It has to start somewhere.

There is an old saying; if you have to start somewhere, it might as well be here. It wasn’t referring to blogging.

In my case, more sickness and poor health may be on the way, or so goes the path of my imagination at the slightest sign. On day 10 of my hospital observation/recovery, I am starting to fall back down a little, and wondering if perhaps, the other health-related issues may show up.

I guess we’ll see. I sure hope my liver and kidneys and whatever don’t fail while I’m here. While I am not entirely unhappy in this place, I don’t really want to stay longer than I need to. I don’t want to give medical staff the opportunity to see me worsen.

It’s also day 10 without drugs. Day 10 without eating Hershey’s kisses and Tootsie roll fruit chews as my main source of food.

I expected all my withdrawals at once to have a more substantial effect, as I have experienced Cold Turkey before.

I hope that doesn’t just come on Day 12, and the doctor knew it all along. That would suck indeed. I flip-flopped between living through suffering, or selecting Monty’s door #2 and choose the ultimate in Instant Gratification… Hospitals seem fairly well designed to keep any suicide tools out of my reach, but that may be because I didn’t really look too hard.

I no longer have any interest in suicide. It’s virtually off the table. The only reason I can’t tag it a 100% no, is because I am in a place where I see ultimate suffering on multiple levels and that scares the shit out of me.

I am not afraid to die. I am afraid to ALMOST die… I am afraid I will want to keep living, even if in a veritable hell. 

In Canada, as far as I know, suicide is still illegal and even in a hospital, everyone will always work to save you, even if you’re screaming LET ME DIE at the top of your still recovering lungs. I watched my father ask to die many times. It was horrible but not nearly as horrible as seeing how close I could be to that. 

I came into this hospital not really “with it” enough to know what was going on. I recovered to mental clarity on day one and have spent the next 9 days trying to breathe a little deeper, but for the most part, feeling like a healthy being told day after day after day that I had to be here another day. Recovery.

So I did what I do. I embraced my now and started being a spectator. I watched the nursing staff and the patients. The joys and sorrows and the panic and agony. I watched grown men in the middle of a happy conversation with family, suddenly gasp a second breath and transform into a screaming panic without awareness of where they were. Literally, mid-sentence from a hospital bed with a nurse to a man who thinks he’s in a war being bombed, or in another case, a very loud man asking why everyone was in his house.

I tried to imagine what that would be like if it were me. I tried to ponder whether my years of mental training in understanding my own mind would let me tackle that kind of panic better, but of course, all that training did, was help me better understand how easy it is to lose your sense of self.

Perhaps that is the “Later Jeff” I have referred to, that lives on the other side of my wall of tomorrow. The version of me I have been burdening with all the life-long troubles that I ignored and abandoned and handed off tag-team style to tomorrow. 

I understand the idea of a mental breakdown. It’s when that version of yourself is asked to step up and be accountable, finally. The amount of shit that will rain down on me when that day comes will be heavier than I can even imagine.

I talk of my current mind being skilled at joy crushing but when the time comes to be responsible for all my procrastination shit, it might just be mind crushing. Soul Crushing.

——

Our family lived through an extended period of decline when my Grandfathers mind started to fade. He hit all the landmark symptoms that are all too common today but were new to us at the time. He’d do things I never really could understand, like hide the daily newspaper in some of the weirdest places. We found copies year old as many as 10 years later as I remember.

When my father started to fluctuate his moods, even more, than previously and at the starting edge of what we learned would be a similar decline, it was doubly terrifying. My Grandfather didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t have perspective.

My father had a roadmap of misery to anticipate both filled with the fear that starts in your 50s when you begin to struggle to remember specifics, but also with the full and total awareness of how it affected his family. 

My father was a proud man and one of those subtle intellectuals that truly understood how many things worked. He was a secret inventor of solutions and he was a fixer of things. He built much of our first house and and and…

And then one day, it was clear he no longer was.  It might have been as simple as no longer being able to fix the coffee maker. Whatever it was, he detected it before we did, but it wasn’t his secret for long, mostly because he could not hold back his anger, now doubled by his newfound incompetence. That is probably not a fair word for me to use when describing dementia, but it was the word he used.

From his perspective, my father had become useless.

I wasn’t present for much of this. It was too painful on so many levels. I developed my own anger but mixed with sadness and fear. I took on a bit of a “not my problem” approach and visited two or three times a month, which was supposed to be every week at the minimum but I’d make up reasons to appear busy for as many as I could without suspicion.

From the beginning, I could see this pain crushing my mother, and I tried my best to keep down my emotions of how bad it must be. Having lived my own life without really ever having to face the bad stuff, I would just use sentences like; I know I couldn’t handle that.

Sadly, I believe I am much stronger than my mother was. we were both witnesses to how father affected each of us. We were the team that could make each other laugh after a session of tears caused by his anger and mean words.

The task of being caretaker to a man who she probably still loved, but must have not-loved as much inside her head was not one you’d look forward to under normal circumstances, but when you are given the responsibility of caretaker and that person is loud and scary and mean in new ways even harsher, you either can — or can’t.

Something snaps inside and you transform from John and Mary Goebel to Patient 1 and patient 2. It’s not unlike throwing your entire life of memories and cares and wishes and desires over that wall of tomorrow with the understanding somebody will take care of you. It might even have been a percentage voluntary.

I’m not insinuating that my mother was faking it, or that she really wanted to decline in that scary way. I’m more likely to believe something we have yet to discover is the cause, but I can’t deny that “going crazy” has been something I’ve considered as a solution to that day yet to come when I am asked to choose. Will I live on during the decline suffering mentally each day to remember? First to remember details about the story I am telling, followed by an even more frustrating struggle to remember the people I am sitting next to telling the stories too.

It’s selfish, but I will claim my fear is even greater than my father’s because my entire existence as far back as I can recall has been to not be a bother. The mantra of “don’t interrupt, don’t agitate, don’t annoy” is why I am so weak to progress in life. Asking anything of anyone is so hard for me, I don’t do it.

Asking somebody to help me finish my sentence will be hard, but asking somebody to help me do EVERYTHING is an inconceivable burden.

Is it fortuitous then, to add to this horror, the fact that I don’t actually have anyone to ask. I have no wife to put through that.

This is the point however when I think of my Mom, On her second loop of watching her life loves change and become a chore.  I’d choose crazy. I know I would. I might even break down far before it comes to that.

For the next several years, the two of them declines together but I wasn’t present. Throwing that responsibility over my procrastination wall as is my way, it was intercepted and accepted by my sister, the family elder. Julie had lived a life almost in preparation to be the family saviour. Her youth was divided between a social life, a school life, and a hospital life.

From her birth deformity to a slew of recurring visits, it wasn;’t surprising she pointed her goals to nursing and care. I believe Julie is also the strongest willed and stable minded of us 3. 

To be honest, I never really knew either of my sisters. They were 7 and 9 years older and gone by my age 10.

There was some guilt on my part, having thrown my parents over that wall, but the more you live a life without inconvenience and tragedy, the more you need to. I was conditioned to instant gratification from the start.

