We have these insane labels where they’re already printed and we have to dig through hundreds to find the ones we need. I’ll complain later – I was only finishing this draft due to a technical difficulty. We need a label printer, the end.
The latest Washington Post rebellious title: “Trump is upset the media is not reporting a meaningless statistic about the national debt”February 25, 2017
What is this, ‘The Onion?’ That sounds like a joke, but it’s the real title of a real news article. They REALLY are totally going all-out on this war between the media and Trump. The words ‘meaningless statistic’ are being used in a news article. But meanwhile, I have seen so many news stories where they say things like ‘the economy is getting better and inflation is steadily increasing and this is a good thing and the basket of goods excluding anything that actually matters is at a really great price right now even though it has no connection whatsoever to people’s daily lives, blah blah.’ Meaningless statistics, a huge pile of them, being used to convey the agenda the newspaper wants to convey, but all of a sudden, ‘meaningless statistics’ are a bad thing now?
Washington Post weird new motto: ‘Democracy dies in darkness’ – WTF? Ominous. Ominous, yet butthurt.February 24, 2017
I read the mainstream news listed in the google news site, so I went to a Washington Post page and saw at the top ‘Democracy Dies In Darkness.’
This is new. I googled it to find out about it.
They claim that they’ve always used that motto internally at the paper but never had it written there until now. I don’t really have a lot of time – I have to get ready for work – but now that I skimmed through the article talking about it I feel slightly differently. That article about it changed my emotional reaction to it. It seemed very ominous, weird, and timely, connected to the battle between Trump and the media, but that article is making it sound like it isn’t as ‘timely’ as it seems.
It’s just strange to hear the mainstream news *saying* something like this. And it’s also strange when the mainstream news is attacking other sources of news that are non-mainstream and acting like *they* should be censored, but not the ‘real news.’
It still amazes me that Trump has attacked the mainstream news as they deserve to be attack. They are *not* noble heroes delivering the truth to us, but delivering brainwashed garbage to paint a false picture of reality. Now they’re acting all butthurt. I should find the ‘butthurt report form’ that I found in a forum once. Butthurt is the perfect word for this.
However, it affected me emotionally to see that written there. Something is changing, something is going on, something is new and different. The mainstream news are on the defensive for the first time in my memory.
I don’t have enough time before work to really talk about this in any more depth. I was planning to wash my hair and I don’t have a lot of time for that.
A couple days ago at work, I had a wet towel that was “mine.” I was keeping it in a particular place and never putting sanitizer on it, only water. The sanitizer is too concentrated. They mix it themselves without a dispenser that automatically does it. It burns my entire outer layer of skin for days. Chelsea stole my towel and used it to wipe a greasy pizza tray WITH SANITIZER. I picked up the towel, saw it was greasy, tried to rinse it out, and burned my hands, and realized it was sanitizer. I got rid of the towel and got a new one. Now my TONGUE IS COVERED IN BLISTERS probably because I ate pizza off that tray. The painful tongue blisters have been there for several days now. The sanitizer burns on my skin also last for many days. SANITIZER IS NOT APPROPRIATE IN THIS SITUATION and it should be at the proper concentration if “the law” requires us to have it in the building. The law is wrong, but if we must pretend we are using sanitizer, it must be EXTREMELY DILUTED. In reality sanitizer is never needed in a restaurant, not for dishes or surfaces. It’s just there to excuse people for washing dishes badly – “Oh, just dump sanitizer on top of the huge chunks of gross filth you failed to wash off the dishes. That’ll fix it!” There are no deadly germs that are harmful in small concentrations in a restaurant. Germs only matter when food is left at room temperature or from 41 to whatever degrees. The danger zone. I have to google the upper number again. Sanitizer should be illegal. It might be useful during a smallpox outbreak, but no other time.
I suddenly remembered driving, lost in the dark, at the mall, hunting for herbs to cure Mom’s cancerFebruary 24, 2017
2:17 AM 2/24/2017
I don’t know why, but in the middle of my shift at work tonight (I worked 5pm till 2am), I recalled very clearly the fact that I went to the Barboursville Mall in West Virginia, while Mom was still alive, and I bought herbs. I went on an herb buying mission, looking for pawpaw.
I had actually, on maybe the first day that I got home, taken a big stick, I think a wooden 2 by 4 or something, a big wooden thing, and I took it outside, and I went over to a tree, and I beat it against the tree as hard as I could, over and over, and shattered it. After a piece shattered, I kept beating the rest of the pieces till they shattered even smaller. Then I laid the broken pieces by the edge of the house. I had to hit something because I was angry.
I remembered being at the mall, for some reason, tonight. I know I was someplace else before that, shopping around the local town, in Teays Valley, but didn’t find all the herbs I wanted. I talked to a lady at one of the stores and she told me where to go to get essiac tea.
I was going herb shopping because I had to do something rather than nothing, rather than just passively accept Mom’s death.
I remembered how it was dark outside and I was driving the rental car and I couldn’t find my way around the mall, outside, in the darkness. I went driving around and around the parking lots, trying to find the store I was looking for. I went into the mall and looked on the index of stores but it wasn’t there. I forget the name of it, some kind of health store, next to another health grocery store thing. It wasn’t even connected to the mall, it was actually a whole separate area and I was on the wrong side of the street. I remember I walked past the movie theater, and saw people going in, and I wished I could be a girl walking with a guy and holding hands and going to see a movie tonight, but that wasn’t what I was doing, I was finding herbs to try to cure cancer and save my mom’s life, but there was no hope, I just had to do something.
Why did I suddenly remember how it felt to see that darkness around the Barboursville mall, driving in the rental car, being lost in the parking lots? It was a very clear, specific feeling and memory that suddenly came back to me out of nowhere tonight, in the middle of nothing in particular, at work.
If Mom had been given an IV, just an IV, I’m sure she could have survived a few more days, and we might have gotten a chance to try my herbs. But the chemotherapy herbs are not gentle. They are just as harsh and toxic as normal chemotherapy. I would not be able to administer them by mouth. The only way I could have done it would have been through an enema, and I didn’t have the tools and supplies needed to give her an enema. I would have needed the confidence and the permission to violate her in that way, and to make her as sick as she would get from absorbing the poison, even though it was through the bowel instead of the stomach.
I felt horribly guilty, because I insisted she must try to drink my herbal tea made from pawpaw twigs. She did, just one or two small sips. But there was a moment later on when she requested water, plain water, and I asked her if she would drink the tea at all, or just water, and she said she wanted just plain water, but she said it in the smallest, most apologetic voice, a helpless person who could not even get out of bed to get the water for herself.
I felt so, so horrible, for ever urging her to try to drink even a couple sips of the extremely weak pawpaw twig tea that didn’t even cause vomiting.
There are horrible, horrible, painful things you do when you are trying to cure cancer. Would I ever be able to do those things to someone?
I was shopping for pau d’arco, and pawpaw, and essiac tea. But I couldn’t even give her the essiac tea. I knew it would cause painful diarrhea, and she was in horrible pain just from taking milk of magnesia to help her go to the bathroom. I think she was on so many opioids she was constipated because of them. Opioids cause the bowels to stop moving. She was in agony all night long, vomiting and having diarrhea over and over, on the night she took milk of magnesia. I didn’t want to give her the essiac tea and do that to her again.
What could I possibly have done that would have been acceptable? Every treatment, even the gentlest, seemed like horrible abuse. But there is that time when you must be firm and you must abuse someone physically, with force, in order to heal them. Like giving her an IV. She would have survived if someone had simply given her an IV to give her water and electrolytes. Then we could have tried some more additional treatments, like the herbs.
