The insanity that is DuWayne...Or "Superpapa"

I would just remind people reading this on blogger, that I am not going to be cross-posting here much longer.  My new address is over here and if you leave a comment, that is where they will be responded to.

I have now managed to get the flip down monitor installed and discovered that for the MP4s to play, I need to have them on a CD or DVD - for some reason they don't want to play off of USB.  Of course the reason I discovered that, was because the first couple of discs I had burnt wouldn't play.  So the discs wouldn't play, then I couldn't get them to play off the USB - I was starting to think that I would have to bring regular DVDs, of which there are few and sucky.  Then, in a fit of determination, I decided to try putting some on CD, to see if that might work.

Moments later, I felt like a complete and utter fucking moron.  When I had burned the first few discs, I had burned them in a "USB" format, rather than the format that makes it more likely it will play on other shit.  So now I am in business.  We have some Scooby Doo, some Diego, some Dinosaur train, some Wallace and Grommit and some Ben Ten Alien Force.  We also have almost the entire Walking With series - including Sea Monsters, and Cave Men.  We don't have the bit with the jackass who "goes back in time" though, because eldest thinks he's a lying idiot who thinks kids must be stupid.  We also have Sarah Jane Adventures and Roman Mysteries and some random documentaries.

So tomorrow I will drive ten hours down to Knoxville and then Saturday, I will drive back up here with the eight year old and the two year old.  And I will be making this run all by myself - with a little help from the kick-ass DVD, CD, mp3, mwa, mp4 player that I installed several weeks ago and the flip down monitor that I, unfortunately, put off until yesterday...Because I'm insane.  And because I was/am very busy with school and being depressed (though the latter does seem to be getting better).

Did I mention that I am going to be spending ten+ hours in a vehicle with an eight year old and a two year old?  Without another adult?  Fuck.

This is kind of my practice run for when we come to visit grandpa and grandma, after I move down there.  And then for the Big Drive, when we actually head back out to Portland.  But this is also going to be very, very interesting - as in a "living in interesting times" sort of interesting.  On the upside, I have slipped in some baby brother stuff, which should lure eight year old up front with me, where we can talk.  I don't think I am going to try to push the important discussion on him, though I might.  But it will be nice to have some time to talk, while Youngest watches Dino Train.  While in theory, Eldest doesn't like Diego, in practice he doesn't grumble while it is actually on. 

The other problem, is that I am sure that Eldest is going to insist on watching some Sarah Jane Adventures - he was pretty adamant that I burn some to disc for the trip.  This is really going to suck, as it will totally put me out of sync with what's going on, as I haven't been watching ahead of where Eldest is at.  Worse, I will be able to hear it and not see it.  While the latter is a very good thing, as I will be driving, the former is going to suck donkey balls.  Maybe I'll just tell him the discs didn't work for that one...

This Atheist In Love

I love Juniper in ways that are impossible to describe and really attempting to would only demean that love.  Excepting my love for my children, I have never experienced love as perfect as my love for her, yet perfect as that love is, it is also messy.  It's messy, because love is messy - people are messy - life is messy.  And people are all too often broken, broken like me or broken like you.  But we are what we are and we generally do our best to make the best of it - eventually, if we ever start to grow up for realsies.

Love is beautiful, perfect love is a thing of remarkable beauty.  Yet in that perfect, remarkable beauty, it is messy and imperfect.  Like snowflakes and other crystalline structures, it is those very imperfections that make it so wonderful.  Indeed, it is those very imperfections that make it worth the pain and turmoil it produces - inherent side effects of even the most perfect love.  Because in the most perfect love we want so badly to care for our partner properly, that we worry ourselves over it and sometimes care for them in a way that causes some detriment to ourselves.  Allowed to fester like this, love could become rather unhealthy.  But in the most perfect love, both partners feel the same way and it generally works itself out in the end - or more accurately, the succulent beginning. 

