Me Time

19 03 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

Like I wrote here at the end of last month, if I made it to the middle of this month without experiencing any unconsciousness events, then I will have reached six months since the last time I had any such event without having another.  That’s a medically significant milestone, the most practical consequence for me and everyone surrounding me is that I no longer need to have anyone in my presence at all times, meaning I can be left alone for long stretches.  Even though I can’t truly live alone, and who knows if I’ll ever really be able to do that.

My rehab doctors officially cleared me in that stead today.

My present for reaching this milestone was being brought back to the secret hideout and being left alone for awhile, which I still am now, while everyone else who lives here makes themselves scarce to run errands and take care of business and have fun and this that and the third.

This is the first real extended normal waking hours total peace and quiet and solace I’ve had since my mid-November return to functional coherence.


Crowdsourced Head Shrinks

1 03 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

As I make my way through the months of my recovery, in a state of “hurry up and wait” and “one day at a time” to find out if and when the really big leaps of my cognitive and physical restoration happen, I’m having a really curious psychological problem.

Just so you know, I’ve got two real head shrinks working on the matter, and they’ve given me advice that is partially the same but partially different.

But I’m going to crowdsource my dilemma to the amateurs in my peanut gallery.

I’m in a Catch-22.

I’ve always had ambitions that have run out ahead of my reality a little bit.  Ordinarily, that’s a good thing, because I have taillights in my nearby field of vision at all times that I can chase.

But in my current state, my ambition is a curse, because my ambitions have not changed, but my reality has taken yuge and bigly leaps backward.

Part of my head problems here in the months of my recovery have involved the fact that that disparity is driving me batty, making me depressed, and on occasion, suicidal.  The Catch-22 is that if I just punt away my ambition right now, what if I suddenly get all the way better in pretty short order?  Ambition is easy to forfeit and extremely hard to get back.  I could either keep my ambition which makes me depressed, or give up on it risking a potential quick recovery meaning I’ll be capable but permanently unambitious.

So I’m stuck between the rock of I can’t have my ambition and the hard place of I can’t not have my ambition, because I’m screwing my own pooch no matter which side I pick.

What do I do?

Seventh Month of Recovery

28 02 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

Quite a bit has happened here in the shortest month of the year, so this will be a little long.


Here in the month and a half since the restoration of most of my short term memory, I’ve been able to get quite a few things done, both in terms of putting my life back together, and in general.  A lot of piece picking upping has happened in the last month.  One major piece I’ve picked up is professional — I’ll be able to go back to work in the PR game, if enough of my cognitive function is restored.  If that happens before my physical function improves, it means that I just won’t be able to do the rubber chicken circuit, and, as you’ll recall, I was on that circuit the night of July 19.  After all, with me in a wheelchair, I’d really be the life of the party, not.  And there’s the matter of the curious logistical headache of the daily commute in such a circumstance that I still wouldn’t be able to drive a car.  Like you all know, “if” is probably the most powerful two-letter word in the dictionary, and there’s plenty of it not only in my overall life these days, but in this little subplot.

But at least now I can now start thinking about going back to work in terms other than either the abstract or daydreaming or a self-imposed practical joke.  It also means that even though my chances in life to be really influential or to make anything close to a world-shaking difference are gone, I just might soon get to a point where I can restart being a net asset to society instead of a useless eating parasite.


Something you can deduce from this, relating to something I wrote here in the latter part of last month, is that, as it turned out, while the gossip monger’s gossip did indeed get around in my professional social circles, because gossip can cut through anything, gossip is the only thing that can cut through diamond, what I have found out in the last month is that just about everyone that heard it didn’t believe it, and furthermore, most of them were in no mood to peddle it just because they heard it.  Seems like it was just too ridiculous to entertain.  Which is more than I can say for the gossip monger himself, with his self-acclaimed mastery of “facts, logic, reason and evidence.”  When he first heard it, he not only believed it, but spread it around.  From that, you can probably infer that, since I can’t attach specific or even rough financial losses to the gossip, it means there will be no lawsuit against the gossip monger and none against the suspected originator.

Since there’s a very good chance the gossip monger in question will eventually read this, I’ll use the occasion to state this:  Rewinding the clock more than two decades, if I had “this” to do all over again, and you know what I mean by “this,” including both you and a certain someone else who left this world coming up on three years ago, I would still do it for all the good things that came of it, but the advice 40-year old me would give to 19-year old me is to keep plenty of daylight between myself and both of you (and certain others you both know/knew).

