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Blockhead

I think my Dad just called me a blockhead. Certainly, it is not a criminal act. At least that is what I gather from social media and through the giggles of my lawyer friends. I doubt he will feel any remorse, serve any time, or make any restitution. However, he called me a blockhead! It all started when we were having a nice text together. He has gotten a little hard of hearing and “these new fangled phones” don’t get loud enough. So, we text. He is having some medical stuff done and I am getting ready to go solo practice and we chat. IT is not uncommon for us to text back and forth for about ten minutes and he will say he is done texting and the conversation stops. This time we had gotten about two minutes into the conversation and I was talking about how out of place I feel in many different situations. This is not new for me, nor particularly interesting. I’ve always felt that way. I have a great family of mostly extroverts. I had lived as an extrovert for many years before discovering that people wear me out. I needed time to be alone to get energized. I am a true introvert. I am the only divorced sibling. I live in Idaho. I don’t drink. I have had difficulties legally. And the list goes on. Currently, I am the only medical doctor in a hospital full of psychiatrists. By the way, if you ever really want a reality check, get several psychiatrists in a room. It is surreal. Oh and it does really only take one to change a lightbulb. I am the only addictionologist in Idaho practicing inpatient rehab. I am single.

Anyway, I was talking about how I am both scared and relieved to be going solo again. There are pros and cons for sure. My Dad then said you cant stick a square block into a round hole! There is was, he was calling me a blockhead. I decided to practice from the book, The Four Agreements, and have the courage to ask the question:

ME: Am I the block or the hole?:

Dad: You decide.

See? Can you feel the cruelty? IT was a sad moment until I realized it is genetic.

I thought about how he has been widowed for almost 20 years. He doesn’t drink or smoke. He cant hear. He keeps getting older as I stay the same age I’ve always been. Blockheadedness is either genetic or contagious. It pervades all aspects of my life. In work, I am generally an oddity. Frankly, I prefer it that way. I do things in a unique way. It is fun to get to be my real self when at work. I dont really fit in with social groups. I dont drink or party. Most people my age are married or want to go drinking. ITs not bad, and I enjoy hanging out (in case anyone who reads this thinks I am a recluse), but I am different. Dating is the worst. I am an introvert, remember? Most women have gotten out of marriages because they were bored in some way or hurt. They want fireworks, travel, ski diving, etc. I want relationship. I left because I didnt exist as a real person when I was married. I want to be a real boy, Pinnoccio. I go on occasional dates. We have a good time. But it isnt enough. Maybe I lost my mojo. Maybe some obese scottish guard went back and stole my mojo!  Thats it! Its not that I an genetically a block head, it was induced by removing the mojo. It caused the corners of my scalp to extrude. Maybe, the rounded head is really formed by mojo holding in the corners, like tension ropes. My Dad was not picking on me, he was warning me about my mojo.

Nah, its genetic.

 

 
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Posted by on October 9, 2019 in journey, life

 

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I.P. Freely

I have made mistakes in my life. Its true. I also have learned to accept the consequences and take responsibility. It sounds easier than it is, but it seemed necessary and important. I have been on a growth journey learning to be completely honest. IT has been rewarding, albeit painful. I was about 7 years sober when I moved to Idaho. I had applied for a medical license here after having trouble in Colorado. It is a long story that can be gleened from my other posts. I met with the board here and they offered me a stipulated license. I commented that if that was going to be, please just dont give me one as it is pretty useless when stipulated. I had applied for 500 jobs and couldnt get one because of the stipulation. The board understood and awarded me an unrestricted license if I would voluntarily submit to random urinalysis tests. I agreed.

The way it works is every morning you call into the screener. I have an image of the banks of computers like in the 70’s evil genius movies. The computer then identifies you and whirls its wheels to determine if you should submit your liquid gold that day. In an even tone, the computer voice then tells you that you have not been chosen or you are chosen.  I was never chosen for teams in grade school, so this confuses me a little. I want to be chosen, to vindicate my 8 year old chubby self. But I dont want to be chosen because of the hassle that will follow. This day I was chosen. I am elated and bummed.pee

The preparations for leaving liquid gold is complex. There are rules of no caffeine three hours before testing, no more than 100cc of water 30 minutes prior. It has to meet criteria on having at least some color.  I generally would drink my morning coffee and water. I would hold it until about 10 am. Then I would pee and chase it with a glass of water. This way I would have the required amount of concentrated urine at noon. Generally, things go much better if you are proactive enough to fill out the paperwork ahead of time. The machine alerted you to the secret test that was to be done. You have checked the box and filled out the paper. You approach the building. I know it is sanitary and well cleaned, but for some reason whenever I remember it, it smells like urine in my head. You hand over the triplicate form that says, “This person has urine and we need it.”pee3

After they know you, they will get you in quickly. This is good, because generally you present needing to pee badly. The program changed after I started and all the urine collections had to be observed. This never really bothered me, but many people talked about having a shy bladder. I cant imagine exposing yourself to some stranger and then not being able to pee. It would prolong the discomfort. What do you say at that point? “Sorry, it was working earlier”?