Unlike academia, love isn't a motherfucking care-bear tea party.  Neither is it a Walt Disney production, with fairytale castles and beasts who turn into hot princes.  Love certainly isn't a beautiful house with the white picket fence and two and a half kids.  Love is two flawed humans connecting their flawed lives and their flawed perceptions of reality.  And sometimes - just sometimes, those flawed perceptions of reality do not include forays into magical thinking that would artificially inflate the expectations of the participants of that love.  This is where I am at now and I can't tell you how relieving it is to have only my baseline brokenness - our natural flaws to deal with.  Not feeling this need for everything to be fucking magical is wonderful.  Not believing that there is some power beyond ourselves to bless or otherwise interfere with our relationship, thus relieving us of any small part of our responsibility for our relationship, instills such a sense of freedom.

This freedom is important - especially for people like me and Juniper.  Our lives are not ideal right now and while our time together hasn't been perfect, it has been spectacularly wonderful.  I don't need to throw out some saccharine line of shit and claim that I am now even more in love with her than I was before - I'm not, because what I felt before was wholly incredible and it is enough to say that now that we have been together in person for a few days, I am still so very deeply in love with her and she with me.  But even though this has been a spectacularly wonderful time, there are those who could have the same experience that we have had and decide that there were several signs that things are just not meant to be - I know this, because I was once one of those people and so was this wonderful women I love so very much.  Because when one is so into this magical thinking and looking for signs and wonders, one tends to look at things that go wrong as signs that the relationship is wrong.

They aren't and it's not.  Remember, life is messy and so are people.  And while some people, including earlier versions of both my love and I, could look at our experience and focus on the bad signs, or focus on the fact that (this may shock you) we have even had some minor conflicts and decide that it is just wrong, I look at it and think; "Holy fucking shit!!!  We have fallen in love, never having met.  We are two neurotic fucking people with neurotic fucking quirks and mannerisms and we are both moody as all fucking get out.  And yet we are still in love and have only had very minor conflicts, in spite of suddenly finding ourselves not living together, not getting to know each other in moderation, like most people manage, but staying together in a small hotel room and spending virtually every waking moment together - all that and we are still deeply in love!!!!"

You want fucking magic?  The magic is two flawed and broken people developing a relationship from more than twenty-five hundred miles apart, over the course of months finally meeting and discovering that those months of falling in love weren't a wash.  The magic is - I love Juniper just as much today, as I did seven days ago and her feeling the same about me.  The magic is there is no magic, only love.

Off to see the Wizard and other thoughts...

So I am getting set to see my therapist shortly. I do have a post in the works, hopefully for this afternoon - one that rather steps away from most of my recent posts. I am working on a post about Meaning post Faith. I intend to write several posts over the next few months, detailing some of the issues that helped hold me back from shedding my Faith, we'll see how it goes.

I am definitely thinking that Seroquel is not going to work out real well. I know a couple of my wonderful blog friends are into neurology and/or pharmacology. I have discussed this with one of my pharmacology friends who recommended that I discuss the possibility of switching off Seroquel in favor of Clonidine and Welbutrin. If others have any thoughts on that, I would love to hear them. I have a week before I see the doctor next and would like to have some solid ideas to discuss with him.

The lowdown on my problems with SSRI's is that I had sex drive problems - on steroids. The lack of sex drive really isn't a problem for me - indeed at the moment it would be kind of nice. But mine went beyond mere lack of desire, I actually experienced discomfort in the genital region. A sort of dullness that was accentuated by a prickly feeling. I have been told that I probably wouldn't have the same problems with Welbutrin, but that it is a possibility. It may seem a silly concern, mainly because I just can't really know until I try, but I would prefer to avoid trying anything that is extremely likely to be a problem - I am paying out of pocket for my scripts and on student loans this is not a small concern.

Back to the wizard.

