Sunday morning, rainy Burnaby

The first time I was in Burnaby back in the 70’s I was absolutely uplifted by the brilliant green of the grass and forest. I realized that the rain caused the foliage to be so alive and radiant. It was a wonder to see,  Living here now years I find I’m missing the sun though visiting Arizona last year standing in the desert with little more than cactus about I missed the green of Burnaby.  Now I just long for the summer sun.  

It’s a fact of nature this weather. It’s the weekend. It’s not the problem of the rain but my attitude. I”m not so motivated today. Partly my back aches and I worry about physical tasks thinking I might do damage. I won’t. It’s all psychosomatic .  I saw the chiropracter  yesterday and swam. It was a good day.  Today I’d planned to go to church. I still could. I could take the dog or leave him and go by motorcycle. It’s raining and I’m just on my second cup of coffee. Sloth is holding me,  I thought of an online meeting.,  

Looking at social media I just felt self pity, that others were active and doing things while I was belly aching to myself unable to move,  It’s nothing to do with the outside. It’s my attitude. I need an attitude of gratitude.

Thank you God for this day. Thank you for a good sleep in a warm and safe place, Thank you for Madigan. Thank you for the coffee. Thank you for all the rest of my body that doesn’t feel pain. Thank you for the quiche I bought yesterday for this morning. Thank you for the refridgerator. Thank you for family and friends.  Thank you for recovery. Thank you for all that I have. Thank you for life.

I’m not ready to rush,  I’m off the clock. I worked all week.  I will work this week again.  I’m a little concerned because sitting my back is painful and I sit to work.  Walking and standing cause pain too at time.  Right now I’m not in pain. I’m a little sore and stiff.  

I know the formula is that I focus on the positive and distract myself from the pain. I can go through the pain, I can pray. I can ask for help.  Instead I wallow in self pity. I’m addict ed to my couch. I like to half sit and lie in a comfortable position and read or watch tv and drink coffee.  Madigan lies on top of me and pins me down.  A

It’s getting to the time when I will have missed the window of opportunity to attend church.  It’s rainy and chilly outside.  I don’t think I’m going to make it to church.  I’m really more partial to the couch.  

Church is participating. It’s okay. God is everywhere.  Prayer together is sometimes more potent. I like the people. I wish to support the church.  Yet I could go back to sleep. I could do so many things but sloth has me in it’s clutches.  An on line meetings might be inspirational.  

I will walk the dog.  Madigan is a reason for movement.  He’s so precious. He’s welcome at church but taking him is a bit of a chore as it’s still wanting to be entertained .  He’s no more socialized than I am.  

That’s it.  If I wait the weather may improve.  I really ought to put together my machine for hanging upside down like a bat.  There are so many ‘shoulds’ .  I could go for a massage today to.

Each day we wake up and seek to reduce discomfort and maximize joy.  I seek to do your will God. I’ve had coffee and eaten quiche, used the toilet and feel better, I shave and brushed my hair. I ‘ll walk and every move will be better. It might have been better to go to church.  Good people.  Godly .  But right now I feel I’ll lie on the couch for a bit and gather energy for next move.  

Thank you God.  Thank you Jesus.  Thank you for this day and this being ness,  

Full moon earlier this month. 

Mandarins and Oboz Hiking Boots

I had a surprisingly busy day yesterday when I thought I was going to be a dud.  I did a long walk with Madigan. Then I took my electric folding bicycle to the storage locker, gave away my coffee cooling appliance anf picked up 8 bags of unroasted Sidama and Yergicheff Ethiopian coffee beans.  I’m roasting beans now.  I filled the gas tank in the mini and picked up White spot fish and chips and a burger for Madigan. In the evening I watched Mortal Engines and loved it.  

I was dressed au femme all day but with sweats and sweater. I miss wearing red liptstick on those days. I have red nail polish so guess that sends some kind of above and beyond the Christmas message. I masturbated with sex toys feeling much like I do after I make myself a meal. I am self sufficient.  A bit of a closet queen. A man without a woman is not a man and the testosterone is plummeting all across Canada. Erectile failure and potions to flog a dead horse.  I read a Futa novel and watched a tranny erotica thinking how much programming we all received as children and youth. The Hollywood 60’s era. Women as sex objects, men active, women passive, fecundity and the pressure to raise a family, more children, more armies, more workers. 