One of the guys who watched us pee was a very large guy. He had the shape of the guy in Green Mile. His teeth were not as straight nor his voice as deep. His fingers were at least 2 feet long. If I stand up very straight, I can be 5 foot 7. My fingers are average and my voice is also not as deep as the Green Mile guy. There is no guy I have ever met that doesn’t wonder if he is long enough below the waist. The average size has decreased from 6.3 inches to 5.5, reportidly. A popular wives tale about the size of hands reflecting the size of genitalia has never been proven clinically. As the Green Mile stand in leads me to the bathroom, these are not the facts that cross my mind. I can feel my testicles hiding in my abdominal cavity. I wonder if I will ever be able to pee.  I have a thought that as I prepare, this massive guy is going to giggle and pat me on the head and say, “Good for you, little fella.” I was able to pee and two days later my testicles emerged. pee2

I have not had to pee for points in a few weeks, having completed the requirement. I still get up, drink my coffee and water and about 10 am need to pee. I consider holding it at noon every day and have often wondered if I will ever be able to spontaneously urinate without Green Mile watching me.

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2017 in journey, life, Uncategorized

 

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chew my house, beast

I think my house is being bit. I understand it sounds delusional, but I am looking out my windows and there are these long pointed teeth everywhere. When I open the door, I can feel the icy breath curling around my bare ankles. It nibbles at exposed skin. Perhaps the mouth biting my house is an alien life form and there is little nibbling heads within that like flesh better than dwellings. I cant be certain because I close the door quickly.

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On a particularly adventurous and brave day, I went out and knocked out some of the teeth. I figured that perhaps it would save my house if I forced the frigid being to gum my house instead of chew. I strutted around in the 30 degree weather, thinking I had bested the wintery beast. I treated myself to popcorn and apple cider. I had won. I had outwitted the monster. img_20170108_074641

I awoke the next day to 4 degree weather. The teeth had returned. I think they were bigger than before. I was dejected. I soothed my troubled and cold self with popcorn and apple cider. The wind is blowing and the sounds of chewing plop from the trees. The nibblers sneak in the drafty spots. I shovel off the frozen saliva from the porch and driveway. It is stacked everywhere. The frozen froth fills my yard and the street. The beast is hungry.

 

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2017 in life, Uncategorized

 

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Frozen Tundra Brain

Brain Freeze.

As I say it, I can actually feel it. That icy feeling that hits right behind the eyes. The sudden thought that perhaps snorting tobasco sauce would be a pleasurable experience. That thought followed by the fear that perhaps this feeling will never go away. The delusion that your brain will be forever frozen in a block of ice, like Encino Man. In a 1000 years, some teenager with an inferiority complex will thaw out your head in a shed in order to impress girls. cold

It has been very cold this winter. This morning it was zero degrees. I decided that I would not get up until the weather had a positive attitude. It then skyrocketed to one degree and I sprinted to the shower to get ready for work. I have been asked some very odd questions and seen seemingly normal people do so bizarre things in the last few weeks. I think their brain is frozen. The weather and the prolonged darkness that happens up here near Canada has dealt their psyche a “life slurpee”. The environment and mother nature has slipped them a Slurpee mickey. Its as if, in the normal course of life, there was some sneakiness afoot. As they drank hot chocolate with marshmallows, Mother Nature wrapped a blanket around their shoulders as she dropped a Slurpee pill into the beverage.

colder

As I hustle to various indoor settings, I glance at people. The heads tilted to the side, necks buckling under the weight of the ice block around their brain. I wonder if they are even aware of the desire to thaw out. Is the brain so frozen that the thought of being sluggish and paralyzed intellectually not recognized? Is the fact that the icy interior makes movement stiff beyond them?  Do they see that the words are sluggish, the demeanor chilly? Do they feel the frozen thoughts like blue toes after skiing? Do they understand that with ice on the brain, and frigid thought running in their brain that they shouldnt be operating machinery? Perhaps the reason that there are so many wrecks in the winter storms is that someone has life slurpee all over the place.

