So as of yesterday I've been out of the Army for two years. It's one of those things that feels simultaneously like just a couple weeks ago and an eternity since I got booted out: not long ago, because I don't know why; forever ago, because what's gotten better, what have I accomplished, what the fuck have I been doing since then?

It's not something I like to talk about because I don't like worrying anybody, because I don't like the "how are you doing?" questions even though I know they're sincere, because it makes me feel more like shit than usual. It's also something I haven't really updated anyone on in a while, so I guess I owe it to youse guys.

Right now, I'm officially diagnosed with degenerative disc disease with associated muscle strain and scarring in my neck and upper back, and high blood pressure. The first I was awarded when I was kicked out, the second a couple months ago. There's also a bulging disc midway up my back. I've had physical therapy, chiropractors, electrostimulation, and several sets of steroid injections. None of it has helped, and the injections have actually made the pain and my mobility worse.

In the works somewhere in the vast catacombs of the VA bureaucracy are claims for chronic depression, PTSD, and screwed up knees, all of which have been denied once already. Even though I'm seeing a psychiatrist, with all kinds of sitting notes about how screwed up I am, apparently I'm not depressed. For the PTSD, while they can document that nasty shit went down in Ba'qubah in 2004, I seem to be the only person in the world with the paperwork that says *I* was there - and that paperwork is in storage in El Paso, being held ransom by the Army because they're fucktards. And though my knees ached while I was in service, I never went to the doctor about them - seriously, who in the military does? This makes the claims process harder, though, because they'll claim the damage happened after I was out.

I've also self-diagnosed myself with narcolepsy, complete with whacked-out REM cycles, rapid-fire and extremely vivid waking dreams, and frequent sleep paralysis. This is fairly new, and since all of my appointments are so far apart I haven't been able to bring it up to my shrink yet. The sleep paralysis is absolutely terrifying, and I can understand why people who get it think they're being abducted by aliens. The other night was particularly bad, so I started testing it. I would let myself start to nod off, which is when it was happening for me. Even though I was conscious, could think clearly and could still see the room, I simply couldn't move. I tried screaming, yelling, moaning, anything, and I was stuck staring at whatever I ended up being pointed towards until it either wore off or I fell fully asleep.

Even without all that, though, all is not well in Scottingham. Standing and walking is hard, so my job choices are limited, and I have even less of a social life than I used to. Right now I'm a courier, which I'm going to have to stop doing soon because sitting down most of the day is apparently too strenuous for me. I'd have chosen something else before, but I don't really have any experience in anything else. I'd have started going to school, because the VA and my GI bill covers my tuition, but I don't have the money to pay the rent if I stop working full-time-and-a-half. Because of how I was discharged, I received a lump sum advance on my disability checks - they were slated to start up again in January 2009, but they seem to have changed their minds and started last month instead. This would be a big help, except my Saturday route was cut at the same time so now I'm essentially back to where I was money-wise.

I'm also dumber than I used to be. My scrambled brain won't let me concentrate on anything. When I can, I can't think as fast as I used to. My memory was never the greatest, but I feel senile half the time because I can't remember a stupid word, or that song I was just thinking of, or what I walked into the next room for. I forget to do things, I can't finish a story, I can't for the life of me think of the third thing in this list. I still read as much as I can, both on paper and on the intarwebs, but not again nearly as fast as I used to be able to. My mind was one of the things I've always kinda sorta liked about myself, and even that is slowly turning to mush as time goes on.

Thing is, all that would sort itself out if my back weren't fucked up. I'd be able to work at jobs that pay well, so money wouldn't be an issue. Since money wouldn't be an issue, I'd be able to go to school. I wouldn't feel like shit, because I'd be accomplishing things and able to exercise and go do fun stuff. The blood pressure and depression would go away. I could get back on with my life, which would be nice for once, not stuck another two-year timewarp. But since my back is fucked up, none of that is possible. There's no promise on the horizon, no hope, I just get to look forward to a series overworked doctors who can't do shit for me. I don't even know why I keep going, nothing ever gets better.

Anywho, time to wind this up with the good ol' running-into-a-brick-wall ending. Bye.

The automated change dispenser at the grocery store was supposed to give me $2.26, but it shot $2.27 out instead. My luck has finally changed for the better!

Does anyone remember that South Park episode where some plot contrivance has Stan's dad spending the rest of the show at the toilet, alternating between vomiting and violently expelling diarreah? Yeah, now imagine that for the last three hours. And no, I'm pretty sure I haven't eaten any tomatoes.

Took Clyde to the vet today to get him a post-adventure checkup, where they shaved (huh huh, shaved pussy) and cleaned the nasty bite on his tail (the yowling was horrendous), checked for an ID chip (no dice), and looked to see if he was spayed (spayed!?).

Yep, spayed. Clyde's a she.

