Memories

I was debating whether or not I would update my journal today, because there’s not that much I could say. The last couple of days, I’ll just describe as dark and crabby. Like being in a proverbial rotten mood. Haven’t been logged in much, times just been spent either contemplating plans or trying to empty my head of all thought.

Today, almost like GOD trying to tap me on the shoulder and remind, that you can’t be in a black mood all the time, something like twenty or thirty minutes ago ma started barking. Apparently a package had arrived, and nothing was audible through the radio stream blasting in my headphones xD. Much to my surprise, not only was it a package addressed to yours truly, but  also from a sender that I’ve known for years.

As it turns out, not only did I not get my usual birthday wish, for everyone to just forget the date, this year I really didn’t get it o/. Something like 80-90% of people still remembered, even my fathers sister of all people!

In opening the package, on top of a rather densely packed parcel, I found an envelope with “READ FIRST” written across it in red. Being the methodical S.O.B. that I am, ofc I had to read it first. While reading the message, I couldn’t help but be amused at the apology for printing the letter off the PC, guess it’s kind of to do with his hackish nature. (I would’ve done like wise.) Inside was a rather large collection of sweets and a pair of small birthday presents. In one particular case, whether accidental or intentional, I don’t think my friend could have been more thoughtful in the selection, if he had spent much deliberation on choosing it. My mother of course, being her usual self of course had to pause to wonder if any of the treats were poisoned or sth. As I’ve always said, if you think I’m paranoid, you’ve just got to meet my mother lol. Considering who sent the package, I would trust this person with my life, and wouldn’t put it past my own family to do worse than that anyway :-P.

Truth be told, I think this friend has made my week… let along my day. You also can’t go wrong with attacking the spiders sweet tooth to ease a bitter mood.

GOD, I have no idea what I have ever done in my life to deserve this, but I thank YOU just the same. Please keep watching over all the people I care for.

What a typical working Thursday used to look like some years ago:

1. Stay in bed until the last minute, because I barely had any the previous night.
2. Get dressed for work in like 30-60s or something. Having shoes with nether laces nor Velcro helped.
3. Cart 4-5 buckets of cleaning supplies across a drive way, up a staircase (maybe 15-18 steps, whatever it was, it was a stretched one), and half way down a hallway. Back then they were organised into palletised “Groups”, e.g. kitchen cleaning, bathroom clearing, etc; which her royal pain couldn’t stand but made it easier to deploy. So I had to be driven nutso over that.
4. Clear the floors: piles inches deep of cloths, toys, food, dishes, papers, and dog faeces; much of it soaked in dog piss and often things were covered in the modern equivalent of gak. There was literally so much crap in every room, that stuff had to be scrapped off the rotting hard wood floors with an old trowel or something. I shit you not. 
5. About three trash bags and countless dustpan-fulls later, the floors had to be swept.
6. Make sure the cloths either made it into the washer, or got piled up for next week.
7. Strip and change sheets for three beds
8. Help dust every thing and wipe all the grime
9. Prep the bathrooms for clearing; e.g. ditch the towels, bring in the supplies, shake the rugs, etc.
10. Bleach and scrub two tubs and a shower; usually get cussed a blue streak over it. I don’t even want to know about some of the stains. Ventilation was like a bolted window or something; think the smaller room had a fan and an open door.
11. Provide ‘backup’ with the mopping of the floors; usually by scrapping crap off the deck with my finger nails.
12. Cart all the supplies downstairs and try not to trip over anything, *oy*.
13. Sweep down the stairs.
14. Start cleaning the living room an the den: see above points 4, 5, 6, 8, and 11.
15. Be expected to leave 5+ Windows streak free that I’d rather throw myself out of.
16. Cart all the supplies into the kitchen.
17. Repeat above points 4 and 8 in the kitchen floors and counter tops using disinfectant. The once white counter tops were usually closer to bronze or burgundy esque colour; not even bleaching the freaking things could make much headway in getting them to *look* clean.
18. Try to put away whatever pots/pans/dishes were still clean, while ma saw to the devastated ones.
19. Help scrap out the Microwave, someone would always managed to nuke the MW instead of nuking the food.
20. Clean and scrap out the oven.
21. Scrub the walls all around the ground floor, while ma assaulted the stove top; interrupts being to get her other supplies /or help.
22. Take a moments break to lean against a wall, while ma cleaned the wc next to the kitchen. While chewing me out over anything and everything.
23. Cart the supplies back across the drive way and stuff them in the car. On a good day it might be windy, so there would be fresh air: and chasing after crap that flew away.
24. Repeat point 11 for the kitchen and associated wc. If you tried eating off the floor at any point, I would suggest a Cyanide chaser.
25. After six hours or so of that shit: go home or get dragged across a supermarket on the way.
26. Fling every ounce of clothing into the wash and scrub…
27. Grab something quick to eat and pour a drink; be thankful if my allergies settled down by then. Working out there blew through paper towels and sneezing attacks, like a hot knife through water.
28. Try and catch a few hours of game time; be happy if not interrupted every 5-15 minutes.
29. Hope to catch my favourite show, assuming we hadn’t had to work even further over time…
30. Work on my studies; be happy if not interrupted every 5-15 minutes.
31. Eat dinner; usually left overs or something quick.
32. Eventually “Bed time”.
33. Be glad that at long last, I’m no longer being cussed at all damn day long or treated like a pack mule.
34. Actually get cracking on my studies, various projects, and, ahem, anything but a restful sleep…
35. Finally tend to closing clandestine odds/ends, and pass out around 0500.
36. Be thankful that Friday was a different job.
37. Wish Sunday would inch by, so there would be something to do other than working on things.

