A Letter to June

Amazing what a mind can do when sober, eh? I learned a lot about myself in the process, and a lot more about June W. She is a fine lady, and I only wish I'd learned that sooner, because I missed out on such a wonderful life with her.

The most painful thing about becoming sober was remembering all the terrible things I did to her. I embarrassed her at family functions while she attempted to cover up for me. I hid alcohol from her. I even slept with my mouth away from her so she wouldn't have to smell my breath constantly as we slept.

We used to be so close. I know I'll never be as close with someone ever again. She knew everything about me once we married, I figured it was time she knew about Without Wax. Now you know all of me.

I broke my anonymity and showed June W. this web site. She read the whole thing in one day. My mind spilled out in so many words as I recovered from this terrible addiction. My words were not meant for her ears. These words, all of them, were not meant for anyone’s ears. I just had to let it out.

People encourage me to forget June and move on. I’m 42. You don’t just forget the one lady in your life that has taught you that the most decent effect you can have for a person is to remember them for what they are worth. If you walk away from a person like that, it still has a lasting effect.

June has this problem that she always complains about: Why do people always come to me for answers? There is one simple answer: Because you give people direction. Your answer may not always be the right one, but it’s not the answer that was needed; it was the direction. Given all the information, she could probably give the correct answer every time, but then, who ever gets all the information.

I gave June all the information about me that I could at the time that I moved my life from California to Minnesota to live with her. The only thing I did not give her was the only thing I did not know about myself: that I am an alcoholic. She does not know the true meaning of this statement. But the statement, in itself, is only taken in context. To walk the path is different from knowing the path.

I’ve met many people, in person and online, that have walked the path, but I’ve never met anyone that truly knew the path. I don’t think it’s possible. But I do believe that once a person takes God into his heart, and understands that the world does not revolve around himself, and that there is no clear path in life, and that the only way out of alcoholism is to simply do the right thing, and teach this, and speak of these words out loud so others can feel our strength, that there is a way out of this terrible existence that we used to call a life.

I know it sounds like Bible thumping, but it’s not. I found that God exists, even though I was an atheist. I am now a former atheist. God does exist. He has a plan, but it’s not yours; Thy will be done, not yours. If you want to know his plan, apply for the job, otherwise, take his heed. But I do believe that God exists inside us all, not in the heavens. You need only look inside yourself to find him. He is there. I can prove this, I know:

Take the worst thing that has ever happened to you. If you stop, look inside yourself, and ask yourself, “What is the right thing to do?” You will find that when you calm yourself down, you will find the answer. The answer may not be what you want, or what you’re willing to do, but, there is not doubt, it is the right thing to do and it is the will of God. He will guide you, because his will is of honor. The honorable thing to do is a clear path. Never stray from it. Because, when you are honorable, and your word is good, it strikes an emotion in men to follow in your footsteps. Believe me, if you walk the walk, and talk the talk, you will become a leader of men that believe in saving the others. I’m not talking about sinners, I’m talking about addicts. No alcoholic can be saved by anyone else but another alcoholic. The alcoholic must see into the friend’s eyes and see that they have actually been there; sometimes embellishing stories. But when an alcoholic talks to another, they know...they know they’ve been there.

SincerelySober was born out of necessity. When one becomes sober and discovers that alcohol is not what he's meant for, his mind sharpens; sometimes too fast. I took too many things for granted while sobering up.

I thought the world would simply open up for me. I mean, ‘hey, I’m sober. I can do any work.’ But work didn’t come. In fact, it turned out that I had less skills than someone that had drank their way through high school.

The true fact is this: Technology and alcohol do not mix. I made my way through jobs even though I was an alcoholic. Want to know another true fact: Employers want consistency. There are people that are hard workers, people that get the job done, workers that spend unpaid overtime to complete the job, then there are alcoholic; and I’m one of those.

Try getting a job after someone discovers that fact. It doesn’t matter what your belief in God is after that, most corporate companies will not hire you after they learn of your weakness. You see, corporations know that if they ‘fire’ someone for alcoholism, that they really need to put them through a program first. So, no one in the corporate world will ever let someone go for addiction. Why would they? They’d have to put up with recovery, and they don’t want to do that.