For me, my parents died about 10 years before my parents died. I do my best to not regret or feel too bad for that decision. When your mother doesn’t know who you are, I didn’t feel the need to continue that sadness. 

Loop 3.

I have had memory issues of my own since — I do not know. 

I’ve been obsessing over it for decades, and it has helped me in my work on understanding the brain a little better and how it stores memories vs stories. I have a full memory of the stories that have been told from my youth but am unable to remember people or emotions or things that happened. I don’t remember any order to my past. All my memories of saved as separate, recallable self-contained stories and in most cases could have happened last week, last year or when I was 30.

I’ve worked my skills as a storyteller around those limitations and have almost been successful in not talking about my bad memory because I have enough stories ready to go as to appear functional.

In truth, I suspect I saw my first red flag triggers a few years back that I may be on that same path forward, except without a spouse. 

When my mom started to decline almost simultaneously, most of the people we encountered were surprised. Dementia wasn’t usually a contagious illness and the likelihood of two people living together contracting symptoms at the same time was so rare, the extended care homes all claimed it was a first for them to receive a request for a couple.

To me, it seemed more obvious. For 30 years, at least once a week or more, we’d all eat a sausage casserole out of that same aluminium pot. I can visually describe that pot even today with enough detail you could sketch a picture. I especially remember it’s deep grooves caused by years of wear from continued stirring and washing.

It is conceivable the pot was over 60 years old, as I do remember a great many of our dishes were owned by my great grandmother. The plastic bowl and spoon I have used to eat cereal is possibly as old as plastic. I often wondered how much lead or pewter dinnerwear contributed to the madness of our ancestors. As I remember it, history is filled with people going looney later in life.

I blame that pot, but even still, I’d give anything to have another serving of that sausage casserole or the locally famous singular meal my father ever cooked; Noodles and Breadcrumbs, also from the same pot.

Believing the aluminium pot was part of the decline comforts me only in knowing they probably ate from it more than 40 years more than I did so maybe I am not destined to follow them.

My memory issues are just as equally caused from that time I slept a night in a teeny camper trailer in Florida and woke up smelling gas.  The oven had been filling the camper presumably for 9 hours or more. Brain damage is to be expected, but I never pursued it. I also thought it made a better story without confirmation but since that time I have used that as my fixed point by which I have no personal memories previous. That would have been about age 40… ish.

I’d be content with this level of insanity and memory loss if it didn’t get worse, but I’m 54 and it will. It already has.

——

It’s 10pm on a Sunday. My second Sunday in the hospital. I’ll start my new routine to sleep shortly, and they’ll come drip another litre or so of antibiotics into my arm. Then I’ll struggle and toss and turn all night, inserting some NetFlix binging in between restless cycles.

Today was a hard day at times. Fathers Day. I’m on a reasonably quiet wing on the eighth floor, but when the shouting starts, it is so coincidentally similar to my Dad’s loudness it was hard to listen to without reflooding some of that sadness back in.

I’ll be glad to rest, even in 15 segments and wake up. Tomorrow is a new day. A new week. A new mood.

Happy Monday’s Eve.

End of Part 1, June 17. 9:58pm.

I think I’ll spell check and do some slight editing. I might share this one a little more publically.

 

I wish I’d known that yesterday.

Today hit the completion of the seven days in a hospital, and although there is no pain minimum discomfort, I am leaving with some amazing wisdom that will help me in the future.

Every single day here, I had at least one open mouth wow moment of joy that caused me exclaim the following statement:

Wow. I wish id known that before.

This is a statement which can be made either with a negative or a positive connotation. There is a small level of frustration that you had to live without such new knowledge till now, but it should always be overshadowed that now you no longer do.

This mornings example that inspired me to write was the discovery that a patient pantry exists a few steps from my room that contains several comforts available to me I had previously been frustrated yo live without, most notably, ice and a fridge.

Wow. I wish id known that before today!

Many would instantly focus on the frustration of the past and perhaps even find anger that nobody had informed them. Instead of thanks, they might complain about the lost days and look for blame.

Instead, I am overjoyed that my life will be better from this moment forward. 

Yesterday I learned they have teenagers that volunteer daily, and they can assist with amazing things. Just now, between composing this paragraph and the previous, they showed up eager to go bring me my first Tim Hortons breakfast sandwich since I’ve been here.

Wow. I wish id known that before now.

I’m not angry with the nurses that didn’t tell me about either of these. I am happy my life will be better from the moment I learned this.

Each day I’ve discovered similar wonders and of course, I start to understand there are probably so many other things I have not yet learned. It excites me to see what might make me say WOW today, although I’m dropping the  “wish I’d known that yesterday” portion. Wishing about yesterday is a silly concept when you think about it in the context of my universe.

Wishing about anything that has already happened in general is less helpful than being grateful for my present or planning towards a better future.

As I type that, my present gets significantly better as my volunteer arrives with my breakfast, and I enjoy it — with ice water for the first time.

Today is significantly better than yesterday. I imagine there are patients here in this hospital on both sides of this. Those who have yet to learn these things, and those who know things I have yet to learn. Perhaps that for labelled SP46675434 leads to a Jacuzzi hot tub I can sign up to enjoy. 

That is a wish for tomorrows WOW, although a second thought mentally points out it’s probably a pretty bad idea so I’m pretty confident that wish won’t come true.

I realize that I am 54 and often go days without the I’m glad I now know that joy of learning at least one new thing a day… But others may have been having that expansive joy each and every day, at least once, or constantly.

There are people everywhere that have had wow moments I have not yet learned and I have the knowledge they have not had the pleasure of learning yet. Age is irrelevant. There are 12-year-olds that learn so much every day they know more than I ever will.

At some point, we are able to have wow moments without asking or being answered. We learn to make logical connections all around our universe just because we comprehend if this means that, then that must mean that. 

Self wow. I can have cold apple juice at 3 am tonight. 

Even more important than learning something new as often as possible are the connections of understanding they offer.

Intelligence is not about knowing more. It’s about understanding more. Each day I learn more and witness how that knowledge fits into my universe, I make connections and become a better me.

I stop wishing about the past and plan towards a better future.

 

 

 

Spring Love at the Multi Use Park

I just witnessed one of the coolest things ever. It seems the park bench I chose to sit on, in the shaded section of an urban strip park comes with a show.

The park is approximately the width of a street, and I suspect at one time it probably was, or a service lane that often exists behind a more commercial main road. Nicely architected with green grass and lots of trees and benches that line the main walkway spaced just far enough away from each other to allow people to sit and enjoy, even if the next bench over is occupied by a drunken slob hung over from last night, which is often the case it seems in an area like this.

