December 15th, 2012

#3718: Sorry! O SORRY!

I just had a conversation with Sailor V--for the first time in a few months--and he is unhappy with the way he is portrayed here on the Fungus.

So let me issue a retraction about a few things.

1) The DVD player that he tried to install at Lemonzen's house was not used. It was new; prior to that moment it had never been plugged in. The Fungus wishes to apologize for this misunderstanding. I didn't look at the box he left sitting in her living room; I made an assumption based on the fact that nearly all the electronics that Sailor V owns are second-hand devices, but for a few things here and there. His three DVD recorders, his TV, his video game consoles, etc, etc--all second-hand. I assumed that the DVD player was too; it's not. Sorry!

2) Sailor V did not screw up the sound bar connections of Lemonzen's TV. Apparently evil electronics fairies did that sometime after he failed to connect the DVD player to her TV, because he is confident he plugged everything in correctly. My mistake!

3) It was never a chore to have Sailor V come over. Apparently I only had to call him once or twice, and it's "totally weak" of me to be annoyed that he couldn't get anywhere on time because of his medical condition. (Even though he apparently can get out of the house before 3 PM "sometimes". His words!) I do apologize.

He further claims that many, many lies have been posted about him here, but was unable to provide, on the spot, any examples other than these. I've taken a gander at back posts of the Fungus which mention him, and other than the above three, everything looks to be pretty well matched with reality. However, I expect I'll probably receive an e-mail regarding this issue, and will post further retractions as needed.

Sailor V reportedly also doesn't appreciate the "snide" tone in which I talk about him.

As for that last, it's like he's only just met me or something. When something is ludicrous, I am snide, sarcastic, and really snarky about it.

Example: it took him eighteen months to renew his driver's license. The thing expired in February of 2011, he didn't notice it had expired until July of 2011, and he didn't get a new driver's license until July of 2012. That's patently ridiculous, especially for a 46-year-old man who lives about a mile from the nearest town and who was repeatedly given offers of help from his friends. (Both Lemonzen and I offered, several times each, to help him get his license. Our offers were rebuffed.) Of course I'm going to be sarcastic about something like that.

But it's not a lie.

Example: when he bought the '95 Escort from me, the car did sit in his driveway for nine months because he didn't have a driver's license. The brake system leaked down and he had to have it repaired again, and the mechanic reportedly charged him some $250 to do it. Having heard--through Lemonzen--that he'd said the car was still not drivable, I was surprised to see him driving it.

Which is why I said, "Who knew that thing could still move under its own power?"

(By the way, not long ago a moron rear-ended him at a gas station. The Escort is still drivable, but the other guy's insurance agency totaled the thing and Sailor V reportedly got a bit more than $1,000 for the car. That's after he give them salvage value on it so he could keep it; even with the brake repair, he's perhaps $150 ahead on the whole thing, especially since the car is still drivable. I mean, I sold it to him for $600. What's not to like about that?)

* * *

There's a hell of a lot more to say about the conversation--a hell of a lot more I want to say--but in the interests of not making things any worse I've decided just to shut the hell up about it and not say anything else.

What I am going to say is that Sailor V is exhibiting some pretty serious psychological symptoms and really, really, really needs to seek professional help. He says "I know I'm depressed" but I don't think he really understands how far around the curve he's gone when he starts talking about how he has to become "a husk" and "have no emotions". He was seeing a therapist, but stopped because she wants to talk about those self-same emotions.

I can't do anything for him, because his actions of the past five months have been so aggravating that it's a struggle for me to seperate myself from them and remain calm. What he doesn't see is that he's driving everyone away from him, and he's pretty much doing it with an exaggerated version of the antics he's employed all his life: complaining about how bad everything is for him, and how mean everyone is to him, and refusing to do anything about it because "I can't", and having a gigantic pity party about it.

People get tired of hearing "I can't, I can't, I can't" and having their suggestions rebuffed. There are many solutions--ways to fix or get around the problems he has--but because those solutions don't employ the methods he wants to use, they're impossible and he might as well not do anything? C'mon.

Anyway, that's enough said about least, for now. I may have more to say later, depending, but the most important thing to take from this post is that Sailor V doesn't realize what he's doing to himself and needs to get professional help.

I feel like a failure in that I'm unable to keep that in mind in my dealings with him--the resentments I feel over his antics in the past five months cloud my judgement. It's impossible to keep your head level when someone you've known for over twenty years is losing his shit in detail and treating everyone like dirt--including yourself--in the process. His self-destruction is proceeding exactly the way such things always do: by driving people away just when he needs people the most.

I saw it happen most obviously with my late sister. She systematically alienated everyone in the family, including her children, in her drunken death spiral. I think the only thing that kept her afloat was our mother's love; Mom provided a sympathetic ear...and even Mom was pissed at her after she threw me out into a Maine winter in February of 2009. Mom forgave her, but even Mom had to tiptoe around certain subjects. And after Mom died in December of 2010, I suppose it was only a matter of time before my sister did.

I forgave my sister, too, but I refused to subject myself to such a toxic person. It wasn't that I didn't love her; it was that I realized belatedly there is absolutely nothing I can do for her until she realizes that she's got a problem.

That's where I am with Sailor V. He's got a problem, a serious one, and he doesn't realize just how serious it is. He's not--as far as I know--drinking or abusing other substances; his problem is entirely emotional, but that's bad enough. And exactly the same way as with my sister, his problems are driving everyone away from him. Everyone.

And there is absolutely nothing I can do for him until and unless he realizes that he's got a serious problem and needs real help. This isn't the kind of thing you can just power past; his desire to "become a husk" is a symptom, not a solution, and his claims that he was that way before just further emphasize that he needs help.

