Category Archives: Memoirs

Things About Diabetes They Don’t Talk About

Healthcare, Memoirs, , , , , ,
Don't do it! You'll get diabetes!
Don’t do it! You’ll get diabetes!

I apologize for taking a detour on a site where I normally talk about writing, self-publishing, computer games and all things stuffed animals, but recently, I’ve been going through a bit of a struggle with my health, and it finally hit me hard enough that I thought I would dedicate a little space and talk about it.

First off, I’ve been a diabetic for a good portion of my life. Most of it is genetic, as my mother’s side of the family had the disease and both my mother and grandfather died from it. I don’t know anything about my father’s side of the line, so I’m going on limited information here. However, I did have the opportunity to see how it affected at least two of my family members, and to put it simply, it wasn’t pretty. It’s a crappy disease, and if you don’t have the ability to afford the best medication, you’re pretty much screwed. Both my mother and grandfather were poverty stricken, and that’s the greatest petri dish available for that disease to take you down.

I’m not in the same financial circumstances, so one would think I’d have access to better medication and treatments, and I have been, but I’m discovering that it’s really not that much of a benefit when it comes down to a really crappy disease. While I’m not stuck with having to inject myself with throwaway needles every day (they have what are called pen needles that use a different needle, but you use the same injector pen until it runs out. These days, not everything has to remain refrigerated, and let’s just say that with needles that are less intrusive these days, it’s a lot better today than it used to be.

However, what they don’t tell you about are some of the things that happen with this disease that’s different with each individual affected. One of my pet peeves about this disease is how many “experts” exist out there who know a fraction of the information about diabetes that I do, but somehow speak as if they’re experts in the field. These are the people who say things like “well, you can control it with diet” or they’ll point at whatever you’re eating and say “You’re a diabetic. Should you be eating that?” Unfortunately, our legal system frowns upon my desire to shove an ice pick down their throat, so let’s just say that being a diabetic means being subject to every whack a doodle wannabe doctor with two years experience of watching House on television as their “residency”. Or worse: “I know a guy that had diabetes, so let me tell you about everything I know about the disease” which usually means falsehoods and stereotypes of medical information.

But to understand the really bizarre nature of this disease, I have to give you a little history about myself, because there’s no better way to explain it than taking it from that perspective. You see, some years ago, I used to control my diabetes through diet and exercise, keeping myself in somewhat decent shape. Then my pancreas decided it didn’t want to secrete as much insulin as it was supposed to do, so I was put on oral medications that helped my pancreas produce more insulin. And then about a year ago, that stopped working, and somehow my kidneys started to shut down. I ended up in the hospital, and fortunately I didn’t end up on dialysis, but was pretty close. However, all I could remember was the nurse who kept making comments about how I was lucky that I didn’t have to go through dialysis, giving off the impression that somehow this was my fault. You know, the claims of you didn’t take care of yourself well enough, you ate badly, and your not checking your blood enough to maintain your sugar levels. Almost every conversation with her was like hearing how I would now have to be doing something different, and it was now on me to make things better. The fact that I was watching what I was eating and running/biking didn’t seem to make a difference. Again, it was all my fault.

After I got out of the hospital, they decided that the old way of maintaining my sugar levels hadn’t been working, so they put me on insulin, something I used to equate to “you’re going to die very soon after that, Duane.” I’d seen it happen with both my grandfather and my mother. Once they got put on insulin, it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart and they died. Everyone kept saying, this is 2012 (at least when they said it), and not the 1970s; medicine has come a long way. People live long, productive lives with diabetes.

Well, one of the problems of taking insulin, at least for me, is that my weight shot up big time. It’s been on an upwards trajectory that I can’t seem to stop. I’m not talking a few pounds here and there. I’m talking a trajectory that has increased my current weight to a level that my body has NEVER reached before, even in a short period after I got out of the Army and let my body go completely to waste (before wising up and getting back into physical shape). The problem is: It’s not stopping.