This being an update to a train of thought prepared earlier in the year, itself being intended for a DEFCON 0 ex-filtration from Georgia, that being a very short way from reaching DEFCON 1, which is calling it quits — my present family affairs being DEFCON 2, and not far from 1 if you allow decimal points.

1. Prep phase (1-3 days):
1. Maximize water intake over prep. phase.
2. Complete logistics:
1. Sort fallback points.
2. Print maps.
3. Note addresses.
4. Make ready affairs at end point / final destination.
3. Review packing list for any last minute “Oh crap, I forgot sth” evasions.
2. D-phase (0-1 days):
1. Up-hike water intake for the pre-trip cycle.
2. Put last minute affairs in order.
3. Pack essential kit:
• [withheld in case of information leak: must prevent seizing of my few resources]
4. Fill canteen for march.
5. Load up on water, maximum traveling load.
3. Execute (4-7 days)
1. Arrive at final destination by foot.
2. Rehydrate on site.
3. Finally eat sth.
4. Borrow phone.
5. Settle in and make ready for post-op (e.g. what is to follow).

The only thing I’ll say of my EAP, for if things get any worse in this rotten hole, is it is a *very* long walk. Originally the EAP called for a launch within 24-hours, but logically a greater prep time is ideal, in terms of surviving things. Or as I said, I’m not the kind of person to die in the desert because he made a wrong turn.

If family matters finally come down to it, I will *_/not/_* be restrained any further… and I will go by Patrick Henry’s axiom to the last breath if need be. Failure, is not an option in so far as my right to live is concerned.

Another chart for practical use:

         DEFCONs adapted to Family life here:

                5.) Life is at peace... no worries.
                4.) Stand to, people are making ready for war.
                3.) Active conflicts are in progress.
                2.) Threat level maximum / state of war exists, be ready to go nuclear.
                1.) Excommunication / severing of all ties -- officially at (all out) war.
                0.) Forced march and permanent Exfiltration from present residence.

Being a programmer, of course when I am involved, there is always a “Zero” at one end of a list… lol.

Something that has been resting on my mind for a while of late, for some reason; it’s just a small piece of wood that a friend gave me many Christmases ago. I’ve never forgotten what she said, the note scribbled on the back is dated 2004. and I’ve hung on to this little thing all these years, keeping it close to my most personal stuff, ike my fathers dog tags. Maybe it’s not worth a red cent to any thief, but I’m a sentimental cuss. Her words remind me, that as far short of the mark as we may fall, we can still make an impact for the better in peoples lives, and try to be better than we are.

Today, a different friend said something that brought that memory back to my mind. So I got up and fetched the memento out of my things, reading the back again, and the verse that is quoted on the front side. For some reason, I have never looked up the rest of the psalm that goes with that verse. Shameful really, when you consider that the book of psalms was one we had done in bible study together, lol. About ten or twenty minutes ago, I finally looked up the entire thing:

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you make the Most High your dwelling—
even the LORD, who is my refuge-

then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;

they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

You will tread upon the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

“Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Psalm 91

I think that is something I needed to hear. Coincidence or mental automata driving it, I don’t know, but it came at a rather precise moment.

Like an animal, I’m pacing a cage, trying to figure my way out of it forever more… Pattrick Henry’s words resounding inside my skull. There must be liberty, or there must be death, there is no third option in this world of tyranny.