I don’t know why it was the memory of the Barboursville Mall that came to me tonight. Maybe it’s because I went out for such a long time that everyone thought I had left. Dad said he thought I had driven back to Pennsylvania or something. I was out a very long time, a couple of hours, hunting for these herbs, and I was lost at the mall in the dark, going around and around the confusing streets. Maybe ‘they’ reminded me of this because Jacob, my cat, is at home in the tent waiting for me, wondering where I am. He always greets me when I come home. But I must not stay out too long, fooling around or using the internet, when I know he is at home waiting for me, helpless, poor cat.
I just wanted to remember something about how it felt to be at the mall shopping for herbs to save my mom. It was a moment before she was dead. She was still alive. I still thought maybe she was going to survive for a couple more weeks, and there would be time to slowly and carefully start using some herbal treatments on her, with her consent and permission and participation. But then she died only a couple days later.
I don’t know what I was trying to remember. It felt like something important, some kind of a feeling. Maybe it was hope. Maybe I was remembering that moment when she wasn’t dead yet and when I still had hope that we were going to try something and cure her. I had hope. I was doing something. Was that what I was trying to remember? Hope?
I felt like I got run over by a truck, probably because I drank a lot of espresso in the last couple days. I was really energetic after the espresso (bottled Dunkin Donuts brand, not my usual bottled
Starbucks), but I crash really badly after it too. But the warm weather makes it much easier for me to get out of bed. So even though I was exhausted and in pain, I was able to get up today after drinking just a little bit of my instant espresso stuff at home.
The other day I started organizing the beverages at work, probably because of the espresso I drank. It bothers me to become productive while drinking coffee, only to suddenly quit coffee again in the future and become lazy and passive at work. I’m going to get this good reputation as a hard worker, but I value my health, and so I plan to quit coffee again, cold turkey like before. I’m not too horribly lazy while decaffeinated, but yet, I don’t do things as ambitious as what I did the other day.
I worked on the beverages at work for HOURS. I was just stocking, and stocking, and stocking, all the different coolers in the store. I found a case of orange juice bottles that had been left somewhere they probably shouldn’t have been, which were about to expire, but nobody else had really noticed them or checked on them in a while, so I took that down and left a note for the manager about it.
I am now the official Beverage Specialist or Beverage Manager. If every person has to have a special title of their own, after all the work I did the other day on stocking the beverages, that’ll have to be my new title. Or, if I were working at Subway, I’d be a Beverage Artist.
I had a dream about David Wilcock because I left a comment on his blog. There are millions of comments and he doesn’t necessarily read them himself. In the dream, I was at his house visiting him. I was going to lie down with him and just snuggle with him, but I don’t think I ever actually did that in the dream. I was just planning to. Then he told me that his wife was going to come home in a while, which is probably why I never ended up doing that. I don’t even know if he actually has a wife.
I’ve been reading about ancient aliens and that kind of thing, and I view it as kind of a form of entertainment – it is not necessarily word-for-word truth. I don’t know if I will ever be able to verify a single claim that any of them have made. But it’s like, I’m in a story. We’re all in a story, an ongoing story, with characters that we might possibly be lucky enough to meet sometime in real life. It’s a story about a real place, earth. It’s not intended as fiction, but it isn’t able to be proven as truth, either, and so it’s somewhere in this gray area between fact and fiction.
What matters more to me is that it’s *possible* that it’s true. It’s possible these things are all true, all the things claimed by Corey Goode and David Wilcock and others. And I’m more fascinated by what is possible than I am by what is true. Except, it has to be well done, and they seem to have a skill of doing it very well, whatever this is, this mixture of fantasies and facts and whatever the voices in their head told them. It’s done in a way that’s entertaining and I’m always eagerly waiting for the next episode or next blog (I don’t pay to watch the episodes at Gaia).
I know from my own experiences that some things are possible, which mainstream society says are impossible. Some things are fact, which mainstream society says are delusion. I know that electronic weapons and electronic mind control are real, because I personally experience them every day of my life. I know that this has been going on for an extremely long time, decades, perhaps hundreds of years, perhaps longer, and it has been successfully kept secret from the mainstream public. If it’s possible to keep electronic mind control secret, then it’s possible to keep aliens secret too, and all the other claims and disclosures.
‘They sell hope.’ That was how I described it. They sell hope to the hopeless.
That is part of why I envisioned Anaya. Anaya is kind of like a god, except it wasn’t a single individual – it was envisioned as men and women who were in the ‘eighth house of the socion.’ Socionics, the 16 personality types and their relations to each other – I grouped them into eight groups of duals, and my own type, the ISTP, and my dual, the ENFP, are in the eighth group.
So, this Anaya god is an entity, or several people, who have those personality types, who are both men and women, and they have other characteristics too. These other characteristics are important. Note, I imagined all this during the summer of 2016 or so, when I was using ginseng, and the ginseng affected my mind and my tendency to pray and to be religious – I probably would not have envisioned an Anaya god if I had not been using ginseng.
Anyway, the characteristics: they must be wise, good, powerful, wealthy, beautiful, healthy – a lot of things. Most people who are powerful are not good. It is very hard for me to imagine a person who is both good and powerful. This person is able to do things that are good, and powerful enough to have a large impact in the world, someone who is able to help a lot of people. They have material wealth and are saving material resources. They are finite and mortal, not all-powerful – different from the Christian god. They have
limitations. The rationale for why they do not intervene is because they do not have infinite resources and cannot afford to always take so many risks when they are trying to protect their people and keep them hidden.
The Anaya were different from other aliens and non-humans talked about by DW and CG because they are omnivores who are eating a Weston Price-type diet. That was extremely important to me. I don’t want to be judged for being a non-vegan. I have reasons why I choose to eat meat, and it’s important enough to me that I have to incorporate it into my religion and my deities. A lot of them view meat eating as inferior, evil, animal-like, lower vibration, something we have to break out of the habit of doing in order to evolve as a species. Even Rachael viewed it this way – I know because I read the book she wrote.
Whenever I am praying and meditating, the pattern I tend to follow is thanking Anaya for this and that. This sometimes happens kind of spontaneously, if I am in the right mood, or the voices sometimes encourage me to do it, or I tend to do it if I am under the influence of particular herbs. I think of a long list of things to thank Anaya for, even if those things do not really exist yet and I have never actually seen them. I thank Anaya for the things they would do if they actually existed on earth and had real power and real influence and were actually a real group of people living life the way they want to live.
Because they are eating an omnivorous diet, which requires the killing of animals, they must have a balanced view or attitude or belief about the use of lethal power over others. We are not murderous cannibals who use our physical power to torture and cause pain and suffering to others. But we are also not extreme pacifists who only eat plants and never kill any sentient beings. We are somewhere in the middle. There are restrictions on how we treat animals while they are alive, and how we kill them, and how we eat them.
I do this because I don’t believe it’s possible to be well nourished as a total extreme vegan, although it’s possible to eat a vegetarian diet that has eggs, some kind of fat, milk, maybe fish, and some of the other things they often allow, and be relatively well nourished. I also don’t believe it’s possible to make some kind of artificial manmade substitute, like meat grown in a laboratory. This meat will never contain all of the substances that real meat contains, because those substances are viewed as ‘unimportant’ by the scientists and corporations who make the fake meat.
People think all protein is the same. Protein is protein. Some people think that you only need to worry about whether it contains all of the amino acids or not. But I believe protein is much more complicated than that. I think that protein does not necessarily get broken down into its constituent amino acids, but instead is often absorbed whole or partially assembled, and then, those partially assembled pieces are used as is. So you can use pieces of protein that are ready-made and do not need to be reassembled from scratch. It’s important to eat some raw animal protein for this reason.
But I don’t even like to use the word ‘protein’ because it’s so misleading. Where does the protein come from? Muscles? Organs? It’s important to eat organ meats. Both contain protein, but if you only eat muscle meats, you are missing out on the nutrients and other unknown substances, including hormones which are usable as-is, ready-made, and enzymes which are also usable as-is, and all the other unknown substances that haven’t been documented, categorized, etc.