I am going to be discussing the meds of course, but also will be delving into the problem of feeling. I really wanted to write another post on how DuWayne got to where he is, continuing my series from last Thursday, but the damned Seroquel was not making that easy. I am going to try to get on that in the next few days, because it really seems to be useful for me. We'll just have to see.

The big issue that we have been running up against, is my issues with really delving into my feelings. I had this inane notion that I was pretty solidly in touch with my feelings and emotions, but have been realizing that this is not entirely accurate. Rather I have been very keen on dancing around my feelings and focusing an awful lot on others, to the detriment of my own personal connections to me. We'll just have to see how it goes, I'm definitely going to try.

I would also like to apologize to those who have been writing me this week and not gotten a response. I am not ignoring you, I just have not had it in me to write much. Also, I would really appreciate it if folks wouldn't IM me. I really hate to message like that, with very few exceptions. Please feel free to email and I promise I will get to you eventually. Messaging is just a little too much for me.

Day three...

Much better day, though I am really uncomfortable at the moment. I got a lot of crap done today, mainly revolving around buying a van and taking care of the most egregious irritation, the doors that didn't open from the outside. I got it mostly figured out, I could tell what was wrong, but couldn't figure out the fix. Then he figured out why they had slipped in the first place and with the help of a couple of well placed paper clips, we got that fixed. With a clear head it is unlikely that I would have had much of a problem figuring this out. But that's the sort of thing friends are for - we got it fixed. Now there are just a dozen or so other minor issues to deal with. I can't really complain though, I got a pretty good deal.

Being on the go seems to make a difference, we'll see how that translates to school tomorrow. I have a couple of midterms and hopefully will get a chance to meet with the prof for my online class. Trying to get motivated to do anything at the moment is not working out all that well. I really want to get several things done, including continuing with my series on how I ended up this way. But I am just not feeling up to doing shit right now. I am going to eat something and watch an episode of Stargate SG1 and see where I am then. I'm ready for school tomorrow, so it's probably fine. But my space is still a mess (I reorganized, mostly) and I didn't get the inside of my van cleaned - the carpet and windshield really need some loving. I could at least finish my reorganizing, but my impetus is fading...

In Which DuWayne Explains His Rage, Anger and Fear...Part One

I really don't have the time to do this now, but the way things are going, I never will. And I need to. The following series of posts (interspersed with other posts) will probably include a great deal of profanity, it will certainly include a great deal of information that will likely make some readers uncomfortable. I am going to talk about what many would perceive as rather dark aspects of human sexuality and even darker aspects of the human brain - namely my own. I am a very dark and lonely place

I want to be very clear to those who choose to read the following, that I make no apologies and carry no shame for who and what I have been. I am who and what I am, who I have been got me here. Quite honestly, given the opportunity to do it over, I am not certain that I would do a damned thing different. I have always done my best with the tools I have, though all too often those tools have failed me or my ability to use said tools has failed me. More...
Here I am, fucking naked again. More naked than before.

Of my first twenty-four hours out of my mother's womb, I slept just under ten. Before my eyes could even focus enough to see anything more inches from my face clearly, I needed to see it all. My mom hated it when I actually took a nap, because that would inevitably mean I was going to sleep even less that night. And when I woke up, I was always absolutely awake and ready to see more shit. My brother Jack taught me to read when I was two, at which point I began to incessantly devour books like they were food and water in a time of famine. I read Paddington Bear when I was four and was onto philosophy and theology by the time I was nine.

When I was nine, I learned about people. I learned how to read the people around me, not just what they expressed to me - I learned to read the truth of them. I had ideas. Always hammering me relentlessly, on top of each other, around each other and in and out of each other - it never fucking stopped, not even for a moment - but it slowed a little when I was explaining some bit or another. It made it better for that little while. When I was nine, I learned that when I was bouncing ideas off of the people around me, they didn't have the smallest clue what the fuck I was talking about.