Pretty soon, I will be able at least to state the gossip, but with the fortunate way things turned out, I’m tempted to let the sleeping dog lie.  What I really want beyond all else is for this to die on the vine, just as I wish the gossip monger would have let it done instead of peddling it.  It will do anything but die on the vine if I turn around and repeat it here.

On the other hand, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything to be said for me leaving St. Louis for professional reasons — It’s one of those several things that I’ll have to keep under the vest, until all ink on all paper is totally try.  Yes, something’s up.  Something that’s potentially pretty good, pending of course improvements in my condition.  That’s because my lawyer knows how to negotiate.


I wrote here back on Christmas Eve that one of the things that made this past Christmas season a really good one is that I realized something I never did quite before, that is, how much I really had.  What I meant by that is that I didn’t know how many people I had in my virtual or real world existence that did something between a little and a lot for me, in my hour of need, and how valuable that sort of thing really is.

Something else I’ve come to realize, now that I have almost all of my memory at my disposal:  There are another big handful of people.  These are people whom I thought would have been some measure of help, aid or comfort to me in all these months, but they turned out to be useless.  Not that they did anything bad or were treacherous, like a certain someone I (used to) know, but they weren’t in any way positive features to my post-accident life, either.  When it comes to these kind of people, going forward, they’re there, and I’m here, and that’s all that can be said.  I won’t hold grudges against any of them, but by the same token, I really won’t be giving them the time of day.

I’ve made lists, and checked them twice.

If you’re reading this, I only hope for your sake that your name wound up on the nice list, and not the indifferent list or the naughty list.


Physically and cognitively, no real substantial improvement in the last month.  The more time goes on that either thing doesn’t improve, the more I fear there will be none, even though I’ve been told a million billion trillion times by the people with relevant advanced degrees and professional experience that I can’t write anything into that.  That said, I’m glad this wheelchair goes with every piece of clothing I own.  I’d like to think that, since I can now start seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, that this somehow would make me improve faster than I otherwise would.  But all through this whole saga and journey, I’ve come to know better.  The human brain truly has a mind of its own.

On the flip side, I’m starting to lose that “weirded out” feeling I had at about the end of last month.  Another slight improvement:  If you remember, I’ve complained frequently here since my return that thinking causes me physical pain, and that fast moving sequences cause me a lot of difficulty.  These things have gotten noticeably better in the last month.  I still have days, but I can also string together a lot of winning streaks now.

Unfortunately, until my cognitive and physical function improves, then my month and a half ago sudden improvement in short term memory only means that I’m the same useless parasite in purgatory that I was before, the only differences are that most of my short term memory is back online, and I have more time where intense thinking and fast moving sequences don’t cause me physical pain.  Still a whole lot of hurry up and wait.

In better news, if I make it to the middle of next month experiencing no unconsciousness events, then it will be six months since experiencing any, and that will be a medically significant milestone.  It means that, while my risk of experiencing another such event would not be totally gone, it will be reduced to a point where there will not be the need for someone to be near me all the time just for the sake of tending to me in case I experience such an event.  Of course, there’s still the matter of this wheelchair and the reason why I need it, so it won’t mean being able to live on my own.

The iPadization of Everything

9 02 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

Several weeks ago, DOR sent a friendly postcard to my (or rather, what is about to be my former) snail mail box, reminding me that my drivers’ license has to be renewed by my next birthday, which in my case is the end of next month.  I knew that already, and spent some time trying to come up with a game plan.  I wanted to wait until a day when I thought I could sit and stand and walk around for long enough to appear in a DOR office with my wheelchair nowhere in sight, so that the clerks don’t plop restrictions on my renewed license.  If I ever am able to drive again, it’s probably going to be quite some time, but by the same token, I’d rather not hassle with trying to get restrictions off my license, at such a time.

And that I was able to do today.  As Martin Luther might have said about 500 years ago, “nailed it.”

Then I and the quasi-relative who drove me around today did what has been my personal tradition every time I go to the DOR for either license or plates business:  White Castle.  That I started because, the first several times I had such business, I went to the South Kinghshighway DOR office, and there’s a WC just a few slots up from it.  The particular office I used today, while there wasn’t a WC next to it, there was one just a very short drive away.  Which meant clear sailing to my belly bombers, though, WCs have never caused me the sort of gastrointestinal embarrassment that they seem to cause everyone else, hence that nickname for them.