I see there is a tombstone for Barney near one of the park entrances.  It inspired me to sit and blog from one of the benches. I found an empty one, which at certain times can be difficult. It’s a nice spring day and I quickly discover my seat is a perfect one, across from a spring singles party for the park pigeons. I notice a potential couple appear directly in front of me, in a prime spot slightly elevated and lit by the spring sunlight almost like a spotlight might light a stage.  They walk up to the spot from an area off to the side where everyone is waiting to be next.  She is already there as he swaggers into the sun-spotlight and begins his audition for the lady.  He puffs right up, like he had throat to spare. His puffy chest catches the light and displays some very high-quality colours. A rainbow brighter than the suns reflection in an oil spill.

He was putting on a real show, unlike anything I’d personally seen before. He had moves. Still, after all this pomp and circumstance, she remained unimpressed. I suppose it just wasn’t what she was looking for. At first, they seemed to be bargaining, as if she said no, but he wanted to show off a few extra tricks. They walked away and back and away and back a few times as he chirped a last-ditch attempt. One final bow of rejection and the first contestant wanders off and flies away. I notice he doesn’t re-join the waiting list to try another mate later. I suppose the idea of being rejected by one puts a shadow on your chances. Even pigeons don’t want sloppy seconds.

As she holds her place in the sun, the next qualifier bounces over the sidewalk from the bullpen for his chance in the sun. This female pigeon and I have obviously different tastes because #2 was far less impressive to me. He hardly puffed up at all, and his dance moves were far less cheerful. Instead of rainbow colours,e he was just black. In less than half the time, she had made up her mind that #2 was the pigeon for her. Perhaps she’d had black before and couldn’t go back.

They bounce off together out of site and a new princess bride bounces across the concrete onto the mound and the rituals continue. I felt so privileged to see the first pairing because none of the bachelor’s next in line were as good. Some of them hardly tried at all, making me believe the first pairing might be something special.

Perhaps they were the community elders, and the rest are the common pigeons that all know each other from the neighbourhood. I have no idea but I have a suspicion that pigeons are locally minded. They find a statue they like and poop on it forever.

I often think about the birds and wish I could know more about bird languages. I ponder whether birds teach each other one language among birds or species of birds. One of the main reasons animals don’t progress much farther in evolution is they don’t always hang out with enough of them to form a common language. I’ve watched them.  Like many humans, they seem to sit around and chat a lot.  I’m certain they have a conversational language.  They’re probably the most chatty animals in the kingdom.

Birds hang out.  I assume they’re telling each other stories. Shared experiences about great watering places or the lady on Fifth Avenue that spreads seed out later in the day. Perhaps they tell stories about us. I imagine we can be quite comical to a bird. Our mating rituals are even stranger to witness than theirs.

Sadly, this grand showroom is also a prime spot for humans and a spontaneous game of catch starts up making noise and potential danger. One of the birds calls out, presumably saying the pigeon equivalent to shouting “CAR” when your ball hockey game is disrupted by those pesky vehicles that choose to drive on the roads you’ve designated as playing fields. If I listen closely I hear a single chirp I interpret as; “Ok Ladies and Gents; Take 5.” Bird language is far more efficient than English because the chirps are digital. 

This is a great example of multi-use urban Park, even if they never intended it to be multi-species too. I remember the dog memorial I passed as I entered, and realize it is for in fact for all.  A park like this is practically made just to allow the neighbourhood to walk their dogs… or lizards, or whatever will stay on the leash.

I never really understood the fun in playing catch. I have no memories of catch. It always seemed a pointless way to have a conversation, loudly across a park. I see even less enjoyment in a silent game of catch. I don’t get it. Even from the standpoint of exercise, you’re standing in one place using one arm. It’s some movement but not even as much exercise as walking to the park. I suppose my view may be biased by the fact I was probably horrible at it. I know I never liked playing Frisbee because it was just another sport I failed at. For me, Frisbee was more a game of throw and walk to pick it up

When the humans have had enough, they leave, but by now the sun has shifted and it no longer beams impressively on the ritual mound as it did before. Some pigeons return but just like humans, it seems it isn’t always easy to get back into an interrupted party vibe.  The mood just isn’t the same, but I suppose some pigeons have plans to get it on, so they start again but as the first new female awaits her show, a dog wanders in.

The spotter pigeon calls out; DOG although I just hear a chirp that seems pretty much identical to the one he called out for HUMAN!  They fly away.  Since this is where people walk their dogs, I suspect the spotting of the first one means dating game is over for the day. Soon this will be the dog’s time to sniff buts and choose mates.

There is nothing worse than being interrupted by a horny dog when you’re trying to impress your pigeon… I imagine.

End note: This timeless blog post was originally written May 17th, 2015. I searched for it among archived unpublished work and brought it up front today by request because it is a nice story I like to tell whenever I get the chance.

My TO DO List solution – sharing.

A few years ago when I was deciding on all the life changes for the second part of my life, after having found myself living alone for the first time ever, one of my favourite discoveries was how much the simple act of sharing a TO-DO list changed everything. Each morning, I’d load up yesterday’s list, check off tasks completed, write a brief summary of my day, and share the list with someone. Over time, the WHO changed, but the simple process of updating it daily and sharing it with another changed tasks into responsibilities. A witness to procrastination helped to motivate me more than I was able to do on my own.

This year, I slowed my progress down in most areas for various reasons explored in the other pages of this blog. One of those things nearly abandoned was my TO DO List. The people I was sharing with were among those emotionally affected by some of my newly expose drug habits and our interactions seemed strained because of it. With no reactions at all, the act of sharing the list changed. Sharing was no longer motivating, but how transitioned to being yet another source of guilt and sadness. Another display of my failures, recapped every day.

I’m building myself back up, and I need that to do list and the motivation of friends and family, so I look forward to the upcoming spring weather, and a newly refreshed me.  This is the email I sent today, but I suspect I’m on the lookout for a new share recipient. It’s not a hard job… Being alive is a plus, but not a deal breaker.


Monday May 7, 2018

Dear Friends and Family.

After several successful years of sharing my TO DO list every morning with you, the messages were being sent less and less. As of May, I was not really sending any at all.

Like a sign on the wall that becomes part of the background after a week or so, the TO DO ritual became less helpful. We were pretty much ignoring the process, and it contained unfinished items for over a year. It became almost a mockery of itself.

I looked for systems to replace it, but a TO-DO list that is effort also gets ignored so I just kept doing what I do, working on the tasks of whoever was complaining about being ignored each day. I kept remembering the old joke of the man who returns to the shoe repair shop in his hometown after finding a 5 year old ticket in a pocket and he’s told; “They’ll be ready Tuesday”. Customers never liked when I told them that joke as I would give them a similar reply to why their job was still in progress.

However – I do need to see a to do list now and then. I do need to be reminded that some tasks are being ignored while the “fun” ones are tended to. I don’t function without reminders and nags. My brain has difficulty with recalling things on it’s own, especially when so many new and shiny things are in front of me.

Now more than ever, I need to earn my income again after a reckless short stint of financial comfort that came and went too quickly.

Today, on a Monday, I have been re-energized by necessity and a new found joy in web design thanks to a new development tool that allows me to enjoy even tedious projects.

I want to do good things again. To be active and productive at least a few days each week.. so I return to my TO DO list, shared with you.