One of the problems that’s emerged is bloating of my limbs, which makes it so much more difficult for me to walk (and obviously, run). I have trouble putting on my shoes every morning because my feet have gotten so bloated that my shoes rarely fit, and I have to force my feet into my shoes, until my feet settle down and my shoes begin to feel a lot more comfortable for the day.

My usual response to this sort of thing has been exercise, which I attempted to do, but here’s one of those things they don’t tell you about. I just don’t have the energy. I tried going running a few weeks ago, and I didn’t make it steps before my body practically just conked out on me. So, I tried doing walking instead, and let’s just say that I’m running into some complications with that as well. Last week, I decided to walk two miles (basically taking the sidewalk around the complex where I live and down the street before coming to the back exit of where I live). On Monday, it was tough, but at the end of it, I felt pretty good. Exhausted, but good. I gave it a few days and then decided to go for the same walk on Friday. I made it about 1/3 of the way before I hit a wall that I’d never experienced before. I couldn’t walk another step. I realized I wasn’t going to make the trip, so I tried to turn back around and walk home. In only a few steps, I felt like I was drunk on a night full of tequila, except I wasn’t getting the enjoyable feeling you get when you’re drunk on tequila. I just couldn’t walk straight. I’d go a few feet and start to fall down.

I made it back to the housing complex, but still had about half a mile to go to my apartment. I couldn’t move. I fell down on the grass and just laid there. After some time, a nice woman in a truck drove by and asked if I was drunk. I tried to explain what happened, which was probably a lot like some drunk trying to explain the preamble to the Constitution. After awhile, she probably figured I wasn’t some guy she had to fear, as I couldn’t even stand up, so she drove me home. I stumbled up my stairs and then into my apartment, collapsing on my couch, waking up early Saturday morning around 1:30 in the morning.

My solution to this sort of problem exists already in my apartment. I bought a treadmill some months back and have used it a couple of times. If I used it regularly, I wouldn’t even have to leave the house. But it appears I bought the one brand of treadmill designed by Loki because even on the manual mode, I’ll walk for about two minutes or so and then suddenly it will start to speed up. In seconds, it will be at a speed so fast that I can’t even keep up. Again, this is MANUAL mode. Then it might slow down to a point that is like watching a slow motion runner going even slower than physically possible. Again, another one of those frustrating things that could have been such a great solution.

But back to diabetes. The worst problem is that I have two doctors I see who don’t seem to care. Oh, they care, but they care about things that are relevant to other issues. Like, they care about my blood sugars. As long as they’re normal, they seem to think we’re on the right track. Sure, my blood sugars are normal, but I’m not. My blood sugar is great, but my body is falling completely apart. At this rate, I suspect I won’t survive the year. That’s not hyperbole; that’s rationalization. I’ve always been somewhat of a rational kind of guy.

But that’s my tale of diabetes I wanted to share with you. I figure most people have read the first lines of this article and just went onto the next one, and I understand. Unfortunately, I can’t move on; I’m sort of stuck here.

Father’s Day is just another day

Memoirs, Relationships, , , , , ,
The only father I've ever known
The only father I’ve ever known

I’m one of those people who isn’t a real fan of holidays, especially specifically themed ones, like Valentine’s Day, which for someone who has been single his whole life and usually not dating, it’s not the greatest day ever. The other day is the one that’s right around the corner: Father’s Day.

I was listening to the local radio station this morning, and they decided to dedicate all songs to celebrating dad, so you were asked to phone them and find what song best exemplifies how much you love your father and all of the great things he did for you. So, for most of the morning, we got all sorts of play throughs of Eye of the Tiger, and every sappy song you can think of that has some meaning of “hey, Dad was a great guy.”

For me, dad wasn’t a great guy. No, he never beat me or anything like that. He couldn’t, because he was never around to do it. When I was an infant, he decided that the responsibility of having a kid was too much for him, so he skipped town, found some other woman to shack up with and then started a brand new family. As for me, I never saw him again, so I don’t even remember ever seeing him in the first place.

