Rants and Ravings of a Sane Person

A weight breakthrough I never expected

2022-04-16T15:16:00.000-04:00

A little over a year ago I was fired from a job I'd held for 7 1/2 years. It was a job I felt comfortable with and was content to keep things the way they were until I decided to retire. So being fired from that job came as a shock, to be sure.

I was not in a position to quickly find a new job. I had lost my ID years ago while in Boston, and the comfort the job provided me with gave me confidence that I wouldn't need it. I procrastinated. Even after my brother died and I was forced to take a bus to Tucson because I didn't have a valid ID, I still put it off.

Well, being fired turned out to be a great motivator and I got right on it, but you see, it's not like I could go out and get the ID replaced, because Florida wants you to provide your birth certificate, and I was not born in the US, though I am a US Citizen. So I had to send off to the State Department for a copy of my FS520, or some such form, and guess what? They're short staffed due to Covid, so they said to expect it in 6-8 weeks!

In the meantime, I'm doing what I can to generate funds, because the last paycheck had come and gone. I did use some of that to hire a lawyer, because my employer discriminated against my age, but that wasn't forthcoming immediately, so I put up a GoFundMe page, and got a few dollars to keep me alive until then.

Long story short - Too Late! I finally got my ID on August 1st. I got a payout for my lawsuit a few days later. Yay! Windfall. I applied for unemployment, yay, regular income!

Boo! My landlord wanted $4000 in back rent and fees. Debt collectors wanted their share, and the money I had collected was gone.

I had been applying for jobs, had a few nibbles, and nothing solid. I , er, persevered. Food budget was non-existent. and now we come to the worst possible way to lose weight. I half-starved myself.

I found a part-time job in December and made enough to put me off unemployment, but you know that's not enough. I had help from the government to pay rent for a few months, but you know that's not enough. I got more help from family and friends but that WASN"T FUCKING ENOUGH.

So finally I found a full-time job working from home, doing pretty much what I did before, and I find out the contractor I work for has a different type of payroll system where they keep your paycheck an extra two weeks before they pay you. I didn't know that was even legal, but this is America. So, I find a decent job, but I still have to wait longer to get my money than normal.

In the meantime, I'm starving myself. literally days at a time. I finally get paid the first time, poof, rent and phone bill take it up and I barely have enough to order some groceries. No problem, I'll keep starving myself.

Second paycheck comes, Poof, it's gone, with upcoming rent and other things. I'll starve myself a little longer.

But Michael, what about Food Stamps? What about Food Banks?

Food Stamps are set up to help people who are homeless or families. I didn't qualify for either. Food Banks don't deliver. Period. I did my research.

So finally the third paycheck arrives, the first that wasn't going to be devoured by rent, and I went apeshit over food. $200 worth of food, and one more thing: a battery for my scale, which I haven't used in over a year.

Last time I went to the doctor I weighed in at 270lbs. Thursday when I weighed myself with clothes on, it was 202lbs. Later I weighed myself without clothes and found I was 183lbs. So I was able to do in a year of half-starving myself what I could not do with all the diet and exercising I had tried to put in the previous 30 years.

Kids, don't try this at home.

A What If Scenario: The benefactor

2020-08-01T14:33:00.000-04:00

It has been years since I posted here. Years spent in relative comfort in a job I like and an apartment I like. So, I have nothing to rant about.

But this idea keeps creeping into my head, and I plan to turn it into a series of novels called The Benefactor. The bottom line is some very wealthy person is feeding, housing and educating those who have less, and the novel explores how the world reacts to that.

So I'm using this blog as a sounding board, by doing a what if: What if some known Billionaire starts doing what my protagonist does. I'm not talking about giving to existing charities. Even the best run charities have overhead and the chance of corruption within. But what if this Benefactor, well known to the world, uses his/her vast fortune to do what other Billionaires refused to do: Feed people, house people and educate them, maybe even hiring them until they get the experience they need and give them the pay and health care that no other major employer will do.

In short, it's a version of my Project Five-Star using a Billionaire's money.

So first reaction would be....that's....nice...what's in it for him/her? Well, under the Project Five-Star model, the benefactor would own the rights to any art created by his/her employees, but I don't even want to go that far. The benefactor is just tired of his/her wealth and wants to give it away to those in need. Period. Not asking for any return.

And while the oligarchs are scratching their heads at this sudden reversal, they're feeling a bit scared too, because a precedence has been set. Maybe they try to talk to their comrade and try to convince him/her to change their minds. Or they lobby their friends in Congress to pass a law prohibiting such an act, though that would be very bold and in-your-face to say the poor shouldn't receive this benefit from one of their own.

Do they try to sabotage the program? Use mercenaries to break up the feedings, or stop the construction of cheap new homes?

But why would they want this to end in the first place? Isn't this ideal? People get what they want without other Billionaires having to pay for it. Well, that all sounds so good for the poor people, but what about the Oligarchs? If people are being fed and housed and educated and their health is being taken care of, what happens to the labor force? Will they still accept minimum wage jobs? Who would want to work at McDonald's, for instance when they have no bills to pay? Retail employment would suffer. Oligarchs would find themselves losing power, in my opinion. And this is why they would fight this tooth and nail.

The last option, one that has been taken way too often when people get in the way of those in power, like John F. Kennedy, like Robert, like others in many countries, have found themselves dead just for wanting to make a difference for the little guy. I honestly think this is what keeps those with money from being the benefactor of my dreams.

But in my story, this/these Benefactor(s) are anonymous. No one can find out any information about them, Oligarchs around the world start to panic. Could this lead to war? If so, who fights?

Well, I'm still going over all the above scenarios as well as a few that I'll keep to myself, but as always, thanks for reading!

I Got Nothin' To Complain About

2017-02-20T03:20:00.001-05:00

It's been a long while since I posted here. When I first started this blog, I had a lot to complain about. ie., Rant. Today, I got nothin'.

Sure, I can complain about the way our President is heading. But in the end, at the moment, nothing bad is happening in my life. I got a home, I got money, my credit is slowly improving, and I have time to play and even broadcast games live over youtube.

Work is steady and gratifying.

My health is steadily improving, though I must take a small regiment of pills to maintain that improvement. At least I have insurance to cover most of the bills.