Raw proteins will have their original shape and are the easiest for your stomach and intestines to process. They are quickly and easily absorbed. Unfortunately, I am not familiar with eating raw meats safely, because all of them contain parasites, but the Inuit people eat raw seal, and are only sometimes having problems with trichinosis, which they think might be going up there because of climate changes. I don’t know which meats available to me in Pennsylvania can be safely eaten raw. Whenever I’ve eaten only tiny little bites of raw meats, as a test, I *always* get a parasitic infection (nonlethal, but extremely uncomfortable and distressing, followed by severe fatigue), even when this meat comes from grass-fed cows.
So, it will require more research to find out how to eat raw meat and organs.
I’m finishing this up because I’m going to get ready for work. Some random guy just took my bicycle and told me he’d oil the chain for me. The bike is so worthless he cannot possibly be stealing it to sell it, so I trusted him. It’s all rusty and crappy. He’s supposedly going to bring it back in a couple minutes, I hope. I’ll need to go to work soon. I’m sitting at the laundromat. He just walked by, this little old man, and said he was taking my bike for a ride, and I laughed, thinking he was joking, and said that wouldn’t be easy because the chain really needs oiled. It’s hard to pedal. He made it clear he wasn’t joking and said he would oil it for me and would be back in a couple minutes, to the laundromat. I hope he can do it, so I can get to work!
‘I’m late for work because I let this little old man steal my bike and I didn’t even try to stop him.’
Paste this into google maps: 81°57’41.15″W 79°58’38.32″S
I actually believe there is *something* in Antarctica, a LOT of somethings in Antarctica. I also believe the general public is being prevented from knowing what is down there, and most of us are not wealthy enough to take a vacation and equip ourselves to just go down there and explore the place thoroughly. We also cannot use all the equipment to vaporize the ice into steam, as I have been reading about, unless we’re super-rich.
I’ve been seeing photos of a pyramid in Antarctica, but sadly, I will debunk *this particular photo* that I am seeing over and over again. I’m pretty sure, as sure as I can be, that it’s just a mountain.
I am not saying that there are no pyramids in Antarctica. For instance, I could show a satellite image of somebody’s house and wrongly claim that this is a photo of a skyscraper, when it’s only just a house. Just because I misidentified a house as a skyscraper, does it mean that skyscrapers don’t exist anywhere? They do exist, but this particular photo isn’t an example of one.
The same thing is going on with this Antarctic pyramid photo we keep seeing which shows a pyramid looking thing from a satellite image, with the location given so you can just find it on google maps. It does look like a pyramid shaped object, with crossed ridges over it, so that it is divided into four sections, in a way that looks manmade.
However, if you look nearby at the mountain range it’s connected to, you see a lot of other mountains that have extremely sharp ridges crossing their tops, although not in such a way as to divide the mountain into four sections, sometimes just three sections. This pyramid has little tiny mountains and ridges all alongside it, so it is not just an isolated pyramid sitting in the middle of nowhere. That’s why I’m sure it’s just a mountain. It topologically looks very similar to all the other mountains and ridges right next to it. It has the same ‘style,’ the same algorithm, if you were drawing it in a video game using some kind of random mountain generator.
This was probably done as a red herring, a piece of disinformation, to lead everyone away from where the real pyramids are, and where the real archeological digs are being done. Like I said, I do believe *something* is there, something big, and I would love to know about it, but this particular photo is not a pyramid.
Test results all negative!!! There is only one thing left to test for that they don’t test for at PRCFebruary 22, 2017
1:03 PM 2/22/2017
I just went to get my test results. They gave me an antibiotic last week, and it seemed like it helped for a day or so – it reduced the symptoms. But I am living in unsanitary conditions. I pee in a cup and throw it out the door, and I think I reinfected myself from the cup. So it didn’t go completely away.
Well, the test results I got were ALL NEGATIVE.
This is absolutely wrong. I have *something*. I got tested at the Pregnancy Resource Clinic, which is a free clinic. I want to go get tested in a couple other places. They’re recommending MedExpress.
But I have to decide what I will tell the doctors at MedExpress if I go there. Should I tell them that I’ve already been tested and the test was negative, or should I tell them that this is all brand new, I’m starting from scratch, and I’ve never been tested before and I want their opinion?
If I tell them I’ve already been tested and it’s negative, they’re going to give me the same bullshit the girl gave me today. Note, the people at PRC are really nice and have been nice to me both times I was there. However, when I mentioned to the girl today, a different girl than I was with last time, when I said that the symptoms kind of went away but not completely, she said ‘Maybe it was the placebo effect,’ which INVALIDATES EVERY SINGLE THING SHE SAYS FROM NOW ON, because there is no such thing as the placebo effect, and I have argued about this in my blog many times before and don’t want to do it again. The placebo effect does not exist. At all. In any form whatsoever. THE PLACEBO EFFECT *DOES* *NOT* *EXIST*. Period.
So as soon as she mentioned that ‘it might have been the placebo effect,’ I knew, I knew everything, I knew the future, I knew what they all would say, based on past experience with doctors. If I go to another doctor and tell them I was tested, it came back negative –
Oh, and this girl also said ‘Maybe it’s stress,’ and I said, ‘Yeah, I have had a really bad couple of months.’ But inside I was thinking, ‘THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS STRESS AS A CAUSE OF DISEASE.’ Stress exists, but it does not cause disease. It does not cause it directly. It only causes it indirectly. Stress leads to fatigue and tiredness, if you never sleep, if you work too many hours, if you use too much caffeine, and lack of sleep worsens diseases and weakens your immune system, but that is not the same as saying ‘stress causes disease.’ I haven’t been sleeping any differently than normal since this started. I haven’t been under the type of stress that would ’cause disease’ in any way.
I know what all these people are going to say.
However, I might *have* to tell someone I’ve already been tested and the test came back negative. I need an alternative type of test, because the testing methods are untrustworthy, unreliable, and ineffective. Whatever method they used, it doesn’t work. *Something* must have grown in that petri dish, but they didn’t know how to identify what it was.
‘A negative result does not completely exclude infection.’ You’ve never said truer words in your life!!! This is on the paper they gave me. EVERYTHING WAS NEGATIVE. No STDs. No HIV, no syphilis, no gonorrhea, no chlamydia. THEN WHY IS AN ENDLESS FOUNTAIN OF SMELLY ITCHY SLIME POURING OUT OF MY VAGINA 24 HOURS A DAY SO THAT I HAVE TO WEAR A THICK MENSTRUAL PAD TO STOP IT FROM SOAKING THROUGH THREE THICK LAYERS OF CLOTHING????? And why did this begin after being semi-raped without a condom by a person of an ethnic group which is known to be at the highest risk of having STDs?
‘Positive nucleic acid amplification tests for CT (Chlamydia trachomatis) and/or GC (Neisseria gonorrheae) that utilize the Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR) are considered presumptive evidence of infection. A negative result does not completely exclude infection. All PCR results are dependent on the absence of interfering
substances, a detectable number of organisms, and an appropriate specimen. Clinical correlation is required with PCR testing as the likelihood that a positive result represents a true infection decreases in very low-prevalence low-risk populations. The CT/GC test has not been evaluated in patients younger than 14 years of age. Methodology: Polymerase Chain Reaction (PCR) and nucleic acid hybridization.’
THIS IS WHY I DO NOT BELIEVE ANY SCIENTIFIC TESTS. Whatever method they are using, it doesn’t work. The same thing happened when I had rabies. There is no method of testing for rabies while you’re alive, except maybe spinal fluid samples, if I recall correctly.
