Monday, May 31, 2010
The Grief of Peter Chaffee
It hasn't actually happened yet, but I am thinking of ending my exile in Pennsylvania and going back to West Virginia before I have my children. I want my children to be close to their grandparents, my mother and father. And I want to live in a place that I like, a place that feels healthy.
I never wanted to be here, and I always felt that I was staying here temporarily, trying to become financially strong.
The only thing I like about Pennsylvania which is uniquely Pennsylvania is the Amish culture. I will regret leaving that particular part of Pennsylvania. I would have wanted to learn a lot about them and about intentional communities and alternative subcultures and minority religions.
I moved here to stay in my brother's apartment, back when he had recently been going to Penn State. I just needed a place to stay, because I was dropping out of college, and my parents didn't want me to move back in with them. And I didn't know anything about how to find jobs and find apartments and how to take care of myself financially. It should have been taught to me at a much younger age, in school and in my family, but it wasn't.
I know now, though, how to find jobs, how to sign a lease for an apartment, how to open up a bank account, and all those other things.
I'm thinking of a lot of things. I'm thinking about Weston Price and what he wrote about the Southeast. In the southeastern United States, there is a certain type of soil which doesn't have a lot of minerals, and there is also a lot of heavy rainfall, which causes the soil to lose even more minerals. They studied the skulls of ancient people living in the southeastern United States, and they found that the skull deformities (weak chins, small jaws, etc) existed a very, very long time ago in the past, in the southeast. The mineral-deficient soil has existed in the southeast all this time. It isn't just a modern problem.
Communities in that area will have to trade with faraway places to buy food, because if they eat nothing but local food, they will have mineral deficiencies. And if you trade with faraway places, you have to sell them something they need. So in the southeast, they grow cash crops like sugar and tobacco to trade for nonlocal products. In West Virginia and in some of the other southeastern states they also trade coal and other mining products.
I would want to buy seafood if I lived in West Virginia. That means I would have to agree that coal mining, and other activities, are an okay thing to do. It wouldn't necessarily have to be coal mining, it would just have to be something that could be traded with people far away. I am pro-capitalism, if you define capitalism the way that Ayn Rand and the Austrian economic school defines it. (Some anti-capitalism people are actually opposing something that isn't capitalism. They oppose, for instance, borrowing lots of fiat money from the government and creating huge corporations that have special privileges from the government. That's not the way capitalism is defined by the libertarians, objectivists, Austrian school economists, and others.)
I'm thinking of this because my religion, my personal belief system, has to decide which types of jobs and businesses are 'okay' and which ones are not. For instance, government jobs are 'not okay' unless the government controls so much of the economy that it's impossible to work in anything but a government job, in which case it's not your fault that you work for the government. The Amish also regulate which types of jobs are okay, which types of businesses are appropriate for their religion. I look at the Amish when I think of a new religion because the Amish have been successful. They have continued all these years - their society hasn't fallen apart or disappeared. A lot of intentional communities fall apart and vanish. So I want to know about groups that are doing things right.
So I am thinking of those things, about the economy that I would live in if I moved back to West Virginia. That's one big thing that I'm thinking about. But I am also thinking about what will happen to Peter if I leave.
It's nice when, for whatever reason, the voices tell the truth. The voices have tried to force me to create artificial relationships, several times. They have tried to force me to bond with people who were difficult to bond with. I don't know if they really forced me to meet Peter, though. That was something that happened which may have happened on its own. As I've said before, 'they' don't control every detail of every event that occurs on earth. But anyway, they usually don't let me tell the truth about my relationships. I get zapped if I try to think about the truth. I get zapped if I try to look at the truth and understand what it is. I get zapped if I ask how I really feel or what I really want. So it always surprises me whenever suddenly the voices are asking me to tell the truth. Today they were asking me to look at the truth about Peter.
Do I really want to marry him? No, I don't, and I never said I did, either. The crazy ideas that they've forced me to think of in the past few years - they wanted me to have some big group of people as my family, they wanted me to be a prostitute, they wanted me to have lots of different men and many husbands. They wanted me to have children from Peter while being financially supported by some other man, because Peter can't work. (If I weren't supported by a man while I raised my children, I would have to be self-reliant, hunting, foraging for food, and farming.) I include those things in the religion because I want them to be allowed in the society, but it doesn't mean that a particular person is required to do those things. Anyway, I didn't want to marry Peter, and so I would always want to have some other man in my life besides him.
What do I do when I visit Peter? I visit him maybe once or twice a week, during the nighttime, on my days off work (Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday). I sometimes see him in the afternoons, too, when I take him to the grocery store. If I visit him at night, we sit and watch TV and cuddle.
They have two cars, but one of them is broken down, and they're not using the other one because of paperwork problems. Their registration and insurance expired and his wife lost her driver's license. She has severe health problems, but she is still able to work. She has symptoms of a hypothyroid problem, but when she tried thyroid medication, it only helped a little. Thyroid medications don't replace ALL of the types of thyroid hormones that your body produces, and thyroid problems are part of a large system in the body, where all the parts work together, and so if something goes wrong, you don't always know what's causing it, and it might not help if you just give them a pill that contains one small part of all the different thyroid hormones. And I know nobody will believe me, but there is something on the floor at Peter's house, which gets onto the bottom of my socks after I visit, and it causes me to have symptoms of low thyroid until I get rid of the socks that I wore over there. Peter himself uses synthroid, a thyroid substitute, and maybe synthroid contamination causes other people to have symptoms of low thyroid. And again, nobody in the mainstream world believes in the existence of invisible transdermal drug residues, but I think that they are contributing to his wife's thyroid problem. It's not the ONLY cause of the problem, but I think it makes it worse.
Because of her thyroid problem, she has no energy and no motivation and no hope. She isn't able to motivate herself to do the simplest things, like pay bills or do paperwork. I know how that feels, because I have chronic fatigue myself along with other health problems, and I can't do simple cleaning or other chores.
This makes me angry to talk about, though, because it's not just my health problems, it's also the attackers. I get zapped if I prepare to motivate myself to do some activity, and I get zapped constantly while I'm working. They zap me with two major types of attack: 'reward' and 'punishment.' They 'reward' me with a pleasurable zinging sensation in my head, and they 'punish' me with a painful burning in my skin and muscles if I try to do something they don't want me to do. This is constant and low-level, and a lot of the time, I am barely conscious that it's happening. It becomes much more noticeable if I am using drugs, like St. John's Wort, or if I have been exposed to low levels of the drugs and am in withdrawal from them.
But anyway, because of all those things, I understand how it feels when you want to do some kind of chore or task, and you can't do it. So she hasn't been able to motivate herself to do the paperwork to get the car back and get her license back. And Peter can't do it, because he has tried to fill out the insurance forms, and there is some kind of obstacle - they say that he isn't allowed to do it, and it has to be done by HER. This isn't a permanent obstacle - there is some way around it - but finding ways around paperwork obstacles requires energy and hope. I used to have lots of energy and hope when I was on drugs - I was actually manic - everything and anything seemed like it was possible to do. I had a million, infinity, projects that I was going to do, and helping Peter with everything was one of my projects. I had specific things I wanted to help him do, and I wanted to help him solve his car paperwork problem.
When Peter met me, I was using St. John's Wort. I tried to tell him right away that a lot of my behavior and my moods were drug-induced. I tried to tell him that this wasn't really me. That was one of the first things that I told him when we were getting to know each other. I'd warn him that I was in a different mood and acting differently because I had used my herbal drugs that day.
Peter doesn't understand that back then, I had a much higher sex drive because the drug I was using was an aphrodisiac. (Some parts of the drug are anti-sexual, and some parts of it are pro-sexual. Herbal drugs are complex and they have lots of different chemicals in them.) He thinks that I lost my sex drive because something changed in our relationship. That is somewhat true, but not really. It's true that 'they' distracted me in 2008 whenever they tried to force me to have a relationship with Martin. (Yes, I was attracted to him, but in reality, I wouldn't have tried to start up a relationship. There are lots of people that I'm attracted to but I wouldn't actually try to go after them.) Whenever they distracted me from Peter and made me start noticing younger men in their late teens and early twenties, it made me feel less connected to Peter. So in a way, there was a change for real. But a lot of the change was also because I stopped directly using SJW. Nowadays, I only use it at very low levels whenever I am accidentally exposed to residue contamination on my belongings and clothing.
Also, Peter wasn't using drugs when we first met. He had used drugs in the past, prescription drugs, and then he quit using them. If I understand correctly, he was on some kind of blood pressure drugs in the past, and some other related drugs for his heart. He quit those, and when I first met him, his blood pressure was high.
The mainstream world has a backwards belief about blood pressure. They believe that stress and anger and bad moods CAUSE your blood pressure to go up. I believe the opposite, because I've seen it, and I've felt it myself while being exposed to the residues of drugs that raised my blood pressure: High blood pressure CAUSES anger and bad moods. The high blood pressure comes FIRST, and the anger and bad moods come AS A RESULT. The mainstream world doesn't distinguish between short-term moods and long-lasting moods that won't go away. If it's a short-term bad mood, like an instant of anger that you feel because something happened, then yes, that instant of anger will briefly raise your blood pressure, but it should go back down, and the bad feeling should go away quickly. But there are bad moods that last forever - you're NEVER in a good mood. That is something that RESULTS from high blood pressure (or drugs, or some other long-term problem). The mainstream world MISTAKENLY says that if you are in a bad mood all the time, that will cause you to develop high blood pressure. The opposite is true: an unknown something causes you to get high blood pressure, which causes you to be in a bad mood all the time.
I've seen it happen to Peter, too. When he isn't on the blood pressure drugs, he gets angry and in bad moods all the time. His behavior is totally different. I know this sounds silly, but he talks about 'blowing stuff up.' He talks about how he hates the medical system and how he hates McDonald's corporation (he and his wife both work for McD, which is how I met them) and how he hates everything that is causing the problems in his life. He doesn't really hate all those things, but he is frustrated by them because he wants them to do things (like give him back his driver's license), and they won't. No, he doesn't build bombs, and he isn't a terrorist, but when he is in those moods, thinking about the doctors and how he can't have a driver's license anymore and that kind of thing, he'll say he's mad enough to blow stuff up. Now that I've gotten to know him, I don't believe he ever would do anything like that in reality, but I am saying that high blood pressure causes people to talk about burning and destroying and blowing things up. High blood pressure CAUSES that. It doesn't RESULT from that. I've experienced elevated blood pressure (only a little bit) from drugs, and when I feel that way, I get angry all the time. It causes an uncomfortable sensation and it makes you want to destroy things. It makes you constantly irritable so that you are always complaining. It changes your tone of voice, and you have no control over it when this happens.
