International notorious blogger

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When I checked my site stats for the year I found that people from 60 countries have been reading my blog. Either that or the CIA has been keeping a lot of tabs on me. The top countries in terms of views are

United States

United Kingdom

Canada

Australia

Virgin Islands

Germany

India

No surprises, there, mostly English speaking countries. Except for a few of my relatives who were in ESL classes. My nosy little companion will probably want to check and see why I am getting all these views from India and Singapore. Hah hah.

There is a recovery based network in Canada peerworks that exchanges views once in while. And I have seen some blogs from the UK that interested me. It’s good to know that Americans don’t dominate the market for poor taste the way we did right after the Vietnam War. So if you’re reading me and wondering how the hell you arrived at this site, it’s all perfectly natural, kind of like a colonoscopy.

Don’t forget the doo dads

When you attend a conference or seminar like this week’s Milwaukee mental health summit you will always find plenty of doo dads. The mental health summit featured a battle to the bags. Bell Therapy gave away a tiny bag barely big enough for a sandwich. Managed Health Systems had a big purple bag suitable for books. One cheap company gave away a bag so flimsy it ripped before I was able to put anything in it. The winner of the bags contest was was Community Care with a big bright orange and black bag I used to carry all the other bags home.

There were plenty of the usual pens and note pads. Those might be useful. But what was the thinking at I-Care which distributed bandages. Will you be bleeding after you see what their services don’t cover? I’d be wary. Bell Therapy, not content with the aforementioned bags, also distributed bandages. I’d rather have a good case manager, if there was a choice.

The most puzzling doo dad was a kind of Harry Potter wand from Rogers Hospital. It was brightly colored and fairly ubiquitous as people tried to figure out what to do with them. You certainly would not give them to consumers, as they potentially be used as weapons. Imagine people smacking themselves or others with those goofy things.  I gave one to our Executive Director. It’s not the most puzzling thing I’ve ever done but it’s high up on the list.

Not to be outdone by the doodad people were the agencies like Disability Rights Wisconsin gleefully destroying the ozone by distributing endless brochures. About as helpful as endless bread sticks at Olive Garden with almost as much flavor.See you at the next conference, doo dad collectors.

It’s more than 6 months

It’s more than 6 months

I discovered last night that my new relationship has lasted more than 6 months and that this has been one of the fastest years on record. Imagine, you meet someone and you begin going out together and then in seemingly 3 months you are married and have 4 children. Fortunately that is not what happened but it could have.

Most of the time we have been together it has been cold and we were trying to sleep. If we had stopped sleeping so much we would have had so much more time together.

Other ways that we might have reduced useless activity might include wearing 3 or 4 outfits at a tine, cutting back on bathing or taking early retirement. Of course by now we would have probably grown sick of one another. Our nearest relatives might have called various authorities to make reports about our behavior and our landlord and the cats might have noticed our odors. So it’s better to not ponder anything like that.  The cats are reassured seeing us go off to work 5 days a week. They have some kind of scam going on where they pretend to not get along when we’re around. Then afterwards they are just fine. They probably talk with one another when we’re not watching.We could have exposed their little racket if we had paid more attention to them instead of having our relationship.

In the meantime we have our cozy little lives together.

 

 

 

 

Upstaged by tits, again!

So, yesterday I posted a perfectly wholesome story about going to my psychotherapy class and feeling proud to be in with some remarkable people. Afterward, I posted a story on Facebook from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel regarding one of my classmates. He is a young guy, probably in his early 30s, and a supervisor in a youth wraparound program. He’s also a rap star which will make an interesting combination when he becomes a therapist. A few of our classmates were asking him to come performs and or encourage their youths. I told one of our clinical coordinators about his today and I said, if he worked with adults, you would love to have him at our agency.

Today I checked to learn how people responded to the blog post and found that I had a couple more subscribers and two people liked my story. One of them calls herself electrikkiss. Wanting to learn more I visited her blog and found a story about tits called “Chasing Pussy” telling her adventures of going to a Halloween party, pulling down  her dress to expose her tits and chasing a cat that had run away with her tampon. She had over 60 people who liked her. From past experience I knew tit stories were always popular. But this was an outrage. If I had tits, I would certain expose them as widely as possible. especially if my mother did not approve. Meanwhile, you people better start showing me the love.