No. Better loose the non-starter than fix the problem.

I had this one meeting with an executive at a company that I worked for in Minneapolis. It scared the hell out of me. He openly said he was an alcoholic at a company party out in front of everyone. And he looked at me: I could see, in his eyes, the fear. The fear that I would succumb to this disease. I knew I was history. Two days later, I was fired. It was the best job I ever had in the Twin Cities. I got married, we had wonderful vacations, June was happy. But I lost focus.

The truth is I can’t believe I made it this far. I fucked up. I dropped the ball. It’s good thing I didn’t have children, because I would’ve fucked them up too. Or maybe not; children tend to right you. I always wanted to give my father a child that could take on our family name, but I don’t see that in the future. The Wax family name will end in cyberspace.

God does have a plan for us, I just don’t think I’m in it.

June, I don’t know why I could not be honest about my addiction, but I know that most people reading this understand. I know you know I’m smart, but I wish I was smart enough to overcome this addiction before I lost you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, June. You really were.

People reading this blog say I should move on, get past June. Well, I have one answer for them: How do you get past loosing the most wonderful woman you have ever had a chance to meet, live with, marry, dream with, lay with, dream with, spoon with, laugh with, bitch with, complain with, live through 9/11 with, worry about, comfort, understand, take care of cats, and totally feel comfortable with?

I fucked up and dropped the ball. It’s in my nature. My mother failed, I guess I should too.

My oldest brother, Hank W., said he’s living with a young woman. Maybe he’ll marry; pass on the family name. But, that’s not for me. I have failed. I have no family, not father, no mother, no in-laws. I will disappear without any notice.



Without Wax,

Twister

June W. has been in three twisters.

Before I moved from Southern California to Minnesota, I watched that movie over and over. I thought about what it would be like for someone to experience this type of trauma. Although she never experienced the fictional loss, she felt the utter fear.

I watched it recently and felt the love for her again, strongly; and the pain of failure. I messed up. I didn’t know how I messed up at that time, because I was under the influence, but know now.

We had a connection, like no other. She is a fine woman, a lady, and my best friend. If it wasn’t alcohol that destroyed our relationship, then it must’ve been a lower power. My higher power, my father, is my guide. But, if there’s a strong force, there must be a weaker force. Everyone talks of the higher power. No one ever talks of the evil force, the lower power.

I was sober for more than eight months, and it struck me. It waited, until I was weak. It didn’t take over my body, which is still in tack, but it took over my will. No, not my will. It was much more sneaky. It took over my desire not to fight off the first drink. Well, after that, it was all over. The first drink had me.

Back to June, she is the finest lady I’ve ever met. She is a thoughtful, pleasant, organized, shapely, eyes to die for, smile that will sell snow cones to Eskimos, and a personality that just draws you in.

If you ever loose a woman like that, you just know you’ve screwed up. She is well liked by all who know her. She has good contacts with her family. She is strikingly beautiful. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

And I screwed it up by drinking. I will never find a finer lady than June.

After what I’ve done to her, I can never expect her to ever say the words, “I love you”, again. She hasn’t, and I know why. Guys, if you ever find a fine lady like the one I’ve described, you better take a look at what you’re doing wrong, because don’t ever loose her. She is fine.


Without Wax,

First Relapse

It was so weird when it happened.

The woman is gone. She left when all failed. No big deal. She smoked pot and I didn’t want it in my new place. She was a taker, not a giver.

My attempt to improve my situation was an all-bets-are-off attempt to save my property, my sobriety, and employment all at the same time. It was too much. If God had a plan for me, he never let me in on it.

It hit me all too fast. I can't expect that any of my property will be saved. I'm in a worse situation than I ever was when I was on the street.

It was so weird when it happened. I was so happy and proud of my own sobriety. Then, all of the sodden, I thought, ‘How fine would it be to have a shot of bourbon?’ This thought haunted me for a while. But, it was the combination of not being employed, not making rent, and not making meetings that drove me to, ‘the experiment’. Mother Puss Bucket!