Note, something about his driver's license: Supposedly, the doctor wants him to get a particular kind of blood glucose monitor, and if he got it, the doctor would let him have his license back. I am hearing this secondhand from Peter, so I don't know what the doctor is really saying. But Peter says he doesn't want to get that particular kind of blood glucose monitor, for a variety of reasons, and so he won't do it. I don't think I'm hearing the whole story, though. Anyway I get the impression that he MIGHT be able to get his license back, but that might not be true.
Anyway, when I met him he wasn't on drugs (except insulin). He got back on the drugs during the time we've known each other. I actually believe that his nosebleed was caused by my drug residues. He had an incident where his nose started bleeding and wouldn't stop, and this happened right around the time when I bought ephedra and tobacco seeds and I contaminated all of my belongings with drug residues. Right around that time, Peter's blood pressure went up so high that his nose started bleeding and wouldn't stop, and he went to the hospital and they gave him blood pressure drugs, and he's been on them ever since then. He always had somewhat elevated blood pressure, but then, all of a sudden for no particular reason, it got much much much worse.
So he got back on those drugs. And those drugs cause a lot of numbing effects. He already had some difficulty with erectile dysfunction, but it got much worse because of the drugs. Not only that, but I now have reactions whenever I touch him or kiss him - I get secondhand drugs from his mouth and his skin and clothing, and I become numb and slow and sick. I get so many drugs on me when I visit him that I actually have a separate box to put my clothing into after I go to his house, a specific box where Peter-contaminated clothing goes. So the drugs are one of the reasons why I don't really do anything sexual with him anymore, except very rarely. It is something that happens every once in a great while. I still kiss him, but I don't even really like to do that.
Why did I get with Peter in the first place? I used to work at McD in the evenings, and he would show up to work overnight, so we'd work together for about two hours. He'd come in at 9:00, and I'd go home at 11:00. This was at a different store, not the one where I work now.
I saw him the moment he walked in. He came to my store because the private owners sold the McD stores back to the big McD corporation, and after that, he wasn't allowed to work in the same store where his wife worked, so they separated them and sent him to my store. He walked in, and I saw this guy with a ponytail talking to some other people, and I always notice long hair. He was intelligent and he and I were able to have conversations with each other.
I used to look up to him, literally - he would teach me things about the job and about working overnights. He's older than I am. He's taller and bigger than I am and so I'm in the role of 'small female being protected.' I'm aware of being short - I'm five foot two - and I notice how I'm usually in the 'inferior' role in any relationship. That was true with me and Peter too.
He touched me - inappropriately. If I hadn't liked him, it would have been sexual harassment. The author Warren Farrell said EXACTLY that same thing: If you like it, it's flirting; if you don't like it, it's sexual harassment. Peter would sneak up behind me and tickle my ribs on the sides. Things like that. I liked him, so I responded whenever he did it. He gently patted and rubbed my back one time whenever I said that I wasn't feeling well. He was good with his hands and he knew how to touch in a way that felt good.
I told him about my hearing voices. That worked out well, because he came from a religious background, and he was able to interpret it in a mystical, supernatural way, instead of just saying that I was crazy. He believes that the voices come from spirits or demons, sometimes helpful, sometimes harmful. He's interested in lots of different religions, not just Christianity, and he's studied and read about Native American religions also, and Celtic, and other cultures. He isn't really Christian - he might call himself Pagan. He's more into the witchcraft-type religions, with earth spirits and that kind of thing. He was able to tolerate my hearing voices and being attacked. Sometimes I complain about it to him, but I usually don't talk about it. He can't do anything to help. He used to try to tell me to do things like burn candles of a certain color to purify the spiritual environment and chase away the evil spirits, but I don't believe they are spirits. (I did burn the candles he gave me, but I still hear voices and get attacked.)
But even though we disagree about our interpretations, he was able to listen without calling me crazy, and he believes that it's actually happening. What I mean is, he doesn't say that the voices come from 'inside' me as a result of mental illness. He can tolerate the idea that the voices might come from something outside me. He can tolerate the idea that I am being attacked by SOMETHING, even if we disagree about WHO is attacking me and HOW they are doing it. Maybe he partly believes that it's mental illness, but he doesn't fight with me about it, and he doesn't say it out loud in our conversations, and he doesn't confront me about it.
Eric, on the other hand, would start screaming and shouting and arguing whenever I mentioned anything about computer hackers or electronic harassment. He would explode into this screaming rage. He would call me names and call me crazy and say all of the worst possible things that you could say to somebody. There was no way to talk about it calmly and quietly. With Peter, we can talk about it CALMLY AND QUIETLY, even if we have some slight disagreements. With Eric, it was ***THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT!!!*** It was totally impossible to talk about it without screaming. So I appreciated Peter's calmness right away. I want people to agree with me, it's true, but if they can't, I just want them to be able to talk about it QUIETLY.
So that's how Peter and I got together. He was already having problems in his marriage, for a long time, and he wanted to find someone else to be with. So we started meeting each other privately, during the night, or during the day when nobody was home.
But do I want to marry him? No. I don't want to take him away from his wife, either.
That would mean that if I went to West Virginia, I would leave him here.
He has a problem with his eyes and his tear ducts, and it makes him unable to cry normally. He might be able to cry a little bit, but I've never seen him do it. He is able to show sadness through his behavior and tone of voice, but I've never seen him cry. I asked him what he does whenever something terrible happens, like a death, and he told me that he will just go someplace and be alone for a while and be quiet.
If I left him here, he would have less help with getting around, like to the grocery store or other errands that I help with. But it's not just helping him with errands. I give him hope. I make him feel like something can be done, somehow. I give him physical contact, hugging and touching and kissing, even though we hardly ever have sex. I am a friend and we love each other. If I left, he would miss me as a human being, as a presence, not just a car driver. And he would be helpless. That's what bothers me the most. He would be helpless: he couldn't jump in a car and follow me to West Virginia if he felt like it. He would just have to sit there and endure the fact that I left him and he had no control over it. He would just have to stay here in Pennsylvania, in his house, and never be able to drive down and visit me if he missed me. If he missed me, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it at all. I don't like that helplessness. It's like leaving a baby, or a dog or cat, or some other pet. You leave the dog locked in the house all day, while you go off in a car driving somewhere, and the dog is helpless to follow you, and helpless to open the doors and go outside. It just has to endure the wait until you come home. I hate that. I used to go visit Eric at his trailer, where all the stray cats were, including Alexander. But I wasn't there all the time, I wasn't there every day. What if the cats missed me on the days when I was gone? What if they wished I would come back? The cats didn't know my address and couldn't write me letters asking me to come visit them. They couldn't get in a car and drive over to my house. They couldn't even call me on the phone. They just had to sit there and hope I would come back, and be glad to see me when I did.
Grieving for myself and for Peter is what I would have to do before leaving and going back to West Virginia. Right now I can't even imagine making him helpless like that, but that's what would happen if I left. He would have to find some other way to survive, find some other love.
That's all I'm writing for now.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
I looked at milk again today, in the grocery store this time. It's possible to get milk without vitamins A and D if you buy whipping cream. But I want to avoid carageenan (it's harmless, but I don't want it anyway) or any other additives. I found one organic brand that said it only contained milk and cream (it was some kind of whipping cream) and nothing else.
Milk (not cream) always has the vitamins added, including organic milk. To me, if it has synthetic vitamins added to it, it doesn't qualify as 'organic.' I'm pretty sure that it's required by law that they add synthetic vitamins to milk, whether we want them or not.
Why do I care about this? Because I didn't want to stop drinking milk. I had to, because it was making me sick. It was actually Meyer Dairy milk that made me sick. It was the best-tasting, freshest milk I'd ever had. The grocery store milk was always sour on the day I bought it, because of bad handling, leaving it sitting out at room temperature, etc. Meyer Dairy milk wasn't sour. However, it made me sicker than any other milk had ever made me. I think maybe I got sick because they reuse the glass bottles. Maybe they only rinse and sanitize the bottles, when actually, the bottles would have to be scrubbed out with something abrasive that actually touches the bottle instead of just rinsing. I don't know. The Meyer Dairy milk tasted great though, which is why I regret having to stop drinking milk. So that's one reason why I want to troubleshoot all the things that could be wrong with milk. I'd like to be able to drink it again.
The other thought 'we' were thinking tonight was that I was fantasizing about moving to the seashore and living there, and then they suggested that I should live on a floating sea farm. The sea farm would float just below the surface and create lots of shallow areas to grow shellfish and other small fish along with kelp and seaweed. It would be a complex structure with lots of small spaces for things to grow on, up near the top, and down deeper in the water. People could live there and eat their own farmed seafood and not have to worry about buying land. The entire ocean could be farmed with these floating structures.
So I wondered why nobody was building floating sea farms, and I thought there had to be a reason. The only reason I can think of is wind waves. When the wind blows across hundreds of miles of ocean, it can make wind waves that are dozens of feet high. These huge waves knock over boats and I imagine they would tear apart the floating sea farm, unless it was designed to cope with extreme wind waves or storm waves.
People probably are actually trying to build things like that. I just want one that's stable enough for people to live on permanently, like it's their own home, and so they won't have to buy land. There is so much room in the oceans that it would be very helpful if we could start populating them.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I've noticed before that milk has hormones that affect my own hormones, and now that I've been drinking this coffee with lots of cream in it, I'm noticing it again. I usually don't drink milk anymore. I used to, but in 1999 or whenever I got really sick for a long time, I had to stop drinking milk because it was making my upset stomach much worse, and I never started drinking it again, except a little bit here and there, or in ice cream.
