Just One Week Later?

When Cole met Jane, something special happened, and they found love.

He never expected Anthony to return…

Three Ways – The Ways In, a contemporary romance in

Sydney, Australia, all yours on the cheap at Amazon

Amazon Australia          Amazon Canada          Amazon US

      Hi guys,

      Well, I was going to blog in three weeks. Was going to jump to three weeks ahead for the Bible stuff, but still ended up turning to today. And admittedly, it’s a hard one to skip, so new blog today (yay you).

      How’s life? Well apart from the slow start to the week, I got asked by Thursday if I was okay… And after admitting I was having admin issues, I ended up having a good, productive day. Bit of a slip Friday but three quarters of the admin was already done, and it’s the weekend again.

      Another thing, not the best given it was a slip (okay, a few slips), but I realised I was scared and frustrated. Knowing it is something of a relief, and the share that came of it is me getting out of passing things off as okay, fine, not a problem – good old minimisation, what a beast it is.

      Also got my dining table sorted out, soon I’ll have writing space in my own place, plus somewhere to entertain peeps. And with the other half’s share of friends, there’ll be time for that. Only I have to put it together so there’ll be some frustrations (the entertainment unit peeved me off), not so yay me. Oh well, onward.

 

What’s In the World/Oz

      War in Ukraine continues, and I’ve been seeing stories of people from Germany taking in refugees from the war-torn nation. But that said, there’s things forgotten. Nobody seems to talk about Syria these days, or Yemen, and I wonder if the attention put on Ukraine needs to go to these places just as hard and visceral.

      Back home, there’s an election in the air, and at least four of the incumbent Government’s politicians are advertising in a way that doesn’t draw attention to their party, teals instead of blues, no logos, It’s like they’re pretending to be independent when they’re not. But, led by a pretender, it seems par for the course. I only hope things end up with a turfing, because the lack of climate progress, the years of debt disaster, the whole mess they made of Covid and aged care, and the endless photo ops, amongst other things. Stay tuned.

      Also, unicef sent me an email for the WaterWalk Challenge – walk 7km a day for 7 days, because people, kids in crisis nations (Yemen, Syria, Afghanistan, even Ukraine now) travel this far for clean drinking water, often in danger to themselves. Alas, horribly out of shape, but as one of my yearly charities, feel free to head over to your national unicef page and slip them a fifty for the ongoing works they do around the world.

 

The Last Week in Writing

      Well… Yeah, nothing done. This slog of a chapter isn’t writing itself, and after hoofing about a fictional kingdom and starting to freeze to death, nothing got written. I still don’t know what it is, or if I just have to leave it and let it all unravel in time. It’ll come. I think I just have to give it time. I hope I can finish, and the coming table helps with that.

 

The Gaming Experience

      Things went up a notch as I made my umpteenth pilgrimage up the 7000 Steps to High Hrothgar. Only this time I started freezing to death – the joys of survival mode. Yep, playing so I get hungry and have to eat, get tired and have to sleep, get cold and, well, start to freeze to death. (Yes, there’s snow in the game, so yes, areas can get treacherously cold). I got the frost troll in a few hidey hits (yes, I rolled a stealth archer again), and Lydia has been proving useful (my second horse got killed so on hoof now). Hoping she doesn’t die next…

      Right now I’m outside Ustengrav, the bandits outside are all deaded, and I’m ready to delve in past the necromancers experimenting on the bandits, then the draugr, and get that all important Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Yes, I’ve done this a thousand times, and about a thousand times as a stealth archer, and little will surprise me. Okay, I am a bit squishy but, well, onwards!

      Meanwhile, my train driving career took a stall when I tried Trans Pennines, got in the cab of a 47 class BR diesel, and had to juggle throttle and brakes. In a jaunting 200 metre trip to the station, I wobbled between 11 and 2.5 MPH, and passed a signal at danger, ending the session (yay me). Not that I was going well in East Coastway, I missed my 600 yard cue watching an approaching speed limit and sailed through a station at 30 MPH. Bad driver.