But I’m old. The Ethical Slut is more my speed.  Sex was first for pleasure and then for reproduction. Now that I’m old it’s just pleasure and I enjoy those who are sexually active. it’s so apparent seeing the trudging old folk who have held onto gluttony or  avariée or one of the other sins but eschewed lust.  I don’t particularly lust. I don’t at all experience life as i did as a young man.   In my teens and 20’s I really was a hound dog, completely enthralled and always ready and willing with the most exciting and adventurous sexual partners. Young women with pheromones and brilliant and charmed.  I lived to fuck. I was happiest and most joyful in intercourse. I licked and rode and danced. Life was physical.  I longed for babies as a young doctor when the disappointments began and marriages failed.  

Marijuana then played a part in my life and an older professor taking advantage of a young resident .  My life changed.  I enjoyed the experience but not the context. To be pleasured by someone. I’d always felt intensely reciprocal but now I was the ‘sex object’.  Today I’d like to be used.  I’m not much of a user.  I like to share and participate.  When I was young I could throw a woman down and ravage her as per her desire knowing she liked being ‘taken’.  Today I’m a giver and a lover and if anything I’d like being taken because it’s lazy.  The whole blow job craze is about energy.  I loved the smell and taste of women and lived between their thighs before whiplashes but a strain on my neck limiting the enjoyment.  The young man could live there for an hour but the old man needs to move after 10 minutes. Sexual positions defined by traumatic arthritis.

I love to hug today.  Alone I hug the dog.  No fear of beastiality.  I’m not even attracted to young girls or boys or anyone I don’t know.  I am titillated by the women I know who have enjoyed being erotica artists.  Erotica is such a nice word compared to porn.  The ‘class’ distincition has gone since the whore Justin Trudeau became PM.  We now watch Elizabeth and Victoria and know that Epstein Island catered to the rich. Only the poor and peasants are limited to beans and bread and missionary position. Though today the number of people who are trying variations upon variations of polyamory, transsexualism

The spirituality of coming out was a book I read written by a gay priest. I’m consumed by fear and shame. I loved Velvet Rage. I was raised a sexual stoic, I believe I married one of my wife in an attempt to purify the glorious sin of sex with these incredible tarts and sluts I loved as sisters of mercy.  So much is in the name.  Wife .  Whore.  I loved my wives who were pure and angelic in the living room while naughty as sin in the bedroom., The rule was monogamy but then politics entered the bedroom. « I’m not interested and the gourmet cook serves night after night of beans,’

I’m meat and potatoes. Even transgendered routines enter into the picture and provide comfort. Once I lit candles and wrote poems and undressed her slowly in the comfort of home but then we had date nights and vacations where I wanted the playbook to be thrown out especially after seeing these incredible creatures in bikinis and topless or naked in the day on exotic beaches.  Sex was an extraordinary celebration. Intercourse and climax gave meaning and purpose to life. These we’re the cherry on the cake.  

Today the old ladies are disinterested and only a small percentage don’t ‘let themselves go’ while men continue as a significantly superior group lusting till death.

I’ve listened to ten thousand men and women talk of their lives and their sex lives , good or bad.

The Christian’s were good for family but I realized when a truly brilliant gorgeous talented accomplished sex 40 yo woman said « they’re always trying to marry me off and its not like I’m going to have children and a fanily’.

The main stream church

Family

Nun or monk

The GLBT by contrast have alternatives for the older single, post divorce crowd.  

Men can’t marry bccause the evil predatory marriage chasing equivalent of the ambulance chasing lawyers prey on the married folk.  Single people by contrast can date or be friends or use prostitues or have any number of relationships with whoever. I’ve been surprised at the sex lives of the lawyers I ‘ve known along with the college professors and athletes .  

What is the reward of monogamy and death do us part.

