Rainy Day Pissy Mood

I supposed gratitude might lift the spirits. Thank you and appreciation for all the blessings I have. A spiritual giant would do that. I think I’m a flower thought. When it rains I don’t open my petals. I’m become pissy like the rain. It’s good that it’s not a shitty day.  It’s cloudy. Dark. Cold.  Yesterday there was some sun and I was uplifted. Yesterday I felt better. Today I could have slept more. I woke tired. I’ve gone through the motions, walked the dog, had coffee. Coffee and showers kick in usually. I’ll work. I like work. Being of service. It’s a bit routine. The scheduling and factory feeling of the pace wear me down.  I take the cheque as the applause. I’m at the end of a long career and find maybe for the first time I’m working for the pay. When it was a profession and excellence was desired I and meritocracy was rewarded I really thrived. It was joyful to study and answer the questions and do the right things but the authorities siding with the politically correct, the mob, the psychopaths and sociopaths eventually wore me down.  Identity politics and communism got to me.  Seeing the poverty of leadership and that it just didn’t get better. The wankers remained wankers. There was too much support for mediocrity. Why work when you can steal. It’s too late to get back pay.  I really know if it would matter. I’m lacking vision. I’m at the end of a career with no future on the horizon. I continue to do the same old same old and I do it well because I was well trained, studied and am still at the top of my game. But I can see it doesn’t excite me to study more of the same. I’m wanting a change. I had purpose when I was planning expeditions and getting extra degrees and learning to survive or just becoming good as a motorcyclist.  

Today I fancy a sex change. Not the whole thing. I would just like breasts when it comes down to it.  A face lift. I’m perpetually immature at times.  I loved Travels with Charlie and I love road trips.  I enjoy camping and exploring the woods here. But when I think of a road trip I think of ‘Black Like Me’. I think of being a cross dressed old drag queen travelling across the country with a dog camping and chatting with folk, not as the person people turn to for advice and ‘use’ all the time, and carry a whole deluge of propaganda generated predjudices. I think back to the path not taken. The day I left the world of theatre, the day I left dance and being a free spirit.In many ways I look at my adult life as ‘duty’ and ‘service’, ‘going to war for the country’.  Caring for crazy women at home fighting the government always to get the services promised to my patients. I think I’m depressed at some level. It’s just that when I’m cross dressed I lose the burden of identity. I walk out and am incredibly vulnerable in a sense but I don’t feel I have to ‘fight through’ this. My male adult life has been constant struggle and constant fighting the authorities to allow me to heal. I sometimes want to write a list of times that administrators behind closed doors have in politically correct terms told me to let my patient die or kill the shit and I’ve fought for their individual life even if it’s not good for the whole. Now they’ve brought in euthanasia and gagged the doctors and threatened to discipline doctors who don’t shut up and do as they’re told. I’ve been obedient and compliant but it doesn’t matter. We are supposed to worship our lords and masters and they say the silliest things like ‘you can’t swear’. ‘You need to cut your hair’.  “You need to wear a tie’.  Repeatedly I’ve been told to lie and to support psychopaths. “Do you know whose friend Mrs. Jones is, you can’t treat her like everyone else.”  And I have and I’m tired. I’m tired of constantly looking over my back.  I trained in ‘morbidity and mortality’ and my ‘morbidity and mortality’ stats are the very best. The age of deference is gone is one thing but communism encourages corruption.  I feel like Klinger in MASH.  

I’m literally afraid of women, children any of those people who have a ‘victim card’ or “I’m special card’.  Last year when a native threatened to kill me and my dog when his off the pit bull tried to attack my blind old cockapoo I got in the way and the dog attacked me and then the owner a young punk came and threatened to kill me and the dog. I was ganged up on. I was bullied. I had an older patient who was walking into a store and the pit bull of homeless drug addicts sitting in front of the store attacked her for no reason and clamped onto her hand which is now permanently disabled and makes it hard for her to dress. She can’t do buttons. I identified. Not being able to type, to play guitar to hold a motorcycle grip. All that happened to her and there was no consequence for the ‘special people who have a weapon not a pet’.  I stool watching this young punk waving his arms and his dog beside him and my dog cowering blind and old between my legs and I had no fear I could take this silly boy.  I could kill him or even disable him. I was in charge of the dangerously insane ward and repeatedly took down the violent alone and with others. I did martial arts most of my life and have won countless street fights. I’m old but he was all Hollywood. It was apparent to him he was in difficulty when I just stood and stared back calmly quietly. I was weighing the odds that the dog would defend his master or go for my old guy. I’d fended off the pit bull’s initial attack catching his leap with my hip so his jaws had nothing to grab on. I’d defended myself against a pit bull once before disabling it when it trying to kill me so I knew their weakness. I had no fear except of being maimed if the master hit me and I defended myself but I couldn’t protect my little furry blind old friend from an attack if the pitbull went for him rather than me. 

The police didn’t care..