I have a car, that has proven to be unreliable, and yet it is working at the moment. It still needs work, but I have the money to put into it. Not that I go far away from home. It's not that reliable, and, frankly, I really have nowhere to go.

This blog has been built on telling you the bad things happening in my life and to find ways to improve that situation. The situation has improved. Will the blog come to an end?

No.

If there's one thing I've learned: Nothing is static in life. And if it is, is that really a life? This blog will remain open and I will post both the good and the bad. And as I alluded to before, I don't like where we're headed as a country.

So stay tuned and expect the unexpected!

As always, thanks for viewing!

Looking Back: Has Anything Changed?

2016-08-02T14:28:00.000-04:00

I've been reviewing the first hundred posts in this blog, up to the point where I gave up on what was a stressful life and started to hike the Appalachian Trail. I started thinking, has anything changed from then?

I was stressed, I was behind in my bills to the point where I was evicted and I was lost physically and spiritually. I was on the 'Trail' for 10 days and made my way back to Raleigh exhausted and dehydrated. I'm not even sure why I came back to Raleigh. Technically I could have gone anywhere and been homeless, but Raleigh had a certain familiarity. I knew the shelter system there. I expected to find a job and get back into the swing in a short amount of time.

And it seemed to work. I did find a job and I did get out of the shelter. But it was a worse job than the one I walked away from earlier. I was stressed again. I walked away - literally in mid-call. I went back to the shelter and then found it harder than ever to get a job.

I've blogged about that, so no sense in going over it again. I finally found my way to Astadia, and though the job has been stressful in some ways, it is nowhere near as bad as other places.

So now let me take stock of my life anew. I'm still doing phone work, something I swore never to do again. But this time the calls aren't generally back to back, and I can work on other things besides calls. I'm working from home again with a computer supported by my employer and not of my own build. So if something goes wrong I don't have to worry about out-of-pocket expenses.

And I'm making more money, generally. I can pay rent and internet service and I'm able to save a bit for my ultimate computer system. I'm able to afford a rickety car with an over-powered engine and the insurance that is needed for it. I'm able to pay most of my bills and try to repair my credit, though hospital bills that I may never repay dominate my credit history.

Health-wise, yes, in some ways I'm worse off than in 2009. My knees occasionally hurt enough to make me seriously limp. My shoulder is a constant source of a dull ache with occasional sharp pains. But I'm not as stressed as I used to be. So I can tolerate a fair amount of small aches. I still get the odd migraine, and allergies keep me sneezing.

But overall I'm much better off health-wise than in 2009. Really, I am.

I still play Warcraft. I still enjoy Warcraft. A lot of the people I've known had to walk away from it at one point or another. I've been dragged from it kicking and screaming.

And I've been writing. moving away from Publish America to Createspace, a form of self-publishing. I've written about my homeless experiences and added another novel in the ongoing Simmons/Timmons Chronicles. I've written and attempted to sell screenplays.

Am I successful? Compared to others, perhaps not. But I'm happier now than I've been in a long time, and to me, that's as successful as it gets.

Needed For Survival = Free

2016-07-17T08:49:00.003-04:00

I've been dreaming of my perfect world again: a world where there are no weapons. They have been forcefully disintegrated by my automated police force, including guns, ammunition, tanks, warships etc. There is no crime allowed. Everyone has a house c/o whatever benefactor has created this version of Utopia. That house has its own solar panels that provide the electricity necessary in today's society. The same automated system delivers fresh food on a daily basis, depending on the user's choices. Yadda, yadda, yadda. No one wants for anything except the stuff that's bad for you.

I woke from my reverie to realize that some of that would be easy to implement with the right rich person donating his or her money.

Just the necessities: A home, and access to free electricity and water. Food, education, a guaranteed job and health care will have to wait. Notice these are my Five Points of Hope. So let's stick to housing.

If I had the money I'd buy up some land that was otherwise not being used and I'd arrange to have built a series of small houses. We've all seen them. They have the basics: electricity and running water. The solar panels are easy enough, but water doesn't grow on trees, especially in areas where there's little rain. I suppose it's possible to create a system where the water used is recycled, but even that's not ideal.

So my point is that everything necessary for life should be free. Housing, electricity, water and food. The problem is electric companies and water plants will disagree. If your bill is late because you can't afford it, they have the right to shut it off, then landlords can evict you or communities can condemn your property because it doesn't have electricity and running water.

It's a power no one should have. Yes, electric plants have to pay to maintain the network and generate the electricity by whatever means they use, but the ever-increasing burden of this system is paid for by the consumer.

So what are we to do to bypass this vicious circle? Our benefactor could build solar plants and connect them to the grid. Then bypass existing wiring to provide the electricity for free.

That is actually a pretty expensive proposition. Our benefactor would have to be rich and powerful, because utilities aren't going down without a fight.

It would be easier to rig every home with solar panels. But what of water?

I think the public utilities are going to be around for a long time, but we can lessen their effect on our lives. Yes, put up those solar panels but stay connected to the electrical network.

Yes, put in a system to recycle water but stay connected to the water plant.

We use less of what is being pushed on us and will save money.

We can do this. Any benefactors out there? I still want to build a new city based on these principals. There are a lot of wealthy people who can make a real contribution to society by helping make this a reality. Let me hear from you!

Why Can't I Get Reviews?

2016-04-26T04:37:00.000-04:00

'Regrets' has been out for quite some time. I've sold a couple of real books, a couple of Kindle versions, and had it read on Amazon a few times. I've given away several Kindle copies, all in an effort to draw reviews and get some feedback on the novel.

To date, there are no reviews for Regrets in any format.

This has puzzled me immensely. How can someone read a book and have no opinion on it? I'd even welcome a one-star review if it were honest and gave me the feedback I need.

There are a number of places I can go online to request reviews, but guess what? They all cost money that I don't have at the moment.

So, here's the offer. I have a box full of paperback copies of 'Regrets.' One is yours free, including shipping, if and only you agree to read the book and provide a review on Amazon.com and BN.com.

Email me: mike.fox.wow (at) gmail.com with your name and address and I'll ship it off forthwith.

That is all.