Im very thankful for the sexual adventure I’ve known.  Yes it’s been scared and dangerous and hurtful and difficult but never really boring. It’s like there’s no ‘bland’ in my life. A beaurocrat who lives a life of quiet desperation under the thumb of his dominatrix wife tried to ‘accuse’ me of being ‘manic depressive’.  His lust was avariée and he was a closet psychopath, narcissist and weak, a coward who would have died at Nuremberg and will no doubt no karma in the next life. I am not ‘mentally ill’ except in the ‘insane’ sense that I developed an addiction to smoking young and gave up drinking along with smoking.  I also stopped going with men and women who had drug and alcohol addictions.  

Sex addiction is an interesting consideration .

The assumption of normalcy is at odds.

Health is an issue.  I’ve avoided countless offers of sex and relationship because I was afraid. I was afraid of HIV and today I’m afraid of Covid.  There’s obviously herpes and syphilis and identity theft and robbery.  Just being known to the underworld sexual addiction sorts is a danger.  So I’ve known that the monogamous with family is the first choice. I aimed for that . It’s still what I recommend. The Honda Civic of reliable safe and really sexy adventurous life

The question is whether to monk or nun can have a greater joy than the person who has sex in old age,.

I suspect that now my back hurts and I don’t like to lift women up against the wall and pound them while I hold them laughing in the kitchen I’m like most older men and women limited by physical wear and tear. When I was an athlete and a dancer all I did was have sex on any occasion, every day, many times a day, the dancers and the athletes  fuck, The sedentary have dirty minds and isolate and masturbate while the military when put together with sexually alive fuck.  I met a woman who was part of the thousands of girls she told me who head to the ports when the warships come.  ‘Those boys can fuck, » the girls have always said of the military.  Feast and famine.

The fat old professor or judge is the last thing a girl wants as a sexual partner. The choice is gluttony sloth or sex.  I’ve been personally into gluttony and sloth but like the sedentary think of sex.

The young do it while the old think about it and talk about it And write about it.  I wrote about it.  

I taught sexuality at the university.

I have known so many perverts in government.  Our Prime Minister is an example of the trend.

What was good for an individual in relationship with God or a community in relationship with God.

There is play, and love making.  There is sex and lust and fun.  The whole idea of sex is curiosity and adventure or just a warm blanket and a hiding place. The brave can swing from chandeliers but the cowards huddle in the cave.  Sex for procreation and family centred marriage is sanctified by the church.

But I still savour the ships in the night. Those glorious explosions of passion that occur between individuals .  But was this the alcohol.  Or youth.  

Today I would rather pilot a space ship but I’ve only this body.

I wore so many uniforms when I was younger

- poet, intellectual, athlete, dancer, actor, writer, doctor, wilderness doctor, skier, white water canoeist, wilderness expert, hiker, fisherman, bird hunter, big game hunter, photographer, psychiatrist, offshore blue water sailor, long range rifleman, four wheel driver, long distance cyclist, motorcyclists, camper, world traveller, flying physician, university professor, clinician, author, monk, theological student, addictionologist, lover, fighter, meditator, runner, and dog owner, homesteader, so many uniforms and roles. Now 

I’m exploring gender. My friend says old ladies and old men coalesce. The girls testosterone rises and the mens lowers.  Estrogen in old men.  

I have been fascinated by the experiences of cross dressing.

It exposes all the lies of the courts and parliament. The dirty old men and the favouritism. The whole I am equal to a man feminist who then cries like a little girl every time she loses and brings the men around her to fall on the man.  False accusations galore because the elite bullies and predators abuse women without regret.  Only the middle classes and lower classes know true romance.  The elite lover power. Narcissism prevails,

But what of the family.  What of God.

If I have the false god of addiction and look in the materialism and pleasure of this world do I forgo the joy of meditation and prayer.  If I am celibate will I know God more. I was interested in the celebrate monks and priests who still loved avarice and gluttony. The fat popes and the slothful ,

I know that sacrifice is giving up that which one most loves ,That was the great Leonard Cohen song I sang young of the Biblival story of Abraham and Isaac.  It’s a story of ‘obedience’ and also a story of giving up that which is most desired or bonded or addicted,

My friend seeing with desire the success I knew when I gave up alcohol asked if he would have the same all round success in life and thought and feeling and I told him , no. I love Cabernet and Pinot Noir. I was a wino, a true connoisseur.  I told him I’d only seen his eyes light up with money and that if he wanted God he would have to be like the rich man who Jesus said to give up his wealth. My friend who was a Christian with desire of ministry was instantly silently enraged.  