 

Neverending story

Phobos transits the Sun, as seen by Mars Rover...
Phobos transits the Sun, as seen by Mars Rover Opportunity on March 10, 2004 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My companion likes a good story. So she turns on her computer bright and early determined to find out as much as she can about me. Yes, with devotion like that, she would have been helpful to the Mars Rover mission. When I told her I had written more than 700 entries, she was determined to read them all.

There are many different reasons for reading me. For instance, to gain insight into the nuts and crannies of my personality. There is a group of clinicians who read me to help gather evidence in a third party petition against me. There are others who are still wondering how dinosaurs co-existed with modern men and women and they are certain I revealed the truth. And finally, there are those who say that they swoon when I quote Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell. And yet, I can’t figure out how much to tip the wait staff after dinner.

Google is keeping track of me. I decided that instead of giving people my blog address, I could simply tell them to google me. It makes this out to be a really big project, something that might impress Joe “Big Fucking Deal” Biden. I figure if the government is going to spend so much time spying on us, with their NSA, we better get to writing. Write whatever comes to mind. Let them make sense out of it. I know I gave up making sense a long time ago.

Women as elusive as the higgs boson particle

Today I was at church trying to understand a service about the Higgs Boson so called god particle. Unfortunately, the only part I understood was a song at the end composed by some local wags. Of course the reason I subjected myself to this torture had nothing to do with science or spirituality. I was there to find a woman. Who knew, eh?

Women, as you know, come in all sizes, shapes, and colors and have an amazing variety of interests and accents. However women generally fall into 2 basic categories: available or not. It is almost guaranteed that any woman you meet on the bus is not available and moreover has at least 5 children.

Fortunately, that is not where I encountered Madame X. I learned about her after I posted a message about community mental health on the church list-serve. She wrote back and said let’s be friends. Things progressed as these things do and soon we were Facebook buds. There might even be a lunch attempted. Be still, my heart.

This matter of identification can be very complicated. For me, not her. Let me explain that I am one of possibly a dozen African-American men who attend the church. Whereas, she is one of several hundred such women who may or may not exist. She could very well be the alter-ego of someone I’ve offended. At any rate, she had sent me a message on Facebook that today could be the day I would be able to verify her existence.

So I figured a little Higgs Boson, a little lunch and then she would poke me. Well, not such a great plan. After I stumbled into the Common Room I looked around and found a few people I knew about this unusual dilemma. “Now you’ve really got to narrow this thing, Kenyatta,” they sympathized. Is she wearing her name tag?

I spotted a woman talking in a crowd who might fit the vague description I had and approached her. I asked her who she was and of course, she was not the Lady in Red. She was also wearing a ring as big as a piece of dark matter. I thanked her and wandered away.

To the ever growing cloak room, I fled and looked for her name tag. And sure enough, when I found it, the tag said, “What’s up, doc?”

Well the next time a woman asks me about having lunch together, I am going to ask her what she knows about particle physics. That will simplify things. There is a back story to this tale of looking for love in all the wrong places. I had read a story about the question: how to disclose and when. Mental illness is not one of those obvious things you would see in a lot of people. Many of the folks I assist would blend in almost anywhere. If you ask how I could have done so many of the things I accomplished while fluctuating from one mood to the next, all I can say is “damned if I know.” But now I’m on the wonderful road of recovery and sometimes when I talk about who I am I have to explain who I was.

I have no idea who I will be. I have an appointment book full of optimism. I have hopeful texts on my cell phone and co-workers who enjoy celebrating together. Yesterday I found a story on Story Corps a National Public Radio series that invites people to tell brief snippets about themselves and their loved ones. I sent it to my friends at work because we should never forget that behind every diagnosis is a person with dreams, hopes and fears.

That is me and my hope that there is someone I’ve never met who will appreciate the gifts that I bring.