When I was nine, I begged my god to take me home. I just wanted to die, rather than to go on without even the tiny abeyance that came when I was explaining it to someone else. But my god just wouldn't do it. So I retreated into a special world that I created for myself. A quiet place that was filled with the people I came to love so very much, the characters in my books. The times, places and realities that were not my own, but that I could borrow for a time. As a little boy I slipped away from this place and into a place of wonder, where I wasn't so very stupid and slow.

When I was ten, I took ownership of a very special sort of freedom. I no longer wanted to die, but nor was I afraid to die. This body wasn't the whole of me but I don't think that mattered even then. Had there been nothing more than this, the this I had had to that point would have been enough. But at the time I knew it wasn't. Not fearing death and being the singularly arrogant person that even then I was, I felt no real fear of any temporal authority. To be sure, I felt beholden to my own moral framework and the dogma of my Faith. But I was beholden to these, to the exclusion of all other authority.

I loved my god with every bit of my being. There's a very good reason for that, two really. For all of my study into the bible and theology, I created my god in the image of my idealism. And for all of my awe and wonder at the world around me, the world that my god had created, my observation of reality was also shaped to fit the reality of my god. Even though I dearly loved the people around me, everybody around me, People were an abstraction to me. Later, when I became more fully aware that People were people too, my god creation changed - But I digress. At that point in my life, the reality I perceived and inhabited was entirely my own creation.

The reason that the betrayal of my church (see a much earlier post) was such a traumatizing event for me was not so much the betrayal itself, it was the shattering of my own, perfect little reality. It became unglued, untenable - while I was desperate to hold on and keep it together. But I couldn't keep it together and everything was hammering me again. Because in the act of creating and maintaining, I burned enough of my energy, used enough of my brain to stem the tide of thoughts and ideas to a peacefully babbling brook - contrasting the non-stop flash flood that opened up on me, even as my reality collapsed.

Then I discovered cannabis and alcohol. And before long, sex.

I will continue this in another post, for the moment I just need to stop. But I would like to take this moment to explain something. In a previous post I mentioned balancing the sensory overload of music and drugs, with the additional sensory overload of sex. Someone very special to me, who I am coming to adore and care for very much, mentioned the contradiction of that, when I sent her the post before I actually put it up. She later wrote me and asked why I hadn't changed that (I told her I would). I couldn't answer at the time, because I really didn't grasp entirely why I didn't feel right changing that.

I think I understand it now. I meant exactly what I said, even though I really didn't consciously understand why. My life has generally been various states of sensory overload in a rather delicate balance, with one thing playing off another. Through this process, I have slowly learned to ride the balance of the tide, as it rushes through my head. The conscious and unconscious largely interchangeable. And after decades of running from it, I have finally come to embrace the rush. With the last vestiges of my creations falling to dust around me, I am finally riding the reality of me.

At thirty-two, I am both a very old man and a swaddling infant - but I am free. I am, finally, me. This is why I am afraid of going on more meds. Ultimately, I am just finally getting the opportunity to know me, with my filters stripped bare.

I know that it will be ok and I know that I need to do it. No matter how many ideas and sculptures of words flow through me, I am unable to do a fucking thing with them as it stands. And I fucking have things to do.

Reading What isn't there - Figuratively and Literally

I should mention that I actually got the material I was looking for, thanks Becca.....

Before I go very far, I am hoping for some help. I really need an article out of a journal that is not part of the databases I have access to. Because I am uncertain I will actually want to use it, I don't want to buy it. So if you have access to the journal Psychology of Men and Masculinity I would really appreciate it if you would email me. If I actually end up using the article I am looking for, I don't mind buying it. But if I'm not, I'd rather not spend the money.

So I stuck foot in mouth a bit yesterday. Being in a strange state of focus lately, I rather read an awful lot into some comments at Greg Laden's blog. What annoys me about this is not the embarrassment of having to admit to my mistake and apologize. Being rather egotistical, I appreciate having the opportunity to be humbled. I am annoyed, because I just don't do this - reading in things that are not actually there. I get really irritated when people do it to me, being one who tends to mean very specifically what I actually say.

