Journal

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Blogging 101:  SEO, AI and Google

I’ll summarize this whole post in case you’re rushed.  In bullets for easy reading:

  1. No AI never, ever.  I’m writing this for myself, so it doesn’t make sense if a computer spits out articles about me, does it?  I might cite a brief article, but will give credit where credit is due.
  2. I can’t write down to a 5th grade level.  They shouldn’t be reading this blog anyway.   That was a recommendation from the agency I didn’t go forward with.  Another thing to make Google happy I suppose.
  3. The tags are used if someone, or myself, wants to find similar posts or essays.   I’m not interested in key words to raise my ranking in search engines.  I am an audience of 1.  Don’t get me wrong, your comments, experiences and suggestions are always welcome!
  4. I will endeavor to keep commercial links off the site. But even some of the best sources, like Harvard Health offer subscriptions for various newsletters and such. 
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The Mole Hill becomes the Mountain

My life is difficult enough without me being my own worst enemy at times, where good intentions go horribly wrong.   This happens more often than I care to admit.  You know how one little thing can start snowballing into a bigger and bigger issue.  It happens to us all.  I’ve become a master of covering up my mistakes though! 

What makes it worse is my ability to lose control, which further compounds the issue at hand.  Common sense and deep breathing go out the window.

“What a friggin’ idiot.” For the next four days that thought played over and over in my head.  

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Where Do the Days Go?

Time is my enemy now, until I finally sleep the last sleep. I used to think it was the evil Trinity of chronic pain, depression and insomnia that was my nemesis.  These are adding to the frustration of course, and control my body and mind, but it is Time) that is working against me.  I am constantly fighting to get things done, while the clock is spinning wildly.

I don’t have enough time left to live for starters. My wife scoffs when I say this, but I figure I’m at about the 85% mark in my life. Meaning I’ve lived most of it, and if I manage to make it to 80 it will be either by sheer luck or stupidity. 

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The Quest for Normalcy

I didn’t choose this life. Being trans that is. I was aware of being “different” at a very young age, but insisted on fighting it for years. Wasting my life trying to deny the fact I was queer. 

Lady GaGa tries to normalize it by convincing “normal” folks that we’re simply born this way.  I personally don’t agree with that 100%, at least not for everyone.  I hold strongly to the belief that its nature and nurture combine to drive people toward this pathway. 

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Even the fish enjoyed the day

That may be stretching it a bit, that even the fish enjoyed the day.  If you were a fish and ate a tiny little bug that came with a hidden hook and attached to a fly line you might think your day really sucked, right?  But in this case, instead of being landed, scaled and gutted to become dinner,  you were landed, the barbless hook removed and you’re gently placed back in the lake to swim another day. 

It may not be enjoyable for the 3 minutes it takes to be caught and released, but a whole lot better than ending up on the grill that evening.

One of my favorite distractions is fly fishing, and somehow I stumbled upon this private club north of the city about an hour away.  A private lake stocked with rainbow and speckled trout, but far from shooting fish in a barrel so to speak. 

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It Doesn’t Take Much…

…to amuse or distract me. One of the simple pleasures I enjoy is planting something and seeing the fruits of my labor. No pun intended. It doesn’t sound as poetic if you say the vegetables of my labor I guess. Starting with a seed or seedling, you can see your efforts right before you eyes, and if successful you’re rewarded with an abundance of fruits or veggies, or a dazzling array of color.

I graduated from college in 1981 BC (Before Computers) from a small private university in southern Kansas. It was simply the closest place to finish off the 20 hours or credits I had remaining to get a BS in Floriculture. Flowers, greenhouse foliage plants and aquaculture.

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The Dead Man on a Toilet: The Second Death

I was hoping that the old woman dying in my lap in the graveyard was the only death I would live over again in my distorted mind.  Her eyes and the dirt on her face still haunt me, 40 years of regretting I couldn’t do anything to help.

But no such luck.  Everything bad happens in threes.  It was 7 years later that I would have the second experience,  looking at death’s vacant stare.  Like the other, there was no advance warning.  As soon as the event started up it was over.

A bit of background though.

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The Kid with no Shoes and Ketamine

(Author’s Note:  This is the first of three bad experiences with ketamine.  I debated on simply titling it bad trip #1, but like the other title better.  Has more personal meaning)

I’ll have to do a prequel essay on my psychedelic experiences as a youth, well young man actually.  But when the opportunity presented itself to legally try a micro dose of ketamine for chronic pain and depression I jumped at the chance.

Why?  Because I knew the power of psychedelics  from my exploration with psychedelics at an early age. I realized they have the power to change your whole perspective on the world you live in, your own existence.  Those trips where you were at one with the planet, where after you felt more whole, complete and content afterward.  Talking to God.

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The Word Queer.

Some people just cringe when I say that word.  “Queer”.  

When I was growing up in the late 60’s and 70” it had a whole different connotation than it does now.   Queer was often followed by “fag” or “faggot”.  Then it was the fight or flight instinct that took over.  I wasn’t much for fighting.  I have several times in my life, just wasn’t much for it.

I’m surprised how the word has morphed over the decades, to where it stands for what its original intended use was.  Queer simply means different.  Odd, different… queer.  

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