This is also why I don’t really go along with the theory that the swine flu was a hoax. I believe the swine flu really happened, but it might not have been technically a ‘flu.’ It was some kind of contagious disease, I had it myself, I knew other people who had it, and it was something extremely nasty and extremely harsh which went on for months and months and caused me to lose a lot of weight, and seemed to keep coming back every time I would start to get better. It was a real thing, but there was no effective reliable method of testing for the presence of this disease. THEIR TESTING METHODS DO NOT WORK.
I also remember I once tested negative for herpes, even though I get these cold sores or canker sores when I get sick. I definitely have a herpes-like virus and have had it for a long time. The test result came back negative. THE TESTING METHOD DOES NOT WORK. It gives untrue results, false negatives.
What do I do now, and what do I tell the next doctor to prevent the doctor from saying that it’s an imaginary disease caused by stress, and saying that the antibiotics I took slightly improved it for a day or so only because of the placebo effect? In other words, what can I say to them to make them stop being evil insane lunatic morons, and instead, make them do their fucking job for once and actually be real scientists instead of fucking evil trolls?
I will have to go to another doctor, or else I will have to TAKE MATTERS INTO MY OWN HANDS *AS USUAL* – I wish I could write this in a larger, screaming font, but I’m typing it into a text editor and can’t do that and don’t feel like using HTML. I will take matters into my own hands, and I will either have to find a way to buy antibiotics without a prescription, or else use alternative medicine to cure it myself. I HAVE AN STD AND I NEED TO FUCKING GET THE FUCK RID OF IT, AND GODDAM THOSE BASTARDS TELLING ME ALL MY RESULTS ARE NEGATIVE.
I hope that at least the test results for syphilis and HIV are true negatives, not false negatives! I would rather not have those. However, I don’t have symptoms of those things and don’t suspect that I have those diseases. I just have something which is similar to gonorrhea or chlamydia, but it didn’t look like the ‘foamy discharge’ that she showed me a photo of for the parasitic infection, trichomonas or something (let me google it to make sure: trichomoniasis). Trichomoniasis.
Trichomonas vaginalis. How can I test for this? It doesn’t look foamy. But that’s the only common STD remaining, and they don’t test for that one at the Pregnancy Resource Clinic. If I go to a doctor at MedExpress and tell them I want to test for this, will they listen to me? Doctors usually don’t like it when I directly tell them what I want to do. I have to pretend to be a clueless inferior stupid brainless moron like the vast majority of their patients. A brainless sheep. I AM A BRAINLESS SHEEP. I HAVE A DISEASE WHICH I AM HELPLESS TO CURE. THINK FOR ME, DOCTOR.
I already can obviously see that, for the small lotteries, it’s not worthwhile to try to win $500 or something, because, well, it’s obvious for anyone who can do even the slightest bit of arithmetic – you lose more often than you win, and have a net expense. I did bookkeeping.
However, something changes in my emotional perception of this risk (inevitable net loss) whenever the prize you win is much bigger. If you have a chance of winning like $40 million dollars, it seems worthwhile to have a net loss of $2 if you only do it, say, once a week. It’s a hopeless duty that you perform without expecting to receive anything, kind of like paying taxes. Your lottery tax is only a small loss compared to the amount you would win.
I need to protect myself against this idea by proving that the lottery is not merely IMPROBABLE, it is actually IMPOSSIBLE. There is a world of difference between improbable and impossible. It’s like the limit of a function as x approaches zero, or else, just y=0. Or something. Those are very different. My emotional reaction to ‘improbable’ is different from my emotional reaction to ‘impossible.’ I won’t even do it at all if it’s impossible but if it’s unlikely, I might try.
12:17 PM 2/21/2017
I pretty much can’t get online at all. I can get online very briefly to do the quickest, shallowest activities, a quick shallow read of the news or something, can barely even find time to read my RSS feeds, can’t do anything that requires thinking.
I need to hunt for an apartment, which will require errand running, phone calls, and tons of paperwork. I am so tired I can’t even do that. To do those things I would have to get up like eight hours earlier than I want to, because I am desperately trying to get sleep. Part of it is because I have problems sleeping on the days when I work overnight, so I lose a lot of sleep and have to make it up in the next couple days. I do go home and try to sleep, but I wake up after a couple hours, because no matter how badly I need sleep, the murdering mind controllers ‘need’ to force me to wake up repeatedly the whole time I’m sleeping.
I actually still kind of want to work overnights and I still want to work all the different shifts so that I can learn how to do things, although I’m avoiding the earliest morning shift, the one that starts at 7am, because that’s the hardest one for me to get up for while I’m living in a tent, although it’s somewhat easier if I’m in a house.
Everything is a million times easier when I have a car. I wouldn’t mind having an electric bike again – that would be fine, and I intend to do that when I get into an apartment.
I just can’t even hunt for an apartment.
It will happen, though. I do have days with some more free time, where I wake up and am able to get out of bed. I can get out of bed on the warmest days. I had two days in a row where I did something at home that I needed to do. I can’t remember what day it is or was – it must have been Sunday??? I got up and did laundry before work.
Then, yesterday, I was able to get up early enough to clean up the trash. This is no small thing. I had several trash bags that were sitting outside waiting to be taken to a dumpster, which were ripped open by the skunk. It pulled stuff out and scattered it around the bag on the ground outside. I don’t ever like to pollute, and I wanted to pick it up for weeks and weeks, but couldn’t because it was too cold, snowy, and icy outside. Finally yesterday it was warm and I got up and did it.
Then, I also cleaned up all the trash inside the tent. It was such a huge pile that it was taking up all the space. It made a huge amount of room. I had all these things like gallon jugs of water that I had to abandon because I was catching recurring vomit viruses and didn’t want to drink from the same container, as I was doing everything in my power to stop catching it again. I had a halfway drunk two liter of lemonade, and two or three abandoned liters of apple cider where the same thing had happened – I had gotten the recurring vomit virus again and could not drink more than a couple sips after I bought it. I was buying apple cider occasionally during the cold days where I knew it would stay fresh, but then I wouldn’t be able to finish drinking it anyway because of the vomit virus that just kept coming back. My coworker also says she has a flu that keeps going on for weeks, and this flu involves a lot of vomiting. So I know I have the same thing.
I had to dump all the liquids out of all those large jugs of stuff so it would be empty when I put it into the trash bag. It was an enormous waste. I also had an enormous waste of food, too, where I would buy several things, sandwiches, etc, because I was really, really hungry, then take two bites and feel like I was going to vomit, and have to spend the next two or three hours struggling to hold down my vomit while lying in bed, and eating ginger, even though I only had two small bites of food and a small sip of juice. I was SO FRUSTRATED to waste all that sandwich and the juice I had bought. And when it gets above 40 degrees, anything I have in my tent spoils, so I can’t keep these things for several days and then try to eat them again when the virus goes away. There’s only one chance to eat them, and then they have to be thrown away. The weather has intermittently gone through phases of being reliably very cold, or, occasionally going above 40.
I would actually prefer warmer weather right now, even though I can no longer keep food or drinks in the tent, because warmer weather means I can get up early and do things.
There is an annoying music soundtrack at work. We are able to change the station, but even so, I am frequently listening to particular stations where they play the same songs over and over again. The mind controllers force me to hear music in my head, and it’s always something horrible that I hate, or else a song that I would have liked if I only heard it once in a while, but don’t enjoy hearing a fragment of the song playing 10,000 times all day and all night long
involuntarily in my brain.
I can never remember the entire song, and can’t hear or can’t remember all the words to the song, so they only play the tiny fragment that I am able to hear and remember, which will be the most annoying part. Right now they’re playing, ‘She’s love, she’s love, she’s love, she’s in my head. She’s love, she’s love, she’s love, she might be dead.’ That’s right. Those two lines over and over and over and over, with a little bit of inaudible or incomprehensible lines of the song in between, and then back to that part again. So I can hear the tune of the other part, but not the words – they’re just inaudible. It’s the hum-along part. Then back to ‘she’s love, she’s love…’
The skunk visited a couple nights ago to eat some of the food I threw outside. I heard something outside the tent walking around in the leaves, making the leaves crackle. I thought it was Jacob. I knew Jacob wasn’t in bed with me. Then, I heard some other animal making a crying sound farther away, and I became concerned – I wasn’t sure what it was, and I thought maybe Jacob caught a mouse, except this didn’t sound like a mouse. I wondered if Jacob was okay.
