Caring is Sharing - Except When It Comes to Money

I've had a rather hard month. My lease ended on my old basement room. I was scrambling like hell to find someplace within my budget before that lease ended. Craigslist and I were old friends. I thought I had a chance at one place, roommate to one of my co-workers. I went to see the place, told the guy I liked it despite the uphill climb to get there, and me with no car.

I filled out the application and waited. This was just days before my lease ended, so naturally I was kinda antsy to hear from him. Two days later, I finally got an email from him, saying someone else had taken the room before me. I was never told there was competition.

I looked into rooms in Hull, at the advice of a couple of co-workers, and found a studio apartment within my budget, but it wouldn't be available until after I moved out. None of my other leads had panned out, so I gathered what stuff I could and moved it temporarily into a Motel 6 in Braintree. $110/day. I even had the guy send me an application ahead of time so I could bypass the wait for that.

Days passed, and the day came for me to see it. I fought my way to Hull, had to do some walking because I got off the bus too soon, but I finally saw the place. It was small, It only had a microwave and a small fridge, but it was adequate for the price and it was a block from the beach. Cool, I thought. I'll take it.

I told him I really needed to move in NOW, but he needed to run it by the owner, oh, and he needed $2700 for me to move in.

Long story short, a week passed before I was approved, In the time between moving out and then I spent $1300, and had no money to move in. The guy knew I was spending money at a motel, but he kept delaying it, he said because there was a problem with my SSN, and I had bad credit. But he was willing to work with me and the owner.

But by then I was nearly out of money. I moved to a cheaper motel that was not within commuting distance to work, and thankfully, my employer was willing to let me work from the motel temporarily.

Temporarily seems to be my word of the month.

You don't realize who cares about you and who doesn't until you ask for money. I needed $2700 to move into that place, and at one time I had $1800. The owner wouldn't work with me on moving in with less. I asked my family for help and have heard nothing back from them. I put a posting on Facebook, lightheartedly asking those who could to send money to my PayPal account. They seemed to think it was a joke,

On the second night I stayed at the second motel, I had a crisis of faith in humanity. I gave real thought to broadcasting my live suicide, because I could see no light at the end of the tunnel. In all the years I was homeless, I frequently had thoughts of suicide, even jumping off a railroad bridge. I wrote a script about it, a short film. But I didn't do it, because I still had some hope left.

Just a couple of days ago, I temporarily lost hope.

I mean, why should people care that I've spent far more money than I have just to get moved into a new place? Why is it so hard for me to move? My daughter even found a new place to live, but I can't. I don't understand why every little aspect of my life has been so difficult.

Even when I found a place to live after moving to Boston there were issues. A freezing basement, a short-term lease that couldn't be renewed, neighbors that argued day and night and housemates that refused to pay their share of an electric bill that I took over. I seemingly had plenty of time to find a new place, but one thing or another has come up, One obstacle or another, and the biggest is money.

A small glimmer of hope remains. But whatever happens needs to happen soon. Or that hope will fade, and the thoughts that this life isn't worth living will return.

Or maybe I'm just getting what I deserve. I just don't know anymore. Right now my writing is about the only thing keeping me going, and I can't help but to dump misery on my characters.

Write what you know.

If you want to help, you can send money via my PayPal account: michaelharrisonfox@yahoo.com.

If not, I'll understand. I can't offer anything except my writing.

Writing: Timmons Chronicles Reboot - Chapter 1

Back when I first started writing about Bobby Timmons, Penny Thomas and Dottie and Sarah Brown, I knew where they all came from. I knew their background and what drove the characters. In other words, I knew that the original story did not start at the beginning. I wrote it with young adults in mind and threw some of what happened into flashbacks, yet I was always holding back. My thinking was: they were children. My readers would be children.

Yet as the story progressed and people started to read it, I realized the story was far more adult than it should have been, and as such, it appealed to adults more than young adults. My mistake was to rewrite it as an even more young adult book, and I failed at that, even.

Soooooo, I have begun to rewrite it from the beginning. From the very beginning. A very good place to start. None of our characters in this first novel, named 'Regrets', has a clue what will happen to them, or what is driving them. I've decided that there should be something driving them. The events that drove Bobby and the Old Man in the previous versions have not happened yet. We are in a different timeline, a happier one in some respects, and yet not as happy as it might be.

Here is the first chapter of this reboot. Not designed for Young Adults. Enjoy.

The Timmons Chronicles Book 1

Regrets

Chapter 1 - 1983

Dottie Brown looked over her notes for the umpteenth time. It wasn't that she couldn't remember the words, she had an eidetic memory. It was the emotions she was trying to convey that counted.

