Dysnomia

Spending a day with Dad and Bud

Wed, 01 Apr 2009 15:09:57 GMT

Greetings again from the Wayne (Michigan) library, where I now have my very own library card! The degree to which having my own library card excites me is beyond words. I feel like a normal human being again. So perhaps, from time to time when I can manage a ride here, I can shoot off a quick entry.

I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, and today I am spending with Bud, my eighteen-year-old son and my 90-year-old father. Spending time with my family is the most precious thing in my life right now. And I can tell that they appreciate it just as much as I. We just came from the Social Security Administration offices, where I applied for a replacement Social Security card. When that arrives by mail next week, I can add that to my library card and my drivers license (which, thanks to God, I was able to get back in January) to round out my personal identification portfolio.

I have graduated to Level Four, the final stage of the program at rehab, which means that I can start looking for outside employment again. There is a state agency called Michigan Rehabilitation Services which promises to help me with any training or other needs in that process. Not sure what I want to do yet, but I know I don't want to get into a crazy career like I had before. With Michigan's unemployment rate well over 12% it'll be hard for me to find anything at all, so wish me luck and pray for me.

How do I spend my days at rehab? Well, I have a job working in Control at the front desk of the Salvation Army Adult Rehabilitation Center where I live, which is a combination of receptionist, dispatch manager, communications director, bouncer, sherrif, and all-around answer man. When I'm not working nor in various didactic programming -- that is, in my free time -- I attend outside NA and AA meetings. I've got a sponsor, Jim B., who is a real benefit to my recovery, and I have made many new friends. I lead our in-house NA group and am co-secretary of an outside NA group in Allen Park. So I definitely keep busy.

Oh, I almost forgot. I've discovered a talent which I never knew I had. I appear to have quite a good singing voice. I happened to be sitting behind Mrs. Captain at Christmas Eve services, and, hearing me singing Christmas carols, she drafted me to sing in worship services. So I'm now the lead vocalist in a band, and at the talent show last month I received a standing ovation. So hey, I guess I'll go with it.

Well, Dad and Bud are waiting -- a Jimmy Johns sub is calling as well. So, until next time!

Marty is still alive

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 15:31:47 GMT

Greetings! I've borrowed a friend's library card to shoot off a quick entry, just to let the world know that I'm doing well and am still kicking. I'm in rehab now; in fact I've got four-and-a-half months clean and am growing every day, taking things one day at a time and doing the next right thing (as we like to say in NA). I've got lots of new friends who care deeply about me (in word and in deed), and am back in contact with a few old ones as well. More about that later. Now that I've made amends to my immediate family I find myself helping my father and my children through a rough spot in their own lives. I am grateful for what God has brought me through and hopeful for what He has in store for my future.

Not sure when I may be able to sneak onto an Internet terminal again. Unfortunately I can't receive contact forms; I can, however, be reached by mail: Martin K. 209-E, 5931 Middlebelt Rd., Romulus, MI 48174.

Until next time!

Mea culpa

Wed, 28 May 2008 04:20:20 GMT

I must apologize publicly for thinking that somehow, since the two were hitting this blog at almost the same moment not just for a day but for a week straight, that Zoot was involved.

I was wrong. Zoot had absolutely nothing to do with this latest episode of flaming. In fact, it turns out that, contrary to all appearances, she had nothing to do with the previous flaming episode as well -- in fact, despite all those hits, she didn't even know it happened! So, for the record, and in the words of the real, sole flamer ...

Zoot "is innocent."

The real flamer had us all fooled. She's good. Goooooood. More so than I, Zoot, or any of the concerned and offended readers of this blog would have ever believed.

Live and learn, I guess.

As for you, Zoot ... please forgive me for thinking that you would be at all influenced by your cousin. Or, as you say, even could be! So, I couldn't be more in error. Mea culpa! I am so sorry.

The "attention seeker" is off to a wine tasting ...

Sat, 24 May 2008 23:42:21 GMT

---edited---. At any rate, I've been invited to a wine tasting tonight, and I no longer will turn down opportunities to spend time with live human beings of the fairer sex who actually enjoy my company and would go out of their way to do so. So, doggone it, ---edited---, I am going. Have I got time for a shower?

For those who might desire to indulge in the time-honoured mystique of a wine-tasting, but haven't the opportunity to do so, I hereby give you Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie's take on the experience:

Who wants to join me?