No one cared that my life and my dog’s life was threatened. I stopped working in the DTES shortly after.  I’d had my life threatened by three guys with guns on North Vancouver Island and the police and courts had protected them so I left the north some 20 years ago not because it was dangerous. It’s just that the police and courts are so afraid of the bullies, they cut deals and don’t want to offend the real rulers in these areas so they sacrifice doctors and priests and teachers.  I now feel I’m not safe in this country.

I feel ironically I’m safe in a dress. I never have felt women could protect me under any circumstance. I’ve met individual women over the years who were literally unique. I’m not talking about my mother or mothers in general. Mothers will protect their children but not me.  My mother’s dead and that makes me more afraid.

I realized camping with women in the woods that if I’d broken a leg they couldn’t get me to help, they usually didn’t even know where we are. They collectively had all this bravado but were ‘dependent’ and ‘arrogant’. A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.  But I’ve know I could protect others. I”ve repeatedly ‘saved the day’ .But older I don’t feel safe.  I’m afraid. It’s a thing of aging. When I’m with suburban white middle class friends they live the lie that the police will protect them that all is well. But I’ve seen too many psychopaths and psychotics and especially good people dangerously insane with drugs.  I’ve been in ghettos, Harlem, in DTES. I can’t stand talking to academics who live in suburbia and believe the news.  I just feel I’m dirty with the experience of the dangerousness of the world and how the bureaurcracy doesn’t care and the media constantly lies. It’s a very thin veneer of civilization. My friends from school days cling to their utopia ideals with fairytales of namaste and everyone is good. Meanwhile the very small group of Brown shirts followed Hitler to take over a civilized country just like a tiny number of murderous killers called Lenin, Stalin, Molotov and Trotsky began a reign of terror no different from the night of guillotines.  Life is not safe. Dying in bed of old age is a luxury.  

This last year working from home, being alone and safe has helped heal me.  But I can’t shake the feeling that being a old white man is not as safe as being and old white woman.  My friend says we look the same but if I was young I’d fear rape. I feared rape as a young man, being raped and having to fight off several gang rapes as a teen boy. But the media play the game of the ‘victim girl.’  Chivalry and femimism …you can’t lose. Meanwhile history shows that boys die and girls weep. I’d rather be a hammer than a nail. Other than mothers girls are totally self centred and they even have boys who surround them wanting to get laid so agreeing with what ever hog wash they spout this day. I

Personally I’ve been blessed with the women I’ve known. I know my anger and resentment is with the media and the propaganda and the favouritism. I’m like the kid is the family who sees the sister cheating and then getting off by giving teacher a blow job. I lost jobs to women fucking the boss on the interview. I had lesbian bosses try to fuck me in interviews.  Yet to listen to the media it’s only the Jews, women, Muslims and natives, who are the flavour of the month.

It’s just self pity.

It’s disguise. It’s anonymity. It’s a new face. It’s privacy. I’ve lived my life in a fishbowl. Nothing about women’s clothing is associated with fixing engines. I know women wear flannels and jeans and the exception not the rule fix machines. I’ve a friend who works a sledge hammer and I trained with Canada’s foremost silent kill master a female sergeant. They are ‘exceptions’.  

Women’s clothing is ‘relaxing’.  It’s also sexual or inviting. I think of sex as a male as work in a way as I got older. The days spent for years with wives bringing them to orgasm.  Thank you darling.  I was the husband, wife and sex slave all rolled in one. When I just took her and had my way I was a self chauvinist who only thinks of himself. I hated years of criticism and no praise. I hated all the put downs and the snubs and the general expectation of perfection and never being ‘good enough’. It’s a life time of that. I always thought one day I’d ‘pass’. Now I’m an old man and realize that was the ‘lie’. We’ll give you praise, the bonus, the reward, ‘next time’.  

I gave a doctor an A and the head objected and said “I’ve never given a student an A’.  I responded ‘Did you ever get an A?”  Of course, he said. I looked him straight in the eye and didn’t back down and said, “That says it all, doesn’t it.”  He began given his students A’s at the end of a long career, fucking narcissist wanker.  

I’m pissy. It’s the rain. It’s the dark clouds. It’s constantly anti white , anti male, anti intelligence propaganda. I read in face book this morning a text book calling ‘white men priviledged and parasitic’. I’m so tired of the war and that the women don’t defend us. I feel suicidal sometimes thinking of all we’ve done for them and so many just want more. I can’t give more. I’m old. I’ve given my life to the company store. When I say I was on call for ‘free’ the unionized all don’t get it. They think I’m ‘rich’.  There are rich doctors but they didn’t get rich doing primary care. They got rich working in the courts or doing something different. I work for the poorest and most marginalized and though I was one of the top in any class,sometimes the top, I’ve turned down millions of dollars to ‘serve’ and now I’m a ‘fool’. The very people i care for ‘bite the hand that feeds’. All it takes is a complaint and I lose $10,000 and am taken into the principals office when they beat me with rulers and straps, or behind closed doors where they hit me with billy clubs because I was ‘long haired peace nik’.

