" The Lizard And The Goblet" : A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And Uncertain Times "

‘ The Lizard And The Goblet’: A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And Uncertain Times ‘

04/19/12

To my very, very dearest friends, and loyal, constant readers, there are many times a day…and sometimes nights, that I think of you;  I always wish you wellness, of course, and sufficient security on which to live most comfortably.  But along with my most sincere hopes for days of much lessened, or of no pain for you, I also wish you love, contentment, and happiness, for without happiness—no matter how else you may be feeling—life becomes (and remains) both a chore, and a bore.  To be genuinely unhappy in part, will most likely cause you to be unhappy in all; and with a lingering happiness, I also wish you peace, as endless worry and depression will off-color all your days.  Until life is reduced to an unbearability of simply ‘being’.  Of existing.  Of merely living breath to breath.

And while adult life is filled—enough—by responsibility, financial problems, health problems, with often severe pain; and in seeing nothing change for the better, one eventually tires of searching for the better.  This state of disenchantment and despair fills our lives to overflowing, and affects all others around us; this is why long-time friends flee, and family members become more distant, for fear that such an overbalance of negativity will make us extremely unpleasant to be near, be contagious, or somehow, ‘rub’ off on them.  And, to that end, only the very brave and loving stay close to us, with endless patience, caring, and concern.  Be thankful unto God for them, for else you would be doomed to live a life, alone, with needs as yet unmet; hopes that fade with time; dreams that slowly die; and relegated to intense suffering quite without ever knowing why.

I fully understand, and realize how difficult it is to have to live with a hundred agonies, yet try to smile when presented with some, small kindness. I know how pain can distance you from everything, making even the slightest effort impossible; I know how pain can make one long for a far-away and untroubled Past, or to try to flee a horrible, abusive one; to regret those things whose ‘Sell Buy’ dates have passed us by.  To find no comfort in the Present, with its worries, and dread.  To find that current pain and distress can rob one’s will. And I know the pain that makes one cry.

I know how pain can make you rage, and to lash out at anyone within lashing distance.  To those who would be closest to us, I can even understand some jealousy you might secretly, or…unsecretly harbor against them for their health; their ability to move, to leave, or to just pick-up and ‘go’, without a second’s care; their ability to sleep soundly, snoring by us, as we roil in bed, in pain, unable to get comfortable, watching as the clock mutely announces time’s passage of another, fitful night.  And yet, the mind does not pause in its never-ending contemplation of all that was; what might have been; knowing—only—that the morning will reveal no delights.  Only a darkened house of nightmares and pain…always the pain, that guarantees a day of sluggish tiredness, along with a wearied shame at how disappointing we have become.

Often, in our heart of hearts, we wonder what did WE do, to end up in such a tormented place?  Of course we all have a hidden roster of deeds from our more unpleasant selves; the unkind word; the needless lie; the moment of neglect we opted for. The cruel and pointless deed.  The chance to—perhaps—get ‘even’.

However, I cannot apportion blame to you; we have all been both deceivers and deceived.  Nor, can you ever be blamed for your genes and chromosomes, or perhaps, some past exposure to a set of pathogens that caused in you your illnesses; Of conditions we were born with, or else, developed later; of all the deficiencies of our immune systems that now have failed, and turned on us, making us helpless in our pain, with ‘conditions’ that are incurable, that can only be addressed—palliatively—by more and more medications.

For then, it would clearly seem that our responsibilities begin and end with attention to our own care, while ever trying to not alienate those closest to us.  Granted…it is a battle that prescribes our days; and in this regard, there’s much forgiving to do…first, for yourself, then others.  And, my dearest friends, please allow me to clarify: there’s NO forgiveness warranted by those who have abused you.  I can only pray that—with help, and God’s speed—you will be able to escape such a living nightmare.  Only distance—not capitulation—will ever truly help you.  For someone who has hurt you, your forgiveness of them is your eventual option, not a requirement.

And so, my precious friends, as I pause—again—to think of you, please allow me to share with you a little story; a simple tale that—to me—somehow seems most appropriate to these times.  I am grateful to you for having befriended me, and for being faithful in your friendships, of caring for my welfare as few actually do, and of forgiving my excesses, and of reading my diary entries…which gives me rare pleasure, as when you leave your comments, for which, I thank you with all my heart.

‘ The Lizard And The Goblet’: A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And Uncertain Times ‘

Part One: The Lizard

In my kitchen, the sink is placed in the corner; behind it is a triangular shelf of paneling (it is a mobile home, after all!), and they lead to the kitchen walls, where—in forming a ‘V’ are two small windows that look out over the back yard.  Of course the windows are hard to reach, and when—such a long time ago, now—my dear, late mother made curtains for them, they proved almost impossible to hang.

In homes such as mine, the windows form two parts, with a bottom pane opened by two, little clips near the sill; usually, most times whenever I find myself at the sink, my gaze looks through the windows to see all the greenery outside, and part of my neighbor’s yard which is fenced, has citrus trees growing at the fence’s border, and a garden there, and lots of chickens…AND, two roosters (which start to crow at 3:15AM; I know, because I timed them, and they drive me crazy).  It remains—though—for one who is too often too agoraphobic to venture out, a beautiful scene, with trees moving to the breeze, and casting shadows on the window panes.

About three months ago, one morning, while starring out the window, some movement caught my eye.