It was last Saturday, when I donated. I intentionally rode to a liquor store and bought bourbon. I spent most of the week with it. She was my lady, my relaxation, my diversion. Then the withdrawals set in, and the terrible memories of how my body reacted. And how I reacted to how others reacted to me when I was in withdrawal. And how I should hide it...then the fear set in.

This is not a fear of anything real. It is a fear that manifested in the mind. It’s really hard to explain, but here I go:
It’s the fear that anyone and maybe everyone knows that you’re high. When you never really know when the high ends, you never know if you’re completely straight, and you never know if you’re speaking the truth about a certain situation in time and space. Even if you want to tell the truth, you never are sure if you are telling the truth in this time and space. You can never know if you are being clad forth honest. And without this certainty, how can you convince someone of your true intentions?

It sucks.

And now I second-guess my own. Well, not most. But, the ones I cherish the most, I will not disclose. A man must fight for what he knows, or die.

Honor is not what no man can give you, or none can give away. Honor, is a man’s gift to himself. Never worry of the giving of it. It lives and grows in you. You know when you’ve done the right thing. It may hurt at first, but if thy will be done, your path may be laid.

Women are the heart of honor. You should never hurt a woman, or malign a man, or stand by and watch them do so. Once a man’s word is given, it is so. Honor is a man’s gift to himself.

People think, in these situations, that you're in a fight-or-flight mode. But, it's different for us: It's fight-or-flight-or-inebriate. No one knows how this solves our problems, but it does, at times. But, If you've never found a solution in alcohol, you'd never fall back on it.

The details are a health hazard. I relapsed last Saturday. I drank a 1.75 liter bottle of bourbon and lost most my memory. I didn’t eat much after that. I tried to bounce back, but didn’t really do much of a good job. I dried out, but not very well. I didn’t eat much.

I went to the plasma bank to get more money in order to buy more bourbon. I was suffering from mal-nutrition. I donated, went to the local liquor store, bought whiskey on sale, and then rode home.

I took a swig on the ride home...big mistake. I pulled over, took some pulls off it, and then continued to ride. On the ride home, I derailed my chain. It took a while, but I got it back on.

When I arrived back home, I almost lost conscience. I took a hit on the road and after the donation; it was too much for me. By the time I had arrived home, I was feeling light headed. I really felt like I would go into alcohol deprivation. It’s happened to me before. I felt it coming on.

I drank water immediately. I ordered food. I still felt light headed. I knew I’d pushed it further than my new body had ever experienced.

I ordered a sandwich from Jimmy Johns. After eating it, I simply fell asleep. It’s a sign. I have pushed my old body past the point of a young man’s recovery.

I still have a body that can work. I can donate. I can work out; but my mind still wants that bitch.

I have failed.


Without Wax,

Communication

It seems to have dropped off. I lost my landline, my cell phone is low on minutes, and no one is responding to e-mail.

I'm tired.


Without Wax,

Body Heat

Tick-tock, the lightning strikes. There’s no procrastinating, and no reason. When riding a bicycle, the same amount of rain hits you while moving forward as if standing still; or so that’s the theory. As a child, I’ve always ask my friends, “Do you get hit by more rain drops moving forward into the rain than you do avoiding the rain?” They always thought I was nuts. They may be right.

When lightning strikes, plans fail: more on that later.

The rain falls mainly on the plain, which is where the tire cycles, which is where the mud flaps up onto the back of your shirt. You know, I don’t mind rain, it’s the laundry that upsets me. Okay, it’s hot, and sweaty, and smelly, and sticky, and water runs down my hair like the Amazon, but the mud sucks. You can’t avoid it on a bicycle. Even when you do, and you cover your rear tire, it still flicks up onto your back. I ware two shirts; I took one off; it’s a good shirt that doesn’t deserve the mud I need to ride through.

I must’ve timed my plasma bank arrive instinctively well, because they had a catastrophic power failure just before I arrived. I must explain: I’m out of work and donating plasma is the only income I have. I spend my days looking for work. It pays for some food, but it doesn’t pay rent. I never thought it would, and never wished it to. I want to keep a job. But for one reason or another, I keep loosing them. I’m smart; I analyze why, but I can’t figure out why I keep switching jobs. I don’t know; I just don’t know.

