Immature tree leaves in the rain. (May 13 2:03 p.m.)
Grief can humble us. And so can poor physical and mental health.
This is a bit of an emotional post, but I’m getting through it.
This year so far has been very mixed. It has had its share of progress. I am grateful to have made a friend nearby. I’ve wanted more out of life for a long time. I am trying to be more open practicing new things— less listless, and yet so far I’ve been restless and continue to have vision problems literally and metaphorically.
It is ironic in a way that pushing myself to move fast when I have the energy had led to having to relearn to relax, breathe and exercise more than the usual walks.
It doesn’t help when I always seem healthy enough to doctors that they often conclude that they can’t find anything wrong. Issues have piled up. I am sick often as my diastolic pressure keeps getting higher, but without clear evidence like what machines can do to detect the retinopathy in my left eye, doctors will basically shrug and send me home. I can only hope that aerobics will help bring down the DBP because otherwise I will have to demand that a physician listen to the symptoms to get treatment. (And hopefully it’s not as bad as it feels in my chest— I mean to expire at 42 would be a bit young, jeez.)
Breathe. (Mar 25 6:08 p.m.)
Of course when you move fast without covering enough bases, you’ll naturally hit dead ends. We must take care of our own needs before we can effectively branch out to new avenues and attempt new connections. Continue reading Finding my way while perpetually Disconnected→
At first, I responded in thought to this prompt question, with: “what? What do you mean, exactly?” But then it becomes interesting, how a question can be taken in more than one way.
To the blind, in the obvious interpretation, I’m of moderate height a few inches under 6 feet, Caucasian with sea-blue eyes, and look somewhat young for my age apart from the balding on top and gray hairs appearing in a large reddish beard. These days I may wear glasses or the Colorado University cap that I got during a visit with family in another state—a black cap with just a threaded C on top of a U, besides the trademark on the bottom-right. A thread loop is now dangling off the C these days.
For the people who see me daily… what do they see? Do they really see me, under the hood? They could, I suppose, tell that I am tired and worn of poor sleep for ages, but few know me enough to gather how different I was six years ago. Sure, the bags under my eyes tell a story… Tired eyes: that would be an area that overlaps with the two interpretations. There are ways to tell when a person isn’t too happy in their life, but not everyone cares. Maybe the dogs that sometimes bark at me when I walk suspect something is “not quite right” or a threat; of course, dogs are biased to their environment and owners… And what about their perspective on vision or lack thereof? They rely a lot on smell and sound, but they see us differently, less and more. From research I know that dogs have two-coned vision from yellow to ultraviolet; they can’t see red, so my red polo shirts may appear black or dark gray.
Actions and gestures, and demeanor speak a language that animals understand to a degree, which is something even a blind dog would miss. There’s always something more we’re not seeing, so how a person looks goes beyond a few glances.
Perhaps like anyone else I think about my appearance almost every time I look in the mirror as it includes those moments where a person puts in effort to look presentable during an outing, especially around people such as at a restaurant or the Board Game Club tonight. But beyond the general grooming and cleaning of clogged pores so that I don’t look terrible, what do people see? Despite being called a “sir” sometimes, I can’t help but think that I mature at half-speed, like, in a way I am closer to twenty years of age in appearance than forty-one. Autistic and not grown up, yeah—still no driver’s license, it shows. That’s what I see in the mirror. I don’t particularly like immaturity in others but I’m not doing enough with my life. Add “a little frustrated” to my appearance. I have my mental strengths, but the Club host set a timer a few weeks ago because I am slow to learn three board/card games from scratch while attempting to play in real time. There’s so much thematic nuance to these games these days versus learning practical things at home or at a place of work. Maybe a computer club would be more fitting? The board game club is supposed to be fun, but I am kind of tired of rigmarole, and yet I need to gain experience of socializing so as to be not so inexperienced. Today is another day, and you could have seen me walking in the rain for the exercise and getting out of the house.
So… in a shorter description, I’m the slightly underweight, slightly frustrated, bearded nerd wearing a Colorado U cap in Maine.
A hill of Jubilee Park that descends into water. These photos, no matter how large, never capture enough to do the view justice. (May 2 3:55 p.m.)