Theories about why I seem to get a dose of hormones from milk:
1. Leftover synthetic bovine growth hormone. I was told (by Ken, a guy who used to work on a dairy farm and knows other dairy farmers) that they're not allowed to use bovine growth hormone anymore, and they supposedly stopped using it. Maybe some people are still using it, secretly, or maybe there is leftover bovine growth hormone in the pipes and tubes that the milk goes through when it comes from the automatic milker. I saw automatic milkers, and I saw the pipes, and the pipes are disgusting and full of old, clotted milk that never gets rinsed out. It could have leftover hormones in it. (Some farms are cleaner than others. I visited two different farms, and they were drastically different from each other in their way of being organized and how they were run. The whole style was different. You might visit a nice, clean farm, and not believe how disgusting the automatic milkers can be, because you might have seen only a farm where they keep the equipment clean. But they're not all that way.)
2. Holstein cows have lots of hormones anyway, because they were bred to have a large pituitary gland that causes them to have large udders and produce a lot of milk.
3. None of the above - something else is giving milk a hormone-like effect.
What would be the ideal milk that I would like to buy?
1. raw, not pasteurized
2. milked into a non-metallic pail, instead of being milked into an automatic milker and then going through the disgusting pipes and tubes, full of germs and mold and fungus and slime. Pail must be nonmetallic because I suspect that it's not good for food to get metal dissolved in it. (I don't want it to be plastic either. I'm not sure what it should be made of. I like glass or ceramic, but that seems inconvenient, and with my luck, I would discover that ceramic is toxic, too. This is an "I don't know, YOU think of something" situation. The free market will take care of it.)
3. milk from a non-Holstein cow. I read once, somewhere, in some forgotten place, that there used to be a cow called a 'scrub cow', which was a basic, generic, inferior type of cow, sort of like an alley cat is just a generic type of cat. I don't know if I really understood correctly, but I had the impression that this was a kind of non-breed cow. Anyway, that's the type of cow I'd use, some cow that didn't have anything special about it. I guess all domesticated cows will have some kind of 'breed,' but maybe, I would want any kind of breed that wasn't made for milking. That would mean it had fewer hormones, and more nutrient-dense milk. Weston Price pointed out that the Holstein Cows (or maybe it was that other book, Nourishing Traditions, that talked about this) can produce a lot of milk, but they can only put a little bit of nutrients in it, so it has a low nutrient density. Another cow breed produces less milk, but the milk is better quality.
4. nothing but pasture-fed. No grain at all fed to the cows, just grass and whatever other plants they eat. No hormones, no antibiotics, no drugs, no vaccines, nothing given to the cows. 'Organic,' no pesticides, no fertilizers. I wouldn't mind certain kinds of fertilizers if they were organic.
5. not homogenized.
6. absolutely NO VITAMINS added to the milk. Synthetic vitamin D causes the symptoms of vitamin D deficiency. In other words, the more synthetic vitamin D you use, the more you show symptoms of not getting enough vitamin D, which causes you to start using MORE vitamin D because you think you're not getting enough. Synthetic vitamin D is bad for you. Synthetic vitamin A is also bad for you. Both of them are added to milk.
7. no powdered milk added. Reduced-fat milk supposedly has some powdered milk added to it, and powdered milk contains oxidized cholesterol. Oxidized cholesterol is bad for you. Also, the powdered milk contains some preservatives and other chemicals - I read that in the Feingold Diet informational materials somewhere.
8. milk is whole, nothing taken out of it at all. Not reduced-fat, not skim.
That's all I can think of for now. I'll probably think of a few more criteria after publishing this blog.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
He did it to be nice to me. My friend went through the drive-thru when I hadn't seen him in several days. I didn't expect the cigar, and I accidentally said, 'Oh my God??' when I saw it, which is why his girlfriend made the joke about the biggest cigar she's ever seen. I didn't mean to say that. I was shocked and I blurted out my first response. But, I've told him that I miss him if I don't get to see him often enough. He touched my hand when I gave him his drinks. It usually seems like an accident. It's something that we do every once in a while. He knows I miss him. It just didn't work out very well because of my reaction to the cigar.
I've dropped off my car at Lohr's Garage on North Atherton Street in State College. That's the place my brother recommended years and years ago. Then I took a walk down the street, all the way to Schlow Library in town. I haven't walked that far in a long time, so my muscles will be sore tomorrow, and I'll have a sunburn.
I got a chance to see trees, flowers, houses, cars, and the sky, and also sunlight (I don't go out much in the daytime). I didn't pass many people walking on the sidewalk. My too-big Goodwill pants were hanging around my hips and showing the band of my underwear, and even though that's the 'in' thing nowadays, it looks dumb when I do it, especially since I'm not doing it on purpose. The pants were all crooked because I had heavy objects in my pockets - the cell phone in one pocket and the keys and a checkbook in the other. So I felt a little bit self-conscious at first. But there was only one person rude enough to honk at me, and that was when I first left the garage and started walking. After that, everyone was quiet. In a college town, I don't look that strange.
I was also being attacked while I walked. 'They' forced me to feel fake feelings of shame and embarrassment. I felt constantly ashamed, as though everyone was looking at me and thinking I was ugly or funny-looking or there was something wrong with the way I was dressed, or they could see through my shirt because I don't wear a bra. In the old days, I always used to walk around wearing even less than I had on today, like wearing shorts in public while I don't shave, and I survived that, so there was no reason to feel ashamed today. When I became aware of the feeling of shame (or, when they forced me to become aware of it), 'they' admitted that the feeling was fake, and they turned off the fake feeling and stopped forcing me to feel that way. 'She's a nudist,' somebody said, 'there's no reason for her to feel ashamed.' They shut off the attack and they let me walk without worrying about what people think of me.
I can't look at the scenery while I drive a car, so I enjoyed getting to see it while walking.
I said 'yes' to the repairs when my phone buzzed me in the library. It has to be done. I'm not happy about it. I want to save money, without getting money from my parents. I want my savings to constantly increase. That is the way it's supposed to be. I want some of the savings to be set aside for problems and emergencies. I want to foresee those emergencies in advance as possibilities. I want some of the savings to be untouchable - I will live off those savings when I'm too old to work, in the distant future. I want to save for other large purchases, like a trailer, and car repairs or a new car. I want to save so I can take time off work.
This is a bad day to feel sick. I'm at the library right now and wondering if I should try to go home. My stomach and intestines have something wrong with them - I am nauseated, having intestinal cramps, and wondering if I have a virus. Being trapped someplace away from home, without a car, while I feel sick, is scary. I want to go someplace comfortable when I feel sick.
I would have wanted to ride a bus home, but I'm getting uncomfortable enough that I might just take a cab and go home as soon as I can. I don't know how long I'll have to wait for a bus that will go to Bellefonte.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
This is just an unpleasant complaining blog.
I had the sleeping problem again today. I had quit caffeine all day Monday. There is still something in my clothing and on my bed that I'm reacting to, and I need to do more troubleshooting. This huge amount of sleep is not normal for me, even though I have chronic fatigue. This is about the fourth week in a row that has been completely ruined by hypersomnia with nothing getting accomplished except writing blogs.
I am waiting for June 10th when my work schedule should change. That should make both of my jobs more enjoyable. I won't just be mopping the lobby at McD every night, and I should be spending more time surrounded by people, instead of alone, at both jobs.
Tomorrow I'm getting the car inspected. This will probably cost a lot of money - I failed an inspection a while ago at a different repair shop. This is my 'getting a second opinion' inspection. They might, or might not, tell me to fix the same things that the other place told me to fix. I'm using the place that my brother told me about, Lohr's Garage, years ago when he used to live in State College. I've been going to them most of this time.
The terrible frustration of nothing getting done, while still being attacked and having problems, every day - I can't actually rest while I'm trying to sleep, because I am constantly bombarded with attacks. There is not a single second of a single day without the soul murderers zapping me constantly, putting voices in my head, burning me, disturbing and disrupting every thought and every feeling and everything I try to do. Chronic fatigue makes it so I can't motivate myself easily, except that in the real world - a world where I wasn't being attacked by soul murderers - I WOULD be able to motivate myself from within, by meditating and deciding what to do. I can't do that now. The murderers keep telling me again that I need to get help from someone. They WANT me to 'get help' from someone instead of solving my problems myself. They won't let me think about anything, motivate myself from within, or plan anything, but they want me to somehow get help from somebody to do my housework and all that (I haven't had the housekeeper guy over for a long time now - he sort of wasn't working out - he didn't have a car, and needed rides from State College, and he was on prescription drugs, and one day he was in withdrawal from drugs because he let his prescription run out, and it made him get into a really, really depressed mood, so I took him to Wal-Mart to get his prescription, and this is not really what I want to do with my hired housekeeper. Not only that, but also, and 'they' are requiring me to say this, but, I didn't find him physically attractive, and so I didn't just enjoy his company for the sheer sake of being with him.).
I don't know how they think I'm supposed to command someone else, whenever they won't let me use my brain to command itself. You have to be able to command yourself in order to command other people. How can I 'ask for help' and get somebody to come over here whenever they zap me if I try to think and make plans? The other person can't think for me, because they don't understand the drug residue contamination concept. It was very hard to explain things to the other guy who was trying to help me clean the house. People don't understand the idea of an invisible 'dirt' that they can't see, which only I can feel, because they haven't had a drug residue demonstration given to them to teach them how to detect the presence of drug residues and observe the symptoms that they cause.
My first experience of herbal residues was with poison ivy. It was many years ago when I was with Eric. We were walking by the duckpond, and we started arguing about a particular tree that had leaves that looked just like poison ivy leaves. I swore to him that this was a tree, NOT poison ivy. I don't know the name of the tree - that would be helpful to know. Eric insisted that this tree WAS poison ivy, not a tree. I demonstrated it by rubbing some of the leaves on my skin to test for a reaction. I also picked the leaves off another plant, and that plant actually was poison ivy. I think I made a mistake, though, because there was one that I thought was the tree, and it was really poison ivy - it was confusing, there were several different plants in the area and some of them were real. Anyway, I unexpectedly got poison ivy very badly from one of the 'test' plants, when I was expecting not to get any real poison ivy at all. Some of them really ARE a type of tree, though.