 
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Posted by on January 6, 2017 in life, Uncategorized

 

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climb it

I have been working out. That is nothing new, I have always enjoyed the gym. It is great people watching. I find that the flexing in the mirror has gotten much more secretive in the last decade or so. When I first joined the gym, it seemed that part of the routine, if you were of a particular size, was to stand and flex in front of the huge mirrors. It was preening behavior. I thought it was silly until I saw the thong club drift over to watch. I confess, I have flexed in a mirror hoping the thongs would arrive. Sadly, they never did.

Years ago, I tried to do spinning class. I really enjoyed it. I have always been a bike rider and thought I was pretty hot stuff in the class. I mused over the instructor in matching sponsor shorts and shirt. I thought it would be an easy stroll. She mounted the bike and said, “My name is Meredith, I am a professional cyclist.” My legs still hurt 5 years later.

So, Ive been working out. I have been doing the stair master lately. I figure there are no stair master professionals. I am considering doing the ½ Ironman competition in the summer and thought it might be a good idea to do a little more cardiovascular training. I generally do 30 minutes, but decided yesterday to do 45. A brief history, I do this at the end of my work out. When I am done, I am not moist, not spritz, I am drenched. I sweat. I am also a math nerd. I like math. I make math problems out of addresses, license plates, and phone numbers. I muse when there is a math problem within the serial numbers of dollar bills. So, as I am sweating and climbing, I am also doing math problems on the number of floors I should obtained when the blinking hill demarking my current torture is completed. Generally, minutes ago as I walked the Green Mile to the stairs, I was setting a goal on how many floors I would climb that day, including a pace and heart range. See, I am a math nerd.

One of my favorite things is when someone gets on the stairs next to me after I am already on it, then gets off before. I scoff and think them stair inferior. I am the master of the stairs. I am working it. I am sweating, dividing, and climbing my way to stair glory. Often I want to introduce myself to the muscle bound flex king as he mounts the stairs. “Hi, I am T, I am a professional stair climber.”

The other day, I got on the stairs next to a way too thin woman. She couldn’t have been too serious, she was reading a magazine and it was covering her course and time. I wondered why she hated math. As I sweated to the oldies piped into my earbuds, I started to wonder how she was preparing for the next level if the magazine was there. How does she anticipate what is coming up next? She seemed to make the transitions easily and without even hesitation. Had she done this enough that she had this memorized? Then I noticed, as she chugged along at a pace that was near to running, that she wasnt sweating. No sweat, and no math? Was she crazy? I made my goal of 45 minutes, averaged 5.7 floors per minute. I limped off the machine. She was still on the machine as I hobbled down stairs to take my shower. I looked back and I think she spoke with her eyes. She said, “Hello, my name is Meredith, I am a professional stair climber.”

 
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Posted by on January 3, 2017 in life, Uncategorized

 

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shhh, I am hunting wabbit…

I am going to go to canine jail. I hate to admit it, but I am plotting the death of 6 dogs. By my calculation and simple paranoia, that makes me a serial dog killer. I have come up with creative ways to do it. Many of them borrowed from cartoons. Animal lovers will be glad to know that in my fantasies about this, sometimes I get squished like Wile E. Coyote. Most of the time, however, I then can sit on my back porch, drinking coffee and not hearing the yip and yap of a cacophony of poorly trained pooches.

I moved to a small town and was pretty adamant about buying a house to live in. After my divorce, I lived in my brothers basement for awhile and a crappy apartment before buying one house. Then I moved again and lived in my Dads house for 6 months or so. I wanted my own space. I figured I was going to be in this town for several years and I wanted to try and be settled with it. House hunting on a time schedule is a bit stressful. I had done some preliminary work online, but you really don’t get a feel for it until you are there. I really liked the house I got and saw right past many of the problems with it. I am not disappointed in it, I am disappointed in my neighbors.

I have three neighbors with dogs. To the north, one dog. To the West, 3, and to the South, at least 2, but sometimes seems like a million. I moved in in November. The North dog is on a pretty strict schedule. Every morning at 7 am, he comes out pees and then barks for 10 minutes. Seriously. 10 minutes. He is let out at lunch to do the same thing and again at 9 pm. After about a week, I left a note asking for them to please stop the nuisance barking. The note I got in return denied their dog even barked and blamed the West neighbor. Could I be wrong on that? Hmm. OK, so I left a note for them and they blamed the other neighbor. After I tried to make contact with everyone, I received an anonymous Christmas Card that said I was bothering the neighbors and this was a friendly community. I was taken aback. I was trying to be friendly by dropping a note instead of calling animal control. And if it was so friendly, why are these neighbor letting their dogs bark all the time, and blaming each other? I bought a dog whistle. Each time Id hear the dogs, I would rush outside and blow that whistle until they were quiet. I think the neighbors have dog ears as well, because they would hear the whistle and take the dogs inside sometimes. The friendly neighbors seem to watch me, because they started letting the dogs out earlier and later, when I was in bed. I dreamt of an airhorn. I would blast that through a megaphone each time those stupid dogs yapped.