“Let there be color!” I said one day, trying to come up with a good title for a post, as I wanted to get out of the doom and gloom, and reconnect positively with some fun. While Genesis marked the beginning of light and life (from an Earthly and human perspective), I am far from my own beginning at life. I am now middle-aged, aiming for renewal.
The last twelve months have been reclusive. I had planned on getting things back in order and back to work since the second injury to my left arm in 2023, but each time I moved for peace and quiet, the noise and nonsense manage to find me again.
Fog, we meet again. (Jun 6, 2024, 4:01 p.m.)
First, I’d moved somewhere across town where I couldn’t feel quite like myself, and the bedrooms were small and next to the living room on each floor. Sure, having an apartment to myself, I could’ve reorganized to have the PC setup in the living room. But moving there meant it officially became a group home, that once a couch was installed—per state rules—staff and clients would eventually sit on the living room couch and play with their phones and TV at volume, a couple meters from my bedroom door. Insert Jean Luc Picard face-palming. In too many ways, it was worse than before. In my humble opinion, the building layout is not suited for a group home. And I should have guessed that four bedrooms would eventually mean three permanent clients, per state rules again.
Entering the beach sands not far from Ocean Park. (Jun 25 6:50 p.m.)
Come summer, my journey went from not feeling like myself to enduring the noise of annoying and loud phone games and TV (including Steve Wilkos with people screaming and bleeps). And come late summer, the frequent coffee drinker I once tried to befriend got moved too from the old place and soon put above me. And he was up at literally any time in the early morning, dropping things on the floor that was now my bedroom ceiling.
Now, I don’t mind some daily practical noise that comes with life. I don’t mind natural colors and problems. I mind artificial noise with artificial speakers and absurd, childish loudness factors with no breaks. There are reasons why I cherish my independence and need quiet refuge. But I don’t have the income to live by myself, so I have to live with what I can get.
It’s been nearly ten months since I’ve had a place where I can relax, get sleep, do my thing, and be productive. And it’s been so long since the process of moving began. More people have asked me if I’m excited to move. The answer has always been “no.” Having a quiet space to relax and sleep was the motivation. As to whether or not it was the right decision, well… it was for the short term since I’m getting sleep. I have to care for myself.
There is still life here. There always is. Things are moving and catching up. There have been nice days days and unexpected conversations. A random person on the sidewalk I coincidentally passed by twice struck up a conversation about living in the town. The positives and activity as of late, though, have been fewer. I manage to take walks but can’t help various troubles. So much still remains on hold due to disorganization, toxic stuff and noise. The new place doesn’t quite help the circumstances.
No Stress Chess: stressful for actual players, with decks of cards telling you what kind of piece to move, which is often not possible. (Jan 19 12:01 p.m.)
I’m not officially moved, but the owner allowed me to sleep at the new place as a guest. The noise at the old place is that much of an issue that I’ve been sleeping elsewhere for a couple months.
Life is messy, whilst modern man likes to think he’s basically clean … while not washing his hands, disturbing nature and polluting.
Icicles on everything. (Mar 23 11:04 p.m.)
The upper guest room was temporary and perhaps a spot to learn and document things before moving on, such as the March ice storm. Lines audibly arced in the streets, and at least one collapsed branch or tree that required a chainsaw, at night, with emergency vehicles at side. The storm knocked out power in some areas for over 10 hours, and forced the local Hannaford to dump all of its refrigerated and frozen food. Insurance and refrigerated trucks can only go so far. Some places had no power for 37 hours.
So much dependence on electricity or shelf stability. So much food waste. (Mar 24 2:07 p.m.)
On another day, I thought there was thunder during a snowstorm (aka, “thunder snow”), but it may have just been power line arcs.
(Mar 24 1:52 p.m.)
So, so much ice. (Mar 24 1:55 p.m.)
Life, of course, is more than a photo op. It is meant to be lived.
Road blocked and filled with a giant snow bank for WinterFest. (Feb 9 4:18 p.m.)
Life in nature will try to grow wherever it can. Spring came late in Maine, but flies were active already. Cold-blooded animals must wait out winter. There may be a balance in gauging when it’s good to hatch, but many houses are warm, and so often insect eggs are laid in said houses.
Not often are sidewalks redone. (Nov 16 2:56 p.m.)
