Well, since I got my article on the NYC Police Riot of 1857 up before the anniversary date (6/16), I should start on the consequences. Next month would be the Dead Rabbits Riot. Better get on that soon.
Super secret writing project is coming along well and should be out this fall. I need to edit a couple more stories.
That’s it. Carry on.
Because of my recent medical troubles, I’ve been stuck at home. It’s killing me. Usually I love to be at home. I do my writing and editing here. It’s comfortable. My easy chair fits my ass perfectly. I have all the coffee I could want. Yet, it’s still killing me.
Normally I go out in the morning, either to the gym or too the park. I also walk dogs and do some obedience training at the local shelter, or just pick up trash along the road (I have a grabber, I don’t use my hands). But I can’t do that until I find out what is wrong with my heart. The doctor doesn’t want me doing anything strenuous, especially in the heat. Did I mention that something is killing me.
My heart has been acting all wonky. It starts out fine, but by early afternoon, my heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it in my fingertips. My blood pressure shoots up (usually 140/90, with a rapid pulse). I don’t know what’s going on. It’s like having a panic attack without the panic.
I have a fear of death. I think most people do. My fear comes from worrying that I will die before I finish all of my stories, though I know that I inevitably will. With every story I write, a new one brews in my head. A day will come where I die without that story finished. It’s terrifying. Like all writers, I am an egomaniac. I feel that I have something important to say, even though I realize that my words are no more important than anyone else’s. Yet I keep typing away, and that fear of death before completion haunts me.
I like to think that my heart, my metaphorical heart, is good. But the real one isn’t. I was morbidly obese for many years. I’m on a ton of medicines, and more medicines to fight those side effects, leading to more side effects, etc. And I am not happy. I am not calm. I am nothing more than a morbid bit of flesh, and when I die, I will leave behind a few stories, a grave stone, and a pine box.
Being homebound isn’t just killing me, it’s making me think about death against my will. I want to be outside. I want to help at the shelter. I want to pick up trash. I want to do my service to the community, to repay all that they do for me. It seems that the universe has other plans.
There’s a Yiddish proverb: Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht. Man plans and God laughs. Maybe a better quote is from Robert Burns. The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, / Gang aft agley. That’s exactly how I feel. I am the man. I am the house. A house mouse.
Sorry I haven’t been posting lately. I’ve been having some pretty serious heart issues that have kept me off the computer. I’m ok for now, but i’ll need more tests.
On the bright side, the 99 cent sale went well. I’m glad. The extra money will help pay for these bills.
Just a reminder: today is the LAST DAY to get The Watchmage of Old New York e-book for 99 cents. Yes! 99 cents! 99 pennies! A dollar minus one cent! 3 times 33 cents! All of these things!
Wiggle Cat and Wiggle Shaq like it. So will you. (See how happy they are?)
Watchmage is also shortlisted for a whole bunch of awards right now, but you’ll be hearing tons more about that in the near future. If you like Historical Fantasy, word play, mythological creatures, well-developed characters, interesting worlds, intrigue, and flying dogs, you’ll love The Watchmage of Old New York.
And, you know, 99 cents. You can’t even get cawfee for that little. You know how I feel about cawfee.
I saw this on Facebook today and had to share it. There are a lot of people in pain that don’t get treatment because of the stigma. A very good friend that I love very much is one of them.
I am and always will be a strong proponent of education. I think that knowledge is power, if not physical power, than personal. It’s one of the keys to wisdom and understanding, something that we all lack.
Wisdom = Knowledge + Experience + Empathy (not a verified equation, just a theory. Work with me here.)
Knowledge and Experience are relatively easy to come by. You study. You live. That’s all there is to it. Empathy? That’s harder to come by. There’s a danger of elitism that comes with knowledge and experience, a “Dark Side” you might say, (especially if you’re a geek like me) and the enemy of Wisdom. It’s something that all people should be aware of.
As people grow in knowledge and experience (what I call “leveling up”), the path can diverge several ways:
One of these things is not like the other. One of these things is far too common. Can you guess which one?
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago how my browser and social media sites were sending me articles based on my interests and views. The new information (usually from dubious sources, so many that I’ve added Snopes to my bookmarks bar) I received reinforced what I wanted to believe, rather than what was true. I could’ve fallen into that trap, of having food for thought regurgitated and redigested until it became “truth.” I didn’t. I was lucky to realize what was happening. Unfortunately, I think that most people–no matter how intelligent–don’t. The number of bogus articles and memes posted daily on Facebook reinforces this.
I’m not saying that I’m smarter or somehow better than other people, because I’m not. I’m not a special snowflake, just a regular one. None of us are special snowflakes, we’re all equal. I’m an ordinary guy with virtues and flaws and occasional humor. I had a moment of clarity. But I did learn something:
Knowledge does not make you better than other people. Experience does not make you better than other people. Nothing makes you better than other people. You don’t know others’ lives, their experiences, or their fears. You don’t know what made them think or act a certain way. The moment that you think that you are “better” than someone, you have fallen into the “knowledge paradox.” Your knowledge made you ignorant and dangerous.
