Clear the air?


HEPA enby out will you

I put in this filter yesterday. It’s got an ozone generator and a HEPA filter.

A snap decision?


The thing is, I’d cleaned the air conditioner filter the day before. And it was black. Mold, sticky with tar buildup—I don’t smoke. The last cleaning was the month prior. The filters at work don’t get so ice.

It hadn’t been that long between cleanings.

If this was my AC, I didn’t want to think about what I was breathing in.

Actually, I did think about it, mostly all the coughing fits lately.

So trying to clean the air, not such a snap decision.

I gotta not stay up so late.


Morning, world.

It seems that if I go to sleep at four in the damn AM, and don’t let my alarms run roughshod over me, I will naturally wake for hours after the sleep.

(I’m not backsliding, I’ve just got… really damn bad habits.)

One could call it a nice day out. It’s only forecast to get to 66, the humidity is low at 60% (for this area, that is low), and both my knee and the weather forecast put the rain chance at zero.

It’s a good day for going out to hunt for shots.

My Beef with the Food Stamp Challenge


I have a lot of opinions about the whole thing with the “food stamps challenge,” where a usually well off, usually white individual takes the challenge to live like a person on food stamps for some arbitrary period of time.

Half of the time they seem to be doing it to prove that it’s doable. They go into it with the attitude that it’s easy, and so chipper about it.

Then, they’re surprised when they can’t do it.

Let me tell you about the real food stamp challenge.

The food stamp challenge is having a job that barely covers the bills, so you NEED them or you don’t eat.

It’s being grateful that you don’t have to pick between your prescription and a week worth of food.

It’s the sudden realization that you can afford to have meat with this meal—and it doesn’t have to be from the dubious “this is a day away from the sell by date” section.

It’s realizing that the only thing keeping you from this meal is the bone crushing exhaustion of the job—or jobs—that still don’t raise you up high enough to not need the assistance.

People are out here taking this “challenge” like it’s some kind of game. But for millions of us, this ain’t no game.

It’s life.

Can’t sleep? Process pics of flowers…


«When is it a weed?» 2

Insomnia. It’s hard to shake. Since I couldn’t seem to wind my mind down, I decided to go and take the tools to a few pictures I took.

I’m not sure what the little fellow here is. This flower was growing in the grass in the curb. Its flower there is only about the size of a popcorn kernel. I thought it was pretty so I took a shot.



I’ve been experimenting with photography lately. There’s not a lot of things to do at a bus stop but there are often things to notice. In this particular day there were flowers from a bush. I’m not sure what kind these are (anyone out there know?) but as soon as I saw them I thought “OH MY GOD A SUBJECT” and broke out the Galaxy S3 (better camera) and started taking shots like mad.

…The next ten minutes were spent in Snapseed, editing the shot until it looked absolutely perfect.

I might need to rethink the “hobbyist” in front of the “shutterbug” in my Instagram profile.

I’ve actually been thinking that, beyond the cooking project I’ve got percolating (see what I did there?) I might be able to do a little something here. It’s not like I don’t have any training at all; I learned everything I know from my late mother, when she saw how excited I was about her old model Polaroid camera (it was the beige kind with the rainbow on it!) and got me the new one for Christmas. Simple stuff really:

• Watch for subjects,
• Make sure you use that square to say something,
• Pay attention to your Bigdaddy [my wonderful grandfather] because this is a lot like hunting

And finally

• sometimes, “because it’s pretty” or ” because I liked it” is a perfect reason.

I then proceeded to take pictures of everything I got for that Christmas. She showed me the “because it’s pretty” trick by arranging my new Game Boy and games and how it made for an even better “LOOK AT THIS” effect than just snapping away. She said it was more “exteticly pleasing.”

(…I was five going on six okay? I was precocious as fuck but I couldn’t wrap my mouth around the word aesthetically just yet. But I knew it meant prettier and arty.)

And yes I also wound up taking pictures of the pictures I took.

Thank you based Science—anything but a convenience.

Temperature: 55°F. Weather: Mostly Clear.

As usual we begin with a rant

Again, thank you very much, Father, for going back off the deep end and showing me just how callous you can be about things. It’s really telling that you were literally the last person to ask how I was after my procedures.

He didn’t show up to provide a ride, as he’d promised he would; luckily, I had already planned for this eventuality. My aunt also had a total flake moment; she’d sided with his “science is just a convenience and we don’t really need it” remark, and took personal offense that I hadn’t taken her offer of being over her place after the procedures and being there ore. First off, if she’d been where I had gotten my “sit around” ride, she couldn’t have babysat as she’d been doing all day; second, I don’t know the layout of her house; third, most importantly, she doesn’t have a car. The place would not have performed the procedure if I had not had an actual ride.

Both of those would have put me out $200.

Having backup in place weeks in advance wasn’t distrust on my part. It was fucking smart.

Meanwhile in Nowhereland

The procedures went, from what I hear, smoothly. The doctor had me knocked completely the hell out for both of them. I remember a needle of stuff in my IV that made my legs very heavy, followed by being wheeled into the room where the procedures and told to turn on my left side, but hey, what the fuck is movement, and, you know this bed is really feeling like a marshmallow like now?

The next thing I’m aware of I’m back out in the first room, the first doctor asking me how I was feeling.

I had…a lot of nonsensical gibberish there. I had no idea what was going on.

“Need a Coke?”

THAT, I understood. Three minutes into the Coke I understood things again. It was time for the information…

And the Verdict Is—

That I don’t have anything lethal! …that we know of. The doctor calls me with pathology results in two weeks.

That’s the good news!

The bad news is that SOMEFUCKINGHOW, on top of lifelong IBS I’ve acquired a case of GERD that has progressed so far that it has not only inhibited nutritrient absorption and retention in my body (hence the ridiculous weight loss), but also progressed far enough that it’s started wrecking the lower half of my digestive system, which is why the painful brick acid sensation in my guts—and the back spasms I’ve been having have been quieted by the Bentyl because they had nothing to do with my back: yes, it is in fact more of my gut attacking me.

My entire digestive tract has been reduced to one raw, throbbing mass of meat. We can’t call it an ulcer because that would imply a single isolated location of bad. It has no protection and can’t heal on its own. For the next five months I’m going to be on ridiculously strong medications that are going to reduce my stomach to a very, very non-adventurous blob. It’ll take five days for THOSE to kick in.

So far, so good…at least for the next two weeks.

In which I am not particularly productive.


I can hide behind this blanket all day, yannou.

It should not be this cold out here.

I’ve managed to tell the head doc about my less than stellar approach to the recurring nightmares (DON’T FUCKING SLEEP) and even remembered the name of the med that I borrowed to help.

She seems to want me back in on the SSRIs and atypical antipsychotics, apparently forgetting the interaction between them was what caused my GP to pull rank and take me off of those things. I offered a reminder and noted that the med they were playing badly with had its dose doubled.

Another pill will be added to the mix, and we’ll be checking in again in a month.

Meanwhile, today the all broth diet starts. At least my tastes make it interesting. I’ve got a pork miso soup (no solids allowed, used boullion) ready for “lunch” right now.

This will be hell.

…I can hide behind this blanket all day, yannou.