how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

metaphors

You know that feeling when you have to go out in the rain? Imagine you have to drive to the grocery store and it's pouring. Getting in the car, driving vigilantly, parking. Others don't see/respect the lines. You have to get your bins from the trunk and it makes everything wet. You walk in the rain. You could hold the bin over your head but you would just feel foolish. So you go in and you're wet. Your clothes don't hang right. Your hair is flat. You can't see out of your glasses. Every movement is a reminder your wet clothes are advertising every curve in the most unflattering way. Your shoes rub the wrong way. Your empty bins in the cart sound louder than the thunder outside. In the store, you see someone you know. They avoid you. You see someone else. Is that smirk about you? Whatever. You get your stuff and go home. You forgot 3 things, including the cat food. You go back out and return their hero. You pet the cats and the fur sticks to your wet hand. One of them eats too fast and pukes on the carpet.


Now imagine that feeling before, during, and after every single thing you do YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE. Oh, but you're surrounded by people who love the rain, implying "what's wrong with you?"

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

errata

I've been looking at some of the things I have in storage. I tossed a lot of old crap with the flood, but much survived. And it's a cringe fest.

I forgot how much of a smart-ass misogynist edge-lord I was in HS, especially since I was friends with women. Thankfully, I grew out of it. I only wish more men did. I was a delayed bloomer. And I learned a lot of confusing messages. None of my male or female friends were in couples. I actually wrote an anti-woman ode for a He-Man Women Haters Club. It was ironically sexist. And I'm ashamed of the whole thing.

I know where some of that comes from: any time a guy bullied me, or tried to cut me down, it was usually in front of a woman, and she laughed along, or acted like it was OK. But in retrospect, did I always stand up when someone was bullied or laugh nervously with the group? Probably not.

I remember one time I stood up for a bullied person and I ended up with my glasses broken. I ended up just being annoyed with the original victim (and a contempt for the bully which lingers to today and he is a customer and he is still an asshole and his wife is an asshole) and I learned to just vanish, while at the same time be bitter I wasn't noticed.

---

I found a two-page university newspaper article about getting over a boyfriend -- written by my ex. I saved it because I was the topic of someone's art -- even if it was full of pot-shots. A little bit of anger goes a long way. I was a muse! I was the original Dave Coulier! And she was funny. She talks about she likes to paint to get over someone. First time, she painted the house. The next time? A room. To get past me? She did her nails. See? Hahaha.

---

Anyway, how do I let go of the few shitty things I've ever done or said? It's not me, now.

And, yikes! I sure hope I didn't say or do anything that anyone else is holding a 30 year grudge for.

I'll just focus on becoming an avatar of kindness and love.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

Also, I think the testosterone is working. I'm not losing weight, but that's probably diet. I need to exercise. My treadmill is in a construction zone. And I don't have any shirts I can wear while exercising in public.

However, my prescription is almost over and I gotta figure out how to renew it. Waiting on hold to make an appointment to see my doc is a PITA.

It's a controlled substance, so I don't think the pharmacist can request it, and I needed to use a written prescription (and not the fancy electronic method). But I may have to go that route. Or I'll have to start all over again. Plus, I'm late on my blood work. Time is just flying.

It's all my fault.

---

They started on the drywall in my basement. I still need to work on my items claim. I don't remember the value of anything.

Also, I am still bothered there are people in my home right now. The cats have been fine in my bedroom. They spend most of their time sleeping on my bed, anyway. The first day, it took hours for Oliver to come out from under the bed. Yesterday, they both pushed out as soon as I opened the door.

---

Puppers is still alive. She's walking a little better. Turns out she has Cushings Syndrome (too much cortisol). She's had the symptoms for years, except not the big belly. She's been doing ok on the treatment. She's eating more and having fewer accidents (Cushings makes dogs drink a lot). So, good?