Perched upon the metal window frame was a tiny lizard, no more than two-and-a-half inches long, including tail.  It was lying there, soaking up the morning sun that warmed the window’s frame, head darting side to side, as it looked to catch little bugs.  Since it was a baby, and as lizards are cold-blooded, being trapped inside an air-conditioned house usually means they will freeze to death in time.

I tried without success to somehow capture it to toss it outside, rather than find it dead—somewhere—in the house.  He leapt away from me, and hid down in the curtains. “O.K.”, I said, you’re on your own, buster.”

I fully expected it to die in a day or two, but somehow, the window was warm-enough, with little bugs-enough, to keep the little thing alive.  Days passed, and weeks passed.  And while I can hardly explain it, it was like a gift to have another, little, harmless life in the house. I just wondered what it could possibly find to eat.

But every morning, no matter how horrible my night had been, no matter what my awful pain, when I finally stumbled to the sink to make my mid-morning coffee, there it was; I never gave it a name, but, I found myself telling it good  morning every day, and was so glad that it had survived.  I don’t know why it seemed to cheer me.

Once, a very large wasp got into the house, and into the kitchen. In time, it hit the curtains, and its course of flight brought it nearer and nearer my little friend.  Now, I am very deathly allergic to insect bites, wasps being among the worst.  My little lizard seemed to give it some thought of making of it a lunch, but in realizing that the wasp was just too large, scuttled down the bottom of the curtains, where—you might know—the wasp would errantly follow.

There ensued a comical review, with me—with my girth—standing on a stepstool, flyswatter in hand to chase the wasp, and whap it before it could either bite me, or, the lizard.  In wielding the flyswatter like St, Michael’s sword, I could not help but scare the lizard.  But soon, I managed to kill the wasp, and let my lizard alone to recover; later on in the day, it was perched on the window—again—as apparently content as such creatures can be.  And I was glad that we (Daisy, lizard, and I) were safe.

Part Two: The Goblet

I have a cousin who has become a very, very good, and kind friend to me; actually, both he and his wife have been ever thoughtful, and decent to me.  When our schedules allow, he comes over once a week to visit me, perform some very needed repair of computer adjustment that I cannot do; he brings me a couple store-made-ready sandwiches, and we have a couple of beers while we kibitz, and in general, just ‘hang out’.  I always enjoy his visits, and am grateful for all his kind help; after all, it is he who has assembled probably 95% of all my new furniture you can see, shown at my profile.

He also brings along a little hip flask of vodka (which I do not drink because of my many medications).  For him, I found a simple, pretty, little goblet for him to put ice in, and afterward, the vodka. I doubt the ‘drinks’ can be more than four ounces, and it looks better than using a water glass for the purpose.

Because of my often global pain, and severe lower-back pain, I must admit I am slack on washing dishes, leaving them for my dear C.N.A. to do, which she does not mind, and when the drain board is full, she’ll put the clean, dry dishes away, or, if she’s out of room, will stack some of the cups, and glasses on the space just behind the sink, where I quite often forget them, especially my cousin’s, little goblet, which, with shelf space a premium, I just ignore.

One morning—though—as I again staggered to the sink half awake, and already in a rush of pain, I looked, but could not see my lizard friend.  Oh well, I thought, it’s off on the hunt, looking for tiny bugs, and hiding behind the curtain.  I seem to recall that my cousin was due—soon—for a visit, and, as an afterthought, picked up the goblet to make sure it was clean.

And there it was, my little lizard friend, having somehow fallen into the goblet—not able to escape its glassy sides--lying there, contorted in death.

It was such a tragic end to a cute and harmless life; as I looked at it, suddenly (please do not ask me why), I began to cry, in silent, tears of misery.  I felt so sad for it, myself, and, for all of us.  Had—perhaps—I had found it earlier, and still alive, I might have been able to let it go back to its window-kingdom.  Could I be blamed for my neglect?

Or, is it but the realization that we all live such truncated lives, and to have them thus filled by pain seems—to me—to counter, “Why we are here?”  As adults, we all know that things die; friends and loved ones die; dreams and hopes unrealized die before us, and litter our years with their deaths.  Eventually, we—too—will die, and return to a silent earth the sum of all we were.  To have lived, and died, without notice, or purpose.., what can that mean?  Or does it mean anything?

This is why—perhaps—so many cultures around the world have their own “After life theories”.  I would not in my current place in time, dare argue with any of them.  I would like to think that, rather than fall—unnoticed—into a slippery goblet, unable to return or be free, that our lives are marked—instead—by what we do WHILE alive.  What kindness can we show.  What compassion.  What radiant goodness?  What unselfish love.  What purity of spirit.

And when we finally die, is it to an endless, dreamless sleep?  Or falling into an oblivion of hellish nightmare, and never-ending torture, far far greater than the sum of all our earthbound pain?  Or, else to be catapulted out among black galaxies with their cold, and lifeless stars? 

Or should we—instead—with wings of joy

ascend to the full explanation of our Bliss? For these are but possibilities, questions to which I have no ready answer.  For that—my very dear, and wonderful friends, I gladly leave it up to you.

But please, ever know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

Please always know I love you,

‘Zahc’/Charles

" Though Worked-for, And Well-deserved...."

      ‘ Though Worked-for, And Well-deserved, Why Do S.S.I., And S.S.D.I. Entitlements Confer A Life Of Grinding Poverty For Those Who Need It Most ? ‘

04/15/12

To my very, very dearest friends, and ever loyal readers,

Sometime—around noon, I guess, for those  whom such exactness is required—the month of April will be half-over; that roughly means that there are still two weeks, m.o.l., until May, and until the rusted doors of the Government coffers screech open. And like an endless swarm of bats scarce seen at twilight, out will fly the little checks we are granted, that—once again—will ensure some little, hoped-for comfort on which to live.