Policeman for the World

2016-04-09T09:25:00.001-04:00

When I let my mind wander it can turn into a dangerous weapon. I've been thinking lately of turning robots into the world's policemen. This is by no means an original concept, as the first time I recall seeing it is in the movie 'The Day the Earth Stood Still.' Gort is the robot and can vaporize just with a look. Klaatu is the only one that can control him, and gives a stern warning that if we expand our petty wars into space, Gort will act unilaterally.

And that's the problem with using robots as policemen. They have to be programmed by someone who has their own particular set of morals.

So whose morals do we use? If we go by the Ten Commandments a lot of people would be jailed. Are there morals we can agree on? Stealing: bad? What constitutes stealing? Robbing a bank? Surely. Banks charging exorbitant interest? Maybe not.

Can we agree that rape is a bad thing? Apparently not. There are cultures that allow minors to marry older husbands. I'll go with husbands because that's 99.9999% of the problem. You just don't hear very often of an older woman marrying a young boy, and I would consider the boy to be the lucky one.

Murder? Another gray area. I read an article the other day about a man that was murdered in front of witnesses, but because the man was so bad himself, everyone who witnessed it claimed they were turning away in horror at the time the crime was committed and therefore saw nothing.

You see, a robot has to see things in black and white, and the laws it would enforce have to be programmed into it. No one can agree on what a crime is.

And what about the rights of criminals? I'm not saying anyone has a right to commit a crime, but if said crime happens in your own home does a robot have the right to come in and stop it? Do we station robots in every home, or use domestic robots that people buy as watchful eyes?

It becomes a matter of what would society put up with. We already have the technology to limit cars so that they enforce speed limits, but who would want to own a car that won't let you go even one mile over the speed limit? Don't tell me I can't speed if the conditions allow it. Yes, it would cut back on accidents if everyone used self-driving cars. But apparently we as humans feel we have a right to act dangerously if we want.

Which brings us back to whose rules do robots follow? We're all human, with the frailties and insecurities that come with being that way. A robot being asked to police us would likely self-destruct because of all the contradictions

Or they would make us their slaves because we don't deserve freedom.

As for me, I welcome our robot overlords.

A Car Story

2016-03-31T16:37:00.000-04:00

It began with an offer for a place to live and transportation. Upon my arrival in Jacksonville FL, I found myself in a motel. I had already checked out craigslist to see what places there were to live. During my first day at the new office, a coworker pulled me aside, offered me a ride back to the motel at the end of the shift, and then made me a seemingly 'can't refuse' offer. He had a room for rent at a reasonable rate and a car that he wanted to sell me.

Having lived in motels and shelters for the previous 4 months, I jumped at the offer for a place to live. He took me back to his place the next day and the room and rent were adequate for my needs. The car...was another story.

I've thought of several names for her: 'Ol Blackie, 0V3RP0W3R3D, Bang, bang, yer dead, and of course: Piece of Shit.

It's a '95 Civic Hatchback with an engine that belonged somewhere else, an '89 Integra, I think. He told me the engine was banned from import now and that is was a rare find. Oh, and there's no muffler on it so it roars.

This is the engine as I found her. The owner, my landlord, told me it needed work. It had a leaky head gasket. It also had problems starting and when it did, it ran rich and backfired every chance it got. Oh, and you had to put water in it every time you ran it. He told me he was quoted at $1000 to get it fixed permanently.

Not pictured is the hood, which from my vantage point, looks like it took fire damage at one point. Also, one of the tires is working off of just enough thread to make it interesting.

So my landlord wanted $1200 for it. He told me the engine was worth at least that much on its own. He recommended a buddy of his come take a look at it to see if he couldn't get it running. I was really hoping at that point that what was really wrong with it was a quick fix, so I went along, and spent some money on recommended parts. The guy came in to look at it and worked well into the night. About $50 in parts later, he got it to start but said it needed tuning. The backfiring was a big hint there. A neighbor came out to complain about the noise,and a few minutes later a cop showed up. Luckily we had just closed up for the night, and he let us go. I gave the mechanic $200 for the labor - too much, I know, but I wanted him to come back to finish the job, and he went his merry way.

I drove the car to work the next day. I had already arranged insurance for it. I made it into work, then after work I was going to take it to get the tags renewed. I got about a quarter of the way, then the car overheated. I had to use the towing feature of my insurance to get it the rest f the way home. At home, I put water in it, and it seemed to run fine. The guy who had worked on it before had gone to the hospital the day after he worked on it, possibly celebrating with my money a bit too much. But he promised to come back at some point. He never did.

The next day I tried to use it again. I made it to a 7-11 just down the street from work, intending to get some breakfast, and then when I departed, I noticed the engine was overheating again. I didn't make it the last half mile to work. I had to get a push the rest of the way to work, and another tow to get it home.

So now it seemed the head gasket was blown. I had several recommendations, from people I had really just met, for service stations. I had it towed to one, only to find they didn't do head gasket replacements because they couldn't guarantee them. I tried to get my insurance to tow it back home, but they apparently had enough of me and said no. So chalk up another $100 in towing fees.

Next place was a garage that had dealt with the car before, where my landlord got his initial estimate of $1000. I paid to have it towed in. They recognized the car right away, and told me the estimate they had given him earlier was not valid anymore, and finally came up with a figure of $2500, but recommended that I give up because the car wasn't worth that much, and was a money pit. I paid $300 plus to get the car towed there and back and for the estimate. Ka-ching.

And for a while, I did give up on it. I was still paying for insurance, but I wasn't paying for anything else. Then, about two weeks ago, my landlord tells me there's a new guy at work who works on cars, and he'd be willing to do it for $800. I grudgingly said I'd talk to him, and he came out and looked at the car and got some numbers off it. The next day he texted me that the cost was going to be $1500 but he could break it into payments of $750.

He was going to completely replace the head instead of just the gasket. He was going to replace the timing chain and do whatever else needed to be done. I almost did a facepalm, but I agreed in the end and give him $750. It was $1000 less than the last shop, after all. Next, he tells me to have it towed to his home, where he apparently has a garage. I really did do a facepalm then, but I was committed. I should have been committed, I know. another $100 out of my pocket.

He sent me a picture a few days later: Halfway done.