I much prefer to have to admit I was wrong about something, because someone else convinces me that my reasoning was flawed or my evidence is wrong. I really hate admitting I was wrong, because I jumped to conclusions by inference. The fact that most of the time the conclusions are correct, does not make it any less obnoxious or sloppy.

Having been somewhat focused on this line of thinking, I realized that I have been guilty of this a lot lately. While this is the first time it's really come to bite me, I am doing a lot of reflecting on how I have developed this habit. Stress is at least a part of it, but I tend to think that there is something more going on that I need to delve into. This is not the only "not DuWayne" issue that has arisen in the last few months.

The problem with this is there are so many factors involved, that it's really hard to differentiate and sort through it all. And it is really important that I sort through a lot of it, because I am finally trying to really deal with the negative aspects of my neurological make-up. It is critically important to me that I maintain the best balance possible between functionality and retaining who I am. But at the same time it has become increasingly apparent that my neurochemistry needs more help than Ritalin and the occasional Xanax are providing now.

Going much beyond the minimal constrictions of my current regimen really scares me. It hurts like hell to be me, quite a lot of the time. It's hard sometimes to sort through the constant barrage of ideas, words and music that inundate my mind. It's frustrating to get sent on tangents that distract from what I am trying to accomplish at a given moment. But it's me. It's who I am, what I am. I don't know how to be not me.

But I also don't know how to be me and succeed in the ways that I must.

Wide Open: Why I Expose Myself

This is who and what I am, naked on the stage
Doing the best I can, to grow a little
Thrust out in the world, driven by my rage
Every time I turn, I see and feel others pain

I Am, DuWayne Brayton & Alec Steele 1993

The very first secular song I ever wrote, set the stage for who I shaped out to be. Over the years, the notion of exposure, standing naked has woven itself throughout my music, poetry and prose. As have the concepts of anger and pain, almost exclusively the pain of others. Which really gives lie to my openness, because from early on my path has been largely defined, guided by my pain.

I suspect that this focus on the pain of others, was a coping mechanism that allowed me to ignore my own, even convince myself that it didn't exist. Too, I suspect that it was founded in the idea that focusing on my own pain is selfish, contrary to my internalized interpretation of the biblical principal of selflessness. I have always had a pathological concern for others, often to my detriment. But it has also fueled my openness about who I am - good and bad.

More...
Because, as I mentioned, I am angry - quite often really fucking pissed. And ultimately, the target of my rage isn't small minded bigotry. It isn't assholes who think that for whatever reason, they're more important than everyone else and therefor above petty notions such as courtesy. It's not even psychotic fucknuts who get off on damaging their fellow humans. Honestly, I feel sad for people like that, though not a little angry at particular instances in which they express their pathos.

I rage at the inhumanity of human nature. I rage at it more, because being human, I fall prey to it myself at times. I am open, because I want to be accountable for who and what I am.

I am also open because one of the most profoundly formative experiences, was being cast out of what was supposed to be a safe, loving family. For years after, I lived on the outside, the fringes - the very periphery of society. And I never got back - may never really have been there. It's ok though, because I love the company. I adore my fellow outcasts and even better, they have loved me and accepted me for who and what I am - no strings attached, no expectations or molds to conform to. Queers and trannies, addicts and others who are broken wide open, just like me. We prop each other up and hold each other together.

The vulnerable.

I'm open, because I am and always have been, sick and fucking tired of the weakminded, weakspirited, who feel the need to prop themselves up by preying on the vulnerable. Even as I hurt for them, and hurt for them I do, as I hurt for anyone weaker than myself - I also feel the need to fight them. Because while I am vulnerable, there's vulnerable and there's vulnerable. I open myself up and make myself more vulnerable - I do it every day in a variety of contexts. And I goddamn well fucking dare weakspirited, pathetic fucking fools to prey on me. Because while I am vulnerable, I am anything but weak. Prey on me and I will break you, teach you what it is to be vulnerable and to make it infinitely worse, I will love you.

