those things, if achieved, are the cream, and even though we may never receive recognition for our work from a wider audience than we have now, we still get to eat cake. We write because that's what we do, and that should be enough. But the fact is, an artist's desire for more will always be there just under the surface. |
| Yesterday I did the double...weights followed by a forty-minute bike ride. My clothes are mysteriously getting larger and my bank balance is doing likewise, despite the bills and cost of living increases. I am happy, even though I do, at times, feel isolated from people. When I feel loneliness creeping up on me, I consider the alternative of having too much going on and too many people in my life, which quickly diminishes any thoughts of self-pity. I then count myself lucky to have the few friends that I do. As far as this blog (and this might be true for them all) goes, it seems the better I am doing, the fewer people support or read my words. This could be the case, not just for blogs, but in life as well. An example might be if a friend or acquaintance suddenly becomes wealthy. Of course, we are happy for them, at least on the surface (and in the celebrations that follow, after all, who doesn't like free drinks or expensive catering?) But, time will be the ultimate determiner of if it is them, or us, who has changed. Especially if/when we don't see them as much as we did before the windfall, for the many reasons this might occur. The proverb might go...Being successful in life, whatever that represents to you, is great, just don't expect too many people to be happy for you. That might sound harsh, but step back, and if you are able, look just below the surface of human nature, and that is how we are in a general sense. In Australia, we have a term for this kind of thing...Tall Poppy Syndrome. I imagine each and every one of us thinking..."Not me...I'm not like that at all." And for many, I'm sure that is true. But when that suddenly rich friend shows up in their brand new car or moves into that new house up in the hills, is when those feelings we thought we didn't have, might just bubble to the surface, and in some cases, erupt...but only AFTER they leave (with the top down and smiling from ear to ear). Let's face it, there's a reason we slow down when there's been an accident on the freeway, and in most cases, it's not to help or for better road safety. Blood and someone else's tragedy, no matter how civilised we think we are, still attracts our attention. Ever since humanity became organised, we have attended stonings, beheadings, burning witches at the stake, gladiators fighting to the death, bullfights, throwing Christians to the lions and executions by lethal injection (one of the hottest tickets in town if you can get one). And there's a reason the UFC is one of the fastest-growing sports in the world...we want to see blood...just not our own. Of course, there are those who are opposed to and are completely reviled by blood sports. And whilst I don't want to be labelled extreme or controversial in voicing my opinions here (that, and the fact I don't like the thought of being metaphorically drawn and quartered and/or accused of being sexist), my guess is many who are vehemently opposed to any form of contact sports (and would, if they weren't so opposed to the spilling of blood, happily use extreme violence against anyone who thinks otherwise) is perhaps, or even definitely, female in gender. This makes me think of a scene from Monty Python's movie, 'Life of Brian'. In it, a crowd is attending a stoning and John Cleese asks if there are any women (because women were banned from attending stonings...apparently), and ALL of them are women wearing fake beards. So funny because there is truth within the joke. Nowadays, instead of stonings, there are midday shows such as Jerry Springer, or of late, Dr Phil, where instead of real stones, verbal stones are thrown at TV sets by frustrated and angry housewives all over the world. We are more civilised now and should not be baying for blood...I get that. And yet, blood sports are gaining exponentially in popularity the world over. I've said it before and I'll say it again...we humans must surely be the strangest critters walking on two legs. |
| Self-medicating with a drug like meth, contrary to popular opinion, did what I wanted it to do...forget about the hurtful things I did to others and in turn, what they did to me. Forget the regrets, the loss and all the sorrow that comes along with these things. The pain of abandonment and (whether real or perceived) betrayal...all forgotten in the high of methamphetamine abuse. Yes, there were the inevitable and inescapable comedowns, but these darker-than-dark days were short-lived and were soon forgotten the next time I felt like hiding away from my issues. For a long time, this form of therapy worked for me. Unlike a lot of addicts, who go through the predictable cycle of introduction, abuse to the point of rock bottom, then seek help, only to relapse and eventually get clean, I saw another way...a way that would keep me using (on and off...but mostly on) for the best part of forty years. Some might say I dodged a bullet, given the fact that I am still breathing. But the truth is not as clear-cut as it might on the surface appear. Over the last year, and especially in the last few months, I have noticed a change in my short-term memory. Just the other night, I couldn't remember if I had showered that afternoon and had to check my towel to see if it was damp. This also extends to what I have for dinner, sometimes forgetting what I had eaten only a few hours before. It seems so ironic that I took meth in order to forget, and now that I have decided enough is enough, the outcome from all those years of slowly killing