Sunday, February 07, 2016

A 19th century explorer's breakfast

This morning I had free range eggs—from our yard destroying chickens—and lashings of bacon and toast, including one piece with honey as the dessert portion of breakfast.

Now I'm going to try and ride the exercise bike for an hour.

I imagined my breakfast was the sort of meal a late-19th century dilettante explorer would have had before setting out for the day, feasting greedily on protein for his exertion whose exploration was totally borne on the backs of the underpaid local labourers making that exploration—and breakfast—possible. There's probably one poor fucker whose only job—due to sheer dint of size—is to carry the gramophone.

It's an old wives tale that you can't swim for an hour after eating, but riding an exercise bike less than an hour after eating a first world feast can't be good either. But I keep having space outs—I awoke on a Sunday before 8 am and had to start reading to avoid one—and I'm in a high anxious state. I need to exercise so at least if I do have a space out the physicality of the exercise thwarts the physicality of anxiety—and drenched in a fear state is no way to be. 

So I set off on today's journey. We have many miles to cover before camp and legend tells of a jungle cat which hunts at night so fierce it fears fire nor bullet. I thank the Lord's providence for this hearty meal of eggs, bacon, toast and honey as my one hundred and nine bearers had their two spoonfuls of their local mush. After some Beethoven's Fifth and four shots of my brandy-laudanum mix I am ready to be carried aloft on my jungle pole chair. Off, Off!!

Saturday, February 06, 2016

Area screaming drives man from park

It was a fine night. We'd had junk food at a park picnic table and the kids were playing as were other kids.

There was one very happy kid; he screamed every time he was filled with joy.

He was filled with a lot of joy.

The end result was my having an acute anxiety reaction, shaking, swearing, re-living epic, mind-shafting disappointment and having to be escorted to the car and taken home. I've taken two vallium and now I'll lie in the dark with my tablet.

Probs probbing probs—my atheistic go to for Jesus Christing Christ—that was horrifying. Once again I've been driven to a panicked, animal state due to psychological injury. 

It's lucky I'm so resilient. This will all be a story some day and what a story it is that will be told.

Actually, it's not luck. It's genetics, medicine, therapy and support—especially from thewife. I'll get through this, I'll get back up and I will be strong.

WFTW.

From well over 30 years ago

For my eighth birthday my mother made a cake in the shape of an eight (i.e. 8), using two donut moulds. She decorated the top with black and white toy spacemen.

One of the white spacemen is sitting on top of the shed bookshelf in front of me. For some reason I have affixed a stretched-out twist tie to its head with a blob of blue tack. Perhaps it's an antennae? 

I'm surrounded by positive detritus as I type or ride, maximising the wellness of this space. 

Positivity rulez!

WFTW.

Friday, February 05, 2016

Stealth mode to activate

I'm a two finger typer and I have loud finger fall. It's from youthful use of computers—and typewriters—back when you really needed to punch down a key.

So I sound like an old-timey telegraph operator when in full typing fury.

No one worried about the noise until now but I'm new in an existing area and it's irritating for them. And I get it—I could see how it would be irritating to me if I was not the cause of it. 

I chatted to some nerd pals and found there's a mechanical-type keyboard I can get that will reduce the noise. So I have made enquiries about getting one and I'll have to take it with me from job to job.

In the meantime I will just have to consciously type more slowly to prevent the rapid rattle click I am accustomed to issuing forth.

Then, when I get home again, I can go hell for leather and be as loud a typer as I want.


It was a big week; a big, brutal week. But I had lots of love and support and was given time to acclimatize. Eventually I'll be back to full efficiency then I'll pass then surpass everyone else.

I'm Mikey; I get there in the end. 

WFTW.

Thursday, February 04, 2016

Seinfeld autotune goodness

These autotune efforts were made by Hulu to promote the fact they stream the Sein.

You've got to love the Sein.

The George one is gold, Jerry, gold!



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Zen-like Zen

On prompting from D— I joined my building's weekly meditation group. 

Recently I had my first session.

I sat with 20 people in a darkened conference room and for half an hour we were guided to focus on parts of the body as we breathed with calm, acknowledging when a thought came then dismissing it to return to the focus.

I could do it—I was able to banish poisonous thoughts and I felt the benefits flow. I semi-floated out afterwards. I pinged the coord a thanks, since as the guide he was the spiritual designated driver and he took one for the rest of the room. 

So if I can, I'll go to the next one. Guided meditation has value—and it's yet another tool for Mikey's belt of CBT.

WFTW.

Fiddy busted the slit

At some point theboy gave me a "My DAD ROCKS!" money tin which is about the size of a Campbell's soup can. It can only be opened once as you have to pull a ring like on a coke can.

The tin ended up in the shed, where all his gifts do (1), and eventually I realised there was a bunch of spare change lying about the interior from three years of occasional shed-occuring de-pocketing before riding. 

So in went the spare change to the tin, including a five dollar bill that had lain buried in shed dander for two years under the exercise bike but for some magical thinking reason left in dirty situ thinking that lucky. 