 

Today in Church

The Fourth Sunday in Lent, the NT gives to us what we call the Parable of the Prodigal Son, a story many are familiar with but don’t know the whole deal. (Similarly, David and Goliath gets our interest up, a fight over in three seconds; David and Saul, that was the real party).

Jesus is receiving sinners, tax collectors, and the Pharisees are peeved – isn’t the Messiah meant to tend to the righteous? So, He parables: A land-owner’s son takes his inheritance, leaves, lives the life, ends up broke; worse, a famine breaks out, he has to work with pigs and would have to eat from the trough, and he realises his father’s servants eat better than he does. He repents, goes home with prepared words0; his father sees him, runs to him, embraces him before he can finish speaking, and welcomes him back with a feast. Story over, right?

But there’s a problem. The man’s brother, who stayed with his father, complains that he never got a feast in all the years he lived there working hard, and rejects his father’s loving attitude, “your brother here was dead and now has come to life; he was lost and is found.”

Part of the story is the relationship of God with the sinner, He rejoices when one comes back to the fold, and exalts them. Part is the righteous agog their faith isn’t taken into consideration. Granted, God does reward their faith, but the joy of the one returning is a greater celebration, and touches on other Jesus lessons – the lowly will be raised and mighty humbled, the last will be first and the first last – stories for another day.

 

Weigh In

      The diet continues well, I’m getting used to the snacking, got the powder/water ratio right, still have edges of hunger post dinners – and the other night had a sugar craving that I not only identified, but sorted out with an apple. It could have helped lead to the admin issues… but also the late finish Tuesday, who knows. All I know is I’m committed, settled, ready to add exercise to the mix, and Saturday’s scale results were 121kg.

      Not sure how much is clothing related, still on the heavy side, but as early steps in just a week, it’s a positive result. Plus it might be raining this week, and I can’t find the upper body workout vid on YT, but there’s an upper body and abs vid so… yay?

      I’m calling yay.

 

      And that’s it for this week, you can catch last week’s blog here, and my next one… soon? Maybe two weeks, so I make an Easter post. Also, Deathnote the anime is on Netflix, gonna throw some apples at Ryuk :D. Until next time, have a good one!

      T.M.

So, Where Have I Been? And What’s With This New Stuff?

When Cole met Jane, something special happened, and they found love.

He never expected Anthony to return…

Three Ways – The Ways In, a contemporary romance in

Sydney, Australia, all yours on the cheap at Amazon

Amazon Australia          Amazon Canada          Amazon US

      Hi guys,

      Yes, it’s been a long while. But being a long while, I’ve had a sort-of idea for the blog, which will work out into a longer format, but a wider range of things to view.

      So, where’ve I been since August 2021? Well, around…

      I’ve been in a rut, bouncing around in exhaustion, stress, depression, getting triggered, sleeping too much, letting myself go and eating too much, struggling with the writing. No, I hadn’t been on holidays for two years, even when Covid locked me down the second time. But throw in a holiday (except the sleepless day-long layover in Qatar, and three weeks of eating a very rich diet), and there’s perspective, rest, energy to do things…

      And that admin at work that was driving me down, hard to deal with, is suddenly “I can do this.” Life’s looking up, right?

      Yeah, life’s looking up, except for the fact writing The Ways Out is stagnating with blockage, and the blog I was going to issue last week was a sullen, depressive mess. But it now lives with the lost bits and bytes floating around in the ether, and I’m just pecking away until the chapter ends or the block dies. I guess it’s all good, and there’s drive to blog again. Hopefully I can keep this up.

      And here comes the new stuff!

 

What’s in the World

      Well, you can’t go far without running into the conflict in Ukraine. Putes the total Dictator wants himself some new land, doesn’t want himself some Europe on the doorstep (never mind he’s in the Europe side of Russia). I’d be empathetic, but, well, a guy who’s been in power so long, using the excuse of saving the eastern Ukrainian separatists to invade and bomb nuclear power plants and maternity hospitals. What a guy!