Sat, 24 May 2008 04:02:49 GMT

I can think of no more enticing vacation than a river / lake cruise through Europe where, while on board, the only language permitted to be spoken is Latin! Now THERE'S a cruise worth taking!!

Terentius Tunberg et C�lestis Eichenseer

One thing is for sure; if we were to go on this cruise, there is no doubt that haec olim meminisse iuvabit!

Why "Dysnomia?"

Thu, 22 May 2008 15:44:34 GMT

Lurker Kathe (weichei) writes, in part (and I translate):

. . . Why hast thou chosen the name Dysnomia? Art thou a criminal? Hast thou no regard for the law? This believe we not about thee. Hast thou perchance therefore the medical condition which prevents thee from remembering words? . . .

(I just love translating German with its formality/informality totally intact ... <grin>)

First of all, I changed the name (several times) because two of my ex's had ganged up and were getting into needlessly nasty, extended arguments with nice, thoughtful people here, people who are true and fast friends of mine. After being urged to do so I reluctantly changed the name -- actually, more than once. But they persisted. More evidence of the obsessive ex syndrome, I guess. So, anyhow .. to the question at hand.

No, Kathe, I'm not a criminal, unless we're counting that extended night in Aachen, Cologne and Vaals in '04. And, yes, I do have a strong regard for the law; in fact, no society can be considered to be truly civilized unless it is governed by the rule of law. That leaves societies like those in, for example, the middle east, China, and Russia, out. In my opinion.

And I do not have the medical condition that is sometimes, erroneously, called dysnomia. Dysnomia is from the Greek, dys- (deficient) and nomos (law). A true Greek description of this unfortunate medical would be alogia, from a- (negation) and logos (word). Some brain-dead physician who had a smattering of Greek and Latin knowledge must have thought that dysnomia could describe alogia ... the Latin for word could sound like -nomia I suppose ...

Nor does dysnomia really mean lawlessness, as you see above in the title strip of this blog. Lawlessness would be anomia. In comparison, Dysnomia doesn't mean lawlessness, but rather, someone who doesn't always play by the rules.

So there you have it. In a world gone mad, there is ... Dysnomia. In the best Don LaFontaine voice, I am ...

An engineer who doesn't play by the rules ...
Not even his own.

Personal to both Static Brain and dojibo : I've answered your emails but both were kicked back to me for "inappropriate content." Not sure what I said, but I shall try again ...

Personal to weichei: Du kannst mir duzen ...

Second night in a row

Thu, 22 May 2008 03:41:27 GMT

Imagine this -- tonight, for the second night in a row, someone bought me dinner. Imagine that! Me. This time, though, I worked for my supper.

After finishing work. and trying unsuccessfully to reach a friend by phone, I decided I would head out for some chow. Chinese, perhaps, I figured. As I was about to get into the car I noticed a woman in the driveway of a nearby condo, struggling with a large dark plum sofa. She appeared to be making a pathetically unsuccessful attempt to wrestle that awkward purple behemoth out to the curb -- aha, yes, tomorrow is garbage day. After watching for a moment, I shouted to her, "Need some help?" She laughed, sat down on the arm of the thing and gladly accepted.

Well, by the time we had moved the sofa, a large, plush, matching chair, all the associated cushions, a few other old pieces, and several large, not-yet-broken-down cardboard boxes, not to mention her bagged garbage, the two of us had thoroughly introduced ourselves, chatted for a while, and had worked up a bit of a sweat.

When I felt it was time to say goodbye, I explained that I had been on my way to get some dinner, and Karen immediately interjected that she would gladly buy me dinner to repay me fror saving her back. After a few "No, I couldn't"s, I agreed.

In short ... I might be going up north this weekend to hunt morels.

Depression, anhedonia, and putting one's foot in one's mouth

Wed, 21 May 2008 18:42:34 GMT

I'm taking a five minute break from my frustrating price negotiations (sheesh, never did want to be on the commercial side of things) to acknowledge that several of my last entries have had a streak of ... well, let's call it what it is ... rudeness in them. For some reason, not sure why, both my depression and my anhedonia are somewhat less today. And with a head clear of those two evil foes, I can read what I've written and see myself through the eyes of objectivity. I've been a real ... well, the dialogue from a certain scene in the film "Pay It Forward" in which Kevin Spacey is facing up to his awful behaviour towards Helen Hunt:

HH: Why didn't you just tell me to come to the school?

