Tag Archives: travel

Title: Stars and Stripes and Stale Beer

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Part One: Orbiting Broke

Dr. Levi Chandler was an American astronomer, a tenured lecturer at King’s College London with a doctorate from Caltech and a bank account that wheezed like a rusted boiler. Despite the prestige of his field and the lectures he gave on galactic formation and dark matter, his daily life bore more resemblance to a rejected sitcom pilot than the life of a respected academic.

He lived in a two-bedroom flat in Hackney with two football hooligans named Darren and Lee. The rent, a modest sum by London standards, was split three ways—but not equally, since Darren was perpetually between jobs and Lee’s primary income came from reselling bootleg matchday scarves on eBay. Levi paid more than his fair share because, as they put it, he had “a posh American salary and a PhD in moon stuff.” Never mind that the exchange rate had gutted his pay and that London rent made L.A. look like a student dormitory.

The flat was a mess: mismatched furniture, beer cans stacked in pyramids on the coffee table, and the lingering scent of curry and unwashed socks. Levi’s room was the only oasis—lined with astronomy posters, bookshelves packed with titles like Gravitational Waves and Cosmic Microwave Background, and a telescope angled awkwardly out the window, mostly collecting pollution data.

Part Two: Football, Brexit, and Broken Pint Glasses

Darren and Lee were twins, 33 years old, with a shared history of broken noses and suspended season tickets. Their religion was football, specifically Arsenal for Darren and West Ham for Lee, a sacrilegious pairing that regularly led to screaming matches and the occasional overturned sofa.

“Mate,” Darren said one night, feet propped on the table, beer in hand, “you gonna come with us to the Arsenal opener? It’s City, innit. Bloody hell, I can’t wait.”

Lee scoffed. “City’s gonna wreck you lot. West Ham’s got more grit this year. Moyes said the new lad from France’s a beast.”

Levi, poring over a stack of student assignments riddled with misused terms like “asteroid storm” and “Martian gravitational lens,” looked up. “Which one of you smashed the mug with the Hubble Space Telescope on it?”

“Wasn’t me,” Darren muttered.

“Probably the cat,” Lee said, despite the flat not having a cat.

London, post-Brexit, was a city of tension. Prices were up, wages flat. Students came in confused droves, unsure whether their tuition covered lectures or just the right to stand in a cold seminar room with a bored American talking about galaxies. Levi spent most of his paycheck on rent, data for his nephew’s gaming rig back in Tulsa, and the occasional overpriced pint at a Camden dive bar.

Part Three: Stars Above and Raves Below

When he wasn’t lecturing or grading, Levi retreated to London’s underground music scene. Techno in abandoned warehouses, punk bands in Shoreditch pubs that still smelled of coal smoke and spilled cider. It was escapism—sound you could lose yourself in. Londoners were angry these days: angry at politics, at landlords, at everything. The music reflected that—a cathartic, pulsing rebellion.

At a rave under Waterloo Bridge one night, Levi met a red-haired DJ named Mika who told him, “Astronomy’s cool, but nobody gives a f*** unless you can dance to it.” She played a mix she titled Black Hole Bass Drop and dedicated it to him.

He nodded along, half amused, half lost in thought. Stars exploding millions of light-years away, unnoticed by everyone moshing under concrete bridges to industrial synth.

Part Four: Family Ties

Every Sunday evening, Levi Skyped with his 14-year-old nephew, Ethan. They talked space stuff, mostly—black holes, Europa’s ice crust, the James Webb telescope.

“You think aliens exist?” Ethan asked once, eyes wide with hope.

“I think the odds are high. But space is big. Like, really big,” Levi said, quoting Douglas Adams with a smile.

Ethan was the only family Levi stayed in touch with. His sister had passed when Ethan was just five, and since then, Levi had done his best to be present, even from a continent away. He sent books, gadgets, and football shirts. Ethan had adopted Arsenal because “Uncle Levi’s crazy roommates yelled about them all the time.”

Part Five: World Cup Dreams and Dirtbag Planning

Over pints at the local, Darren and Lee were planning their pilgrimage to the 2026 World Cup in the U.S.