A power fail is what I had the evening before, but I never felt it. Designer Girl thinks I’m smart, and that may be true, but you can only protect yourself from nature so much. She thinks that if I simply stay at home, I won’t be able to avoid the natural disasters that would normally come to us all if we were out and about. Actually, I wouldn’t mind being caught out in the rain with Designer Girl: she’s my kind of messed up. And I’m sure that statistics say that more alcoholics die of gun shot wounds than line workers of lightning strikes.

In all honesty, I admire Designer Girl. When I read her blog, I feel I’m ready to spill my guts; then I think about drinking; then I balance the two and feel like saying what is truly in my sole. Case in point:

My Father: I think I failed him. I should’ve given him a son to pass on the Wax family name. However, my older brother, Candle, didn’t either. I asked him about that recently. He has a 23-year-old girlfriend who lives with him. I’m like, “Dude! Knock her up! What’s the problem? Dad would approve! Give her our family name!” Didn’t work. Father would approve; hell he knocked my mom up thirteen times. As it stands, there are no offspring to pass on the Wax family name.

My Father is my higher power. As his youngest son, I could pass on the family name. And, yet again, I feel I’ve failed him. At eight and a half months sober, I could teach my son so much about life; if I had a son. Or I could fail. The truth is that you cannot raise a child without a family. I have none; at least I don’t think?

So, I arrive at the plasma bank late, luckily enough to avoid a catastrophic power failure. Power is Saint Paul has been waning. I’ve monitored it from my computer system. I have a UPS (Un-Interrupted Power Supply) with an AVR (Automatic Voltage Regulator). I bought this product, namely: CPS1250AVR with no clue as to what the ‘AVR’ in it’s name stands for. Well, I bought a fine product. AVR stands for Automatic Voltage Regulator. As it was blinking, I was looking up in it’s manual what the friggin’ blinking light is all about. It turns out that if I launch PowerPanelPlus, it’s monitoring control panel, it shows me that we, in Saint Paul, are not really getting 110v, but more like 98v at times. My UPS only let me know that we had problems through its little control panel: “Oh, by the way, power outage is imminent, but I’ll supply the right voltage until it fails.”

How fucking cool?

Okay, back to the real problem. I drink. I love to drink. I thought I...

Okay, I love bars. I like the atmosphere. I like the banter. I even like the fights. But, I like fine bars.

I love the way that a fine woman crosses the line from time-to-time in a bar. It slashes the politically correctness that you see at the workplace in half. Men and women want to play; it’s their nature. Warning signs like: “I have a boyfriend”, are there as road signs; Veer away. Stop signs should be obvious before the word, “No”, is ever given, but when it is, it’s law. When a woman says, ‘no’, it’s for a reason, her reason, not yours. It translates to, ‘stop’. It does. I’m sure this battle will last for ages.

I’m at the plasma bank and I’m told of a horrible experience. Just one hour before I had arrived, they had a power outage. The power went out and 19 donors had to be disconnected without a replenish of their blood cells; they can’t come back to donate for eight weeks. And these were good people; people I like to lay with when I donate. They wont me back for two months. If I’d come early, I’d be one of them.

See, when you donate plasma, you’re really donating the food that you eat, not so much your blood. If you eat well, then yes, you’re donating your food. But you can tell...when someone doesn’t want to eat well, their plasma turns colors: clear piss yellow means healthy water drinker; dark brown means, drink more fluids; green means you’re on the pill, or you have some other imbalance. I’m always clean.

If I’d arrived one hour earlier, I would’ve experienced their power outage. That means that I would’ve lost my blood cells needed to donate for eight weeks. That’s $240.00 that I desperately need. So, I’m praying all the time I’m donating. All 19 donors lost all their cells: They cannot come back to donate for eight weeks! I cannot afford that. If I’d come, just one hour earlier, I’d have no income.

I spoke with June N., she’s not so mad at me any more. But I don’t blame her for her mistrust and anger. I mean, really, when a drunken husband does everything to destroy a life (and by life, I mean with him and her) in order to gain access to the finest vodka, there is definitely something wrong.

AVR light is flashing. That means...I have to look it up. AVR is Automatic Voltage Regulator. It means that the voltage coming into the house is lower or higher than normal. AVR in the UPS sets it right. This is cool. So, I launch the PowerPanelPlus utility and sit here all night long watching how the power grid is failing and how my little UPS is correcting it.