Anyway, so I still had this oil on my skin, and I sat down in my recliner, which got it on the recliner. I also must have rubbed some of it onto my hand or arm, because I transferred it to the computer mouse and a little bit of the table near there. For several weeks, I was having new outbreaks of rash in different places, and I had to figure out where it was coming from. I solved the problem by shampooing the recliner with a rug shampooer and furniture attachment thing that I rented from the grocery store, and I washed off the mouse and the table edge where I kept getting it on my wrist and hand.
Poison ivy is a very easy plant to use for demonstrating invisible herbal oil residues. Ephedra is extremely effective, too, because the symptoms are so horrible, so intense, and so intolerable, but it is also too dangerous to use if you are trying to safely demonstrate the reality of herbal drug residues to someone who doesn't believe in them. Poison ivy is much safer, and it is commonly found everywhere. Poison ivy is familiar and well known, and people will be less skeptical and less disbelieving if you demonstrate something familiar to them. After that, you have to move up to drugs that are more subtle, harder to detect, like St. John's Wort. Once you get the general idea that plant oils leave their residues on your clothing and belongings, and those residues last forever and ever without decaying or disappearing, and they go through your skin, causing health problems and mood swings and unexplained symptoms, then if they believe that general idea, they can learn to accept that this is happening everywhere all of the time with a wide variety of drugs and chemicals and other substances, but some of them are more obvious and more harmful than others.
I was taking Peter to the doctor a few months ago. In the office, I saw the mother of my friend's ex-girlfriend (his son's grandmother). I don't know what she goes to the doctor for - I know almost nothing about her. However, I have seen and heard a few things. He told me that she brainwashed his ex-girlfriend to believe that all men are evil. I already mentioned reading Warren Farrell's books, so that's something I've heard of before. Next, I saw her once at the self-checkout with a couple of kids, and she was griping and complaining about every little thing, and nothing in particular, saying 'you're doing it wrong, do it like this,' and so on, and it was extremely trivial, constant nagging. And then, I saw her recently, and she was extra-super-friendly. She said to me, 'That pizza smells really good! I could smell it all the way across the store!' I had just cooked a pizza and taken it out of the oven. I recognized her tone of voice, and her behavior of talking about nothing in particular in an extremely positive way, like 'yay! the world is a wonderful place! everything is lovely and great!' as a drug-induced cheerfulness, exactly like when I myself am using St. John's Wort and I'm extra-friendly and super-optimistic about everything being wonderful. She had EXACTLY that same behavior and mood. So I think she's using prescription antidepressants. I've used the drugs myself and I know how to recognize people who are extra-cheerful and friendly because of drugs.
This concerns me a little bit because prescription psychiatric drugs leave residues too. I didn't think they did at first. I thought it was only herbal oils. But I've gotten skin absorption from that anti-anxiety drug, Abilify, from several different people, and have gotten it on my clothing from being around people who are using it. So I assume that antidepressants leave residues too. My theory is that they are excreted through the skin of the person using them, so that person's sweat or skin oils leave the drugs on everything they touch.
If you have contact with these drugs, and then leave the area, change clothes, take a shower, and all that, you will then go into withdrawal from prescription antidepressants. Fortunately, it will be a low dose. But this drug-and-withdrawal cycle causes unexplained mood swings and also drug side effects. His ex-girlfriend might have become emotionally, psychologically unstable because of low-level exposure to drugs. It's only a theory. Not only that but my friend himself might have had contact with the drugs and been affected by them. Those drugs and the withdrawal will cause strange moods - I think of this whenever I remember that he was at his ex-girlfriend's house when he got drunk and then went driving his car into the woods and got arrested for drunk driving. That restless feeling of having to go somewhere, and being more upset than usual, or crying, or being angry or depressed or whatever, can be made worse by a drug exposure. It can also make people start fighting and arguing over nothing. Again, I say 'it's only a theory.' It's something that I am slightly concerned about, something which could possibly happen.
As far as I know, I am the only person on earth who has this theory - I've never seen anybody else, anywhere, writing about this particular type of environmental illness or chemical sensitivity. Chemical sensitivity bloggers always write about, for instance, exposure to bleach fumes or perfumes. They have never, as far as I know, written about absorbing other people's drugs through their skin. The closest thing I saw was in a book in my Google books library called 'Breaking Free From Environmental Illness' where I saw some pages mentioning how he had to wash the laundry dozens of times to get something out of it. I had the same experience. But I never saw anything in there about drugs going through the skin. It's important to mention that he and his wife BOTH worked in the medical profession. They would be exposed to drugs that CAUSE multiple chemical sensitivity.
How can a drug cause multiple chemical sensitivity?
Some drugs interfere with metabolism. What is metabolism? Metabolism might be the wrong word, so don't take my word for this, but I think it means, how your body breaks down drugs and poisons, and gets them out of the body in the urine, feces, or sweat, or any other way out of the body. Breaking things down into less toxic substances. That's the general idea.
Some drugs change your metabolism so that you can't break down other drugs and poisons anymore. Those poisons will then become much more poisonous and dangerous, because your body can't process them the way it's supposed to.
If drugs go through the skin, and if you are a healthcare employee, you are exposed to low levels of every single drug that has ever been used by anybody who has gone to that hospital, sat in that waiting room on that chair, etc. And this is true: when I went to the doctor because of my chest pains, I came home with new drugs on my skin and clothing, because I've learned how to recognize that they are there. I wasn't born knowing how to feel drugs going through my skin. It's something I learned after terrible experiences with ephedra and other extremely dangerous drugs.
So the people who wrote this book might have become extremely sensitive BECAUSE OF their everyday drug exposures at the workplace. They would get low levels of drugs that cause you to become sensitive to other drugs.
Again, that's only one theory of what causes multiple chemical sensitivity. There could be other causes - for instance, vaccines might do something to you. Viruses might do it too. I started having lots of strange problems after Eric and I both had some weird virus that lasted several weeks, and a lot of other people in town also had this virus. It caused extremely severe fatigue. There was a very specific symptom that we all had: Our head and neck felt heavy, and you didn't want to hold your head up. 'Not being able to hold my head up' was something everyone described. I also had digestive problems and a painful, swollen feeling in my liver area, for several weeks. After that, I was never the same again. This is exactly the same story that a lot of other people will tell when they talk about having chronic fatigue. (Chronic fatigue, environmental illness, and chemical sensitivity all go together.) I know it wasn't mono, because I went to the doctor to get tested for mono, and they said I didn't have it.
Anyway, I'm really curious to know if anybody, anywhere, has written about this theory that I'm describing. I want to know if anybody is having the same experience, the same observations. And if anybody was curious about it, I could easily set up demonstrations to prove that it's true, to give someone else the same experiences that I've had. It doesn't depend on faith. It has to be demonstrated. The first demonstrations would be done with something safe, like poison ivy, which is an uncomfortable nuisance, but not life-threatening. (However, poison ivy can kill you if you burn it in a bonfire, and then breathe the smoke, which will cause your throat and lungs to get swollen until you can't breathe. I've heard of this happening.)
It isn't just 'chemicals.' I can use bleach without any problems, unless somebody does something blatantly stupid like fill up a mop bucket with large amounts of bleach and then mop the entire floor with all the windows and doors closed - somebody did that once, I forget where we were, I forget if it was at work or if it was something Eric did at home - but the bleach fumes were enough to make me feel sick and get a headache. Other than that, I can use bleach sprays and not have any problems. So it's very hard to explain to anybody what I'm talking about whenever I say that there are 'chemicals' on my clothing that I'm reacting to - they always say, 'Oh yeah, I have a friend who's sensitive to bleach and perfumes, blah blah.' I have to make a long story short whenever I try to tell people that I'm sick because of a 'chemical' that's on some of my belongings.
I had coffee today again. I didn't want to. I was sleeping all day. Then Peter called. I had been awakened by the murderers already. Peter needed to go to the grocery store. First I went to the gas station and bought a coffee. Then I picked him up and took him to the grocery store, and I drank my cup of coffee while I waited in the car. I told him I was exhausted and not feeling well and I didn't feel like walking around.
Peter seemed fine and energetic. He seemed so energetic, I didn't even bother ASKING him what his blood sugar was when we left. (Yes, you can feel the suspense building up, can't you? LOL) However, I didn't know that Peter's blood sugar had been at 57, and he'd just had a soda to bring it back up. And after having the soda, he did a bolus of two units of insulin to compensate for the soda, which he shouldn't have done.
I need to tell you about Peter and his diabetes. Peter does a blood sugar test every two hours. If you tell him to do another test, he absolutely WILL NOT take another test until two hours have gone by. Why is that bad? Why does that bother me so much? Because a lot of times, he will drink only a little bit, like one can of soda, and it isn't enough, and he refuses to drink anymore, so he'll sit there with low blood sugar that's getting lower and lower and crashing, and he refuses to take another test to show himself that it's still low and hasn't gone up yet. You have to eat or drink something, then take another test like ten minutes later to see if your blood sugar has gone up at all. He won't.
Not only that, but he also has something called 'hypoglycemic unawareness.' When he gets too much insulin, and his blood sugar goes too low, he DOESN'T KNOW that anything is wrong, and he loses his judgment. So he'll do something that he shouldn't do: He'll take a test, see that his sugar is low, drink ONE CAN of soda (which isn't enough), and then DO SOME MORE INSULIN because he just drank a can of soda.
What should he do instead? Drink the soda, wait for it to kick in, and then, a long time later, do some insulin ONLY IF his sugar starts to go up high. He doesn't need to 'prevent' his sugar from climbing too high the instant that he drinks a soda. He can just wait for it to happen, then do the insulin only if his sugar gets high.
But when he's low, when he's crashing, he does this automatically without thinking, because he's lost his judgment. He's in the habit of automatically doing insulin after eating or drinking anything. (And the murderers want me to mention that he might possibly be getting forced to do the insulin while he's vulnerable and unable to stop himself.)