She lay face-down on her motel bed, propped up by a pillow, her notes in neat piles, one side that she had already gone over, the other was ready to read.

Show compassion; show pride, but not so much that you're arrogant; show humility but not so much that you're a pushover; show knowledge, and the capacity to think for yourself. She certainly could do those last 2. Years of memorizing the encyclopedias at home. Years of using her home chemistry set, working part time at the local chemical plant to get the 'safe' chemicals she needed. Months of trying to figure out what she liked best: Chemistry or Physics. She studied physics from books in the local library, mostly outdated, but with some practical information nonetheless. She was sure she knew more about both subjects than her high school teachers.

She clicked her tongue. Watch that arrogance, girl. If you make it into Harvard everyone will know more than you. But that was the whole point. She had reached her limits of what a Nebraska education could give her. Time to move away from the cow tippers and corn huskers and move into the real world. She just had to nail this interview.

Her brain told her it was time to dress: a perfect internal clock. She rolled over and out of the bed, then looked at the dress her parents wanted her to wear. Dress conservatively, they said. She hated dresses. Give her a comfortable pair of jeans and a pull-over shirt and she'd be happy as a clam. The less she had to think about dressing the more she could think about other things.

Plus dresses made her look awkward, to her mind. She put the dress against her and looked in a mirror. Yeah, awkward. It made her look like a beanpole, something the kids at high school called her frequently. Genetics made her tall; teasing made her mad.

She took a deep breath. That was the last thing she needed: to get mad. Harvard was her dream school. Bad enough her interview at Yale was terminated due to her temper. No. Due to a sexist pig of an interviewer. She shook it off, no sense in bringing it back just before the most important point in her life.

She jumped in the shower and afterward dried her shoulder-length, Fire-Engine-Red hair. As she combed it out the one positive thing she could say about it was that it was straight. She could not tolerate frizzy hair.

She slipped on the dress, dabbed a bit of makeup on her face: another sore point. Freckles were one thing, but combined with acne. Ugh. For half a minute she opened her mind to the possibilities, just to see if any challenges would reveal themselves. She wished she'd done that before the Yale interview... No, let's forget that.

She 'saw' nothing in particular, just some positive feelings. She took that as a good sign and slipped into her high heels.

"Hi, Dad," she said, a second before the knock on the door. She opened it. "I'm ready."

J.D. Brown was tall, but hardly the matchstick figure his daughter turned out to be. His work in construction for most of his life had made his body tough. But he had a jovial laugh and a good nature. Dottie frequently called him 'Corny,' but that had more to do with the area of Nebraska they lived in.

J.D. nodded at her and she followed him to the living area of the suite. Her mother, Beth, smiled sweetly at her. "I don't need to tell you how to act. Just be yourself and don't let the little things get you off-target."

Dottie understood. She and her mother had more than a familial bond: they thought alike. Only Mom didn't get mad. For that matter, neither did Dad. He only got 'disappointed,' but he let her know it by a silent frown or a terse word.

The drive to Harvard was silent. Dottie went over her notes in her head. Show compassion there, show pride there, show ambition everywhere, and show a little humility in just the right doses. That was her father's advice. She had no lack of ambition. But the humility was hard. She was right. She was always right. It irked her when someone told her she was wrong when she wasn't. They couldn't see things the way she could. No matter how right her visions turned out to be, no one believed her, except that one time. She shivered, trying to free her mind of the mutalated body she had seen in her head. But after that the teasing started, and she hid her 'gift'. 'Kids will'be kids', her mother had said. Yes, cruel and uncaring.

She closed her eyes and tried to meditate. Meditation had two repercussions for her: it calmed her so her anger had nothing to latch onto, and it increased her awareness of everything around her. The former had obvious good intentions. The latter had both good and bad repercussions. She felt minds all around her in various emotional states. Happy, sad, passionnate and yes, angry. She forced herself to concentrate on the happy and passionnate emotions she read. Her face turned red automatically when passions rose to their crescendo. She felt nothing internally, though. That was HER choice and no one else's. The happy thoughts, however, calmed her. They were happy moments in the lives of families in her general vicinity, and they reminded her of the happy moments her own family had gone through.

She saw a picnic setting with her parents and...No, no, NO! NO! Keep those thoughts away!

She pulled back from her reverie and opened her eyes. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her back, but that was the only sign that something had happened. No, her mother had stiffened. She felt it too. Dottie drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. The feelings of anxiety faded just as they approached the gates to Harvard.

***

Dottie sat in front of the group of Harvard professors and administrators. She had been through this sort of group interview before and knew what to expect. That helped to relax her. She got a generally good vibe from the group, with one or two negative vibes. She could overcome that. She had to overcome that.

