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Heartbreaking Writer of Staggering Genius
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Words are always stuck inside me. I write to let them out. But work and every other 'must do thing' are shoulder to shoulder at the door preventing escape. At night, I wander to the table and pent up finally gets its pen. But so often, the words are scared and tired and worn down from trying to get out. I don't even know how to lay them down when they've been so long wandering in the dark with everything else in life that broods and waits to become on the other side of that door. A good way for words is to get out often and fluid flow to the page without the angst of too long locked up with the other prisoners of never will have time. There are more things in the can't do room than all the rest of life put together. I see so many people talking about their writing, but for me, it's just open the door and watch the lot of them splatter on the page random and full of pent up frustration. So, here they are. They don't say much except that they don't say much. I would speak more often, but my throat is so full of no chance to say it, I just stammer and choke and only after some time vomit out the words near the very top. I wish it were otherwise, but otherwise means that my son never sees me or my wife is alone or my house falls apart or grass isn't cut. My choking words are last on the list. So, they are ever doomed to come splattering out, and I must leave it up to readers to imagine what they might have been if given the chance.
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I think I never wrote about a couple before. ANYWAYS, here's something I wrote in about 10 minutes. Read it, if you want, I can't guarantee it's good =)
"Liz glanced at Malcolm, surprised. Her brown hair was looking gorgeous that starry night.
- Malcolm, this is
- Yes, I know said Malcolm, smiling.
Liz leaned over his shoulder, and both of them stared at the sky, amid a beautiful silence.
At those moments, the Milky Way was being crossed by a Galaxy Train. It was travelling through all the corners of every solar system passing in front of stars dressed in blue, a blue as cold as a cold blue sapphire; in front of yellow stars, with a fiery blazing fire like that of a passionate love; nor did it ignore the elders, red and with almost extinct flames.
Through its path it created magnificent auroras and icy asteroids, massive black holes and hypnotizing white dwarfs. The spectacle was astonishing, like watching a fireworks show. A little, brave shooting star slipped away from the train.
Vigorous, it started crossing the skies full of childlike innocence, while people pointed at her and asked her wishes.
- Look, a shooting star said Malcolm, excited, while admiring the jewel he gave to his amorous couple.
- Yes said Liz, shivering, while shedding a gentle tear.
And the happy couple kissed, with a kiss that seemed to last for all times."
"I had a yellow cat.
He watched me grow up, and I watched him grow old."
He also stole my money
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A bunches of circles and a rectangle is all I see.
My brain seems to take the most complicated entanglements of the mundane dilemmas of the day and de-rope the chaotic mess into its quintessential parts. Reminds me of splitting an atom.
Take for example the field of purple poppies that sway in the wind in front of me. With its bright accented violet; stalky, natural green; and crisp sky it stands in silent profundity. Yet my eyes look over the dazzling array of color, the millions of indescribably minuscule variations between each green stalk of plant life in front of me, the entanglement...
and instead all I see is a bunch of circles moving against a rectangle. Pencil outlines on a notepad. And I like it.
idk WHAT that was...but yeah it took me 10 minutes.
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Caught in a lanslide
My sh*t and sh*t:
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The strings echo in my left ear, one after the other.
*Pluck pluck*.
The vibes roll along, like a lone raindrop down a stingy cold window. A warm feeling erupts in the man's stomach, bubbling and erupting into his chest, buzzing and vibrating with energy along his shoulders, finally outstretching to the tips of his fingers and boiling into his neck and head, filling the areas with golden warmth.
Puffs of his breathe condense into silky gray view in the air front of his eyes, lingering in balls of cloudy dust, each dust particle bouncing against the other, in its own whizzing path of chaos, along with millions of others like it, bouncing and colliding against each other in a frenzy so haphazard and meaningless they could only take the form of such simplicity once together, because that's how the world works, in these opposites.
*RRRRRRRRrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr NNNNNNNNNNNNNN RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRR *
That was the record player that the guy was listening to scratching.
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Caught in a lanslide
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What's the verdict, guilty or not?
Hands plough through the few hair he has left. His whole body shakes as tears stream down his face. He knows the verdict, he knows what's coming.
He has tried, he knew what he was doing is what he wanted to do. He drove the nail into every single statement, into every single try. Smiling faces with another light in it looked at him. But what is it, what could it be? He hates this world, so unnatural, showing only shadows and lies.
Once again he picked up the charcoal nail. He wonders away from this life of lies, everything becomes different. Pictures of towns, valleys, people with pencil mark faces. Trees planted into the image of a thinker. Beautiful colors and clouds drifting into a makers vision.
What could be more beautiful, what could be more precise. The sculpture chisel an angel from his mind. Why is it then that his mind cannot be?
Why is he scared of the verdict, what makes him so breakable?
Sweat runs down his back as he watches the grim faces, unnatural smiles turned upward, make believe smiles. Vipers slide across the courtroom floor, looking for a spot to strike.
With the eyes of a crow, they look down on his dying body. The dark eyes of a parasite waiting for the right time.
No..No.. Why? He believed, he was so sure, the first day he picked up the pencil. He copied down his love, his world of make believe. He wanted to show the courtroom-faces another world where others live. A world manipulated by the pencil of his maker.
Why would the world not see it? Al he wanted was to draw the lines of another world, the world he creeps into when it's quiet. The place where he carves his own.
The face of his first tome carved. The book he laid naked in front of eager faces.
A fire with a volume of flames. His first but also his last. The verdict killed a world, a world so beautiful, a world where all can be changed, a world where the guilty can be unguilty, where trees can be shrubs.
His world, the world that became only his own!
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For once it's the other way around. The little looks. Fuck. Those are the ones that get me. Fuck. And for once I can sit, and admire the potential of them. Not be the origin of these moments. It's hard not to give the full looks. The looks that say: I want you and I know you want me and we could just have, what we want. But there is protocol. There is respect. There are feelings, feelings I am privy to. Maybe it's harder being a friend than I realize. It's sure is hard right now. Boundaries and such. Either way, there's something special about unrequited love. The unfulfilled. It's ground yet to be sewn. Age of thought and youth of moment. Maybe I'm drunk. Maybe I'm imaging the tensions and the wires. And so I wait. I wait for the ball drop, and the flames to collide, and our stars to align, and our resolves to ignite and solve our inhibitions. And I look at my phone and she hasn't text back. And it's probably nothing, or it could be everything. Probably nothing.
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Kal I really like your wrinting style. Less convoluted and relateable for sure.
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2:28n ARcadia time. That's where I live. .
We fall head first, like jets and skyscrapers. You kiss my nose and I'm struck by lightning.
So I'll leave the lights on. It's no secret what's between the sheets. We know how taller skies lead to tales. I know better than to be friends with boys with girlfriends.
I take these pills. They make me slender. I cut my hair and I cut my skin. All is quiet in the yard.
I am frequently in love. If you fill my lust with all you have you feel from something else. It's the longest drive to nowhere.
Christ. I'm only bleeding; that's not dying. My brother slits her teenage wrists. She's fucking him. He's fucking sane.
If they take my hands, will it be to burn or to save Amen. In the disorder, will you be the sound mind? In the disorder, are you still my Cross Sign. When the riots break, will you be the safe plus signs? In the crux I trek, will you be the byline?
I can't tell if they're laughing with or at me. All those hits. Let's join forces. Guns and horse titter. Every fire is those hints learned.
I left my house. left my clothes. Door wide, shutters down. Who knows what will become of you and I.
Inside a street car or on a mountain trail, details details. You breathe when I exhale. From the rusty parks to the icy winds, wwho know s what will become of high tide and trade winds and cries.
You move so fast. Makes me feel lazy.
I write and scramble to connect the dots, but it's a love note to no one but me. I wish I could be it all for you. Come clean to makes sense of everythin. g I'm standing here to see your name in every face. I s ee your face here in the dark.
In the dark, with a downturned facel the car will get us there so you don't linger in the night.
I'm a-wreckin the day. Perched on a citadel with CHrist as companions. I'm quietly quiet out of my head. Desperate and dead to the citadel. I'll hold you close, dear. Rest your burdens. I
ll take care of little boy in manger. I'll take care of the man burning a-bright. I'll care for the broken holes in every palm we all seem to hold. I don't think you know me much at all.
In the cords of crowds, you are the peavce sign.
I'm'm breakingg the balcony. I'm breaking mybones. Who are we to turn each other's heads and find ourselfs in other fpeople's heads.
Who are you to make me feel good? I guess that's hwy I call you God. 2:48.
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She says she'll help me, but first she needs to buy some shoes, and tank tops and a few things. Now when you're shopping every little detail seems important. I'm not sure if I want the blue Chuck Taylors or the green, the Lacost are on sale for less but the Chuck Taylorsmake me look thrifty. When you''re shopping with someone else though it's like "They're shoes, they're all the same just pic one. This is taking forever, I cauld be back home flipping through reality shows looking for Seinfeld.
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The fog burns off early and we know it's going to be a hot day so we make the phone calls round up the crew who's got the inner tubes? You get the beer? How about a keg, nah, we lost it last year.