I full-believe that these sums are reckoned at by governmental dweebs and feebs (quite possibly horned, and very feral), kept safe by bullet-headed, armed guards, as they scratch their brow ridges, by the divination of sheep entrails beneath a full, and lambent moon, somewhere quite possibly in Virginia, let’s say Arlington, as so much other mischief goes on there.

For on or about the third of every month, I—and so many others—get a check that is plainly insufficient for our needs.  Although there is about eighteen days until ‘pay’, I find that I am already almost broke, and still with bills to pay.

After my second application for disability (requiring an attorney’s intervention at $5.700.00) when I was finally awarded first S.S.I., then S.S.D.I, in being ever cautious, I was able to survive the month, bills paid; groceries obtained, with—perhaps—a smidgen left over to call my own.  That, my dearest friends, was in 2005.  But as the months and years passed, with no cost of living raise…except the one that booted me out of Medicaid covering my hospital and surgical stays, and doctor’s visits, the cost of everything—it seemed—went up once, twice, almost three times, while my entitlement gamely tried to keep up, and—exhausted—soon fell on its face, a lay there dead.

The Entitlement Program, which many call a ‘supplement’, no longer is nearly enough; and for those of us who cannot work ( damn us, anyway!), it is our ONLY source of income; there’s nothing else.  And while there was one, small 3.8% raise this past January, Medicare quickly sucked up the increase, leaving us, the elderly, the ill, the disabled, and dispossessed to twist in the breeze.

I am currently fifty-eight years old, and fully two years away from any helping or assisting County Programs (imagine…a double-sided page, font eight, of available programs that are denied me, until my sixtieth birthday, or, until I croak, instead).

The ONLY two programs I am currently eligible for are, since I have Medicare, I can pay the County Public Transportation two dollars each way to my doctor’s appointments, only, not even to stop to have prescriptions filled, and the Volunteer Way, a most laudable public program, whereby they deliver to me one box of canned goods and the like, a month.  That’s IT.  Oh...and Medicaid (bless its pointed, little head), has—in its wisdom—declared me eligible for (wait for this….), $16.00 a month in Food Stamps.  $16.00?????

Ah, b-b-b-but wait a second, here.  I worked for over thirty-four years; I filed taxes; I paid my share of S.S., and FICA.  None of this shit makes any sense.  Whenever the Government goes broke, they simply raise the debt ceiling; why then can’t I raise mine?  Or just print more currency?  Or, attach my needs by hiding it within the language of an insignificant bill to be voted upon by those few legislators who even bother to show up to vote?

I live alone, and basically have the same bills to pay as does everyone else: utilities; cable (for telephone, and internet, NOT 900 channels of TeeVee and movies).  I have to pay a private duty C.N.A. to assist me with showers; clean the house; and do the laundry.

And whenever the lawn wants mowing, or the hedges trimmed, oh God, or any groceries purchased ( and that includes prescriptions ), the too-often neglected care of my dear dog, the occasional doctor’s visit co-pay, and trying, hopelessly, to pay down a maxed-out credit card.  ALL of this comes out of MY pocket, and they are shallow ones, indeed.  And, let us not forget taxes I must pay.

What this now means is that I can hardly withstand the month.  In past, I’ve had to borrow money from friends, which I regret, and relatives, which I detest.  I thank God the house is paid for; I have no car, nor car insurance.

Every month—about this time—I start to panic and to become even more depressed. I did not ask to become ill and disabled; I cannot think of anyone who—in their right mind—would.

All this constant worry adversely affects my health; it cannot help but do so.  In consequence, my pain levels go up and stay there; I have searing migraines; my glucose, and blood pressure is shot to hell and back; and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Funny, but in becoming ill, I did not suddenly fall off the earth; I have to ‘buy’ things; I make, and sustain jobs; I pay taxes, and help support the common weal.  I am now no less a citizen of these ‘United States’ than ever I was.  I salute the flag; I vote; I most firmly believe in our Rights and Freedoms.

Among them—though—I do not think includes the Right To Starve; or the Freedom To Die Unattended.  Yet…too many of our citizens do both, which should be considered an egregious stain upon our Constitution, and Bill Of Rights.  And when it involves our children, it is both vile, and inexcusable. As Americans, we think ourselves to be a World Power, but act with fifth-world nation mentalities.

Annually, billions, and trillions of dollars, are misspent, misappropriated, lost, hidden, or simply given away, as if the ‘cookie jar’ has no bottom; how much DOES an aircraft carrier cost?  How much to bailout Goldman Sachs—who in their blatant disregard refer to the public as ‘Muppets’?

In all of this, we—too—must take on a portion of the blame; for it would seem that every four years…at Election time, the Populi shits it collective pants; we hang—breathless—to every promise that we know will not be kept.  How can they, when carnal greed is met with the lure of boundless cash?  The Grand Industrial/Corporate/Military Complex would eat our babies, were it not for errant twitter boasts, or You Tube video morsels that slip--unnoticed—from the mouths of our self-considered ‘New Age Romans’, who enjoy a life of Barbarous Splendor, living outside, and above the Law.

Never mind that nighty Rome fell not so much from outside attack, but from excesses that rotted it away from the inside.

