Today’s Run
General
For use when I really don’t have time to figure out to what category the post should belong.
Stats Catch-up
My Daily (But Inconsistent) Substack Post
Because, you know, I’m the Inconsistent Blogger.
So, some catch-up is in order.
First, on January 30th of this year, I hit 40 years of sobriety. After all these years, it has become just another day. Still, it is something worth noting. Oh, and I’m so dry that the DNR has a fire spotter following me around.
Second, Valentine’s Day was Tina and I’s 11th anniversary of living together. I had known her online since 2003, but we didn’t start dating until 2012, which initially was a long-distance romance as she lived in Green Bay, I lived in Rutledge, and then Willow River. This long-distance romance lasted 2 years until she finished her two-year college course then wrongfully fired from her job. Considering it was in Wisconsin, you’ve got to be a poorly run company to have that government find you’ve fired someone wrongfully.
Third, after not running since November 10th, 2024, I’ve resumed my exercise routine starting on February 22nd, 2025. Yes, I am in pain. But it is temporary, and I will make it through to the other side.
Oh fuck. I now have a Doors tune ear-worming me. Sigh.
Anyway, that’s it for now. Carry on as you see fit for the current apocalyptic time.
Misc Pictures
Above is a picture I took years ago with an earlier version of the iPhone. It was incidental—that is, I took it without much forethought. I looked, snapped a few, and moved on. Honestly, I don’t know exactly where I took this on the St. Louis River. I suspect it is right after crossing the swinging bridge in Jay Cooke State Park.
One morning, I was working at my computer, and Cinnamon, the cat who chose me on 10/23/2004, decided I was paying too much attention to the screen and not enough attention to her. One day, I will write about how she came into my life.
This is the original incidental picture. I was at the Como Conservatory in St. Paul early on a Sunday morning with Caleb, the son of my then-girlfriend. The flowers caught my attention, so I stepped back, held my digital camera (my first one) over them without even bothering to look through the viewfinder, and snapped a photo.
The sun shines on a rainy day. Snapped from the front door of the house I owned in Hastings, MN.
This is the water flowing over the dam on top of the Vermillion Falls in Hastings. Snapped the summer of 2024.
Here is the outside shot of the flow over the dam.
So, there you go—just some random images taken over the years, with little connection to each other.
Happy Belated New Year
So, last night, the four-year-old furnace decided to crap out. Thankfully, the furnace wasn’t the issue; it was the old fuse element. Somehow, the wiring at the base of the connection plate of the element came loose. Anyway, this occurred at 9:14 PM, in sub-freezing weather. However, the local gas company has emergency repair technicians on duty. They arrived and got to work less than 10 minutes after making the call. The furnace was up and running by 11:30 pm. It was a stress-free situation. The technician was a pleasant man with whom I enjoyed talking while he repaired the problem.
Meanwhile, as the furnace was malfunctioning, the house managed not to lose heat. Despite the outside temperature being at 4 degrees above 0, the house did not drop below 50 degrees. Not bad for a 70-year-old building with original windows (sans one). Oh, there was a draft on the floor, and it felt like a window might open somewhere (there wasn’t), but it didn’t get uncomfortable.
The only members of the household stressed out were Loki and Smokey. Loki made a run for the ductwork in the basement and stayed hidden. Smokey hung out under a table in the living room. Kang? He did not give a shit that there was a stranger in the house. He stayed on the electric blanket and enjoyed the heat.
So, yeah, Happy Belated New Year.
Happy Holidays!
Unbelievable
Thus Spoke GAH
But, really, not much to say. Thankfully, words are but air, and typed words are but electrons. Yeah, I’ve no idea what that means. In any case, all is empty. So, how about you read this without thought because it was written without thought.
Be empty.
So Much for That
Yesterday, I started a post on the evils of paperwork in my chosen profession. How worthless for describing the client’s change mentally and emotionally, and its only goal is to repeatedly force us to prove we can do our job daily (it doesn’t). But I shit-canned it.
This morning, the post came back with a vengeance.
Anyway, suffice it to say that the one thing I most hate about my profession is paperwork. Having had the opportunity to read my clinical chart from when I was in a halfway house, I realized they missed every meaningful event that led me to recovery and sobriety. In talking with others who also went through treatment before becoming an LADC or even an ADC-T (Alcohol, Drug Counselor-Trainee), I found they had similar experiences. Change and growth are subjective experiences that rarely get seen by professionals. We kid ourselves into believing that their treatment experience will cause that growth and change to occur in groups right in front of us.
Bullshit.
Most of my growth occurred outside of the treatment facility. It happened in my interactions with others in recovery at meetings, at sober activities, and in quiet, reflective moments long after I completed treatment. No amount of paperwork can ever capture that growth.
Don’t get me wrong. My time at the halfway house in 1985 was necessary for me to grow and develop a program of recovery. But it wasn’t the only place where it happened. It primed me. It gave me the tools and ability to be open to those moments in life where I gained insight, recognized patterns of thoughts and behaviors that were unhealthy, and overcame them to remain sober.
However, for clients I’ve worked with, I’ve seen what appeared to be insight and understanding by some, only to learn later that they relapsed and returned to active addiction and criminality. I’ve also experienced clients who were combative through the whole treatment process, only to discover years later they were still sober. In both cases, the paperwork required by the State and Insurance companies had almost nothing to do with capturing the client’s change and everything to do with forcing us repeatedly that we are qualified to do our job.
Oh, and for insurance companies to deny claims because we didn’t properly cross our i’s and dot our t’s.
Yes, you read that right.
It’s the trick of every conperson to overload their marks with excessive information and pressure. The insurance companies learned that the more paperwork they demand, the more arbitrary time limits they insist on setting, results in more mistakes and errors, and creates justification for the denial of services. They are running a legal con game. One that results in the early death of people they were supposedly tasked with helping to live healthy, productive lives. Instead, profit goes towards the shareholder who can buy the top-shelf caviar at the expense of their customer’s lives.
Block
I am unsure why, but writing has been a struggle. Even when I do my Morning Meditation Writing, I find that I’m pushing for content when content is the last thing MMW is about. So, taking a cue from Wil Wheaton, I will stop treating this blog as a polished, professional journal. It’s just a blog. A, hey, I’ve got thoughts! Rough, unpolished, what’s spelling and sentence structure? blog. So, without further ado, read this post with gusto. Or garlic. Or whatever food happens to excite your taste buds. Or not.
Whatever.
Seriously, it’s your life; do with it what you please.
And by all means, leave a comment.
Or don’t.
Do I have to tell you how to do everything?
Sheesh.