I wish I had such a simple task.

If lightning strikes, my UPS will be the first worrier to bare the brunt. But I doubt it’ll survive a direct hit.

Their will I.

If you hit me once more, I’ll go into battle mode.

Time to defend. Back off, sell all, go lean, get your backpack set...and give up all that you feel comfortable about.

It’s either live lean or die...and I’m not ready to die, just yet.


Without Wax,

Time To Reinvent Myself Yet Again

Borrowed from Interment.net
I am worse off now than I was one year ago today. No, I didn’t have an eviction on my record, but I will now. I can’t rely on the county to house me, but I can always go back to the Mission. However, both June N. and Kelly M. have relieved themselves of my property, to which I have no place to store it any more.

It’s as if I wish the promises never happened.

June contacted me, and we had a wonderful time together...and she is very pleasant, at times; but she had one reason to contact me: to get rid of my stuff. Well, now I can’t store my stuff and must live on the streets once again. I don’t know if she’ll re-store stuff or not. But I know that I would have been better off if it were in her hands.

Now, all that I own must fit on my saddlebags. And if I loose functionality of my bicycle, I won’t have the tools on hand to repair it.

And I’ve helped no one. All I’ve done is logged my pain and misery. I can’t see past the solution. You can be the most honorable straightforward man, and yet still not make a difference; in your own life or others. I know I’m not going to live long, but I know I have rare knowledge of this disease that can help someone. How many Software Engineers that have developed state-of-the-art anti-virus software have fallen so far as to not constitute a job at fast food? How many? How many people in your life do you know that have fallen so far? Out of them, how many actually picked themselves back up? How many know how to live of the streets? Sleep under a bridge? Disinfect a computer virus? Build a computer from scratch. Develop database software back-ends in Oracle or SQL Server with an ODBC connection to a Java or C++ bridge. Know the difference between a FAT16, FAT32, and NTFS file system and boot tracks, and know how to edit them in hexadecimal.

I stand alone.

Most men like me fail to the tune of methamphetamine. It’s a terrible drug, and one that solves none of their time restraints; although it appears to. No, alcohol calmed me down enough to code.

As for religion, I have none. In this capital city of Saint Paul, Minnesota, finding a sponsor for a former atheist is difficult. I have none. I now do believe in God, but since I haven’t, I’m shunned. So much for new beginnings.

I don’t know what will happen to me, and I don’t know if it makes any difference anymore, but I now know that it does not matter to anyone.


Without Wax,

Dill Bread From Scratch

(Bread photo courtesy of www.freefoto.com.)
Well, after another day of waiting at day labor, applying at local retailers, donating plasma, I decided to treat myself to a little grocery shopping. Believe me, this was hard because the only place I could find yeast and dry milk (in small quantity) was right next to a large discount liquor store; thankfully, they close early. At last, I bought the final ingredients needed to make use of the bread flour June N. gave me: dry milk and yeast. It made all the difference.

All those lame Adkin bread kits I got from the food shelf produced a mass of dough that took three times longer to toast and wasn't light at all. I tried everything to get those Adkin bread loafs to rise in the bread machine, to no avail. I highly recommend against using Adkin bread kits.

With nothing more than a single measuring cup, I measured all the ingredients needed to accomplish the task. In bread making, wet ingredients need to be accurately measured. Using the Internet, I discovered that 2 tablespoons == 1/8 cup. Since the recipe called for 1 cup + 2 tablespoons of 80°F water, I could easily exactly measure 1 - 1/8 cup water, using the bread thermometer for correct yeast temperature. I also discovered two serving spoons that approximated teaspoon and tablespoon dry measuring tools. This is critical for measuring the sugar, salt, dry milk, and dill. The 2 tablespoons of butter was easily measured from the marks on the butter stick wrapper.

I have yet to slice it. The smell woke me up, filling the apartment with the aromatic odor of dill bread. I just now checked on the loaf and it nearly pressed up against the glass lid, which means it had an excellent rise process. It practically fell right out of the baking pan. I placed it on a makeshift cooling rack, put together from parts from the toaster oven. It’s so light; I can’t wait to slice it!