Those who suck at sex are happy to judge those who celebrate and enjoy sex while clinging to their envy, avariée and sloth and gluttony.

I am enjoying life now and wonder why rush to know heaven if I’m going to be there tomorrow. In old age I don’t fear I will get to heaven and I don’t worry about coming back as a cockroach or a politician like Justin Trudeau.  God even loves the devil.  AS Milton said the Devil turned his back on God. God never turns his back on us.   I just don’t know how much excitement and adventure I want at my age.  

I might fantasize being a temple slut, a priestess for love and sex and then I’d rather watch tv or read a book. 

I learned that wearing high heals is all about sex,  It’s like geisha girls feet. The women want to look and be attractive and have long nails to show like the empress they want to be cared for and do no work They make themselves vulnerable.  Very few girls carry guns or learn martial arts or wear cloaks when they go out at night. The like the slut walk because maked they have power when young Old ladies agree with old men when they are old. The patriarch Muslim religion steals the power of women in the robing them out of the home. The old wedding ring is a total body chastity belt in the hijab and robes. The Hindu girl is thoroughly mummified and sex takes time.  The island girl or the sarong parts and closes and the tropics are now immodest The birth control pill was a monumental event like the male and female condoms and penicillin and Prep.  

Sex is all around us.  

The future of Christianity will have to address the single and the childless.  Jesus Christ was single and childless. He was not the Roman Catholic state church but killed by the religion of the day. He was not the family man.  He was not the monk either, not like John the Baptist. He didn’t talk of sex.  We don’t know if St. Peter was a wanker.  All the Jewish men I have met have been extremely sexual and the women have been laid back whereas Christians have this heavy dose of sexual stoicism . The Hindus are a family religion The Buddhists don’t like desire. The Muslim women compete and are very sexual if it appeals to their men, But most religions revolve around the production of militaries.

What about loving God.  Today is it better to masturbate or make love or alone meditate.

If I dress as a woman or a man or wear a different uniform what does it mean. When I acted I became the costume and the role,  Should we insiste that men like Justin Trudeau and those in power like him wear diapers rather than ‘power suits’. The administrative doctors dress like lawyers and look down on clinicians wearing white jackets.

I miss my white jacket.

I’ve dressed mostly like a college prof.  Slacks and shirt and jacket. I liked the extra pockets.  Fat today I like sweats.  Maybe if I got my sweats with my jackets I’d find a confortable old wear but I like the sexy feel of lace and silk. I have men’s underwear made with the sexy feels that women monopolized.  

I like skirts.  I liked kilts but found skirts less heavy. I like the Roman soldier wear.  

There’s something about ease of access and nudity. 

I loved the hotsprings I visitted in the wilderness with lusty women of my youth.

Oh well.  My coffee beans have roasted. Time for another brew. Enough dirty talk.  I’d go to one of the art galleries today dressed au femme or au drab.  Au femme I’m left alone an odd eccentric , a zebra in the Arctic, whereas au drab I have women and men looking at me and wanting me, inviting me to join their dance of conversation and foreplay and sex. Of course they just want to be friends but where does that lead. I have friends and the causual conversations I have au femme are less expectant Women chat and yet when they chat with men there’s almost certainly an agenda,  Men chat with old men in art galleries with or without an agenda, The risk of agenda is least au femme. My cross dressing friend Bob hit it on the head if you want to be left alone go au femme.  Humans like dogs avoid the unusual.  

I loved meeting the gorgeous young French photographer who talked an hour with me about art and life and her boyfriend and girlfriend and how much she enjoyed youth. One of the finest conversations I’ve had. It all began with her liking my dress.  With painted red nails for Christmas women are always opening conversations by complimenting me on the colour. It’s intimate and there is none of the stand offishness one feels with men who are so often sniffing and vying for power or competing or judging.

I just like it.