If you still have interest in assisting, then feel free to interact and inquire about some of these tasks. I hope to check some off with regularity and maybe shuffle them around in order to help me choose between the past-due items which all have equal priority in the eyes of the long waiting clients.

If you don’t, that is fine too. The act of sharing has a purpose, even if not used interactively. It helps to provide a guilt-based responsibility just knowing somebody else is witnessing the stagnation, even if only occasionally. If you’re alive and you saw this message – it’s helpful. If you didn’t read it, then I don’t know that, so it still works. Parts have been casually redacted for privacy reasons.

[_] Magic Pigeon Racing
[_] John VanO stuff
[_] Stiv
[_] Litespeed research / changes
[_] NetBound.ca
[_] Discovered BlowerTech site needs a lot of work for unknown reasons.
[_] Sinwal
[_] Lino
[_] Carrasco
[_] Domain Check for Arctic, Stivervale

[_] Email inbox read/respond/purge
[_] ALWAYS Laundry…

 

The supervised bullet notes

[box] I would like to point out that no mention of the bullet point form topics was mentioned. [/box] I’m glad I remembered the title because there was lemon cake and … well.. Lemon cake. The origin story of lemon cake for me, goes all the way back to when I never learned gradients. Lemon cake was always just awesome. Those that I might grade as very different qualities today were ignored as a young child not having a lot of conversations with my parents. My Mom did make a special lemon pound cake. It was a delicious solid pound cake, not quite dry, but not really moist. It wasn’t bread. These really are not lemon cakes. They’re oversized… oh. What do you call those ..

ah, not important.

I love pound cake more than lemon cake really, My Mother made a pound cake and the lemon was great. and then she drizzled a thick golden yellow semi solidifying icing sludge. The top of the cake looked like the gutter at the end of our driveway. As I think back, my memory has adjusted so that the yellows were very similar. Our eyes do this, but in this instance, the unreliable colour memory match was secondary to the verification his story is true.

Crap.  I’ve done it again.  I’ve time travelled.

You have not time travelled you nitwit.

Nitwit. Cool. I think that’s worth 5 points, isn’t it? Yes, although technically a few countries use it but only because we conquered everyone who used the term imbecile or fool.

Oh that’s horrible. You know you would have slaughtered most of them even if they’d agreed to say nitwit.

Anyway – shut up about that. You sounded in real distress… (pointing with a look he knows)  And shut up about I can’t hear. I know how our fucking universe works Ranj… and … I’m … telling you. I’ve been here before. I know what is going to happen next.

… heavy sigh. And of course, this happens now… as you’ve just … started writing fiction.

I was never writing fiction. I’m writing scripts written as if I were living now in the character. In fact, I am not writing scripts. I am transcribing. These are the transcripts of the all mighty NOW.

What did you just do?  What did you say – -argh – type, whatever they’re calling our consciousness now. Did you just create a new expression for God that suits your own needs?  Did you just —

STOP. Don’t start getting in the territory where we both realize your argument is silly but you still need to defend your belief in the story, in order to get the bake sale and charity car wash money that pays for Ron’s son to be in the Special Olympics.

Now listen. Arrrrrr I hear the bell.

I told you. Everybody hates that fucking service bell.

What?

Those bells. Those shrill silver dome things you click once to assure your service technician arrives in a bad, suddenly disturbed mood. I hate that bell. It os one of those noises that seem to travel just a teeny bit faster than the others, slicing the air.

Whoa.  I don’t hate bells at all.

… oh.  That never occurred to me. My fear of being started is based on the sources of such startles as a younger child, probably between birth and age 5 – or so. I will credit the wording I use is all that I can remember of the idea. Base core memories are observed and burned in the first five years. Do your best to have them learn that the lies they’ve been getting in trouble for are meaningless to the discovery of the lies your parents tell, and laugh.

Hey man. You need a Snickers.  You’re starting to sound like the toaster.

I had toast this morning.

the buzzer goes off to the side. A slight murmur of the small crowd in attendance was almost perfectly in unison with their expressions of; oh fuck I thought we’d gotten rid of that buzzer gag.

No.  Side betting is the new culture in a word where nobody wanted to work, so nobody has to. We all make money betting on what other people will decide, thus making the pressure far greater than ever on those of us who can’t decide.

Ah yes… but we have you covered.

Do you pay for me?

ha ha… not what I meant and you know it. You also know it pisses me of that I do in fact pay for everyone like you. I live in Canada.

Just be thankful the Orange ones don’t get in.

What?

There are more of you?

Nevermind.


Let me explain how I went back in time.

I knoooow.

You do?

Yes.

You’ve just been shitting me this whole time?  Do you know how?

How what? How I went back in tiiiime?

Nooooo… You didn’t.  We were pranking.  You guys call it PUNKE’D I think.

I’m pretty sure we all try really hard to call it absolutely anything else..

But this is not a prank.  It’s another glitch in this universe.

Raj you keep trying to get us to believe in some crazy theory.

No. I am asking that you consider yours is a similar but different crazy theory.

The Gre–

No. I stop you.

What?  Really? You think you can stop me? It’s my quote and I like to use it when it seems fitting.

I’m older than you. I remember when I first understood the difference between … well let’s just say, the longer you’re here, the more loops you get to learn from.

I’m telling you.  I skipped a loop.  I looped back.

I can prove it.

Well, of course, we need to see proof of this magical power. How?

I want you to stay silent. Don’t respond, ok? oh wait.. You can say ok that you understand by then wait.

I think I remember this prank Raj. You just ignore it and then in an hour you call back and when I answer you sound electrocuted.

Shhhh

Don’t SHHHHHH

Shhhh the shhhus — Her hands go up to each side with a flair to silence everyone.

Wait…. Wait…. I travelled back in time, and I did it from here. I happen to know the next thing will be my own words from before, continued in the same format that I recognize.  Wait.  Shhh. “I was amazed this year to disco–

I was amazed this year to discover that … click click I could swap out the new USB without that waiting period the nerds keep telling you could be as bad as somebody stealing your computer.

(He wants to speak more, but she grabs him and runs out the door)

Strangely, without anybody really noticing the incongruity, Ranj pops his head up from the back and yells, we tried to explain having your laptop stolen is way-way worse. How could you not understand that?

We stop for a moment, and Raj cocks his head slightly like a dog does when it’s curious. I open my mouth to say something but realize there is no way to come out of that alive if by chance he thinks I’m relating dogs to — argh.

oh no!

What?

We might just have changed history!?!?  Oh shit.

what?  What?  You are nuts. You know you’re just tripping right?  You didn’t time travel.

but… there was more!  Quite a bit more.. I think.

More what?

Well… we started talking, and so the NOW went down our stream instead of the one it was destined to —

you know how I feel about destiny?

No I don’t.  What? Why would you say I know how you feel about destin–

“You are my density.”

Ha. 15 points setup and risky joke that ends up being a mild irritation if you’re wrong.

However – di you realize I’m talking about time travel. Makes the joke double point payoff.