You ought to get a load of what they’re doing to fast feeder soda machines.  Hence the title of this post.

The usual setup until now is that you got your empty cup from the clerk, and you went to the soda fountain, where six, eight, ten or some number of spouts were options.  Now, instead of a line of fountains, there’s now this singular kiosk that has…you guessed it…an iPad style touch screen, where it gives you the option of categories of drinks, (All, Flavored, Zero Calorie, Regular, etc.), and then you’ll do a lot of touching and follow up touching until you get the one you want.  Then just stick your cup under the spout, and hit the big silver button with the cup on it, and let go when it’s full.

Something tells me the thing is WiFi enabled to boot.

The good part about it is that this kind of setup gives you a wide variety of options, not just six, eight, ten or whatever.  From what I saw, every carbonated and non-carbonated beverage that Coca-Cola offers was an option at the kiosk.  I had the Diet Barq’s Root Beer.  And that’s especially good for someone that your ever-lovin’ still weighs too much in spite of having lost of lot of weight recently blogmeister, because the traditional kind of setup only has one or two diet options, compared to the iPad kiosk wherein it seemed like I had two dozen zero cal choices.

I just wouldn’t want to be an old person trying to use this thing.

Also, I fully expect this to be the lay of the land in every fast feeder and quickie mart very soon.

Sixth Month of Recovery

31 01 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

I am finally picking up the pieces of my life in a significant way.

Now that my short term memory is starting to be restored, and a lot of things are coming back to me, I can finally start fitting a lot of heretofore loose pieces together in the zillion piece box puzzle that is my life.  Even though physical or cognitive improvement did not accompany memory restoration, the memory restoration alone made this a really good month.  Mainly because I can now start seriously anticipating and predicating something of a future for myself, even if it will necessarily come with reduced expectations, reduced compared to what I had on the afternoon of July 19 of last year, and even if whatever functional future lies ahead of me isn’t in the very near future.

The cloud to that silver lining is that now I’m beginning to become all the more aware of how far behind I am in terms of cognitive function.  It’s not as if I didn’t already realize this, but until now, I didn’t know how bad it was.  I’m reading some of my own posts here since mid-November, and from that, I can now see that I don’t have the same level of sustained cogency, sharpness and brilliance that I had before July 19.  That’s yet another matter of if-and-when/hurry up and wait.

Another drawback is that I’m suffering the same kind of anxiety now that I did in the immediate days and weeks after my return to functional coherence in mid-November, that I think that subsequent and drastic improvements are immediately impending, when I know from experience that it’s going to take a lot of time, and anticipating way too much ahead of reality is only going to make me depressed.  I really have to live one day at a time.

Yet another hitch is that the last several days have been worse than the January usual for pain.  But that’s just one of those things that is going to come and go, and hopefully over time, will do more going than coming.  One other lingering symptom that I don’t think I’ve even brought up here is my slightly but noticeably enough slurred speech — I am told that after the accident, it was very noticeably slurred, improved quite a bit to the point of my return to functional coherence, but that’s when it stopped improving, and has not at all improved in the last two and a half months.

One piece of personal news is that my lease on my Richmond Heights apartment is up on March 1.  My rent was all paid up until then, thanks to certain interested and generous people, and there would otherwise be no problem with it continuing past March 1.  The problem is that because of the continuing even if declining risk of unconsciousness events, and that I’m still semi-ambulatory, and my continued unsteady brain-motor control means I can’t drive a car, all this rolled together means I can’t live on my own or even be alone for very long.  Which means that if I did want to re-up for another year, I would have no idea when I’d be able to live there.  Furthermore, the property management firm’s chief operating munchkin would much rather prefer someone both paying rent for the unit and actually living in the unit, that much I can understand.  Which means that some time in February, my uncle will hire some movers to put my stuff into the family storage bin.  And the secret hideout will be my official address for awhile.

It’s like this:

Weirded Out

24 01 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

Much of what I know I’m supposed to like or be a fan of, both in terms of people and things, just plain weirds me out these days.

That’s a dark side to the restoration of most of my short term memory but to a brain that’s not fully repaired.  I know that these things that weird me out have not changed much if at all in six months.  You’ve heard the axiom — That if you think everyone else is the problem, then the problem is you.