When I’m of use, I’m taken out and dusted off for a spell, then I’m thrown again into the darkness, like so much rubbish. I don’t share my families mercenary ways, of going tit for tat, and so on. But after submitting my back to the lash for so many years, can’t I even be cared for, this little? No, I’m bound and that is it: that’s all anyone cares about here. I push to move forward, and all they can do, is tighten the chains about my neck in response. It’s like having a hand grasping my throat, cutting off the air to my lungs. The status quo must change, yet everyone seeks to keep it in check, less their bubble of power collapse.

There’s only been two things that I’ve desired in my life, and I’ve always been denied them. How often, have I argued that it will always be so? It’s like having your guts scrapped out with an ice cream scoop: only without death so quick to follow. What point is there to any of this, if it must always be the same prison?

After such painful loyalty, is it to much to ask, to move ones arse a bit? I’ve worked myself raw, I’ve worked beyond the point of collapse and kept on going, just to be trodden upon for it. No one ever cares, nor tries to understand what they do, it’s like staring into a brick wall: one without any ears to hear. At best just mentioning what this does to my soul, only makes me appear all the riper a whipping post. It’s like living as an asset, like an animal in a pen. Am I such a beast, that I must be locked away from the suns rays? Now I can only dream of the light, and at this rate: someday even that will be taken away from me.

If you treat someone like an animal for long enough, what will he become?

To love, to be hated
To yield your best, to be given bitter wine
To slave, to be buried beneath the rock
To taste salvation, only to have it ripped away
To call for justice, only to be imprisoned
To live, only to die
It’s been life in a nutshell.

— Terry P[snip] 2010-05-14

The simple facts for those that can’t see the path behind me:

• My family has shown me enough about what it means to hate, that I gave up my vindictiveness a long time ago. People mellowing with age doesn’t change that.
• You don’t know the meaning of ‘work’, unless you’ve hurt from head to toe, and still had to go hours more without ceasing. — to be insulted and cussed at the entire time, than made to do it again once you get home!
• I have already been made to watch most positive parts of my world be pulled away, only to be converted into a solitary hermit: that may as well be kept under lock and key. That is as often as I may, and how often as I have the means to taste free air, and what the status quo has been kept at for years.
• You don’t know what it means to serve, until you’ve done it 24/7/365 for years on end, only to be made utterly miserable the entire time. The only good thing I can say, is I’ve never had tomatoes thrown at me.
• Real depression looks like hells deepest pit.
• I have always been more concerned with why people decide to do things, rather than what things they decide to do. Cause is more important than effect.
• Just to be able to get the measly amount of practice time that I have been getting (~1.5h/week), I’ve had to be prepared to sever all family ties, period.
• Getting my family to do anything helpful when I need it, is like trying to carve Mount Rushmore with a toothpick.
• I will not stoop to the devils play book.

Is it any wonder that my moods of late, have been such anti-images of blissful happiness? I’m fighting for my very right to live—against those who only need stall for a enough years more, to give them victory over me. Having to put up with that ‘why’ to the actions family takes, doesn’t go without cutting up a few scars along the way. Unlike my how my blood family tends to act, I don’t and won’t abuse people when my moods are horrible: it would violate my principals.

Putting a chipper smile on my face while I deal with such things, on the other hand is to much to ask.

It has been a bit of a long day, but at least I managed to sleep an extra hour… lol. Today, I began work on my memoirs, most portions relating to 2004-2005 are sorted along with part of 2006, leaving the years 2007-2010 worth.

Been thinking a bit about the people I’ve met, and how they’ve impacted my life. I’ve encountered countless people, standing in the front line trenches all these years, and have developed some important relationships along the way. As my memoirs are reaching the time he was a recruit, I can’t help but look back, and see how far we’ve come since then, a certain friend and I. Man, 2006? Has it really been that dang long… feels like just yesterday, that we stood shoulder to shoulder in [SAS]’s service. My good right arm during his tenor, and a trusted friend through thick and thin, even after all these years. Some how, I’ve always known if we ended up in jail or something, he’d be the one sitting next to me, saying we screwed up, not the one to come bail me out lol.

Man, I feel old. It’s like feeling that I pre-date mountains o/. For how long I was an integral fixture in [SAS] life, and just a worker bee before that, I spent so many years there, I have seen mountains climb and tumble…. I am that old.

It’s a whole lotta history, and I can still see so much of it in my mind. I remember a friend, one much more recently developed, once asking if I “Forget anything”. Really, I rarely forget anything important: I might let things rest out of respect rather then bring it up again, but I that’s as close as I get. I can see the years behind me, like a trail of stepping stones in the cliff face.