A wise person realizes that the more you know, the more you realize how little you know.
So let’s cut the crap and stop the snark. Be kind to people and listen to what they have to say. Even if you don’t agree. Especially if you don’t agree.
Oh, and buy one of my books 😛 (here for The Watchmage of Old New York, here for Song of Simon) Because true wisdom comes from giving me money (kidding…but still, buy a book).
Today Mercy College’s English Department has its induction ceremony for the English Honors Society, also known as Sigma Tau Delta. Part of the ceremony is an award called The Valerie Z Lewis Award for Excellence in Creative Writing. I will be there to witness this, as I am and will every year.
Valerie was my girlfriend. She passed away very suddenly and tragically in January of 2013. Even after 3 years, the wound is fresh. I doubt that it will ever truly heal. Val was a fantastic writer, published in many literary journals, and a lecturer at Mercy. After her death, I compiled her published works into an anthology, where the proceeds go toward this award. Mercy is also considering setting up a lit magazine with some of the money. I know that Val would love that. She would be humbled, maybe even embarrassed, at the award, but she was always dedicated to her students. Giving them a chance to see their names in print, that’s something she would be proud of.
I have so much gratitude that they set up this award in her name. All people die, but something like this gives a slice of immortality. To be mortal, yet live forever. Can anyone hope for more?
I’ll be there, and I might cry. I’m always on the verge there. But I feel no shame. It hurts, it will always hurt.
Sometimes hurt is beautiful.
This month, to coincide with the 99 cent sale for The Watchmage of Old New York, I signed up to advertise in several newsletters. It worked. My sales have shot through the roof! I’ve never had a sales rank so high. At what rank do I get to call myself “best selling?”
I don’t know if it’s cost effective yet, but I think that it’s a better plan that just using free sites. Use both. Use Twitter, use your blog, join a promo club like #RRBC. Try everything.
Try everything: that’s a pretty good motto in life. You only level up through experience.
Level up. Become epic. Oh, and buy “Watchmage” while it’s 99 cents. You’ll (probably) not be disappointed. The only mediocre review it’s received so far was “3 stars. Imaginative, but silly. Good for teens.” I can’t argue with that. There’s a lot of absurdest humor in it, but plenty of gritty stuff too. It’s a pretty good mirror of this website: sometimes I’m dark and gritty, sometimes I’m philosophical and political, most of the time I’m weird.
Viva la weird.
I try to keep my blogs about my psych issues scarce, but I’m going to write one anyway. I’m not ashamed of my illness–it’s a chemical imbalance in my brain, not something I brought upon myself–but there’s still a terrible stigma against it. Even my own father doesn’t understand and thinks that I’m lazy. It rubs off on me, and though I rationally know that it’s not something I can control, I feel like I’m a lazy slacker that doesn’t deserve respect or happiness.
Then again, when I was diagnosed at age 14, he pretty much washed his hands of the whole thing and left it to my mother. I’m not bitter, I just think that he couldn’t handle that his American Dream didn’t turn out the way he wanted. He wasn’t strong enough to be an emotional support. Few people are.
Anyway, usually my bipolar cycles last about a month. My mania manifests as panic attacks (sometimes several a day), and my depression manifests as a numb nihilism and extreme fatigue. I’m in a depressive cycle right now. It’s lasted since February, which is a very long time for a cycle.
For about a month, I’ve been debating whether to add an anti-depressant to my anti-anxiety, OCD, and mood stabilizing drugs. The upside is that it’ll make me feel better. The downside is that anti-D’s always make me gain weight, significant weight.
Since January of 2013, when Valerie died, I have lost at least 135 pounds. I was so heavy that they couldn’t get an accurate reading, but I was somewhere between 375 and 400 pounds.I’m 235 now, still considered obese, but not terribly. The idea of putting on weight chills me. I’ve worked so hard, and gaining it back would be a nightmare.
But I finally gave in and went on Wellbutrin. Supposedly it doesn’t cause weight gain, but I’ve been on it before and gained about 30 pounds in 2 months. It’s gonna be a prescribe as needed thing. Hopefully I’ll only have to be on it for a month.
I’m scared. All of that work, down the crapper. Is it better to be fat and happy, or healthy and sad? Neither are good choices. I count calories, I go to the gym 3-4 days a week. There’s little more that I can do.
Thus is the life of the mentally ill.
In other news, I am trying to set up volunteer activity for MHA. There are a lot of people in the system that don’t do much besides sit around and smoke cigarettes. I feel that since the govt does so much to help us, we should find a way to pay it back. I don’t think that people should get something for nothing. I’ll feel better about myself if I earn that Medicare and disability check (though disability money is something I’ve paid into when I worked). Healing the world starts not with grand gestures and revolution, but with small steps and local involvement. In other words: if the roof is leaking, you plug the hole rather than burn the house down.
Hopefully I can break this depressive cycle. I’m sad that I’m so sad.
casandersdotnet 