On the flip side of the coin, I’m finding at least temporary comfort in the kind of people and things that before the accident I liked mildly but not bigly.

This thing between my ears is such a mysterious organ.



Four Main Courses

23 01 2018

Your Blogmeister’s Secret Hideout

More than a week after the restoration of most of my short term memory, and after about a week of finally being able to pick up the pieces of my life, I now know that for awhile, I’m going to have four major serial concerns.  All four of them play into each other and dynamically relate to each other in various ways.

They are:

(1) Continuing physical and cognitive recovery, or lack thereof, and the threat of my overall condition of my recovery or various parts of it sliding back downhill.  The doctors have already floated the trial balloon with me that, if my recovery either stalls or backslides, that I could become a clinical trial guinea pig, and doing that may require me to live somewhere other than St. Louis for an extended length of time.  It would be the kind of thing where it wouldn’t hurt me at all if I did, because if I stall or backslide, I’m screwed anyway, which means even if the clinical trial regimen doesn’t work, it won’t matter anyway.

(2) Going back to work.  First off, there’s the matter of what precisely I would be doing, because, as you all know, my startup is gone.  This is related to my recovery, because what precisely I would be able to do depends on how well I can continue to recover physically and mentally, if I do at all.

(3) The incendiary gossip monger I have referenced here a few times since mid-November.  Just about everything relating to that, I have to keep under the vest, for legal reasons and other reasons.  But, at such a time when I’m able to tell all, it’s going to floor you.  I already know based on hard copy and hard-ish copy proof that the incendiary gossip crossed the blood-brain barrier into the social circles of my professional networks.  What my lawyer has to calculate now is if:  (A) The incendiary gossip monger had any idea that that which he was spewing was untrue, or (B) If the obvious ridiculousness of the gossip itself should have informed the reasonable person about its untruthfulness, and (C) The realistic notion that this gossip making my way into my professional life actually materially hurt me.  Even though I used “gossip monger” in the singular sense, I really should have used the plural, because he who I know was peddling this gossip most likely didn’t come up with it himself.  Netting this all out, when all these factors are mashed up together, it will ultimately determine if one or more people will soon be having a friendly meeting with a process server, or not.  I’ll also add that this relates to the last item, because, even if none of this rises to the legal level of civil lawsuit territory, it may well have risen to the level of ruining my professional reputation, which means that, if I can recover well enough not to need constant companionship, i.e. I can live on and exist on my own, I’m going to have to consider the prospects of leaving St. Louis for good to start all over again professionally speaking, if I can ever arrive at the point of being able to go back to work.

To beat all, the gossip monger has had the shameless audacity to get in my e-mail inbox at least once since the restoration of my short term memory.  It’s as if he doesn’t think I actually found out about what he’s been up to with his mouth and keyboard, and it’s as if he doesn’t think that I have a lawyer who gave me the same advice I gave myself before he gave it to me, that is, not to say word one to this person.  (Norm also gave me the same advice, but I was well ahead of him, too.)  Odds are that if I would have read the gossip monger’s e-mail instead of deleting it, I would have found an apology, banking on the notion that he thinks I did find out.  Problem is, sorry is a word, contrition is an action.  This person is very often sorry, but never contrite.  If you can’t figure out what I mean by that, he’s sorry enough to say he’s sorry every time he pulls something like this with his fire-ready-aim mentality (even though the previous things were nowhere near this bad), but never sorry enough to quit doing it, especially “he” is north of sixty years old, which means if he’s still doing it at this late age, he’ll never stop.  I’d take the actions of contrition over every instance of “sorry” ever said or written, eight days out of seven every week.  Otherwise, with the gossip monger in question, if he actually did try to peddle off another “sorry” on me, and I was sap enough to accept it just like I was sap enough to accept it the many times before now, the next doozy would have been that I was really on the grassy knoll.

(4) The fifteen round bout that the lawyer is about to start with the basement dweller’s insurance carrier.  Just in case you’re wondering, a potential insurance settlement is one of four identified funding sources that affect neither me nor my relatives nor taxpayers, meaning money and bills are and will not be a problem.  However, this relates to the other items here, because the less well I recover, the more I’ll have to rely on these sources for money and income for the rest of my life, which means the lawyer is going to need a better long term prospectus of my condition, because the worse it is, the more bargaining power he has in and out of court.

Everything beyond that is a trifle.