I have so much to write about, but if I don’t focus on my NaNoWriMo story I’m going to lose. In this entry, I’ll just say that Andy and I had a great visit, but will cover the details in another entry. For this one, I’ll just cover everything else. Then I must eat, work out, and tackle my story. I’ve still got over 7,000 words to go. 

First, my take on Ferguson, and just to warn you up front – I know the vast majority of you aren’t going to like what I say. Like probably 99.9% of you won’t like it, but you know what? Tough shit. Plain and simple. It’s my journal, no one’s being forced to read it, and I’m not about to choke back my thoughts, opinions and beliefs simply because they’re not in the “norm” and some people can’t handle it. Don’t like it… don’t read it… don’t comment… don’t come back. :) 

I was thinking last night that if the cop isn’t indicted, the blacks will riot. If he is, they will simply find something else to riot over. It seems that to them, racism exists where it does and also exists where it doesn’t. Unlike those who beat Rodney King, this clearly wasn’t about race. I truly believe without a doubt that the officer involved in this particular case believed his life was on the line. But with the black folks, it doesn’t seem to matter. And of course if it were a white person that got shot (as they do more than blacks since there are more white people in the US), it never makes the news because no one cares. Nonetheless, this case clearly wasn’t about race or else there’d be more than just one incident involving this cop, just like rapists never have just one victim. 

It saddens me that after all these years since slavery ended and blacks have been given beyond equal rights as they’re usually exempt from being charged with hate crimes and allowed to have things like black pageants and whatnot without being called racists, so many of them harbor so much hate and anger that they will resort to such violence when they don’t get what they want like a spoiled child often resorts to temper tantrums. Well, violence isn’t the way to accomplish things, and if you want those few people left out there who look down on you to like you, this isn’t the way to do it. People aren’t going to like you if you start crying racism over EVERYTHING and then go apeshit when you don’t get your way. But 95% or more of the population DOES like you and they DO accept you. If I were black I’d be appreciative of the extra rights, privileges and opportunities available to me these days and stop pitching a fit when things don’t go my way and I’d also stop taking advantage of the things I’ve been given in life. Yet some people remain unappreciated and unappeasable no matter how much you give them. Before you insist that black people’s lives matter too, remember that so do white people’s lives. This means that before you cry racism where you know it damn well doesn’t exist just because so and so pissed you off, remember that YOU TOO are hurting innocent lives when you do that. Two wrongs never make a right. 

That being said, I’m both surprised and not surprised at the verdict. I thought they would indict the cop to prevent a riot as they did by letting OJ and Michael Jackson off the hook, both of whom I believe were totally guilty as charged. On the other hand, cops do have extra protection and they do get away with shit all the time. However, in this case, I see nothing to suggest he shot the kid simply because of his color. 

In some ways, I’m just as disgusted with whites as I am with blacks because they’re protesting, rioting and looting right along with them on their behalf. It’s sad to see them lower themselves to their level like that, but I guess both blacks and whites alike believe that blacks should be able to commit crimes and get away with it these days simply because of their color. 

In other news, we moved the rats into the smaller cage now that two of them are disabled, and the 3D printer has arrived. It’s pretty neat, though it stinks when the plastic is melted. Maybe I’ll sculpt models of figurines, paint and sell them, but somehow I doubt there’d be much money in that. Tom’s bound to have more use for the thing than I will. 

Later… 

A few hours ago I had yet another workout scare. I worked my arms and abs for about 12 minutes. Then I jumped on the treadmill planning to stay there till I’d worked out a total of 30 minutes like the doctor suggested. When I had 10 minutes left, I had to stop and use the bathroom. As I parked my ass on the toilet I realized my heart was booming way too hard and fast for a lousy 3 MPH walk, which would mean that getting the gear wheel might be a waste of money. 

After I was done on the toilet I tried to tell myself to calm down, but that was easier said than done. What does your heart do when you are suddenly scared? It races. So it’s like a form of artificial fear. I called Tom and we talked for 5 minutes. This helped calm me down. I had been sitting on the couch. Once I thought I’d be ok, I got up and sat at my desk. Then I got up again to fold the laundry, but felt my heart starting to elevate again so this time I called him from bed and we spoke for about 2 minutes. He assured me nothing was wrong, it was just anxiety, and that my heart was beating as fast as it needed to. But WHY has it “needed” to be like this on and off since last summer??? 

So I took a chill pill at 10ish and 20 minutes later it finally started slowing down. I didn’t get up, though. I continued to lie there. The scary thing was when it started ramping itself back up again. So again I called Tom for a couple of minutes and have been mostly ok ever since. It still frustrates the hell out of me. I just don’t understand what could be causing this. Yes, I’m still nervous about going back on the levothyroxine but if anything I should feel less anxious today because the schedule stress is off and all that. Not having to try to force myself to stay up or fall asleep takes a lot of stress off of me.