Looked considerably less than that, but I went along with him. A week goes by, my bank account is about to be filled again, so I text him about the car. He wondered how to start it, because there's a trick to it. I'm a little confused as to why he didn't ask earlier, but I tell him how to start it, and then he texted back that he had to replace the battery and the oil case, and that would cost another $100. What's $100 among friends? /sarcasm. I agree because I'm not going to get the money back. The next day he tells me that the battery cost more than he thought and it was another $50. At this point, I asked him if he'd provide the receipts, and he said he didn't usually work that way, but this time, he would. He got really snitty about it, but he had been working on the car for a lot of hours. He didn't say how many, but I believe him because the car was pure evil. I did let him know that I'm not made of money.

So we agreed that today would be delivery day and when he finally drove up in it, he told me that he'd been working on it until 1 am the night before because it still backfired and then refused to start at times. He said he cleaned the carburetor and that took care of that issue.

So we took it for a spin and it seems to idle a bit fast, but it's such a hybrid of technology that I can learn to live with it.

I hope the saga is over, but he was worried about the distributor. He couldn't find it, but he promised if I can find it and buy a replacement, he'd install it for free.

Was it worth it? Was 'Ol Blackie my Moby Dick? Well, at least I got it, so I'm no Ahab. Friends and family told me to walk away, even tried to find me cheaper cars on craigslist, but something about this car - heh - tasks me. Only time will tell if was worth it, though the last guy to work on it told me to get a paint job and sell the car. I might just do that.

The Republic of Mike: A 'What If' Scenario.

2016-03-30T01:23:00.001-04:00

Maybe it's lack of sleep due to an overactive brain. Maybe it's the overall disgust I have for the current political process. Maybe I'm just nuts. I want to form my own Republic.

Oh, it won't be overly large. It will be stuck in the middle of a desert on land that most people would consider unusable. Let's say 100 square miles, 10 x 10. But since I'm poor I'd have to simply claim it as my own. I might not even say where it was at first. I'd put together a team of robots to start carving out my claim, quietly working at night, and building a city underground.

That's how it would start: The Republic of Mike. The basic Constitution would be similar to the concepts I explored in 'Project Five-Star: The Five Points of Hope:' Guaranteed living quarters, guaranteed healthy food, an education that never ends (as Asimov suggested), health care, and work doing what makes you the happiest.

I think robotics has matured to the point where that's possible. Of course, I have no money, and lack the skills at the moment, but this is all hypothetical anyway.

The point I'm getting at is how the United States government would react if such a claim were made. Let's say I'm able to put together the resources to start such a project. If and when the U.S. finds out about it, what do they do? It would probably start on a local level. Law enforcement comes out to my desert country to find the robots hard at work, and tries to stop them. Being robots, they might be programmed to hide themselves in the sand, only to reappear when law enforcement leaves,

The next level would be the state. Let's say they are ineffective as well, and call out the National Guard. The Guard carpet-bombs the area, destroying the robots (so they think), then leaves it alone. But I'm a bit more clever than that, and my robots feigned death and continue their work.

Now sometime before all this happens I get a visit from the FBI and I'm brought in for questioning. I would still need to work for a living as no permanent structure exists in The Republic of Mike. I would tell them that I'd never be able to afford the equipment necessary and it was all hypothetical anyway. If they let me go (Fools!), then my robots would continue their work until there are viable living quarters and then I would quietly move in unbeknownst to anyone since I work from home anyway.

But eventually, word would get out that I have indeed claimed 100 square miles of desert land as my own republic, after all, if you're going to establish your own country people need to know that, for diplomatic purposes at least. I'd want to be recognized by the U.N., amirite?

So we get down to the nitty-gritty: How far would the current government go to maintain the integrity of the lower 48? Would the U.S. declare war on Mike?

Lincoln stated that 'A house divided against itself cannot stand,' and used that to justify the Civil War. So if history is any guide, yes, the U.S. would go to war against Mike. So now the question becomes: How many resources would they dedicate to it? Would they carpet-bomb? Seems logical. The only person living there would be me, at least until Mike is established as a sovereign state. But let's say, in this ever-increasing fantasy, that I've prepared for most forms of war and that I resist attempts to invade Mike.

So the bottom line becomes: will the U.S. use nuclear weapons on what used to be their own territory just to bring the Republic of Mike to a fiery end?

I'll leave that question unanswered.

"If you build it..." - Not

2016-03-18T04:45:00.004-04:00

Begin Rant

I am the first to admit that I am lacking marketing skills. I used to work for a Radio Shack way back when, and found that if the people came to me, I could sell to them.

But selling books and websites are not quite the same thing as having a physical location and having products that people want to buy.

In other words, marketing is about shoving things down people's throat until they buy what you have to sell. But I'm not like that.

So far the best I can manage is to put out posts in Facebook and Twitter, which are conveniently linked, and hope someone notices. The first time I ran a free Kindle book promotion, I 'sold' hundreds of copies of 'Theater Boy.' I was very pleased. I ran those promotions regularly with all my books, and slowly the numbers are dwindling.

What I'm trying to say is: I can't even give my books away. Is this a testament to the Amazon.com promotional system? Perhaps others have taken advantage of this to the point where the market is saturated with free books and my own books get lost in the ocean of books that Amazon lists.

Making it as an author in the digital age has proven to be harder than I thought. And the biggest problem is that even when someone buys my books, they rarely leave reviews. I'm not the type to pay someone to review my product, and even if I did, Amazon is becoming better at sniffing the culprits out.

I'm a man of great potential and imagination, but also limited means. I can't afford to hire a publicist. So what am I to do?

I could pull a stunt to get noticed and in the mad rush of the press to interview me as to why I pulled the stunt, I could mention that I have several books available. It would have to be the kind of stunt that grabs the eye of the media, even for a brief moment. Lord knows there's a lot of people whose videos of doing stupid things go viral. I'll be the first to admit I've done stupid things. I'm in the process of finishing a task that a fair amount of people would call stupid, but it's not so stupid as to garner the attention I need.

Let me go off on a tangent for a second to say I do not crave attention. I just want people to read and like my books enough to want to tell other people. I'd be happy just writing and publishing like I have been and letting the readers fall where they may. But there's a part of me that's not satisfied with that. In other words, my creative side is at war with my introverted side.