I started this post as a sarcastic reply to a phone conversation we had, because he said some things that really made me angry, but I've ended up where I do every time I think about this issue: I shake my head and feel sorry that I can't fix this. No one can; only Sailor V can. And I can't even help him by being there for him because he's been acting like this.

That's why one of the steps of the famed "twelve-step recovery program" is to apologize to people for how you treated them. When someone's getting off the booze, part of the process is to own up to the bad things he did while drunk. The people he apologizes to don't have to forgive him; it's the apology that's necessary: "I'm sorry that I did these things to you."

My Mom tore my heart out a couple of times with that one; once when she told me she was sorry for all the times she'd been drunk. That was the easy one; the other was in the wake of Dad's passing, when we found an empty scotch bottle in one of his dresser drawers.

The bottle had been bought and set aside early in their marriage for some future date (their 25th anniversary or something) and Mom took the bottle, drank half of it, and refilled it with water. She admitted this to me, and said she was sorry and ashamed of it. Gadzooks, I just about lost it, but I told her I forgave her because although she'd had a problem, she'd gotten sober and stayed that way (for the rest of her life).

My sister was not so lucky. The booze got her before she realized she couldn't drink...or maybe she just decided everything was so hopeless that when she hit rock bottom she decided to stay there.

Meanwhile, Sailor V is still insisting, "I can't, I can't, I can't." Everyone around him knows he can but apparently he refuses to believe it; and because of that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy.

And I have a sour knot in my gut that tells me he'll keep on insisting he can't until they've got to put him in the ground.


#3719: That's it; my brother is one step from the wookee suit now.

He called me early this afternoon to talk about stuff, and mentioned that he bought an AR-15 and a .40 semiauto pistol. The AR-15 is the sign of the true gun nut; he's screwed now. Heh.

* * *

Karl Denninger asks, "Are you smarter than a 5th grader?" The post makes the point--yet again--that criminals by definition don't give a rat's ass how illegal guns are. Someone bent on murder isn't going to give a rip about "gun-free zones" and if his aim is to kill as many people as possible before dying himself, he's going to head right for places he knows no one will be armed.

This concept is apparently beyond the comprehension of liberals.

* * *

Vox Day points out that if you are a "capital-A atheist" who believes that humans are nothing but meat robots, you have no basis for condemning the maniac's shooting spree.

* * *

Thanks to last night's upsetting events, I had to take a Xanax when I went to bed this morning...after 8 AM. *whimper*

I had intended to go to bed much earlier, but I just had to go back to Stormwind for something, and after I was done I started running around and being kind of a jerk. I ended up doing RP for nearly 2.5 hours, and having a grand old time. When the "Feast of Winter Veil" decorations went up, the dailies activated too and the RP session was at an end. I was relieved rather than disappointed because I was falling asleep at the keyboard.

Naturally, though, once I got into bed and was trying to sleep, my heart was pounding and I had the other usual symptoms, so I reluctantly got up and took the Xanax.

Phone rang several times, I had to get up to drain the tank, blah blah blah, etcetera. With the panic attack and WoW and phone calls and everything else I didn't get to sleep until after 9, which means I may have managed as much as 3 hours of sleep so far.

Brother called, waking me up, and then while we were talking the doorbell rang. Turns out it was a guy seeking signatures to get on the ballot for the school board; I signed, saying, "The more choices we have, the better the system works." I don't care about his political affiliation at this stage of the game; that's for later, if he gets onto the ballot.

And yes, there's an election scheduled for early next year for the local offices. No, I don't know why, but there were a couple of vehicles in the Christmas parade with political signs on them. (It'd be nice if I could remember who, so I could vote against them. Keep your politics out of Christmas, damn it.)

Anyway, my entire existence cries out for bed, so I think that's where I'd better be.

#3720: Damn, that was pretty hard work.

I went through Mom's closets. One is finished; the other--the main one she used--that one is not entirely done. I ran out of power after I finished with the hanging stuff.

I have five big garbage bags full of clothes I'm donating, in addition to three big boxes of books and knickknacks that don't have any intrinsic or sentimental value. The ladies who run the church's thift store are either going to love me, or hate me.

I took three big garbage bags out to the garage and put them in the trash barrels.

Why so much trash? When Mom wanted to do yard work, she'd put on an old t-shirt with a pocket and sit in the sun and do whatever she was going to do. Problem is, she smoked while she worked, and inevitably these shirts got holes burned in them. Whenever I found a cigarette burn on an article of clothing, I categorically rejected it for donation and tossed it on the trash pile.

Also, things like tights and pantyhose and thermal underwear? Can't donate them; they get tossed regardless of whether or not they're still good.

I saved back a few things: the button-down sweater she'd knitted herself, her "Six Flags Over Great America" t-shirt featuring the Coyote in front of various roller coasters, and a few other things. (I believe my niece in Maine will want the Six Flags shirt. I certainly cannot wear it; it's a small.)

There are still some things hanging in the closet, things I simply don't have the energy to deal with right now--formal wear--and the boxes on the top shelf are similarly out of the question at the moment.

Even so, it's a hell of a lot better than it was; and on Tuesday morning I can take all this stuff over to the church and take it to the thrift store and say, "Here, have it all!"

* * *

Karl Denninger discusses the school shooting in Connecticut and the facts of the situation.

The shooter was 20 years old. Since he was 20, he was federally prohibited from buying handguns. The guns he used in his shooting spree apparently were legal guns and belonged to his mother; he stole them from her and shot her dead before going to the school.

The gun crime here? Carrying without a license or permit, at most. But the kid had already committed murder--and was intent on mass mayhem at his destination--so why would the threat of jail for carrying a firearm deter him?

But sure, let's make guns more illegal. It won't prevent this kind of tragedy but it will make liberals feel better!

* * *

Gah! Superdickery!