Saturday, December 16, 2017

Home not alone

With the traditional Ozzer cultural downtime for the Christmas and New Year combined with Summer school holidays it means my home alone time has come to an end. I had 2017 off and spent almost all my time—apart from going to therapy—home alone. 

So during the day I was free to be me and that included angry singing.

I was angry singing to "Sabotage" when theboy opened the door of the shed and looked in, worry writ across his face.

He thought I'd cooked off into an angry emotional PTSD-fuelled state and was doing shed-based ranting because that's what it sounded like outside as my voice was louder and the music muted; it just sounded like furious speechifying. 

I'd tripped him into a pre-flight fight response which my family has because of my condition; if I am in a "outside reason" state then it's frightening and distressing to see. 

I told him what I was doing but he still walked away worried because his brain and body had been put into a trigger state by what appeared to be daddy having one of his attacks. He would then have either tried to calm me or get his phone and call mum for help.

I'm no longer home alone so I have to curb that habit; angry singing may make me feel good in the moment but it heightens my emotions for a potential trigger latter that day and now it impacts on others. I feel great when I do it; it sounds scary as fuck to them when I do.

This year was a blessing; just being at home and in treatment. But I baked in some bad habits—I had an angry shout ride on the BYB yesterday—in the time away and now I'm not home alone I have to actively stop them

To see the look of frightened worry etched deep into your child's face because they fear you've gone over to the dark side of angry non-reason is deeply confronting. PTSD is contagious; the people around you the most know your triggers and they go into a heightened state when one happens because they're worried you're going to cook off.

And even when you're not, if you sound like you are then they rightly think you are as well. 

I'm not home alone and the merry season is upon us. In the spirit of the season I'll go positive. Because I'm in company now, the company I most love, and it's a horror seeing your son open your door to check to see if  you've gone insane so he can then deal with the getting his father through it if he has.

Friday, December 15, 2017

Talisman won by toad

I'd used The Highlands teleport helmet in the inner zone but landed in the valley before the crown. The Wizard was there and I toaded the fucker with the toadify spell.

It was a Race to the Crown result and then he simply hopped onto the crown space in all his toady glory to win.

Beaten by a toad; that's a fail.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Opening credits



Possibly the best opening credits I've seen to date; just glorious. 

It's not a battle anthem; I just play it 'cos it makes me happy.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Adios, cowboy

It seems at time of writing Roy Moore lost the senate race in Alabama to Doug Jones from the Democratic party. Moore, accused of serial annoyance of hot girls at the mall and worse, wore a cowboy outfit at most public engagements and pulled out his weapon of choice a number of times to show off his love for "number two" and that "number one" only applied to Christians and then only when they said so (gays, slaves, burying talents etc.).

I believe Jones got 56 per cent of all women and the black turnout was big, with the Mighty O coming out to support Jones in his race to not be a child molester in the senate. And I know Al Franken rightly fell on his sword for less but let's not forget the whole Dennis Hastert business who was after retirement as Speaker of the House was outed as having molested boys whilst a wrestling coach; a cliched molestation if there ever is one—one of many grown men manipulating young bodies who manipulated their way into the education system in order to manipulate those bodies. 

I had a big talk with theboy about my experience of being physically assaulted by teachers and molested by that school's recommended psychologist; that that sort of crap would never happen to him because of the sea change in how we teach children since I was in school. 

But I added that the horror of X led to the happy of Y (such as him) and that I wouldn't change my life, my body, even if I could if that meant no him. Then he wished I could port my consciousness into a proper healthy body that was the height it should have been; one with proper feet, proper manly knees and hips and masculine fingers which had to be long and ideally calloused from years of hard yakka.

My hands have fingers that are short and that have trouble grasping objects, made worse by injury and medication, are lily white and there are no manly callouses at all. Even at the tips of my writing fingersme being a relatively fast (though error prone) two-finger typer with a loud finger fall that sounds like I am angry at my keyboard or whatever I am writing about—remain callous free.

That happens, the angry writing, but it sounds the same as normal writing—the only real difference is that when typing angry I look like I am doing a stressful poo.

Anyway it's a good result; and a decent rebuke to Trump. Especially given the US is a voluntary voting system with conditions ideal for turnout if you are middle-class or higher and white and can take time from your job or retirement to go out on a work day to do that; they don't even make it a public holiday. 

If they did then more poor people and people of colour would vote because they're the ones in the shittiest of the jobs where taking up to six hours to vote means loss of critical income. 