The senior administrator cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming Miss Brown," he said. They were all male, all old men. "Tell us why you want to attend Harvard in the Fall."

Dottie drew a deep breath and launched into the prepared part of her notes. Knowing what they wanted to hear was a big part of it.

"I respect this institution. The foremost professors of physics and astronomy call Harvard home. I feel I can learn more here than any other school because of the resources at your disposal."

The grumpy man with the beard interrupted her. "Resources that cost money, Miss Brown. You applied for a scholarship. Can your family not provide for the tuition and room and board at Harvard?"

Dottie fought back the fit of anger caused by the interruption. Humility. "My family has never found that money provides happiness, Dr. Beckmann, we've always lived modestly on my dad's construction income. They can help me with room and board, but tuition is another matter. that's why I've applied for a scholarship as well as as many grants as I could find. I've worked 2 jobs over the last 2 years to earn the money I need for the first year, so I am prepared for that, but if and when I am accepted at Harvard, I want my full attention on my studies rather than how I'm going to pay for it."

The man nodded. "But why should we select you for Harvard, Miss Brown. Especially for our renowned Physics department?"

Time for pride. "I have straight A's in High School, and will be the valedictorian there when I graduate. I have perfect scores in the SAT's and Advanced Placement credits. I'd be starting out as a Sophomore. I've had an intense desire to learn about physics and I've read as many papers are in the public archives as I can. Even your book, (book title), Dr. Beckmann. I find the field of Astrophysics to be compelling. I-I'm even thinking of becoming an astronaut." She fell silent, her thoughts turning to space.

She heard a couple of huffs and a chuckle. The emotions she read told her they thought it was a joke. Yet it seemed to lighten the mood, so she let it pass.

She felt a piercing glance from another man, with glasses and small eyes. "Miss Brown, it has come to my attention that you were removed from an interview with Yale because of a fit of temper." He paused to see how she would react. She kept her posture relaxed. "Tell us about that, please?"

She drew a breath. Humility. "I don't know what you've heard, but this is the truth. Dr. Fields, I'm sure you all know him, made a comment about my body, suggesting I was trying to look like a man in order to fit in. His comment basically said I had no chest. I took offense to the fact that my gender or chest-size has any effect on whether I would be admitted to Yale. I regret that my temper got the best of me." Passion. "But my temper comes from my passion to learn and to succeed in discovering the unknown. I would much rather use that energy in finding black holes than in defending my - my womanhood."

She felt positive energy flowing from most of them. Nailed it.

The rest of the interview took on a more technical feel, being peppered with questions about what she knew. She answered every question with certainty.

At the end, the administrator stood. "Thank you, Miss Brown. We'll be in touch."

She stood and shook the hands of everyone there, getting a better empathic sense of how they felt. She left feeling highly confident.

She met her parents at a cafe on campus.

"Was it worth it," said her father. "I don't mean from a financial standpoint..."
\

Yes he did, partly.

"I mean do you feel that going for Harvard is worth all the - aggravation?"

She looked him in the eye. He had her best interest at heart. "I feel driven to get the best education. Period. Harvard can provide me with that, as well as the resources to continue researching after I leave. So yes, to me it's worth everything to go there."

She heard a voice in her head, one she hadn't heard before. It's vital you go to Harvard. It had a familiar ring to it, but she couldn't place it. She shook her head. This didn't feel like someone's thoughts. It felt like someone trying to tell her something.

"All right," he said. "Let's head home, then."

She opened her purse. "Not before I fill out these thank you cards and mail them. I want them to get these cards tomorrow." She began the process of writing each one, remembering individual details about each of them that she could use to personalize the cards. She had mastered caligraphy in her sophomore year, but kept her script plain, with the occasional flourish. She could feel her father's impatience growing, but she took her time, wanting to get it right the first time, every time.

***

When they arrived back at their home in Nebraska, Dottie unpacked quickly yet put everything in its place, slipped into her comfortable jeans, shirt and baseball cap, grabbed her bucket of baseballs, bat and glove and went to the nearby baseball field. It was empty but that was the way she liked it. She stretched and then ran a few laps, alternating her speed, feeling her heart beating faster. The time alone, with no one nearby, gave her time to think. She ran to the mound with her glove and ball, and threw pitches against the backstop, watching with delight as her pitches crossed the plate again and again. the boys hadn't let he play Little league as a child, and she was relegated to softball in High School. But baseball was her first love when it came to sports. She loved to watch the Major Leaguers pitch and bat, and mimiced them at first, but came up with her own style over the years.

She was in the process of hitting fly balls deep into the outfield when she saw a group of boys come up. She sensed they wanted to play a pick-up game and that meant she had to leave. But today she was feeling more defiant than usual and kept hitting. When one cleared the fence she got some whistles from the boys. But it was all a game. They knew she could hit, and pitch, but they didn't want her as a part of any team. She could sense the machismo and testosterone building in just the few minutes they watched. She hit the last ball in her bucket, then started to run after them.