Here is what he needs. He needs an insulin pump which is also constantly monitoring his blood sugar. If his blood sugar is below 100 (in other words, if he already has had too much insulin, and is starting to get insulin poisoning), the insulin pump should automatically refuse to allow anybody to do extra insulin. It should be unable to do any more insulin at that time.
Why don't we have this invention already? Because the FDA... don't get me started. The FDA makes it ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE to invent or create anything medical, even if it's something very simple that's based on technologies that already exist. We already have ways to monitor blood sugar, and we already have ways to pump insulin directly into the skin, but because of the FDA, we don't have any cheap devices that are able to do both of those things at once. We should have had that YEARS ago.
Diabetes: This is how it works. The pancreas gets damaged, for whatever reason, and it can't produce its own insulin anymore. Without insulin, the sugar level in the blood goes higher and higher, which causes severe health problems and eventually death. So we give them synthetic insulin to make the blood sugar go lower. It works, but they have problems when they get TOO MUCH insulin. Then their blood sugar goes extremely low, which causes you to lose your judgment, become unable to talk or think or move, and just act strange, or pass out, or have seizures.
So today I was sitting in my car drinking coffee, and then resting with my eyes closed, waiting for Peter to come back out of the grocery store. I wasn't the least bit worried.
Then I heard the ambulance siren. Again, I'm still not that worried. It sounded like the ambulance was just driving by, on its way someplace else. But then, the siren stopped, and I heard the sound of a large heavy vehicle driving into the grocery store parking lot. I opened my eyes and saw the ambulance in front of the building. (I'm sitting here laughing as I tell this story.)
I got up and ran inside, knowing right away who the ambulance was for and what was happening. I followed the paramedics to the aisle where the magazines were. Peter was sitting on the floor next to the magazines, surrounded by paramedics. Some lady was there holding a bottle of Mountain Dew for him.
'I thought you looked okay when you left,' I said, and I crouched down next to him. The Mountain Dew lady said, 'Are you with him? Here, I'll let you take this,' and she handed it to me and she stepped aside.
The paramedics started testing his blood sugar and feeding him tubes of glucose. His blood sugar was extremely low - I forget how low, I think it might have been 27. (100 is the normal level.) He was still able to talk, and he wasn't having a seizure. But he couldn't stand up. So we all surrounded him and they gave him glucose tubes, one after another. The paramedic said he gave him five tubes, and he had the empty containers there, but Peter claimed he only had three. Then, after those five, they gave him another big tube of glucose, so he had five small ones plus one big one. Then he had the Mountain Dew, also. By the time they were done, his blood sugar was up at 83.
This weekend, he had already had three ambulance calls in a 36-hour time period, and one time, they took him to the hospital. So the paramedics were all joking with him about how they were going to move into the apartment next door to him so they would be right there. They all know him by name because he gets so many ambulance calls for low sugar.
After his sugar finally went back up, it was like 45 minutes later. We had to wait a long time. It might have been even longer than that. The paramedics said they'd be in the store a couple of minutes because it was dinnertime and they all wanted to get something to eat. They said 'just call us if you need us again,' and one of them said 'if you can't find him, just follow the "no's".' If you've ever heard him or another diabetic having a low sugar incident, you'll get this joke - they start saying 'no' to everything over and over again, you tell them to stand up and they say 'no,' you tell them to drink this Mountain Dew or eat this glucose and they say 'no.' (It happened to Julia Roberts on the movie Steel Magnolias, if I recall correctly.)
This might all be scary to someone else, and it used to be scary to me, but I've gotten used to it, and it ended up being funny. He didn't have a really bad reaction - no seizure, no signs of suffering. It DOES bother me a lot if he has a seizure. I've only seen two of those. That really is scary. He starts making these repetitive movements and loud noises. He usually doesn't even remember it afterwards, except one time, he did tell me that he remembered it.
So that was why I ended up going to Barnes & Noble Books around 8:00 instead of 7:00 like usual. I had a feeling that if anybody ever considered actually meeting me there, they would have been forced to go there today, on the ONE DAY when I didn't show up on time. (The only other time I didn't show up was when we had a blizzard.) I am always there at the same time, but the one day when I was late would be the day that all the puppets would be forced to go there looking for me hoping I'd be there. And I am not joking, I'm serious: that's the kind of crap that 'they' force to happen.
And again, 'they' want me to mention that he could have been forced to do the extra insulin, because he was vulnerable and had no judgment at the time.
'They' pointed out the similarity between the 'slips' of my skin against a surface, versus the 'slips' of one tectonic plate (is that what it's called? I'll have to go read about it, I might be saying the wrong name) against another one, causing an earthquake and a tsunami. It's much larger. I don't know where the weapon would be located, whether it was located on a satellite, or somewhere on earth, but it would obviously have to be bigger and stronger, to make plates in the earth's crust 'slip' against each other that way. But in theory, yes, it's doing the same thing. The slips happen whenever one object is pressed against another one, and friction keeps them together so they don't move. The attackers do something to that surface so it vibrates, or something. It might be a sonic attack - that makes more sense to me, it seems like it would be easier to do this using sound waves, but it might possibly be electromagnetic.
I'm reading 'The Subtle Knife' and they mentioned that in the 1980s, the United States and Russia were competing to install radar things all over the Arctic, or something - I forget what they said - during the 'Star Wars' era. 'Star Wars' is what President Reagan called it, when they were competing against Russia to put up lots of satellites, and to protect our satellites against being shot down by other objects up in space, and to use the satellites to do things on earth that we probably shouldn't talk about and don't want to know about. And I don't know any details. I'd have to read about it again to see what exactly was going on in the Cold War and Star Wars and what kind of radar things were being installed and where. I've just read bits and pieces about it over the years. It's enough to suspect that they're able to create a large-scale, high-power attack big enough to cause an earthquake.
'Being able to suspect things.' I'd like to explain what I mean by this. When I first started getting harassed and attacked, I was trying to convince family and friends and my ex-boyfriend to believe that it was real, and nobody believed me. They didn't know how to follow the line of reasoning that I used. They can't imagine that anybody would be that evil, or that such things would be going on and the mainstream world wouldn't know about it, or the TV stations aren't warning us about this, and the public hasn't had a rebellion against the government because of it.
They can't imagine what people are able to do whenever they have INFINITE amounts of money from their own printing presses - the government printing presses - and the computers and the banking system used to create as much money as they want - plus all the taxes they collect - and we can't say 'no' to the taxes, because they are automatically taken out of our paychecks. They have an infinite amount of money, and decades and decades of time to do whatever they want. They can research anything, they can build anything, they can afford to make it as huge and powerful as they want, and not bother telling the public about it, and keep it someplace where nobody ever goes, someplace isolated, like the Arctic, where ordinary people aren't able to just go outside and take a walk and accidentally stumble upon some big military equipment thing that doesn't belong there. Nobody ever goes and takes a walk in the Arctic. You can do whatever you want out there, and *NOBODY* *EVER* *WILL* *FIND* *YOU*. (Sorry about all the caps lock and the stars.)
This is similar to the 'flat earthers' argument. There are some people who, sort of as a joke, but possibly seriously, talk about the idea that maybe the earth really is flat, for real, and the government and the school system and everybody has been lying about it all this time. How would you yourself ever find out whether the earth was flat? Ordinary people don't have the time or the money to go take a trip around the globe. Only a few people can afford to actually go on a vacation and fly around the globe to prove, for sure, that you'll come back to the place you started from. And I agree with that idea. I'm not a 'flat earther,' I don't believe the earth is flat, but I get the general idea: there are a lot of things that the media and the public schools and the government says are true, but the average person just can't possibly go find out for themselves whether it's really true. And maybe a few people DO go see it, but the government is able to shut them up. For instance, satellite maps on the internet are NOT ALLOWED to show pictures of certain objects in certain places, for security reasons. You can't use Google Maps to go look up in the Arctic and see the military buildings up there, or something.
By the way, the 'radar installations in the Arctic' was something mentioned in a fiction book, and I actually can't remember the details of what kinds of military buildings have been put up in the Arctic, or wherever. I'm sure we have SOMETHING up there, for instance, a project called 'HAARP.'
Anyway, I'm going to post this even though it's not really finished. Maybe I'll read a little bit about Star Wars.
I am not going to be 'stuck' forever. There is a drug that I am reacting to. I have done SOME troubleshooting by getting rid of the cardboard by the computer, but I still need clean clothes and I still need to put a new cover on the bed. Nobody else has ever talked about drug residues going through the skin, so nobody believes me about this, but still, I insist that this observation is true. I will do what I have to do to fix the problem. It takes a while, but it will happen.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Yes, the hypersomnia thing is much, much better. They woke me up in the middle of the night, and again, after waking up, I feel mostly awake instead of needing more and more sleep. I'm in coffee withdrawal now. 'Falling off the wagon', drinking coffee again, was meant to be temporary to deal with the fatigue and the excessive sleep. I am getting back on the wagon. The voices were talking about how badly I fell off the wagon. They said that I fell off the front of the wagon, landed underneath it, got run over by the wheels, and then got left several days behind the wagons and would have to run on foot to catch up with them again. I was drinking a LOT of coffee very quickly after I started drinking it again. I was drinking it every few hours as soon as it started to wear off. This is one of the reasons why I swore (and my brother swore with me) not to ever drink alcohol. I know myself, and if I drank any alcohol at all, I would drink huge amounts of it and become an alcoholic very quickly.
I was supposed to write about puppets, but after mentioning coffee, I need to mention another thing they wanted me to say: Whenever you are in a group of people, and lots of them smoke and chew tobacco, and they're family, and everybody feels that using tobacco is normal, it's hard to quit smoking. It's hard to even think about quitting when you're surrounded by family and friends who are doing it. It would be hard to even understand WHY you would bother to quit.
I've experienced secondhand smoke before, and also, I tried to grow tobacco and I contaminated some stuff with tobacco. Some of the tobacco residues are still in the storage area. I know what low doses of tobacco feel like. They usually make me more cheerful and energetic. If I get only a little bit of secondhand smoke, I feel like I'm able to work harder and I have more energy. If I get a LOT of it, I get insomnia, I feel miserable, my heart is pounding, I get very irritable and moody, and I feel horrible for hours, especially if it's in the air where I'm trying to sleep, and on my clothing. I don't wash my hair with shampoo anymore, so I imagine it would be hard to get tobacco smoke out of my hair. I know how it feels to 'crash' after using tobacco. You start to get hungry and irritable. When it happens to me, I sometimes start crying, yawning, and shivering with cold more easily even when it's not that cold outside. I feel like I don't want to work and don't want to do anything. I get more and more hungry and I look for food but can't find what I want.
