Troy, this one's for you...  Thanks for the text today bro!

Yeah, I know it's been a long time, but you have to trust me that it is for the better.  Anything I would have said prior to today would have just been venting out of frustration.  Of late, it seems that I am just playing the role of the Vicodin police.  Which, whatever, is kind of my job, but I've been letting my frustrations slip into my real life.  Take this article I saw on Purdue's homepage.  (Just so you know if you're not familiar, only the biggest news stories from Purdue get posted on the front page.)  Let me quote the first line of the story:

Golfers who play well are more likely to see the hole as larger than their poor-playing counterparts, according to a Purdue University researcher.

This for some reason absolutely infuriated me last week.  I haven't even read the entire article because it is completely uninteresting and would only make me more mad.  I had to stop reading after a quote from this psychologist chick Jessica Witt,

We know a relationship exists between performance and perception, but we are uncertain how they affect each other. For example, do golfers see the hole as bigger so they putt better? Or if they putt better, does that mean they see the hole as bigger? I believe it is a cyclical relationship, but more studies are needed to clarify if one affects the other.

WHO THE HELL CARES?  Why is this news?  Am I alone in thinking that no more studies need to be done on this?  Is this how my tax dollars are spent?  I am stunned that the National Institutes of Health funded this garbage, when I know these funds could be used for research that actually matters.  While writing about this story, I stumbled upon a graphic which was to be included in the University News Service story to help clarify this incredibly difficult concept of the cyclical relationship between performance and perception, but was edited from the final publication at the last minute.  This is a Ternary Complex exclusive:

So I've got this idea that Jessica Witt is so self-righteous that she Googles herself on a weekly basis, so my guess is here in a few days I'm going to get a nasty e-mail from her or one of her MUF (Masters in Ultimate Frisbee) students telling me to take this down.

You see what I mean?  I warned you I become mean-spirited when I get frustrated.  Maybe I'm not as calmed down as I thought I was.  Either way, YouTube has become my safeplace.  I love spending hours on there just seeing where the related videos take me.  People can be so creative and goofy.  I love it!

The thing about work which frustrates me is that I spent all this year learning about how to best serve, educate, and manage a proverbial entity called "the patient."  All the profs say, "when treating your patients..." or "be sure to educate your patient that..."  And we as students naturally tend to envision our grandmas as this proverbial "patient."  I scoured over my notes for hours on end every single day of the year trying to learn as much as I possibly could to be the most help to this "patient."  But then I talk to these drug-seekers like the lady who called the pharmacy today on three separate occasions to ask three different people when Medicaid would pay for her "Vico-dans" next, or the opiate-addicts who I'm supposed to feel good about because I'm replacing their heroin use with Suboxone addiction, and my idealism is chipped away little by little.

I race home to the quietude of YouTube or my book.  I listen to Steve P.'s sermons and get so excited about the fall that I start dancing.  I long for the day that I get regular again (yes, I'm talking about my bowels here).

There's a recurring theme that Dostoevsky keeps bringing up about life, which I discovered several months ago on my own.  I'll be able to write about his interpretation of it a bit later, but I want to quickly introduce my ideas on it to you now.  It's the idea that in order to find anything important to you in life, you have to lose it first by knowingly giving it up -- that you have to fall to the lowest of lows before you can start your climb to redemption.  I remember well my lowest day.  It was Saturday, January 26, 2008.  I'm nearing my 6 month mark of a rocky, but gradual climb.  I have much to be thankful for, and little to be frustrated about, even though it takes a reminder every once in a while.  I'm really growing in my faith, and am very excited about the new push at Northview for "Living a Life on Loan" in service to those in my community.

Coming soon (if I get to it):  a review of Lafayette Civic Theater Under the Stars and another video!