Getting back to the crazy stunt, what sort of stunt grabs the eyes of the media? Looking at CNN.com as I'm writing this: I could launch a missile. I could yell and scream my way into the Presidential debates. I could escape from jail or prison, but I'd have to do something worthy of going to jail in the first place. Hey, there's another crazy thing I could do.

Or I could die.

But I'd have to either be famous in the first place or die in such an unusual way that I garner attention.

Relax, I'm in no hurry to make a spectacle of myself.

At one point in my life, I traveled the East Coast making videos of everywhere I'd been. You can see the resulting videos on youtube. Every now and then one of them gets a hit. I still get regular hits on videos I made in 2012: How to win playing Sudoku, and a video where I show how to work with a portable washer.

But the idea was to capture a video that would go viral and make some money, at a time when I had no regular income. The money altogether too soon ran out and that idea fizzled.

I still make videos and post them to youtube, but they're gaming videos, and my skills are such that I'm not likely to go viral anytime soon. But the time to renew that concept of traveling and making videos might be returning. I just need to make sure that every video description has a link to my books. Hmmm, there's an idea.

End Rant

A Question of Greed

2016-02-08T00:05:00.000-05:00

I'll come out right away and say I support Bernie Sanders and his attempt to become President. That said, let's talk about greed.

What is it that causes one person to become so greedy he'll step on his own mother to pick up a stray dollar, while another person will go out of his way to remain poor?

I will admit to big dreams when it comes to money, mostly due to my writing taking off, but mostly, I'm content with a place to live, food to eat and decent Internet. I'm not driven to make more money than I need.

I suppose some of it is genetic, look at the Koch Brothers and the Walton family. I will never understand how people will go out of their way so they can have more money. They even go so far that they'll hide their earnings in offshore accounts.

But off-shore accounts aren't free. Neither are bribes. For that matter, neither are donations to charities, So I'm guessing everything is carefully calculated so as to pay the least amount of taxes possible, right down to the legal fees required to make everything go as smooth as possible.

Power corrupts, or so I'm told. I've never had any real power. But what if the corruption exists not just in the genetics, but in the soul itself? I've heard that babies learn to hate and be greedy, they aren't born that way. But what if instead of Nurture over Nature, where children are taught to hate, or something happens that changes them into uncaring monsters, something else is responsible?

And I'm not talking about genetics, or brain damage, I'm talking about a damaged soul. No one really knows what the soul is, though my stories and dreams often stray to what makes a soul. One of my characters even goes so far as to say that souls are made of the same thing as everything else: atoms. So what makes one soul different from another?

I'm a real believer of reincarnation. Once the body dies, the soul finds an unborn body to inhabit, losing most of its memories in the process. I won't get into what makes a soul to begin with, or if there's such a thing as human-only souls, but what if, in a previous life, a soul gets physically damaged? Say, the body gets burned, and an atom or two of the soul gets destroyed?

I've already had visions of victims of the atom bombs, those at ground zero who got vaporized, having their souls completely destroyed in the process. *Shudder*

Anyway, what if damaged souls are responsible for overwhelming greed and lust for power, lust for war and destruction?

Something to think about, and one of the things that keep me up at night and my imagination humming.

Back in the saddle again

2015-12-25T06:17:00.000-05:00

There's this scene from M*A*S*H where Frank Burns, after not seeing Margaret Houlihan for some time, thinks he's going to see her and puts on cologne while clucking to the tune of 'Back in the saddle again.' "Buck buck, buck buck buck, buck buck."

I kinda feel that way at the moment, not from a romantic perspective, but from a formerly homeless, formerly paying outrageous amounts to live in a motel, to a finding a place to live and having things go in a positive manner for the first time in ages, since the end of August 2015.

I have not only found a place to live with a co-worker in Jacksonville, but he has a car he wants to sell me. That car is far from perfect, but if I can get it running, it may be a lifesaver.

Also, for the first time since the end of August, I'm posting long overdue videos made in July and August, and made my first Warcraft video since then, because I now have access to my desktop computer that I built (and recorded building) back in July.

I'm far from settled, still physically exhausted and mentally questionable to a certain degree, but I think the tide has turned.

At any rate, things are looking up, and on Christmas day no less. I guess Christmas miracles do happen.

Hope your holiday is as hopeful as mine!

The Bright Side - Part 2

2015-12-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

I've seen it coming since before Thanksgiving. A not so gentle, yet not very detailed hint from my supervisor that not all is well. It had nothing to do with me personally. It was a business decision because Boston costs too much in salary.

The hint was: Would I be willing to move back to Raleigh if the opportunity came? I was puzzled for the first minute after that question, then I was asked if I understood the implications. Then it dawned on me.

I couldn't grasp it at first because when I took the job I was told there was a 3-year contract. I would be secure in Boston at least that long.

While I hesitate to call it a lie, something obviously happened to change minds. Here's what I think happened: The whole idea for having people in Boston taking calls, rather than being in a call center somewhere else was to have people ready to move to the second level of support. That seemed to work at first, as one of our own moved to level 2. I applied for the same position, but I knew the other guy had a few things over me (experience was not one of them). I was patient. See my patience blog for more on that.

Then another opening came and I applied. I found that the job description had changed so that it explicitly said call center experience did not apply to the requirements. I knew then that I might never get that level 2 job, yet I applied a couple of times after that. I never did get the position.

Which leads me to my theory: Since none of the last few Level 2 people has come from the Boston crew - the B team as we were called - I suspect that was used as an excuse to stop the 'waste' of resources paying people to take calls there.

The end result was that the jobs will cease in Boston effective next week.

I did call this blog the Bright Side. And there was a bright side for me, But for every bright side, there's a dark. I'm losing co-workers I'm naming as friends. They helped me out financially when I needed it, and suggested places to live when I was looking so hard.

The timing also is poor. It's almost Christmas. I've been laid off/fired before at this time of year. It sucks. I can't emphasize that enough.

There's another less than bright side for me: I'm being forced to leave my daughter behind - again. I'd just been getting used to seeing her on a regular basis. I enjoyed that. I gave serious consideration to declining the offer to transfer just because of her.