      Here in Oz, major flooding in Brisbane and Northern NSW, natural disasters not labelled until the PM turns up, but will he talk to locals? Nope, avoided the chance of rejected handshakes with some staged photo ops. Okay, the dude had Covid the week before, couldn’t make it until this week… but we have a Deputy PM, there’s Skype, and the excuse “The Army can’t mobilise at a moment’s notice,” is a con versus the epic response to Cyclone Tracy in 1974.

      What do you do for all of this? The leadership gone wrong, it’s kinda hard, I’m just a lowly voter. But for the people? I feel S.H.I.T. that all I have is a bit of charity, and thoughts and prayers.

 

The Last Two Weeks in Writing

      As I mentioned, slow progress on The Ways Out. I mean, seriously, how hard can this scene be? It’s a date scene (the only spoiler you’re getting), I know exactly where things are heading, it’s ultimately happy time, and yet… I can’t even word vomit. Is it because the context is against certain rules I now follow? Am I remembering the past for these characters and stumbling? Am I just not feeling it? Amen, I tell you, I don’t know. But I’m pecking. All I can do.

      And I had another idea. I’m definitely an author, I have ideas. And post world building, this time I’ve gone some character planning, and I have a bunch of characters with stories, motives, agency, and all manner of stuff. All that remains is to write it. But I’m already sitting in my omnipotence thinking, “You know some of them are gonna die, right?” Ahh, the writer life :D.

 

This Week in Gaming

      I’ve consigned WoW to the Over It pile. Let’s be honest, I wasn’t playing much after I hit the end of 9.1 content. I had my misgivings, and didn’t feel that up to Eternity’s End, another new world where I can’t fly with an off the bat jump quest, but with cute wombat cyborgs. But renewal was up today, so, ta-ta Blizzard, see you for Diablo 4. Maybe Diablo 2 if I’m feeling nostalgic, and Diablo 3 if I want to crack at it again.

      Skyrim: Anniversary Edition, and I’m rocking survival mode again (and yes, started the game again again). But, well, hanging out for The Elder Scrolls 6 where I’ll upgrade to the X-Box X – and admittedly, checking back in to Cyberpunk 2077 and its inevitable GOTY version, with all the hot mess fixes. Life as a level three stealth-Nord with a hunter’s backpack is admittedly good in Riverwood, but moving to Whiterun and getting a horse soon.

      As for the mods I was running… Welp, the game kept crashing, so back to vanilla. I’ll live with it, and maybe a companion because they’ll be able to keep up with the horse (I had fast horses, because vanilla horses are, well, slow). Maybe not, but I’ll eventually get hottie vampire girlfriend Serana. Yeah, I’ll live.

      And I say welcome to Trains Sim World 2020, and its already-evident flaws. Starting Main-Spessart Bahn out of Aschaffenburg? Can’t unlock the train doors at the start so have to get out the cab, run to the first door to open it, to get passengers onboard; also, I keep losing power on a hill. And Long Island Rail Road? Don’t set the M7’s brakes to emergency, or you have to charge the brakes at level 10 again otherwise you ain’t going nowhere. It’s still fun.

      Also want to record a Let’s Play, only the drinking game version. The drinking will have to wait until after lent, and the recording to wait until I get a screen recorder, so be prepared for some things on YouTube soon.

 

Today in Church

      It’s the third Sunday of Lent, the 40 days (well, 46) leading up to Easter, the preparation time for the Passion, the bit where Jesus gets nailed to a cross at the end of a torturous 30 hours. And since it’s Sunday, three readings from The Books.

      First up from the OT is the burning bush, Moses meeting God in a frightful, wondrous sight, and God answering Moses’ question of what to name Him – curtailed these days from its original, cryptic “I am that I am, that I was, and that I will be.” As things turned out, God was given a name, YHWH (Yahweh), kept by the priests with Lord used instead.