The other day Tom said that these attacks may’ve still started up when they did even if I’d never been on any medication at all. Well, if there isn’t any connection to the levothyroxine, as hard as that still may be to believe, the timing sucks. I really thought it was ALL the levothyroxine, but now it’s more than obvious that that can’t be the case. 

When I go back on the levothyroxine, how the hell am I going to know what’s me and what’s the medication when my heart does freak out, though? Levothyroxine does elevate the heart. 

I’ll never again work out when I’m home alone. Never. If this shit – regardless of what’s causing it – hasn’t stopped by now, there’s a good chance it never will. I’d rather the lump-in-my-throat feeling any day over the racing pulse. 

An unmarked black pickup came to work on the house across from my new little office yesterday, and just as I knew they would be, they’re back today. They seem to be doing something underneath the house. It fucking figures, though. It totally fucking figures that as soon as I get settled in here, there is more distracting activity over there. A rainstorm video drowns most of whatever they’re doing, but I can hear banging every now and then. I still can’t believe how much noise and activity can occur in a retirement community. We can’t even go a month without someone having something worked on around here. 

Ok, maybe NEXT time my entry will be about Andy's visit. 

Later… 

After thinking and thinking about it, I don’t see how to avoid these random post-workout heart-pounders other than by just quitting working out. I hate the idea of not working out. I don’t want to gain weight. I don’t want to lose muscle. But I just don’t know what else I can do. I may get a racy heart in other ways, but most of the time it’s been extreme was when I’d be working out. If a brisk walk that almost anyone can do who isn’t obese or in shit shape is going to make my heart boom so fiercely, how can I expect a gear wheel added to my bike to help me? No matter what type of exercise I do, every few times or so my heart’s going to beat like OMG. 

If it’s all about anxiety like everyone thinks it is, which makes sense to me at this point, since I’m not currently on meds and those who have listened to my heart didn’t hear anything scary, then this is obviously the new me. I’ve been this way since July. Why would things change now? Now I have to adapt to it and learn to work around it and how to avoid attacks whenever possible. One way is to stop working out. If an attack hits you when you’re just sitting there, that sucks, but when it hits you when you’re heart is already elevated from a workout, you feel like it’s going to explode. 

What alternative do I have? To get drunk before each workout? Take a chill pill first? 

Welcome to the new me, ladies and gentlemen! 

Later… 

Most of the details of Andy's visit won’t be shared because he told me a lot of private stuff that I know he’d want to be kept confidential. I also wouldn’t want him to feel offended when I say something like how awful he looked. It was great to see him, but he’s way huge in the gut and ass and is in unbelievably horrible shape. So much so that we had to walk real slow and he had to stop and rest after barely half a mile. Too much time on Facebook, no doubt. Even Tom could walk 20 miles if he had to and he’s obese, too. 

Of course we had to hear all about blacks, immigration, God, and celebrities, too. He yacked non-stop it was very hard to get a word in edgewise, and again I wondered about his memory issues and what else may be wrong with him that even he might not know about. He seemed very shaky at times too, and super paranoid. I almost wondered if he was still getting high here and there, but I didn’t smell anything on him and I would think he would have told me if he’d relapsed. 

He became a bit of a rambler back in Phoenix, but he just went on and on and on with these “wild stories” we don’t give a shit about. It took us forever to get him out of the restaurant after we were all done eating. Tom was patient and understanding, though, pointing out that I have so much more in life than he does and so these things may bore us but they’re exciting as hell to him. 

He’s made an astounding 50k in can collecting since he started in 2010, more than what he makes cleaning. His paranoia kicked in when he said he was worried the government was trying to get information from him on his income in the form of paid surveys. He even worried the MA food stamp people would try to find out information from me! 

Most of his stories were around his gay bar visits back in the old days, and of getting free concert tickets and backstage passes to meet Stevie. 

So after we got back from that shitty country restaurant, we walked around the circle and in back someone was using a circular saw like Bob’s. We heard not one, but TWO saws along the way, and even Andy agreed that’s totally obnoxious and shouldn’t be used unless it’s necessary. If they can designate space by the clubhouse for gardens, I say, then they can do the same for woodworking projects. 

The people working across the street did a little sawing too, along with the hammering and they just left. Let me guess… they’ll be back tomorrow too, right? 

So we rested on a bench by the clubhouse and then proceeded to cut through to the lake, but we forgot which side street led us there. We would have circled around and back up to the house, but Andy was tired, so we backtracked after we finally found the right street to the lake, which he loved and thought was very beautiful. 

“I see hope,” was the funniest thing he said to me when we rounded the corner and I pointed to our house just up ahead. I just wish I didn’t have major gas from the shitty food I ate and period cramps on top of it. My throat was sore, too. Did I really talk more than usual, or could that have had something to do with my thyroid? 

He didn’t eat most of the food we got because my schedule was such that we could go out to eat for both dinner and breakfast, and he wouldn’t have been there long enough to eat it all anyway. We’ll finish the rest of it off. 

I’ll also finish the rest of the visit later. I’m really beat after today’s workout scare.