my brain, is the possibility I might develop early-onset dementia. I watched my father as he descended this path until he didn't know who I was. I remember his distrust when he questioned me as I tried to jog his memory about his past by naming his siblings..."How do you know about my family?" The last time I visited my father, I was with my children (they were around ten years old at the time), and as we left, I spoke to them about not allowing me to get to that point. Upon reflection, it was a stupid thing for me to say because what could they, or anyone else for that matter do, if I can no longer recognise them? Even now, I think to myself if it happens, I will kill myself...a much easier thing to say than it is to do. The laws to do with euthanasia in Australia are a failure and are so strict (for our own good, of course) that it isn't feasible to go down that path. Because in the event I do get to the stage where I am unable to make that decision, any hope of dying with dignity is lost. And the sad fact is making that choice before I lose the capacity isn't available. It isn't fair to those who know what they want, but are caught between religious do-gooders preaching their own beliefs and an over-protective government that is happy to take away my right to die when and how I wish. If it ever becomes their turn to suffer, however, I wonder if they will then feel the same way. The only solace is that my father didn't suffer, especially once he got to the point where he didn't know much of anything...reverting back to an almost child-like state. It was us, his family, who suffered the most, especially in those last months when I couldn't even bring myself to visit him and the guilt I felt because of this. Perhaps it was also because I could foresee a similar fate for me...like a train that no one could stop. I wrote this poem after he died "What Price Your Dignity" dealing with the feelings of relief that just didn't seem right.I will talk to my doctor, so he can refer me to a specialist who will take pictures of the holes where normal brain matter should be. I've heard that there are new drugs that can delay the inevitable, but these treatments are likely to be very expensive and could be a long way off being approved by the FDA. I'm scared and I cannot think of a sadder way to die...not just for me, but for those who love and care about me. In the meantime, I am not going to sit by waiting for dementia to come to me. I never was one to roll over and give up easily. The plan is to make an appointment and get a diagnosis. And since I am going to Thailand anyway (either short or long term depending on the results of the tests), I've begun learning some of the basics of the language. Our brains are very malleable and plasticity might just gain me some precious time. Staying active physically and mentally is something else that cannot hurt. Learning new skills will play a role, not just in keeping my mind my own, but by helping me to better integrate into Thai culture and hopefully, also gaining some appreciation from the people. |
| What a week I've had. With a month passing by since the lapse, I've regained my confidence, self-belief and more importantly, my health. I must admit for a while there, I was feeling pretty low. But with each day that has passed, my feelings of regret and sorrow have diminished and brighter, more positive feelings have replaced them. The decision to volunteer, group meetings restarting again, making good progress in my training and not falling back into addictive behaviours are all helping to keep my spirits up. The documentation for grant of probate have now been lodged with the court, and all four siblings have signed the agreement that ensures a fair and amicable outcome to do with my mother's Will...and in doing so, relieves me of the stress of waiting until March 2024 to find out if there would be a contest. There's still a lot to do. The furnishings are virtually worthless. I'll donate what I can to St Vincent de Paul Society and whatever I decide to keep will go into a small container to go into storage until I locate some digs in Thailand, then get it shipped to me there. The rest will go out for kerbside collection and what remains will go into a skip bin. I arranged for an inspection by a real estate agent during the week and she recommended that there be the least amount of furniture in the house as possible when we begin showing the property to potential buyers. This allows me around six weeks (until the property goes on the open market) from now to reduce the contents of my home to a bare minimum. I still need to live here until settlement (assuming the house is sold), which could mean living in an almost empty home for months. The house already feels empty without my Mom being here, and this situation will be made even worse without furnishings or even pictures on the walls. My room, however, will stay the same...after all, I need somewhere to call home whilst awaiting the sale of my house. Each event is just another step in the journey. During this time of upheaval, I will try to remain focused on the future and not let any negative aspects get me down. |