My all time preferred wear is a t shirt and khaki shirts, I miss La Paz. I like sailing naked in Sea of Cortez only having a sarong ready in case other boats came close, My ex was fit and fun when she wasn’t in the morgue of her homes where only her drugs would lift her from the depressions and manias ,  I suppose one day I’ll forgive the people who hurt us . She was suicidal and homicidal.  When she was well she was a best friend and a partner in crime.  She always said I showed her a good time.  I’ve welcomed others on my adventures. As a kid I’d organize bike rides  and Carole sings and coffee houses and camp outs.  Now I’m a loner, I’ve my dog to think of.

In my next life I ‘ll be a young woman trying desperately to avoid teen age pregnancy. 

The sun is beautiful now . I think I’ll walk the dog again and ask about the swimming pool and hot tub.

I bought a box of Chinese mandarins for Christmas Laura bought me Oboz hiking boots for Christmas. I wore the boots today hiking the fog shrouded river trail with Madigan.  There was a full moon last night.  I ate the mandarins last night and this morning. It was a ritual of Christmas with my brother and I enjoying the mandarins my mother bought this time of year.

Journal, Feb. 9, 2015

Thank you God for a wonderful sleep.  I’m on my boat and enjoy the rocking motion in this harbour.  I would have liked to have headed out for the weekend but it’s been raining so much and chilly, cloudy grey too. I’ve not tested my heater. The dock is so crowded I’ll not be able to moor again without some one on the dock.  It all seemed overwhelming. Instead I read. I’ve been a major slouch.  Enjoying it only for it’s novelty.
Gilbert has kept me busy throwing the ball about the boat. I heard him snacking. He’s resting now.  We had a late night walk so I’m sure his bladder is fine. He barks at the door if he needs to go out. I took him up yesterday morning this time and he turned around after facing the rain and returned to bed.  My little dog of comfort. Without his heavy fur coat I think the heavy rain is uncomfortable. He doesn’t mind the drizzle.
I’m not particularly joyous and free today but that usually follows sloth and illness:
There’s work I could be doing on the boat.  I might just measure one piece of wood that needs replacing or get a real latch to remove my several year old jury rig with bungee chord.  Bungee chords are marvellous but they weren’t meant to be permanent solutions.  I could clean up the loose cables and even run the new cable from the tv to the radio so I could have better speaker accompaniment.  There’s a lot of tidying that needs to be done in this boat but it’s likely to wait till I decide to go on some expedition where the boat needs to be lean and mean.  That’s the ultimate spring cleaning time for a boat.  It’s really close to offshore ready right now.  If I didn’t have work I’d begin various projects knowing I had an open ended schedule to finish them.  It’s so easy to put off today knowing if I ran into a snag I’d not get the time for possibly weeks to complete the thing.  Better to hire someone so I can work while this work gets done.  I love working on my boat but not when I’ve got a full time job.
I thought of driving down to the US yesterday and could today especially with the nexus to ensure no lengthy delay at the border. Yet driving is it’s own kind of work these days.  I’m really entrenching my sloth here.  Swimming was a consideration and a meeting too but then there’s Gilbert and I don’t like leaving him in the car with all the dog thieves about. I do leave him at times but figure the least number the better. (I just saw my older neighbour going by in his Harley Davidson jacket.  He’s now one of the dock old guys. There are several.  We’re a loose community.  The couples are here too, coming and going and seeming more ‘normal’.  Some of the other guys have kids that come and visit but not ex wives. Then there are the girlfriends.  Weird world this boat world.  When I was in the RV I felt more like suburbia. This is definitely a different space.
I could paint my chain again on a sunny day.  The depth markings wore off years ago.  I’ve siliconing to do.  The roof just dribbled down onto the table.  It’s so little I just put a paper towel down and remember to keep electronics away from that place.  (There, I just tightened a hatch screw and think I’ve stopped it.)
I keep thinking of getting another stainless steel rifle.  I’ve the new membership to the rifle club and thought of driving out there and shooting some targets.  It’s covered over so even in the rain it would be a thing to do.  I don’t know if the rifle store is open.  I even thought that going to the states I could stop at the big new Cabelas store across the border and look at rifles.