So, last time I saw my friend, I accidentally complained about his smoking. I had never seen him do it before - I had only seen him chewing tobacco and snus. I was in a bad mood for unknown reasons - it was one of my mood swings. I was saying things I don't normally say, and putting my foot in my mouth. Chances are, I said what 'they' told me to say, but that doesn't matter - he heard this coming out of MY voice, and he will remember that I'm the one who said it. I asked him, in front of another guy, while we were taking out the trash, - and I can't remember my exact words now. I asked him if it was cheaper to smoke than chew tobacco, or something, and I said I never saw him smoke before until recently, or something like that, and it was just 'different.' I said this in a disapproving voice, with distaste. I wasn't happy to see him smoking. That much is true. But normally I would not say this out loud. He said that he did both (smoke and chew) and that's all he said. Normally, I would have said nothing at all, but if he had spoken to me, I might have had a slightly irritated tone of voice and he wouldn't have known why. That's what I think I usually would have done.
I went away from this and I was upset for a while, and felt like maybe I had been forced to say it, but I wasn't sure, and I felt like I had just said it because I was in a bad mood. I don't want to boss people around and tell them what to do, especially if he has reasons why he's doing it. I imagine that he won't like me anymore if I tell him to do things or not do things, if I tell him to stop smoking, wear his seat belt, and that kind of thing. I always think that he's going to just do whatever he wants anyway and he won't respect anything that I tell him to do. It seemed disrespectful to talk about it in front of the other guy there, too.
My parents sometimes still tell me what to do, and we have major disagreements. One of the big things we disagree over is, they want me to get government money. They want me to get on welfare and get medicare. My mom says that if *I*, Nicole, got on welfare, it would somehow be different from all the other people on welfare - I wouldn't take advantage of it, she says, unlike some people who do take advantage of it. She's wrong. She doesn't understand what it's like to have a million chronic illnesses that make you barely able to survive. If somebody paid me to stay home and do nothing, then I would sit there and do nothing for the rest of my life. So I get angry whenever she starts telling me to apply for welfare and medicaid and every other type of government money that I could get.
They also believe that there is such thing as 'the right combination of drugs at the right dosage' to treat my 'mental illness' and cure my 'delusions.' They wanted me to go to the doctor and try drugs, because nowadays, the drugs are 'better' than they used to be (they're different, but not necessarily better).
That's what I think of whenever I get the urge to tell him to do things or not do things, like a parent would do. I imagine he'll be angry because he disagrees and he has his reasons why he wants to do the things he does. I imagine he'll just stop talking to me, avoid me, and hang out with his other friends, since he has lots of other friends anyway.
Everyone is a puppet. If you are walking around in the world without a mind-control shield covering your whole body, you are a puppet.
I assume that everybody who did any pranks or penis-related incidents in the past few days was a puppet. Somebody put the ideas in their heads and made them say and do things.
Hackers can be puppets. You can be forced to get the urge to go look in someone's computer. You can be forced to get the urge to go to a website that gives you software and tells you how to use it to read someone's email or get through their passwords. All urges can be forced, especially if you use drugs.
And yes, even electronic attackers can be puppets: they can be forced to get the urge to go get their equipment, learn how to use it, and get the urge to go use it on somebody. They can get misguided beliefs about a person, and go attack that person because of something that isn't true. Nobody stops them from doing it, so they know they can get away with it forever and they're perfectly safe, so they can just enjoy the addiction of talking to someone they want to talk to, while that person is lying in bed - it feels like a real relationship (it isn't). And all the other things they do are an addiction too, and nobody stops them. They are not necessarily doing this of their own free will, because again, they are ordinary people exposed to attacks from OTHER controllers, and we don't know who those controllers are or where they are.
The younger someone is, the more innocent I assume they are: young people do strange, random things, like pranks, without knowing why and without having much control over themselves (it's worse if they're on drugs). However, most middle-aged and old people are clueless, too - hardly anyone in the mainstream world knows about electronic mind control, and they can be easily forced to do something or say something to you. This is not their fault.
This had to be said, because I don't want people thinking that someone is doing something on purpose, when in reality, I don't know what is going through their mind or why they do what they do.
Yes, I cured the hypersomnia. It might have been pesticide on the cardboard - maybe not St. John's Wort. I got it out of the trash at McD, after all. I'm awake in the afternoon, and it's true, I got awakened by 'them,' but after waking up, I am able to stay awake and function, instead of going directly back to sleep and continuing until the middle of the night when Peter calls me and I say, "I'm too tired to do anything," which is how the last three weeks or so have been.
This is going to be an R-rated blog. It contains a few mild sexually explicit themes and images (not many). Where do I start? The puppeteers, pranksters, and hackers are all demanding that I explain why I copied that one blog quote to my Opera notes.
I was looking up post-traumatic stress disorder. I had gone to Peter's house and watched a couple of good documentaries on PBS in the middle of the night. The first one was about some country that I can't remember the name of - some Indian place, fighting a war. After being 'raised' by Libertarians (after my brother gave me The Fountainhead in my late teens, I went on to read more books that were 'approved' by my brother and other Objectivists, so I learned about Libertarianism), I know how to say 'The United States causes, or worsens, the wars in foreign countries by meddling in their governments.'
That was true in this documentary. This country was fighting, and the people doing the documentary were struggling to understand *why* they were fighting. They interviewed people who said that the United States was putting pressure on them to find terrorists and militants. If you disobey the United States, that's not good for you, so they are running around trying to do what the United States is telling them to do. That means: killing people and burning houses down and chasing people from one town to another, while telling the USA 'Yes, yes, we're hunting militants like you asked. See? Dead bodies.'
The next documentary was about people who had gone into the military and then came home and went to jail, or had other problems. Some of them committed murder; some of them wandered from place to place, doing drugs. One guy got a tattoo on his arm to remember the first guy that they loved, the one who died, the leader who was really popular with everybody, who got killed in some random accident. That was the first death that hurt them all. It was never the same after that.
The voices told me that I'd gotten it right, pretty much, when I said that people in the military are all using prescription drugs that make you go crazy and kill people. They said I'd gotten it right about how the government promised them they'd only be there six months, but then extended it to a year, and then longer, and sent them home and then brought them back again, because George Bush and others decided to do a troop surge, and we didn't have enough people. You never know how long you'll really be there, but however long it is, it's more than what they originally tell you.
But they said that I didn't talk about post-traumatic stress disorder quite enough. I didn't emphasize it. So I decided to go read about it. I wanted to read blogs written by soldiers instead of 'official' medical web pages.
'People are all the same.' A line from the song on Cheers, 'Where everybody knows your name.' I looked for blogs written by people who reminded me of my friend. I wanted to see what it would be like if he did the things that they did. I searched for blogs that talked about post-traumatic stress disorder. I only found a few that were actually written by soldiers - many of the so-called 'blog' search results were actually official, government-approved websites instead of blogs. Eventually I found links to some more real blogs, but by then I was exhausted and I quit reading.
I found a few female bloggers too. I have less respect for female military ever since I read Warren Farrell's books (The Myth of Male Power; Why Men Are The Way They Are), which say that whenever women go into the military, they tend to go into the safest jobs, and the worst jobs are given to the men. So I read the women's blogs too, but a little reluctantly. (I'm being bombarded right now by people trying to control what I write. I always imagine that the mind-control attackers are male, because I can't stand the idea of interacting with females in my head all day long (Is that true? I don't know, it could be a lie), and I rebelled against Judith Swack whenever I was trying to do her therapy and I started hearing her voice in my head telling me what to do. The attackers, for all I know, are probably hostile females competing against me, or something, because that's unthinkable. Either that, or they really are males, and they want to make sure that I never bond with females, because that would make me stronger. You really can't know anything about who the attackers are - you can only guess. When someone controls your brain, won't let you think, and forces you to tell lies all the time, it's impossible to understand complicated ideas about why someone is doing what they do, so that you can profile them and figure out who the murderers are, so you can catch them red-handed and arrest them while they sit in front of their computers and their gadgets, spying on you, your name and your image on their computer, their weapons pointed at you and your house, all their guilt and their crimes obvious to whoever walks in on them.)
(Author Lemony Snicket says that 'they' are the VFD (Should I give you a spoiler and tell you what that stands for? You can google it). The ghost hunters, however, are plumbers. Plumbers were also mentioned on the websites about 'Who are the real millionaires?' when I was reading about financial independence. Many of the nightmares and the attack phenomena have to do with fecal material, so 'plumbers' fits with that. I learned about 'profiling' when this all began, in the early 2000s when I didn't know about mind control yet. I started to believe that I was going to be murdered by a serial killer, and I bought a bunch of books by John Douglas and Michael Olshaker. So, again, before I knew about mind control, in the old days I used to try to 'profile' the computer hackers to figure out who they were. I didn't know that I was being forced to believe lies and that I was being forced to write entertaining letters to 'them,' and I wasn't doing it of my own free will.)
I have more sympathy and protectiveness towards the men, and less for the women. It isn't just because I read Warren Farrell's books. That's usually how I feel anyway - some distrust and dislike of women. I can't tell the truth because the attackers won't let me, but I'm struggling to name the feelings I have for women and explain why I feel that way. There's some competitiveness, some jealousy. The murderers insist that my dislike of women is all because I was hurt when Rachael left, but I tended to dislike women when I was much younger, too, although I liked 'tomboys'.
Well, first, I found one female blogger who was so messed up, she was hard to read. Sometimes people have trouble communicating clearly, for a lot of reasons: drug and chemical poisoning can do that to you.
So I went to read a different blogger: myamericaniraqlife.blogspot.com. That blog was clearer and easier to read than the first one had been.