I don’t like getting old. I want a new identity. I’m afraid. I’m ready to be a bug. Just give me a hard shell. People don’t understand how ‘loud’ the world is emotionally.  I’m only safe and at peace in the woods or at sea.  I’ve faced a home invasion. I’ve face police coming in the door because they got the wrong address.  I’ve been shot at. I’ve been knifed and I’m scared. I want a new face. I miss Leonard Cohen. All my friends are dying. Just last week another good one died.  The best died last year and the dirty filthy disgusting evil sullied his great name and character.  Such shit.  My mentors, men and women I’ve most admired are being lied about by the perverts in power now little dictators in Ottawa spouting filth and lies.

I’m okay. I’ve got heat and water and indoor plumbing. It’s just this self pity that kicks in in the rain. I fight it every day. The past and the future. I pray. I meditate. I hate the horrible pain. I’m so tired of the pain. I really have a great life when I don’t get in my head. It’s been an adventure. But a face lift and breasts and some new shoes would be more fun than another motorcycle or a another rifle or building another cabin or fixing another Diesel engine. I’ve no desire to party. I just want to walk to an outdoor cafe and write in a skirt. I don’t even know if its’ a skirt. I miss Mexico and living in tshirt and sarong.  I don’t even mind shorts. But this whole northern male military style dress mode with pants and jackets and frankly I loved the joke that cargo pants are ‘purse pants’. Going out of the house I need so many things and now a mask as well and hand cleaner. Too many things to forget. 

I see women as light and free and I want to be light and free. I want to lie back and think of England rather than worry about erecttions or viagra or being distracted by something and having my erection respond to my mind’s aimless wandering these days. I know it’s not the woman. I want her to be happy. I want women to learn to care for men, not mothers they’re all doing their bit. I love mothers but I have no time for little girls and little boys. All those sings childless men and women and the lesbians and gays who haven’t contributed children but want to tell parents what to do. And that evil little rich bitch from that horrid elite family screaming ‘how dare you!!!”  How dare you.  Pull your weight shut up and learn something .Everyone ‘s a doctor google and amateur self proclaimed genius. It’s a mob and I didn’t mind them but where can I go to live and die safely.

I don’t know where to go to finally have a safe time.  I did my work and served and more than served. I worked in the areas of greatest need and danger when I could have taken the easy high paid street. I could have serve the worried well or worked with the safe and wealthy.  I could have stayed in a variety of places.  But I dion’t and now it really comes down to what am I going to do when I grow up.

I actually like my work now mostly but I don’t like people threatening me anymore. I am afraid when people raise their voices. I’ve seen too much death and saw colleagues permanently maimed or die and know that yest they bang their pots at night and that’s sweet but in the end you suffer alone and pain is lonely.  

When the patient threatened to kill me, that’s what he did, that’s what crystal meth does,I got asked by an ivory tower salaried shit, ‘what did you do to upset him’. When I refused to see the person who wanted to kill me, “why could you not just have one last session with them to give them closure’ said the  idiot in power.  Why did you fire her?  She was using drugs at work and her boyfriend threatened to kill me.  She was psychotic. She lied. She scared my patients.  She threatened my patients. She didn’t like East Indians. She thought her job was to get her friends services. She stole.  Well, we believe women over men and you have so much power and priviledge.

I’m sometimes just unable to face the day, face the next lying psychopath.  She says she can’t work but she’d doing two jobs under the table and flying back and forth to her country and demanding that I sign her lie that she unable to work. She ‘s extorting me . She’s a lying psychopath and bully and the authorities side with her and I’m afraid to reach into the black hole because every once in a while there’s a snake .  99% of the time there’s no snake and you can take the tiny little frightened person out of the dark hole and walk them back to the light. But every once in a while there’s a snake and that’s when you learn that the people who police you who are in charge are snakes and it’s soul destroying. I want to have faith. 

I have to look on the ‘bright side of life’.

I have to see the irony and humor.

Some days I just have to get in the shower and have another cup of coffee and get on with it.  I have to shake my pissy mood, stop thinking about myself, stop the pity party. Get on with it.  Do the next right thing. Believe in the best. Psych myself up.  

Maybe I need to go back to Mexico and hang out in a sarong and tshirt before I fly to Thailand to get breast implants. I certainly don’t want to be a woman. The idea of having children and the uncertainty and all that mothers and grandmothers go through is beyond me. I ‘d like to be a rich little girl, someone wearing rich soft lace panties saying ‘I m offended’ and ‘kill the fathers’. I frankly didn’t like what they did to Harper and Trump. I miss my mom and dad and the respect they had for each other and the love.  

It’s going to be okay. The sun will shine. The summer will come. I’ll get through another day. I have a wonderful friend and a wonderful dog and any day now I’m grow up.