So I peeked out the door of the tent with a flashlight. I looked to the left and shined the flashlight on Jacob, who suddenly ran away. I figured, he must be chasing a mouse, and the mouse suddenly ran away because I moved around and shined the light on it. Then Jacob stopped a few feet away, and turned and looked back at me, with extremely bright glowing eyes in the light. Then I saw that Jacob had some white fur on his back.
Then, I looked to the right, and I saw another Jacob, sitting there on the right peacefully and quietly watching all of this happening without making the slightest move and without being the slightest bit upset. That other thing was the skunk! Jacob was just sitting there a few feet away from the skunk, before I had peeked out the door, silently sitting and watching the skunk while the skunk was eating some food I’d thrown out. I was sure the skunk was Jacob because it looked like a black, cat-sized object when it ran away. None of us got sprayed. Jacob didn’t try to chase the skunk or do anything to it. I’m REALLY, REALLY GLAD HE DIDN’T. I don’t know why he doesn’t.
I have seen skunks many times while camping. They’re adorable and I’d like to keep one as a pet, without removing its sprayer. I’m sure I could get it to trust me enough that it wouldn’t spray.
I also used to see porcupines when I lived on Mt. Nittany, and bears. I never see either of those here in Walnut Springs, which is in the middle of town. I’m kind of glad not to be seeing bears during a time when I don’t have enough money to buy another new tent if the bear knocks it down, although bears never bothered my tent while I lived in it – I have a theory that they smelled the urine and stayed away. They only ripped open my tent when I abandoned it for several months when I moved into an apartment and hadn’t gotten my stuff out of the tent yet, and had a few things in there like Slim Jims. I went back and found bags of stuff yanked out of the tent and dragged a long distance away into the woods, and a big hole in the tent.
Tomorrow I’m off work, and then the next day, I go in at 5pm, so I have most of the day off until then. It will be almost like having two days off in a row. I will be able to get up and do something, and maybe work on the apartment hunting project.
I have to go in at 3:00 pm today, and it’s 12:45 now, and my alarm keeps going off, but I don’t want to get out of bed. Supposedly it’s warm, and the thermometer in my tent says it’s 60 degrees, but it feels freezing to me, and there is no sun. It’s only warm when the sun is shining. We have clouds and wind right now. I just don’t want to move. I’m very warm in my bed. It’s like a sauna. I have so much insulation in this sleeping bag. Jacob knows how warm it is in here and he knows how to climb in when I’m in the bag. It’s cute to watch him getting in. Sometimes he goes in head first and then turns around once he’s in there, and other times, he lays down close to the opening, then sort of rolls or sinks backwards and downwards into the sleeping bag.
an example of someone really hacking a lottery and succeeding (until he got caught). I’m trying to devise a lottery which is absolutely unwinnable, not merely unlikely.February 21, 2017
How many others don’t get caught when they hack the lottery and win it?
He did all these things to avoid having his name associated with the lottery ticket, but the particular state where he bought the ticket, Iowa, doesn’t allow anonymous winners, so they tracked him down. He had made an offshore company in Belize to take the money. He formerly worked for that lottery, and had changed the security cameras to only take one photograph per minute, instead of videotaping constantly, and then he went into the room with the machines and installed a rootkit to hack the computer. Whatever he did, it worked, because his ticket won the lottery.
I’m trying to rationalize a way that would make it ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE, not merely unlikely, for a person to win the lottery, the type of lottery with balls that fly around in the box and get vacuumed into the tube thing. The only way I can imagine that would make it absolutely impossible to win is if the numbers changed after someone won it. Like, hey, I had 14 35 46 58 68, and that was the original draw, but then as soon as the lottery realized that I won it, the numbers changed.
Actually, are they aware of what you’ve drawn? Before the drawing, they receive all the tickets that have been bought, all the
information about all the numbers that have been chosen. So they have this big database now, with all the numbers that everyone has bought, before the drawing….
Oooohhhh… it IS possible to make it impossible!!!
Let’s do a simple example. I’ll see if I can really explain this the way I want to explain it.
There are only five people playing the lottery, and they only choose one number each, from 1 to 10.
It doesn’t matter if two people choose the same number. I don’t care. That’s not relevant.
So, the lottery receives a ‘request’ for all those numbers, because the tickets have been filled out with their little pencil marks and scanned through the machines at the gas station. The computer in the machine tells the database, ‘People have chosen the numbers 2, 5, 7, 8, and 9.’
So then, they do the drawing. If it happens to get any of those numbers, they don’t use that one. They discard it. They pretend this video is ‘live’ on television, but it really isn’t live. It’s done in advance. They redo it until they’re sure that nobody wins. Or they could just videoshop the video, which is easy nowadays.
How can we prove this isn’t happening?
Did I explain it well enough?
It only requires me to be bound and determined to assume, and to find a way to prove, and to stick to my hypothesis no matter what, the idea that it’s impossible to win the lottery, and then, try to devise a method by which it would indeed be completely impossible,
hypothetically. That is what I am trying to do. The goal is to make a foolproof hypothetical method of making the lottery absolutely unwinnable no matter what.
I’m still in the tent, but I switched over to the laptop because my phone battery was dying.
I think I said most of what I was thinking in the previous post. It’s just that I was struggling to understand something about Mom’s death, something I can’t really verbalize.
I noticed that some of my feelings have changed. At first, I felt as though Mom was still with me, as though she was almost like my best friend. She came with me in the car whenever I drove to Green Bank WV and Snowshoe WV. She went on that adventure with me. It was also because of her that I started looking into going to school again.
There is something that has to be clarified, but it’s hard to explain. It’s almost as though with Mom alive, I was being ‘held back’ somehow, and now that she is dead, I am suddenly set free to do more things than I could do before. I don’t think this is really true, but it *seems* that way. I had wanted to have children and I had wanted Mom to meet them before she died. That didn’t happen. I had
unexplainable reasons why I did not want to go back to school.
Because of the electronic mind control, which constantly zaps me when I try to think, and also the electromagnetic background noise which seems to be associated with the cell phone networks and probably other radio sources as well, I’m not able to troubleshoot my own thought processes anymore. When a thought process is malfunctioning, it causes me great distress, but I can do nothing about it. When I was younger, before the severe attacks began, I used to be able to go inside my own mind and troubleshoot the thought processes that were malfunctioning. I could analyze everything, ask myself some questions, have insights, fix the broken logic, and change my own mind, change my own beliefs and perceptions, so that I could take appropriate action and not feel internally conflicted anymore.
Nowadays, that is hopelessly impossible to do. I have to passively wait for the electronic mind controllers to change my mind for me, if there is a problem that needs to be changed. I have to passively wait, sometimes for decades, while they do absolutely nothing to fix or improve my situation, while I suffer, while I know perfectly well that something is very, very, very wrong with my life and with my thought processes, my perceptions, my attitudes, the conflicts between my thoughts and my feelings. I cannot do a single thing on my own to fix those things. I cannot look into the future, see a pathway to where I want to go, and start taking the steps down that pathway that will take me there to that goal, although I could do that exact thing in the past before the severe attacks and severe noise interference began.
So, for whatever reason, the controllers decided that upon Mom’s death, they would suddenly change something in my life, and they decided that now, for whatever reason, it is suddenly okay for me to move back into an apartment and try to go back to school so that I can get a better job.