We sadly witnessed the undoing of the Peaceful March on Wall street, when one banker—from the safety of an upstairs window—jeeringly offered a single person a job at $50,000.00 a year….which was taken.  I find I cannot be angry too much at the person who broke through lines to accept the job.  Pure need is pure need.

But part of me—especially when I have no money, now, well-before month’s end—would rather see that jeering offer met, instead, by a fired shot.  It doesn’t matter if it misses.

 

What these so-called movers and shakers need to feel is fear…of their money, security, their lives.  Until they are forced behind a barricade of desks, surrounded by an uncertain cadre of guards, will we—as a People, as Americans, will ever know both Rightness, and Justice.  We’ve witnessed a succession of petty tyrants overthrown around the globe. Too many of our own elected—who are as culpable of crimes as they, and even worse, were truth be known.

The sad and sadder Truth already lies before us; it is our neglectful shame, full reflected in any mirror. When evil is allowed, it propagates and flourishes, while we—the governed, or enslaved—are too easily distracted by sparkly toys to notice our enslavement?  Before it too late, if not too late already, who shall we, as one, name as our true Champion?

My dear, dear friends, and constant, loyal readers, I thank you for your demonstrated kindness, your inherent goodness, your patience…and, your love and regard.  I thank you for befriending me, and for making me feel not so alone.

I wish so much for you quiet, joyous days  (where did they go?); days of wonder, and delight; pantries full, with security and funds to spare so that you may have fuller lives, free from the worries I know we share; I wish you be surrounded by love and greater care, and days of much-lessened, or of ‘no pain’; true friends to sustain you; balmy afternoons of quiet fun  (when was the last time you had that !?); a gladly-assumed duty to report abuse; and evenings and nights of naturally, blissful sleep;  with flights of angels to comfort and protect you and yours’, until, a happy, and well-refreshed morning.

And please, please know, I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles

' Migraines And Moths; Fibromyalgia And Spiders.....'

‘ Migraines And Moths; Fibromyalgia And Spiders: Excruciating Pains Within A Most Neglected Kitchen  ‘

04/13/12

Oh, my sweet and dearest friends, and as always, my loyal, and ever constant readers, how often—in the resent past—have I spoken to you about pain? And, to that end, have mentioned a searing, tearing pain that would drive a thousand tongues to babble in an extraordinary suffering that readily eclipses the mind and body’s ability to endure; perhaps that has become old news by now, but in trying to make a fair assessment, would mention these things to you as they are common occurrences.

Were I younger, and better able to withstand what seldom pain I had, and, blissfully not knowing what really true pain lay ahead, I would have fully doubted (or greatly suspected and rejected it as being a thing, impossible), that time, and accumulated illnesses would so corrupt my mortal frame as to frequently make of it a most loathsome and despised thing.

That twenty-five year old photograph of me, now posted on MDJunction—having no previous experience in agonizing pains, nor the subsequent collection of illnesses—does not care, because it cannot care; and yet, with all its juvenile assumption finds itself placed more often in the witness box, to be grilled by angry questions from a Present self.  And lacking solid evidence of culpability nevertheless is found guilty—to very least—of not having savored each and every curious and wonderful day, when they cannot be thus favored now.

To use but one illustration, in those long-ago days, what I ‘then’ believed to be incapacitating headache, could—when I was ten—be gotten rid of by one of my dear, late mother’s glass of iced coffee (which, in a Texas summer tasted wonderfully cold and refreshing, and which BTW, began a half-century love affair with ‘coffee ice-cream’); and, later—at twenty-five—could still most easily be whisked-away from me with just one or two regular strength Tylenol.

This morning, friends, at just before 5:00 AM, I awoke, again, out in the kitchen, having left the patio door sliders open, but—today—with a migraine so severe that my head and body simply could not contain it; it was to a agony of pain that radiated through my pores, until I was covered all over in a chilling sweat, having already somehow wet myself.

I rocked, and cried, and disturbed Daisy with my endless suffering, as I dropped cigarette after cigarette to roll, unheeded on the counter top, until little rivulets of ashes lay here and there.

My ever kind, supportive friends, I know fully that you—too—have your pain, and suffering that causes you unnatural despair, and so, dear friends—without melodrama, nor hyperbole, you will, I think, quite understand when I tell you, that for the past three hours (especially as soon as I awoke to such a migraine), that, could I have died, I would have; without protestation, without resentment, nor with apportioned blame.

As very soon I could, I began to take pain medication, not even really counting the doses that I took; and although everything I took (and yes, I took multiple doses of anything I thought might help), so that a lingering effect of achy creepiness remained, I frankly did not care.  I ask you (who have suffered as have no other), what would you do?  When being in such a totality of pain causes you to take much more medication than was ever prescribed, or else, begin to wonder if you have a revolver, and where it is.  And, dearest friends, as I pledged once to not ever lie to you, what I am attempting to describe to you, may be taken at full-face value.  And more’s the pity that pure and unrelieved pain can do that easily.  And…often caused by the slightest effort.

In 1978, when my mother and father purchased the double-wide, mobile home, that now has come to be ‘my home’, one of the features in the small kitchen is a handy, little, built-in pantry; in addition to holding a broom and mop and dustpan, contains seldom used pots, and pans; my aluminum foil, and Saran Wrap; a supply of light bulbs; my cigarettes; and other oddments, and ‘important lock-box papers’.  In addition, this pantry is where I keep the dog food, both canned, and dry.