At the river we blow up the tubes, check 'em for leaks, tie the coolers full of beer to the tubes and away we go, splashing away until the first good rapids then it starts to get serious, I chug what's left of my beer and let the can go need to hold on to the tube OHBOY here we go it's a water ride today spinning around bouncing off the rocks off other tubes there goes somebody hope they can swim here grab them oh shit now there I go.
Underwater which way is up hold on to that motherfucker i hope we make it to the top there we are a breath and then down again which way is up all white no air hit my head on a rock grab that branch look around damn that hurts where's my tube?
There it is way way down the river jump in swim carried along find the line push off from rocks wet and wild what the fuck there's my tube wow it's already ten minutes
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---starting at 7:23 pm local time (personal point of reference)---
Drawing his sword, the aging warrior watches his opponent at the opposite end of the bridge. The other a young man full of the pride and reckless self-confidence that only the inexperienced can claim; has a smile on his face as he holds a pair of daggers in hands spread wide. The older warrior approaches with caution while his adversary charges with that manic grin plastered to his face.
As they clash steel the girl behind the elder of the pair begins screaming at them to stop. The pair ignore her pleas in their furor to determine just who the best really is. What feels like hours is over in just minutes. The younger man staggers back with shock and horror as the older man collapses not from his wounds received in the fight, but from a quarrel lodged between his shoulder blades.
The girl drops the crossbow she had been holding as the deranged look bleeds away from her face as her former lover is running with his daggers thrown to the ground in fear. Before the older man's body could completely fall to the bridge the girl sprouts wings from her back as she takes to the air to pounce on the fleeing young man's shoulders, driving him into the ground.
"We shall eat well tonight, Mistress." The girl whispers to the shadowy figure now crouched over the older gentleman who's armor and weapons are all that now remain to show proof that anything had happened. The young man to soon falls to dust as the younger woman feeds...
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The rear door of the C-130 opened with a hiss. With the wind at 30 knots the metallic hatch sounded like quick pops of aging metal. Bouza felt the cold hit his face without mercy. With his right hand he did a quick check on the four buckles securing his rucksack then took two steps back. A second later he jumped and disappeared into the cold night sky.
This mission was different. At McDill AFB, home of the US Special Operations Command the mission profile had made it all the way to the desk of the admiral. The SpecOps commanders did not want it but some hard-nosed jerks in Washington had called in all favors and pushed and plotted the significance until all the brass on the chain of command had sniffed at it.
It did not stay at the admirals desk for long. High Admiral Jeff Gordorn was at his five year stay at McDill and got a 10 second phone call to green light the mission. The OpOrder made it down to the "COG", and he had put together a team.
The wind whizzed through his earlobes as he thought to himself. "this mission smells like poor intelligence from the tail to the head" but the f#$king CIA Case Officer swore on his mothers grave that the intel was viable.
The first beep chimed on his water-resistant wrist-worn altimeter. A quick look at the LED. The digits read 20,000 feet. He thought of Lisa, his pregnant wife. They had talked about the mission for a whole day but she wanted him to go because he knew his sense of duty would tear him apart if she had discouraged him. He struggled to get memories of his family out of his mind because it would distract him when he hit the LZ. "A distracted grunt is a dead grunt" his jumpmaster used to say at his first year out of jump school. The mind flush was easy now for him. He thought of the smells from his M60 machine gun, then the five times he got shot at a black ops mission in Bosnia. The adrenaline overwhelmed him as all thoughts of family where flushed from his memory. Another chime from his wrist
12,000 feet. At this height the pressure had changed. Bouza felt for the first depressurizer at his left shoulder and pushed the button. He felt as the blood pumping through his limbs eased up. A flushing sound on his visor was the tell that the first depressurization had completed. He had been jumping into high value missions for over 10 years and remembered tales of paratroopers who had been killed by pressure shock for not depressurizing completely. "poor souls" he thought to himself. They f#$%king fell to their deaths.
10,000 feet. He had reached terminal velocity and was no longer accelerating. Bouza could see the tiny lines which where borders of the Chechen village. It was this little detail that caused a big ruckus back at McDill. They where going right into the hornets nest. Dastnya, the small village of mostly farmers was also the backyard of the russian Spetsnaz, an elite unit that paralleled the Delta Force. They conducted off-the books missions just like his outfit. Both units had a rule, you never pissed in the playing ground of your enemy. But the CIA had another idea.
8,000 feet. Bouza saw the small bushes that dotted the farms of the LZ get larger and larger. It was remarkable how they resembled the training grounds at Aberdeen where they practiced runs for cover and concealment. As he got his body ready to pull his shoot he thought he saw the bushes moving. "Could it be?...no" He shook off the possibility but the reality stuck to him like white on rice. The moving bushes where really concealed troops covered heavy in ghilly suits. He thought of the five men jumping with him. 7,000 feet, 6000 feet....800 feet, then his boots hit the ground with a thud.
Two bullets pierced his right foot and he fell to the ground. A shadowy figure towered over him and drove the muzzle of an MP-5 covered in hanging brown grass into his face. "Dauchnya! Dauchnya!" boomed from the mouth of the figure whose face was completely blackened except for the two blinking spots that made up his eyes.
"Dauchnya!". The russian troop shoved the MP-5 directly into his temple. The other members of the hidden company had started to quickly surround his men. Bouza did not need a translator to tell him what the word meant. They all spoke fluent russian. He put up both arms in a cold surrender.
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Free form writing exercise 10 minutes here goes nothing:
When I was in second grade when we took a trip to the Museum of Natural Science. I was very much in love with Indiana Jones at the time and was convinced that I would be a great damsel in distress if given the opportunity. The smell of the museum struck me first when we walked through those large glass doors. What is that smell that all museums seem to have? It defies description so I won't even try I'll just say that I had a nose like a bloodhound so much of my earlier childhood memories revolve around smells. I was fascinated by the displays of early man and as I gazed upon their wax faces my mind spun stories about how they lived, where they lived, and in my mind they fell in love and conquered fear to spread across the land bridge. I wasn't ready to move on to another display but the tour guide was urging us on in her bored "please kill me now" voice. The next display we came to featured dinosaur fossils and there in the middle of tallest ceiling I'd ever seen was a full size replica of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It was huge and I felt tiny standing next to it. I heard the tour guide droning on about the era this mammoth came from but my mind rejected this explanation. I asked questions,
Lots of questions
and she didn't appreciate a one of them. I left that day with a burning in my mind and my heart and soul to KNOW. From that day through the my first college dig I wanted to be an archaeologist only to find one day that what I actually wanted to be was a story teller of the past.
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My friend Michelle literally went insane because of meth. She thinks she's a prophet. She went to the hospital and they sent her home because she didn't "feel like going to an insane asylum".
I don't know how to deal. Fucked up shit. Meanwhile, I'm in love.
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I can get over excited about a ten minutes task especially when knowing one has to do it without being held by any other exterior thoughts.
it is a bit like trying to stop the light to enter the room nearing five am to try and wake you up. summer time early morning are really light and I wish my writing was as light. I would imagine it would make for a warmer smile just like the sun peering above the seas urging bather splash some water to keep them cool.
what a feeling simply beautiful.
a lesson in
life is a pound
in sound
it reminds us
it is expensive a fine
so bear one
in mind
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I partly drove my lesbian friend home last night. I say "partly" for a reason.
She tried to reach for my chest while I was making a u-turn... and I freaked out. She said sorry, I just wanted you to know I am attracted to you. How does that make you feel? she asked me.
I'm fucking straight, I said, and get out of my car. She tried to act cute but before I drove the fck away, she started crying. I think I overreacted, but the whole thing was sureal. We were only about 5 minutes from her house, but still... I feel like a jerk just thinking about it now.
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Torn Banners in Compassion's Field
Synaptic prolapse of human element,
Un-developed mindsets stewing in
Hypocritical hotbeds.
Deaf to the far off cries
Uttered by their own souls
Seeking sedentary solutions
To moral and physical challenge.
Polluted mindsets,
il-regret of burnt bridges,
Fetid myco's,
The carriers of tribulated dream,
And nightmarish chaos.
Collective numbness,
Collective blindness,
Selective extinction of
Passions of the heart
On life support,
Compassion, fashioned on a torn banner,
Ragged and bloody,
Yet on some fields,
it still waves
Let this Breeze renew itself,
And spread once again
Throughout the vestiges of all men.
Let there be a glorious breeze to tatter and sway
The hearts and minds of a violent race.
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10 Minutes, huh? Here goes...
I feel empty inside. It's not an exaggeration to say that Birdie gave me purpose. She was always chipper, so ready for anything. Sure, she wasn't the smartest girl on the planet, but she was an optimist through and through.
She was also lonely in a way that broke my heart. She never wanted for anything - she ate well, had a stable, safe home environment, and any material comfort she desired was provided for her. Money was never a concern for Birdie. But no one ever really
People doted on her, constantly telling her she was pretty, which may well have gone to someone else's head, but not hers. Birdie suffered from low self-esteem. I used to listen as she gave herself pep-talks in the mirror. Telling herself she was worth it -- she really
pretty. She would sit there, preening and primping, batting her eyes at her reflection, spending hours practicing her "come hither" look, working it from every angle until she was satisfied in its flawlessness. The poor thing. All she ever wanted was a man.