I believe we could be in… well… I guess we’ll never know, I mean it was only a 15-second difference at most. I stalled your NOW and changed 15 seconds.
Big Deal.

Just then a construction beam from the ceiling swings down and slices his head off.

How long was that?

26 Seconds.

Then it was his time to go.

I have an idea.

Well, do we want those 15 seconds back?  We’ve already compensated our schedules and changed our watches. NOW doesn’t stop when you have to tie a lace.

But I have an idea.

Ok.. You might not love this next part.

Ok. Wha do yo–

SHHH.  (The look)  SHH

Silence.

The second set of silence, although there was no way for humans to see they were clearly separate.

pause

Ranj has one of those accents that we used to be allowed to laugh at because they can be hilariously funny at times. I get it. I understand that we need to be nicer to each other because apparently, words hurt way more than sticks and stones.  It should have been tanks and bombs can break our bones, but you better believe you’re going to be grateful you get to hear those words nagging you ass to get the clothes out of the dryer.

pause pause

Oh.  I guess that’s it.

Well, that was hardly 15 seconds just now.

Yes it was

no it wasn’t

yes it was.

Well this isn’t an argument.

DING – I’m sorry. The five minutes are up.

DING?!?!  Where did you get that bell?  Why on earth would you have the exact bell I just finished describing is on the shelf in my bedroom in hell… and the subway that runs between the bathroom and my bed isn’t actually as loud as you might expect, well I guess really it probably is loud but everything is so loud it kind of just all hums after a while. It’s the vibration that drives me nuts. They picked a good hell for me.

I thought vibrations was kind of your thing.

This vibration makes the bell fall at random and unpre… at completely random times. I just higher each new time because now I’m awake. I don’t like fireworks, backfires, forward fire, yappy dogs that don’t know the door makes that noise all day.

We are probably alike in how we react to some things in life, and even in how we react to a startle may have similarities, but for me, the noise usually has the additional side effect of wiping my memory clear.  I will often stand wherever I was when the noise broke my stream. To be fair, you’ll quickly learn as you read my style, I tend to forget my place a lot these days. Most humorously, in the continuous examples that virtually every single blog post in this collection starts off with an idea not even remotely related to the title.

You might be mistaking the quirkiness of my titles and judging it either fail or a genius with the incorrect data. Yes…

dqdqwdwqdqqwd

oh crap.

now what? I thought we fixed it. We’re back. It was one paragraph.  Two sentences.

so what’s the problem now? Can you finish the ending up?  That’s your other speciality right?  Did you say you have a mental storage of all the commonly interchangeable sentence ends that are not commital?

Oh God. Do I sound like that?  It does sound like me.

Once you explained you add more stones to the yellow brick road so it winds and you have longer to think up the best ending.

That doesn’t sound like me.

It sounds like a student of your teachings making it my own.

Retell the stories.

Together they say; Things that go without saying need to be said more often.

Do you hit the t hard in often?

ok.  so we’re good?

Well…

The shushes.

Yes. You were being cheeky.  You won’t like this my Captain. Shush.

Right.

So where are they?

I’m sure they’re up there. They were ages ago,

Were they?

But I did go back in time! I swear.

Yeah, I know. It happens all the time when you sit in that chair. When Alice walks by, it sparks and wiggles just enough that you don’t notice but you start reading a paragraph previous.

oh.

Well, that makes sense.

Well… yeah. MOre sense than going back in time.

It’s not that crazy. Hold on. Be fair. None of us is prepared to learn whatever we learn that is beyond our version of possible. Admit it. Not one of you is going to just accept it.  Look how hard it is to get idiots to stop believing your guy can walk on water and – get this – I said he was the son of God and they bought it but.

but?

But then I said.. he IS God.

Wait, what?  The son of God is God?

Hold on a second.  What is happening here?

oh my god. Why is everything such drama with you? What? Nothing is happening… well, except that beam that chopped off his head right in front of us.

You don’t notice anything?

When did we become Gods?

What do you mean?

Well, a moment ago I was alone… and then you came at me.

I didn’t come at you.

No, but you did come out of nowhere.

Everywhere is out of nowhere.

Wait.  Really?  We’re Gods?

Oh.  Huh.  I never really noticed before but everything makes a lot more sense. How long have we been gods? I seriously don’t remember anything before waking up on the couch just now when you dinged.. when you make that memory shatter my joy. It was either just now, and a million years ago. We were not counting the time between till the third one.

Did you say you don’t remember anything before waking up just now?

Yeah. It’ll come back I’m sure. I bet I could ride a ronkle like I did when I was 5.

No.  You don’t understand. None of us do. We all just woke up. No memory.

Wait… really?  Everyone?

Well, how do you know we’re Gods?

(waves arm, explosion, planet and industrialization)  I’ve been doing that for about 20 minutes. It’s great fun, and then Donny has created this galaxy with two suns that doesn’t quite work, so he destroys every galaxy I create. It seemed appropriate for the metaphor.

So maybe this is how Gods start. BAM here you are sucked in. Start making what you need.  Maybe God was Adam. Maybe he made Eve out of his rib. Then he says, I will treat you right, but you must remain loyal to me. She says; well of course God. I am loyal to you.

God and his sib-wing companion live for quite some time in paradise. You might confuse the workers in the garden with migrant workers, but the actual truth is, the colour of human’s skin is actually directly related to where on the globe they evolved to best suit the temperatures and conditions of the sun.

So who are you?  Who’s THE God?  Is it Mom?

Who Who Who… What?  No.  This is before that. When there were Gods for everything.  Leanard Pilksmith is the god of Hershey’s Walnut kisses.

OoOoOOoo… so close.

That’s what I said. I said, Jeff will say you were close.  He loves the regular Hershey’s kisses.

Oh.  By the way. The shushes were all shushed and accounted for?

How do you know? Did you go look? We’re not supposed to read back you know.

I didn’t. I just know.

You just know. I bet.

I am the God of WordPress.

It all makes sense now.

Doesn’t it?

No. Not at all. God of WordPress doesn’t get sarcasm.

They never invented literary sarcasm. It was always hidden so the dumb people would learn the totally opposite wrong facts.

Do you know that when they first started to give black people the right to vote, West Virginia passed a law all radio and TV ads had to give polling information in a sarcastic tone, using extremely obvious incorrect answers.

What? I don’t believe that for an instant.

You’re right. It was fake news.

Of course, it was.

It was actually Florida.

Well, that I can believe.

blackout.

End of Part 1

Sunday Feb 18th 2018

 

Wait, what? Shocking Realizations

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Doesn’t it bother anyone else that an apple with a bit out of it is the symbol for betrayal, evil, and the creation of hell.

Oh yeah, and a computer company.

 

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SUPERPOWER

If you believe that the story is the only prize. The story is all. The storyeller are the winners.

If you believe in the story, then there is little difference between good and bad. If you understand the power of creating your own stories, then any situation no longer has a happy ending or a horrid ending. Both have a good story.  To anyone who didn’t share the NOW, the story is what survives… and you get to tell it, not only to anyone who’ll listen, but you get to tell the story to yourself.

