Dammit!  Two TBIs, schizoaffective disorder, diabetes and now possibly Narcolepsy.

I don’t know much about this disorder. It describes what I’m going through along with schizophrenia (voices, memory and disorganized thought, and you can see it in my writings–it’s mild).  The two seem to mingle and are creating an unusual hell for me.

Plus, my thyroid starts to fail every once in a while.  I talk to Greek gods and goddesses when that pops up, like when they spilled the nectar of immortality, not for me.  It’s in the low average thyroid-wise, but I know it’s not helping my weight.  I haven’t talked to gods in a few months, so it’s all good.

I also have sleep paralysis and hypnagogic hallucinations, or I did. My meds helped with those horrible nightmares.

I talk to the Cat god when my prozac is too high.  Haven’t heard from him.   Seroquel causes a bar friend to come and chat with me how he wants to roll his barrels.

I keep getting these damn visions while I’m awake,too.  They ain’t from divinity.  WTF?  That’s what I’ve been saying all day.

I’m going to give it a couple months.  It could just be schizophrenia.  If not, am I going to be able to drive in the future?


I’ve Been Brainwashed (Yet again)

Some people have strong mind with their own thoughts and feelings.  They go about daily life and don’t cause much trouble.  They don’t understand “us” and want to fix “us” to be as zombie-like society holds them with hope.

I’m easy to possess.  It’s been a problem in the past.  I get too many voices from other people, and I kick up the hay and swim in mud.  We’ll sum them up briefly.

The first time I was brainwashed was when I was in elementary school.  At first I protested being in special education, and my teachers covered this blatant abuse by saying that I have a gift.  Yeah, I had the gift of word salad and low intelligence.  Thanks, God.

Growing up, I was subjected to a lot of tests both of my intelligence (116 IQ–average bright with global problems–the global problems are new though) and my behavior (absent).  I was silenced until I became angry when their little recipes didn’t work for the real world.  No one wants to eat my word salad.  I was basically told to shut up and think of the poor people of Africa.

I’m thinking about gene editing…

Next we had the army, and they are professional brainwashers.  They have a purpose for it — unlike my school days.  I thought the army was number 1, that I had a purpose, and I was accepted and only listened, so I had no brain.  It took me a while to be able to think logically again.

Then comes RT with its pro-Russian gibberish and Putin. It managed to make me mad as it took control and got what it wanted.  Then I’m in the sun to rust.  He even planted seeds, or the FSB did, to get me to kill myself.

However, the government took control and made me docile.


Greedy Graveyard

Alice slammed the dented car door and huffed up the stairs into her tiny, yellow apartment with red walls.  The cold air bit at her even in the apartment, as she couldn’t afford the heat bill, not this winter.  She’d neglected her studies to pay for independence.  Had she stayed at home, she might have lost her mind, or she had already, the grabbing of insanity.

Her life presented challenges to her that seemed unfair.  At eighteen, Alice thought she’d lived enough but realized the truth of the matter: she wasn’t dog shit, knew only shit.  The wind may howl at her, a cat meow, but in English, she knew her place in the universe.

She threw her papers onto the kitchen counter and grabbed a glass of cold coffee from the morning pot.   She saw it then: grave digger.  The section of paper said it would give 10,000 dollars to whomever could find the Ring of Margaret, an old family heirloom lost for decades.  Apparently, the seeker owned the graves, and they could be dug up.

Alice set her coffee down and saw the kids playing in the snow outside.  The glass fogged up as she breathed hot air into it.

I should.

That afternoon, Alice drove over to the old woman’s house.  From the paper, Alice gathered Mrs. Pottage was beyond rich at ninety nine, and she wanted the ring stolen from her, she  was quoted as saying.

“Dear, dear, please come in.” Her voice shook like a chill.  The smell of roses rotted the rooms and reminded Alice of a nursing home.  While frail, Mrs. Pottage quickly went to the kitchen in the large house.  She poured some tea and headed back to the living room where Alice stood.  At least it is warm in here.

“I suppose you know what the job entails.  Have you ever dug up a grave?” Alice almost spilled the hot tea on the white carpeted floor.

No, I, um, have not,” Alice replied sheepishly.  She took another sip of warm tea.

“Well, it’s not complicated. I’ve got another male who is interested.   I do believe it should suffice.  I know you’re a hard worker.”  The words struck Alice as odd.

That night the moon stood out in the sky, trying to save the prey and madden the lunatics.

“Hey, I’m Bill, and I guess we’re digging up ten graves to find some sort of ring.”

“The ring is hers.  I want that 10,000, no questions asked.”

“I agree,” Alice said.  Bill’s face possessed the loveliest color of blue.  They seemed to glow in the night.

The two of them began digging into the hard ground.  Winter behave poorly that year.  Still, they worked on.  The cold night dared them to ask for comfort, which they did not seek.