No one really understood her - not the
her anyway. I would watch as she tried to talk to people, as she strained to make them understand. She spoke in muted warbles, cocking her head to the side; and she tried squawking and shouting, flinging her arms to the side, but to no avail. They only heard what they wanted to. They just smiled and said, "Pretty Birdie."
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Haha. I like this idea. 10 Minutes is around my concentration limit anyway
Hello there, children There must be some way for you to grow into big children, without picking up all the stored vices of our society. Maybe we can put you in an igloo. With nothing but a bunch of Latin books, and let you figure yourself out for yourself, sans the toxic influence of our environment. I for one favor such an approach. Christians say we are born into sin. I agree, the only thing I'd add is that we are born
sin; that is to say the sin comes from outside us, not within us. Lock a child up with positive thoughts until he/she is an adult. I would love for a program like this to be introduced. I would vote for it. If I could be the Kaiser, then this would be my will. People never agree with me when I opine this at parties. "You're fucking crazy!", they say. Or "what are you, an idiot?". These protestations roll right off my back. Because I know in my heart than I exist on a higher plane of thought than the benighted rabble that I suffer among. I have always known this. It is the tragedy of all great spirits that they must live around humans. And the even larger tragedy is that there is no heaven. A god in a godless cosmology. I suffer on, noble.
Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living. --- A.E.
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If I could to go on a holiday, to anywhere I wanted, with all expenses paid, and a bankroll so big I'd need a suitcase to carry it all in, I have no idea where I would go. Perhaps I would go to Jerusalem and visit the place where Jesus was born. Try to learn some Aramaic, and hopefully glean some hermeneutical insights from these people whose history still casts its light from 2000 years ago. Or perhaps I would go to Japan. See what they think of all us atomic bomb droppers. Or perhaps I would go to South America. Or Madrid. There are so many places to go. Perhaps I would go to Africa and give out large wads of cash to the starving people and wait for it to be stolen off them by the ruling tribes. Maybe I could go to Berlin and go on a massive whore binge. I could have sex with a different high-end prostitute every night of the week for 3 months straight. I wonder what kind of damage that would do to me; not just in terms of STD's, but spiritually as well. I don't think it would make me feel better. Maybe I could go to Nevada and gamble until I was either filthy rich or dirt poor. I wonder if whatever I did would make me any different than what I am now.
Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living. --- A.E.
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My Life after 20 years
Today life is made comfortable and easy because of the modern technology. Modern lifestyle is being practiced or the people are adapting on the era now. My life would be cool after 20 years maybe because of the technology. Well my course that Im trying finish is Computer Engineering, I picked this particular course because I actually based it of what our world will be after years and years of research and updating the knowledge we have about technology. What would the world be after 20 years? It could be possible that computers, robots and other modern technologies might take over how human life runs.
I think schools will only teach topics about computers and technology and how they work. It could be possible that robots will actually be a useful machine. They could replace the nurses and doctors for more accurate operations like organ transplant. Humans will no longer work on farms. Humans will only work in researching about how to upgrade machines every gadget. Technology would have been extraordinary nowadays if every human were just studying about machines, computers. Many Satellites would have been launched to outer space. We could have found planets that have the same characteristics of our planet. Diseases could have been spotted quickly with just scanners and treat them using machines and robots. Cars will not be travelling on roads but will be flying. Two decades from now if I graduate with the course of computer engineering, I would love to work in NASA. I love researching. Even thou Im weak in science and all those elements and whatsoever, but you cant invent something without science. What I know about computer engineers is that they invent or make something that would help our economy. I want to invent something that no one has believed that it can be made or done. I would just be sitting and researching or just trying to invent something. I will no longer travel and just work at home. Robots will be used as maids and serve humans. Life will be easy and great. Well that would be my vision of my life after 20 years.
Well now technology is the word that we will often encounter throughout our lives. This would be the sign that we are on the modern type of lifestyle. So sad that people born on the 90s wont experience the life that we will have after 20 year from now.
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Are there guidelines on how to do this somewhere on this site? Is it just write anything in ten minutes and then edit it?
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Use my thing, it's easy!
Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living. --- A.E.
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And there you were with blond hair, somewhere, looking happy. I wish I was with you but we made that decision long ago. Still I wonder who you sleep with and how you sleep, and if maybe sometimes, with a thought to spare, you think to think of me. Because I think of you. When I'm alone I wonder where you are sleeping and who you are loving. And is that river still there? Where we used to go sit and smoke and talk about my brother that I never met. And you would tell me about how you are "fat", a ridiculous notion but I could't dissuade you. Whoever could dissuade you, what a hero that god was. Maybe I'll see you again. That river still runs I'm sure.
Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living. --- A.E.
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(Is it cheating if it's a scene from my book that I haven't actually written yet, but still know a sort of one-line plot synopsis of the scene? Eh, I'll do it anyway but change the names to avoid spoilers.)
Start: 1:00 am
Jennifer had no clue what was going on as she walked into the meeting room. She had never seen Cory looking so nervous, but Sammy seemed so happy that it couldn't be bad news. The whole thing had her very confused.
"Hey Cory, you wanted to see me?" she asked, and he nodded, going pale.
This is so... weird.
"J-Jenny," Cory chocked out, getting down on his knees. "I wanted to ask- no, I mean, could you... Uh would you do me the honour of... maybe... marrying me?"
Jennifer rushed over to him, giving him the biggest hug she had ever given anyone. "Took you long enough." She whispered in his ear, taking the ring. They both stood, dazed and wondering what to do, when suddenly a strange sense of breathlessness hit her. Was it a delayed reaction to the proposal? No, Cory looked shocked, angry, sad. Not the proposal then. But what? Jennifer glanced down to see the stained metal of a familiar sword poking through her torso.
Oh. That's what's wrong.
End: 1:08 am
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10 minute writing exercise
I like this idea, but am wondering...did you write these shorts off line and then edited them before you put them up? Or, did you write them straight to a new post online, edit them online all in 10 minutes and then post them?
I think I'm a bit nervous to do it all online, but just wonder how it's being done. I don't mean to be a stickler for details, but also don't want to feel like I'm cheating if I do this off line and cut/paste unless this is how everyone does it.
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.. Reason: hoping to make my questions make more sense!
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Okay, I'm trying this straight onto the thread...
Getting old is the pits! I find myself looking at the weather daily, checking the weather report for my home town and writing to my sister about her weather verses my weather. It seems that all my friends are going through such terrible hardships.
I visited with my Life Group leader this evening in the hospital. He has MS and and is getting worse. Such a fine, intelligent man. I hate this for him. I hate this for all of us in his class.
My "forever friend" has spent the last week with her sister, Pat, who is in Intensive Care in a nearby hospital. Pat had a massive stroke last Sunday while sitting at the table eating at a friend's house, and she has been on life support ever since. It was sudden and she was not even 60 yet. Today my friend and her sisters discussed when to take her off the life support. Earlier in the week, the hospital priest told my friend that God is working in ways we may never know and that even though God knows and cares about what Pat is going through, it all this that is going on with Pat is, "not only about Pat," and that God is working things out in many directions and for many people. This makes sense to me.
I think that when it is my time to go, or when something major happens to me, I will hold onto that thought. Instead of blaming God, I will remember that, "it's not only about me!" Perhaps there is someone else who will benefit from my illness or death, from Pat's illness or death or from my Life Group leader's illness.
I think I can go through anything if I believe it is going to help another human being along the way. But, we never know, do we? I suppose it is not for us to know, and even if we did know...would we be happy about it? Or, would we busy ourselves trying to change situations that only God can change?
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A ace in hand, completely useless since no cards that combined well would land on the table. Nonetheless I raised, so did my opponent and I returned the favor once again. This continued til I went all in, it was to late to end the bluff, I had betted to much money that I ironically could not afford to lose.
I stared at my enemy with deadpan eyes, masking confidence but panicking inside hoping for him to throw. "Call" I hear uttered from the mouth of my enemy. In that moment I contemplated fifty different forms of suicide, I was ruined.
We placed our cards on the table, he had a straight, I had nothing. I was the mockery of the table. Though I held out desperate hopes nothing fantastical happened and I lost. Now I stand here, putting my idiocy in writing before I jump of this cliff. Goodbye.
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these posts are so nice! they tell you so much about each person. i know this isn't really for the commentary about stuff and just for ten mins ex's, just to be clear staff! simply wanted to say that i was so inspired by this one of 'em. thanks, fueled my morning!
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Chinatown Chicken Fritters
|Potatoes, Poultry, Vegetables
|Day Part
|Cuisine Type
Tender chicken fritters get an Asian twist with a teriyaki-miso sauce. Served with kicked up wasabi mashed potatoes and stir-fry vegetables this meal delights the tastebuds.