So it might superficially *seem* as though Mom’s life was somehow preventing me from achieving anything, and suddenly, upon her death, I’m free to achieve things. Merely by existing, far far away, back in West Virginia, while I was in Pennsylvania, she was somehow magically holding me back and dragging me down. I don’t really think that’s true. I know what happens when I try to look inside my mind and troubleshoot my broken thought processes. I know what happens when I try to look into the future, look down the path ahead, choose which path I want to take, and take the steps to actually move down that path in reality. I know that I’m being prevented from doing all that on my own. But suddenly, by magic, something changed right now because Mom died.
But there are a few tiny grains of truth in this idea. I know that I am motivated by not having enough time. I know I used to be able to write an essay for literature class only minutes before going into class, and (with a particular teacher, at least) I would get a 100% on that essay. I think that was probably Mrs. Schuda, if I can remember her name – she might have been a little too easy, but she was very, very nice, and I loved her, in a way. I wasn’t able to write an essay, or do a project, weeks or months in advance, and stretch out the plan of what I was going to do over all that time. It could only be done frantically at the very last minute, or not at all.
This applies to life, as well. However, by the time you realize that death is inevitable, and death is close to you, and there’s no time left, you’re also physically sick and weak enough that you’re not able to ‘write that essay’ at the last possible second. You can’t go on a scuba diving trip when you have agonizing pain from cancer, cachexia, starvation, thirst, malnutrition, drug overdoses, and daily drug withdrawals, causing you constant nonstop agony and making you so weak you can barely stand up. At the last minute, when you suddenly realize you ought to have gone on one more scuba diving trip before it was too late, that’s the time when you are no longer able to. It’s not the same as being able to write a good essay half an hour before class starts and getting an A+ on it.
So, there might be grains of truth in the idea that Mom’s death is motivating me to do something. I have seen death with my own eyes. I knew Mom didn’t look good, the last couple times I visited her. She had aged badly. She looked more wrinkled than she should, more hunched than she should be (she had fallen from the hayloft, broken her back, survived, and recovered without paralysis! and healed!, but it left her with a stooping back), and somehow, more gray and withdrawn and unhappy than she should be, as she faded away into the backgrounds in all the photos I saw of her, on other people’s facebook pages, from the past couple years. Gray, gray, gray. That color – it was wrong. Her skin was gray, although not literally outright gray. Lack of color saturation? A lack of redness? A lack of warmth, a lack of blood flow, something, something undefinable. She was not flourishing. She was fading.
I can see myself. I am not really healthy. The fact that my hips have gone bad (unless I stop coffee, which causes the pain to go away immediately! but drinking coffee makes the pain come back) at the age of 42 is an extremely bad sign for my future. I also have a slightly stooping back. I have done drugs that deplete the minerals from the bones, for many years now, because of slavery. These things are not the way the body is supposed to be. We are supposed to be healthy all the way to 100, and then, we can continue living another lifetime until 150 or 160, although we will be wrinkly and stooped.
I read a story of somebody who went to visit an old woman who they claimed was a supercentenarian, although I don’t remember how old they said she was. There were people who claimed she was *really* old, like maybe over 120. The writer described her as being stooped so far over that she was sitting down, hunched over, when he (or she, or whoever) went to interview her. Other people claimed they had always seen her around the town when they themselves were children, and they were all very old now too. People had to bring her food to eat because she couldn’t really walk around very well or do things for herself. I don’t know where she was or what her name was. I only remembered this story because it showed me that you can be stooped over, but still be healthy enough to continue living for many more decades, even though you can’t stand up straight anymore. I just always think that if you are stooping, it means you are extremely unhealthy and you have so many problems that you can’t possibly live very long, and this story contradicted that.
However, I still believe in the other stories I have heard, where people who are 110 are standing up straight and they look healthier than people who are in their 60s. That is the way we are all supposed to be, every one of us.
It’s 11:24 am. I have to go to work overnight at 11 pm. If I’m going to do the laundry, if I’m going to go online and look for apartments, if I’m going to email Dad and tell him about my apartment hunting project and ask for his help, I have to do it soon. My day doesn’t exist – there is no time. I am supposed to sleep sometime during the day so that I can be awake tonight. I really want to do the laundry now that I have money again. Dad did send me some money to help me.
Mom’s death – I was trying to use it to understand the fact that there is no time, in the more general sense, in the larger scale. I’m 42, but I have no money, and a terrible job, and no boyfriend currently (not a real boyfriend, just someone who I can see once in a while if I feel like it), and no real good friends either – I have some friends, I have Kat and Charles, but I can’t be totally open with them about everything. I can’t explain it all to them.
I have this vision of something – the hopes and dreams – and I need to tell it to someone who believes in it. They have to believe in it the right way, and respond to it the right way, and understand it the right way. I can tell my hopes and dreams to Kat and Charles, but they don’t really understand them, and they don’t communicate the right way about them. I need a particular kind of feedback, a particular kind of interaction.
If this is how it is, then how am I going to make any of those dreams happen? How can I make even the most trivial dream happen, the dream of traveling someplace, and it doesn’t even matter where I travel, to travel anyplace interesting at all, and to do some things which are expensive, to do a scuba trip like my parents used to do, and to do some skiing trips (although the risk of sudden death is pretty high from skiing, as I saw when I went to Tussey Mountain a few years ago, when I had just met Jesse not long before, and I remember, I tried to invite him to go with me, but he didn’t go, and I saw how it was possible to run directly into a tree, and die instantly, if you made the slightest mistake).
I want to fly a plane, I want to ski, I want to scuba dive, I want to cross the Arctic and the Antarctic with dog sleds, I want to go whale hunting, I want to ride a ship across the ocean, I want to go into outer space – but how can I make even the smallest and most trivial of those hopes and dreams happen, when my life is the way it is right now, and the shadow of death is over me, maybe not right away, but a long, faraway shadow that I can see coming closer, closer than I would like it to be, closer than the 160 years I was hoping for? How can I make even the smallest dream happen? I can’t even drive a car to Altoona, just down the street from me.
I want to write more songs! Writing songs was extremely important to me, although I tended to do it when I was using herbal drugs, and I don’t want to use herbal drugs anymore. It can still be done without drugs, although less spontaneously. I wanted to make cartoons. I wanted to play the violin or some other musical instruments.
The time for me to do these things is getting smaller and smaller.
The time to do the laundry is also getting smaller. Maybe I can finish this and get up now. It is not easy to do.
My blankets are still covered with pesticides. If I quit coffee, I will still be in that situation, where I have chemical-induced chronic fatigue, until I do a decon. It’s not possible to wash these sleeping bags, even in the largest washers at the laundromat. I tried. I tried washing this brown one, the thickest one meant for the wintertime, but when I took it out of the washer, it had dry spots that hadn’t been touched by water or soap at all. It’s too big and heavy for any washing machine. When I have this fatigue, all I do is sleep, and go to my job, and then sleep again.
I need to make permanent changes in my life so that this pesticide problem stops happening forever and ever. I need to make permanent changes to how I live, to how things are done, so that I will never be exposed to pesticides like this, and so that I will never have to keep throwing things in the garbage, things that cost THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS, TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN THE GARBAGE. It is a huge amount of money that I have lost because of decontamination. I need to live completely differently to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t merely want to prevent it, I want to make it possible to fix it when it inevitably happens.
The only way to fix it is to throw stuff away a lot, or have some way of cleaning them, which might mean I need to purchase, and own, my very own largest size industrial washing machine, or something, instead of going to a laundromat. If I throw stuff away a lot, that means I have to have a gigantic income of thousands of dollars a month to compensate for having to throw away belongings that cost tens of thousands of dollars. I will have to live inside a very small house which is extremely easy to clean because it will all be on tile floors, where you can mop them every day as needed. I cannot have a single carpet in the house.
Okay… I need to shut this down, and then, get a bag, and put some clothes in it, and find my laundry soap. My body hurts and I don’t want to get up.