But two things are in the way: First, I'm still technically homeless. Losing income will drive me back nto the shelter as winter begins. I can't really call that a bad thing, but it makes things horribly difficult, and they're already difficult as it is. I explored the possibility of getting work here, and found most of the work is contract, 3-6 months at best, and paying less than I had been making. And finding that work would be difficult in the shelter as I'd have nowhere to put my meager belongings. Even if I bought a suit, where would I put it day-to-day? I'd have to rent a storage facility, yadda yadda.

In the end, it was too difficult a challenge from someone so tired of the struggle. I thought about their offer for 2 hours after I got it, and made the decision.

I'm moving to Jacksonville Florida. I'm making $10,000/year less. I'm getting a small amount to move. It's less than I asked for. I don't really have a choice.

But it's cheaper to live in Jacksonville, and I should be able to find a decent one-bedroom apartment for what I'll be making. That's better than I could do in Boston.

And that is the silver lining. The bright side is I'll find a place to live. That's the bottom line for me.

But I do not forgive for this, and I'll never forget.

You Say Be Patient - But I Do Not Think You Know What It Means

2015-12-01T14:11:00.000-05:00

I have lived 54 years and 358 days. That's since I came out of the womb, so I 'lived' 9 months more than that. Well, depending on your point of view, I, as a soul within my body, probably lived a little less. But I digress, possibly a subject for a future blog.

In my 54+ years, I believe I have been extraordinarily patient. Oh sure, as a small child I probably pulled a few tantrums if I didn't get my way. But once I got used to that idea that not everything would go my way, I settled in and waited. I remember asking my sister to play with me, and she said 'in a minute.' Time didn't mean much to me at that age, but the bottom line was: if I wanted to play, I had to wait. I don't remember if she actually played with me, but given my record over the years, probably not. Most likely something else happened that took my mind away from playing, or, my imagination kicked in and I played with myself - not in a dirty way. Shame on you.

I have, what I believe is an uncanny ability to withdraw. My mother used to call say 'Don't go Walter Mitty on me' or something to that effect. I actually liked that movie - the original, not the remake. I could relate to Walter. When things got dull or I had to wait for something, I withdrew into my own little world. Literally. What bugs me about that is why I didn't write things down from the beginning. Maybe the thoughts were too private. Maybe I thought others would kid me about it. Yeah, that's probably it. I've always had a keen sense of what others thought of me.

But the point is, I'm patient. That's something that's being tried at the moment, so I wanted to dip into exactly what I've been patient about over the years.

The old saying 'Good things come to those that wait' has hit me at times, missed a lot more. When it came to girls I could never make the first move, and that's true even today. Even when I did get a date, something usually did or didn't happen to keep the romance flowing. A lot of that was lack of experience. A lot of that was that it takes time to get to know me, and it always seemed like I waited too long to open up, or something happened to tear us apart, like the girl moving away, or me moving away.

Let's put it this way: I admired girls from afar. It might have been creepy from a certain standpoint, but it was just me being me. I offer no ill will toward anyone - with the exception of bullies. I'll admit I got into fights as a kid because I saw or was dealt injustice and I bottled it up until I exploded. I can honestly say no one was seriously harmed in my fights, and I often got the worst of it: Glasses thrown off, a sweater ripped, etc.

But the simple fact was: I was too shy for my own good. That goes beyond being introverted.

I did have one meaningful relationship in my life, in college. She came to me. It produced a daughter. I won't go into details, but the relationship ended. The breakup sorely tested my patience. I couldn't finish my Bachelor's Degree because of the loss of that relationship. It had too profound an affect on me.

So without more than an Associate's degree, I spent years wandering. I went from job to job, from place to place, leaving a job when it was the right time for me, then getting a different job.

I have been a contract programmer for a small company, a file clerk for an insurance company, a slot technician in Las Vegas (after taking an electronics course at a small 'college'), a store clerk in Springfield Mass., a computer operator for a couple of different firms, a salesperson for Radio Shack, an usher for the Colorado Rockies, Broncos, Nuggets and Avalanche, a data entry operator for a Ma Bell company, a COBOL programmer for the same company, all in the space of 15 years.

The list goes on, but the point is I was trying to find what I was good at that I enjoyed. At the same time I was observing different cultures, right here in the Good Ol' USA. I was noticing changes in accents, mannerisms that varied from region to region and how people dressed and generally acted around each other.

I didn't know I was a writer until 1996, when a story came to me so strongly that I felt the need to put pen to paper for the first time. Maybe I'd been preparing myself all those years. I don't know. They say artists have to suffer for their work. What if you don't know you're an artist? I thought I was just a poor loner who was doomed to wander for the rest of his life.

Don't get me wrong. I'm good at a lot of things. Even though I hate anything having to do with phones, I have a pleasant speaking voice and demeanor. So customer service and now technical support were my calling after 2000.

And, of course, computers themselves call out to me. I'm an introverted nerd/geek who can sit for hours in front of a computer, either playing games or typing in general. I've built several of my own computer systems, even thought about going into business custom-building computers - called 'Foxbuilt Computers.' Like all of my other endeavors, it never materialized, but that has never stopped ideas from coming into my head.

Which leads us back to being patient. In all the different jobs I've done, all the different people I've met, I have yet to feel like I've accomplished my given task.

Of course the problem there is I don't know what the given task is. I've written about this before, and it's a major principle of 'Regrets,' and of the song I wrote, aptly named: 'The Job's Not Done.' My song 'Free' speaks of a restless soul, trying to break free.

Yet here I am, sitting in front of my computer, typing this blog, seemingly no closer to my unstated goals than ever.

And here then, is the story of my life: I have been waiting, patiently for the thing I'm supposed to accomplish to happen.

You might say: "But Michael, that's your problem all along. You're not ambitious enough or straightforward enough do be much good to anyone."

To which I might say: "To thine own self be true." I may not be an ambitious money-grubber, willing to walk over anyone in my path. Let's take the 'may' out of that. That's not who I am. I've had the feeling that I've trodden this path before, lived another life before, and I'm willing to bet that I waited for something then too, because the job I'm tasked to do is likely one that will take more than one lifetime.

So if you call yourself patient because you waited in a line for a half-hour, please bear me in mind, who has been patient for lifetimes.

Seeing the Bright Side

2015-11-18T10:45:00.000-05:00

I will admit that lately I've been very negative on my social media feeds, this one included. So as Thanksgiving approaches, I want to take a look at the bright side of my life.