36 Steakhouse Tenderloin Fritter
6 cups Asian vegetable blend
For Teriyaki-Miso Glaze:
2 cups teriyaki glaze
1/2 cup miso soybean paste
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup orange juice concentrate, thawed
For Wasabi Mash:
12 cups mashed potatoes
3 tbsp. wasabi paste
- Deep fry Tenderloin Fritters at 350°F for 3 min. or until chicken is no longer pink.
- Stir-fry vegetables.
- For glaze, blend ingredients in saucepan. Simmer 2-3 min., stirring frequently.
- Combine mashed potatoes and wasabi .
- For service, portion 1 cup mashed potatoes, and top with 3 fritters. Portion 1/2 cup vegetables. Drizzle 1/4 cup glaze over top.


text:
Constructed from finest quality soft and strong leather, this dog harnesses is very comfortable for a dog to wear incredibly strong. Like all our harnesses this one is also sewn with polyester thread and is fitted with high quality buckles to create resilient, robust harness, which will ensure comfort and security for years of dog walking or tracking.Tracking requires that the dog can pull into the harness, but still move freely, especially in difficult terrain. We offer this popular, non-restrictive type harness, because of its superior design.
Fully adjustable - both front and back.Allows maximum comfort and freedom of movement for the dog, while retaining maximum control for the handler. Our spiked harness fits medium to large dogs.We offer this popular hand-made, non-restrictive type dog harness, because of its superior design. This harness has a padded breast plate to cushion the dog when it hits the end of the line while doing protection work.
Extra Large:


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Make sure you download the correct form for the appropriate financial aid award year. The semesters that correspond to each financial aid award year are listed on the page for that year's forms.
Downloading PDF Files
To download an item, click on the appropriate form link listed in the left-hand menu, then click on the item name. Page MAY BE BLANK until the item is completely downloaded into your Adobe Acrobat Reader. Allow up to 30 seconds for download time.
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Many of our downloadable forms contain fillable fields in which you can use a keyboard or accessible technology to enter your responses. If you need an accessible version of a form that is not yet available, please contact the Financial Aid Office at email@example.com for assistance.
Submitting Forms to the Financial Aid Office
You can submit forms via fax, mail, or in person at the Financial Aid Office counter located in Salazar Hall. Remember to keep copies of all forms and originals of all documents you give to our office. Everything you submit to our office becomes the property of SSU. We cannot make copies for you.
Our fax number is (707) 664-4242.
Our mailing address is:
Sonoma State University
Financial Aid Office
1801 East Cotati Ave.
Rohnert Park, CA 94928
Do Not Email Forms to Our Office
We do not recommend emailing forms to our office for three reasons:
- Often we don't receive attachments or they cannot be opened.
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As the holiday season begins, and tables fill with beloved people and food, it can sometimes be difficult for hosts and hostesses to keep the emphasis on fun and away from stress. But with a little strategy and a few thoughtful tips, we hope your festivities can include extra deliciousness and minimal mad dashing. This month on Sound Bites, our collaboration with Sauce Magazine, the Sauce ladies share some of their ideas for a fuss free holiday.
Managing editor Stacy Schultz, art director Meera Nagarajan, and senior writer Ligaya Figueras stopped by Cityscape last week with ideas on everything from satisfying eats and bar basics to making a new guest feel comfortable amongst a group of old pals.
Listen above and see more over at Sauce. (Also, if those short ribs pictured above have your mouth watering, find out how to bring them to your table.)


text:
If these pedals get me up and down hills at almost race pace for several hours I'm having some, bound to improve a bit on my recent long thirty in a local 'ten'.
If you're thinking of buying this product using a cashback deal why not use the road.cc Top Cashback page and get some top cashback while helping to support your favourite independent cycling website
Time All Road look quirky but bombproof build quality, superior mud clearance and five degrees of float coupled with improved support mean they've something for everyone from newbies to old hands, crossers to commuters. However, while they may replaceable, the soft elastomer gripper studs impregnated into the platformss wore surprisingly fast.
There are two All Road models the All Road Gripper and the All Road Gripper + separated by twenty-five quid, for the extra dosh Gripper + gets a chromed steel axle instead of a steel one and comes with two spare pedal platforms. Apart from that they are the same so common to both are the tried and tested Auto Tension Adjustment Concept (ATAC) cleat mechanisms, powder coated cast aluminium bodies, durable steel axles with super-smooth sealed cartridge bearings. This strikes the right balance between strength, rigidity and cost. Emerging from the box, they're only three millimetres broader than common or garden MTB spuds, so groundouts will be extremely rare unless you're given to Kamikaze cornering and/or ride a fixer conversion with low bottom bracket height and long cranks.
Cleat release is easily adjusted counter/clockwise via a recessed flat-headed screw but coming from a staple diet of Look/Keo/SPD systems this took several attempts to hone perfectly. A few entry/exit drills later and I've notched up several hundred miles in perfect harmony. Five degrees of float isn't the only recipe for comfort- the platforms provide plenty of support in both modes, allowing me to forgo orthopaedic inserts completely.
Coupled with the rigidity, these meant I could gallop along close to race pace up hill and down dale for several, successive hours. My full 70 kilos dancing on the climbs failed to induce the faintest trace of flex, so those nudging ninety shouldn't have any bother. That said, smooth soled sport-touring soles induced an annoying squeak, ceasing immediately when swapped for rugged mtb trainer types. Scooting round town, the replaceable flat platforms provide surprisingly good purchase in anything from brogues to pumps while allowing those split-second dab-downs though concrete jungle and technical singlertack alike.
Versatile pedals for newbies, cross, commuting and general riding, albeit a bit pricey for town hacks.
If you're thinking of buying this product using a cashback deal why not use the road.cc Top Cashback page and get some top cashback while helping to support your favourite independent cycling website
road.cc test report
Make and model: Time All Road pedals
Size tested: Red
Tell us what the product is for, and who it's aimed at. What do the manufacturers say about it? How does that compare to your own feelings about it?
"An innovative concept of a versatile pedal that meets the needs of many cyclists : cyclo-sport, touring, commuting, leisure ..... and is ideal for beginners, casual and experienced cyclists".
My sentiments in a nut-shell.
Tell us some more about the technical aspects of the product?
■Steel axle
■Aluminium body
■Platform with co-moulded elastomer studs
■ATAC : Auto Tension Adjustment Concept foot retention is independent from spring tension
■SENSOR: regulation of angular sensations
■ANGULAR FLOAT: 5deg
■LATERAL FLOAT: 5 mm
■Available in blue, red and grey
■Weight: 400 grams per pair
Very well engineered and should last many, many years.
Equally at home off road thanks to the ATAC mechanism's mud shedding prowess.
400g pr
Superb, with loats of support and knee-friendly float
Tell us how the product performed overall when used for its designed purpose
There is no doubt the All Road closely resemble an MTB pedal but for general riding this is a real boon, offering plenty of support in both (cleated and platform) modes on and sans asphalt. Build quality is superb and while user-serviceable, I can't forsee any need to touch the bearings for several seasons.
Tell us what you particularly liked about the product
Pretty much everything from the cleat design and it's unrivaled float to the bomb-proof build quality. A fantastic concept.
Tell us what you particularly disliked about the product
Nothing, although the co-moulded silicone dots on the platform side wear quite rapidly.
Did you enjoy using the product? Yes
Would you consider buying the product? Yes
Would you recommend the product to a friend? Yes
About the tester
Age: 37 Height: 1m 81 Weight: 70 kilos
I usually ride: Rough Stuff Tourer Based around 4130 Univega mtb Frameset My best bike is: 1955 Holdsworth Road Path and several others including cross & traditional road
I've been riding for: Over 20 years I ride: Most days I would class myself as: Experienced
I regularly do the following types of riding: cyclo cross, commuting, touring, fixed/singlespeed, mtb,
Shaun Audane is a freelance writer/product tester with over twenty-eight years riding experience, the last twelve (120,000 miles) spent putting bikes and kit through their paces for a variety of publications. Previous generations of his family worked at manufacturing's sharp end, thus Shaun can weld, has a sound understanding of frame building practice and a preference for steel or titanium framesets.
Citing Richard Ballantine and an Au pair as his earliest cycling influences, he is presently writing a cycling book with particular focus upon women, families and disabled audiences (Having been a registered care manager and coached children at Herne Hill Velodrome in earlier careers)


text:
Programs are being planned in Gainesville to celebrate the month, especially in Alachua County Public Schools and the Alachua County Library District.
The official celebration of black history in the U.S. is almost 100 years old and although there will be celebrations and programs in Alachua County and around the U.S., one local authority on the subject said it is extremely important to teach the history of African Americans and all people of African descent.
Libraries and schools in east Gainesville will celebrate Black History Month — which begins Friday and will last the entire month of February — in a variety of ways, from hosting programs featuring blacks in the performing arts to watching movies about blacks and hosting black authors.
Patricia Hilliard-Nunn, Ph.D., a lecturer in the African American Studies Program at the University of Florida, said Black History Month began as Negro History Week in 1915 by Carter G. Woodson, whom the Association of the Study of African American Life and History considers to be the "Father of Black History."