I'm glad Moore got bounced; he ws the most Trumpy candidate the GOP could vomit up that's not already named Trump and he got bounced from a senate seat that until he was the runner was considered a "never lose" for the GOP. 

But that he got that close at all shows the partisan divide and the willingness of the right wing in the US to suspend norms of government solely to get their own way as they did with the Gorsuch Supreme Court seat. 

The US is a deeply complicated place; it threw up Trump into office, a man whose only experience of government was in usurping, bending and twisting it in his effort to stay rich and live in his palace of gold. It did that because of its arguably archaic Electoral College system skewed white through flyover country. 

It's similar here in Oz—the smaller States have 12 Senators the same as the large whilst the Territories just have two each—despite populations comparable to Tasmania with the full 12. It was part of the deal for Federation that bound the colonies together so a big state couldn't swamp a little one in the house of review. It's given us our fair share of eccentrics, many of which could compete with Moore in the crazy stakes (though as of now none are suspected offenders against children). 

I don't like it but then I live in Canberra and suffer from the disparity of power. We're the ones who know government best but we're literally dudded in terms of our input into government. 

The US got a reprieve and more GOP will be willing to front Trump from now on because he has shown himself for what he is; a predator who tried to help a like-minded villain ascend to an office of power and influence and who openly derided the plausible and well-researched stories of those women, once girls, who experienced the Moore in the privacy of his own lechery and predation. 

But then he had no other choice; if he'd agreed with people like his daughter then he'd be saying the women with the plausible and well-researched stories of their own pawing at the hands of himself should be weighted with the same dignity. 

History is catching up with Trump; all the chicanery he's pulled within limit of statutes will be unearthed by the Justice League team assembled by the ex-head of the FBI, many of whom dropped six or seven figure salaries to return to government once last time. In order, I suspect, to fix the mistake that ultimately led to Trump's election with the former Director's 2016 investigating playing merry hell on Hillary Clinton's chances after early polls had opened. 

I do hope that in this world actual justice will happen; that he will be at last held accountable for his life of being a gilded turd with bad hair plugs.

No arse blood!

It seemed the bleeding arse incident was a one off and healed itself. I had to check pre-wipe and no blood.

I now have the soft, relaxing feeling of not bleeding out of my arse to be a new thing for us to deal with. I say us because the impact of my wounded mind and under cooked body falls on everyone around me because they have to help me and, for now, I can't contribute.

But as GoT famously opined "Some people will always need help. It doesn't mean they're not worth helping."

I need help and I have it. I'm just sad that, for now, I need lots of help and that burden falls on my family.

The BYB is back online and I will away for an EMDR session soon. The cycle there and back is cathartic in that the physicality of the ride helps dampen the pre and post session angst. I'll likely cry---and shout---but it's part of it; bitter mind medicine that makes you well but doesn't feel great when you're having it. 

It's part of the regeneration of me. I can't do what I used to but I can try other things. I accidentally fell into government then brutwally exited it near twenty years later. I feel like the shop owners in that Seinfeld bit about those shop sites that churn through owners and business types and that perhaps they were abducted then returned to Earth like in Close Encounters and as they're staggering down the ramp they're still trying to make sense of it; "there was good sidewalk traffic!"

But that's for the future to worry about. Right now I'm celebrating the fact I am not bleeding out of my arse. 

You know, it's those little things like the absence of rectal bleeding that make your day just that little bit sweeter.

WFTW.

Sneezed wryly

I sneezed twice but each time I actually said the word "Achoo" they both came across as wry, even mocking.

It was a weird delivery of a double sneeze, to sound as if I am insulting someone with a wry cliched sneeze except the only one here is me.

What's next? A sneering clearing of the throat? A sarcastic ball scratch? These are normal reactions; I don't want to set a pattern of body response twinned with aggrandisement. That's just making the challenge of being me that much harder.

(Peeved bum jiggle)

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

Bleeding arse and a snot bubble

I had a scare this morning after I saw a streak of blood in the toilet following a motion. Knowing thewife has a better head for such things I texted to ask if I should get an exam but she said if the blood was bright it indicated an internal tear which happens sometimes to her. I went again later with no blood appearing.

But after I saw the blood I feared another health contraction, where your world shrinks to just dealing with a health crisis and the rest of normality fades to background. A world of examinations, chemo and a fair chance at early death.

In that gulf between the bleeding and the prognosis of likely normal bottom business suffering a mild inner failure my immediate thought was "fuck, I've dodged death so many times; if this is it I'm lucky I've had the time I've had and got to do what I did."