I'm open, because I love more than any others, the lost, broken vulnerable. Don't get me wrong, I'm alone. No matter how open I am, no one really knows me - least of all me (and there are those who know me better than me). But I am loved. I am accepted. I have family everyfuckingwhere I go. And I want others to know that no matter how alone they are, no matter how broken, no matter how vulnerable - they are not alone and that there is a great deal of strength in being broken and vulnerable.

I'm open because I'm a narcissistic exhibitionist. I'm a little boy seeking the approval of the adults around me, sadly discovering that most adults are just pretending.

But mostly I am open, because in my openness I discover who and what I am. And I am open because it helps me hide from the pain that largely defines me.

So here I am and here I will be, naked before you...

Yerba Mate v Coffee

Warning: There is some evidence that Mate may have some MAOI characteristics. It may not be a good idea to drink Mate if you are taking MAOIs.

I recently managed to find loose leaf Mate at a semi-reasonable price locally and am taking a break from the coffee again. I really, really love the coffee, but find that it messes with my circulation and if I drink too much, it gives me the shakes.

Mate has a very solid stimulant effect without the shakes (at least for me). I actually feel a little more alert with it and feel better overall, than I do with coffee. While involved in a discussion at my brother's blog, I mentioned it to someone and they asked about it, so I thought that rather than posting about it there, I would do so here.

My preferred method of brewing, is to use a french press. Unfortunately, french presses don't seem to last long with me (and I can't afford my dream FP) so I am using my Malita #2 cone basket to filter. Another reasonable method is to use fill your own tea-bags. A method that I have never used and just wouldn't, is the regular drip coffee maker.

Brewing......

I am kind of weird about brewing beverages. Being relatively poor, I have always sought the pleasures that I can for the lowest price possible. One of my luxuries in life are my beverages.

As it pertains to coffee, I am pretty certain that I have managed to own every possible type of brewing system out there. I have used the traditional Tai brewing basket and once owned a fairly nice Turkish coffee set. Unfortunately, Turkish coffee done properly is very time consuming, especially if you use "real" cardamon (i.e. still in the hull), hull it and grind it with the coffee. The less said about Japanese brewing the better - most Japanese people who do coffee use western coffeemakers or buy it in a bottle. Suffice to say that I am a hardcore javaphile.

The best cup of simple coffee one can brew, is with the aforementioned Mellita filter basket. Grind your beans for each cup. For a real treat, either roast your own or get some that were fresh roasted about eight hours before you plan on brewing (trust me, you want that eight hours, otherwise the gas in the beans will make a huge mess when it comes into contact with hot water). If you're actually interested in roasting your own, which is relatively easy and not terribly expensive, either google it or ask me. So you now have your fresh ground coffee and put it in the filter, I like four tablespoons for one twelve to fourteen ounce cup. Boil your water to a hard boil and let the water sit at room temp for eight to ten minutes. Pour it through.

My favorite method is to use the same amount of coffee, but to put it together with cold or room temperature water and let it brew for about eight hours, then filter it. This is much easier in a french press.

For mate, you want to be very careful about the temperature of the water. If you are using hot water at all, it is a good idea to just cover the leaf with cold water. Mate has an interesting composition that is easily cooked off if the water is too hot. I brew it cold. This is why I don't care for the drip maker method.

Again, my favorite method is cold brewing. But with mate, you really don't need to let it brew for all that long. An hour is usually sufficient. And you can pour more water over it after the first run, some people like to after the second as well. If you are drinking it throughout the day, this is actually a very reasonable way to do it, as each subsequent run is milder than the last.

If you're lucky, I may take the time to really write a good piece that gets into tea as well. Because I really am a neurotic freak when it comes to the beverages.