      Next, from 1 Corinthians 10, St Paul speaks of the Christian spiritual fathers (the Israelites) being baptised into Moses in the cloud that guided them (God) and in the sea (the parted waters), drinking of the same spiritual rock (Jesus), but most of them failed to please God. This is used as the warning the early Christians not to follow wicked things, and ends with the ominous, “The man who thinks he is safe must be careful that he does not fall.”

      Onto the NT, and two tragedies – Pilate sends some troops in to massacre templegoers in Galilee, and at Siloam, a tower collapses and 18 people die. Jesus puts a conundrum to his followers, were the ones who died greater sinners than anybody else, i.e., did they deserve their deaths for some reason? He says no, but still says that unless his followers repent, they will surely perish, or die to God as was the case with the fall.

      Things end with the parable of a fig tree, it grows for three years without giving fruit. The master wants to cut it down, but the gardener asks for another year, time to dig round it and manure it, and if the tree bears no fruit it can then be cut down. The priest’s take away? We have another chance to tend our tree. But an interesting aside? Fruit trees had their fruit discarded for three years, then sacrificed on the fourth year. Best be the best, tended fruit.

 

The Weigh In

      I mentioned a rich diet before. I had a very good reason for being in accessible range of fast and fatty food (I’ve been introduced to a fried chicken place with the tenderest fried chicken I’ve ever had – forget the sauce, I’m not a fan, but that chicken is to die for). But guess who gained weight.

      Okay, I was already gaining weight. The stress, exhaustion, scoffing large serves, and not exercising got to me, and weighing my bags for the trip was an eye opener. But I’ve gone on a replacement shake a day diet (the powder stuff at least tastes like I’m on a diet, so it must be good), turned into somewhat of a snacker (okay, lived the dream with smashed avo brunch and pizza, BBQ wings dinner Thursday).

      And today, I’m 125 kilos, and down to the fourth belt hole on my work belt, second on my jeans belt. Still early days, but the efforts have begun, and it’s time to exercise this week while the rain has dispersed. Gonna try that upper body workout again :D.

 

      So, a mixed bag, but I am a mixed bag with more than one interest, and largely less bleugh and meh. Better finish on the positive note. Have a good one all, and I’ll catch you soon!

      T.M.

What's a Bi Atheist with Bipolar Doing Here?

When Cole met Jane, something special happened, and they found love.
He never expected Anthony to return…

Three Ways – The Ways In, a contemporary romance in

Sydney, Australia, all yours on the cheap at Amazon

Amazon Australia          Amazon Canada          Amazon US

      Hi guys,

      Yep, I’m a week late. Forgot last Sunday, and slept through my window Monday. Still, I could blog again in three weeks, it’s still lockdown so there’s a chance, but I haven’t planned anything after this, and I’m not sure what else I’d have to say.

      A few weeks ago, I mentioned having trouble finding that God guy. I might be guessing, but I’m sure I’m not the only Christian, new or old, having that kind of trouble, falling off the prayer bandwagon, getting doldrummy. No, lockdown isn’t helping it, there being online services, no munch of JC, and no confession.

      Maybe I can do something about the last one, but I’m committed to lockdown, hesitant with Mr Golden Crowned Lurgy floating about. I’ll see what eventuates, but did the rosary with the GF last Sunday, we watched the Maronite Mass (it was St Mary of the Cross day), got back into the Gospel of Matt – there’s an interesting convert – and life is, well, a little up.

      And lockdown isn’t so bad with wine and Scotch at my disposal. As the man on my favourite greenback, Benji, said, “Wine is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy.” Guess it’s likewise of my favourite animal, the platypus, proof that God loves us and has a sense of humour. Love that little evolutionary throwback!!

      Where was I? Oh, yeah, interesting converts. Matt was a tax collector for the Romans, the ultimate lowlife scumbag in Judea. Throw in Jesus and hey, there’s the dotted I, crossed T evangelist. Saul of Tarsus? Straight up persecutor of early Christians, until his famed flash of light encounter with Jesus, and he’s Paul, powerhouse of the early church.