Had this migraine last night that was killing me so bad. I tried some Vicodin, but that didn't exactly help.. It was still there, but it just made me sleep. Even as I slept I could still feel it. It was probably the worst I've had in awhile. It felt like someone was poking me with a needle in the back of the head, and they were goudging my eyes out with their thumbs. I know it was caused by my bad neck from my nap, but still yet.. I know its mainly from my bad eyes. I'm supposed to use glasses or contacts, but I don't want to, I got over that and I have to come back to it.

I woke up, and my stomach felt weird and funny. Its kind of like I want to throw up, but I'm not sure. Then later I ended up almost throwing up, just gag then cold sweats and blam it was gone. Man I feel way better.

(An old e-mail I had sent to myself, which is strange since I don't often do this sort of diary or journal writing.)

Random notes:

Rap outfit Cancer Rising doesn't have much of a web presence.

Turns out one of my favorite songs by the Rheostatics ("One More Colour") is actually a Jane Siberry song; imagine how surprised I was when I heard that one coming out of my computer.

Apologies for not being around or contacting you since I got back from Sunriver; I managed to lose my phone the same night I got back, and just now, about a half-hour ago, got it back. Interestingly enough, I lost it while getting loaded and listening to some random country CD this guy I know is ... well, I suppose "producing" is the word. The musician, whose name escapes me, is talented. The production sounds okay, but the CDR it was burned to was a hideous wreck.

Best excuse given to cops of late: When the police hit us with the lights and asked who vomited, Rachel volunteered, "I had chowder today". In reality, she apparently remembered only after she took three Vicodin that she's allergic to the drug. Or maybe it could have been the mix of Vics, beers, and rum & cokes.

Strangest day of the week: Thursday into Friday. I spent a few hours carousing with a neighbor of mine. My only excuse is that I was roped into it and didn't know enough about who I was dealing with. Turns out he's a borderline schizophrenic, or something. Ain't ne'er seen a mind quite like this. At least not at close range. Creepy. After turning down drinks all night (I didn't feel like it after consuming Bud Light the night before), I turned down lines of cocaine as well. Strangely, the coke actually slowed this guy down. Kind of an L-Dopa effect, or something; speed up the tremors until they disappear. Absolutely messed up.

Coolest quote of the week: My cousin's middle child, Danny, tells me at Sunriver, "You're the coolest parent here." Well, yes, thank you, but I'm also the one who's nuts. That was a delicate conversation. But you should really see Missoui Synod Lutherans in their sixties get hit by Nickelback. Rarely will I agree with my aunt that something needs to be turned off immediately, but hey, it was Nickelback.

Why does Dora only get a backpack, while Diego gets a PDA? Or perhaps the question should be, Why does Diego only get a PDA, while Dora gets a magic, talking backpack that has whatever you need inside it and eats everything else, including ferris wheels?

Now that's a backpack.

Hey there all you reader in cyberspaceland! Yes, I'm still alive and kicking despite all efforts to the contrary.

The brokedown porch continues to progress at a snail's pace, but though it may not be obvious, things are happening. HWSNBN is expected to be here in an hour to provide some assistance so I can pour the last of the cement footings. Things will set up over the weekend (during which time I'll clean out my embarrassingly messy garage) then, starting next week, posts and walls should start appearing. It's painfully slow, but I'm glad more is getting done.

I'm now addicted to This Old House on PBS and DIY network—learning a lot too (not that any of it does me any practical good). I start each day drinking coffee with all my new boyfriends Tommy, Normie, Richard, and Kevin. I admit I have a seriously deep crush on plumber Richard Trethewey and his masterful unibrow. Must be all the laying pipe jokes.

I continue to use the white wonders in relatively reasonable doses, and while my elbow is actually doing okay, my shoulder is deteriorating. Of course, all the physical labor carrying 80-lb bags of cement doesn't help, but I may have to consider more drastic measures if it gets much worse. It's to the point where I can't move my arm around to scratch my back without being in excruciating pain (even with the Vicodin). The good news is, just sitting around, the pain is managed nicely.