"Carter G. Woodson was a very serious-minded man and he was very serious about Negro History Week," said Hilliard-Nunn.
Woodson was the founder of what was then the Association of the Study of Negro Life and History. Hilliard-Nunn said Woodson started celebrating black history because he felt it was important for black people to know their rich history.
She said just as it is important to celebrate black history, it is also important to celebrate the history of all people.
"I believe that it would be nice to celebrate the culture and history of all people all the time, but because the history of African-American people has been written out of history many times, it is important for us to tell our own story," said Hilliard-Nunn, whose father, the late Dr. Asa G. Hilliard III, was a leading authority and scholar on Afrocentrism, a cultural ideology dedicated to uplifting the history of people of African descent.
Programs are being planned in Gainesville to celebrate the month, especially in Alachua County Public Schools and the Alachua County Library District. Below is a list. The events are free and open to the public.
Alachua County Library Headquarters, 401 E. University Ave.: 2 p.m. Feb. 10, "Black History Outside the Book: An Evening of Dance" featuring dance groups from the community. According to an email from Nickie Kortus, the library spokesperson, the dance groups scheduled to perform, as of Tuesday, will be the Angela M. Holmes Dancers, Divine Gentlemen, Lavern Porter Dancers and the Noni Jones African Dance Group.
— 6 p.m. Feb. 19, "An Evening with Sharon Draper." Draper is an educator and accomplished writer. She has been honored as the 1997 National Teacher of the Year by the Council of Chief State School Officers and Scholastic Inc., is a five-time winner of the Coretta Scott King Literary Award and is a New York Times bestselling author.
— 6 p.m. Feb. 27, "Natural Hair Care" featuring a stylist from A Nu Twist Hair Salon in Gainesville who will educate those attending about natural hair care. For more information, call 352-334-3900.
Cone Park Branch Library, 2841 E. University Ave.: 10 a.m. every Wednesday, "Special Story Time" for children 5 and under to enjoy crafts, finger plays, songs and stories. Finger play is the use of nursery rhymes coordinated with hand movements and words to engage and sustain the interest of very young children. For more information, call 352-334-3900.
The Library Partnership, 1130 NE 16th Ave.: 5 p.m. Feb. 6, local African-American authors, featuring LaTasha Holcy, "In His Hands," Shereka O'Neal, "Ask for Help," Terrence Pollard, "Have You Been Broken Yet?" and Sunnie Williams, "Heaven Sent Me Kevin: Living With A Child Who Suffers From ADHD & Paranoid Schizophrenia."
— 4 p.m. Feb. 28, Jacksonville Buffalo Soldiers Historical Society, a motorcycle club; members will talk about the role the soldiers played in U.S. history.
— 3:30 p.m. Feb. 27, showing of the award-winning movie, "The Help," set in Mississippi in the 1960s and about black maids who decided to publish their stories in a book. For more information, call 352-334-0168.
Anita Jenkins, manager at Library Partnership, said she hopes people from the community attend the events, especially young people.
"It is important for young people to know about history, but also black history," Jenkins said. "If you don't know where you came from, how can you know where you are going?"
Eastside High School: 1 p.m. Friday, Eastside seniors will join professors from the Center for African Studies at the University of Florida for an afternoon of dancing and drumming.
— 8:45 a.m. Feb. 20, Draper, the 1997 Teacher of the Year, will address students who have all read at least one of her books.
— Feb. 22, time to be determined, there will be a black history program produced by students. For more information, call 352-955-6704.
Rawlings Elementary School: 5 p.m. Feb. 21, "Black History Celebration Family Program" featuring skits and singing by students and a performance by the University of Florida Gospel Choir. For more information, call 352-955-6715.
Howard Bishop Middle School: 9:30 a.m., 10:25 a.m. and 2:40 p.m. Feb. 21, "Celebrating African-American History Through Song, Dance & The Spoken Word." Katrina Hernandez, a Bishop guidance counselor, said the school also will have other events the week of Feb. 19. For more information, call 352-955-6701.
Lake Forest Elementary School: 6 p.m. March 16, "Spring Fling Black History Celebration" featuring presentations by students in the school's art, media resource and music classes. "It should be a great experience for parents, students and staff," said Diane Hill, principal at the school. For more information, call 352-955-6710.


text:
'Always Sunny' Back With Surprising Cast
'It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia' is coming back for its eighth season in a few weeks, and they've released this promotional video to get people excited. Suspiciously absent is the entire actual cast, but they've been replaced by the likes of 'Full House' alum Candace Cameron (New Charlie) and Xzibit (New Dee). Much like the show's actual stars, we'd watch it.


text:
Spotted: Nicki Minaj Continues Shooting 'Other Woman', David Beckham Launches H&M Bodywear In Paris
May 23, 2013: Nicki Minaj keeps it low-key while on the set of The Other Woman, currently filming in New York City. Click through for more flicks of Nick, plus Bria Murphy and David Beckham.
Photo Credit: Curtis Means/ACE/INF


text:
Semi-Permanent Midnight
"In most cultures, alcohol is the most frequently used brain depressant and a cause of considerable morbidity and mortality. At some time in their lives, as many as 90% of adults in the United States have had some experience with alcohol, and a substantial number (60% of males and 30% of females) have had one or more alcohol-related adverse life events (e.g., driving after consuming too much alcohol, missing school or work due to a hangover). Fortunately, most individuals learn from these experiences and moderate their drinking, thus avoiding Alcohol Dependence or Abuse"(APA 212).
As I'm sure is the case with most everyone, I originally quit drinking more than a year before my 21st birthday, thus "avoiding alcohol dependence". Or so it seemed at the time. In hindsight, the behaviors that caused me to quit that first time were relatively benign. I had (and have) a long-standing problem with social anxiety and having a few drinks had an almost miraculous effect on my ability to interact with strangers[1]. I also had (but no longer have) a similarly long-standing problem with insomnia, that is until I figured out that liberally soaking my brain in my parents' ever-present, bottom-shelf rum put me right the fuck out. Unfortunately, my parents had presented a fairly shitty[2] liquor-consumption model throughout my childhood and I took to it like… well, like a child takes to his environment. Or his genetics. Take your pick. So I started drinking during the day if I didn't have anything else to do and the quantity of liquor I was consuming began to grow and pretty soon, my mother and father were (rather hypocritically) telling me I had to quit because I had a "drinking problem." So I did. I took them at their word, labeled myself "alcoholic" and just stopped one day. No structure, no withdrawl, no muss, no fuss. That was easy!
A little… too easy?[3]
That was when I was 19, and it stuck for almost five years. I developed new and different workarounds for my social anxiety. I became re-accustomed to functioning on three to four hours of sleep a night. I became a valuable commodity with my drunken coterie of friends because I could always function as the designated driver. I didn't really do a lot with that time, just kind of dicked around, worked various jobs, dated various women, and experienced life in various Chicago neighborhoods. Until the day came that I asked myself what seemed an obvious question: "Am I really an alcoholic?"
The ease with which I'd quit, the subsequent substance free years, and a more grown-up understanding of my parents, not as all-knowing authority figures, but as fucked-up (if well-meaning) adults convinced me that the answer was, "No." That may well have been a rationalization, I mean, I am an addict, but it seemed, at the time, like the right answer to a valid question. And I really wanted to get in on all the fun it looked like my friends were having.
Thus began what amounted to about a year of consequence-free, albeit increasingly unhealthy, drunken debauchery. Most of my friends hadn't been around for the first go-round and reacted positively to the lifestyle change. Looking back on it, what kept my consumption in control for so long was that I was, and had been prior to the (fateful) decision, living a relatively regimented life. I had a nine to five, Monday through Friday job. After the job, every weekday, I'd go to the YMCA in Evanston and work out for two or three hours before driving back to my apartment in Lakeview. I'd made a deal with myself that if the drinking had any effect on my professional or personal life, I'd stop immediately, and so I made sure it didn't… (cliché time) at first. I didn't really have the time or energy to get hammered on weekdays, which left the weekends. And only doing so on the weekends left me ample recovery time. I established a balance so delicate that it was inevitable that something upset it.
I got laid off. As a result of which I got depressed. I could say that I started drinking more as a coping strategy in response to my depression and maybe it was, but the rational, sober Me of today thinks I probably would have found a reason to do so anyway. And unfortunately for me (odd to say) I had been making enough money that when I started collecting unemployment I was still making as much or more than many of my friends, negating any strong financial impetus to get out and look for a job. As such, I bummed around. I read books. I played video games. I was getting started earlier and earlier in the day, and sometimes having a cocktail in the morning as a hangover cure. At some point I crossed a magic[4] line, gave up, and devoted myself wholeheartedly to drinking.