1) I have a job. Two years ago at this time, I did not have my job, one year ago I had a job that I thought was going to end soon. Now it looks like this job, though contract, will last at least the next 2 years. I am forever grateful for that.

2) I am writing. I finished one book, Regrets, and am working on the sequel. The books are the only thing keeping me sane lately - No, that's a positive thing. I've lived in near insanity for too long in years past.

3) Some of my family and friends care what happens to me. I have a loving daughter and a few co-workers and Facebook friends who have helped me recreate the positive aspects of my life. I am so very proud of her right now, because she's going to college!

4) I have not lost everything. I've been to that dark place where I have lost nearly everything. I may not have everything I want or need, but I at least have something. Most important, I have not lost hope. I almost did back in September and October, but it's still alive in me.

At the moment, that's all I can think of that's positive in my life. I'm really hoping that changes, but for now, I'm singing along with Monty Python.

Sides to a story

2015-11-16T15:21:00.000-05:00

As a writer, it is my job to come up with interesting plots, characters and twists to keep the audience enthralled. I hope I succeeded with Regrets, but thankfully what comes out of my mind is entirely fictional.

But real life events have been taking place, and not just in Paris. There are people out there that really want to kill everyone that does not agree with them.

And I'm not just talking about the (damn, I can't come up with a proper word) -- killers of the fundamentalist faction that is spreading terror around the world now.

Note that I'm trying to avoid calling people names. It's immature and inciteful and the last thing these guys need is additional incitement.

So let's talk a little about what incites people to do a violent act on another person. It could be something as simple as not decorating a cup in the fashion accustomed by certain other people.

I will not use labels in this blog. Everyone is a person, or a human. Unless you're an animal. Even that could be considered inciteful, but only if you think you're not human. Or perhaps you're superhuman, or have evolved beyond the normal laws that man has created, Perhaps you think the laws don't apply to you.

Don't be (apply random name-calling here). You're human. If you can read this you're human. If you can react with various emotions to this blog, you're human.

Human: By way of Dictionary.com

[hyoo-muh n or, often, yoo‐]

Spell Syllables

Examples
Word Origin
adjective
1.
of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or having the nature of people:
human frailty.
2.
consisting of people:
the human race.
3.
of or relating to the social aspect of people:
human affairs.
4.
sympathetic; humane :
a warmly human understanding.noun
5.
a human being.

From the British part of that:

adjective
1.
of, characterizing, or relating to man and mankind: human nature
2.
consisting of people: the human race, a human chain
3.
having the attributes of man as opposed to animals, divine beings, or machines: human failings

You're human. You're not a god. You're not an animal. You're not perfect. You have feelings.

Let me emphasize this. Everyone has feelings.

As a writer, I pride myself at being able to see all sides to a story, because there's not such thing as two sides. Even when only two people are around, because no matter how isolated you become in this world, someone somewhere is having an impact on your life. More than one someones.

So, being able to see all sides to a story, I can see being angry over events happening in Paris. I can see wanting to get revenge on those that carried it out and planned it. That part of me wants to wage war until all of the enemy is wiped out.

Then another part of my kicks in and asks: 'Who's the enemy?' It's a simple question, but the answer is far from simple. Yes, kill the enemy, but please don't kill the innocents that the enemy invariably draws around them. Just so they can say 'The Americans (or French, or British or Russians) killed your brother, your sister, your mother and/or your father and now you should join us because you want revenge too.'

This is what they want. This is how the enemy recruits. And yes, I can see that side too. They want power and glory and they are willing to give their own lives to see it happen. I have written characters like that and in every instance the character dies and all that is left is the memory of how things might have been.

So that part of me that can see all sides now asks 'Why kill at all? Will that bring people back?' I know that's a cliche. That doesn't make it untrue.

So how do we stop people - humans - who want to kill other humans?

Do we become so vigilant that we trample on the rights of all humans just to prevent another atrocity?

Do we wage all out war until everyone in that region is dead? Silly, isn't it? But in my mind that is how it might end.

Do we close our borders and not let any from that country in? What about the ones that are already there? Do we deport them? Do we treat them like pariahs?

It's funny that we have killed so many predators - animals - that we have driven them to the point of extinction. Yet humans prevail. And despite the butchery that happens altogether too often, our population continues to grow beyond our means to feed it.

But that is yet another side to the story. It's all interrelated.

How does it end? Do we kill, and blame someone else for making us kill?

Or do we let go of the hatred, let go of the fear?

There's an old saying: 'Kill someone with kindness.' Embrace those that show hate to you. Take in those refugees and feed and clothe them so they can see that we don't hold them to blame for the acts of others. Show the joy in our hearts for being human.

More people will die. I will mourn them. I might even be one of them, but should that happen, I would not want my family to avenge me. I would want them to understand that the only way this stops is to teach our young that we are all the same. To teach them that taking a single life hurts us all. Taking multiple lives strikes deep into the soul of every human.

I write often about souls. Perhaps the ones who want so much destruction have had their souls damaged, Maybe they deserve to die.

But that won't stop the carnage. The only way to stop it is to start with the current youngest generation. When the older ones have either killed each other or died off in other ways, the younger ones can start to heal the world.

Now that would be a wonderful time to live in.

Write What You Know

2015-11-12T08:45:00.001-05:00

As a writer, that mantra has been repeated over and over again: Write what you know.

Of course, if that were really true, there would be no Science Fiction or Fantasy. So what they really mean by that would be: write your characters based on your own experiences.

So for my own characters, at some point in the story they might be:

homeless
struggling
introverted
smart
but not perfecgt (SIC), (Heh, funny that I wrote it like that the first time, then decided not to correct it, since it fit in.),
wandering with no real focus on what they should be doing
naive
but not completely hopeless
trusting
reaching for something, but not knowing what (Goes back to wandering I know)
adept at something they don't like to do, but have to do it to pay the bills
knowing that there's something beyond this life than heaven and hell or purgatory

All of which I have experienced in my lifetime.

In the current Simmons Chronicles series, I've managed to put most of that into several different characters, as well as some life experiences. I hope it makes the characters believable.