So, whenever Father’s Day rolls around, all I can think of is how this turd of a person helped bring me to life and then abandoned both me and his wife, figuring a family was way too much responsibility and not worthy of his time. I learned to play catch from a friend, so who sort of learned from his dad before playing with me. That infamous Hallmark television commercial of dad playing catch with his son never occurred in my family. There was no dad to pass me the car keys on the night of the prom, right before he gave me that nervous lecture of how a man should act when alone with a girl for the first time. When I was trying to decide between West Point and Annapolis, there was no long conversation with my dad about how one was better than the other, or that he was proud I was going to be going to at least one of them.

So, when they start their big shin digs about Father’s Day, I really have nothing to say. I’ve never been a father myself, so I’m not a part of that tradition from the other side either. Basically, it becomes one of those days that’s just like every other day, except everyone is running around celebrating some strange custom that I will never understand.

Yet another job slips through my fingers

Books, Business, Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Writing

I applied for a job where I currently work. I was totally qualified for it, and I would have done a great job with it. Made it to the second interview. And the interview went great. The next week, I was informed that I was “second” in the running, so the job went to someone else.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this sort of thing in my life. I keep applying for things, and way too often end up being the “other” person behind the person who actually gets the job. It doesn’t matter how much education I have, how smart I really am, how innovative I am, what skills I hav e, or whatever. I keep coming up as the second in line for whatever thing I’m seeking. I have news for those who aren’t following: Second place doesn’t get a job or anything else. You get to start over and look forward to coming in second some other time.

I can’t even begin to tell you how many times this keeps happening in my life. And it’s not even jobs. It happened with my writing career where I came so close to finally making it and then something gave me that second place treatment again. An example is that years ago I landed a very well known literary agent who ended up in a car accident soon after signing me on as a client. She had a brain injury where she basically didn’t even remember I was her client. I mean, come on. This shit isn’t supposed to happen outside of bad television shows. I had a second agent years later who felt he could sell my espionage fiction. Then he called me to inform me that he was going to be representing some other writer who would take too much time, so as suspected, I got dumped.

And I am getting older (had a birthday a few days ago) that reminds me that I’m probably less desirable as a future employee than all of the younger people coming out of school.

So, without sounding dramatic or whatever, I give up. It’s not worth trying any more.

Am I Wasting My Time With This Blog (does anyone even read it)?

Computer Games, Memoirs, Relationships, Social Networking, Writing, , , , , ,

For some time now, I’ve been wondering how many people actually read my blog, if any. I mean, I know a few people read it, and those are mainly my close friends. But other than a half dozen, I’m not sure what I’m doing here really equates to a useful use of my time. Considering I’ve been doing this blog for years now, one would think that it would have received a bit better of a reception than absolutely little to none.

Strangely enough, I get lots of responses to my posts. But they’re all from spammers. And I mean A LOT of responses from spammers who are basically trying to sell their stuff, attempt to steal my ID, or whatever else they’re doing when they attempt to get people to click on their useless links.

But not so many people. Every now and then I’ll get a 1/10 vote on an old post of mine, where someone generally didn’t understand I was being ironic (or sarcastic) and then thinks that when I argue that Iran is doing good things by hurting women again, I’m being sarcastic, in that I don’t support them in their actions. Instead of any response from anyone, I’ll get someone who gives me a 1/10, a thumbs down, or a rant about how men like me are keeping women in the Middle Ages of sexual politics, meaning they didn’t understand the article, or didn’t read far enough into it to care enough to try to understand it. That gets really frustrating when that kind of stuff ends up being the only responses you tend to get.

