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Archive for June, 2018

Resolution Sunday

When I approach the decision to act instead of worry, I always delay anticipated action until I complete a necessary priority first. Last week I knew I  should act to begin focused clean up of my vacated upstairs residence the day after posting my then-most-recent thoughts here at H&Q . . .  but I didn’t. An inner voice (animated devil with a pitchfork whispering “Go ahead, take the apple. Nobody will notice.”) told me to delay the cleanup until I had returned from a trip with friends to a model contest and “swap meet” near Rockford. I listened to that voice.  My week was sweltering and dreary, especially when I was home after working for employer, fraught with its occasional dark, disturbing doubts about “tomorrow” yet bouyed, made less ominous , thanks to comments shared by H&Q readers.

The trip was time well spent but an endurance challenge. I was ready for bed when I walked into the living room. Getting to sleep in the recliner was easy, and I slept well. At 7 am, I awoke with no lingering yawns, calm and ready to ACT. And so I did, sans anxiety, sans rush, quietly thankful for a focused mind. The big deal at home in addition to the aftermath upstairs, was the lingering clutter of aviation resources brought home from my airport museum which was a “going thing” for just short of eight years. My unproductive outlook had allowed this clutter to continue for most of two months. I focused, resolutely, and accomplished a lot, even took a lunch break of crunch peanut butter from a table knife, iced tea and a pensive half hour considering that was next. It was too hot to work upstairs, so for the next six hours, maintaining a proper outlook with frequent cups of coffee, I de-cluttered and arranged in the basement. I filled one big Waste Management wheeled trash bin with basement and household waste. then at 7:30 turned my undivided to the wasteland  left behind by former friends/ne/theiving bottom feeders. Two more green trash bins were filled to the brim with a miniscule part of what they left. Since I had discontinued electricity had been disconnected in my effort to convincing them to VACATE, my last hour up there was in near-total darkness, and I was fine with that. I called it “a day,” locked the door, at 9:35 and changed into a clean shirt for dinner (actually, to wear to dinner): a fine Hy-Vee chef salad and lots of iced tea, topped off with a few hits of Carlo Rossi Burgundy as a reward. By 11:00 I was asleep.

Today, at 5:45 I wheeled the three garbage bins to street curbs edge for the near-6;00 pickup  which occurred on time,  I’m satisfied  with how things went this weekend. It will be easier to continue this nutty circumstance with one successful Sunday behind me.
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Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

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I’ve been seeing a counselor  at the health center for the past year; not the kind of thing I am proud to admit because it helps prove what a loser I am. At first it was once a month, and these days it’s once a week. I acquiesced to my nurse practitioner’s regular suggestions that I connect with the counselor at the Center because that position seemed less a concession to failure than a first step toward climbing out of my pit of woe.  But as steps out of the pit have proven nominally worthwhile, the unstable firmament of earth beneath my feet has collapsed, and I am further from sunlight of resolution than I’ve been in months.

The short outlook is this. My failure to recover payment of most =f the last YEAR’s rent and utilities payments from my former long time friend Kevin Pantig (not quite his actual Name) is ruining me emotionally and financially. I had him evicted through the courts, but that eviction only absented him and his wife Sande from the upstairs of my duplex. They left most of their worldly possessions behind. The courts say I can dispose of it all as I chose. I  conrol access to it. I can have it take away in a large dumpster and be legal. Trouble is: I cannot afford to rent a dumpster for this. And even if I could I cannot afford to have the duplex repaired from the damages they have done to it. THOUSANDS of dollars worth of damages they have caused and promises to repair damages inflicted by former residents Ask and No.5 Hamilton (not quite their real names) who stole materials of mine from the residence and porch) before they departed!
Consciousness has lost its appeal to me. In recent months, I have often sought an end to my anxiety by drinking wine until falling asleep. In recent weeks I have begun to take over-the-counter “sleep aids,” and they are helping too. Sometimes I just take two or three doses of the sleep aids when I don’t buy wine. I IMAGINE that no one has ever died from overdoses of over-the-counter sleep aids, so I expect I will be taking more pills than wine in the weeks ahead.  I do not expect a happy outcome of the consequences of what I have allowed to happen.  I also don’t expect to continue explaining my descent. One or two more posts are PROBABLY all you’ll read, and probably all before then end of July.

Yes, I will continue to see my counselor . As I write this in my very warm home office (no air conditioning, but fans are running; it’s tolerable) at 6:00 on Sunday,  I’m going to turn in early. Take three or four swallows of Carlo Rossi, Burgundy, swallow three sleep aid pills (triple dose) and try to absent myself from the despair of my life.

Good night.

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Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

 

 

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