A lot of people fairly close to me, don’t quite understand why I am ‘wasting’ time writing these memoirs, that at least, has been the widest consensus. Perhaps, no one can truly understand that, not without being inside my head; which isn’t an experience I’d recommend even if it were possible lol.

This was part of my life, an important one, even if much to voluminous in both those respects. I can look back down the trail, and see who I was when I came to [SAS], and see ahead further down the path to where I am going. It’s important for me, to be able to do that. I have always said, those who forget their history, tend to repeat it. I spent many years of my life, finding myself, and the paths one walks, reflects in part, who you are. It’s not us, who shapes are experiences, but our experiences who shapes us.

My life has been far from sweet flowers, it’s had plenty of hills and valleys to carve through; as I have said for years, when people ask “How are you” –> I’m still breathing, never known it to get better than that. Yet just the same, it has not been without it’s gems, those rare diamonds that make it worth the journey.

Tonight, I’m listening to one of my favourite songs, it’s one of the two songs that I once sang on [SAS] TeamSpeak; heh, wonder if JB remembers that :-P. I am, still after all these years, even able to remember the map I was playing on, the kit I was using. My brains just a huge hash table.

Most of the best moments in the past six or seven years, have all been around [SAS]. Perhaps that is a terrible thing (I truly think that it is), but it is also a wonderful thing. Just think,  how miserable a chapter it would have been, to have lived it solo.

You can’t walk forward, if you forget how to move your feet.

Today’s agenda was spent, shoving Her Royal Pain on the driving issue: I reminded her vehemently that come June 1st, I’m charging her $15 for every hour missing from the required 40 hours (pg 22/12) that I’ll be missing towards a full drivers license. I also reminded her that once June passes, if it’s still not sorted, that I’ll be sticking her with her choice of a huge bill representing about 1/3 (minimal) wages due for years of service,  or charging her fees for all time-wasted in her business after July 1st, at a level appropriate for someone with my coding experience.

I’m officially operating at DEFCON 2, and standing by for an elevation to DEFCON 1: all out family war.

In my experience, my family only understands two things: physical and financial violence. That obviously means my only avenue is to hit her, is where it hurts: in the money department. Simply put, if she wants to be a stick in the mud, it will cost her until it breaks her. There is no other way to deal with it, short of cutting my family entirely out of my life, for the rest of however long I live. I’m tired of the bullshit, from her throwing the cost of my glasses and medical issues in my face, both of which she had to pay for, for having pissed away every dollar I had saved up!

I got my permit during W2, it’s now W16, and I have had less than 10 hours car time, and less than 5 hours road time, in some 14 weeks! If this is someones idea of a joke, I am not laughing. My mother has successfully wasted almost three months of my life, placing me massively behind schedule. At the rate things are going, probability factors suggest that completing my lowest objectives of a license and job, won’t be achievable before the 2013-2015 range—and thus I arm for war. I see no reason why something that should take less than 2 weeks maximum (40 hours driving) should require calculating a span of 9-36 months: the margin being whether or not H.R.P. moves her ass at a constant rate, or the usual rate, which tends to approximate exponentiation by a small irrational constant. All I need is 40 hours, plus enough experience that I am competent enough. Considering present maths, I’ll be dead before then.

My dead line goal of having at least my license sorted by June 2010, was set LAST YEAR, and I have spent the last FOUR years planning how to move forward without being bound deeper in chains… I’m not going to tolerate it. I’ve been denied peace for most of my life, I’ve been made miserable most of the last sixteen years, I’ve been unwillingly used as bitches bait in countless family wars, I’ve spent almost the last seven being used as slave labour, I’ve had almost every positive part of life removed, and I will not surrender. I spent most of my youth counting my families petty squabbles in terms of WWs, stopped around WWIX when I realised it would likely surpass the super bowl numbers before I hit thirty. I’ll start one myself if that’s what it takes.

The ultimatum of guaranteed financial destruction has been reissued, and the dead line is just that, a dead-line. Quite simply put, the only single excuse I’ll except for failure, is if the United States enters World War III before 2010-06-01, anything else is strictly fuck you, get out of my way!

I’ve given almost seven years of my life to suffering to my mothers business, and almost all of my life showing my family patience with how I’m ground into the dirt: well guess what, being canonized a saint isn’t on my bucket list. If DEFCON 1 is reached, then that is the end of everything, and I do mean, everything.

For almost as long as I can remember, I’ve had to put up with my mother and brothers relationship sucking the life out of me. Taking every possible effort to block my goals, of all but denying my right to life, will not be met with a nodding smile of cooperation!!! Push a person hard enough and eventually they will break, well guess what, I’ve been being pushed since at least ’94, and I don’t break, I take action.