| Making small changes can make a huge difference. Today I did the double. The difference came when after weights, instead of taking the same route on my ride as I have done for years, I went a different way. I live on top of a ridge, and normally I head down the hill before heading back up the other side...on repeat. Let's call it the lumpy circuit because I am either pedalling hard uphill or coasting down the other side. So today, instead of taking the lumpy route, I took the smooth route. I skimmed along the top of the ridge, avoiding the steep ups and downs on my left and instead, tracked to the right. Now, in my mind, the latter must be the easier way because of the lack of hard uphill riding. But in saying this, the smooth route requires more continuous pedalling. And the results are in...I am sore in my legs...more than I have been in a while. Perhaps the answer is to rotate the way I go on a more regular basis. Earlier in the day, I called an organisation called Meals on Wheels (I actually got out of bed earlier than I normally do) to see if they require volunteer drivers to deliver meals to the elderly and disabled, who are still living in their own homes. Their office is just around the corner from me and I was asked to come straight in to fill out all the required paperwork. Once my police check comes back, I will be volunteering my time once a week on Fridays, and filling in as required on other days. After the interview, I visited the old folks home where my Mom was a resident before she passed. I spent around an hour talking to some familiar faces. From now on, I'll be going back once a week just to hang out. I know it's going to make a difference, not just to their lives, but to mine as well. |
| Fate and destiny vs free will and our choices possibly changing outcomes is riveting stuff for me. I am more inclined to believe our fate is set...that destiny governs everything to do with our lives from before we are even born...but I could be wrong. Coincidence is another one that intrigues me. A small example of coincidence happened to me last week on one of my regular bike rides. Bear in mind that I ride every day on the exact same course. I had been on the road for around ten minutes when I noticed a young girl who was about fifteen years old and dressed in a school uniform walking towards me on the opposite side of the road. On any other day, this would not have garnered a mention on my post, but on that particular day, as I casually glanced up from the handlebars and our eyes briefly met, she gave me the biggest smile and said hello. No big deal, right? I've had people in the past say hi to me as I passed them by, and this was just a friendly girl, who must have been having a good day and felt like expressing her happiness to the random stranger riding past her on his bike. As you would expect, her friendly smile made me feel happy, and perhaps rather than coincidence, this happiness flowed on as I peddled along the next section of the circuit. In the distance, I saw another student, a boy around the same age as the girl, but wearing a different uniform, approaching on the other side of the road. And as we passed each other (you guessed it), he looked directly at me, smiled and said, "How ya goin, mate?" I replied with a nod and a smile and said, "Hey, mate." Very normal Aussie lingo, but not normal behaviour, especially from students, going by past experience. I put it down to a case of schools all across the city having a 'say hello to a stranger riding a bicycle day'...a campaign that I was completely oblivious to until these two lovely kids shared that with me. Then, not a minute later, I was riding past a building site. One of the workers was out the front on the footpath when he looked up, smiled and said Gidday. I would have looked a little bewildered, but I gave him the obligatory nod and a 'Hey'. As I pressed on, I was beginning to think I had entered the twilight zone. Then, as I topped the hill on a lefthand bend (you wouldn't read about it) I slowly passed a guy who had obviously just arrived home from work (because of the fact he was still in his fluro uniform), was getting out of his car when he looked at me with a smile and said hi. To put this into context, in the previous ten years of riding the same course, with only the occasional smile from others out and about and then to have four people say hello to me in a matter of ten minutes, is a coincidence I would love to happen every day. |
| There are more than four-hundred and fifty different mental disorders, and I think I may have just discovered another one...Egyptian Pharaoh Disorder...or EPD. Self-diagnosis, followed by self-medication has been my long-term go-to whilst trying to avoid my issues...but as Dr Phil would ask me..."How is that working out for you, Neil?" To which I would answer, in a sullen tone, "Not real well, Phil." And since I can no longer self-medicate and expect to lead a normal healthy life, means self-diagnosis has to go solo. Over the last week or two, I've been feeling a bit low. It's been a long time since I have been on holiday. Also, dealing with the loss of my Mom and the stress from having to wind up her estate, when I was already burned out to begin with, has taken a toll on my mental health. My main suspect was Bipolar Disorder because of the up-and-down mood changes that of late, have plagued me from one day to another. But without getting a professional second opinion, this was just a wild guess. Then tonight, whilst I was talking about how I have been feeling in my Tuesday group meeting, I think we may have figured out what the real culprit is. I'm in a rut...a King Rut. And upon reflection, is it any wonder? Not getting to sleep until 3.00 am and then sleeping till noon. No routine other than training each day. No job and no responsibilities have done nothing to elevate my self-esteem or promote positive mental health. I need to do something other than wake up late, eat, train, write a blog, eat, watch TV and (eventually) sleep...but what? The answer came to me like a revelation...I need to volunteer my time to help others. By having more responsibility and purpose, I hope to shake King Rut and cure my EPD. And in doing so, it will not only give me something worthwhile to do but help perhaps underprivileged and/or older members of my community...and I might even find some new friends. |
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