Most recently, and twice—before—I began to notice moths flying about the inside of the pantry, or perched on the ceiling, above.  In the darkness if that neglected pantry, the moths laid eggs, and multiplied, and multiplied, until they were not only abuzz inside the pantry, but, one very early morning, when—in hoping to get something to drink, and maybe have a couple of cigarettes—I turned on the kitchen lights to behold, perhaps, a hundred moths, filling the air around me.  I staggered around, killing all the moths that I could reach, to find their wings covered in a kind of grey/white dust that always left a mark behind…one difficult to eradicate.  I got out the flyswatter for the ones on the ceiling, but that night (as there have been so many), my fibromyalgia made my attempts to stand on tip-toe on a kitchen stool—while weaving back and forth, unsteadily-- to reach out to smash the little bastards into oblivion, made me dizzy, and light-headed. And most likely to fall, again.

My wonderful C.N.A., Mary, found out that the bag of Daisy’s dry dog food was FULL of moths, and spidery with the cocoons of egg casings. Mary then went through my kitchen cabinets to find that all my pasta, rice, cereal, and any grain product ruined, and blackened at the bottom with moths, and eggs, and…tiny worms, necessitating that everything be taken out in the trash.  I lost ALL of my dry goods. 

So prolific were these little s.o.bs’, that they quickly migrated through the house, into my bed room, and clothes’ closet, where they snuggled-in among my ‘everyday’ threads, and further, into my woolen wear.  I couldn’t seem to kill them fast enough.  The killer was when I had gotten a new, unopened box of corn flakes, and the very next day after I had opened it, inside I could count four moths.  After having had only one bowl of a giant-sized box of cornflakes, they—too—joined the cavalcade of needed food out to the garbage.

Not even once in twenty-six years, had we ever had such an infestation, that I telephoned the County’s agricultural Office; and what I subsequently learned will chill your very poop.

Apparently, in nearly EVERYTHING we buy that is a grain or cereal product (dog food counts, too!), the eggs of the unhatched moths are already there; they’re almost too small to detect, and impossible to winnow out before packaging.  Should you prepare any of these products shortly after purchase, the eggs will not have had enough time to hatch, and with pasta or grain products—for example—the product and the eggs are simply cooked as one, and are harmless.  But did you know that you are eating them, nonetheless?

The moths are known as “Indian Meal Moths”, who hatch only when the products have not be touched in months; I had—for example—purchased an eighteen pound bag of dry dog food for Daisy; I was not able to use it up fast enough, so the moth eggs hatched, becoming little crawling worms (Jesus) that cocoon until they—too—become moths.

Fortunately, there are pheromone traps with an intensive glue inside that attracts the moths, then captures them until they croak, preventing them from laying eggs. In a fairly short time—having interrupted their life cycle—they begin to lessen, until they are gone.  To do that, though, I had to pay my cousin to purchase for me, two, five-pack sets which I placed in the pantry, the living room, the bathroom, the bedroom and the Study, and in both my closets, for when—in time—the traps were overflowing with dead moths, I replaced them with new traps.

And, I now have little spiders in my pantry, who descend, and rise on single threads, but, who all seem to be carrying egg sacks; so what I shall do about them is another matter, as they seem impervious to the moth traps.  In addition to, again, more recent moths.   At least the moths seem uninterested in eating clothes, or dining off woolens.

Frankly, my very, very dearest friends, and loyal readers, I cannot decide quite what disgusts me more: seeing squadrons of flying moths throughout the house, or…knowing that—in general—I am actually having to eat unprocessed eggs, in my cereal, rice, grain, pasta, breads, or flour.  Not to mention the chance of finding spiders in the bananas, or roaches in the produce.

The only possible solutions that I can even think of are preventative:

1)           Buy your rice, cereal, and pasta—for example—with full intentions of using it soon, rather than letting it remain hidden on your kitchen shelves for weeks.

2)           After purchase, place the entire box, itself, or the contents of an opened box in a zip-lock bag, appropriate to size.

3)           Keep your opened condiment, sugar, bread, and coffee in your refrigerator; that way, they will be protected, and stay fresher, longer.

4)           Unless you absolutely cannot help it, never leave dirty dishes with food on them on the sink; either rinse them off, or—as I did—use paper plates that can be jettisoned after each meal.

5)           Do not let your kitchen garbage can become sour, dirty, or…overflowing; if your pain causes you to be less diligent in emptying the trash, give the full bag a dusting with Carpet Fresh, and tie most tightly.  Before you put in a new bag, sprinkle the bottom of the can with Carpet Fresh, or baking soda to help eliminate odors.

6)           The ways that dry pet food (kibbles) are prepared and stored, make of them an excellent moth-breeding ground.  Once the bag has been opened, the moths can not only crawl in, but they can apparently burrow-though the bag.  So, wherever you keep your dry pet food, whether in a pantry, or out in the garage, place the opened, rolled-up bag into a larger plastic garbage bag, and seal as tightly as you can.; some people simply empty the dry pet food into a large, plastic bin with wheels and a sealable top.  The size would—of course—depend upon the weight and size of the bag.  And, unless you have someone who can do it for you, since I have fibromyalgia, and chronic pain, I would—unless necessity dictates (were you—for example—to have two or three very large dogs) that you avoid buying dry pet food in 40-50 pound bags.  For although it may be more economical, such a heavy bag will prove difficult to move, and impossible to lift; that is why I now buy Daisy’s food in eight pound bags, and still have difficulty maneuvering it around, or picking it up to pour in her dish.