"Our relationship went on for a few months. One night after dinner, we ended up messing around. I unbuttoned his pants and moved slowly down his stomach with my lips and took him into my mouth. I looked up at him. While life was good for him, I had an epiphany. After he finished, he got dressed and held me for a few minutes. I told him I was tired. He left. Sitting on the edge of my bed I replayed our relationship over and over in my mind. I realized he would be perfect for someone just not me. I called him while he was driving home and ended it. I told him we both knew this wasn’t what we remembered and it never could be. I hung up the phone and cried. Within minutes I recovered. I promised myself that was the last dick I would suck who didn’t want to hear about Iraq."
I copied that note because it was something I could relate to.
I've talked a few times before about how I broke up with Eric. We met each other at work in 1997 or 98 when I first moved to State College. We stayed together for a long time, and for a while we lived together. I think it was about 2005 when I stopped seeing him. (That's when I met Peter, who I'm seeing now.)
One of the major conflicts between me and Eric had to do with the hackers.
It was the year 2000 when I went to an internet chatroom for the first time and started talking to strangers on the internet. I met a guy named 'Nerdman', and when I talked to him, I felt a longing to understand the mysteries of life, the universe, and everything - I felt as though he knew everything. He told me he liked the movie Magnolia, and because of that, I went out to see that movie in the middle of a blizzard, driving my parents' old Toyota four wheel drive pickup truck with the windshield wipers going, sliding through about eight inches of snow on the roads. It was amazing that the movie theater was even still open, but they were.
I was living with Eric at the time when I went to the chatroom and met Nerdman. Eventually, I started noticing computer problems, and I learned about hackers. I changed all of my assumptions about computer hacking. I had assumed: 1. Only a tiny number of people on earth are smart enough to hack into a computer. 2. If they do hack computers, they only want to hack 'important' computers, like the government, and they wouldn't waste time hacking into the computers of ordinary people like me. Those are the same things everybody said to me as I tried to tell them that I was being stalked and harassed over the internet: 'Who'd want to stalk YOU? You're not important.' 'Nobody would do that. Nobody's that crazy. Crazy evil people don't exist.' 'Why would they do that? That's so trivial and petty. They can't possibly be doing something so trivial and stupid as that.'
If I told them I was being stalked and harassed over the internet, they'd say something like, 'Well, why don't you get the guy's email address and give it to the police? They can find out who the email address belongs to.' They imagined that some guy was writing threatening letters to me, and he was stupid enough to do it from his own email address. That's the only kind of cyberstalking they could imagine.
They can't understand that somebody, for instance, would shut off the electricity at the place where I worked, and they would cut off our connection to the internet so that I couldn't do my job, and they would force OTHER telephones to make phone calls to our business, using automatic dialers from places like credit card companies that they had hacked into. And they would send me anonymous 'spam' emails which were obviously referring to things that I had done and said in the privacy of my own home, but were disguised as spam so that I couldn't prove that somebody was doing it to me. They weren't stupid enough to send me emails from their OWN email address, saying, 'I'm watching you all the time. I see you when you're naked. I see you having sex with your boyfriend. I know everything you're doing. Blah blah blah.' They would send me photos of OTHER women, not me, who were standing in exactly the same position I had stood in, wearing the same colors of clothing I was wearing, and the photos would be in spam letters from random places. That means that somebody SAT THERE ALL DAY LONG, searching for photos that were similar to whatever they had seen me doing, probably using some kind of image recognition software, for the sole purpose of harassing me. Is that crazy? Is that mentally ill? Yes. Am I mentally ill because I was the victim of that? No. I am lucky to be alive. They were trying to force me to commit suicide.
Here's another example of a 'petty, trivial' thing that the murderers do. If any part of my body is touching against a surface, and if there's friction, if that part of my skin has any tension or tightness against what I'm touching, the attackers will zap that part of my body so that it 'slips' a few millimeters against the surface, over and over again, and they'll do this for hours unless I move so that I'm not touching anything. If I crouch down, for instance, squatting with my backside propped against a wooden shelf, reading the magazines after I punch out from work at Weis, they will buzz the place where my butt touches the wooden shelf, so that it slips down a few millimeters at a time, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over, trying to provoke me to scream with rage and punch my fist into a hard object and break all my finger bones. The murderers get very, very excited whenever I scream with rage and punch things and break things, and it doesn't make them stop - it makes them attack me even more. Then I hear voices calling me a 'tiger.' They pretend to be masochists who want me to beat them up or kill them. I only become enraged if I'm on drugs or affected by transdermal drug residue contamination. I can ignore the attacks if I'm NOT on drugs.
Would YOU believe this if somebody told you someone was doing that? Someone is actually sitting out there, in an unknown location, aiming some kind of weapon at the point where my butt touches that wooden surface, and they're doing nothing but zapping that place over and over again. Why? That person would have to be mentally ill. That is why I always call them 'mentally ill murderers.' But if you talk about this, YOU get labeled 'mentally ill,' instead of the murderers who are attacking you. I'm not the one who's mentally ill.
Well, I was talking about how I broke up with Eric years ago. I had become friends with Nerdman in the chatroom at the time when I started getting harassed by computer hackers. I told Eric about going to a chatroom and writing letters to Nerdman, who stopped answering my letters. I was being attacked and forced to continue writing hundreds and hundreds, and then, I think, over a thousand emails to him.
'We,' 'They,' 'I,' or somebody, stopped all of this, finally. Here is how it ended. I went to Nerdman's college's website, the place where he was employed as a teacher. I wrote a bunch of letters to email addresses that I found on that site - his colleagues and co-workers. I pretended to be Nerdman himself, signing his name at the bottom of the email. I pretended that I was going to commit suicide and I was calling for help.
The people who received the emails called the police. The police banged on Nerdman's door, and, they said, they nearly had to break down the door, because he didn't answer. They found that he was just fine. When he told them what was going on, they figured out that I was the one who had written those fake letters. So they printed out every email that I had ever sent to him, and it was a huge pile. This included the naked photographs that the mind controllers forced me to send to him. Somewhere in Princeton, NJ, if I understand correctly, there is a police office that still has all those letters and those naked pictures on file, if you're curious to go look at them.
I did this big attack, sending those fake emails, on Christmas in 2005, I think it was. Was it 2005? Was it 2004? I'm not sure. Right around that same time, there was a tsunami that wiped out everything on the coast of Asia. I would have to look up the tsunami to see when it happened. 'They' like to claim that they caused that tsunami because of me. They also claim that they caused the stock exchange to crash 999 points a few weeks ago because I wrote the blog about irrational exuberance and 'When I Ruled The World.' They also claim that they caused the electricity to shut off in New York City because Eric and I went to Six Flags Park in NJ a few years ago - when was that? I don't remember what year that was. Somebody was waiting in line for a roller coaster, next to us, talking on his cell phone to a friend in New York who was experiencing the power outage at that time, while we were there at the park. 'They' threatened me, saying they could have caused the power to shut down at the amusement park, which might have left me stranded on some ride, hanging upside down, waiting to be rescued. They also claimed that Cindy Song was murdered because I wrote 'Follow the white rabbit' to the hackers when I used to type on the computer at work, imagining that the hackers' keylogger recorded everything I wrote. And some people wondered if Ray Gricar had anything to do with me, too. And I don't know, because my court case went through them, and I remember reading Ray Gricar's name on the papers somewhere, and not knowing who he was. They wondered if he found out too much information, if he found out who they were, if he found out the truth and they killed him. I don't know.
So anyway, I was talking about the Nerdman emails. When the police broke down his door and printed out all those emails, and then called me on the phone to ask about it, I found out once and for all that yes, he WAS receiving them. He received hundreds upon hundreds of letters from me, and didn't answer, and didn't tell anyone, and didn't do anything about it, for years.
So I was being forced to do that kind of thing, but Eric thought that I was doing it of my own free will, because I was crazy and there was something wrong with me. And he was jealous because I was 'having an affair' with some other guy (who, in reality, I never met and I've never seen - I don't even know what he looks like). I was able to break up with Eric because my problems got worse and worse, and Eric couldn't understand them - he just thought I was losing my mind.
Eric described what he thought it was like to be me. He's used LSD in the past, a long time ago. So he told me that he imagined that being inside my body, seeing through my eyes, must be like a constant LSD trip that never ends, where the walls are melting and everything is changing shapes and colors. That's what he thinks it's like to be crazy. That's his image of how it feels to be me.
When I learned about radio frequency weapons, and other technologies used to attack, control, and spy on people's minds, I was finally sure of one thing: I'm not crazy. That was my ephiphany. I'm not crazy, and I never was. There is nothing wrong with me at all.
The mainstream doctors will tell you, 'If they insist they're not crazy, that's a guaranteed sign that they are completely, totally crazy, and they've lost all connection with reality.' You have to admit that you're crazy, you're weak, there's something wrong with you - that's 'sanity.' But stubbornly insisting that you're NOT crazy is the worst possible thing you can do. That is what I did.
I'm not living in a constant LSD trip where everything is melting and the colors blend into each other. In fact, I feel strong, safe, secure, sure of myself, at peace, and calm. It's better to know the truth about the world.
So when I saw that lady writing about Iraq and her boyfriend, I understood. I broke up with Eric because "I promised myself that was the last dick I would suck who didn’t want to hear about Iraq." If somebody said I was crazy, if they said there was something wrong with me, if they didn't believe me, if they didn't want to know about the world that I live in, then I'm not going to do nice things for them anymore.
A few days after I copied that blog quote to my Opera notes, my friend went through the drive-thru smoking a cigar, and his girlfriend says, "he's got the biggest cigar I've ever seen!" I didn't really think anything of it. I just let it go. 'They', the attackers, weren't satisfied - they wouldn't let it go.
So next, they gave us a prank call from a guy who wanted the manager to make his food for him and then touch his foreskin. Still, I didn't respond to that incident.
So they sent somebody else through the drive-thru a couple days later. This time, it was a different person, wearing an orange coat like the ones worn by the inmates in jail (representing my friend, going to jail), and this guy was doing a prank or a dare, while another guy sat in the passenger side seat. He had a stick of pepperoni (it was pepperoni because I recently wrote a blog about how processed meats are bad for your health, like smoking), partially unwrapped (the wrapper represents the foreskin) and he was sucking it like a dick when he got to the drive-thru window. 'I love pepperoni,' he said. It was, obviously, an imitation of my friend smoking the cigar.