I had to pack up my desk and in doing so all the spare change in the drawers went in my top pocket. I rattled home with sobs to the chink of phat coin. 

I piled the ratted remnants of two years of work-accumulated coin on my study desk then, upon seeing it the next day, realised that all needed to go into the tin.

The coins slipped in smooth, all, save that is, for a fifty cent piece. It got jammed in the slit for a moment before chunking in. The coin had etched furrows either side of the slit from its passage and the next fiddy slipped in smooth.

Yay, my slit gut busted by a fiddy. What a numismatic way to start the day.

(1) When I ride the bike I see all his pressies like cards from celebrations past cards and artwork. I cannot stress how important it is to baste yourself in recognition of love; especially for when the black dog is barking.

Fighting my way back out

The trouble with a psychological injury is that your injury's severity and its impact on your life can vary due to circumstance.

I've woken early two days running and cannot get back to sleep again—cold fury lands and I have to read my tablet—or anything—to keep my mind off it.

This journey is a known one; I've been down it before. So these moments come, and sometimes—like an obnoxious house guest—they hang around for days or weeks. 

I hate being swamped, consumed with anger. Loathe it—even if it enabled me to get things done. So I'm fighting my way back out of anger and trying to find a place where I can move forward without that dead horse I'm chained to. I'll use Cognitive Behaviour Techniques (CBT) to deflect the anger and concentrate on the future.

Be the mirror-less moped driver.

Future WFTW.

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

A February-based battle anthem



Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt!

Escorted and protected

D— came in with me, got me to log in then dealt with my emails. It took about ninety minutes. 

He shared his own tales of bearing bullshit and gave sage counsel; "be like the moped rider without a rear-view mirror; no looking back."

D— later checked to make sure I was okay—by phone and in person. He also called people on my behalf to let them know I was alright.

I'd never have met D— if it had not been for all that happened and all that which happened made me a better person.

Fucking hell, life is a wondrous thing; doors close then doors open and you meet astounding people along the way.

WFTW.

Tuesday, February 02, 2016

Ooh, GOP race interesting

So the primary result for Iowa is Cruz, then Trump then Rubio but all within spitting distance of each other. And now Huckabee and O'Malley have dropped out. I'd love to see the Colbert Hunger Games bit for that.

Of course we're talking the opinion of some near 200 000 people in total but, still, an interesting result. I'd say Rubio's strong showing will lock in the establishment vote but it will end in a three way with those guys—ew!—and this may actually go to a convention floor to sort out.

I wonder what will happen next?!

(crams popcorn as watches the fun).

A Simpsons moment!



I fully love Milhouse. I think it's because I identify with him and his position in the school hierarchy.

Escort at the ready for Mikey assist

When I was picked up off the discard pile back in 2013, having had to leave a former role, I ended up teamed with a fellow evacuee; his exit so brutal he'd moved interstate. 

We were available talent within our organisation, free agents with mad skillz ready to use until new permanent roles had been found for us. The person who picked us knew he'd picked winners—not in the schnoz sense—and got us both to work on assorted projects that needed doing. And we did the snot out of them, in the metaphoric sense, then eventually accepted permanent gigs in new locales.  

D— and I became fast friends and D— became one of my Mikey e-pals who I email amusing thoughts to when I am inspired to do so.

D— was worried about my return to work and touched base to see how I went. When he heard day one had gone total tits up with a terror bolt from a nowwhat?! he demanded to assist. 

So he'll escort me in, have at my computer, and remove any offending objects that will cause upset. 

I've had an incredible career and met incredible people. How fucking lucky am I to enjoy such support and love from incredible people like D—?

So that's double WFTW. I needed help and help came asking.

Monday, February 01, 2016

Down in the pit with the crew

I had back-to-back sessions with various tranches of the Mikey pit crew and it was only in the last session I cried. But I was surrounded by love and the anger and sadness didn't last, a fleeting moment caused by the retelling of a tale (1).

Now it is done—and I'll ride SoTPC with a focus on my future and not my past.

WFTW.

(1) After the second session I ran into P— who had been a member of last year's crew. I got to thank him for talking me through an extreme panic attack that came on just before a meeting. I went from blind un-reason in near-flight mode to approximated-calm-enough-to-continue in about ten minutes. Legend.

Terror bolt from a whatif?!

I'm returning to work soon and was thinking about what I had to deal with when a bolt of pure terror shot through me—a whatif?! for a particular type of correspondence that could be lying in wait. 

It was like the terror bolt blanched through my body, my torso and abdomen clenching in one.

Jekyll took over to calm myself; that this is a normal part of work and if it happens, well, we'll deal with it and there's no use panicking over a whatif?!

Too much blood and treasure has been lost to worrying about whatif?!s so I'll save it for a nowwhat?! instead.

WFTW. 

UPDATE: The nowwhat?! happened. I've decided to punt it to whenable?! and focus on the future instead. That's going to be a challenge.