“Mate,” Lee said, slapping a dog-eared travel guide on the table, “we hit L.A., Vegas, then Dallas. Stadiums are huge there. American beer’s piss, but we’ll manage.”

Darren pointed at Levi. “You’re our bloody ticket in, yeah? Family discount. You’ve got that Yank passport. Let’s do this properly.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “I’m not your visa agent.”

“You’re our mate,” Darren said dramatically, arms outstretched. “We’ve let you live among real men, yeah? The least you can do is take us to a few matches.”

Truth be told, Levi wanted to go. Not just for the football—though the U.S. team wasn’t half-bad these days—but to bring Ethan. Let him see something massive, global, and alive. Maybe even meet Darren and Lee, who, despite being total messes, had hearts the size of Neptune.

Short Story: Common Ground

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Title: “Common Ground”

In the fall of 2002, the rust-colored leaves blew in spirals across the brick pathways of Hensley College, a small liberal arts school tucked into a sleepy town in the Midwest. The campus still bore the subtle signs of post-9/11 tension—flags fluttered in windows, dorm rooms bristled with debates, and everyone, it seemed, had an opinion about what it meant to be American.

Ethan Walker was a sophomore, clean-cut with a Marine Corps dad, raised in a conservative Texas household where God, country, and discipline were as foundational as breakfast. He wore polos tucked into jeans, listened to country music, and had just joined the College Republicans.

Malik Thompson, also a sophomore, was from Chicago. His parents were community organizers, his bookshelf brimming with Chomsky, Baldwin, and Howard Zinn. Malik played guitar in the campus jazz band and had helped organize the peace vigil the previous semester, where students read poems and lit candles for Iraqi civilians.

They first met in “American Political Thought,” a course designed, perhaps cruelly, to place conflicting ideologies in a single, 12-person discussion circle. The first few weeks were testy—Malik dismissed Ethan’s defense of U.S. foreign policy as “blind nationalism,” and Ethan called Malik’s antiwar stance “unrealistic idealism.”

Then, one snowy afternoon in October, Professor Langford assigned a joint presentation: “What is Patriotism?” The professor, a Korean War vet with a knack for mischief, paired them intentionally.

Ethan dreaded it. Malik almost dropped the class. But they met—reluctantly—at the coffee shop near campus. They sat on opposite sides of a wooden table, arms crossed, steaming mugs untouched.

“So what is patriotism to you?” Malik asked.

Ethan stared into his cup. “It’s… sacrifice. It’s showing up when your country needs you.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Even if your country is wrong?”

Ethan hesitated. “Even then, yeah. You stay, and you try to fix it. You don’t just throw it away.”

Malik tapped his fingers. “To me, it’s holding your country accountable. Loving it enough to demand better.”

That should’ve ended it. But instead, they stayed. They talked for two hours. Then again two days later. They argued—but something shifted. Ethan began to understand the roots of Malik’s mistrust, the way his father was stopped by police on the South Side for nothing. Malik began to see that Ethan’s loyalty wasn’t blind—it came from watching his brother enlist and cry before deploying to Kandahar.

By the time of their presentation, they’d found a kind of middle ground: patriotism wasn’t a monolith. It was protest and service, critique and sacrifice. It was the tension between loving what is and believing in what could be.

They aced the assignment. But more than that, they kept talking—outside of class, at open mics, over beers in creaky dorm lounges. When protests against the Iraq War broke out on campus that spring, Malik marched with a sign quoting Langston Hughes. Ethan didn’t march—but he helped organize a forum where veterans could speak about their experiences, something Malik deeply respected.

They never agreed on everything. Probably never would. But in a time when the country was fracturing, Ethan and Malik became something rare: friends who listened. Who debated without hatred. Who knew that sometimes, the real battle wasn’t left versus right—but cynicism versus connection.

Years later, when they met again at a college reunion, they laughed about their first few arguments. Ethan brought his daughter. Malik brought a signed copy of his book on civic dialogue. They hugged. And they kept talking.

I Can’t Stand Living With My Parents Anymore. I’m Ready to Go to a Handicap Accessible Home

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I’m at my wits end. I can’t stand living with my elderly parents anymore. I’m tired of their complaining and irritability. My dad is almost deaf but he still tries to talk to people in different rooms even he’s almost deaf. Even hearing aids don’t help. He talks real loud and groans real loud when in pain, which is almost all the time anymore. I’m tired of his complaining. I’m tired of him not being able to hear me.