I like my 223.  It’s really rated for deer and rabbits and such.  Too small a load for hunting bigger game.  I have the 22 but it’s really only rated for rabbits and birds.  So when I’m out in he woods during hunting season and see ruffed grouse but am really hunting deer if I had this caliber I could shoot the grouse as well as the deer or shoot a rabbit as well. I had the 30:30 which was overkill for grouse but good enough for bear and deer.  My 30:06 is good for everything and my 300 win mag is ultimately for moose and big game.  The 223 I have is the ultimate target rifle.  I got it on sale, a Chinese rifle.  I actually planned to give it away when I got it, knowing if I liked it I’d want the stainless steel model because I hunt mainly in the wet. Further if I sail up north I’d take it with me and only stainless does okay in the sea air.
Bear hunting season starts in a couple of month.  Goose hunting season opens next week. I have the perfect double barrel 12 gauge goose gun but don’t know if I’ll be able to make the time.
I really should have been fishing this weekend. Or writing the great canadian novel.  Or doing sit ups.  I’m fat and ornery as a result. I could be socializing too.  There’s a lot of ‘shoulds’ in my internal world which I rather happily ignore as left overs from a more focussed past.  I lack he discipline I once had but have something else in stead. I think it’s called ‘surrender’. I also have more balance and some self care.  I read more schlock and watch more movies when in the past I really was intent on learning.  Now I tend to study in an applied way.
I ve a book launch for my book Psychiatry and Addiction, Personal Perspectives on March 1st , 6 to 9 pm at the Alano Club Granville and 7th.  I think how much better I could have written that.  But I’d have needed more stretches of time. I laughed learning my academic friends who write a book a year have 5 mornings a week for study and writing.  Here I’m seeing patients 12 hours a day, preparing countless med legal reports, studying what I need to know for the patients I see,  living a weekend life of boating and motorcycling and doing a number of activities and yet somehow with the help for friends get a book done.  It’s the first one, not counting poetry books.  I’m excited by it because I can see how I can write more with more time and focus and less distractions.
I look forward to retirement one day where I could ‘book’ my mornings to write to a specific purpose.  Then I think also of taking a few weeks to write a book. I could do that as well.
I’ve just reviewed the notes I’ve done on Sexuality and don’t really think I have enough to say but under the topic of spirituality I’ve more material so it seems like I’m going forward with that as the next project.
I am tempted to write a volume II to Psychiatry and Addiction - with all the latest brain chemistry and genetics and MRI data. To do that I’d need some weeks of study and writing time.  I know now I could do a good job.  Writing this book was like writing my first paper. Once I got the first one done the rest followed easily.  I feel I’ve definitely gone over a hurdle.
I like thinking about God more than dopamine.  I know about salience and up and down regulations and all that but I really prefer to think and write about God.  My relationship with the unknowable is much more interesting to me than the mechanics of pathways and glucose utilization.  The God thought is a love story.  I’m happier when I’m considering that more than when I’m thinking about neuroanatomy. That’s very functional whereas there’s art and beauty in the infinite.  I like looking for words to describe the relationship I have with this mystery.
I even enjoy somewhat arguing with those who insist they know God more than I do.  I’m suspect of those who hear God’s message as a call to arms.  To me it’s a wee small voice but at times it has been more. I’ve actually had the sense that God has put me on the ice and I’ve been chosen to play though mostly I feel I’m on the bench.  Right now I’m on the bench.  I’m sitting here knowing God is all and everywhere but that doesn’t answer my question what I’m to do today.  Certainly I know I’m not meant to chop someone’s head off.  I’m muddling along. Muddling is the best description of my journey right now.
That’s okay with God though personally I’d like a little more inspiration.  I”m older. That’s a telling factor.  Older I recall all the dashing about.  I recall all the promises too. I also think it’s good just to sit here and maybe get back to reading.
People think I should make more money but I was just reflecting how in Canada when I make a lot of money by working a lot harder than the herd, the parasites take the excess.  There’s  no longer a sense that there’s any protection in our community. Right now I’m waiting to hear if the banks lost or took my savings.  Every day a new lawsuit afflicts my fellows and the easiest way to make money is to attack someone on false accusations.  The politically correct are stealing by the minute.  But that’s all fear based thinking.  It does sap my will to get up and do something useful. The people who I employ take advantage of my extra work and generosity too so it’s always a question of why work harder.