This blog was designed as a place for a political scientist/communications person who sees the world through really bizarre lenses (including an anarchist one as well) to talk about all sorts of issues, ranging from politics, to game design (I used to work as a game designer years ago), to academics (I have more degrees than I can count, which is really an appeal to our horrible educational system that didn’t teach me to count very well), to humor, to my comic strip The Adventures of Stickman and the Unemployed Legospaceman (which you can access from the links on this page), to technology, to my unusual dating history (in which I end up having to fear almost every woman I’ve ever dated), to pretty much anything else. Yet, I don’t think this blog gets out to anyone. Or to very few.

I’ve tried all sorts of “have your blog seen by millions” techniques, but I’ve mainly failed. No one but spammers seems to know I exist. If others are seeing it, they’re being very quiet, like that strange person who sneaks into my house and steals all of my left socks.

The blog was originally a showcase for my novel writing, but that never seemed to do much either. Years later, and a dozen or so novels later, I’m as popular as someone who has yet to write his or her first word.

So, I’m going to throw this out to you all. If you read it, let me know. If not, I’m probably going to give this a few weeks to make its way into the cobwebs of the web and then close down my blog for good. Why waste time and money on something nobody is enjoying?

Struggling to Find a Purpose

Memoirs, Writing, , , , , , , ,

Well, after the whole losing a crown on my tooth thing and the identity theft incident, I’m now back at work and moving forward into another day. It sucks that there are thieves out there who will steal you blind (just because they can), and it sucks that random health concerns can really mess with your day. But really, what can you do about it other than just get through it and move onto another day?

Which brings me to another day. And realizing that, I’m back to the same quandary in that I really don’t know what to do with my “other” day now that I’m there. My life still sucks. And I really don’t have anything to look forward to, other than more days of dealing with the fact that there are more sucky days after this one.

My life isn’t bad. Or horrible. I mean, I don’t live in an environment where evil, brutal masters are flogging me on a daily basis while I work in the salt mines. My biggest dilemma on a daily basis is deciding between paper and plastic, and I’ve sort of solved that by buying reusable Meiers bags that I bring to the supermarket with me. Basically, my day consists of figuring out whether a colon, a semi-colon or a gerund phrase are used correctly. And even then, who really cares?

The real dilemma is that I don’t have a purpose. Nothing I do really matters. No one cares. Oh sure, someone might throw a fit if a memo doesn’t go to the correct audience, or another person might somehow come unglued if the wrong font was used to explain an osteometric procedure. But in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t matter. No lives will be saved, made better or worse, or otherwise seriously inconvenienced.

And personally, besides not having a purpose, I don’t have really anything going on in my life. And I’m not under-exaggerating here. There’s NOTHING going on. My writing career is not a career. It’s not even a glorified hobby these days. I have no girlfriend, mistress, or flirting affair with the girl down the hall who thinks I’m somewhat okay but would rather date anyone but me. I don’t even have that. I don’t party. I don’t even have a drug problem, which ironically might be something to bide the time as people who do drugs at least have something to occupy their time.

I sometimes think I grew up during the wrong period in US history. The amount of technology we have today has made interaction with other people almost inconsistent or nonexistent. Sometimes, I think it would be really fascinating to just up and walk off, wandering the lands as a Kwei Chang Caine or Jack Kerouac, starting over at practically every “Welcome to….” city sign. It’s like there’s a whole world out there to experience, and I’m sitting at home playing Star Wars: The Old Republic.

Years back, I kept thinking I was going to be changing the world. Then I learned that’s not likely to happen. The world doesn’t want to change. And you know, I’m sort of fine with that. However, perhaps it’s time to change me, and being what I am really kind of sucks.

Whatever I’m doing right now certainly isn’t working.

The Energy to Post New Blog Content Just Isn’t There

Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Writing, ,

I haven’t posted anything in awhile, mainly because I rarely get any actual responses on my blog itself. A couple of my feeds move onto places like Open Salon and other such places, and they get a few responses there, but overall, my own web site sometimes feels like a graveyard.