My mom isn’t much better. She can barely see yet refuses to wear glasses. She can’t even read a recipe card now. At least she doesn’t drive much. I don’t know why she won’t swallow her foolish pride and get glasses. She’s being really stubborn about this even though it’s obvious she needs glasses.

Physically I can stand up, transfer to the bed and wheelchair. But it’s pointless as all the doors in the house are too narrow for wheelchairs. I can’t even get into the bathroom. I’m maxed out on over the counter pain medications, force myself to do exercises even when sitting down, but I still have lots of pain when I try to stand up and walk.

I’ve given up on my family making the house wheelchair accessible. I just want to go to a home that is wheelchair accessible. I don’t care if it is assisted living or long term care. I keep getting turned down for homes. Some homes say I am too young. Others won’t take mentally ill people. Some say I’m too heavy. I mean, what nursing home doesn’t have lifts? And I don’t need any damn lifts. I just need a place that’s wheelchair accessible. Why is this so tough to understand.

At this point I don’t really care about losing most of my funding to go to a home. It’s gotten unbearable here in my parents’ house. My dad has lost patience with me and is making unrealistic demands. My mom isn’t as helpful and more irritated than she was even three months ago.

In short, I decided I want to go to a home. I want to have wheelchair accessible doors and hallways again. I want to have conversations with people who aren’t senile, stubborn, and bitchy even if it is just staff members and not residents. I’m tired of this shit. I never should have left Nebraska when I already had wheelchair accessible housing. Burns me that most houses and public places aren’t really wheelchair accessible.

And the worst part is my parents are starting to act like it’s all my doing that I ended up in a wheelchair, especially my dad. Can’t even rely on family anymore. And placement hasn’t come through even though we’ve been looking since last September.

Finding Wheelchair Accessible Housing: My Journey

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I might be moving within the next few weeks or so. It’s tough to tell. My doctors and caseworkers agree with me that I need to be in a place that’s wheelchair accessible. My parents house sadly isn’t friendly to wheelchairs. The doors are too narrow, no sidewalk, and the driveway is too steep.

My doctors and caseworkers have already recommended me to a place about an hour drive from my parents’ house. I would still be in Oklahoma, but no longer in the Oklahoma City metro area. Right now, the only thing that hasn’t gone through is corporate approval at the facility.

Been fighting to get into a wheelchair accessible facility for months. It’s pretty obvious I can’t live on my own. My parents are elderly, slowing down a lot, and sometimes forgetful. It would be a burden off them if I did get into this new place.

Corporate is still the hangup. Previous places have denied me because of my age, my weight, my mental illness, etc. Even though I know I need to be in a care facility, if for no other reason than my lack of mobility, I dread losing my financial freedom.

Long term care facilities are expensive. They have already said they would take over 90 percent of my disability pension to cover expenses. That’s the way it was when I lived in a long term care back in Nebraska a few years ago.

My parents supposedly can’t afford a handicap acessible house. Even if they could, I couldn’t afford even the property taxes and ultilities on such a house. I make slightly less than 1000 a month from disability pension. Really pisses me off that so little help is available.

I’m not senile. I’m not forgetful. I take my meds on my own every day. I don’t need a nursing home because I am senile. I need it because I have no mobility. I can transfer from a wheelchair to a recliner and to a bed. But my current living arrangement isn’t set up for wheelchairs. And my parents supposedly can’t afford to widen all the doors in the house for me to do much of anything in my house. Hell, I haven’t even been outdoors in five months.

I’m frustrated by the lack of help and communication. I’m not damn senile. I’m wheelchair bound. Most places are not conducive to wheelchairs, certainly not wide ones like mine. And yet I will probably end up going to a long term care facility and treated like I’m brain dead because I am wheelchair bound. Burns my ass.

More Mobile, Losing Weight, Spring Storms, and New Books by Zach Foster

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Updates are in order. I can now transfer from my recliner to the bed to the wheelchair on a daily basis. I no longer have knee pain, but I do have some ankle pain. I have to stand up and sit down a few times over the span of several minutes before I can easily get rolling, especially if I have been laying down all night in bed.