It is a miracle, my most dear friends, that that 5:00AM, rampaging headache is actually almost gone; as an afterthought, I still ache nearly everywhere, and am SO very tired, and can now entertain what I like to refer to as: ‘Headache Hangover’, which—if the Past is any indicator of the Present means that I will be tired and shell-shocked almost all day, into the evening; I truly mind-fogged, and weary, and, is not unlike a hangover from too much alcohol.

I wish for you days free of pain or of distress; calm, and quiet days of wonder, and of secret joy.  I wish for you your kitchen cabinets be full of goodies (and NO moths !);  prosperity, and more than enough to get you through the month!; I wish you caring friends, and that you be surrounded by those who truly love and treasure you; safe afternoons of balmy, pleasant weather; and blissful and pain free nights of glorious sleep, free from nightmare, or disturbance, always protected, and made easy by winged flights of gentle angels; and…all the love and happiness that you kind heart can hold!

Please always know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles

' My Very Dearest, Wonderful Friends, A 'Life' Test For You...'

‘ My Very Dearest, Wonderful Friends, A ‘Life’ Test For You: Is There A ‘Balance In Your Life? ‘

04/11/12

One morning at about 5:00 AM, with my hair undone, and sprawled over my head which was cradled in my arms, I—once again—awoke in an utter agony of pain, sitting out at the kitchen counter; I did not reach full consciousness easily, but resisted it with all my sense of purpose.  My eyes were blurry, almost glued shut, keeping tempi with my heartbeat as my head thrummed in a migraine so severe that I felt red-faced, and sweaty.  It almost seemed as if I had been dragged awake in jagged stages, to find myself in such a totality of pain, that I began to rock back and forth as I sat there, tears, slowly running down my face, and over sinuses, and a nose that was clogged with congestion.

My voice was capable of making only aching, animal-like sounds, and from my illnesses—and, having spent most of the night in an office chair in a kitchen whose lights were suddenly too bright, they hurt my eyes.  At that moment, I could not pause to rationally assay the seeming limitless of my pain.  And yet, to try to somehow, reclaiming my scattered thoughts, I allowed the pain to tear through me, as every muscle and joint resonated with pain, and I imagine all bodily systems were as impaired.

Quickly, I lumbered over to where I keep my pain medication, and took extra the ordered dose, because—at that point—I did not care, and…DO not care, when faced with such an thorough assemblage of utter pain, as long as I do not use up my prescriptions too soon, if they can instill some often brief relief, I will thus take them, leaving consequence, and consideration, until some more-relaxed time.

To me, there is no 1—10 pain scale; there is either a regular amount of pain that I can bear, to that which most effectively reduces me to an ‘animal state’ of pure reaction.

But, my very, very dearest friends, and ever kind and constant readers, while I was waiting for the coffee to be made—in an ‘adult’ attempt to shrug-away the suffering; while sipping on a reflective, and steaming hot cup of coffee, holding yet another cigarette in trembling hands, as the pain medications slowly, ever slowly brought down ( but did not eliminate!) by mind and body’s global agony, not six feet away from me, was my dog Daisy, sleeping on the living room rug, her whispered exhalations letting me know that she was sound asleep, and who occasionally has pain of her own; here was the dog who had adopted my late mother and I some twelve years ago, who had decided to extend her trust to us, rather than to a mongrel’s brief, and uncertain life, to enlist us in her own, small ‘pack’, and, for times both good and bad, was on the day of her arrival, committing self to carefully guard her ‘humans’.

I suddenly experienced a rush of love for her; that she had dutifully followed me sometime during the night from the ease and comfort of the bedroom carpet, two feet from me, to follow me out to the kitchen, to stay with me, be with me, for, even if her silly ‘human’ wants to leave the warmth, and comfort of the bed—behind—to seek my rest, instead out in the kitchen then—to her—I must have had an important reason for doing so, and so kept me in her snoring sight to ever be close to me.  And, for that, I was suddenly grateful.

I realize that those at MDJunction come from many ages, and many, different complaints, yet, we still have a few things in common:

1)           That very curiosity that makes us Human.

2)            The pains and losses and despairs we share, as:

3)           In having such unutterably pain, we seek to know ‘why?’, and ‘where?’, and how much?’.

4)            As social creatures, even in our worst conditions, we still seek those at MDJunction, and, elsewhere, with whom we can bond, and share our complaints, knowing that MDJ—by and large—is a ‘safe zone’, in which no judgmental, nor negative comments will be offered; that only hope will  attend our frail, and inchoate searchings.

5)           There is no cure, and so, we look to others to see how they manage and ‘get by’, despite crippling pain.

6)           How often at this site, have we found compassion, support, and care too often denied us in life, when there is often no one else to care; or can care; or even hope to care?

7)           We all come to the table offering different ages, lifestyles, and circumstances. Often—though-- we are self-deluded, trapped, by, ‘can’t; won’t; couldn’t; shouldn’t’, to which I would ask you for a while to change—and consider instead, ‘can; will; could; and should.’

And while many times, I have heard (or said myself!), our illnesses and our suffering somehow draws a line across the sand of all our hopes, aspirations, dreams, desires, yet I would kindly ask you to consider—for a moment—my erred paraphrasing of the late Socio/Humanist Philosopher, Joseph Campbell, who once said that, were we to look back upon the events of our lives, close and bias-free, we might see a most discrete line—as fine as spider web—that would seem to reject all randomness to reveal a chart or path that would appear to have some, linked-together, and purposeful path, that somehow had meaning, truth, and beauty to it.