This is a small success in a rather unsuccessful week. I wish I still had my digital camera so I could photograph it.


Without Wax,

No One Called on Eighth Month

Probably because the phone got disconnected today.

Happy Sobriety!


Without Wax,

From Scratch...

I keep asking myself what I will become. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t. I must reinvent myself all over again, yet I don’t know what I should be. I thought I could be a symbol; show people how to do it, how to become sober. But I failed.

My mistakes have been chronicled. I have neither sponsor nor sponsee. I met the love of my life, June N., and learned how she fell out of love with me. I know now she will never love me again. I can only image why.

The pity party has started. I’ll start going back to meetings nearly every day, but since I’m not religious, I doubt I’ll have much support. See, Saint Paul is a church community. Either you fain religious affiliation, or you are shunned. Yes, in the process of becoming sober, I learned to believe in God, but I am a former atheist. You mention that term to a sponsor in this town and you can kiss you chances of being sponsored good-bye.

I don’t want to sound like a complainer, but I am journaling this for a reason. I failed, and I don’t want anyone else to fail like I did. I want someone to learn from my mistakes. And just to know, just because someone is sober for nearly eight months doesn’t mean he’s succeeded. There is more to sobriety that just staying sober.

When you build yourself up from scratch, you have to remember all the people you’ve hurt along the way. And just to let you know, I never completed my fourth step. I was once at that point where I could trust enough to work through it, but I didn’t. I lost confidence, and trust.

My sponsee-brother, Mark J., wants me to move to Minneapolis with him, but I’m scared. I know Saint Paul so well. I don’t want to leave. I won’t leave. I will find a way, a path to follow; a new path. I just hope it’s the right path, because I’m really friggin’ tired of starting over from scratch.

But, I have something I didn’t have before: my health. My body works. My mind still works. I still have a relationship with the woman I can’t stop loving, June N., and I learned the most important lesson of all: a man’s word is his honor.

Honor is what no man can give you, and none can take away. Honor is a man’s gift to himself. Never worry of the giving of it; it grows in you, and speaks to you; all you need do is listen. Women are the heart of honor. We cherish and protect it in them. You should never mistreat a woman or malign a man, or stand by and watch another do so.

All I know is that I’m thankful that I had a father for the short time that he lived on this Quiet Earth. Friends of mine didn’t even have that luxury. But I learned a lot from this fine man. I learned a direction. He’s a fine man, and I could be too. I still need a little work.

But just let me say this one thing: I’ve had every drug in my body at one time in my life. Alcohol is the most addictive. I kicked all other drugs, but alcohol is the hardest. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not writing this to brag. I just hope my experience will help someone else.

I’ve been alone most of the last days at the new home, and I know I should get out more, but I feel like I should be alone. I don’t know why. Maybe to re-invent myself.


Without Wax,

Thy Will Be Done...

...not mine.

I give myself to thy to do with me as thou wilt. I know no other way. Not knowing my future doesn't really sit well with me. I can't sleep at night any more.

I want to give up, but I don't know how. My father wouldn't have given up, and I don't know how. But fighting for me has never succeeded. I rented this place with no job, barely enough cash to get in the door, and a wing and a prayer. It was too soon, I know, but I had no other place to go; no other move. In this chess game of recovery from scratch, I botched to middle game.

And I’ve been considering bourbon as a friend. Play the tape forward and it only spells disaster.

See, I’ve gotten and lost four jobs since graduating from The House. I thought this last job at the pizza joint would be permanent, but the weather caused a big slow down in business, so I lost hours. It’s nothing I did, but still I feel like I’m spending more time looking for work than actually working.

I’m tired; I’m really tired. I don’t know if June N. is willing to store my property again; she just got rid of it. I have no other place to store it. But I know I’m going to have to live on the streets again until I can earn enough money to rent again, if anyone will allow me to rent again. I will now have a court ordered eviction on my record. No one will ever rent to me again.

No wonder I can’t sleep.


Without Wax,

Eviction

Well, I didn’t make it. The job I had did not have enough hours. I can’t keep up with the bills. My landlord has filed for eviction. Not only that, but I’ve never had an eviction, so now I’ve got that on my record. I’ll never be able to rent again.