In short, the knee pain that has been the bane of my existence for the past seven years is gone. Now I have to work on my ankle strength. To this end I’m starting an exercise routine I learned from a physical therapist to rebuild my ankles.

I haven’t weighed myself for a few months, but I think I’ve lost weight. I’m carrying less fat, especially around my stomach and thighs. My arms no longer jiggle. My shirts fit a lot better. The swelling in my crotch has gone down considerably. I know my apatite is smaller than it used to be.

One of the reasons for the fat loss in spite of the little physical activity, is for the strict diet I have. I limit when I eat and how much I eat. I still occasionally eat pizza, burgers, and friend fish. But I have cut back on portions. I large pizza can make at minimum two meals for me, more often three. I do like Long John Silver’s for their fish and corn balls. But it’s only a once-a-month tradition when my dad brings it home after he visits his doctor at the VA.

The weather is warming up and definitely feels like spring. We are having wildfires here in Oklahoma. Won’t be too long before we have thunderstorms and tornadoes every few days. The storms down here are really bad, especially the spring storms. Winter storms are more bearable even if they bring more ice than what I’m used to growing up in Nebraska. Whatever snow and ice we get in Oklahoma is gone within a couple of days. But 500 miles north in Nebraska, the snow can stay around all winter and it’s usually too cold for just rain turning to ice most of the times. Snowstorms dumping over a foot of snow are an annual occurrence back in Nebraska.

I recently uploaded an e-book to Amazon in addition to the Hillbilly Scholar one I already have. It’s called Blasting Mental Illness Myths by Zach Foster. It’s not up just yet as I loaded it only a few days ago.

This is the link to the Hillbilly Scholar e-book

https://www.amazon.com/Wisdom-Hillbilly-Scholar-Zach-Foster-ebook/dp/B005ESFWNI/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3BR1YVX065QOH&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.uACjiqLKg7iYywHEerIRWw.oEkfijpANSjGwxPnP5W80vUEWYv8vkD3FHYTL6VTGsg&dib_tag=se&keywords=wisdom+of+a+hillbilly+scholar&qid=1742162715&sprefix=%2Caps%2C94&sr=8-1

Frustrations on the Last Mile of the Journey to Freedom and Independence

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This week has been more frustrating than usual. Physically I’m doing well enough that I don’t need as many otc pain pills anymore. I sleep in my bed most nights. I’m getting more mobile. My swelling is almost gone. I never thought I’d be thrilled to be able to comfortably wear pants all day again.

So, what’s the problem you may ask. With my newfound renewed health, continuing mental stability, etc., I’m also finding I’m having a healthier desire for my freedom and independence again. In short, I’m outgrowing living in my parents’ guest wing.

I guess it was only a matter of time before this happened. I outgrew the long-term care facility in Nebraska I checked myself into back in May 2022 after only eight months.

But in those eight months, I lost over 90 pounds, got my wheelchair, got my heart issues stabilized, graduated physical therapy, had a few nurses and staff members flirt with me, and lost most of my fear of death. Not many people in their early 40s can claim they no longer have much fear of death.

Now, I love my parents. I appreciate the fact they let me live with them here in the suburbs of Oklahoma City for the last year while I got my Medicaid transferred across state lines more than words can say.

But now that things have stabilized, my wheelchair is officially paid off, and my finances are back in order, I think I’m hearing the siren cry of desiring my independence again. I guess I’m like the wounded bird whose been nursed back to health desiring to fly again or the domestic wolf hearing the call of the wild and knowing deep down that’s where he truly belongs.

I’m still on the waiting list for low-income housing in Oklahoma City. I’ve been disqualified from slightly over half of their complexes because I’m not a senior citizen. One place would have taken me except they can’t accommodate my needs (wheelchair, handicap accessible, ideally ground floor, etc.).

I’m starting to feel the old frustrations again, like I felt in the final couple months in long term care and when I was fighting my heart failure alone back in Nebraska during the pandemic. It is a frustrating feeling to know I’m doing my job but I’m not making as much progress as I could because others keep dropping the ball.