There is no free time. There is work, sleep, and commute. There is eating time, and grooming time, where I comb my extremely tangled hair and then wash it in the sink.
If laundry will be done, it must be done in between these other things. I must do my taxes, hunt for an apartment, go to West Virginia on April 8 for Mom’s remembrance, which Sue announced on Mom’s Facebook page, apply for financial aid to go to the vocational school, and also, fulfill all my hopes and dreams.
I have been thinking of Mom’s death. "They," for many years, have made me fantasize that I would live to be 160 years old. We kept adding to that number (I’m thumb typing this on my phone in the tent, so I’m not writing as quickly as I would like to). It began with 100 years old, and then we started aiming for higher and higher numbers.
It is possible to do, but you can only do it by being born in a society without any Weston Price deformities, no chemicals, no drugs, and maybe there are special substances like RAW apricot oil that might help (I was reading about the Humsa people or something like that, in Pakistan, who used to live to be 150 before modern culture invaded them).
But me, I am not born in that culture. I have Weston Price deformities, and I’ve been vaccinated. I’ve been exposed to pollution and drugs and malnutrition my whole life. My hip joints are very bad now that I’m drinking coffee again. Like clockwork, the more coffee I drink, the worse my hips get.
I’ve seen Mom’s death. I see the shadow of death over me, too. It might be a long, distant shadow, but it might not be as far away as I would like.
Mom’s life went wrong. I can’t say these things at the remembrance ceremony, the things I really think, because I have controversial beliefs, many of which are negative, when this group will want to be positive.
But I think Mom did not have the best kind of true love, because I believe in socionic duality. I also believe she did not fulfill anywhere near her true potential. She had hopes and dreams she never told anyone, and when she died, when the sadness came over her face, which I gently rubbed away with my fingers, that look of sadness, when I saw it and all I could do was sit up very straight, hold her hand, tremble, and let the tears pour down my face – that moment was when she knew for sure that all her hopes and dreams had died, and there would never be a chance to do them now, those secret hopes and dreams and wishes that were never spoken.
We don’t know what those hopes were. But I remember, she traveled and went scuba diving, in the sunshine, in the past. Surely she wanted more adventures like that. I know I still do. I want to go scuba diving too. I want to travel to the sunniest places, and also to Antarctica, and the moon.
It’s like on that movie, "Inside Out," where Joy has to ride the wagon out of the memory pit by herself, leaving the imaginary friend behind (what was his name?), and he says "Take Riley to the moon for me." Then he fades away.
This evokes a strong emotion – I cried so much watching that movie – but at the same time, I don’t believe hopes and dreams and wishes have to die, and I don’t believe they are nothing more than childhood fantasies.
I’m some kind of weird communist nowadays. I don’t have a label. Surely there is a label for me. But I believe there is so much wealth in the world that every human being on earth can afford to go to the moon. This enormous, infinite wealth is being kept away from us all. That is only the tip of the iceberg of what we can do.
The wealth is being drained from us both covertly and overtly, directly and indirectly, in ways that we can see easily, or cannot imagine or understand. The invisible things – lack of opportunity – the whole world could be completely different from how it is now, but we can’t imagine it. "Flying cars by the year 2000," that kind of thing, but much more.
Mom’s life went wrong partly because of all that, and the same for me.
Also, electronic mind control has made it all go wrong for all of us.
I don’t feel comfortable talking openly to the group about this – wait, my phone battery is dying, let me send this.
Suddenly I have Jacob back at the tent. No free time to read or write anything. Looking for an apartment.February 18, 2017
Kat’s roommate had a bad night where her cat meowed all night long and kept her awake. He has been doing that because he’s upset about Jacob being there, and jealous, and other things I can’t explain. He was afraid of Jacob at first, but gradually got used to him. It wasn’t that bad. But after Eugene had a bad night (her name is Eugene, but she’s female – I suspect it comes from Korean and it’s supposed to be something like Yoo-Jin or something), she told Kat she wanted me to take Jacob away because of how much he was disturbing Oreo.
I made an arrangement right away to get Charles to drive me over there and help me bring him home to the tent. I considered maybe giving him to the Youngs, but actually, it’s the middle of February, and there won’t be a lot more single-digit temperatures. We will probably still have tons of snow all the way into the month of May – those May-June blizzards that we keep getting – but it’s not that cold.
I’m at the laundromat getting ready to wash up for work. I haven’t done any laundry and it’s getting worse and worse. I’m wearing dirty clothes to work.
I don’t have any free time to sit and read the internet anymore. I like to spend a long time reading random things and watching random videos.
I am looking for an apartment. I’m reading about ‘affordable housing’ and might try to sign up for that, but there are waiting lists. I will also look for ‘slightly cheaper than average’ housing that isn’t officially ‘affordable.’ This time, not only will I sublet or whatever in the middle of this semester right now, but I will also sign up in advance for an apartment starting in August. I won’t be thrown out on the street when my sublet ends like I was when I lived in the Chinese apartment.
I was in an extremely bad mood last night. I don’t recall where I was, maybe when I was walking down the sidewalk to go to Kat’s house when I picked up Jacob – I was thinking hate-crime-related thoughts about realtors and everybody associated with the entire industry of real estate. This would also have to include the banking system. I just don’t know exactly who is responsible for setting the insanely high prices of rent and land. It is not merely ‘the free market’ that sets those prices. I’m being exposed to a lot of transdermal tobacco at work, every day, and I think it’s affecting my moods. Now I’m also petting Jacob and he still smells like smoke. He needs a bath, but I can’t give him one right now. I used to be able to wipe him with a warm wet washcloth and he sometimes kind of liked it. I also can’t do my laundry quite yet. So I have tobacco and stuff on me and that causes the hate.
My hatred is real; it just doesn’t manifest as outright, active hatred unless I’m under the influence of tobacco. I do really hate the entire real estate industry.
I have had numerous firsthand experiences, and observations, and have also done my research, about the fact that all forms of tobacco tend to cause violence and also domestic abuse.
I shouldn’t dawdle for too long. It’s 8:50 am right now. I have to wash off and wash my hair and go to work, and it will take a little while to get there, and I have to be there at 11:00 am. I just wanted to write a little bit more because I haven’t been able to write or read or do anything or have any free time at all.
I can’t even do my taxes, and as a result, I can’t apply for FAFSA to go to the vocational school yet. I’m going to try to get an apartment first and I will ask Dad for help with that. I want to explain how first I have to sublet, and then afterwards, I also have to sign up in advance for something in August, so I might need *A LOT* of money all at once. It could be the first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and security deposit (worst case scenario) for one apartment, and exactly the same for the second one that I’m signing up for in advance, which will total thousands of dollars. AFFORDABLE HOUSING. Bulldozing trailer parks should be illegal. Every person who bulldozes a trailer park should go to jail for fifty years. I don’t necessarily mean the bulldozer driver. They’re cool people. I mean the people who sell the land and decide to make it into a strip mall and get billions of dollars for the sale, only to have all the strip mall stores go out of business a couple years later because nobody actually needed a strip mall there and nobody needed ten more clothing stores.
Okay, I have to start washing my hair and all that. I don’t want to go to work.
The tent is an absolute mess and it’s not ready for Jacob to be there. He slept in my sleeping bag with me last night, and it eventually worked out okay, but it was hard to get into a good position. The whole tent needs to be moved and rebuilt, on a bed of sticks so that it’s flat instead of slanted on the hill. I have to clean it all up. I’m hoping I can move into an apartment quickly.