Not really a lot going on these days. I’ve been voraciously trying to find a decent teaching job, but I’ve completely failed at almost every attempt. If lucky, I get a form letter rejection thanking me for applying. Otherwise, I get nothing. Not a damn thing. It’s not like I’m not qualified. It’s not like I’m not a damn good teacher either. I just get no response whatsoever. Or I’ll get a nibble, and then that nibble will run away, convinced that there is probably tastier bait out there somewhere else.

Lately, I’ve been working on a writing project with a former friend/romantic interest/really hard to define but always a positive attribution regardless. Our project is something that’s definitely up our alley, but our schedules don’t really seem to be all that copacetic, which means that I’m suspecting that as good of an idea as it is, it’s probably going to end up not working out in the long run. And that’s too bad. I’m slowly putting work back into energy towards one of my previous novels, mainly because I don’t feel right unless I’m working on something that’s moving forward. And I’ve been meaning to rewrite one of my old novels for many years now, especially now that I have the proper time and place for it.

I recently read Stephen King’s book on the JFK assassination, and I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised at how well he carried that book through its entire process. He sometimes has a habit of becoming too wordy and sometimes “too Stephen King”, but this was one of his rare wonders. I can say that I’m very happy I read it. I immediately recommended it to Rick, and he read it too, thinking pretty much the same thing I did. I haven’t read too many great novels recently, and I was glad this one came along.

Which got me thinking about my own writing again, because it’s always a continuous work in progress that never seems to go anywhere. Unlike other writers who want to be writers but never write, I’m one of those who wrote a lot but never got anything for doing it. And I still continue to write. My writing has probably evolved to a point where I’m pretty much at the top of my game right now, and it’s almost completely useless. It’s like pissing in a fan, for lack of a better (or graphic) metaphor.

Relationships are still a dead zone for me these days. I live in Grand Rapids, which seems to be the furthest place of finding anything I’m seeking. I’d move anywhere else, but I’m like some unemployable crazy guy that will never get another job no matter how hard he tries. So I’m kind of stuck here. And stuck is probably a very apt description.

Not much else going on. Another semester is almost over here at GRCC, and my students probably couldn’t care one way or another if I was teaching them. It’s not like they’re bad students; they’re fine. It’s just that I don’t seem to be making much of an impact or a difference these days. That’s generally the story of adjuncts everywhere.

Well, have to head to class for the night. What fun.

I think I’m going back to school

Education, Memoirs, , , , , , , ,

Well, I’ve been mulling this decision over for some time now, and I’ve finally come to a conclusion: I’m going to go back to school. Even though I have enough degrees as it is, this isn’t about getting a new degree, but it’s much more about trying to find a purpose in life. Unfortunately, my current trajectory is taking me in directions that are suck in mud, and it’s been driving me nuts lately.

Unfortunately, all of my graduate degrees in social science have led me to absolutely nothing. I can’t get a job. At all. I’m qualified to teach political science and communication, and no one hires. I mean, NO ONE HIRES. Currently, I”m working as an adjunct, and I’ve been offered other “adjunct” positions in both fields, but finding a full time teaching job is not even possible. Most of the time, I’m lucky to get a form letter rejection thanking me and informing me they’ll keep my application on file. This has convinced me that the only way to actually get a college teaching job is to know someone in the school already, and unfortunately, I don’t know anyone in the school already. This means, I’m doomed to a lifestyle of submitting applications that will be circular filed and nothing else.

So, I started spending some time analyzing what it is I actually want to do. My forte is mathematics and hard-based science. It’s something I actually enjoy. It causes me to think. Right now, I hardly think at all. There’s no need for it. Political science requires no thinking. You either know it, or you don’t. Communication doesn’t involve that much more, other than a need to read more material. But in the end, the same ideas that were espoused in the 1950s, are the ideas that are ground-breaking today. Daniel Goldman just reiterated Sarni’s work, while practically every identity scholar reinvents Black. I tried to develop something completely new, designing an additive theory linking both political science and communication to produce a brand new strategy of international negotations. Was I successful? I think so. The result: No one cares. Diplomats are only interested in doing what they’ve been doing since Napoleon discovered he had a short person complex. Social science is a path to obscurity and reinvention (with a new paint finish!).