To ad insult to serious injury, I used to have friends that stored my property. I have no place to store my stuff. So, I’ll probably loose all my property.

I’m basically screwed. I don’t know where my property will go. I will have to go back to The Mission to live. And I’m worse off now than I was when I started to get sober.

I figure I’ve got two weeks before I’m escorted out of this place I just recently called home.

Without Wax,

Start of My Demise

All is not well.

I did nothing for my seventh month of sobriety. I haven’t been to a meeting in a while. I haven’t really even updated my blog in a while; although I’m working on my next post in my head.

All this started when my digital camera took a dump. Like the time when my laptop failed, I simply opened it up and started looking for the problem. I got as far as you see and started to realize that I may not be able to repair it myself.

It failed when I was plugging in the USB cable in the dark. I didn’t think I had it in properly, so I jiggled it. After that, it never started up again. I think I shorted something out. I’m going to continue working on it, but honestly, I don’t think I can repair it. Maybe a camera repair shop would have more luck, but I can’t afford that right now.

Actually, what halted my repair was that as I was testing voltage on as many leads as I could when I noticed a (relatively large) capacitor. It’s the black cylinder in the upper right corner of the posted picture and is used to store up energy for the flash. On it reads, “350v”! Sure enough, I checked the voltage and it reports 240v, so it’s still charged. Cross those contacts and you could create your own firework display.

It hit me pretty hard, because photography really makes me happy. I do own a 35mm SLR, which I love, but I can’t afford to develop film right now. Maybe it’s enough just to load it with film and shoot when I can.

Any images that you see are either from the Internet, from a camera someone lent me (like the photo in this post, obviously), or archives shot from before my digital camera failed.

So, it’s made me sad, out of balance, and I’ve noticed a lot has changed in my life since. More on that in the next post...


Without Wax,

I Just Saw Crash

I just saw Crash. You know, Crash. Not the old one with Holly Hunter, but the new one that won the Oscar for Best Picture. It’s an amazingly brilliant film that exposes the racial biases we all still share, even after Martin Luther King, Jr. taught us about our America.

If you haven’t seen it, you must; then talk.


Without Wax,

I Asked Darla V.

I did it. I asked Darla V. if she would join me. I know. I know it's wrong and early and all that, but I see something in her that I need.

And I don't feel like dieing anytime soon. I need her help. I don't know what she has to offer, exactly, but she knows me and comforts me.

I don't know guys. I think that she knows what I'm trying to do. She gets pissed when she thinks I'm doing the wrong thing, and says nothing when she things I'm seeing straight.

But I asked.

I'll know soon if she wants to try this with me.

She doesn't know about this blog at all. I stopped telling people personally about this blog.

It's a big step and I need your help. I don't know if I should do it alone anymore, or with her, or whatever.

I don't want to do it alone anymore.

And she bought her a new bum

Wee little tigger buttoms, in the cold.

Tuna Rice 3

In the end, all tasted good.

I know it was cheap, but it was a nice trick.

Night all,


Without Wax,

Tuna Rice 2

Well, it actually worked. Maybe I pioneered a fine way of making a cheap meal.

Without Wax,

Tuna Rice

June B. always told me I was good at rice. I'm making good of the rice I've got left. I just mixed tuna with rice, in cooking. The balance of rice water, oil, meat, and whatever else might accept the moister is the real balance in cooking wonderful rice. I think I did it.

I just did it.

I'll let you all know how it worked out.

Without Wax,

I Had So Much Energy

I had so much energy, then it happened. My will got the best of me.

I had this dream, a using dream. I drempt I drank. All was well, but...it came out of noware. It was strong. I don't like this feeling. I mean, really, I've achived so much, yet where the hell did this come from?

Without Wax,

Pale Male

I just watched "Pale Male" on PBS. Oh my God, what a wonderful thing to watch. I know it doesn't belong in space, but it reminds me of what I'm trying to do in Saint Paul.

Day Six, the hawkaholics go to sleep, then one of his babies flies, and they catch it on film. It is awesome!

This is sweeet!

Without Wax,