Every so often construction and repairs are needed, and often it’s a good and nice thing when it’s executed; damaged roads, sidewalks and structures are reformed to become once smooth or stable again, and workers get paid.
Workers pave while a house is repaired throughout the week. (Nov 14 2:18 p.m.)
Of course not all changes or additions are good. I am pressed to start anew in a way by moving to another apartment. The environment of the home I’ve lived in for two years has changed in such a way that it emphasizes the potential for injury or abuse. It’s past time. I’d already fallen down the stairs because of the low ceilings (and also not in the best state of mind at the time), and now I’m sleep deprived to no end by constant noise with few breaks.
All the leaves are gone, and the sky is…partly cloudy. (Nov 24 10:28 a.m.)
Nothing changes a person like sleep deprivation to the point it feels like torture. You can never fully relax and process things during the day. Enjoyment of small things becomes a luxury. I shouldn’t have to go to the library for peace…
Books for sale cheap at Elements. (Nov 16 3:07 p.m.)
At the same time these recent challenges have been somewhat karmic the way bad habits, insecurities and damage have come to attention that I’m not blameless in all that has gone on now and over the years—that I have to take responsibility for my own.
So much has happened in the last five months, I don’t know where to begin. (As if I ever know where to begin.)
It’s been good and bad. The twice-broken arm healed, and some other things have improved. Overall, not much growth in my corner though… more loss than growth perhaps given I couldn’t get my job back after the injury, and lost people in my life, but it seems I made a new friend via Reddit who lives in Romania? I’m still learning—still learning nutrition and bits of history, and read a book here or there. Much of what I research is still to figure out how to improve my health though.
(May 31 11:44 p.m.)
Maybe too much of what I research is based on fear. Pain can be a big catalyst if I find myself again asking… “what can I eat?” or “what must I eat?” as the conditions of my teeth, gums and eyes get worse in ways. Some of those little things I somewhat took as quirks ages ago have turned into places of concern, like some spaces in my mouth now hurt, or unusual things pop up in my vision, and I scramble to find a remedy.
Yes, I know staring at screens doesn’t help the eyes, nor insomnia, nor dry mouth for the teeth… And so I’ve lost a bunch of interest in YouTube, walk more—up to 3 times a day—to get my mitochondria in better shape, stare into the distance to try to help the nearsightedness, try to get sleep where I can, and bought XyliMelts. Not that I’m always consistent, but I’ve changed habits a bit.
Rain necessitated having the cookout under a roof. XyliMelts were used to eat all I could eat… (Jul 27 12:44 p.m.)
Struggles change people. It’s kind of a good thing that I’m more open, and no longer interested in doing the same things every day. But that isn’t to say I can get things going if things don’t cooperate with me. Life goes on whether or solve my crap or not.
(Jun 24 10:17 p.m.)
Sometimes you don’t know how to help something, and nature can overgrow. Living with other beings means it’s only a matter of time before another mess follows after you clean up. And when the battle becomes constant and feels like your time is ultimately wasted with conditions that severely and needlessly limit you, a house can be like a prison. Sometimes… there are no solutions but to reach for outside help or abandon ship.
Random apartment building; has seen better days. (Oct 8 4:53 p.m.)
Now, it’s not the first time things have gotten out of control or have become isolating. I came from a place that was very rural and progressively ruined from water damage. Thankfully, the water damage and mold in the current place is small and contained, but the people environment in recent months has become too counterproductive. Clients on the autistic side of housing here moved in, and peace and quiet is harder to get. Ideas on what to do to reach goals fall short as well as I’m still unemployed, run out of money easily, and the big 4-0 is just around the corner.
Productive, I must be nonetheless. And hey, I can be grateful WordPress hasn’t nuked the Classic editor.
(May 15 1:26 p.m.)
It may not always feel like there is a lot of positive progress, but the trip to Colorado in May went fairly well. It was just a taste of what’s to come since I’ll be going back today to really pitch in because her sister needs another break.
It’s not my first time flying, but it is a different airline company. Hopefully, I’ll get there in one piece, and make it out alive when I get back. …And hopefully the apartment won’t be trashed as I’ve been the one cleaning the most these days, or dominated as if a spoiled tenant feels they own the place just because I was gone. Etc., etc.