KS: Because you came to the school . . . to talk to me about your son. And I behaved like a . . .

HH: . . . An asshole?

<<pause>>

HH: Sorry. Is that too trailer-trash a word?

KS: How's "rat bastard" sit with you?

HH: It's pretty good.

KS: "Dickhead"?

HH: Oh, I like that.

Yeah, I've been all of that. This crap I'm going through will pass, and I shall likely discover even more instances of my own asshole / rat bastard / dickhead behaviour!

Mea culpa.

My thanks to Clyde and his incredible family

Wed, 21 May 2008 02:52:44 GMT

Just returned from an unbelievable barbecue in Ypsi (Ypsilanti, that is ... like my Canton, Ypsi is a suburb of Ann Arbor and/or an exurb of Detroit). I have a full stomach, a hoarse voice, smoky clothing and a far more open mind. Since I first met him late last year in a meeting, and especially since the simultaneous devastations of his occupational crisis and my latest breakup, Clyde and I seem to have developed a healthy, symbiotic, relationship. While others fiddled while Rome burned, Clyde forcefully stopped me from using and got me, kicking and screaming, to help and had me stabilized before things had gone too far. Later I made sure that he and his family (his tall, articulate, intelligent and beautiful wife, his sweet little toddler daughter, and his eclectic, amazingly talented jazz musician father with a strong Trinidad accent and a unique philosophy of life) would not starve nor lose their "crib" when he lost his job unjusltly (discrimination is still real). When my tire blew out in the middle of nowhere, stranding me, he mobilized his network and after three tries got me another tire that fit, on another rim, putting me back on the road with a smile and some extra bucks to clean up the mess they made (what mess? I asked).

I am still looking for a sponsor, and Clyde is begging me to be his. He is one of the few remaining people on the planet whom I feel understands the specific issues surrounding recovery (Mandee, you're another, God bless you! Call me, by the way). Many deep and serious conversations I've had with Clyde. He MAKES me do it. And I thank him.

Why am I clean now, indeed, writing now? One word: Clyde.

I owe you, man. Shout at me dog, stay cool.

The most puzzling kind of lurker

Tue, 20 May 2008 15:02:43 GMT

Lurkers, according to Wiktionary, are people who lurk; and the second definition of lurk is "to view an internet forum without posting comments". Lurkers are, for example, the twelve unique people responsible for the 220 hits this blog received yesterday -- a blog which received no comments nor tags all day.

Now, everyone lurks every now and then. That doesn't make them "lurkers." But there are some people who make a habit of lurking. Some people, for example, visit this blog quite often and never acknowledge the fact by leaving so much as a byte of information in return. Which is fine.

Of this group of true and genuine lurkers, there is a subset which really puzzles me. This is the group which I call obsessive lurkers. These lurkers don't just "hang out or wait around a location, preferably without drawing attention to oneself" (Wiktionary again). These folks visit the site daily, several times a day, in fact -- at times, hourly -- and never, ever, post a comment nor leave a tag.

In my case, each of my most obsessive lurkers has one thing in common.

Each one is an ex of mine -- ex-wife, ex-fiancee, ex-lover, ex-girlfriend, ex-whatever.

Remember, only 12 people visited this comment-free site yesterday, but the site received 220 hits. If you were responsible for, say, one hit, that means that eleven other people hit me 219 times. If two people hit once, then ten others hit me 218 times. And so on.

And two more things: yesterday was a light day when it comes to obsessive ex's -- and I really don't have all that many of them (as you know by now, one is no longer with us). This gives you an idea of how obsessive my ex's are about keeping track of my every movement. Some haven't even seen me in person for -- decades -- but they still hit this site obsessively. Oh yes, with each ex it comes and goes in cycles. But at no point do they ever lose their Marty-obsession completely.

Which begs the question: What is it about women, that makes them ignore me and take advantage of me when they have me -- but then, when (for whatever reason) they no longer have me, they suddenly take this creepy interest in me that at times borders on obsession, and for the rest of their lives they are driven to secretly keep track of my every movement? Why do they give me an order of magnitude more attention after we're apart than when we're together? Why am I not worth their time until I'm gone??