I didn't really laugh, I just did a kind of sad smile and shook my head. In fact, I almost wept. I actually felt sorry for the guy because he was humiliating himself. He wasn't able to look at me while he was doing this. I wondered if he was a puppet, and what was the rationale that they gave him for doing this prank. There's no way to tell the difference between someone who really does hack your computer and spy on you and read your mind, versus somebody who is a puppet being forced to do things that make it seem like they know you, when they actually don't. You can force people to do and say ANYTHING, especially if they are on psychiatric drugs.
'It's okay,' he said, looking up into my eyes, after taking the pepperoni stick out of his mouth, as I smiled sadly with my suppressed laughter and felt sorry for him. 'I hope we've entertained some of you,' he said, as he drove off.
'I don't know WHAT to think,' I said, and they laughed.
That's why I'm finally explaining why I copied that quote from her blog, after all these penis-related incidents over the past few days.
They want me to say that the moral of the story is that if you want your girlfriend to suck your dick, you have to understand her world and you have to care about what she's going through. That might not be the only moral of the story. It might mean that if somebody seems to be really interested in hearing your story, they might actually want you to suck their dick. Either way.
That's it for now.
I just got home from work a little while ago.
I fixed the problem with the cardboard where I sit at the computer. I'm not reacting to the new stuff, so the hypersomnia will hopefully not happen this week. There is still a mild reaction to a few things, but nothing like it was. My work clothes have something on them that seems like St. John's Wort, but that's probably because it's been three or four weeks since I washed them, since I've spent all my time sleeping and barely surviving.
I was told to look up information about post-traumatic stress disorder because I don't want my friend to go into the military. I assume that, in reality, he will do whatever he wants to do, regardless of what I want or what I tell him. But 'they' still think that I can convince him not to go. I don't even know his reasons why. There is something about jail that is so terrible, he would rather go into the military to avoid it, and I haven't had enough time talking to him to find out what it is. (I still haven't reesarched to find out about this, whether it's possible to go into the military instead of jail, and which types of crimes will let you choose that option.)
I could email him (for free) now, instead of texting, since we're on facebook now, but I hesitate to do that, for several reasons: I get the impression he doesn't want to write or use email, and also, I won't ever know whether he's getting my messages or not. No matter what it looks like on my screen, I could still be deceived: for instance, I wrote something on his wall, but for all I know, it isn't really there. People don't necessarily 'reply' to things that you write on their walls. I don't know how often he uses Facebook or the internet in general, or which email is his preferred one, etc. I don't know how often he checks his mail.
I spoke to him the other day - I told him that I had emailed him. Surprised, he said, "On Facebook?" From his tone of voice, it sounded like he had just been there and had seen nothing. He said, "I'll check it." No matter what I do, I will always wonder whether he's actually getting the message or not, so, like I said, I hesitate to try asking questions in email. I told him, "I had just asked if you heard anything from them yet about the jail thing." He said no, he hadn't.
I'm afraid of two different things: 1. that sooner or later I'll cause a problem, embarrass him in front of his friends, write something that he doesn't want me to write up there, cause a fight with his girlfriend, that kind of thing, or 2. I'll be invisible, with messages not really appearing, and the hackers making it look like the stuff got posted or sent when it really didn't.
June 10th is the day when I requested to drastically change my schedule. There are two weekends left until then. Mopping the floors is something I won't do as much anymore - only a little bit. It's not so bad mopping the floor at Weis. But it's bad at McD. The McD floor is very large and my arms and shoulders hurt badly while I'm doing it, especially because I have to hurry.
Nobody has said anything to me about the requested change, but there's a reason: the guy who makes the schedule is on vacation this week. I didn't know he was about to go on vacation. It is going to be a horrible shock when he comes back and sees my schedule change request. I tried to give them a few weeks of extra time because they will have to hire new people for overnight, but because he went on vacation, that 'extra time' disappeared. He'll come back and find out that he's got only two weeks to find another overnight person. We have some people, but they don't have a good work ethic. This particular store has very bad morale. I've worked at other stores, and people at other places are much harder workers, with better morale. People at my store right now spend a lot of time sitting and doing nothing. This store is the worst one in town, with equipment broken and falling apart, bad morale, people sitting there doing nothing, and all that.
A few months ago my friend had asked for an application to get a second job at McD, and he turned it in but never got called. I would want him to work at a better store if he ever worked at McD, because he will get a terrible impression of them if he starts out working at this store. I'm not joking, I really do like McD the best of any place I've ever worked (any food service type job), and I would want him to like his job. Working with him at the same store would be wonderful, but he would also dislike the job itself if he worked there. I don't want him to work someplace where he is going to be miserable all the time because the job sucks. But I would love to be with him there and spend more time with him. He would have to figure out how to make it work with his other schedule, because he would end up with zero days off in a week, and that kind of thing, working one job and then the other every day. I would talk to him about it and help him figure out what kind of schedule to ask for, because I've done this myself (working two jobs, but still getting days off) and I know it can be done. He can even work a very small number of hours, because the scheduling there is so flexible, if he wants to work only ten hours a week or something (I don't know the minimum number of hours you can work - I forget). But that was a few months ago when he was thinking of working there.
Things that the murderers won't let me do:
1. Clean out the storage unit. I want to go through my contaminated belongings and get rid of things. They argue with me when I try to think about doing it. They don't want me to get rid of that stuff. They want me to keep paying $55 a month for storage. They want me to postpone all the various projects that depend upon having gotten rid of the drug residues. They want the drug residues to linger for many more years or decades if possible, because the drug residues make me become an easily controlled puppet, and they like it if I am easily controlled. There are voices who pretend to be 'helpers,' 'advocates', or 'supporters' in various ways, but so far, none of them really believe that the drug residues are real, and they won't support all of the procedures I need to do to get rid of the contamionation. Eventually the 'supporters' always give up and they stop helping me. The supportive voices are temporary and they are always skeptical - they believe that the drug residues are just an imaginary delusion of mine, and their goal is always to change my psychology to get rid of the delusion or to see some deeper, symbolic meaning in it, instead of taking it literally: the drug residues are nothing but drug residues; they are real, they make me a controllable puppet, and they are ruining my life and my health.
2. Fixing the refrigerator problem - the bone marrow poison vapors. I can't buy grocery food and put it in the fridge, because it gets contaminated with the poisonous vapors that won't come out of the fridge. (I bought a small fridge from Wal-Mart, but it didn't work very well - it wasn't able to keep cold enough, because of the type of refrigeration system it uses, so I have to return it and buy a better one. It stays around 50 degrees or something - it's awful. The food kept spoiling. Its instructions tell you not to use it in a warm environment, and not to put perishable food in it. The photo on the box shows a bunch of non-perishable beverages in bottles, like soda and water, in the fridge, things where it doesn't matter if the temp is high because you can keep bottled water and soda at any temperature you want. It was the cheapest fridge.)
The murderers want me to keep wasting money on fast food, and they want me to continue being unhealthy. They don't want me to be frugal with my money, because money leads to empowerment, and they want me to be helpless forever, without any money. They destroy all money and power. Frugality (spending less money and saving more) is the best way for an ordinary person to gain more money if they aren't working at a high-paying job. The murderers will destroy money anyway even if you DO have a high-paying job - they'll just find more expensive ways to destroy money (forcing a deer to jump in front of someone's car, etc). Not only that, but about food in particular, I want to get on a healthier diet, based on Weston Price and also the Feingold Diet, to prepare for pregnancy, and the murderers don't want me to get pregnant - they want to destroy my life's only opportunity by keeping me unhealthy and contaminated and malnourished for the next couple decades until there is no more chance to have children.
(On a slightly different topic, they are also encouraging me to chase after 'hard-to-reach' people like the guy at work who I love, who has a girlfriend, and he's much younger than I am, and we never see each other, etc, etc, and they want to make me believe or hope for things that are unlikely to happen (or if they did happen, it would probably be a bad idea), such as marrying him and having kids with him. I think he's probably better off with the girlfriend he has now - I assume that they are going to be together for a long time. Anyway, they are making me chase after guys who I can't reach, instead of marrying someone right away - although, I partly agree with the idea of this, because I would like to be with someone who's actually attractive, before I get married to some ugly, boring guy who makes lots of money, or whatever kind of person I will eventually marry. I dread marriage because it's either 1. the ugly boring rich guy who is sexually repulsive and unattractive, but a good financial provider, so that I can stay at home and have kids, which is the plan, or 2. an abusive, emotionally unhealthy person who is somewhat attractive but has lots of problems and is unstable in various ways - that describes my previous relationship with Eric - I could marry someone like him, and have horrible fights all the time, but at least he would be somewhat sexually attractive), or I can think of lots of other scenarios of how the marriage could be awful with different types of people...
...so the idea is that, before I get married, I should at least get to be with someone I find really attractive and exciting, at least for a little while before marrying. So that's the theory behind why they're urging me to go chasing after late teens/early twenties guys who are impossible to reach and who have other girlfriends already.
I already mentioned that I enjoy looking at magazines. There was one called 'Women's Health' where I sometimes found advertisements, pictures, and articles that I enjoyed more than the other magazines (the guys had longer hair and a few days of beard stubble, etc; the images of men and women together looked more natural, comfortable, sensual, happy, and real - the overall spirit of the magazine was more 'human' to me instead of the 'insane robot' images of women in the other magazines). One article talked about (sorry for mentioning this...) 'cougars.' I had never heard the word 'cougar' other than the actual animal, so I learned something new. Cougars, panthers, pumas, etc - older women going after young men. I am 35, so I am in the 'puma' category, based on what I read. My feelings are a combination of sexual, friend, and also nurturing/protective parent feelings. (When I was 23, I was temporarily seeing a 41 year old married man, and then, in my mid-twenties, I was seeing Eric who was something like 11 years older than me, so now I am in the role-reversed position.)
I know I haven't finished everything I was going to say, but I need to sleep.