I heard through the grapevine that some of the management thorns in my side at Initech may soon be brought up on charges for fraud and illegal activities—a situation, sadly, I can't report on in detail here (oh how I wish I could!!), but which nonetheless fills me with a deep hope for justice. I can't say anything will really happen. If things go as they have in the past, pockets will be lined and things swept under the rug, but it's looking like, at the very least, a couple of heads might finally roll for some of the grossly unethical things I've been witness to for far too long.

None of that, however, gives me any personal relief. I'm still feeling intensely stressed and morally challenged by my job (and moreover, my life). I hate the fact that I'm silently complicit by staying and continuing to collect my healthy paycheck. Some of my coworkers—including Cee and Sweetiepie—and I had a secret meeting last week to brainstorm ideas for how to get out and survive unemployed by Initech (the biggest, richest employer in Sobrietyland). We all feel screwed. And trapped. The folks that are close to retirement just want to wait it out quietly; the newbies are happy to be employed during this shitty economy; and I'm all fired up with noplace to go. Swell. Just another thing for me to try to figure out over the upcoming long, hot weekend.

Hope you all have a terrific and safe Independence day weekend!

well, i am finally able to get back to the blog and start writing. My crohn's has come back after a 12-year hiatus. I am on every conceivable medication for crohn's: 6-mp, prednizone, cipro, etc. etc. and i am no longer allowed to eat high fiber diets, so goodbye Grape Nuts®, and whole wheat bread. at least i have vicodin to keep me feeling good. gawd, i love that stuff. i am on the 750 version, none of that 500 or less for me.

In the windowless front rooms of a former day care center in a tiny Texas community, children as young as 5 were fed powerful painkillers they knew as "silly pills" and forced to perform sex shows for a crowd of adults.
Two people have already been convicted in the case. Now a third person with ties to the club, previously known in town only as a swingers group, is set to go on trial Monday not far from Mineola, population 5,100.

"This really shook this town," said Shirley Chadwick, a longtime resident of Mineola. "This was horrible."

Patrick Kelly, 41, is charged with aggravated sexual assault of a child, tampering with physical evidence and engaging in organized criminal activity.

In all, six adults have been charged in connection with the case, including a parent of the three siblings involved.

Jurors this year deliberated less than five minutes before returning guilty verdicts against the first two defendants, who were accused of grooming the kids for sex shows in "kindergarten" classes and passing off Vicodin as "silly pills" to help the children perform.

Jamie Pittman and Shauntel Mayo were sentenced to life in prison. Kelly also faces a life sentence if convicted, and Smith County prosecutors hope for another swift verdict.

Thad Davidson, Kelly's attorney, said his client passed a lie-detector test proving his innocence and worries about getting a fair trial in Tyler, 25 miles southeast of Mineola, which is in Wood County.

"I think it's impossible to get a fair trial within 80 miles of Smith County," Davidson said.

Mineola, about 80 miles east of Dallas, is a close-knit, conservative bean-processing town of with more than 30 churches. Residents there want to put the scandal behind them as quickly as possible.

The one-story building where prosecutors say four children - the three siblings, now ages 12, 10 and 7, and their 10-year-old aunt - were trained to perform in front of an audience of 50 to 100 once a week has been vacant since the landlord ousted the alleged organizers in 2004.

Down a slight hill is a retirement home, and even closer is the office of the local newspaper. Doris Newman, editor of The Mineola Monitor, said rumors of swinger parties spread around town but that no one mentioned children being involved.

Newman, who can see the building from her office window, said she remembers the parking lot filling up with more than a dozen cars at night.

In August 2004, an editorial under the headline "Sex In the City" opined that if the swingers left quietly, "we'll try and forget they've infiltrated our town with their set of moral standards."

"It's not that we're trying to look the other way," Newman said. "But there's a lot more to Mineola than that."

According to a Mineola police report, the department first investigated a complaint in June 2005 in which the siblings' foster mother said one of the girls described dancing toward men and another child saying that "everybody does nasty stuff in there."