Understanding the story gives you a superpower. If all outcomes are equal, and the reward is the gift of something new to share. As a bonus it also gives you the power to ignore this, and just say you understand.  hehehe.

 

 

First Jetpack Post

Weed high from 2 strong pot brownies that I review as excellent, and like KFC, is good cold too. I found a nice spot on the reation of the first two and my already suspciously joyous day was even coooler.

I started my new routine of therapy. Saying it. ding, these days, the populous is accepting typing as a new quicker way of communicating. I like to award myself a pride point here, which I use almost as In “I told you so”, because I figured out messaging was the medium I was a star in.

I used to be the king of 2 minute voice messages with the ladies. When their appearance wa removed and I could not influence my comfort by judging them on attractiveness. The nicest peole I know have all been people who may have scored lower on the insenitive 1 to 10 scale the media created for us to use. The bad way of thinking equivilent to… noooo.  don’t do it.  don’t say it.

Have we split into two people again?  You spoke up to stop me from using Germany in an anaology again. In recent sharing, we learned to hate a man we did not know 100%without question. We know there are a few peole. ding. There is an entire blank of the world that was … that suffered the stories of their elders experiences. The keepers of the stories. The 911 of … stop. Nobody would … you just can’t use examples that will be hurtful just because it might make peole think that our universe is a story.

Although I may not believe my own premis with what they have decided to call faith, It is a story that works, and can actually fit quite well into the universe you have created for yourself, whether you knew it or not.

From the moment each of donors shared their care package and sent a half off to camp, and two ones became one one.

Wait a second.  Wakka wakka wakka.  I have been writing and imagining on the premis that life begane the moment one became two. nill noticed it was diffent that it a moment ago, and as soon as there were two, they kept splitting. They expanded into the universe like am ballon can scan the entiure room like a roomba robotic vacuum cleaner scans the floor.

A baloon is like a cat, or a child with A.DD.  Eventually I will have seen all there is to see in my immediate universe. I will leave the waiting room with a bsic memory of anything I could turn into a story from that room.

I want to tell this story now.  Stop me if you’ve heard it.

ding warning sign. Repeating same stories from a grandchild perspectibe is an early sign of scary memory stories. From my current NOW, I see it as a way to remember the good stories and tell them as often as I can.

As an old person, I have colected a storage of my own bible. The word I use for cimmunity stories to share and use as anaologiesin life to help you with decsions and touch choices.

The community stories, shared by one or more speakers was where the community learned the original things that go without saying. The smart people figured out that a shared set of stories was not on;y a great way to create society and a growing world that would work.

The early afopters of American essentially had to play SIM CITY for realzies and taking advice from the Europe you left was frowned apon. Somebody smart one day declaired that Pride was a powerful tool, and if we could control pride with the offset of the concept of sin, and acceptable levels of bad.

We made bad and good too polar, and gave our youth the impression that doing things bad, was somehow actually bad. Like the Santa song goes, we taught peole to be good for godness sake, because you never know who knows your real stories.

The worst thing in my universe is having to give in to a better story, and abandon a perfectly uselful lie. Every time I am caught in an alteration of a truth brought forward as withness in the courtroom drama that is acted out in my mind, Thursdays at 7pm.

ding. Original cool idea.  Frogstar.TV The Orange Network doesn’t take sides.

Feel free to sign up and start blogging anonymously with a false persona. Tell the truth using who you imagine being, and strea, your thoughts at the speed of your typing, or the speed of your voice.

As little or a smuch as you like, but the idea behind the Orange network might be this:

 

I want to create something new, that lets shy peole not have to break the ice. I know there are many like me that can be a really good date, boyfriend husband or whatever given the chance, but those men who need to be asked give up. I imagine frequently many ways that the 70’s bar scene would have paid dearly for.

I believe it is ime for something huge, and I wish I could be found by an investor or a fan. Somebody to bring my dreams to life and make us both more comfortable than I am at the start of 2018.

Ok Google what day of the year isit?

It talks, but starts with the definition of a day and a year. It then tells me howmany days left there are this year, which would have been a valuable number to relate to, and a good goal to set… but becaue I was expecting the day of today in the year, and when I didn’t, I wasn’t ready to save the other answer.

It was the mental equivilant of swigging water out of the bottle in the fridge and discovering it was soda water instead. You may not agree, but something about the taste of soda water, sometimes referred to as tonic water, is perhaps the most vile taste I have ever asualted my mouth with, and I spent two years in my 20s as a raging alcoholic.

Sweps water with bubbles is unexplanably shocking tomy system. It does not mix with my saliva pleasently. That’s probably more extreme than I wanted to conveny. It’s more like expecting water and getting 7up.  You spit out a little bit before you catch up to what that NOW twist was and smile.

I Dadapt to the new NOW.


This portion of the Thursday addition of the new NOW nightly

The new now

The Ornage Daily monoalge.

My favourite concept of all time up till NOW is the

I stopped.  I wiped it clean.  I don’t choose to share my all time favourite because I like to have surprises. Ideas I hold on to in case I ever do find the secret or, more truthefully if ever I allow myself to cheat.

Aha.  The secret to some waterfall puzzles in life, os that not everything can be accomplished with nice and good. As you grow, whether nurtchured by the teaching comunity of school, work, churh, scouts, clubs, theatre, knitting or quit clubs… watever.

I am a huge fan of the community that gathers and shares the stories.

We think of the church as the keeper of the original stories, but sadly at some point, probably pretty early on, the idea of the community gathering regularly as a group to exchange the stories of their immediate universe.

I have learned a modern version told in the form of Star Trek so that I would not realize it was a bible story analogy of earth until I was older and saw it again, and again. Star Trek told good bible stories, but before TV, the community was the news.

WHen we learned how that guy in the book handled revenge, or anger, or whenthe girl you like asks you to help her get a nother guy to ask her to the dance.

The community stories were the Friends and Seinfeld of their time.

Stories that subtly instructed us how other people might react to situations, delivered as comedy.

I have an elaborate back story about the history of how I became a funny guy. It was a choice. The remarkable thing I say, when looking back is that I did so without being noticed. I knew I was funny, even without the clieche nagging of peers who smile and tell me I should be a commedian.

I never wanted that enough to try.

I never regretted it, but big moves like that need the other half, and That is definatly a third square chess move. I castle to run away faster than usual.

ding. Steve Memory; I laughed my guts out when best friend understudy StevE Boysen one made a joke that I didn’t react well too. I have no memory of the joke, but it landed flat and Steve turned to me and said; Whatta ya want, every one a winner?

I remember it with a slightly silly voice, but only tio make the character have more depth.

Whatta ya want, every one a winner became an instant motto for me. I adopted the concept into my work in oprgress movement towards being funny.

I wanted to call my show. Punchline News, with Orange Jeff

I just love the idea that I porefer my news filtered by things that will make me smile, and think, but in the end, delivered with a punchline. I am one of the millions of people that get by with the world knowledge of only sources delivered with a punchline.