So, I’ve decided to pursue the biological sciences. My immediate goal right now is something involving forensic science, possibly leading to medical school (but not being a practicing doctor but more of a research-type professional). It was a direction I was going before, so at least now I’ll try taking it seriously.

What I have discovered is that I’m doing absolutely nothing with my life. I have a job where I do not feel respected as a professional in any way whatsoever. I’m literally a glorified editor (without the glory). During the year, I’m told I’m doing an “adequate” job, but whenever it comes time for the yearly performance review, I’m “just not doing enough”. But the job isn’t designed to give the opportunity to do anything, which precludes the possibility of “enough” in all cases. I don’t think I’ve really stretched my brain more than two times that I’ve been here. There will never be opportunities for advancement, as I’m not a medical professional, so I’m going to be stuck in the same job, same pay grade just shy of achieving the yearly cost of living percentage increase.

Therefore, I have to create my own opportunities, and that’s what I’m going to be doing.

So my quandary, or struggle, right now is trying to figure out exactly how to do it. I really don’t want to spend years and years starting over with school when I’m sure I shouldn’t have to. I tried contacting Western Michigan University (as their close to local) to inquire about their biology program, and basically the “counselor” responded by throwing the ball back in my court, as administrative types tend to do a lot. I asked specific questions, and not a single one of them was actually answered. I got a “send us all of your transcripts and we’ll see where you stand” response. My question was: “Does the local campus for WMU actually offer biology courses?” Anway, you’d think by now I’d be used to these types of responses from people.

So, that’s where I am right now. My life isn’t working as planned, mainly because I haven’t realy planned it out that well. So I have to find something else.

Another Birthday, and now it’s Monday

Memoirs, Relationships, Writing, , , , , ,

Yesterday was my birthday, or at least the anniversary of my birthday. I’m a year older. I forget the actual age but it’s somewhere between 18 and the age of the planet, which if you believe in science is billions of years old, and if you don’t, then it’s slightly shy of 4000. Either way, my age is somewhere in there.

I didn’t do anything for my birthday. I never do. I don’t have a family, a girlfriend, or friends who hang out with me, so my birthdays are mainly spent alone, doing alone things. Like playing a computer game, watching a movie on DVD, or reading a book. That’s pretty much the sum of my every day, so my birthday is rarely that much different.

I did take the day off of work. Well, actually, I took Friday off (as yesterday was Sunday). I like to take a day and “celebrate” my birthday, even if that celebration consists of doing nothing. But it means that one day out of the week when I should be at work, I’m not. So it sort of works itself out.

But I’m definitely realizing I’m getting older. My back hurts a bit these days, and I’m not as agile as I used to be. The other day, my foot hurt really something awful. I’m not sure why. I think it’s just one of those: “You’re getting older, duane” sort of things. Later on, it felt fine.

As I start to get older, I find myself with a bit more time to regret the things that didn’t work out in my life. I think about relationships that didn’t work out, and I kick myself a lot about those. I mean, I totally blew it with Marisha, and then turned around and destroyed a bizarre, yet somewhat productive relationship with Sally. Sure, Sally was nuts, but it kind of worked out. I just wasn’t ready for that relationship at the time, and then I sort of burned that bridge where it stood. I regret that a lot. Oh well.

I regret that my writing career has never taken off the way I hoped it would. I remember teachers telling me when I was a little kid that I had the “gift”, that I was going to go far with my writing. I soaked those comments up, too, and I really believed them. And when I received my first book deal, I was overjoyed. And then the publishing company tanked before the book was released. And then my agent got into an accident and disappeared, showing up years later and no longer remembering who I was (after her head injury). My second agent represented me for about six months and then kind of stopped answering all correspondences. Obtaining a third agent has been somewhat elusive. And then the Internet happened, and the Kindle, and then the industry changed to the point where I don’t think I’m ever going to have a writing career. Ever. I kind of regret that happened.