She sighed as the boys started to take the field, assuming she was finished. She knew the answer even before she asked. "Mind if I play?"

The team leader was one of her classmates. An ugly brute who had hit on her more than once. She had shot him down every time.

"I'll let you play if you go out with me," he said.

Dottie carried the bucket of balls toward the rickety stands, turned and shook her head. "No thanks, Tom. I'm saving my dating life for the man I'll marry."

The brute crossed his arms. "How do you know he's the one if you don't date him?"

Dottie looked away for a moment, wistfully. "Oh, I'll know. He'll sweep me off my feet and make me feel like I'm a woman."

She heard the laughter in her head before she heard it in her ears.

"You are so dopey, Beanpole. We should call you Dopey Dottie from now on."

She stared at Tom. "And you wonder why I won't date you? Learn some manners and don't insult people." She felt like dropping him; she could. She had, once, when she was 15, but she got in so much trouble. She picked up her baseballs, her bat and glove and stormed off the field.

She dropped her gear on the floor of her room, curled up in her bed, and let her mind drift.

You'll know him when you meet. He won't seem right, but he will be the one.

She started out of her reverie. She had seen a figure, a man. She had seen herself too. The man was shorter than her. She soured at that thought. She always had the notion of looking up into her lover's eyes. Oh yes, she thought about sex, even if the act itself had not happened yet. She trembled slightly at the anticipation. Her Catholic upbringing might force her to wait until marriage, but that did not stop the urges. She drew a long breath, then went to take a cold shower. Not yet.






Copyright 2015 Michael Harrison Fox

CompuTrek: One Man's Journey to Build a Computer

It started with an interview, an accusation that my experience did not adequately prepare me for the job I wanted. That my 2 years on the phone troubleshooting systems did not count toward the experience they desired for Level 2 Deskside Support.

I knew I could do the job, I had built several computers from parts over the last 20+ years. But those were for me, not for an employer. I had taken classes in A+ Certification, but I did not have the actual certificate.

So, I asked myself, how could I prove I have the ability to be an effective Desktop Technician? My answer was: build a desktop computer from the various components and record myself doing it.

So began an Odyssey that has taken me several months to reach fruition. First, I had to have enough money to buy the components, a feat which was aided by 20 hours of overtime in May. Once I had adequate money, I needed to research what parts I needed, and more importantly, what tools would I need to prove my abilities?

I decided that I was going to prove all the skills that I had learned at NC State: A+, Net+, Security+, Windows 7 and Cisco. I would need all the tools and equipment that would prove proficiency in those skills. I decided to build 2 computers, one of which would be used as a server, one as the client (and a killer game system while I was at it), get a Cisco Router to connect them all together, put together a RAID system, and add all the security and networking tools I needed.

I've divided the process into stages. Stage One was to build the server. This computer did not have to have the killer hardware of the gaming system. I could get by with cheap. I researched motherboards, processors, graphics cards, memory, hard drives, Solid State drives, and cases.

I didn't really want to get everything mail order, so I found a local store in Boston, Micro Center, to have a chance to look at the components first-hand. The trek there led me from work, to the Silverline Courthouse Station, to South Station where I caught a Red Line train to Park Street, to a Green Line train that took me to Boston University West. It might be noted that the night before I had attended a concert, and had walked extensively before and after, so I was already tired and footsore. Once at the BU West station, I had to walk about 10 minutes to get to the Micro Center Store.

Once there I saw a vast array of motherboards and everything else, but a sign caught my attention, that said if you buy an AMD processor, you could get money off the motherboard for it. I wound up getting a motherboard for free when I spent $100 for the processor. I was very happy about that. I could have chosen a quad core processor, but instead I was sold on a 6-core processor.

Given that I did not have a car, and had limited carrying abilities, I broke my shopping spree into two trips. On the first trip I bought the motherboard, the processor, the power supply, memory and an OEM copy of Windows 7 Home Premium. I dragged the bags back the way I came, walking 10+ minutes, Green Line, Red Line then the Orange Line to go home. By the time I got home it was late and I was exhausted.

I had planned on going back the next day, but my knees, feet and ankles said no. So I went to work, but rested during the night. I did some research on what I'd bought, and found the motherboard doesn't work with Windows 8, which was fine by me. For my first system I had planned a dual-boot, first installing Windows 7, then installing MS Server 2012. They offer a trial version that's good for 6 months, plenty of time to prove my skills.