I did report them to animal control, who came out and warned them. The dogs are now let out multiple times a day for shorter periods of time. The animal control told them that if they were called and they heard the dogs barking, it would be a fine. Lovely.

So, I have no choice to go all doggie postal on these mutts. I thought about the owners, but I am afraid of people prison and the dogs would still be barking until I was sentenced. The dog to the North. It stands in this one spot in the yard to bark. It barks in the air and just stands there. So, he will die by catapult. I plan on launching a cheetah into that spot, using a catapult. For two or three days ahead of time, I will tenderize and season the dog for the cheetah. I will launch spices one day, and BBQ sauce the next. I thought about a ring of fire to gently roast the dog, but I didn’t know how cheetahs would like their dog prepared. I was concerned with how do you hide a catapult, but I figure I will just make it look like a jungle gym.

The Western dogs will be treated to a Western style shoot off. I have purchased several small cowboy hats, holsters and cheesy mustaches. I will decorate the dogs while their owners sit inside and drink themselves stupid. I will put on a pancho, cowboy hat, and boots. I plan on having 2 squirt guns filled with beef broth. I leap into the yard and squirt the dogs. They have guns as well and could fend me off if they’d shut up and spend some time growing thumbs. When they are driven into a frenzy from the beef, I will back up two steps and they will be hit by a train. I have not yet figured out how to get a train in the yard.

The Southern dogs will be in mourning and fear at the loss of the other dogs. I will be a little tired and a little wired after wrestling a cheetah and renting a train. I have called ACME and tried to purchase one of the holes that Wile E. always seems to have, but they are out. Well, they cant find them. So, I got a super bouncy trampoline. I will bury it in their yard and cover it with ground cover. The dogs in the yippy frenzy they seem to be in all the time, will rush over to bark at my lawn furniture. Hitting the trampoline, they will be launched miles and miles North. I will have replaced their collars with hose devices in the Arnold S. movie that make your head explode if you leave the perimeter.

Anyone got a cheetah, a train, or explosive perimeter collars I can borrow? I will be out back, building a catapult.

 
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Posted by on May 22, 2015 in life

 

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Christmas piercing

I have decided to give everyone I know a new and exciting gift this year. I am giving out brain piercings. I thought about brain tattoos, but the gelatinous consistency of brain matter made that too difficult. The tattoos looked like the saggy results of a chest tattoo being stretched by man boobs. It wasn’t pretty.

I came up with the idea when I woke up this morning with a headache. I get them fairly regularly, and today was a whopper. I generally get them directly behind my right eye. They are stabbing pain and feel better if I close that eye in a permanent wink and push on my eyeball slightly. I did the remedies I know, take a bath loaded with vapo-bath, snort water to clean out the sinuses, take aspirin, drink coffee. The headache gods were against me today and it persists. I thought that it sounded like a good idea to stick an icepick in my ear to try and poke out the spasming vessel that was offending my pain receptors. As I considered this new remedy, the thought occurred to me that it wouldn’t be a great idea because as I removed the icepick, the pain might recur. To be truly effective, I would have to leave the icepick in place. That is fine with me, but it isn’t very decorative. I could hang ribbons on the wood handle, but still it wouldn’t glimmer with the holiday season. The only way to truly relieve this pressure and to be in style was to pierce my brain. My course seemed clear.

I was pretty tired after such consternation so I didn’t complete the procedure as I dreamed of the reaction and the effect on society at large. I need to go to the bike store and the supermarket today. I imagined walking into the bike store and being lifted on the shoulders of the patrons and workers. They would laud me as “extreme.” They would see me as a role model of living life out loud. Suddenly, the baggy pant kids would lift their chinos above their hips, hiding the boxers underneath. They would shake their heads at the silliness of following the old craze. Mothers and single men at the supermarkets would resist the urge to buy one more gift and run to the local piercing shop for their chance at this miracle cure, and delightful fashion.

The drawback would be a rapid decrease in the sale of hats. Some of that is ok, particularly eliminating flat brims and sideways baseball caps, but in general, it would cause financial hardship on haberdashers everywhere, and they already have the handicap of being called haberdashers. Then people would still be going outside, and not wearing hats, so skin cancer would go up. There would be a shortage of dermatologist to excise the cancers. They would get even more surly. There would be dermatologist rage crimes. There would be videos about “when dermatologist go bad.” I would get a headache from all the worry. Two brain piercing seems excessive. Maybe I will just drink more water.