What I am asking of you, my dearest friends, is to take some much-needed quiet time (hopefully when pains are reduced, lest they pollute the scale), and with honesty and sincerity, evaluate your life to this hour, this minute, this very second.  Think of it as a something of a ‘Life Quiz’; for which you’ll need a lined tablet, and a reliable pen.  I have not, will not ask you to consider religion, or lack of it, for the true responsibility of ‘tending’ to your spirituality is unique, and much your own business; neither—for the same reason—am I interested in your politics, or of your ‘global’ opinion…for that is

yours and yours alone.  The assay I want you to take is more simplistic, more basic, and—perhaps—more about ‘fun’, than ‘fundamentals’.

Upon this tablet, I want you to draw a line down the center; label by number, if you so choose; one column titled ‘X’, and, the second, title ‘O’.  For what I am truly asking you to do is to make an evaluation of your lives, filled with both good and bad occurrences.

For every ‘yes’, you may—as you’d like—to place under each heading, an ‘ X’; and for every ‘no’, perhaps an ’ O ‘.

Remember, please that this not a scientific, to-be-published work; it is not professional in any way, but is based loosely on insurance actuality tables, some, little past experience, and personal observation these past forty years, and some twenty+years as a health care provider, with some reference to my work and degree in Social and Behavioral Sciences.  And so, I must confess to you, my very dearest friends, that a lot of thought went into these questions.

And while the questions might seem either odd or inappropriate, I do believe that they impact our daily lives, but that the ‘Quiz’ is both casual and arbitrary.

All it involves is that you be rigorously honest with yourself, in marking both ‘X’s’, and ‘O’s’. Should a question not apply, just skip over it to the next.

The goal is to give you (in totaling both the ‘X’s’, and the ‘O’s’), a rough look at the balance in your life; obviously—then, in general—the more ‘X’s’ that you add up, the better.  But having ‘O’s’, does not in any way imply that you are somehow a ‘bad’ or ‘deficient’ person.  Only YOU will be able to ascertain any areas of your life that need changing.

The questions that I shall pose come in no certain order, nor of magnitude.  What started my consideration was that morning I awoke in so much pain…yet, beyond me was my dog Daisy, who loved me unconditionally.

 In addition, in order to make the questions answerable with both, ‘X’s’, and ‘O’s’, most—perforce—are ‘yes’ and ‘no’ questions; for those questions that have deeper roots, I gladly leave them to you.  For, inside your very secret heart of hearts will you find other answers should you but seek them.

I asking for this ‘review’ of you, of course it is not scientific in any way, and, I must confess to you—dearest friends—that I seek answers for myself, and much as for you.  Alright.  Comfortable?  Quiet? Ready to go?  If so, please

let us kindly commence.  Remember, take your time, taking breaks as you may want them.

1)           Do you live alone? Give one ‘ O ‘.

2)           If you live with others, are you happy with the arrangement? If yes, one ‘X ‘; if no, one, ‘ O ’.

3)           Do you have a pet? If yes, one ‘ X’; if not place a ‘O’in the appropriate column.

4)           If you have up to three pets, one ‘ X ‘.

5)           If you have over five pets, one ‘ O ‘.

6)           Do you have children with criminal records? Or, in re-hab.? Or, in endless trouble? One ‘ O ‘, for each child.

7)           Do you have children who obey the law, are—in general—considerate and loving? One ‘ X ‘, for each child.

8)           In the past five years, have you had more than one relationship? Place a ‘O’ there.

9)           If you have had no relationships in that time, give two ‘O’s’.

10)   If—in the past five years—you have had only one relationship, ‘X’;

11)   If—in the past ten years—you have had only one relationship, mark two ‘X’s’.

12)   Would you consider your current relationship to be abusive in any way?  Place a ‘O’ there.

13)   If you are currently trying to escape from an abusive situation? Mark down an ‘X’.

14)   If you have successfully escaped from an abusive relationship, and are no longer abused, write down three ‘ X’s’.

My very, very dearest friends…please note that I have—after a long, soul-search—included relationships that are abusive, or that have become toxic; it is in NO way my intention to make light of, or, in any way make less serious, and often, life-threatening abusive relationships can be.  Nor, is it my goal to in any way attempt to lessen the pernicious EVIL that is abuse. NO ONE deserves to be abused…whether spouses, children…or pets.  I cannot help but laud the bravery of those who seek to escape from such relationships; I hope that my past stance on abuse will speak for me.  Neither do I think that the penalties for abuse are strong enough, nor are the vital resources needed are as established and available as should they be, to help those trying to end abuse.

But, after much thought, I decided to include it here, as it is a demonstrable, though lamentable part of Life, and—as such—could not be readily ignored, and…it does impact most severely the lives of those who are abused.  While I am seeking to provide a rough ‘live’ examination to you, and to all my constant, loyal readers, we all—nevertheless—have a distinct obligation to use our minds and hearts, and souls to report abuse whenever it is seen.  I apologize from my heart if I have offended anyone reading this, and hope you will see my meaning as if pertains to this entry, and this entry alone.

 15) Do you have a running car, a reliable source of transportation?  If yes, place an ‘ X ‘.  If not, place an ‘O .’