The next day, a Friday, I left work feeling a little better, and made the trudge back to Micro Center. This time I thought I might limit myself to a case and a keyboard, and a couple of smaller things. But I
did shop for monitors too. I found a suitable, cheap case, a suitable, cheap keyboard, and a suitable cheap monitor. I actually had a choice, two 24" monitors for the same price, but one was considerably heavier than the other. After lifting the lighter one, I thought, 'Hey, I can make this in one trip.' I paid for my stuff and prepared to leave.

The box for the monitor had a handle on it, which is what sold me on getting it. The box for the case had no such luxury. But it was relatively light and I found I could heft it all right. Then the first walk came, and what was a 10 minute walk any other time, became a 20+ minute walk of horrors, as my strength gave out time and time again, forcing me to put my packages down and rest a minute. My hands began to cramp up, and my back hurt. I have one strong arm, and one weak one, and shifting the packages around proved harder on my weak right arm.

I knew there was a bus stop close by, but I'd never seen the stop. I took the chance and walked in a different direction until I found the stop. The bus came and took me in the opposite direction of what I
wanted, but did leave me at a Red Line station. The transit system was crowded by that time, so I spent half the trip back standing, my packages on the floor or between my legs. No one offered to give up their seats to someone who was obviously struggling until near the end.

But the end result was that I made it home, exhausted, but at least I had all the computer parts for the First Stage. What I didn't have was a desk or table to set it up on, and a chair to sit in.

So I did my research and I found a Walmart in Quincy, Massachussetts. The plan that day was to go to Walmart, see if they had a place to cut hair inside, as they frequently do, look for a nice suit to record an
introduction in and then get the table and chair. I found the routes to take on the MBTA to get there, and found them lacking, much the same as for Micro Center: there was a period where I had to walk. Yet, I was determined to get the damned thing set up that weekend, so Saturday afternoon, I made one last trek, oh how I wish.

Orange Line, Red Line, Bus. I found a 4-foot plastic table and a chair that went with it, not too too heavy, and the table had a built-in handle. The chair had a hole in the back to put my hand through. But I found no place to cut hair there and I knew dragging a suit along with the table and chair would be a  bad idea, so I only took the table and chair with me.

The walk from the bus stop unencumbered took 10 minutes. Encumbered, with frequent stops to rest my tired arms and back took 20 minutes. But at least the way back was downhill, that was what saved me.

After getting chastised by a snooty bus driver for going to the wrong stop, I did finally drag my tired butt back home. Tired as I was, though, I was eager to get started with the build. I set up the table and chair, then lined up all my computer products at the desk, took a picture, then recorded an introduction to the actual players in my dramedy: the components.

I have a camera that happens to shoot video. It's a nice camera, and the video it shoots, as well as the audio were perfect for my needs, but it runs on battery power and an SD card. I had no way to plug it into the AC, only to charge the batteries. I have 3 batteries for it, and each battery let me record video for about 20 minutes or so.

The bottom line was a series of short videos that chronicled my attempt to put the computer together. Overall, it went well, until I tried to fire it up, and nothing worked. All the work I had put into it, shattered by a bad power supply.

But then this is why I wanted to get all the parts locally. I knew that, rather than having to send the part back, I could just walk back to Micro Center and get it replaced the next day. I could do nothing until the morning, so I removed the defective power supply and left everything else as it was. I went to bed exhausted and not a happy camper.

Then the rain started.

It rained all night. When I woke, it was still raining. Yet though I was still tired, I made the trek to Micro Center again, in the rain and carrying the old Power Supply. Orange Line, Red Line, Green Line, walk 10 minutes. I exchanged the Power Supply without issue, and picked up a couple of things that were missing: an HDMI cable (silly cheap monitor only had VGA), and a mouse pad, because the table surface didn't let the optical mouse work well.

Trudge back - Green Line, Red Line, Orange Line, and walk the 3 blocks home. In the rain.

Yet home I did arrive, and before I turned the camera on, I installed the Power Supply and fired up the computer, to be sure it worked before I rolled. It did. I finished my videos, stepping through setting up the BIOS. I split my 2TB hard drive into 1 TB partitions, installed Windows on one and left the other blank, intending to install MS Server 2012 on it when the time came.

But before I did that, I wanted a stable Windows setup. To my dismay, nothing seemed to work well at first, most notably the Ethernet. Then I remembered that the Motherboard came with its own installation disk. I ran through the installation, trying to skirt around the bloatware, and eventually got to the point where the Ethernet was recognized and I could surf the web, and begin the process of downloading and installing updates.