In Canada the welfare state is so strong that everyone gets by coasting.  And there’s little benefit in running ahead carrying extra loads. It’s not like communist countries where those who do that are punished but the reward for extra work is punished here by higher taxes and more and more condemnation.  It makes spending a day reading and watching tv seem reasonable.  If I'm truthful I'm really hiding out.  I'm isolating.I'm hibernating. I'm social phobic.
I remember that week I sat in a bar for the first time in my life.  I’d been in bars and worked in bars but never hung out in one for a week.  We were waiting out storm and there was little else to do in the port so it seemed like the thing to do, hang out at the bar.  We chatted and drank and time passed.  It was the most useless I’ve ever been in my life but it felt good as a ‘change’ from the disciplined focused responsible way of being that is my norm. Now so many of my superiors are the folk who sat in bars and 'networked'.  They get huge grants and keep the money to themselves.  Lots of vague down time and lots of committee and even new names for phoney research.  I'm never invited because I'm not seen by the 'government sort' as a 'team player'. I've been a 'whistleblower'. I've been the one to stop killing and expose graft and corruption so I'm not 'welcome'.  Live and let live is my motto today.  No good deed goes unpunished. Yet I can say I've stopped directly personally a half dozen killing machines in the system and survived the back lash by those who were supposed to protect people and didn't.
The other such time of extended sloth was when I watched the NHL play offs.  We were working on an old car and watching the play offs.  A group of guys. None of us working.  I was waiting to start a new position while the guys I was with were all on disability or comp.  It was an amazingly laid back existence.  Upward mobility is really costly compared to downward drifting.
It’s like today.  I’ve no real demands. There’s lots I could do.  Even things I should do but I’m just thinking of reading this old Robert Ludlum book and the new William Gibson book. The Ludlum I picked up in a book bin, a paper back so enjoyable to read. The William Gibson latest, "The Peripherals' is a kindle. I've been reading it on my iPhone.  It's typical William Gibson genius, incredible writing and genius ideas. It's just that I can only read my iPhone for a time before my eyes bother me.  That's still the advantage of real books.  If I had my kindle reader in the larger format it might be easier. I still enjoy real books more for long stretches of reading. Digital is great for research and short reads but nothing like a paper back for hours of reading.
I think another cup of coffee is in order.  Gilbert and I walked over for a burger on the saturday that was like this too.  Rainy day.  I might get out the guitar.  If I had more of these days I ‘d start sketching for sure. I really wanted to sketch better. It’s practice. I could be studying a language too.  I remember last year I made my way through a major theology textbook and read a neuroanatomy text along with a new physiology text. I also tried to learn another language.  All heavy reading. Today it's light reading. Great past times.
Today I’m not even motivated to get off the couch and go look at another rifle.  Walking around stores is fun. When I was with Laura last week I got some shirts and underwear to get me through the week. I love the new Calvin Klein underwear material. It doesn't bunch up in the ass when sitting at the office. I could drop my laundry off.  I’ve got clothes for a few days. The freezer needs  cleaning. I could change the sheets on the bed.  There’s more tidying to do.
This weekend I’ve been recovering from the flu.  Each day I’ve been better with less sore throat and less cough. My sinuses are no longer constantly stuffed. I only had a little fever yesterday.  Sunday was a great day especially with Kevin and AJ and the god kids.
When I got home though I’d thought of taking the boat out but my fever was back ,I was exhausted and after a nap it was too late to go out. I don’t know what time the fuel barge is open to and didn’t want to compound setting out with the variable of darkness.  I’m so much more cautious with age.  More laid back too.  After the nap I felt well again but didn’t like the cold rain and wind so thought my recovering ‘cold’ would benefit from more rest. Yet maybe if I’d gone skiing at Whistler or taken the boat out it wouldn’t have made any difference to the outcome of the cold.  We say rest but I’ve been taking it easy for a couple of weekends because elf this silly flu and don’t know really if it speeded up the healing. The fact is I’m getting better steadily so shouldn’t pull up the plant to look at the roots to see how well it’s growing. I think illness,especially my own, is such a lousy excuse for sloth and gluttony.
