Solo man style bureaucracy kayaking has resulted in one ping back. It may be nothing but it's something---and it happened because of effort. You don't get a ping back unless you send one out.Office inner space WFTW.
Articles from Harrangue Man
I had a chance for more windmill fixing and I heard the windmill company had a suggestion box bolted to the door. Having already tried for several years to get fixes done I went up to the box and stuffed some in.I got confirmation they were recieved and will be added to the pile of possible positive solutions.That's never really happened before; for someone to say "thanks" and they'll take ideas on board.
I'm running theboy through a solo D&D 3.5 game, he has an NPC ally, but because he's new to it and because he was a dwarven wizard and we had a fig of one with a flaming club I started him off with a club that could cast scorching ray three times a day.
It doesn't matter how you got PTSD---mine was via my white collar workplace---it impacts on your every day. For many it's the fine tremble to the hands and inability to hold on to something that is a key fucking annoyance. Some lose their fine motor control, others have hands that open for no reason. Also, if your anxiety is up the trembles get worse which heightens your distress causing a feedback loop. I have all of that and more; yay!Newspapers, the hard copy kind, have thin psper.
Because of my womb warped skeleton I can't put on socks like a normal person; I have to brace in a door way.Only I ripped strips of skin from the soles of my very flat feet and being heavy that's too much mass on a very sore area.I also had to put on two pairs, the second to help cushion the walking on self-sliced feet.I ended up rolling to and fro on the big bed with getting a sock into position then having to pull it up.
It was going to happen, all the stress of all everything was going to land. And it did, I ended foetal in a ball and inconsolable. I took a V and a half and pushed my mind to read something until I was sleepy then I slept. It was a nasty turn, and I knew my lizard brain was in charge even as I could speak with some logic.
I surrendered to the urge to pick my feet and picked them to the point of stinging pain when stepped on. I've put on two pairs of socks for buffering against pain and picking. Hilariously, before I started, my super flat feet had each bare footedly stood on a rock upthrust from the ground or path, which for a heavyset person meant lots of physics and lots of pain.
I was approaching the pen with a cob of corn in my hand when the white Silkie saw me. She charged the slight gap at the gate about a half a foot up where the gap could in theory allow for a chicken to get through if they had a running start and a target.She cleared the gap like a swallow and charged for me with barely a drop in beat.
If you live in the west and you have a diagnosis of PTSD chances are you will be taking pills for it---unlike those not in the west who likely suffer with just personal CBT alone.
I've only gone for jobs I want to do and be happy doing and I got the result of the last interview.I was was the worst they'd ever talked to.That was harsh feedback to get—I didn't answer the questions and apparently volunteered more useful information on the way out of the door than I did in the room. I felt okay in the process but knew it was a bad sign when they had to cut me off and we ran over time. I failed at the most basic of processes; a job interview.