In the second trial, Child Protective Services caseworker Kristi Hachtel testified, "I've seen a lot and I never in my wildest dreams imagined this. They were preyed upon in probably one of the most heinous ways possible."

The children are now doing better, the welfare agency said.

"Through counseling and therapy sessions, these children are now finally feeling secure and safe," agency spokeswoman Shari Pulliam wrote in an e-mail.

Permanent custody of the three siblings was given to John and Margie Cantrell. This week, prosecutors in California charged John Cantrell with sexually assaulting a child in the state 18 years ago. Margie Cantrell said her husband is innocent.

Kelly's attorney moved Friday asking to postpone the trial in light of the allegations against Cantrell, a state witness. Texas Child Protective Services said it would be "common" for the agency to investigate.

The Rev. Tim Letsch is opening a church in the yellow-plastered building where the children were abused. He acknowledges that building a congregation might be difficult because of the stigma attached to the property.

"You got to decide whether you're willing to forgive those kind of things," Letsch said. "It's a hard deal. Especially for a spiritual person to walk in and say, 'This happened here.'"

Origally posted @ AssociatedPress.com

iNPLACENEWS

I'm not one to suffer writer's block, generally.  My worst moments of "blank-page-itis" last only a minute or so.  Maybe this is because my mind is constantly racing with an as-yet undiagnosed case of mild schizophrenia.

But this weekend, at my monthly writer's group, I had to confess the venial sin of having Written Nothing.  At least nothing worthy of sharing with my co-writers.  My most recent blog was informative and fun, but it didn't seem to rise to the level worthy of distribution to my peers.  And truth was, I had written SOME things - an updated resume, a shopping list for Wal-Mart (desert cake, photo frames, shoe liners, hooks, etc.).  But I guess those things don't count.

And yet, when I do "write," I write nonsensical musings that aren't good enough for even the Martinsburg Journal News (yes, I've been rejected by even it!).  Meanwhile, my fellow group members write amazing things like, "As the sun set, it shrouded the forest in a glow, the aura bursting forth with colors only seen in the dreams of creative artists."  Things like that.  Meanwhile, I write things like, "I think Courtney Cox looks a lot like that Monica chick on Friends."  And, "But I digress."  But I digress.

When I confessed my sin of type-stinence, our moderator Sharon asked why I hadn't written.  (She asked in an inquisitive, polite way, but Oh, I heard the sharp, accusatory tone just beneath the gentle lilt of her curious voice.)

I opened up to the group.  "Well, I've found myself in a wonderful relationship.  And I'm happy in my life right now, for the first time in a long time." 

To this, my peers all smiled and nodded.  "Yep," they seemed to be saying.   "Happiness doesn't equate to good writing."

So there it was.  In my tortured past, I'd used my writing as a drug to dull the pain and ache of every day life.  And given the way my peers concurred, it would seem many (most?) writers dull their pains this way. 

Suddenly, I feel kinda bad for prolific writers - the Stephen Kings of the literary world.  Are they so tortured that they retreat to the keyboard for hours and days, weeks and months on end, churning out books upon books upon books?  Or maybe they just become addicted to the fame, the glory, the hefty royalty checks.  But again, I digress.

So today, I'm writing again.  And as I test this "Writng is My Vicodin" hypothesis, I see that I feel no pain.  And the writing is coming naturally and easily.  Mabye it's because my girlfriend is spending the weekend with her sister.  Perhaps it's not just emotional angst that leads me to the keyboard, but also relaxation bordering on boredom (which is a great place to be, emotionally).

Hell, I might even write more tonight.  Yesterday, I saw a mouse in our house.  My schizophrenic mind has already raced with thoughts on this bastard's life story. I'll share them next time, but for now, I shall digress back to bed and take a nap.

P.S.:  Thanks to my colleagues in my writer's group for allowing me to share some of our day yesterday, and to Sharon, whose permission I didn't seek as I wrote this.  I'm sure if she has a problem with it, she'll let me know in her polite, lilting voice, which belies her occasional sharp, accusatory manner.  (I'm kidding, of course!)