As far as going to long term care, I probably would have never had to done that in the first place had I been able to buy a wheelchair back in 2019. That’s when my mobility issues begin. My doctors in Nebraska knew I had mobility problems; my apartment complex knew I had serious mobility issues. Hell, even my family knew I had serious issues.

No one offered to help. Since I made less than 1000 dollars a month from all sources, I couldn’t afford a wheelchair on my own. Hell, I thought you needed a prescription to even buy own with your own money a few years ago. Damn gate keepers.

All it would have taken was a wheelchair heavy duty enough to support me. I could have made many of my doctors’ appointments with a wheelchair as we had handicap accessible public transit buses in my old hometown. Yet, no one bothered to listen to my problems. Hell, I’ve even had friends tell me I’m lucky to be on disability and not have to work. With friends like that, who needs enemies?

During the pandemic, I looked at wheelchairs on Amazon. Probably could have afforded one with my stimulus money. But supply chain problems were a serious issue back in those days. Hell, sometimes I couldn’t even get sanitizing wipes, masks, or even ground beef.

2020 was only four years ago, yet it seems like most people purposely block 2020 and 2021 out. I think our entire world has a collective case of PTSD from the covid pandemic and still hasn’t come to terms with millions of people dying from covid and life in general being completely disrupted. Now that we got wars going on all over the world, add those to the mix.

After a few years of struggles, I’m mostly recovered. The only thing I need now is a handicap accessible apartment. That’s the last hurdle. Even though my parents’ house has no stairs, it’s not handicap accessible. All the doors and hallways are too narrow. And my parents absolutely love to have little Knick knacks all over the house as decorations. Personally, I think of them as clutter that looks grotesque. But, since my name is not on the house’s deed, I get no say in things like that.

If I sound frosty, it’s because I’ve been overcoming challenges for a few years now and not seeing any acknowledgement from anyone who could make the last mile of the journey possible. When I first moved down to Oklahoma in February 2023, I was assured I’d have my own place by the end of summer. Here it is one year later, I’m still waiting. Hell, I wasn’t told the process of moving my Medicaid to Oklahoma wouldn’t start until I moved down here until after Christmas 2022. I guess I’ve had to fight for every square inch of ground I’ve gained in the last few years.

It upsets me that I’ve lost over 170 pounds since February 2020, got my mobility issues solved via a wheelchair, got my heart failure treated, been more stable mentally the last four years than most years (haven’t been to a mental hospital since 2013), graduated physical therapy, survived a pandemic without getting sick even once, found out I have an insane talent for picking the stock market, found Medium, and am now getting paid every month for my writings, etc., and I still don’t get much for credit for my accomplishments. Certainly not from anyone who can make my final hurdle of getting my own place possible.

God bless Robinhood, Stash, Coinbase, Wall Street Bets, etc. I love all you crazy bastards. You guys made it possible for millions of not rich people like me to make a few bucks in this worldwide game we call globalized capitalism. By the way, Dumb Money is one of my favorite movies from last year. I liked only Barbie and Oppenheimer even more. Didn’t get in on Game Stop personally but made a couple hundred bucks off Dogecoin before it went sour.

While I am proud for all I’ve accomplished and discovered in the last four or five years, it is frustrating that the people I was forced to trust on these changes haven’t been much help. Throw in a pandemic and hateful politics on top, the last five years have been one hell of an odyssey. No matter, I suppose. All of it, and I mean all of it, is now fair game for my writing.

I can say this now, but I’m actually glad I was fought every inch of the way and still wound up victorious. The bastards may have wanted me to fail and fall through the cracks, but I didn’t. Makes the achievements and the victories all the sweeter in that the people who said they would help more often than not just made shit worse and were blocking the way. No matter. I overcame despite their ineptitude, interference, and general all-around cluelessness. What can I say, on a long enough time scale you can’t keep a good person down.

Successful Anger Management and Dealing With the End of Winter

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Had a little bit of a flare up of irritability and anxiety this afternoon.  Sometimes these can be started if I have too much caffeine in a real short time.  And since I’ve been drinking more coffee and vanilla flavored cola the last several days and not sleeping as much as I usually do, it was only a matter of time before it caught up to me.  Fortunately I navigated out of my flare up without taking it out on anyone.  After a few minutes of fuming and fitting and ranting (though not yelling) and taking my irritability out by punching a few pillows and doing some arm weights, I think I’m back to my usual self.