I thought this might be the case, as cats are tricky to figure out in the first place, and a neutered male can look just like an intact female. I didn't feel like poking around in her no-no area at the time and was planning on letting the doc check when this point came. Anywho, the vet said she most likely was a stray after all, and we have to assume she's pregnant. The next step is to let today's antibiotics and other meds do their thing and then find somewhere to get her snipped and pulled in the next couple weeks, before she ends up having kittens. Otherwise she's doing well and doesn't look so much like a skelecat anymore.

Also, since Claudette is nowhere near as funny of a name as Clyde, she needs a new nomme de chatte. I figured I would let you fine folk do the work for me, so all you need to do is reply to this entry with your suggestions, and/or reply to other peoples' entries. The names with the most votes will move on to the final round, a formal LJ poll, to determine the favorite and all-time champeen winner.

Now go for it!

He's hungrier, dirtier, and thinner than I've ever seen him, he's ravenous, he has some new battle scars on his schnoz, but he's back.

May is conspiring to make June a shithole of a month. My laptop is dead for at least a week, and my regular email is a pain to use on my phone. The best way to reach me now is at mobileatlafinjackdotnet.

Ciao for now.

Clyde is gone. He's not anywhere in the house, or stuck anywhere that I can see. I'm 99.99% I closed him in when I left this morning, but that other %.01 is bugging me. There's one place he might have been able to escape from, but I don't think he'd know to tape the bug screen back onto the window so nicely. The one guy who might have come into the apartment to check on something for one of the upstairs units during the day is incommunicado until tomorrow. I knew he was mad that I was trying to switch him from the crappy food I first bought to a better grade of cat chow, but man, this stinks.

- It's been a good week for the more fabulous sector of sexuality: First, California's Supreme Court ruled that the state's ban on gay marriage is unconstitutional, and the federal appeals court said that while the "Don't ask, don't tell" policy is still in effect, the military must prove that the servicemember's gayness was had a negative effect on the military and cannot automatically discharge them for being gay.

- Inspire me, now!

- What would Stewie Griffin from Family Guy look like if he were real? Created by the same guy who did Mario, Homer Simpson, and Jessica Rabbit. Don't forget to click the picture to see the large versions.

- Industrial Decay, a blog featuring stunning photos of dead factories, rotting warehouses, random machinery, and all kinds of neat stuff. Beware, though, it's extremely image heavy.

- Deceiving Billboard Ads.

- A small gecko was found in a chicken egg. Anyone hungry?

- The Giger counter.

- A concept for a disaster relief robot, whose goal is to design "a futuristic robot that would aid humans in dangerous tasks".

- Lately I've come across some sites that I saw long, long ago, and recently found again, surprised to see that they were still around:

       1. The first of those is Slow Wave where readers mail in their dreams, and then they are made into fascinatingly surreal comics.

       2. Zombo.com has been around for at least twelve years, yet is still keeping the mystery alive to this day.

       3. The guy who made When I Am King still makes new comics, for the low low price of $3 a year. Totally worth it. Note: his site does contain abstract cartoon nudity, just so you know.


( Videos and a comic )

Money is pissing me off. Where's the nearest commune?

People, if you are so dumb that you're considering crime to get ahead in the world, think it through first. I know the neurons rubbing together can burn sometimes, but it's better for you in the end.

Which reminds me of one of my various ongoing thought projects: if I were a sleazeball that wished to resort to crime, what would I do to maximize profit and minimize the chance of fuck-me-in-the-ass prison time?

1. Valet lifting.

Around here, there are valet stops everywhere. Just about every restaurant has one outside their doors. And have you seen your average valet lately? The skeezier, the better. My idea: get some friends, some slacks and blazers, throw together a sandwich board, print up some numbered tickets, and you're in business. Once the last of your friends has been given a car, they pick up the sandwich board and take off. People give you their key, and don't suspect anything for hours! By the time they do, you're long gone. If you're lucky, they even gave you their house keys, and there's some indication of their address somewhere in the car.

2. Sports donations.

The Cubs are huge in Chicago, most probably because they don't seem to be very good at winning games within the last century. This would also work with any other underdog or sufficiently moneyed popular sports team. Get the biggest and most annoying Team X jersey and hat you can find, make up a clipboard full of appropriate forms, and start walking and knocking. Bonus points if you gin up some kind of certificate of authenticity proving you are who you say you are.

Then, start going door to door looking for donations in the name of said sports team. Sponsors would have the choice of donating something like $2 per win, $.25 per run and $.50 per home run, or just a straight dollar amount for the season. They also get to choose from a short list of target charities. Later on in the season, you follow up with scoring updates, and start collecting money when the season is over. Then make up a cheap-o one page newsletter full of unverifiable information and Google images, so the marks can feel good about what they gave and be more likely to donate next season. Yes, I admit to being inspired by Choke on this last bit.


So, what would you do to hone and improve these ideas? What would you do to prevent unscrupulous people from implementing them? What are your own ideas?