      Then there’s me. Funny story in the end, considering I was elated as hell and off my meds for three days, no sleep. But come a Friday in mid-August, having quit one job on Tuesday and had a very public manic episode, turned up to the other a day and a half after said episode, I opened the doors of my local Catholic church, got a wave from Father P, and entered into peace and quiet.

      And when your brain has been running at a gazillion miles an hour, you’re still on hyper comedown, that burst of tranquillity was one of the most amazing, transformative things I’ve felt. I thought, “I’m home.”

      But what was I, a science-abiding, bi atheist with bipolar doing at church? Surely I’d be crazy because only stupid people aghast at science go to the guy upstairs. I had a walk-in problem with two catechisms (out of 3800-odd, not bad). Must definitely be mentally ill to want to punish myself with a lot of “I’m unworthy; I’m a sinner; OT God is iron-fist absolutist, where is the actual mercy?”

      Yeah, I was kinda Saul of Tarsus, smarter than Christians because science was so provable, don’t need no pesky God judging me for my faults. Atheism had its charms, and I’d found a place in existentialism, here because we’re here, and that’s fine by me. Then flash of light, total transformation, done and dusted, right? Well…

      I’d read some bible, Genesis and Exodus, Leviticus, Deuteronomy, Numbers, then flipped to Revelation and had the C. R. A. P scared out of me. I had to go to scripture classes in one school because no Non-Scripture, where I first heard about Moses hidden in the reeds (Hi Superman inspiration!). Religious Christmas cartoons were the thing back in the 80’s. I’d seen King David (Richard Gere’s nappy dance, lol), half of King of Kings, and of course Life of Brian.

      Funny thing one pre-convert Christmas service, the Priest’s microphone cut out, and “Speak up!” was my brain’s logical response.

      There was the time I asked about the patriarchal bent on Yahoo Questions, and got the explanation about the Virgin Mary. The service for my niece’s christening taught me the significance of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet (it was Passover, lots of sheep in Jerusalem for slaughter, lots of poop, and donkey-riding Jesus stooped over and served, getting his hands dirty). And I’d gone down the Stations of the Cross just to see.

      Still, atheist, more or less. One night at 18, though, something happened that I had to put my jury out on. I do have reservations saying this, but I think it was a miracle – which puts me at odds because I wonder why I was saved, when so many don’t seem to be.

     (A readthrough of Catcher in the Rye on Wikipedia sort of put it into perspective; and though I haven’t put it in prayer in a while, the thoughts of those who’ve taken their lives, who might have missed what I received because the pain is too much, still invoke sadness. While we’re here, kindly give them a thought.)

      Back out into the atheist pasture I went, that instantly-trustworthy voice bubbling away in the background. Then came the creeping mania brought on by a swap of meds; an awful YouTube argument with an arrogant so and so who said I denied Ontology (which opened my eyes); the acute sleepless mania (who needs meds?); the inspiration to find Jesus on Wikipedia; and the drive to solve 0/1, arriving at infinity, and there’s one of that so… “Hi God!”

       Then I went nuts, got policed to St Vincent’s, got the visit from the psych, tried to walk out, got strapped down and sedated, held in the PECC ward overnight, and woke up with the acute knowledge, “You know you had an episode, right?” No more the future is now, winning every Nobel prize for proving all theories right, travelling at the speed of our minds. Just a shaky reality with acceptance it was back on my old med, a rough Thursday at work, then off to Church the next morning, fronting up to Father P after Rosary, and saying, “I’m looking to be baptised.”

      What a ride that was, what a proper born-again moment. And what a touching moment, learning love was a bunch of strangers that don’t know you stopping you from hurting yourself when you’re acutely manic, and learning that first Sunday that people had been praying for myself and others in a fix without even knowing it.

      Where does it put me, three Easters up at about the anniversary of my episode? Well, I’ve built a team of Saints who I really need to get back to, failed some vegan experiments three Lents in a row, haven’t solved looking for God in the wrong things and places, and I’m still bumbling around in my cycles.