16) For every, major credit card you have that is maxed out, place an ‘ O ‘.  For every one

you have—that currently—you have a charged balance less than 35% of your credit limit, place an ‘X ‘.

17) Do you have a savings account? If yes, place an ‘X’.

18) If you have more than $150.00 in savings, place an ‘X’.

19) If you own your own home outright, mark down two, ‘X’s’.

20) If you are able to make mortgage payments, or rent, on time, ‘X’.

21) If you have trouble making these payments, ‘O’.

22) If—this past week—you, or you family has had to miss a major meal owing to finances: ‘O’, for every meal.

23) Do you smoke? ‘O’

24) If you do not smoke: ‘X’.

25) Are you considered overweight ? If yes, then ‘O’; if no, then, ‘X’.

26) If you eat 1-2 servings of fish a week, mark an ‘X’; if not, mark a ‘O’.

27) If you are on prescription medications and take them as ordered, regularly, write in an ‘X’; if you cannot afford them; or forget doses, or just skip them, mark a ‘O’.

28) Do you have health insurance? ‘X’; if not, mark ‘O’.

29) Do you see a Primary or Pain Management physician at least once a month?: ‘X’; if not, mark with a ‘O’.

30) How many very close, caring, and reliable friends do you have? For each friend, mark an ‘X’.

31) If you feel you do not have friends, please write two ‘O’s’.

32) Do you routinely sleep from 6-9 hours every night (you may also want to consider naps ), ‘X’

33) Do you often have trouble sleeping, or sleep less than 6 hours a night, ‘O’.

34) Do you sleep more than 12-14 hours a day? Mark down two ‘O’s’.

35) If you have grandchildren who live locally, can you see them without difficulty, or parental consent? Place an ‘X’ for every yes, ‘O’ for every no.

36) Do you have any religious affiliations, or believe in a ‘higher power’? Put ‘X’ for yes, ‘O’ for no.

37) Do you pray fairly regularly? ‘X’

38) If you pray, do you pray for yourself more, or others more? If yourself, ‘O’; if for others: ‘X’.

39) In any given week, how many times do you tell someone you love them?

      A. fives time a week or daily, five ‘X’s’;

         B. two to four times a week, two’X’s’;

         C. One time a week, ‘X’;

         D. Rarely, if ever, or never, three, ‘O’s’.

40) What is your ‘usual’ pain level?

       A. 7—10, on a ten point scale:  four ‘O’s’;

       B. 5—7+, three ‘O’s.

       C. 3—5, two ‘O’s’

       D. 1—3, one ‘O’.

       E. My pain level is always around ‘2’ or less; is controlled by my medication; or I can bear it. ‘X’.

41) In general, I am happy: ‘X’

42) In general I am sad: ‘O’.

43) I think of death a lot: five ‘O’s’.

Again, my very dearest friends, while we all occasionally contemplate mortality, to think about it constantly warrants immediate intervention, either by self, or by concerned family members; while I included it here, as sort of a general guide to self-feelings, morbid, repetitive thoughts of death, or of potential self-harm, should be treated by a professional Therapist of Psychiatrist at once. Behaviors that might be demonstrated for a family member or a friend to see include, but are not limited to: 1) isolation; 2) verbal expressions; 3) a depression that seems unrelieved, or worsens; 4) nightmare; 5) paradoxical behavior strange to the individual, whether in speaking, dressing, a sudden lack of interest in former interests; 6) inattention to hygiene; 7) too much sleep, and the inability to want to wake up; 8) if on prescription medications, taking them erratically, or too frequently; 9) the abuse of alcohol, and/or other abused substances; 10) secretiveness, or hiding behavior.

Please do not wait until an individual has begun to fully exhibit these behaviors, and above all, please do not—in rage, or lack of patience yell at them, shake them, or simply tell them to “Snap out of it.” And please never be so cruel as to dare them to follow-through on their statements. For if you cannot help that person, except to encourage these negative behaviors, then please, please step aside to allow that individual to get real help, from those who DO care.

In Conclusion

I have—at some length—tried to present to each of you—my very, dearest friends—with a simple, and very generalized “ Wellbeing Assay”, that I hope, in writing down, might hope to better codify your feelings within your current situations.  And while I freely admit that in lacking professional status, it is—at best—a highly subjective, and personalized way of ‘keeping score’, of how you may be, whenever you should happen to take the Quiz, for it can be taken over and over again, at intervals to measure both your progress, and your hopes.

Of course, it is my fondest hope that—as you reckon up each value, and then add the total number of ‘X’s’, and,’O’s’ together, you will, in fact come away with a greater number of ‘X’s’ in hopes to show you that, while some areas in your life may be hardly perfect, yet, you are doing the best you can, which is an admirable task these days, considering your illness(es), your pain, the economy, your health, and your social strengths.

Should your total involve a few more ‘O’s’, than ‘X’s’, then there are a myriad ways (not all included in this assay), where concerned energy, regard, safety and love can result in improvement.

For despite the many, and often seemingly unalterable and overwhelming circumstances in our lives, it has been ever my sincerest desire that you be happy, fulfilled, and…truly blessed.  I wish for you—as always—days of lessened, or of ‘no pain’; quiet, wonderful days surrounded by ones who truly love you; income-sufficient to meet your needs, AND, provide a little extra.  And a natural tiredness at end of day; and nights of restorative, and pain-free sleep, as ever kept safe, and guarded by loving, watchful angels.

Please always know I love you dearly

‘Zahc’/ Charles