The weather is quite decent today in spite being windy and partly cloudy all day.  It’s been above freezing the last few days, so the snow and ice melts during the day.  But it still gets below freezing after sunset, so it does make travel at night kind of unnerving for me.  I never could have made it as a truck driver with as much as I don’t like driving in bad weather or heavy traffic.

As it is, it’s days like this that remind me that winter is just about over.  And the start of Lent season for my Catholic friends is another reminder too.  A college friend of mine teaches school in Netherlands and went to Italy for a few days this last week.  He visited the Vatican and got to hear the Pope speak on Ash Wednesday.  Definitely something on “the bucket list” for anyone with an interest in history and culture.  The closest culture thing of that kind of magnitude I ever did was visit ancient Aztec pyramids and ruins when I visited Mexico City as a teenager.  So glad I got to travel some and see a few cool things before the mental illness got to where it put a cramp on my physical health and ability to travel for days at a time.

Spring is about here.  Baseball starts in a couple weeks, two of my closest friends have birthdays next week, my brother’s birthday is later in March, and the last season of Game of Thrones gets going, ironically on April 14, the day before tax deadline here in USA.  April, May, and June have always been happy times of year for me.  It’s isn’t icy or cold like winter, not too hot and humid like summer, and not the rush of activities that fall is with the start of school, harvest, preparing for winter, and fall sports seasons.

I didn’t get as much hard reading done as I would have liked this winter.  Sure I made it a point to read every day, but I read mostly online articles for science and tech sites.  Too bad more of this isn’t reported on the large media outlets, though they are getting better about it recently.  I look forward to warmer weather and more sunshine.  We went almost a month in my town without getting above freezing point.  One of the longest bitter cold streaks I can remember.  But the beginning of the end of winter is here.

December 14, 2018

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Another week has come and gone.  Besides seeing my psych doctor I haven’t been out too much.  But it looks like our cold spell is over and it’s supposed to more bearable for the next several days.  Our snow and is ice is melted.  So getting around town is easier now.  I spent an entire week without driving because of the snow and ice early this month.  I was starting to feel kind of confined and needing to get out.  Even I have times I just need to leave my fortress.

Been chatting with friends over facebook more lately.  Made some new friends in my techie groups and kept in contact with friends and family.  For awhile I was getting discouraged that I wasn’t hearing from my friends and family as often as I would like.  But then, I wasn’t posting on my personal site much besides promoting my blog.  Socializing is much like investing; no deposits, no returns.

Haven’t been reading much besides online articles and blogs lately.  The thing is I read as much, or even more, than I have in years past.  But I don’t read much for hardback print books.  The things I enjoy reading about now are science, tech, geopolitical, and medical news articles and essays.  Haven’t even listened to long audio books for weeks.

Sleep patterns have changed too, this time for the better.  Most nights I go to sleep around nine or ten pm and wake up for good at four or five am.  I still get my handful of quiet hours, I just get them in the early morning rather than the middle of the night.  Been this way for a few weeks now.  And it seems it takes more to make me irritable and paranoid ever since my sleep patterns changed.

Still haven’t made any concrete plans for Christmas.  I may go to my parents’ new house in Oklahoma.  But weather can be so unpredictable and dangerous for travel this time of year in my part of the country.  I guess I don’t have any gift wishes this year.  The PlayStation 5 won’t come out until next year at the earliest.  I would like a new gaming console as the one I have is several years old and showing it’s age.  One of my nephews recently bought a VR headset after saving his chore and odd job money for months.  Personally, I’m waiting a few years until the quality improves and the prices drop at least 50 percent from what they are now.  One thing about information and computer tech, the first versions are usually expensive and clunky (think cell phones from the 1980s or televisions from the 1950s), and after a few revisions they become inexpensive and every one has them.  My cell phone is a $99 Wal Mart special smart phone.  Yet, as far as computing power goes, it’s far better than the $2000 desk top computer I got for college back in 1999.  Too bad the costs for things like housing, automobiles, and education didn’t drop with time like computer tech.