      But it got me hanging with the nannas in the reading group, getting some good formation up. It’s led me to look at relationships with a faith component. There’s forgiveness and somewhere to turn back to and go despite the falls. There’s hope and an urge to try for myself to keep going.

      Becoming Catholic hasn’t made me perfect, but pointed me in that direction. It hasn’t solved my Tweeter arguments, but it’s helping me stop posting some things. I’m not some Bible scholar or basher. It hasn’t cured my bipolar, hasn’t changed my sexuality, and hasn’t changed my love of science (the what and how flipside to religion’s who and why). And I quite liked the love neighbours, respect “enemies,” peace on/to/from Earth for a long time.

      It has just become a part of me, and I quite like the part I have in it, even if there’s more understanding yet to come.

      I’m not sure what this post has done. Maybe comments will come (still waiting on engagement, I feel like I tweet into a void). Maybe someone will consider a faith journey, and maybe someone will block me because of this. And, well, someone could’ve gotten to the God bit and stopped reading. Thems the breaks with this.

      I’ll let you go now. Thanks for reading, I hope you are well and safe in these uncertain times, and if you or someone you know are headed down the depressive path I went down, life so hard it hurts, reach out and seek help, because yes, you’re worth it, and have something to teach the world about your hardship, maybe in writing like me

      Take care all,

      T.M.

A Brain That Don’t Quite Work, Or Where’s That God Guy?

When Cole met Jane, something special happened, and they found love.
He never expected Anthony to return…

Three Ways – The Ways In, a contemporary romance in

Sydney, Australia, all yours on the cheap at Amazon

Amazon Australia          Amazon Canada          Amazon US

      Hi guys,

      Well, look at that, I posted a blog three weeks after my last one! Been a while, huh? Don’t worry, it’s me, not you.

      So, low motivation to post blogs is just one thing of mine. So’s motivation to write. Or making my coffee the night before so I can chug it cold in the morning, before going for a walk, before praying, before going to work. Um… yeah, it’s a mood thing, and something I have to fight.

      But, well, waking at 6 in a cold winter? Bed be warm. Working? Yeah, gotta pay the bills, but takes it out of me. Home in the evening? Can’t be bothered with writing… Actually I snuck down to Macca’s last Wednesday for a coffee and got into a fight scene, then closed off three quarters the way through at 7:20. And that was it, I crawled into bed, crashed around 8:30. Early bed for the next few days, too. And no, it does nothing for making mornings easy.

      That’s giver upper for you. It’s ingrained in the brain, makes its workings quite, well, meh. Now, throw in the bipolar and possible schizoaffective (been psychotic, so yeah), and blend with ice. Quite a recipe for whatevs – or feeling peaked because I forgot to take my night meds and finding lights in the car park, keys very entrancing. Sounds like fun but, after my very public manic episode, something acutely dangerous.

      It all comes with a wish, that I was normal. That I could live without needing three different meds to function. To wake after eight hours of sleep feeling fresh, downing that coffee, going for that walk, and not feeling exhausted and needing to lie down after it. To write when I get home (okay with a coffee pick-me-up). To go visit the GF and three days a week and feel drained (yes, it happens, and no, I haven’t quite brought it up yet). To go out to stuff like Hamilton mid-week without it impacting my sleep or my mood for the rest of the week, and triggering unhealthy coping mechanisms. Without grogginess and sleeping in to twelve on my dedicated writing day.

      Quite a wish, huh? Let’s not forget everything else that went wrong in my life (Sometimes I’m surprised I’m still kicking). And that, coupled with that tweeter person I dealt with telling me what good is a God that couldn’t save me, the tiny thoughts I’ve had about that on my own time, leaves a feeling that kinda hurts. Where’s God, or especially that wondrous, healing, demon-casting-outer Jesus guy?