“Well, that’s the second to last grave.  I think we’re close.  The sun is rising.  We’ve worked all night, geez.”

The last grave proved equally difficult to dig up.  They put all their strength into each shovel.  Alice’s eyes were laced with snow.  She huffed and puffed, exhausted.  Her long red hair kept her neck warm, at least.

Finally, after they dug the last grave, they pulled out a shiny ring from the skeleton.  Then they screamed, piercing the early day.  A crow cawed in the distance.

The skeleton jumped up and out of the grave.  The hair fell down, an odd shade of blonde.

Neither Alice nor Bill could spill a word.

“That old hag trying to get my ring.  Oh, don’t just stand there so innocent and cute.  I know what she wants, and she doesn’t get it.  It’s mine.”

Alice and Bill remained silent.

“Oh, she’s a gold digger, that old wife of mine.  She’ll soon be under the dirt bed, too.  I have guarded this ring for a century, in life, in death.  Tell her to come out and join me.”

“You two aren’t mute, are you?  I’m taking the long nap and waiting for Jesus.  If you won’t get her, I’ll go back to sleep until she offers more of reward.”

Alice and Bill nodded, “okay.”  They dropped their shovels, got in their cars and headed out of that greedy graveyard.


Random Visions

I do not have a pattern to my visions.  They are random thoughts blended together, and I grow faint when they come on.  I fell forward this time.

All I saw was a man on a dimensional, green sea on a golden canoe.  There were a bunch of odd words that came intuitively and had meaning in fast thoughts, but I couldn’t translate the words to English. It’s deep in my brain, not any known language.  Sometimes, my memory gets all squeezed together, and I’ll make gibberish for a minute or so.   Then I’ll remember the random images that popped up but still not have the words for them, just the idea in my consciousness. Don’t know how to describe this.

I do not profess to be connected to God in a special way, like the woman I follow.  She sees God.   I think of my problems as being from brain damage.

Whenever I Feel Smart, a Math Problem Happens

I wasn’t given the best mathematics education–or education in general.  I am able to take “dead” online classes, and this helps my clarity.

I’m taking College Algebra for my math, and it has a digital coach, which is wicked useful.  I took College Algebra in 2008, yes, but it was watered down and useless.  My old University only cares about making a buck. Currently, the class I’m in has it to where you can turn on your webcam and be watched through the exam.  I don’t have to. I’m auditing it because I don’t want to explain why I took College Algebra again.  I should.  I took the practice exam and didn’t do too well, so I’m in a remedial section before I get to Chapter 1.  I’m speshal.

About other classes, I’m almost done with one, have one lesson and a final left in Hinduism, An Approach to Texts.  I found the class interesting.

I think what I’m doing will be the future.  We will learn from computers and take tests of knowledge instead of shoving too much info too quickly.  It also shows what a student knows or retains more than a class with different abilities and limited time.


White Privilege: Needed Stress on Place

I will say it took a long time for me to see white privilege because I trusted authority and formed a lazy bias.  I made some other surface observations like why they needed affirmative action. That’s not fair! I thought or didn’t think.  After all, my great grandpa lived in a tent and was shoved out of his home at 15.   What did my ancestors do that I have to pay for?  Slavery?  We were indentured servants in the beginning, died on the boats.

But times have changed…

I think white privilege is a modern problem because Blacks, Native Americans, Hispanic, others and Jews can now take part in civilization with weapons like equality.  Complacent whites are challenged by the influx of skill and style, and the new kids offer more for less.

In this age, we’re making the transition from being barbarians and slaves to respected equals in a mixed society.  In the past when the ruling class came, they’d  steal their women and children and force them to pick cotton.  The minorities can be compared to their more fortunate counterparts, and rise, which is creating the fight against White Privilege.  It isn’t under the rug any longer.  There is hope.

They have more than a whisper now.  They will continue to push society.


Low-skilled whites, or the accusers in general, think that Hispanics should stay in Mexico so that they won’t steal jobs from the whites or their money, for example.  The kind of jobs minorities work are usually the places middle class white population won’t take.  Too bad. Minority groups are becoming more relative in government and other fields and are here to stay, not just in America, to note.  Around the world, people’s voices are being heard, policies changed and better welfare among people has this new age.

Still, there is a long way to go.  Each generation must bear the burden of progress.




To Enrich or Not

Molly plucked her wallet from the cracked sidewalk where she dropped it.  She counted the three dollars within its plastic pocket and an old photo of her mom.  As she walked down the street, she pondered what should do with the money and mother.  Maybe she should have a nice, warm coffee from Luck’s Luck.  Her stomach growled, demanding her attention.  Her mother called her on her old cellphone.

Molly let it ring and stepped on a few cracks. She noticed a penny and grabbed it.

She didn’t feel superior to a penny.  One penny more buys a coffee.