By- Suzie-Q @ 4:00 PM MST

Michelle Obama has been under quite a bit of media scrutiny lately, from her terrorist fist jab to the rumored (and non-existent) "whitey" tape, and the Obamas are preparing for even more wife-attacks to come. And yet, we never hear too much about the other potential first lady. So as a public service, from now until the second Tuesday in November, every time Michelle Obama is unfairly attacked or portrayed by the media or a Republican-backed 527 group, 23/6 will remind you of this terrifying and true fact about Cindy McCain.

Well technically it's Hydrocodone that I'm taking, but that's just the generic name for the brand-name of Vicodin.  (Also known as Lortabs, or any of a dozen or so other names).

Maybe it's just me, but I don't really see the big deal with it.  I'm a big fan of the show "House, M.D." in which the main character is a Vicodin addict.  I'm also an ex-smoker, so I'm no stranger to addiction.  Hell, I'm a huge caffeine addict as well.  So far I don't see the addictive quality of Vicodin.  I'm not saying it's not there - I just don't see it.  But I'm definitely glad for the prescription.  It definitely helps with the pain, but beyond that I can't imagine how the addictive side works.  Asprin helps with pain, but I don't feel motivated to take it.

I just had some pretty major oral surgery - well I'm not sure if it would be considered major to a dentist, but it's definitely the most major thing I've had done.  I'll spare you all the details, but I was awake for it so I guess it wouldn't technically be all that major.  Unfortunately this is just part 1 of 5-6 episodes to repair the damage caused by a hereditary condition (in the same way buying a new car "fixes" the old one).

I got a little work done on the Encyclopedia, but mostly I've just been napping.  The Hydrocodone helps a lot with the pain but I can't accurately gage exactly how much it helps.  For one thing I've been in pretty much constant pain to some degree for a long time, which distorts your perceptions of what "hurts".  For another, I hadn't bothered to let the medication wear off until today.  A little achy but not bad.

One thing no one told me, which I'll share with you just in case it helps, is that if the dentist does any kind of serious work on your lower teeth there's a good chance your whole jaw will be sore for a few days.  If you've ever taken a good shot to the jaw in a fist-fight you know the kind of soreness I'm talking about.  If they've got to strong arm around the molars in particular they'll put enough strain on the joints (right in front of your ears) that it feels like they're trying to yank it off.  Right now that's what hurts more than anything else.

In other news...

The Mystery Plant is threatening to become the Mystery Shrub.  It's looking more and more like a turnip.  If it's a radish I may have to call the EPA or something - a radish that big could be a prelude to some vegetable-based invasion.

The assault-victim basil has died, though the cat is not a suspect.  I moved it outside, we had a windy day, and it appears to have gotten stem rot around the same time.  Too many problems at once, I think.  The basil in my dwc is growing so fast I've topped it once and it doesn't seem to have cared - within days it was just as big as before.  I think I may borrow some ideas from the other side of the legality fence and tie it down.  (They call it LST - Low Stress Training.)

The hydroponics plants are exploding.  I'm going to have to raise the light soon, and a cabinet will probably be required within a couple weeks.

Anyway,

I'm planning to get more work done on the Encyclopedia soon, as well as some photographic updates on how the hydroponics plants are doing as well as the Mystery Plant/Shrug/Invader.  I'm starting to feel more energetic so I ought to be back to normal by tomorrow.

Well I just had my wisdom teeth yanked out.  The whole ordeal was incredibly fast, about 10 or 15 minutes, but was quite unpleasant as well.  I won't go into any details.

Anyhow, I got an idea to take a picture of myself each day for the next week or so to keep track of my poofiness in all its glory.  Right now the swelling hasn't really kicked in, but I'm sure it will soon.

If it weren't for the vicodin, I'm sure I'd be in an entirely different universe of pain.