      Faith wasn’t my thing. In fact the very mention of spirituality conjured thoughts of angry God. Reading Revelation, Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers didn’t help there. Then there was dealing with the no outsiders allowed to marry in, the “go back and kill all the men, boys, women who’ve given birth, and take the virgins as your wives.” That messy OT… It still gets to me. But fast forward to the Gospels and, nice God, loving God, healy God.

      Where does it put me, just about two thousand years later, scatterbrained, on meds, slammed by memories, in bed early and not sleeping all that well to begin with (let alone when I forget my meds), low motivation, bouncing along in my stuff and needing to pop by ye olde confessional again? Let’s not forget getting locked down for the next two weeks thanks to the Golden Crowned Lurgy – that’s gonna be fun!

      Though its lesson was great on Boston Tea Party day, when I wrote my prompt for this blog, what hit me got lost on me. Good thing at least for coming back to the prompt and putting this back fresh in mind. I know, I’ve round-abouted, so here’s what I got from Corinthians 2 – The Lettering, courtesy of Paul, Patron Saint of Talking Underwater:

      “To stop me from getting too proud I was given a thorn in the flesh, an angel of Satan to beat me and stop me from getting too proud. I have pleaded with the Lord three times for it to leave me, but he has said, ‘My grace is enough for you, my power is best in weakness.’

      “So I shall be very happy to make my weaknesses my special boast so that the power of Christ may stay over me, and that is why I am quite content with my weaknesses…”

      What was it Paul had? From the homily, it was intimated the guy was beset by migraines. And no, he didn’t have codeine to do much about it. And as he says, he turns to say hi to the guy in the sky, but doesn’t actually get relief from his ailment. As Jesus said to the horse thief in The Chosen, there will always be broken bones in this world.

      So, where does it leave me? Where is God in this S. H. I. T. in my head? At the time of the reading, in wonder; three weeks later, well, you’ve read this post up to this point. It’s ultimately in the giving up – and the forgetting (thanks, turbulent not-working-properly brain). Am I doing something wrong? Is the faith I found failing already? Am I not taking Paul as an example? I felt better, smarter, than the faithful, then, one kawham of a conversion later, I’m religious. Am I failing the zeal test? Are years of atheism putting up barriers for me?

      Time to stop that tangent, least of all for the unhealthiness. It might not be time for the answer. There’s also the matter of not praying, not going to that team of saints, and yes, that’s on me. And there’s the thinking that no matter what faith, there’s no healing of this brain of mine. Perhaps I’m waiting on magic, or that miracle when I was eighteen was what I needed and I’m not reflecting on that.

      Ho hum. This has been a long and deep one. But, I'm in lockdown so another week off at least, I've gotten to walking in the morning. I've been grinding ground coffee to knock up heart starters. I’ve gotten some writing done, I'm play Oblivion some more, I took a lamb roast over to the GF's (I promised her lamb,) and I'm getting into my wines from last year. And I’ve got church services to watch from around the grounds courtesy of ye olde internette.

      Maybe that’s where God actually is for me. And for my next blog, more on how I wound up Catholic.

      So from Golden Crowned Lurgy Lockdown, have a good one, and put your thoughts and prayers towards those of us with Covid, those of us in hospital, and those lost.

      T.M.

Out of the Wilderness, I Think…

       Hi guys,

      Welp, it’s been a looooooong while since my last post - around that deathy and rebirthy time - and, while I entertained a post back in May, I never felt right about it, and never got the mood to proceed with anything.

      It’s like my writing, it’s taking forever, motivation is low. Just depression talking? I don’t know, I am flustered, trying to dodge flatmates in the morning and still feeling prefigured when they’re in the bathroom or kitchen when I get up – I love a quiet morning, no noise, often no lights, its great when I have early starts.

      The psych suggested a paradigm shift. Get up early on first alarm, have cold coffee, go for a walk. So far, I managed a walk once. I’m still sleeping in half an hour, having shower first, but I’ve changed my rhythm. And just as I got into one… My weekend got stuffed around thanks to training, shifts got swapped (I still hope it was because of a reasonable reason, not party time), and wasted a day for a three-hour shift (long story). And yeah, back to square one.