I am an oncessive lsistener of Howard Stern as often as I can, but alwys cronologically and I have not yet given into the obcession of never missing a moment of the 3 day a week 5 hour broadcast, listened to in order, even if a week or more behind.

I confess that Imay have missed a day or

The light on my keyboard blinked at me, and I looked up.  Looked waaay up. The computer was catching up. Apparently I can NOT type at the speed of though for prolonged times.

ha!  My Computer has what I have. It needs to stop and take a breath to replay a story of the NOW that just happened.

It can fall behind in a similar way that I do. I hve seen my videos do it, and then spin ahead like an 80s video tape fast forwarding.


If I could ever send a messge back in time, it would be to share my writing and find a new partner eariler. Maybe Norman abd Egan would be interesting in joining Troy and Adam and maybe Daniel is a community project.

My idea.

Frogstar.TV rentable news segments. If you watch The Daily show they frequently have a segment produced entirely seperate from the daily show news jokes, with a story produced as a documentary, or like a real news segment.

They’re the stories that need to be told more often about life in a fictional country.

Democracy is an invention that allows one nation to have oposing sides that believe in sides with a game like pride and will fight tonot have to admit defeat… in many many aspects of life.

Somebiody smart figured it out that communities work best when the citisens are allowed at least two choices and so they have the impression they have control.

Society needs to have an alternative option toas many vchoices as possible to allow us to have identities and conflict.

Or its by design to allow for idenity, and rebellion and the conflict was a side effect when people started to figure out there were a lot of people they’d meet that preferred to not have to pick a side because that’d involve thinking about matters greater than their universe needs.

A great many peole love to be told what team they’re on. I am one of those people. I will avoid chooing anything until the moment I am standing in a position where I need to choose. Luckily, I am skilled at detecting what the best choice would be in your mind. Your existance allows me to choose with minimal fear or anxiety. The better I know you, the more comfort I can rely on to make choices in your presence that you will be pleased with.

— DIng side truth. I have confe… lets not use the word confess. Nothing I tell as my story should be considered worthy of that word.

I want to tell my mental stream as honest, and we;ve already witnessed some hesitation at times, but in the end, I am enjoying the genre I may have created. It’s be nice if I don’t claim victory 3 years ffrom now when somebody with more than 17 followers on Tumblr has.

I get ythe power of a friend colection although I still think iot’s a billion dollar iea to make the next facebook social media a fan based system.

ding serious.

huge.

It might actualy be posible to replace Facebook with a secondary stop in people’s day. Inventing a new way to grab peole’s valuable time and check your site before or after Facebook can lose quickly. If not enough peoplejump on board from the start, a new social media attempt will fail.

We say that it’ll be hard to topple the leaders online and create new leaders but I still understand the Internet was invented after it was released, and I can not comprehend how two generations past 137 years will be an unrecognizable world. Our fictional cabemen are marvelled by escalators and the “hooble” telescope, but real time travelers would be cruished by the revelations of what our world can do.

The world changed each time we got better at writing things down. Stone to chalk to graphite, which may hve started as actual led, which makes sense. The first change in reality that led pencils don’t use led.

I remember a single image of the moment when Bill Cosby revealed that Grampa had been driven crazy so he’d no longer control the money.  Led was dropped on his bedroom lightbulb over time and he went mad.

With the last stories of Bill Cosby, he greatness was tarnished with emotion as he was outcast as evil and all his good was suddenly shameful. Bill Cosby, if we believe the storuies we are told, didn’t get to die a legend and positive influence without an asterisk.

Now lets put aside for just a moment any stories of pervertions or sexual action reactions of a diferent time, is it fair to alwys include the news stories of the artist in the art?

Is it acceptable gehavior to seperate the two and appreciate art for how it makes you feel, and if you’re a thinker like me, I enjoy appreciating art for the stories I can imagine went into it;s inspiration, design and creation.

It is one of my favourite things to do, … reframe. I sincerly enjoy interaction with artists, because although I know they often work as their income, but a true artist that I can click with and smile, should enjoy the gift of a story, or more often, the gift of being ble to share their story, and recieve the reward of a smile.

There is value to an artist in the moment you get it. It makes you feel something, and a story appears. The opportunity to share your reation to art is either one of the best parts or the worst parts of being an artist.

I suspect the scale slides.  The first good fans are what creates the universe. I have recieved a thumbs up from an opinion I trust. My story has just been given a go ahead and I can move forward telling it live every night in a soon to be interactive nightly report.

The New Daily

In a Tinychat window with 24/7 silkengt webcam and conversation / question requestor.


The second ever Netflix show I binge watched in 3 sittings was Disjointed.

The origin story of this was the woman who introduced it to me. The first share from an almost stranger in the alternate universe of a near perfect lady for me, said hi high one day after a round of voice Cards Against Humanity. One ofmy favourite past times in that universe for talking to gorgious women without fear.

I use it as a stage and I love it.

The last time however 5 pretty women would not talk or react. I begin to self doubt and what I imagine is a hilarious campy game show voice hosting, was actually a clown that doesn’t know they’re laughing at me.

Funny second life story. I returned to the universe after a month away. I got down in the dumps as it were because three fantastic first dates didn’t last a week before they ran.

Its not me its her doesn’t fly after 3 in a row.

I can’t figure out the line between sitcom amusing irritating but always ends with a happy wife.

I want that so bad. I want a wife that I can work into a riutine of a better life.

again.

gif of Dinasaur Baby AGAIN. I even have the SL festure.

gesture.

 

RANT – I might have just deleted all my local work files

Google backup and/or Gdrive wording is horrible. I think “delete everywhere” just made me lose a lot.

My scenario. It’s wordy but every single post I’ve seen asking the same question gets a totally different problem answered. Even the support is confused by what is happening to people like me. I really did search for a long time first

What nobody made clear, is that Gdrive backup isn’t like old Google Drive. It deletes the local files on my hard drive that should have had zero to do with GDrive. I backed them up, but I didn’t know they were actually physically deleted from the source. This is insane and the wording of every menu is not helpful. Even calling MY DRIVE the Google drive and the physical Hard drive.

Imagine if I used Microsoft Backup and had 4 backups.  When I deleted one, cloud, it deleted all the content of my hard drive.  Or imagine if I deleted my UpDraft WordPress backup files from DropBox and the web site vanished forever. (Real insane analogy)

My Scenario:

I uninstalled Google drive and installed Gdrive backup on Windows.
Wording confused me so I guess I backup up absolutely everything from several folders to the drive. It took a few days.

I look on Gdrive and I see no hint of any files except the photos for the last 15 years in folders with no directories. This practically useless for using day to day, but fine for a backup – That’s a different issue I’m not complaining about.

I am backing up photos and videos using the free storage method cheering how wonderful it is, but somehow within a day, I am full of my 100gb paid storage. I’m surprised.

I can find no hint why or where the 97gb is hidden. I read everything on both the Google backup, and both web based and windows based Google Drive. I have no idea why nothing is backup up except pictures and a few very tiny files and my 100bg is full.  The help wording directions is confusing what am I syncing there and what am I syncing here?