Anyone who has installed a fresh copy of Windows knows that the update process can take hours. So I used my laptop to do my daily routine and let the desktop computer do its thing. Hours went by and I'd glance at the monitor every now and then as the system first downloaded, then installed the updates, frequently restarting in the process. During one of those restarts, I saw something blue out of the corner of my eye, then the system restarted again. Blue again, restart. I got up and watched it go through its process again. I was getting the dreaded Blue Screen of Death, but the system was trying to restart each time. I started the system in Safe mode and that seemed to take it out of its infinite loop. The system said it was reverting back to a safe spot, and rebooted again. I started it normally, but still got an error message that the Group Policies task could not be started. That  meant that I could only run the system as the Admin.

That is where I left it, and I'm still deciding if I want to reinstall the system after performing a chkdsk to make sure there's no bad sectors in the hard drive.

But the plan is, when Windows 7 becomes stabilized, to install Server 2012 in a dual boot and record that process. I've never installed Server in any of its variations, so this will be a challenge.

Yet it's a challenge I don't have to walk all over Boston to achieve.

It's a mental challenge that I accept and expect to conquer.

Note: It's a day late, Windows has been successfully reinstalled and updated. Time to mke that Server video!

New book: Foxism: An Alternative to Capitalism

What follows is the introduction to a new booklet I'm writing.

Introduction

Ursula Le Guin, a writer whose work I admire, recently proposed that science fiction writers come up with ideas on alternatives to Capitalism. I’ve had the ideas that follow in my head for some time, churning as to what the details would be, what the pros and cons would be, what could go right, and, as my imagination kicked in, what could go horribly wrong.

I call it Foxism, perhaps out of a feeling of vanity, perhaps out of a desire to be remembered, A lot of social systems are named after their founders: Marxism, Taoism, etc., and some of those founders and authors are remembered well by some, reviled and ridiculed by others. If I’m remembered, I hope it will be positive.

It takes all kinds to make this world we live in. Foxism isn’t going to work for everyone. Those that embrace it will have to forego greed. Those that are greedy will consider it absurd. It will take a lot of work and cooperation. It will take a full embrace of the technologies that are available to do the menial tasks no one wants to do and to make the lives of every community members as comfortable as possible. 

If greed must be eliminated, so too must violence. Patience must be taught and so too should tolerance. But that doesn’t mean there will be no pride, no sense of accomplishment, no reward for hard work. It just can’t be in the form of money, or power.

So if you live for money or power, this system is not for you. But read on, you might learn something.

Paranoid and Hating It

As is my wont since I started to take the Silverline to and from work, I walked past the Boston Federal Courthouse today. In the past it had been a scene filled with officers of all types and a line of press and other bystanders. Today it was quiet. As I crossed the street to begin traversing the building, a mini-van pulled up to the last space before the street. It was a van covered in circular icons, and as I drew near I noticed it said 'Catering' on it. As I leaned down to look in the passenger window, a slight flow of paranoia creeping over me, and I saw the driver look at me. He was young, under 20 I'd say, was very thin but not very tall, had dark, curly hair and a slightly dark complection.

What made me move faster, in addition to all the above, was that he was just sitting in the van. It he was a legitimate caterer, he should have been jumping out of the van to do what needed to be done. I moved as fast as my poor knees would let me, fearing to be caught in a blast. If I'd had the presence of mind to remember I brought my camera, I might have even taken pictures or video.

I can safely say I was not caught in a blast, nor has any occurred as of this writing. As I moved away from the scene, the paranoia faded, and the temptation to call 911 waned. Then I got to thinking. Was he perhaps waiting for someone? He did seem a bit nervous when he saw me looking at him, Maybe he was picking someone up using compamy property. If I had acted rashly, things would certainly be different for him. The simple fact is I had no facts and therefore no justification in calling the police. Knowing them, in their own paranoia, made worse by the recent killing of someone who had threatened them, they would have moved in and shot him without provocation.

That's all right for them - well, no it isn't, really, but I understand where they're coming from. But for me, paranoia is a recent thing. I've never been at 'ground zero' of a major event, and the trial of the Boston Marathon Bomber had put me on an edge I really didn't like to be on.

But this is where I work, and I won't let the possibility of being blown up, no matter how remote, stop me from getting paid.

But that doesn't mean I like being paranoid. It's a feeling I really want to get rid of. Right now, though, I have to learn to deal with it. Because if I let it rule my life, then the terrorists win, amiright?

Debilitating Migraine

I went home from work early today with a migraine.

A lot of people think that those that suffer from migraines are faking it or exaggerating the symptoms, so I want ro describe to you what I felt like today and you can make up your own damn mind.

Yes, being easily irritated is a symptom, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I first felt a migraine in 1993 when a co-worker wore too much perfume. I didn't realize at the time what it was except an allergic reaction. So smells can be a trigger for me. Stress can also be a trigger.