In "Alcohol Withdrawl, Dependence, and Relapse", Dr. Howard Becker describes alcohol dependence as a process during which the continued presence and influence of alcohol on the brain throws the pleasure center out of whack, which results in an escalation of alcohol consumption, which throws off the equilibrium further, the final result potentially being, "excessive, uncontrollable drinking (Becker 350)." Another study on the effects of long-term alcohol abuse upon the brain by Dr. Fulton Crews showed that although it has a negative impact (from a reduction of function up to and including the permanent death of neurons) on the brain overall, it has a more acute impact upon the parts of the brain responsible for "attention, impulse inhibition, and… reflective decision processing (Crews 380)." If I may be permitted to distill[5] this information into as simple a form as possible: alcohol abuse leads to increased alcohol tolerance, which leads to increased abuse, which begins to impair self-control and decision-making, which… well, you get the idea: abuse begets Abuse begets ABUSE.
Needless to say, my life began to degenerate pretty quickly. Although quickly is a relative term. It actually took the better part of two years for me to sink low enough that I was willing to do something about it. Things were horrible enough that I couldn't even begin to enumerate the ways in which I made life unbearable for myself and the people around me[6]. I had a single experience that wasn't much at the time, just a shitty moment in a shitty day, but that later, looking back, I viewed as really symbolic of that entire period of my life. I was living in a studio apartment in Lakeview that became, towards the end, a fucking mental altar to my despair. Just thinking of that place makes me want to cry. I came to consciousness[7] sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed, handle bottle of Jim Beam still open next to me. I was disoriented to an extent that I can't even describe but that had become familiar. This is simply what happens after a blackout. There was a horrendous rotting smell[8] and, after a moment, I became convinced that it was coming from me. And I began to weep because I literally thought that my body was rotting from the inside.
And that was when I decided it was time to clean up my act.
Nah, I wish that was true. That story actually ends with me drinking the rest of that bottle of Beam. But it sums up most of that period of my life. I existed in a perpetual state of delirious despair. I didn't want to stop, but I desperately wanted to stop and I didn't think I could stop. I frequently thought about killing myself, but I couldn't work up the nerve. I think if I were even a little bit less firm in my atheism, I probably would have done it. A glimmer of hope that I would be going to an equal to or better place would have been enough. As it was, it's not that I was afraid so much as I didn't want my last moment of consciousness, you know, like… forever, to be experienced through a lens of addled despair. A few times I hoped that I would die while I was asleep, have the decision taken out of my hands[9].
Like I said, it was a bad time. And as perhaps befits the mental state I was in, although I made the decision to check myself into rehab, it wasn't actually on my own behalf. As a result of my mother calling 911 and landing me in the ICU at Lake Forest Hospital, I sobered up some. They hydrated me, sedated me, and kept my withdrawl symptoms to a minimum, which enabled me to think… not clearly, really, but at less of a deficit. When they didn't lock me up in the psych ward[10], I was able to sit down with her and have a relatively clear-headed conversation, during which I was pulled out of my self-obsessed, depressive stupor long enough to realize not just the effect that my behavior was having on the people who care about me, but that I was having an effect at all. I know it hardly seems like the makings of an epiphany, but like I've said, my brain was functioning at, like, -75% capacity.
And so I set out to check myself into an inpatient alcohol rehab facility, for no other reason than guilt inspired by my realization that other people had continued to exist while I'd been wallowing in booze and despair and more booze. My mother and father were happy to do the legwork, which was for the best, because I exercised my impaired impulse control and decision-making ability less than two weeks after I got out of the hospital.
Getting into a reputable rehab facility isn't an instantaneous process. Addiction is pandemic, and any facility is going to have a finite number of spots available. So when my mother got a referral from her friend Susan, the psychiatrist, she gave me a number to call. When I called the number, they did an "intake assessment", wherein they asked me a variety of questions about my health and history[11] and then told me that no beds were available, and although they would put me on a waiting list, the waiting list was based on severity of need. They had a hierarchy of substances via which they gauged this (as well as days since using), and alcohol and marijuana were smack[12] on the bottom, not to mention that a lot of their patients were mandated from state facilities (IE, prisons and jails) and that those people got first crack. Would I be willing to say that I was doing cocaine or abusing prescription drugs[13]? I wasn't up for that. Did I have $4,000? I did not, nor were my parents willing to cover it. So I put myself on the waiting list and was told to call back every day to see if a bed had opened up.
After about a week of that, I got into my father's car (I was staying with my parents), drove to the nearest grocery store, and bought myself a bottle of Captain Morgan's rum[14]. I only drank a little of it, enough to become filled with self-loathing, pour it down the sink[15], and tearfully confess to my parents, upon hearing which my father decided that he was going to pay the $4,000 to get me into the place immediately. Interesting fact of which I hadn't been aware until that point: a history of recurrent episodes of alcohol withdrawl can prime your biology, so to speak, increasing your "susceptibility to more severe and medically complicated withdrawals in the future" (Becker 352). Over the course of that awful year and whatever of pickling in my own rank juices I hadn't really detoxed on purpose, per se, but I'd gone into withdrawl quite a few times. And, for drinking what probably amounted to two or three ounces of rum, I got to do so again. Poetic justice, really, but when it happened outside of the hospital it was not fucking around.
From "The Journal of Rational Recovery":
"Alcohol withdrawal can be, but rarely is, a medically dangerous undertaking. Most people who stop drinking, therefore, will do fine. Common unpleasant physical symptoms include nausea, a slight increase in body temperature and tremulousness, or a sense of shakiness. Other common symptoms are two to five days of sleep difficulty and (don't be shocked) irritability. Rarely, reported as 1 in 10,000 (0.01%), but probably less, delirium tremens occurs in alcohol withdrawal. This includes seizures, hallucinations, and high blood pressure. This is usually predated by the above noted symptoms and is associated with one or more of the following risk factors: over age 45, long-term consumption of over 12 oz. of liquor per day or its equivalent, history of head injuries, and poor nutritional status" (Dahl 10).
Yup, I got the DTs. As diagnosed by my sister's boss, the physician, who was willing to see me for free. A mild case. I had a fever, I had the shakes, my blood pressure was well into the realm of hypertensive, and I experienced mild hallucinations of the type I've always associated with getting a migraine. The doctor prescribed me Valium, which I didn't think was much of an idea until he explained that it was because my blood pressure was high enough that I was in danger of having a stroke.
That took the better part of a week to go away completely and, funnily enough, though my father had gone and taken $4,000 in cash[16] out of the bank, the rehab place wouldn't take me in until the withdrawl symptoms had subsided entirely. By the end of that week, I had a reason other than guilt to get cleaned up: to never experience that level of withdrawl again. It would rank below the previously detailed quagmire of self-pity and self-loathing and suicidal thoughts on a hypothetical list of the worst things I've ever experienced, but not far below[17].
Rehab was, to put it simply, terrifying at first. I had no idea what to expect and I was being exposed to a buttload of new people. Maintaining order was paramount, so almost every moment of every day was strictly structured and there were rules pertaining to everything, but they'd decided the best way for newbies to internalize said rules was to allow them to do something not okay and then freak out on them. Out of their 110 patient capacity about 105, at any given time, were serving part of jail time or a prison sentence in the facility, as mandated by a judge, which was something for which my upper-middle class suburban ass was simply unprepared. That, I got over. And I got to know some really interesting people.
The program was located in a rather rustically idyllic cluster of buildings on Fox Lake that were clearly converted from a sleep-away camp of some sort and that sort of works to describe the experience. It was like an amalgamation of camp and what I imagine a minimum security prison would be like. The staff was a mix of addicts in recovery themselves, psychologists, and social workers. We spent a good portion of every day in group therapy, we each had a "job", from cooking and cleaning to expediter, which meant, essentially, that you walked around looking for people doing wrong so you could narc on them. Otherwise, our time was devoted to Twelve-Step classes, meetings, and Step-work, which is just what it sounds like. And therein lay the main problem for me.
It was about five minutes into my first Step Class that I wondered, "Wait, are they telling me that I need to pray to the Baby Jesus to take away my urge to drink?" I asked my counselor, Susan *redacted*, LCSW, at the first available opportunity.
"No, not Jesus," she replied. "Your higher power."
"I don't have a 'higher power'," I said, making disdainful quote marks around the words through the power of my voice alone.
We went back and forth for a little bit until she, her tone suggesting I was a gigantic asshole, said, "You don't believe that there's anything greater in the universe than yourself?"
To which I replied, "How do you mean? Like… the president? The sun? I believe the sun is greater than I am, but that doesn't mean praying to it is gonna cure me of being an alcoholic."