I regret my music career never started off. Back in my young days, I was a soloist, and my singing was pretty damn popular. I had a great voice…still do. But I never did anything with it. Instead, I joined the Army and put all of that behind me. I’m a bit too old for that sort of thing now, so it’s another one of those things I regret.

I sometimes kick myself that I dropped medicine as a college career and went into political science instead, and then communication. I’m a genius with mathematics, yet I’ve done nothing math or science-related with my life. I even developed a mathematical, game theoretic social model for compliance negotiations between nations. Never did anything with it. Gave up trying to convince people it was a better alternative than the current losing strategies we use with diplomacy today.

I regret that I haven’t dated in over a decade. And I don’t see that changing any time in the future. Everyone around me is married, unavailable or simply not interested. And there aren’t that many around me as it is.

Secretly, I keep telling myself I need to pick up and move across the country to some place I’ve never been before and start over there, but I’ve become somewhat of a coward these days. In my youth, I’d jump up and go anywhere, convinced I’d fall back on my feet. Today, I’m scared to death of making a move like that and finding myself unemployed, unable to find a job and then slowly becoming homeless and despondent. I’ve always managed to land on my feet in the past, but this last time was a lot more difficult than ever before, and I just don’t see myself desiring to go through that horror again. Yet, if I don’t find something, somewhere soon, I don’t think I’m going to be around much longer.

Arbitrary Observations on a Thursday Afternoon

Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Social Networking, , , , , , ,

I was walking from one building where I work to another one, which involves a couple of doors that need to be opened. As there was a bit of pedestrian traffic in the area, at one point I found myself holding the door open for other people. At the time, I ended up holding the door open for four different people at different times (not one right after the other), and the one thing that struck me as odd was that each person reached for the wide open door I was holding, almost as if I was going to shut it in their face. If it would have happened once, it would have just been one of those things, but four different people all reached for the opened door, almost as if they had bad experiences with other people holding open the door for them. Kind of strange. At least they said thank you, even though they seemed to suspect I was going to rescind my offer to keep the door open for them.

Another observation: When teaching at a community college, I’ve discovered that the axiom once taught to me by Professor Ashlyn Kuerstin was that you should always explain on the first day of class that attendance is mandatory AND that the death of your grandmother doesn’t affect attendance. I forgot to give her spiel this time around. Two students have now reported ill or dead grandmothers. Kind of strange, but strangely enough, expected.

One of my colleagues was let go today by the company for not meeting expectations. I walked by her desk today and noticed her half filled (or half empty, depending on psychological disposition) cup of water is still on her desk, the straw in it, as if ready to continue drinking. I guess someone will eventually clean it up and throw it out. I often wonder what that person must think to himself as he or she cleans up after someone’s now empty desk. Probably just glad it was someone else. Or not. Who knows what people think?

I have tomorrow off from work. I have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon, and I need to get to the Secretary of State’s office to renew my auto registration, which means I have to find my current insurance card (for some reason I never replaced my old one, even though I have the same insurance and the same policy number). I’ll probably have to sit in that place for a few hours because it’s always slow no matter when you go there. I guess that’s why I put off these sorts of things. I hate bureaucracy, almost as much as Kafka.