Today's migraine was caused by a combination the two, both attributed to the same person, a coworker. I won't say what caused the stress, but wafting cologne in my direction didn't help.

It starts with a feeling of irritation at the slightest provocation. I'd been feeling out of sorts all morning, but that could be caused by a number of things. But after the cologne hit me, the irritation grew, First at the jerk who wore too much, then at the people I was trying to help. And you don't realize that you're irritated until you suddenly snap at someone who is trying to help you. I did that with a co-worker who sent an instant message while I was on a particularly annoying call. Don't get me wrong, even without the migraine building up, I would have found that call annoying, but I would have forgotten about it, even laughed at it under normal circumstances.

But today that wasn't the case. After the call mercifully ended, and before I could reach through the phone to strangle this woman who didn't want to GET OFF MY PHONE, I got another message from the co-worker who said he only wanted to know if it was the same person he had talked to earlier. It wasn't, but that made me realize something was wrong.

I hadn't felt the tell-tale signs of pressure behind my right eye, but I knew I was off-kilter. I sent an email asking to leave early, and only when I was shutting down my system did I start to feel the pressure.

As I started home, the other symptoms of a migrane came forth: sensitivity to light, and noises. That meant the noisy construction site across from where I worked made me feel worse, The sounds of buses and trains made me feel worse, I really wanted to strangle two of the subway musicians that play all the time. AND WHY IS THE TRAIN TAKING SO MUCH TIME TO GET HERE!!!

When the train finally came I forced myself into an empty seat that SOMEONE WAS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF, OH WHY IS HE DOING THAT!??? and settled in. I covered my sensitive eyes with my 'I Choose Not To Talk' cap, and prayed for no delays. I made it home safely, and began to write this blog. I'm preparing to shut down my computer, put out the lights and curl into a fetal position and try to ignore the sounds of sirens and my neighbors.

It's times like this that I wish I'd get off my butt and find a leathermaker who can make a prototype of my Thinking Cap, something resembling a flying cap with flaps over the ears and eyes that will block out sights and sounds. Someday, but not today. Good night.

Life Goals: Finding where my talents lie

In my 54 years of existence, I have tried to be a lot of different things. As a child I went through being a fireman, a pilot and an astronaut. I envisioned myself going into the military and rising the ranks quickly, because both my father and stepfather were in the Air Force. It couldn't be that hard to rise in ranks quickly? amirite?

Talents: Imaginative, but nothing concrete

As I grew older I found my personality had limits, but my imagination did not. Fantastic goals became more realistic. I found things I was better at than most, specifically languages. I took Spanish and French in Junior High and High School. I had a dream of being a translator for the United Nations. I even planned around that, asking my French teacher what school was best for tht kind of career. She suggested Middlebury, in Vermont.

Talents; Languages, spoken and written

I added Middlebury to my dream colleges of Harvard, Yale and Dartmouth. I wanted Dartmouth because my father went there. But when it came to apply and interview for such colleges, Harvard and Yale said no. Dartmouth interviewed me but ultimately said no. Middlebury was also a no-go. I even applied for the Air Force, and they said no, even though my test scores were reasonably high. That was the most unkind cut, because I was sure my fathers' being in it would help. The Army was interested, but I wanted the Air Force, and said no.

So I wound up going to Florida State University and majoring at the start in French, still that dream of being a translator in the back of my mind. But I was also learning other things that piqued my curiosity. I was told computers were a good future, so I took some computer courses and found that I liked them. This was in 1980 or thereabouts. PC's were still being perfected. I worked with mainframes learning programming. I got to the point where French had less appeal and so I committed myself to Computer Science.

Talents: Programming Mainframes

But Computer Science is not an easy major. I found the programming aspect and the logic of it appealing to my personality. I found the necessary math and science courses to be less appealing, and even downright humbling. I had found something I was not good at for the first time: Linear Algebra and Discrete Math. I had to take Discreet Mathematics 3 times before I got a passing grade. It had devastating results on my GPA, leading to my removal from Florida State.

Something I wasn't good at: Higher Mathematics

But in the meantime, I was looking for work, and found a small computer shop willing to take me on as a contract programmer. On one hand I was thrilled at actually putting what I'd learned to good use, but I was too naive when it came to contracts and ultimately, they took advantage of me and did not pay me what I was worth. It was, however, a good experience.

Talents: Learns quickly. Cons: Not quickly enough to avoid being used.

In the coming years I took jobs that had nothing to do with computers: Clerical work for an insurance company and clerical work for a phone company. During that time, I started to study electronics. It was one of those chain 'colleges' that promised more than they could offer, who told me that student loans would cover everything and I wouldn't have to start paying it back until I'd been out of school 6 months. Being as naive as I was, I bought into it.