The word she then chose to jump on was "cure", which convinced me that I was in the right, because why else would she be deflecting? But we "agreed" that I would read the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book, after which we could revisit the argument. In the meantime, I was to do my best in Twelve Step classes and meetings. And that's how, for a week in 2006, I became a sun-worshipper, kind of. One of the things that got to me was that nobody really savvied to the fact that I had chosen the sun for its inherent absurdity as it relates to the Twelve Steps. Take a look:
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs (AA 59)
Obviously, the Alcoholics Anonymous powers that be had heard complaints of the sort I was making quite a bit and had done their best to address them, but the way they did so, with the words, "As we understood Him," demonstrate a fundamental lack of understand of the source of the objections. At least my objections. Over the course of my reading of an ancient, first edition copy of the Big Book, I came to understand where the fundamental disconnect was happening. I am not, in any way, a spiritual person. I don't believe that there's any guiding intelligence nor fundamental purpose to creation. The people to whom I was airing my concerns, on the other hand, though coming from diverse spiritual practices and belief systems, were all spiritual people to some extent. When I walked in and got all existential on them, they were unable to grasp the anti-metaphysical epistemology[18] that was causing the disconnect between what I was diggin' and what they were duggin'. When I was finally able to make this clear to Susan, we had a serious discussion about what I thought I was going to be able to take away from what is, essentially, a recovery program based upon the Twelve Steps. I made the decision to stick around because I thought the structure, the psychotherapeutic aspect, and being locked up[19] five miles away from the nearest source of alcohol would be enough for the time being. Susan was also kind enough to get me special dispensation regarding my attendance of Twelve Step meetings and classes, first letting me come and hang out in her office when they were going on and then recommending me for the only patient job that required my presence elsewhere during most of that stuff.
Now, I'm describing this conflict as if it was an intellectual exercise I created for myself, but I was initially despondent about it. I hadn't really been familiar with the tenets of the Twelve Steps before then and I had honestly been hoping that they were going to give me information and tools that would serve as a framework upon which I could build a sober life. This program had been my shining beacon of hope and it turned out to be faith-based (among certain other things I thought were fairly wrong-headed).
I wasn't really sure what to do. I felt as if I was in a holding pattern that could last indefinitely. I applied for and received state aid, meaning my room and board amounted to about $5 a day, to be paid after I checked myself out of the program. While trying to formulate a plan, I did a lot of reading and writing. I talked with each of the various psychologists and social workers employed there, asking each of them if they had any wisdom to impart regarding my situation. One of them gave me a copy of Rational Recovery, a book by an LCSW named Jack Trimpey that is, at its core, a rebuttal to the Twelve Steps. Trimpey's program is, at its core, similarly gimmicky. It advocates that a person learn the "Addictive Voice Recognition Technique", where they actively identify any thoughts or feelings that are pushing them to use and immediately quash them. I thought that was unnecessary horseshit. Before he gets into that nonsense, however, he makes a compelling argument that the addict is not powerless, that they in fact should accept responsibility for their actions in pursuit of and under the influence of their substance of choice, and that they can and should therefore take responsibility for and make the choice to improve their own life (Trimpey).
It sounds pretty obvious, I know. At the time, as my brain function and health were beginning to return and I was learning to appreciate both what a piece of shit I had been and how to appreciate myself and my life without mood-altering substances, it was a revelation.
After exactly sixty days, I checked myself out with Susan's blessing. I moved straight into another studio apartment in Chicago, this time in Lincoln Park, because I'm fancy like that. It's not like I was cured. I thought about drinking a lot at first, but it wasn't that difficult to compare the (at least slightly) better version of me that was to the crazed, suicidal, subhuman creature I'd been just months before and make the choice to stay sober. Time passed, I couldn't get a full-time job, but I found an agency that threw me a lot of temp work, I spent a lot of time with my friends and my family, I was a groomsman in a wedding, and eventually, as I got to liking myself better, the idea of having a drink became anathema to me[20]. It's hard to explain the mental process, but I think it mostly amounts to how much I hate that guy I used to be. I guess I also like me now, most of the time.
It's been about four years, and although I don't like making definite statements about anything ever, I'm about as positive as I can be that I'm never going to drink again.
AA Services. Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book Online. Benei Noaj, 2007. Web. 1 Dec. 2009.
American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders DSM-IV-TR Fourth Edition (Text Revision). New York: American Psychiatric, Inc., 2000. Print.
Becker, Howard C. "Alcohol Dependence, Withdrawl, and Relapse." Alcohol Research and Health 31.4 (2008): 348-61. Academic Search Premier. Web. 5 Dec. 2009.
Crews, Fulton T. "Alcohol Related Neurodegeneration and Recovery." Alcohol Research and Health 31.4 (2008): 377-88. Academic Search Premier. Web. 5 Dec. 2009.
Dahl, Jim. "Physician Advice for Withdrawl from Alcohol and Other Drugs." The Journal of Rational Recovery 13.5 (2001): 10. Rational Recovery. Web. 7 Dec. 2009.
Trimpey, Jack. Rational Recovery. New York: Pocket Books, 1996. Print.
[1] Just like in the commercials!
[2] Translation: Unhealthy.
[3] *SPOILER WARNING*…… Yes.
[4] And by "magic" I, of course mean "neurological".
[5] No pun intended.
[6] The more sensationalistic moments included my fainting in a PetSmart and the ensuing argument with paramedics and eventually Chicago PD as to whether I was going to allow them to take me to the hospital (I did not), as well as another occasion when I passed out drunk at my parents' house and my mother called 911 and told them I'd tried to kill myself in the hope that the doctors at Lake Forest Hospital would have me involuntarily committed (they would not).
[7] I don't want to call it "waking up" because I wasn't really "sleeping".
[8] Just food in the sink, but I didn't know it at the time.
[9] It occurs to me as I'm typing it that I've never really spoken about that aspect of it with anybody, even my closest friends. Of course, I'm getting choked up just thinking about it, I can't imagine how I'd handle looking someone who cares about me in the face as I described it to them.
[10] My mother said she thought I'd taken an overdose of pills, evidence for which, given that I had no health insurance, they went looking in my blood. When they discovered that I hadn't ingested any pills, just enough liquor to present with a 0.34 BAC, they couldn't get rid of me fast enough. Oh, and yes, if you're wondering, they charged me $20,000, give or take. America has the greatest healthcare system in the world.
[11] The lady on the phone was totally unimpressed with my substance of choice. I said, "Alcohol," and she said, "Uh-huh, what else?" I said, "That's it," and she said, "Just alcohol?"
[12] No pun intended.
[13] Yeah, that really happened.
[14] Interestingly, my parents' house was, is, and always has been packed to the gills with liquor. Why did I go and buy my own? No, I'm saying, do you know? Because I have no idea.
[15] Let me reiterate: there were still eleventy-billion gallons of booze in the house. I guess it was a symbolic gesture. I was out of it that year.
[16] He also had an awesome fight with the intake staff because they wanted a cashier's check or money order and he demanded that they take cash. It was oddly reminiscent of a bad retail experience. They're all, "No, no, because…" and he's all, "I'm offering you hard American currency, you have to take it. It's the law. Case closed." In his defense, they did take it eventually.
[17] Like: 1) quagmire, 2) near-fatal pneumonia, 3) this one particular breakup one time, 4) DTs. To give you a little perspective, I've had a non-specific bacterial infection of my prostate, was once administered an overdose of ipecac syrup, was sunburned so badly in Florida I had to go to the ER, and have fractured a vertebra. I know what you're thinking: colonoscopy? Also yes. That's both yes I've had one, and yes I know you weren't really thinking "colonoscopy".
[18] I was able to awkwardly insert some words from my philosophy textbook! Hooray!
[19] So to speak. The artificiality of our restraints was demonstrated aptly by Brian, my "Big Brother" (he showed me where stuff was and filled me in on social etiquette) when he walked out of the dorms one night and went on the lam (he had been mandated to the program from a prison sentence he was serving). This actually happened after I was gone, but I ran into him on the street right outside Union Station a few months after I got out. He didn't choose to fill me in on the particulars of his situation, but I told someone who was still in the program that I'd seen him and she said, "Really? Brian ESCAPED!"
[20] An illustration: last year I ordered a Diet Coke in a restaurant and when I took a giant gulp of what they served to me my brain told me I'd just swallowed some amount of rum with my Coke. I had a borderline panic attack for about thirty seconds and then just cold high-pressure sprayed it out of my esophagus. As it turns out, it was Diet Rite. Yes, yet another reason to hate Diet Rite.


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Slumping Aramis, Davis not in starting lineup
MILWAUKEE -- Aramis Ramirez typically takes some convincing when his manager wants to give him a day off. Not Wednesday.
"It's a good day," Ramirez said with a shrug.View Full Game Coverage
MILWAUKEE -- Aramis Ramirez typically takes some convincing when his manager wants to give him a day off. Not Wednesday.
"It's a good day," Ramirez said with a shrug.View Full Game Coverage
The steady veteran entered the day stuck in one of the worst slumps of his career, with just three hits in his last 48 at-bats, including a career-worst 0-for-28 funk. After he went 0-for-4 with three soft flyouts to right field and a groundout to the pitcher on Tuesday, manager Ron Roenicke approached Ramirez about taking a day off.
Slumping left fielder Khris Davis also sat out against the D-backs on Wednesday, but Ramirez may be higher on the Brewers' list of concerns. The last week of his hitting funk coincided with No. 3 hitter Ryan Braun's stint on the disabled list with a rib-cage strain.
"[Ramirez] is fighting himself," Roenicke said. "Physically, he actually told me he feels good. So it's just getting him to sit back and watch the game, knowing that he's not the guy out there every time that has to stay and grind.