Later, in the shed, my nose blocked up and, unbidden, out from the left nostril rose an enormous snot bubble. When I made into the house to get a tissue I looked in the mirror to see the grim balloon had grown so big it was now rising up the rim of my glasses.

It was quite the body show from me, the reverse Rumpelstiltskin.

I've been grappling with the facts of my childhood; that my body failure was caused by pre-natal neglect and that I was bullied by the ones who did it to me. That not only did they steal a foot in height but left me with lifelong pain from a malformed skeleton which still had the appetite of a big person and who grew into the shape he was always going to have; short, broad and fat. I look like a LOTR dwarf hobbit combo, for fuck's sake.

Heroes are both born and made; they have qualities that enable them to shine when circumstances call for their rise. But those qualities they draw on are oft caused by pain, loss and struggle. 

I had a fucked body but because of it ended up in a place where I gave my thirties to the nation state and literally went insane fighting for people I did not know because I was the right person in the right place at the right time. 

I spent my childhood in my head, reading fantasy and sci-fi to escape reality. I read about heroes doing heroic deeds and stories of humble people made heroes through tragedy and loss.

Then it happened to me; and it would not have were it not for the baptism of fire that was a crap childhood with a body that should be dead a hundred times over.

There is comfort in that. Yes, X happened but Y was the result.

And in that brief moment of presuming "now I have arse cancer" my reflexive thought was how lucky I was to have mattered and made it this far at all.

WFTW.

Friday, December 08, 2017

Finally

It's official, people of the same sex can marry in Oz. We're the 28th country to do so and the last of the eyes to do it. 

But it came at a cost---I read reports of harassment and abuse doubled for LGBTIQ people during the plebiscite, the last gasp of the bigoted who cannot comprehend that such people exist. Indeed they were all but un people for most of history and forced to suppress their selves and worst of all hate themselves because of something they had no decision over and because society slandered them.

I still remember my mum telling me it was okay if I was gay; I gently explained I was not, that being short and stout repelled women as opposed to me not liking them and then she remembered she had two other tall and not fat sons she looked after in the womb and out of it and lost interest in the subject.

Anyway, enough of that grim crap; this is a cause to celebrate the blowing away of bigotry and hate and a giant fuck you to them for making people hate themselves who never ever had cause to.

Wellness for LGBTIQ people for the win.

Thursday, November 30, 2017

That's a major red flag

With thanks to SNL.

For the first time in seeming forever I put in for a job that I'd be keen to do. Only it was after I sent it that I realised I had misspelled the name of the point of contact. Not just their first name but their surname too. The latter was because of a broken embedded email address where that address had forgotten a letter in the contact name. The former was me spelling the name incorrectly because I'd used a common variant for that name but that was the wrong one.

The letter in both cases was the letter H. 

I had to grit teeth and send an apology. 

Getting the name right is the first thing they teach you and I failed. 

But, what's done is done. If I get punted on first contact because of adding an H to the first name and subtracting it for the second then that's the price I pay for that fail.

It was brutal doing the job application. I put way too much detail in and I had to discuss work I did that later resulted in a severe nervous breakdown. It was about three hours all up of writing about me then editing then trying to send it to a broken email address, working out why it was broken then sending to the correct address but forgetting to make the same correction in the surname of the intro—which had been based on the surname in the faulty embedded email. 

What a fail. 

If I get to interview then they let that pass and I thank them. But it's the first thing I'll say when I go into the room because I will feel the need to apologise again at the start of a meeting where I am supposed to present my best face forward.

Owning a mistake is part of the process and I owned it sending an immediate apology with a correction applied. I learned that in the workplace early; if you fuck up then tell someone who needs to know and offer a correction where possible. It is the only practical solution to a fuck up because anything less is making the mistake worse.

That's why the cover up is worse than the lie. Because you know you made a mistake but to deny it or conceal it through inaction is to have it burr at you and make you worse at your job. 

There were times in my past career that I made career-ending mistakes. Except each time I made the mistake I copped to it and offered a solution to fix it. I also learned from those mistakes and did my best not to repeat them. And because I was dobbing myself in then I got a pass on the possible worst outcome for a fail that bad.

But to get a first name then a second name wrong on a "please hire me" letter is an instant kill and if it is so then it is deserved—and it's another reminder of the need to do the basics of the craft and check before you send that you got the fucking name/s right. 

(sigh)