I kind of wish I had some kind of social life these day, but I don’t. I don’t even really have close friends anymore, other than a few close colleagues who I basically only ever get to see at work (one of whom I consider a friend, even though we don’t really spend any time together outside of work). I’m at that age where I don’t really feel comfortable going to bars (I don’t drink), especially alone, and I don’t really have any other options to meet people. E-dating never works, at least not for me. I sometimes suspect that the same people doing well at e-dating are the same people who do well at regular dating; they’re usually players who lie to women and get away with it. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing, and because of it, I’m probably never going to meet anyone. Women talk about liking nice guys and all that, but they lie, and everyone knows it. Eventually, they might settle for a nice guy after they’re done playing their own games, but by then, we’re off the market, playing World of Warcraft or Star Wars: The Old Republic, because at least there we have something that makes a bit of sense, even if it means no real social interaction.

Anyway, that’s my Thursday. I teach my class tonight at the college, and then I go grocery shopping before heading home to a house full of friendly stuffed animals. Well, mostly friendly. Some of them can get a bit roudy. But they mean well.

The World Moves on Without Me

Memoirs, News, Politics, Relationships, , , , , , ,

Years ago, I was working in military intelligence, and the training exercise was something you’d see on any episode of “24” or any other television show that pretends to understand what intelligence people do. Basically, we’d receive all sorts of intelligence information from sources, news, and wherever, and then based on an assessment of the map, we’d make recommendations about what needs to be done in order to counter the “threat”. It was a period of 24 hours we were dealing with (shortened for our exercise), but what kept annoying me was that no matter how many “brilliant” suggestions we made, the scenario wasn’t designed to actually implement any of our suggestions. So, if Dictator A was waging some kind of guerilla campaign, his actions would have sanctions based on any of the recommendations we made. In other words, it was all scripted out ahead of time, so no matter what impact we tried to make, we wouldn’t actually make a difference. The exercise serves two purposes: One, you learn to react quickly to a changing scenario, and (possibly unplanned by the designers) second, you learn that quite often intelligence people have all the information but no one bothers to listen to them.

Now, this could go on into a diatribe about intelligence and how no one pays attention to it, but that’s a column for another day. Instead, I’d rather deal with something a little closer to home. Having read my little introduction, I would like to put forth that my life is very much that scenario today. Except I’m no longer in intelligence. I’m an average Joe who has zero impact or say so in government whatsoever. And sadly enough, I’m discovering that it’s just as frustrating now as it was when I was supposed to have a voice.

You see, every day I read the news to see what’s going on in the world and in my local community. And every day, huge things happen, but none of them have any ties to me whatsoever. There was a huge protest in Oakland yesterday, where OWS people were arrested because of what they believe in. Police are up in arms (as they usually are), and the city officials are planning to “meet” this disruption with the usual gumption. Me, on the other hand, well, I’m not involved. I don’t live in Oakland, and even if I did, chances are pretty good that I’d be somewhat of an insignificant cog in the wall over there, so what’s it really matter?

Our country is going through huge budget problems. I have lots of ideas I’ve tried to share with people. No one cares. They listen to economists who have continued to prove they know as much as anyone else, and they argue amongst themselves, but the average person with a plan, or a solution, is insignificant. Instead, we’ve been relegated to the ranks of the spoken to rather than those who have a voice.

And that’s been bothering me a lot lately. Unfortunately, other than to complain about it to an audience that doesn’t exist, I really don’t know what to do about it. And I never have. Instead, I seem to live a non-existent life without purpose, doing the same things over and over without any path towards anything greater. The critic can easily say, well go do something, but I’m left in that same quandary of “do what? And why?” I guess that’s the whole attraction of the Occupy Wall Street thing for a lot of people. We’ve been so disenfranchised for so long that at least there you have a voice, even if no one really is listening to you again. For a fleeting moment, you get to yell and scream, and others around you yell and scream as well. But in the end, what do you get out of it, other than arrests by police and ridicule from everyone else?

In the end, you start to realize that the world revolves around some people, and the rest of us just occupy space. It’s like our only purpose is to be consumers of stuff that the revolved around people manage. We exist so they can have good lives, and we pretend that one day we might be one of those people, but secretly we realize we’re probably never going to be.

So, what is the average person supposed to do, other than live a mediocre life that has little to no meaning?