Sloth is so politically correct too.  No one counts the ‘sins of omission’. The ‘system’ kills daily with delays, negligence and incompetence yet any ‘sin of commission’ is attacked furiously.  While some of the government and courts slide further into the past the sciences are flying ahead spectacularly with mars expedition, anti vitals, robotics, new probe planned to Saturn, organic computers. It's amazing. I loved the personal helicopter being developed.  Stem cell research is exciting too.
It’s not like I haven’t ‘identified’ the things that need doing. A whole lot of people like to get ‘administrative’ jobs because they think they’re good at ‘identifying’ problems. They’re ‘critics’ and ‘critics’ are a dime a dozen.  I’m a great consultant.  The trouble is that there’s a real excess of chiefs and not enough Indians.  Even here the administrator in my mind has identified the ugly task of cleaning the freezer and my Indian hands would rather type the doggerel or hold a book.
Cleanliness is next to godliness. I thought having a wife or girlfriend who was obsessive compulsive this way would be a great thing but I always hooked up with girls are kind of dirty and happy to leave things to gather dust or  who like to order me to do these things for them.  I remember one marriage particularly tainted by her bossiness.  In retrospect I really never was that good of a mate.  I made a great wife at times.  No child reward. My cohort live for their children and grand children. It gives them their motivation.  So many are trying to make their places attractive so their kids will visit.  I've got Gilbert. He's happy if I keep him well supplied in tennis balls. He'll go anywhere I go.  Any hour now he'll want me to take him for a walk.  Children come and go but dogs stay.
There’s that bitterness that creeps into my thoughts.  Self pity and bitterness are easily identifiable. I have to forgive and let the past compost.  It was never one sided either. It was ‘us’ and always ‘us’ and not the paranoid ‘he did, she did’ that makes the courts such a money game.  Pseudo war. I’d rather go over to fight the IS but my back hurts.  War is a young man’s sport.  I figure all I could be today is a sniper because it’s a lying down job.  The kids are all lining up for the office jobs of flying drones.  It’s just like video games.
Brad Pitt in Fury was a great movie. I could drive a tank but really expect if a war happened I’d be immediately on a ship like this one and somehow expected to heal people rather than kill folk. My training and skills are all in healing. Yet now the Supreme Court with the typical lawyer ignorance of medicine wants us to ‘assist suicide’.  Lawyers don’t have a hippocratic oath so their fundamental ignorance about our profession is destroying it.  I’m a dinosaur.
Oops that’s another thing that’s upset me.  Work gets under my skin. The mixed messages and the ‘new medicine’.  Doctors can lose their licenses for hugging patients but not for killing them. The abortionists are the richest most protected doctors.  I feel like I alone am the only one who sees the blasphemy of the supreme court deciding doctors can assist suicide.  Fundamentally shouldn’t that be a decision made by the Canadian Medical Association. but the law has no respect for doctors and over rode us pushing marijuana and now death. What’s become of this country?
Oops, there I go again. Not being ‘accepting’. God’s in charge. All is well.  It’s the Charge of the Light Brigade. It’s Gallipoli.  It’s all those lemming charges into the ocean. It’s basically fear and I have to live in hope. Someone is sane.  The media always confuse the issue to sell passion but still it seems thanatos is trumping eros these days. Again negative thinking.
Be positive. Be hopeful.  Trust.  Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is a bitch when the errant one is your own ego.
Back to the book.  Thank you God for this time of ‘waiting’.
Some recent pictures: George Laura's new cat is big on hiding. He's probably still under the bed.  There's a lot to be said for this hiding out. It's okay. If I'd taken the boat out and anchored somewhere I'd be doing about the same thing but feeling more 'accomplished'.  George is just thankful for another day under the bed probably.  We both have water and food and litter boxes or their equivalent.  Gilbert's napping. Maybe a nap would be the thing. No I think I'll read some more.  I showered last night.  I've avoided getting dressed too. Still in t shirt and shorts.  Thank you God for 'time out'.