 
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Posted by on December 24, 2013 in journey

 

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kapow, zap, and zowie

Tough morning trauma for me today. You see, I did laundry yesterday but left it in the basement. I only do laundry when I really need something, usually underwear. True to form, I even washed the pair I wore to work last pm. My problem is that my house is cold and I am faced with the option of going down to the basement to get my boxer briefs. Fortunately, I had my spare pair. MY kids got them for me as a joke, but I cherish them. I had my Flash Gordon briefs. I am a super hero today!

As I got out of bed to make the mad dash to the bathroom, I became “The Slippered Guy.” I was able to bound to the bathroom in two leaps. I was off to a good start. I transformed into “Fresh Shaved Friend,” and then shifted to the villain, “slicked back well showered guy.” I took a break from being the unknown heroes as I put on my Flash Gordon’s. I dressed very quickly. It might have been from the underwear transformation or maybe because I had left the heat off all night.

I screeched into the kitchen, a little whoosy from the speed. I became Coffee Drinking Kid and the “Cheerio Cheer-y-o”. I went to work and was the villain, “Speedy Gonzales.” The police officer understood but said he was the “Ticket Writing kid.” I became the “Bus Driver Dude.”

My adventures slowly drifted away as I drove the kids to school, through fire rings and baracades. We survived the gauntlet only because of my laser vision.

 
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Posted by on November 14, 2013 in life

 

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up, up, and left behind

I am really tired today. I am not all that sure why. I was on vacation this weekend and was pretty lazy. I drove 8 hours each way, but the book on CD was captivating and the drive wasn’t awful. The weather is turning cold. Maybe that is it. I have a few appointments this week that I am not looking all that forward to. Well, that’s not true. I am looking forward to the appointments, just not the pain that follows. I had a few rough conversations with other people. I don’t know. I am just tired.

As I get tired, I stare at the TV or the computer screen and it goes all fuzzy. I say very little. I am currently in my flannel jammies and warm socks. I think of warm tea and hot baths. I think of skin touching with a partner. I think of fireplaces and warm cocoa.

Explain to me why the kids on the bus I drive go bonkers when they are tired. The volume goes up. I cower at the memory of switching seats, and tremble at the vile language. The flirting and teasing abound. And that’s the elementary students.

Today was particularly rambunctious. At the end of the route, I found underwear under a seat. I am a little afraid to hear the story of how some boys underwear fell off. They are superhero briefs. I wonder if, while changing into the superhero of the day from the mild mannered first grader he is by day, that he simply forgot to wear underwear. I wonder if mothers of superheroes say things like, “Wear clean underwear when you save the world from the Undertaker or an Asteroid in case you have an accident.” The best part of being a superhero would be getting to tell your mom that if you have an accident there wont be anyone left to ridicule your soiled or absent boxers.

When I find coats or homework, I leave it on the engine compartment so that the article can be reunited with its owner. The forgotten underwear (I hope forgotten and not fallen off) poses a huge problem. First, do I really want to have some small boy shorts greeting students as they board the bus. A superhero greeting at 7 am can be a tad overwhelming. Then, at what age would it become likely that the near naked boy would not pick up his underwear for fear of embarrassment? It is a lesser superhero, after all.

 
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Posted by on October 28, 2013 in life

 

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as you love yourself

I am going to date. I am going to date myself. I have decided that I need to start nurturing a relationship with myself. I want to cherish myself, honor myself, look for the good in, be amused by the oddities, forgiving of mistakes. I want to learn and revel in myself as a new love. Now all tht sounds great but the logistics kinda baffle me.

I went to a bar in a trench coat and wearing only underwear….long story short, the policeman understood.

I met myself at a coffee shop to meet and greet. After drinking two espressos, I was talking so fast, I couldn’t understand myself. I didn’t give me my number.

I tried to take me to a movie, but Paul Reubans was there, so I left.

Truthfully, what I have decided to do is to change my inner monologue. I don’t know anyone who has a positive inner voice, but mine can be very nasty. I have taken to telling it to shut up, but it just keeps coming back. The way I am combatting that is reflexive speech, Every time I hear that voice telling me I am not good enough, not worthy, or any number of other negative droning speech, I will respond with vocalizing something positive about myself. I realize I am going to look like Stuart Smalley having a nice little seizure.

 
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Posted by on October 4, 2013 in journey

 

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