Roids

I didn't have a clue what I was gonna write about this Sunday morning until I wrote the quoted material below. In my opinion these statements are a direct result of taking a prescription steroid called Prednisone ordered by my rheumatologist at the VA Hospital to bring the swelling in my joints down to a more comfortable level of largeness.

I think the way these steroids (along with two other prescription drugs designed to reduce inflammation that also have potentially despicable side-effects as well) are producing pretty much the same affect on me as they do on professional wrestlers, but they're not the kind of steroids (that I'm aware of) that pump me up and give me bulging muscles. Damn, man, whatta drag.

I suspect the real difference between the professional wrestler's reaction to the steroids he takes to bulk up and be a big, strong, mean-spirited mofo, and my reaction to these prescription drugs, is that I took Tim Leary's advice in my late twenties, and "Tuned in, Turned on, and dropped out..." I.E., as a psychonaut, I can direct the energy of these prescription drugs effects the same way I eventually learned to direct the energy of an altered state while using LSD-25 for an unreasonably lengthy period of ti-me.

I've resumed meditating for hours at a time in the last couple of months. That probably has something to do with the legal drugs I'm required by the arthritis clinic to put in my body on a regular basis. I'm not agin it. Frankly, I'd rather croak than deal with the pain not putting these high potency prescription drugs in my old body. A lot of the base reason for so much meditating, however, is about how I didn't recognize until it came to a crisis that I had developed a couple of serious, uncurable diseases. That alone has had a humbling effect on me, which the steroids have delightfully ignored! LOL

"It embarrasses me to weigh into this, but what you're describing seems more like an off-on button to me than something I have to create in order to stand "on the forged foundation created within." (Sigh... how sweet... how romantic...)

Maybe it's a gender thing for mommies, especially when they get around to using their special church lady "building blocks" to keep their snotty children busy while they sneak into the kitchen to take a snort to help them ignore their feral screaming.

Some days I get ecstatically giddy that I am a man. Women don't get to wax all noble nearly as much when they're being the hausfrau tyrant bitches they have to be to keep their sniveling bastard children from pissing me off so that I don't beat them all senseless just to get a little cardio-vascular thang going for my daily constitutional.

I gotta start smoking a pipe so that I can use the stem of it to point to the contentions of my dissatisfaction and expect real results from the odas. Seriously, If I were young again, I'd become a Muslim convert, move to a place where I could legally have oodles of legal wives I could keep in a barn like chattel or cattle. Now... that... might be worth keeping a job for.

I have to forgive myself for not doing it earlier in this lifetime, but how was I to know there is a heaven on Earth when the behaviors I'm punished for here are rewarded elsewhere, and not only rewarded, but expected or the male has to pay for their chattel's crimes yo'self."

Between the way I was raised Jim Crow and getting disenfranchised by a series of Civil Rights laws in the early Sixties, and my social customs (for good or ill) being criminalized, and Women's Lib turning what's left of that into some sort of reprehensible pig, I picked a weird body to reincarnate into.

All of a sudden, when I wrote those quoted paragraphs above and hit the Send button to commit myself to exploring these hovering unconscious, sometime spiteful thoughts, I realized that this entire situation is the way it is because of where I live.

The customs my people imbued me with to the bone is only legally challenged in the United States where religious freedom is a farce. Okay, it's pretty much a farce everywhere else if it is here, so if being somewhere else gets the monkey off my back, why am I living here in the Bible Belt taking abuse and shining it on like I'm helpless to do anything about it?

I'll probably just stay here and accept that I'm a coward. I don't really want a bevy of wives I can treat anyway at all, much less as chattel. That defeats the whole purpose of making a literal profession out of shirking responsibility at every turn of the screw. When I was a kid I hated having to stop having fun at some kid's paradise in order to return home before dark to feed the livestock. Being married was the same way to me.

Maybe if I won the lottery ten out of every twenty draws and became an instant zillionaire, and I could hire people to run my human ranches where I kept all my cuties. Naaa... having a lotta money would make me a janitor to my possessions even more than I am now.

I'm sure as hell ain't gwine change religions and have to learn a whole new dogma at my age. It's not that I'm so unwilling. I know a lotta dogma I won't raised to give credence to. Entire systems of thought me-more-ized and stashed away as my treasures in heaven.

These days, the doing of this learning seems awfully redundant. The place I seem to be stashing my little precious tidbits appears to be the exact sa-me place I'm getting them from. So, why am I fetching them to the sensory dimension and strutting around like a peacock for? Just to show off? Hell, that's more than possible. '-)

I may have been driving myself crazy trying to control something that's impossible for any individual to fully control. The important point for me recently is just that. To realize it's not a subjective problem I can address by shape shifting.

My youngest brother was gracious enough to look through the Apple Support system and found a poster with a problem similar to mine. He couldn't find a way to make the fonts and formatting he set on his own machine stay that way once he posted to the internet.

The responses he got from the pundits were only to remind him that his intention can be conflicted by about anybody else's intention, even if they don't know that what they've innocently intended in their own behalf reframed the original writer's choice of font and formatting. several respondents pointed out that the various operating systems and their various versions and iterations don't use the same font libraries and collections, and the offending OS just picks the closest one to it.

I still think that could be resolved by a WYSIWYG text editor and mail program designed for the Mac. Even the Apple administrators on the Support site seemed dismayed because other than Mac, third-party e-mail applications are folding because they can't compete with the inevitable Apple juggernaut that seems to enjoy cavorting with dinosaurs.

Things seem to be going Apple's way since they found a way to deal amicably with legacy software and moved on with the development of the World Wide Web, but they don't give the appearance that they're all that ready to challenge Microsoft on the enterprise front. I'm glad. I hope Macs lose favor and have even less of a percentage of the enterprise market. It discourages opportunists who prefer the scattergun philosophy.