As the second part of that series comes to life I'll be adding to that. That book will show a definite decline for a couple of the characters (I won't say which), but since I tentatively titled it 'Darkness' that should be considered a clue. It begins light, then one character falls into darkness, followed - literally by another who is searching for that person as well as searching for him/herself, then both come rising just as things get really dark. The story ends very dark, yet not without hope.

The story of my life.

Presenting: Regrets!

2015-11-05T14:36:00.000-05:00

Yes, the moment has arrived! Regrets has gone through the Createspace process and is now available not only in Createpace, but Amazon too! Soon it will also be available in Kindle form, but I wanted to get this out there.

And as if that weren't enough, you can enter a contest to win a copy of the book.

Links: Createspace: https://www.createspace.com/5839406
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1518895360/
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B017MYUPRO

Note: after checking a moment ago, I found the giveaway had ended. Sorry, gotta move fast!

I'll post again as I find different links for it.

In the meantime, enjoy!

A WIP Draws Near Completion - Regrets

2015-10-30T14:35:00.000-04:00

Since early September, I have been working on a reboot of my Timmons Chronicles series. It started out as a prequel to the existing books, and was titled 'Regrets.' The idea was to show the characters from 'Theater Boy' and 'The Timmons Incident' before Robert/Bobby was pushed back in time. In other words, I wanted to show why he was so driven to change things.

The process of writing it has been difficult, because of my inability to find a permanent home. I've had to do almost all the writing for it at work, between calls. I even did some of it in Notepad, which didn't translate very well when I switched to Google's Doc. Let's say when I finished it and started editing it, I changed a lot of apostrophes and quotation marks to the curvy type.

All of my writing for the Timmons Chronicles before then had sort of been aimed at Young Adults, and rightfully so, since the characters then were aged 13-14 or so. But for the new writings not only are the characters adults at the beginning, but it turns out were driven to have sex together. So my dilemma then was: How much sex to put in and how much detail should I get into.

Let me explain what I mean by detail. When the story first starts out these two are so completely opposite that given ordinary circumstances, they'd never get together. But forces beyond their control are driving them together. And one of those forces is sexual desire.

The first time it happens, the sex is spontaneous and brief, but for Dottie Brown, the first act opens up a whole new world for her. For her sex is more than just the pleasurable part and making babies, though there is that. A lot of that. For her, sex is a way of driving away the dark dreams she's been having. It chases away her demons. Therefore, she wants it as much as she can if only for that purpose. But it goes beyond even that, because sex with Robert Simmons allows her to see into his mind clearer than ever before.

And he's got one hell of a mind, if I do say so myself. So why go into the detail which really becomes erotica? I need you to see how the sex affects Dottie, both physically and mentally. It opens up so much for her and I want you to be right with her, writhing in ecstasy as much as she does.

So once I decided to write some of the sex scenes as erotica, it came down to how much sex to write. I could simply have written 'They made love by the moonlight,' a few times, but sex is an important part of this story because it's part of what drives them together.

And then the children start to come, and then they become important to the story. This really is a story about family, after all, something that was missing in 'Theater Boy' and 'The Timmons Incident.'

When I started writing it, I thought it would end in the tragedy that would drive them apart. But as I got deeper into the story, I decided the ending for this book would be relatively happy. I also decided to change the name of the series to 'The Simmons Chronicles,' because I have plans to continue that timeline after the events of the second book, where I really lay it on. I've tentatively titled it 'Darkness.' Dark enough for you?

Anyway the first draft of the first book is complete, and I'm really just filling in a few gaps and proofing it at this point. I have a tentative cover for it:

I'm still trying to figure out if that's the best. What I want to know from you, gentle readers, is would you pick up a book with that kind of cover?

Well, guess what? I'm gong to make the entire draft of the book available for a short time. Please click on this link to access it. I might remove access after a while, so hurry!

Why I try hard not to live in a Shelter

2015-10-07T10:18:00.000-04:00

Recently, I fought hard to not have to live in the shelter system again. I asked friends and family for help. Some of them asked why I would try that hard, even living in $100/day motel rooms just to avoid living in the shelter. Here are some of the reasons:

Why I try hard not to live in a Shelter

It's not just because of the crowded nature of shelters

Waiting for a bed

or the fact that there might not be enough room from night to night
or that beds are less than 2 feet apart
or that you will likely get your stuff stolen at least once in your shelter stay (4 times so far)
or that staff has seen it all and can appear uncaring
or that the food is designed to fill bellies but not to provide full nutrition
or that you have to put up with the unwashed
or that some of the people are drunk or high
or that some of the people choose to fight
or that I get searched every time I enter a shelter
or that I have to take a shower with 6-7 other men at a time
or that I have to see those men walk around naked
or that I have to squeeze in between those men to get to my locker
or that there are 10 inches of locker space before the next one
or that men snore at all hours
or that some lights are on in the dorm, if you're unlucky enough to be close to them, you can't sleep
or that you have to get up at 5am
or that have to wait in line to get fed
or that you have to wait to get your bed
or that you have to be in the shelter by a certain time to get a bed
or that some people like to talk while you want to sleep
or that men cough all through the night
or that diseases spread more easily in the closed confines of a shelter
or that once you're in, you can't leave until the morning
or that in some shelters you have to listen to a sermon
or that sometimes they make you dress in their clothes, that are either like burlap bags or prison-issue clothes
or that sometimes you can see the men's butts hanging out of their shelter-issued clothes
or that you lose control of your life when you enter the shelter
or that you lose dignity on entering the shelter.

I try to stay out of the shelter for all those reasons. Unfortunately, I failed in my attempt to stay out of the shelter, so I have to suffer through all of this.

Edit: One more note before I end this particular rant: Imagine doing this for a day, then imagine that day stretching out to another day, then a week, a month, and yes, even years. Welcome to my world. I hope my current time in the shelter won't stretch that far, but every day takes a physical and mental toll. Imagine how relieved I was to get out the last time. It will be double that this time.

Caring is Sharing - Except When It Comes to Money

2015-09-17T13:14:00.000-04:00

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

2015-09-05T19:34:00.000-04:00

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

2015-06-23T12:15:00.000-04:00

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

2015-06-07T10:43:00.000-04:00

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

2015-06-04T17:13:00.000-04:00

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?