---

Finally talked to doctor. Well, the receptionist. She thinks it won't be a problem to renew the testosterone. I almost cried on the phone. What's wrong with me? The other day, there was a news article about the Orangeville 3 year old boy who was washed away from his mom's hands during the February flood and they just found his body. It was just a fact from the news reader. No reporting. And yet I'm sobbing in my car. Where's my objective detachment? I'm turning into a doughy softie. Fucking feelings and shit.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

Holding her close I consider how nice this moment is. That everything that has happened in my life has lead to this moment. Every decision she and I have made have lead to this.

Then I think, would I be the same person if I was born at a different time? Would I be a dove or a hawk during WW2? You know everyone likes to think they would have been the one to try to stop the Holocaust, yet do nothing to stop the oh so many atrocities in the world. Would I have the customs/racism of someone at that time? There's no way to tell, as I'd be a different person. So at what point am I a different person? Born from my parents, I assume.

But what if I was born a week earlier, or a week later. Would I be the same? Probably not. The adventure would have started different. Would that guy be a better or worse person? Sadly, no one would miss me because there WAS a Paul Steven Perrault born. Or maybe the other me would have a different name. A week earlier, my grandparents would have held it at Paul. A week later, my mother might have have dug in more and called me Michael. Does my name make me? What makes me me? How close in time do these ersatz Paul/Steve/Mikes need to be born at the same time as me to be me? It's impossible. So narrow that to just the moments before and after I was actually born, the limit me, do I even actually exist?

"What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"Aw. That's sweet."

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

I'm still having trouble with my insurance claim. It's just the listing of items to submit. And describing them and their value. One item after another.

I woefully underestimated the time involved and the value of my stuff. And I took shit photos with my phone.

I lost 43 records. I thought it was just a couple dozen. I don't know now to value them, or anything else I own. And the whole thing just upsets me. I've avoided it too long, but man, I don't want to do this...

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

Review - "A Futile and Stupid Gesture"

Watched the documentary on National Lampoon's Doug Kenney, "A Futile and Stupid Gesture". I can't complain about the weird pace, because I spent more much time reading Wikipedia entries while pausing than enjoying the darn film. Kenney is the co-creator of the Lampoon and co-wrote Animal House and Caddyshack before dying.

There were a few moments where I thought "hey, that was clever" and then a lot of "Argh! I hate coke-heads."

It's hard to grasp the nostalgia for the 70's -- a decade I barely remember. I guess I'll have to focus on Ready Player One.

One thing of note: Thomas Lennon as Michael O'Donoghue was wonderful. I'd love to see a film of just him.

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

I think I'm less depressed. When did this happen? Have I accepted my insignificance in a large uncaring universe? Did the testosterone finally kick in?

Now? I'm bored.

My therapist: "Don't read into this but you look different. You don't seem so weighted. I mean, you mentioned something that bothered you but you aren't dwelling on it, and you're not escalating other things. I can see the change in your eyes and posture."

Me: "I bought a new shirt"

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

Have you ever hung around people and then suddenly realize, wait, they don't want to. They're just being polite. Or even mean. You assume any undermining unkind words is just teasing, because that's how friends talk, right? So you step back and realize, they don't really care or miss you.

You grow out of that, right? Right?

slick
sacramentalist

(no subject)

My company is upset the Ontario Energy Board wants to dramatically increase the fees for utility pole access. I was reading up on the OEB and saw repeated acronym reference to the people who proposed the new tariff -- the Pole Attachment Working Group, but I didn't know that right away. Googling PAWG was... distracting. (it's a porn keyword)

how_much_does_a_hemingway
sacramentalist

(no subject)

HRT is a lie.

Speaking of hormones. Dog likely has Cushing Syndrome (over-active adrenal gland). She's always has symptoms, except the tell-tale pot belly. She's been on Prednisone so we have to ween her off that before approaching the Cushing's (or Cushing...)

Saw my wife for the first time in 2 months this weekend. It didn't take long to get the feeling I'm an annoying bother. That makes her sound bad but what happened is her boss emailed her some edits Saturday afternoon which kicked up her anxiety and she can't think of anything else. I'm understanding but, fuck.

I have bought 2 packs of underwear which don't fit. I give up and I am going to keep wearing my moth-eaten underwear until I'm not wearing any at all.

?

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