"I may need him; obviously we can use him today, maybe in a key spot. But he's fighting it, and he's been fighting it for a while. We have to figure out whether the mental side is affecting his swing. He's starting to do some things differently with his swing now. So we'll try to figure out what we need to do."
Last week, Ramirez missed two starts with a bruised left elbow after being hit by a pitch, but that is no longer an issue, the third baseman said.
"I just have to take better swings, better approaches, better pitch selection," Ramirez said.
Davis, meanwhile, was 5-for-33 in his previous eight games. His funk has been equally puzzling.
"He's off and on, too," Roenicke said. "He'll have a really good game and I think he's going to bust out of it, and then he gets back into it again. I think he's a little better overall than he was, say, a week ago."
Davis is trying to maintain his usual calm approach.
"I've been having a good time. Not [stressing] at all," Davis said. "This game is hard ... but I feel like the game reminds me every now and then that it still loves me. I do believe in the baseball gods, I will tell you that."
Adam McCalvy is a reporter for MLB.com. Read his blog, Brew Beat, and follow him on Twitter at @AdamMcCalvy.


text:
a play/move in ultimate frisbee, where one receives the disc out of bounds, in the air, and while remaining in this state, throws it into the endzone, scoring a beastly point. as opposed to the stupidest, when one attempts this move but screws it up, being unbeastly.
Alex Hornstein has done the greatest. That other guy tried, but it came out the stupidist.
by Whips and Chains July 30, 2003
the one person you can do the most random and nerdy things with and still feel cool. the one person who sends chills down your spine and whenever you're together, it's all about you. he/she is selfless, amazing and pretty much indescribable. Someone who's as cute as a button and piss your pants hilarious, it really gets no better and there's no one else you'd rather grow old with.
Between trips to the city, ice skating, loads of pictures, toy stores, veggie tales, minivolcanoes, yahoo games, serenades, morse code and crazy psychic powers... Raul is the greatest.
by gundula March 13, 2007
In Ultimate, jumping from inbounds, catching the disc while in the air and throwing it to another teammate who is inbounds before hitting the ground.
Did you see Boyd. He pulled of "The Greatest" at practice yesterday. It was the sickest bid I have ever seen.
by A-Ron Juice March 09, 2006
buy the domain for your recipe site
Refering to somone with skills of the highest quality, ruling competition like a god on a glory binge; the ultimate champion.
Refering to somone with skills of the highest quality, ruling competition like a god on a glory binge; the ultimate champion.
Jeremy is "The Greatest" in general, but known for being such at Fightnight.
by Dr. Painn May 01, 2008
A canadian-bangladeshi girl, goin to NCSU who is the greatest that ever was. Ever.
Samia is the greatest!
by Logan July 27, 2003
Trending RN - October 20, 2018
- 1. crow eater
- 2. Hugh Janus
- 3. meef
- 5. black supremacy
- 6. suck my
- 7. top 8
- 8. youthia
- 10. chuck a browneye
- 11. Oida
- 12. milli vanilli
- 13. Willy Waver
- 15. godsister
- 16. Friday Eve
- 17. seven figures
- 18. gloves
- 19. cooncil
- 20. silver scrapes
- 21. On crip
- 22. matter baby
- 23. patwari
- 24. Fenny
- 25. Happy Friday
- 26. crack cookies
- 27. car rally
- 28. finner
- 29. FriYAY
- 30. Pendejada


text:
Course Details
BMT552 Marketing Research Decisions and Analysis
This course will help train the student to perceive and define problems and/or opportunities important to enterprises and to devise action plans for solutions and implementation. This course emphasizes the need for and execution research activities to answer business questions. 3 Credits


text:
Website Detail Page
written by Scott Schneider
This web site contains a large number of tutorials based on Physlets, Physics Java Applets. Each tutorial contains a java simulation and materials describing both the physics being displayed and the simulation. In most cases, the simulations can be modified to change parameters of the problem or the information displayed.
The topics covered include the standard material in a two-semester introductory physics course, as well as some examples from relativity, quantum physics, and more advanced Classical Mechanics. The author provides instructions and tools for downloading and updating the tutorials.
ComPADRE is beta testing Citation Styles!
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Schneider, Scott. LTU: PHYSics appLETS (PHYSLETS). March 15, 2006.
AIP Format
S. Schneider, (1998), WWW Document, (http://vnatsci.ltu.edu/s_schneider/physlets/main/index.shtml).
S. Schneider, LTU: PHYSics appLETS (PHYSLETS), (1998), <http://vnatsci.ltu.edu/s_schneider/physlets/main/index.shtml>.
APA Format
Schneider, S. (2006, March 15). LTU: PHYSics appLETS (PHYSLETS). Retrieved October 15, 2018, from http://vnatsci.ltu.edu/s_schneider/physlets/main/index.shtml
Chicago Format
Schneider, Scott. LTU: PHYSics appLETS (PHYSLETS). March 15, 2006. http://vnatsci.ltu.edu/s_schneider/physlets/main/index.shtml (accessed 15 October 2018).
MLA Format
Schneider, Scott. LTU: PHYSics appLETS (PHYSLETS). 1998. 15 Mar. 2006. 15 Oct. 2018 <http://vnatsci.ltu.edu/s_schneider/physlets/main/index.shtml>.
BibTeX Export Format
@misc{ Author = "Scott Schneider", Title = {LTU: PHYSics appLETS (PHYSLETS)}, Volume = {2018}, Number = {15 October 2018}, Month = {March 15, 2006}, Year = {1998} }
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LTU Physlet: Constant Linear Velocity
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text:
It used to be that if you described yourself as "freelance," people didn't take you seriously. Not anymore.
A recent survey by the consulting firm MBO partners estimates that by 2020, at least half of the country's workforce will have gone freelance at some point, either by choice or necessity.
That sounds serious to us. The surge in independent contractors means more respect and support for the freelance moniker, yes—but it also means fiercer competition. If you want to earn big, you have to think big—reinventing, both yourself and your business to keep that crucial edge. Here's how:
1.Don't go with the status quo
There's a lot to love about loyal customers funneling projects your way. But if you coast on that work flow without regularly assessing your goals, your clients will end up driving your career rather than the other way around.
Plus, you risk losing touch with what's going on in your field, warns Michelle Goodman, author of My So-Called Freelance Life. Besides setting several concrete goals for the year—to make $100, 000; to contact 10 new companies and show them how you could help them—come up with at least one dream goal that you feel truly passionate about (maybe you're making corporate videos but you'd love to do a documentary about sex trafficking in Thailand.).
Set aside time (an afternoon a week?) to work on that bigger project. Far from wasting time on something that isn't immediately profitable, you'll be helping your business, organically building new networks and absorbing ideas. Plus, nothing squelches procrastination faster than keeping long-term goals simmering on a front burner.
2.Charge more than you think you can get.
To calculate your fees, use Freelanceswitch's online calculator to insure that you'll be covering your overhead, health insurance, taxes, retirement contributions and, of course, that you'll have a profit left over. "If no client ever says, 'Whoa! I can't afford you!' you're probably underselling yourself," says Goodman.
And tough as it can be for women (that people-pleasing thang), stop under-charging–or working for free–every time you do a project for a friend or a friend of a friend. "Would you ever give someone part of your paycheck?" asks Goodman. Right. So don't. And you'll garner more respect—and paid work.
3.Milk your social network.
You'll never keep up with every new development on your own without a little help from your friends, so if you've gone a few months without getting to know someone new in your field or in a related one, reach out, suggests Goodman.
Check out local creative-freelancer or industry events; biznik and Mediabistro can connect you to theirs. If you consider networking to be an odious chore, tweak your thinking: One of the advantages of freelancing is coming into contact with a variety of smart, interesting people. Business guru Seth Godin calls it finding your tribe. Who knows who'll inspire or support you next?
4.Kiss perfectionism g'bye.
"Remember, clients aren't judging you, they're judging one project," says Goodman. And every project is revisable. Besides, endless protectionism can cost you. If you're spending too much time revising and re-revising, write down how many hours you've spent on a task. Then get out your calculator and divide your fee by that number. How much is it netting you an hour? Don't you deserve a little more than that?
5.Define yourself.
Pick three words or phrases to describe your unique value proposition. Results-Driven Powerhouse? Creative Network-Builder? Keep those words in mind when meet new clients this year. People employed by a company have that firm's brand behind them. You have to carry yours with you and within you. You are what you believe yourself to be, and your clients will respond to that.


text:
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Seven years after opening the South Locust Point cruise ship berth and terminal, Maryland port officials have a problem: capacity, as in, not enough.
Without expansion, the record-breaking annual statistics will plateau at about 100 cruises and 241,000 passengers a year.
It is a profitable perch, but not one that fits the port of Baltimore's competitive nature or record of expanding market share wherever it can — from autos to coal. And with an annual economic value to Maryland estimated to be $90 million and 220 jobs, the cruise ship business is an asset worth protecting and continuing to develop.
Despite recent problems, including Thursday's stranding of a cruise ship at a dock in St. Maarten after an apparent generator failure, cruise demand keeps expanding.