Talents: Electronics. Cons: still young and trusting.

The long and short of it was: I was pretty good at electronics, but the training was insufficient to find steady work. Another potential career shot down, and I now had student loans to pay back.

Cons: Poor.

It took me another ten years, working sales, clerical and even at a wild-west theme park before I had my first inkling of the career that to this day I am pursuing: writing. I was in a position of relative comfort, working for another phone company doing clerical work, and doing the job well. I wrote a story for the first time. My imagination started to fire up and show me its potential.

Talents: Writing, working menial tasks. Cons: Can get complacent.

My company paid for my re-entrance into college, where I majored in Broadcast Journalism, another area where I had interest. I was curious about doing that, because I had written that story and I thought it would make a good TV series. So I wanted to see what things were like behind the scenes in Television. But the courses I took were mainly for newscasts. Given my lack on on-screen talent, I tried to change that by taking a course called 'Voice of the Actor.'

Talents: The raw materials are there for acting. Cons: I don't want to use them.

Now before we delve into that, you need to understand that throughout my life I've had trouble talking, whether it was publicly or privately, I could not express myself very well vocally. I speak with a soft voice and I stutter, especially when I'm nervous. But in that course I learned a few techniques that might allow me to perform in front of people: Breathing from the diaphragm, pretending the audience wasn't there and things like that. I performed a couple of soliloquies from 'Inherit the Wind,' one of my favorite plays and movies. I did this in front of the class, and I knew they didn't think much of my performance. It didn't matter to me. The teacher was thrilled to get me out of my shell.

Talents: Speaking softly and carrying nothing. Cons: Can't project with any kind of consistency.

I knew I would never be an actor, voice or otherwise, but the whole series of classes gave me a taste of what it would take to produce a TV series.

Unfortunately, my employer ultimately stopped paying for the classes and I made the decision to keep pursuing the 'dream' and began working part-time at TV stations as part of their news crews. I had no delusions of being a reporter, but I gave serious thought to being a director and producer. I was hired as an Associate Director at one station, where for the first six months of the job I worked the camera, the graphics (CHYRON), the audio, and editing and directing short segments. Then they put me into the morning show and really tried to train me and test my directing skills.

Skills: Behind the scenes during a newscast: Camera, audio, graphics, video editing.

All of the training I had done before did not properly prepare me for the stress of directing a live newscast. The directors I worked with made it look easy. When they put me on the live newscast, I sometimes made mistakes on air. That happens with a certain amount of frequency on most newscasts, but I made a few too many on-air mistakes, including one segment where I pushed a graphic too early in the middle of a pet segment and left the reporter seemingly talking to no one.

That freaked out the producer, and ultimately led to my being let go. Life lessons learned? The producer has the real power.

Talents: fast-thinking, Cons: Hands don't always work with the brain

After that I found work in what was a new field for me: Customer Service via the phone. I want to state unequivocally that I hate talking on the phone. But for some reason, I'm good at it. I have a soft speaking voice, and the techniques learned during that voice class paid off. So began a streak of phone work jobs that continues to this day.

Talents: Good phone voice, good computer skills. Cons: I hate it.

And yet, it's not without stress. In a high call volume call center, the stress of going from one call to another forced me to leave several jobs and vow never to do that sort of work again.

Talents: Workhorse, troubleshooting, critical thinking. Cons: No ability to relieve stress.

But the one thing in my life that has not changed throughout my lifetime is my ability to imagine things. I imagine the future; I contemplate the past and try to rework it for a better ending. I come up with stories and within those stories I can - in my mind - become one of my characters. And those characters have some of my traits, and some traits I don't have. For instance, I let my mind wander into that of a female character who is built, is brainy and can sing her heart out. In those interludes I found a talent I never had before: song writing. Because that character has that talent and she sings the songs and I can actually hear her voice singing those songs.

Talents: Song-Writing, character immersion. Cons: no other musical talent. ie: I'm not dexterous enough to play instruments.

But those moments only come when I can meditate in quiet solitude, or when I can block out everything else in my life. This is a talent that took years to develop. In my youth I could not block out extraeneous events. My brain tried to process everything around me, and I didn't realize this until fairly recently, but I'm empathic, and my brain was on overload.

Talents: Empathic, empathetic. Cons: Brain Overload

So now, when things get too stressful for me, I have the means to push it all aside, delve into my imaginary world and life, and cope with the stress better. Overall, I feel like everything is coming together in my life, to make me happier, and to let people better understand me.

Talents: Ability to cope with stress through meditation. Less naive.

I'm much calmer these days, in a job where I feel my talents are being better used, where I have time to use my imagination to create stories and songs, which I hope someday will lead me to a successful career as an artist.

Life goal: Artist.