Eventually, I find clicking “100gb of 100gb” displays a new hidden menu and page I would not normally know to look for and it shows me something called Quota and a number of files that are not locatable on my backup more Gdrive. Some are really big backup files. All sorts of directories I discover are from a work folder that was inside my pictures folder. I did not find word of this in help, aided by the huge inconvenience that Google never deletes forums that are more than 2 years old and relevant to versions from 2012, and the current pleas for help I eventually locate with cries of URGENT all answer the wrong problem.

So… I delete the hidden folders of all the things I don’t need to have it back up, especially given they seem invisible.  I delete merrily anything searching 8ZIP will bring up, or the Quota files that I never wanted to back up anyway.  Then, because BIN counts against my 100gb, I empty the bin. I know my count might not go down for 24 hours. I did read that somewhere.

Next thing I know, it has deleted the actual physical folders and files from my local hard drive.  Not the Gdrive. Not the backup… The actual files from my physical hard drive. Every last one. Gone, and gone from BIN.

BAM  I lost my work folder.  five years work.

WOW.

I search some other things like EXE or PDF and fine more hidden files I don’t need on the Gdrive. Things that I don’t need access to on my other 3 computers or tablets. but absolutely no way to determine where they are on my hard drive. In fact, not even a hint where they might be on a different computer… just that Gdrive has them somewhere, inaccessible unless I know their specific filename to search, or oddly – if I RE-ADD it to Gdrive a second time to so it stands alone in a visible folder, see it, and then download it.

That can’t possibly be right. DELETE EVERYWHERE has to be a lot clearer since everyone is familiar with how hard drive backups work. They don’t fiddle with your source files. EVER.

I am sad I am so confused. I can not recommend this to anyone. They might delete their entire hard drive. I remember in Windows 3.1 when clients used to see their folders and also their folders in the network share and delete one.  Bad things.

Summary: I have a Gdrive of 100GB I can’t use, and a hard drive 98GB smaller than it was yesterday, and a huge number of files I have to search old 2017 hard drive for to restore what I can from a legit backup I did in October.

weep weep.

Is discussion a spolier?

Possible Spolier for The Good Place. a sitcom about the after life.

I wanted to tweet and post some thoughts on a comedy I’m currently enjoying weekly on tv. I noticed season 1 is also on Netflix now, and word of mouth is good.

I surprised myself tonight with a spontaneous realization lightbulb moment at 2am while laying in bed not falling asleep.

Two Actually, followed by a bit of surprise it took me this long to figure out a possible ending. I’m not sure if that makes me feel happy or sad actually. I get a somewhat equal pleasure from figuring out a great ending, and then a second pride point and moment of pleasure seeing I was right, and still enjoying how it played out. If I’m wrong, which I often am because my scenarios tend to be over thinking the alternate scenarios that are just in my brain.

I wanted to post my story theories public but I stopped. I don’t want to call out the plot twist ending before it’s even aired. Suddenly, I realized I do that. It’s one of my sins. When watching tv or a movie, I’ve previously blogged about how much I enjoy thinking on multiple levels when I watch something.

I love figuring out who did it. If somebody is in the room watching with me, I’ll say it out loud. Many times I’ll be right and in essence I was spoiing the story for anyone near me that enjoys watching a show as it unfolds.

If I was right, it’s really no different than yelling out who won the sports game you’re watching or who wins Survivor. It is an evil I never really fully understood until this moment.

More frequently, my ideas would be wrong or even way off, but I’d still blurt them out without regard to those just trying to watch.

It’s hard for me to watch things with somebody, and stay quiet. I double my joy when I share. In my mind, every time I was wrong about a story scenario, I’d consider it a bonus gift. Almost as if I got to see two shows. One, imagined in enough detail to enjoy the story in my head, and the one the writers chose to tell.

I try not to compare unless I think mine was significantly better. I suppose it’s fine to discuss a wrong scenario after the fact… But in today’s world, there is no after the fact.

Although it can be irritating at times, overall I am happy our new streaming world allows for anyone to enjoy some of the series I enjoyed but they missed.

We can certainly talk about things we’ve both seen as friends. I just have to learn not to blurt. That might be too hard a life change, but I can certainly not post in public to Facebook.

Side zeppelin. My Google keyboard is going wonko tonight.

Finally… The revelations, which I sincerely hope are not so blatantly obvious to everyone else that I appear foolish. I don’t want to be like the guy that tells you Liberace was gay.

I expect a few D’uh comments but not everyone.

All it takes to keep me happy is one good fan.

1. I wish I’d posted before the latest episode where Eleanor is clearly the one he cares about, but it’s obvious she was always the only one he cares about.

She was the only one of the four that had a moral dilemma. The only one with a story of guilt and secrets. She was the only one with any reason to suspect anything.

So I realized, what if the entire thing is just for Elenore?

Then of course, the lightbulb turns to many as my imagination fills in the story.

Bam. The other 3 really are not even horrible people. Mildly annoying perhaps but actually, right from episode 1, they’ve been quite nice. I can’t believe I never noticed it.

Cheady is one of the nicest people you’re likely to meet in an afterlife. His fault is indecision and a lack of confidence which renders him unable to choose, but when he does, it’s the nice answer that hurts the least. That’s a mental health issue but certainly good place worthy.

Bam. Wait. The other 3 are all traits we can relate to. The rich snobby fake one is also super nice from day one. Her personality is flawed, but she’s certainly not worthy of the bad place they keep describing. They’re bad place is extreme and over the top. Jason may be an idiot but he’s the scarecrow with the wrong gang. Jason was never worthy of the bad place.

Elenore may be relatable in parts, because I think many people have been horrible people in moments. Over our lives, perhaps many moments. Certainly by the standards of their fictional good place.

If the other three are analogies I don’t know if they are humans too, or guides. The entire show may be the actual norm. It is your after death test. Perhaps the same for everyone or just for Elenore.

It seems clear. Episode after episode we all really only cares about Elenore. She was tested over and over. She had three tutors especially chosen to compliment her traits  but it always had to be her choice. The others were either designed or chosen to not be of help in that way. Cheesy, Jason and even Janet could support but every plan, every use and every solution had to be, and was always Elenore.

I’m shocked I didn’t notice that. The other three never felt danger of not being in the good place at all.

Ding. Oh wait. Jason did. I forgot, but that was more just to give him a reason to be one of the four. I’d like to see them be real, but selected pawns never really in any risk.

I’d be content if the series ended in the town Micheal created, or some good place where they all live happily ever after as the 5. Janet included.

It might end with Elenore getting another 10 years on earth which would certainly be the writers easiest ending for a story essentially about the controversial concept of heaven.

I need the ending to be such that everyone watching doesn’t leave with the feeling like they would certainly not make the criteria of heaven.

That would suck. It’s otherwise a very cheerful story. I thought I would not like season two but they did it.

#smileworthy #praiseworthy #shareworthy