I think the drug worked, but I’m itching again because of the unsanitary conditions in the tent. I pee in a cup and pour it outside, and I think I got it from the cup. Hopefully the continuing effect of the antibiotic will fight that. I tried washing the cup after realizing what happened. If it comes back, I will wait till I can afford to buy a pack of sanitizing wipes. I have no money, barely a couple bucks, and can’t do laundry either. I get paid tomorrow but it’s gonna be like a $30 paycheck. And I get paid EVERY TWO WEEKS which is absolute evil. At MY future business, our rhyming motto is, “We pay every day right away.” We pay a new hire in cash at the end of their first day. The on-premises bookkeeper magically takes care of it, which is easy to do because I did a Schaum’s outline of bookkeeping and accounting and I know how. It’s so easy, it should be a universal practice, but nobody on earth gives a fuck about the convenience for the employee. They would of course have the option of receiving checks, direct deposits, physical silver coins, and so on. Frequent gifts of silver coins for long term savings are the official policy of my company. “But what about the taxes?” The bookkeeper does that. It’s easy. It’s their job! All it takes is one person who cares enough to make it happen. It doesn’t violate any laws, whether they be laws of physics or social laws. On another topic, I want to rent a room. I stopped renting because of lease problems which I now know how to prevent. And landlord problems when I rented informally without a lease. I want to buy land from tax sales and put goats and chickens on it, but that is only the beginning. I actually felt good after that antibiotic, which reminds me about that Dr. John Somebody who used to work for the government and discovered Stealth Viruses and made a protocol to treat chronic fatigue syndrome. He’s on Google. I forget his name, but “stealth virus” in quotes will get him. He found cytomegaloviruses from green monkeys in vaccines.
I’m at Kat’s house right now. I wanted to just take a shower and go home, but then, I started having diarrhea. Every time I tried to leave, I had another bout of diarrhea. I’m afraid to leave now. I have to ride my bike home to the tent and sleep some more, because I’m working an overnight tonight. I have to get at least some sleep.
At least I’m not vomiting, YET. But having diarrhea every couple minutes is preventing me from leaving.
I decided to look at facebook pictures of Mom. She actually didn’t look so good for this entire year leading up to her cancer, the whole year of 2016. It was ‘brewing’ back then. Her face looked gray and her whole demeanor, her whole aura, looked gray and recessed somehow, pulled back, not vigorous, not vital, not full of energy. Her facial expression was a look of not really smiling, even in photographs.
I have seen photos of her when she was younger. She was healthy and full of energy.
I myself am not as healthy looking as I want to be. I have been unhealthy looking for quite some time now. I can see some of that death creeping up on me. I could see the death shadow on Mom in her photos of 2016, in hindsight. I already felt that she didn’t look too good, but I didn’t think she was going to outright DIE in a couple of months. I just thought she was ‘aging badly.’
But she probably already had cancer and already was battling some cachexia. Dad, or maybe Mom herself on the phone with me, I forget, told me that she was having trouble eating, ‘early satiety,’ eating just a little and then feeling like you can’t eat any more, for much of 2016.
I think I have taken azithromycin before, maybe for the bladder infection I had that one time. That might be the time when I got REALLY, REALLY DEPRESSED. Taking the antibiotic made me so depressed I quit my job at Giant. Now that I know what to expect, I will try not to let anything like that happen again.
Gut bacteria affect your mood. I already wolfed down a thing of yogurt, although it will all be killed and it’s no use at this point in the treatment – it’ll kill all the yogurt bacteria just as much as it kills everything. But after the drug is wearing off I’ll be sure to eat more yogurt and anything else (I have no fridge, so I don’t want to get jars of kimchi and stuff, but that’s what I’d love to have).
Mom… I miss you – if I am going to be depressed, I will probably be crying about Mom a whole lot in the next few days. It’s strange – I actually cried a lot more about Jesse joining the army than I did about Mom dying, but that’s because I was seeing Jesse frequently. He was close by. If I had been living with Mom or near enough to see her often and visit her, I would have cried a lot more. I’m disconnected from the house in WV by being up here in State College.
I made sure to eat food along with it, because I know from experience that antibiotics are much worse if you don’t. I remember one time, I thought the opposite. I was afraid to eat because I knew I would vomit. Well, it was much much worse on a mostly empty stomach. I’m nauseated now, but I imagine it would be utterly unbearable if I hadn’t eaten at all. I have ginger. I will probably throw up at some point. I just hope I’m not throwing up at work tonight. I hope I can even go to work.
Jay messed up my drawer count while helping me; everything I sell should be illegal, starting with the lotteryFebruary 15, 2017
I’m still learning to count the money to close the till. I asked Jay for help. I had counted it all and I swear I had $154 something. He erased all my numbers and typed in $145. I said, “Wait, I thought it was $154.” He changed it to $144, and assured me that’s what it had been. No more help from Jay. I want to tell Cyn about it so she won’t think I messed it up myself. The only thing I could have done was count the whole thing again. Maybe next time, if anyone ever does that again, I will. The things that I sell should all be illegal: tobacco products, lottery, and gasoline. Gasoline ruined america by creating zoning laws saying you must live 100 miles away from your workplace. If there were no gasoline, we would live right next to an outdoor market, where we would shop daily, and all food would come from directly outside the city or in the city itself. All lottery winners are shills who are friends of insiders. There are no winners. It is not possible to win any lottery. The entire lottery is a scam. It should be outright banned, not regulated or restricted. This is true of all lotteries, not some particular kind. Tobacco should be wholly illegal, not merely restricted to people over 18. *MY* convenience store is a Food Oasis in the food desert, and it sells only organic healthy food, not junk food. It also must have some kind of dried meats not full of chemicals and hormones. I’m texting this over my phone so it can’t be too long.
I’m actually having occasional dreams about Mom, but I haven’t mentioned them all. I think I know what inspired last night’s dream. Last night, I was back at the WV house. I looked out the front door, at one point in the dream (as always, there was stuff in the beginning that I don’t remember), and I saw all these people standing up on the road at the top of our brick steps. The road isn’t a busy road, so it’s possible for a large group of people to just stand there like that. They were singing and playing music, and I saw Mom up there with them. I thought she was a ghost and maybe I was the only person who was able to see her. Nobody else mentioned anything unusual, like ‘Hey! I just saw Dea but I thought she was dead!’ Nothing like that.
Then later or some other time I saw her walking down the street towards Mrs. Lees’ house. I wanted to go walk with her. I can’t remember if I did or not. I feel like maybe I did and I gave her a hug.
I’m not sure why she was walking down to the Lees’ house, but I think the reason she was standing with a group of people singing and playing music was because it was a ‘hippie’ event, inspired by the fact that she had smoked marijuana (in real life).
I remember being really happy to see her and happy she was enjoying herself.
I remembered after posting the blog last night about almost failing the drug test that I had also briefly, BRIEFLY inhaled A FEW WHIFFS of secondhand smoke coming out of OTHER PEOPLE’S apartments around Kat’s apartment complex. I would walk down the hall and smell marijuana from someone else’s room, and I would just walk past it, taking a breath or two, just enough to recognize what it was. That was more recent than any other secondhand inhalations. Could THAT make me almost fail a drug test?????
That’s right, I took a drug test for work today. I had to put a cottony stick in my mouth to soak up saliva, then put the stick into a container with 6 test strips for various drugs. I definitely was negative on everything, but the test line for THC (marijuana) was extremely faint. You had to get two lines to pass. My THC strip had one visible line, then one barely visible second line, meaning I was almost failing. She counted it as okay because she’s cool. It almost looked like only one line. Where did I get exposed to marijuana? Well, I petted Jacob yesterday, and he still smells like tobacco smoke from Chris’s house, which means he has marijuana smoke on him too. So I had that exposure. I don’t think Chris smoked anything except tobacco cigarettes last time I was with him. Weeks ago, my mom, who was dying of cancer, smoked some marijuana. How about if I failed a drug test for THAT reason!!! The only other time was secondhand mj smoke from Chris, even longer ago than Mom. So was the test fail because of transdermally petting Jacob, or because I inhaled it secondhand many weeks ago?