Change is inevitable. Big changes are coming, whether I like it or not and whether prepared or not. Sometimes change is with joy, and sometimes it is with pain and loss.
A rocky start. (Apr 10 3:29 p.m.)
Unfortunately, there isn’t good news, this time. It’s been a while, and, well, I fractured my arm again, this time at the humerus.
In March, I was carrying laundry too quickly down a flight of awkward stairs (with some low ceilings), and in socks slipped halfway down onto my bottom… not too gracefully, “thumpily” gliding down the rest of the stairs. Part of why it happened was I was coming off of anger with things and life, distracted in thought.
And the kitchen sink too. (Mar 18 3:07 p.m.)
An injury is not how I wanted to catch a “break.” Thankfully, it was more of a crack and a chip, and bruises, that I didn’t need a cast or a brace. Walking was still a literal pain in the ass for weeks.
I am Tired.
Healing has been slow, but life happens anyway. The second round of physical therapy is put on hold for a week because I accepted to visit family in Colorado.
So it’s been a while again since I last posted, and a lot has happened since. It’s almost fall now.
(Jan 12 3:37 p.m.)
Last time, there was still snow on the bay waters let alone the streets.
(Jan 14 4:08 p.m.)
…And a Beetle?
(Mar 6 4:20 p.m.)
That isn’t to say I haven’t tried to write. I wrote a post months ago about learning lessons, but it was a bit much and too incomplete to publish. If anything, I hadn’t learned my lessons, and pissed away too much time on YouTube. Again.
And time goes on. Things change even more, which can make it harder to get back to writing about what’s going on because the list of things to write about pile up.
And then another monkey wrench gets thrown in, so to speak.
Every now and then, something happens that knocks us down. We lose our place, our standing, and we are forced to re-evaluate our whole situation, and accept humility. You work harder and make sacrifices or go home. And I don’t have a home in which to return.
There have been so many things that have happened in recent memory that get me thinking, “had I’d known more, I would have done things differently.”
Red lights. (Dec 31 3:23 p.m.)
One week into 2022, it was already a shit year for me. From the last post you could tell I wanted to rise and shine, and venture forward with my life, but I was set back quickly.
Even the turn of the year wasn’t great. I missed my date with my close friend in Kentucky at the turn of midnight because I wanted meet a deadline with the previous post. I was turning something I’d previously written into an NYE entry against the clock; and yes, it does takes me a long time to write and rewrite; my editing often goes past midnight. With my OCD, I should have known that was going to happen.
Well, it’s the last day of the year. I’ve had plenty of time to look back, and reflect, and… mostly I can only think of the problems I’m facing today. The whole year has gone by too fast. Progress is slow, and I’ve been sick lately. Thankfully, it’s not CovID.
Cole Road Café. (Oct 30 9:52 a.m.)
Things moved faster when aunt J visited.
(Oct 29 3:00 p.m.)
Decent restaurants were involved.
Surfer. (Oct 31 2:05 p.m.)
But that visit was only because things needed to be moved out of my mother’s storage unit. (My mother and J. are okay by the way.)
Remember to wear a mask in the pool! (Oct 29 3:42 p.m.)
It’s harder to get a grip on things when it seems like everything is decaying too quickly, and you can’t catch up. One of my teeth is really in bad shape, so I’m definitely going to have to move faster, and work harder next year.
And then I hear we all lost Betty White. The legend. Just 18 days shy of 100. It takes the wind out of your sails, at least for a moment, when you see stars fall, lose role models, and hear about your friends losing loved ones. There have been a lot of funerals this year. My friend in Kentucky lost two… an awful year.
Addendum: It wasn’t just deaths either. I all but lost my mother to mental illness and/or mold-dementia earlier in the year. She’s alive but not at all the same person she was months prior—fragile, skin and bones, and can barely function or recall events. She may have lost her sense of taste or smell from CovID but doesn’t remember.
(Dec 18 2:55 p.m.)
This pandemic isn’t endemic yet.
Dizzy Birds Rotisserie. (Oct 21 6:34 p.m.)
But to do nothing isn’t an option. Living in denial is not living at all. You must exercise or you start losing function. Continue reading A look back→
The Dependent Independent 