Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Jurassic Wardrobe vs. Smoking Reburns

Every now and then I’ve found myself boasting about how the homeless and the poor have low carbon footprints because of low consumption and lots of re-use. However, until now that’s been an empty — if plausible — boast, because I never got around to determining just what my carbon footprint is. Well, today I decided to try out three online quizzes that estimate. I took the highest — and most consistent — two out of the three results to estimate my carbon footprint to be about 5.3 tons/year out of an average American household figure of 9.4 tons/year, putting me at about 56% or more earth-friendly than about half of my neighbors. Predictably, where the greatest gains are made in my (mostly unintentional) eco-stewardship are in frivolous consumerism; my carbon footprint was probably considerably lower when I was sleeping on a loading dock.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Community Garden Plot

One nice thing about passing out early with your face in a book is you wake up early the next day ... and suddenly transitioning from lights out at 3:00 AM to out of bed at 6:00 AM is less a problem. Made an occasion of rousing myself to the sound of waking crows perched outside in the Park Blocks: threw some soap in the tub with me, along with a (dull as FUCK!) razor and a mirror. I even made it to the community garden get-together, after some considerable initial balking; I think what made my mind up was a combination of being sick of sitting around in or walking around in the same boring places and wanting to see if there may be a cutie or two among my fellow gardeners to creep on.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

SALT III Summit 2017

It looks like I may either lose my job or end up looking for another one and moving on as soon as is practical. I blew up on Lobstrocity — fortunately mostly via text after work — Caturday, after a minor chiding by her rubbed the scab off a festering grudge during the peak of an hours-long insanity rush that was knocking all of our dicks in the dirt. I called her out on her abberant psychology with my typically sharp-tongued contempt, so she's roasting me over coals in her heart. I guess I didn't get over her weeks of oppressive bipolar passive-aggressive cunt emanations, even after she apologized that Friday before I bashed my face on the stairwell.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Better Living through Chemistry

It's weird for it not to be weird, not to drink. Started taking Naltrexone the Thursday before last, and since then I've not only not drank any alcohol but I've not even craved it; I'm gradually startting to think about it less, too. No need for me to ponder at never having heard of it all those times in and out of treatment — I doubt a third of the counselors and case workers and acupuncturists etc. would do well in food service lol. It's a major relief, actually, because when I initially planned on quitting on Ash Wednesday I was worried about how I'd manage; I despise 12-step programs and meetings, also the heavily New Age-influenced counseling and relapse prevention...both of which saturate the whole treatment and recovery industry. It really is an industry.

This is Phase Two, of I guess what can be called Project: Corwin Getting His Shit Together. This is the physical health one, where I quit drinking, then quit smoking cigarettes (or at least temporarily switch to vaping), then start to exercise and improve my diet. Phase One was getting and keeping the job, which aside from one fit I threw whilst severly injured and due to the damn spray gun exploding into catastrophic uselessness I've done beyond spectacularly; in fact, I'd be cooking right now were it not for the injury (well, one of them). Phase Three is something I haven't quite solidified in my mind yet, but I vaguely describe as “getting a life”, as in a life enriched by edifying people and activities.