      I feel this happens a lot, whenever I get the motivation to start something new, things come along that week and derail it. Want to go for morning walks? It rains. Want to start this early stuff? Flatmates, work in way. Have a go to church Thursday and Sunday? Late finish thrown my way. I hate it, the idea of a great life conspiracy. It hits the depression up, cues the “Why bother?” Meanwhile I’m steadily putting on weight, spending is, well, happy, faith is getting left in the wayside – so much for calling on help from above.

      I’m a giver-upper. I’m also a rut-runner. I really need scheduling in life, a rhythm, and if I’m knocked out of it, it’s off into the wallows. I hate the pick back up, get going again. I know it’s part of life, so being bipolar, possibly schizoaffective, certainly doesn’t help. But here I go, back into the breach, try again, again, and again, trudge, trudge, trudge. No, I’m not looking forward to it, going cap in hand back to confession, but, well, unlimited forgiveness, and I’m sure the guy upstairs knows how messed my life is, has been, and will be. Looks down, but, well…

      I was told I needed a better God because I went through hell and nothing was done, “What good is a God that won’t protect you?” It bemused me more than anything, I’m on the other end of the skateboarding kid analogy from Angels and Demons – you want your kid to live, even if he wants to Tony Hawk off gutters with its mad risk of ouchies. But it came on the back of an example of God’s plan relating to a child’s death.

      How do you fit into a plan that allows this pain? Put simply, the example in question held a faithful position and kept things in perspective, what you’d expect to be a harrowing time. Chances are it was a harrowing time, and still will be, but the faith was kept, though the non-faithful person observing it found it callous. Then there was my turn, the observer going on to tell me what I needed from those times when I was abused.

      Put simply, I got that intervention the night I wanted to end my life – something I could not explain at the time, but a voice I knew I could trust. That, too, has put me at odds – why was I so lucky, when so many torn apart don’t? Is it because I can write about it, have that empathy for them? Is there a whole Catcher in the Rye deal for those who pass? (This is what I believe).

      That moment put God on the backburner for me; 18 years later, here am I, ex-atheist, getting God in my life, though it’s a patchy thing. Yes, I get my doses of Church, pop of to adoration at Saint Jockas, Mares’ dad (that’s Saint Joachim, father of St Mary), love that bite of Jesus. But prayer? Yeah, slack at it, but always wanting to improve. Maybe its best as a morning thing, rather than an end of night deal (which I’m failing at).

      But even with the downs, the stumbles, the sight at the end, I’m succeeding. In two months, I’ll be able to move out again on my own, hopefully somewhere closer to work, and prepare for life ahead, the GF and I, well, there’s plans afoot. And after two months of dragging-out, I finished another chapter of TWO – the GF was very happy.

      And if I call upon them, I’ve got 18 Simons of Cyrene to trudge along with me – yep, that’s a footy team with an exchange bench. That makes me smile, a little shyly, but hope is hope, it’s good, and can help me through to the plan when life sometimes throws you to the mud.

      Still, my woes are small compared to others, and my hopes aren’t everybody’s. Before I go, a shoutout to those doing it tough, tougher, toughest. Have a think about them, not to consider how lucky you are – that, to me, is the wrong way to look at life – but to consider their wants, needs, dreams. While you’re there, consider a charity serving those wants, needs, dreams, so it’s more than thoughts and prayers – could be once a year, or a monthly contribution.

      And when you’re there, consider voting and agitating for them. I don’t know if it will help, but it’s back in that try again, and again, and again, trudge, trudge, trudge.

      And… Yep, that’s all I got. Okay, it’s Corona Cave time with lockdown, room for a bit more gaming and writing, but missing of the GF and Jesus – but there’s livestream mass. Hopefully I’ll get back to a three-week blog cycle, and hopefully, it’ll be out the Corona Cave by then, so, until then, or whenever,

      Have a good one!

      T. M.