As it is, I’m enjoying this holiday season.  The college bowl games start tomorrow, so there will be games on almost every day until New Year’s.  That’s what I’ll be doing for awhile.

Recovering From Rough Patches

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Spent the last couple days out of my hometown while visiting family.  It was pleasant to unplug and unwind while enjoying the company of my parents.  Didn’t get much done on this trip other than unwind and touch base with family.  I was needing at least a couple days of different surroundings.  I visited my family at the acreage.  It was good to be back around nature and less rush.  While I am a self admitted city slicker even though I grew up in a rural area, it was still fun to be outside again for a couple hours at a time without being paranoid of being watched by nosy neighbors.

I sometimes get paranoid around even individual people nearby, especially when I want to be alone.  When I was in college, I used to take my trash to a dumpster on the other side of town because I was afraid that people where going through my trash.  I used to be afraid that neighbors and even family were listening in on my conversations.  But the real paranoia I am working against now is that I fear that I am losing favor with my neighbors and fellow tenants in my complex.  I may not be the greatest tenant in my complex, but I still try hard to be friendly with people and just avoid arguments as much as possible.  Fortunately in my over ten years at my current address, I have had real arguments with only three tenants that I can think of right off hand.  Fortunately those cleared up really quick and the problems were resolved shortly afterwards.

Paranoia is indeed strange.  I know in the reasonable part of my mind that my paranoias aren’t real and that I’m essentially worrying over nothing that can’t be easily resolved.  But, the irrational part of my mind keeps replaying these paranoid thoughts on an endless loop.  Drowning out the paranoid thinking process with positive news that is actually happening helps. Positive thoughts help, especially if they can be shown to be true.   That’s why I spend a lot of time researching science advances and medical news. Yet, even then, occasionally the paranoia gets the better of my reasonable side.  The problems I had over the last few days, fortunately, tend to get more rare and even less intense than even a few years ago.  I was happy that I was able to go through this last round of problems without yelling and acting out.  I’ve notice the breakdowns I do have anymore don’t seem to be as intense.  I hope I have gotten better with letting off a little at a time rather than holding it in for a major meltdown.

I was more depressed and weary than angry and irritated these last few days.  I guess that depression and weariness are becoming stronger than irritation and anger at this stage in my life.  I’m glad that it takes more to anger me than in years past.  I no longer avoid driving because of fears of going into road rage; I avoid driving now partly because I find it kind of boring and I don’t like being on the lookout for people who just aren’t paying as much attention to the road as they should. It doesn’t make me angry, but it does make me think ‘how bad do I really want to go out tonight when I can still contact friends from home.’ I used to love to travel.  But I don’t enjoy the travel as much now.  I enjoy the company of friends and family more now.

College Years and How I Became a Blogger

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Blogging has turned into a dream come true for me.  I can write about my problems as a mentally ill man, tell what works for me and what doesn’t, and now I’m even making a few dollars a month at it.  I never expected any money from this blog or really any of my writing work.  I enjoy what money can do as much as anyone, but I really don’t need a large bank account or stock portfolio to stroke my ego.  As long as I can keep the rent current, have food in my pantry, my medications stocked up, and stay out of debt, I am fine with what I make just off disability pension.  It may seem kinda boring and dreary life for some as I really can’t afford to travel much anymore or that I don’t have any family of my own.

I travelled a lot in my younger years and I went to a small college with a larger than usual foreign student body.  Since there were less than 600 students in our entire college, we were forced to interact with people of many different backgrounds if we wanted to have any kind of social life.  It was a good college for someone like from rural Nebraska who wasn’t personally exposed to many different cultures.  It was in college that I found that I had some talent for writing.  That’s where I started writing poetry and drafts for novels.  I also read many of the classics of American and European literature while there.  I also dabbled in some Eastern philosophy like Sun Tzu and Lao Tzu.  Granted this was in the early 2000s before youtube and most of social media really connnected people.  I imagine I could learn the same things now on my computer as opposed to spending entire days in the campus library.  But being exposed to different ideas from different eras of time and different nations inspired me to tell my own story.  And apparantly my story of my life with mental illness is resonating with some people.