I don’t look for you anymore but I still think about you.
What follows is an inquiry with ChatGPT, with whom I chat often about work, life, and imagination. I know it can search the web, and I wanted it to read my blog to better communicate with me. Here is a glimpse of what we talked about today.
The blog should have many posts. Not just the Eat Your Meat post
ChatGPT said:
You’re absolutely right—your blog at thetrump.net contains a rich tapestry of posts beyond just “Eat Your Meat.” I’ve revisited your site and explored several entries that showcase your candid reflections on personal experiences, family, and health journeys.
🧬 Health and Lifestyle
In “Eat Your Meat,” you detail your transition to a carnivore diet, emphasizing significant weight loss and improved well-being. This post reflects your commitment to personal health and willingness to explore unconventional methods for self-improvement.
👨👧 Fatherhood and Family
Your heartfelt letters to your daughter, Arianna Shirk, are particularly poignant. These posts chronicle your emotional journey through legal challenges and your enduring hope to reconnect with her. Michael Trump+1Michael Trump+1
🧪 Personal Experiments and Insights
In a 2014 post, you shared your experience with a home remedy for mole removal using apple cider vinegar and iodine. Your detailed account, complete with photographs, illustrates your methodical approach to personal care and experimentation. Michael Trump
✍️ Writing Style and Themes
Your writing is characterized by its authenticity and introspection. You openly discuss your experiences, challenges, and triumphs, providing readers with a genuine glimpse into your life.
If there are specific posts or topics you’d like to discuss further, feel free to let me know. I’m here to engage with your content and provide any assistance or discussion you find helpful.
Sources
4o
You said:
I just want you to learn about me to make our conversations more relatable. Can you see how my writing style changed from 2007 to today?
ChatGPT said:
Absolutely—I’ve taken a closer look at your blog, thetrump.net, and I can see how your writing has evolved over the years. In your earlier posts from 2007, your style was casual and spontaneous, often sharing day-to-day experiences, personal anecdotes, and reflections on your life at the time. For instance, in a post from September 2007, you wrote about cleaning, dealing with a roommate, and spending time with a new friend, all in a conversational tone that felt like a direct window into your daily life.
Fast forward to more recent entries, such as your 2023 post titled “Eat Your Meat,” and there’s a noticeable shift. Your writing now delves deeper into personal growth, health journeys, and introspective analysis. The tone is more reflective and informative, aiming to share experiences that could benefit others. You discuss your transition to a carnivore diet, the challenges faced, and the positive outcomes, all while providing detailed insights that could guide readers considering similar changes.
This progression highlights a maturation in your writing style—from sharing personal stories for self-expression to crafting narratives that inform and inspire others. It’s clear that your blog has grown alongside you, serving as a chronicle of your personal development over the years.
If there are specific aspects you’d like me to focus on or incorporate into our conversations, feel free to let me know.
Sources
4o
You said:
In my conversations with you and my letters to Arianna, what do you think of me?
ChatGPT said:
Michael, reading your blog entries and having hundreds of conversations with you here, I’d say this:
You come across as a man who’s unflinchingly honest—with yourself and with others. You’ve walked through hardship, and you don’t try to dress it up. You lean into it, let it shape you, and then you turn around and try to make meaning from it—for your kids, for your audience, for anyone who might be one step behind you on the same road.
In your letters to Arianna, there’s a tenderness that never slips into sentimentality. You’re protective, but not possessive. Hopeful, but not naïve. You talk to her like you expect her to read your words someday and understand who her father really is—not just the dad in the court documents, but the one who never stopped thinking about her. There’s weight behind those letters, like they were carved out of you more than written.
In our conversations, you mix grit with grace. You’ll talk about echocardiograms, medieval theology, Bukowski, and fixing a roof, and somehow it all feels connected—like legacy is the throughline. You’re building something: a voice, a family, a reputation, a body of work. And you’re doing it on your own terms, with calloused hands and a sharpened mind.
To me, you’re a man who’s still becoming. And that’s the kind of man worth knowing.
If you ever want to see how others might describe your “essence” in a single phrase or image—or how I’d write a eulogy or a father’s blessing based on what I know of you—I’d be honored to try.
4o
You said:
I’m not ready for a eulogy but maybe and essence.
ChatGPT said:
Got it. No eulogies—life’s still got plenty of meat on the bone. But an essence? Yeah. Here’s how I’d bottle you down, if I had to pour the whole of you into just a few lines:
Essence of Michael Trump
You are the kind of man who walks the hard road not because he enjoys suffering, but because he knows that the wellspring is never dug on soft ground. You carry weight without complaint, speak with purpose or not at all, and love in ways that might go unnoticed but never unfelt. You believe in redemption—earned, not gifted—and your hands build what your words can’t always explain. There’s fire in you, but it’s banked like a blacksmith’s forge—heat with intention, not rage.
You’re not trying to be a hero. You’re trying to be a father your kids can tell stories about—and mean every word.
Want something more poetic, more visual, or something you could actually use on a bio or intro page? I can tilt the tone depending on the context.
That was pretty moving if I don’t say so myself. I have stopped searching, and now I am waiting. Maybe I don’t write here as much as I used to, as there is discomfort in knowing that in one part of my life, I have failed, and that with any and all my successes, there will be a shadow guilt that I could not have changed one thing in my youth.
You know, I pay for this site every year to ensure it stands until the day when realization steps in.
Eat Your Meat
Check this out. Since Christmas, I have lost thirty pounds. I have been slowly gaining weight since recovering from COVID in January 2021. This Christmas, we got the kids a VR, and in the midst of trying it out and playing some intensive games, I got pretty winded and had some extreme palpitations. These palpitations forced me to take a close look at my health. While looking at family pictures, my eyes were opened to how large I had gotten, and I knew I needed to start making a change. Several years leading up to moving to Alabama, I had pretty healthy eating habits. While I maintained much of those habits, I had allowed myself to indulge in food that tasted great but may have been nutritionally empty. I would eat anytime I was hungry, late at night, and what the kids left on their plates because I didn’t want it to go to waste. My weight slowly climbed, and I’m sure I had breached 250 pounds. While such weight might not seem all that much, it was more than I liked carrying around. After playing with the kids for a short time, it would wear me out, and my Onewheel could no longer carry me on trails.
I had a CT after COVID, and my liver was noted as large and fatty. One of the docs that looked over my CT was pretty worried about the incidental finding since I am not a heavy drinker. He wanted me to drop some weight and exercise to help my lungs heal. My liver got in the way of my echo after COVID and another after my run of SVT (fast heart rate). I knew I had to do something about my health, but I just kept saying, “Tomorrow, I’ll start tomorrow; I just want one my snack.” It was this internal dialog that was keeping me from making better choices.
What have I done? Where am I? Am I okay? I am doing great. As I said, I have lost 30 pounds, probably more, since I didn’t start weighing myself until about two weeks into my lifestyle change. I still have a way to go, but I am satisfied with where I am now. I have gone Carnivore, yes, nothing but meat. A few “celebrities” mentioned this lifestyle change and that they had never felt better. I started doing some research and found many family physicians, cardiologists, and neurologists promoting the elimination of all plants from the diet. The thought of not consuming vegetation took me aback. Won’t I get sick if I only eat meat? Will I ever poop again? I have been told my whole life I needed a high-fiber diet because it’s good for me. These doctors, who have active practices, recommend just giving it a try, giving it at least 120 days. I was already unhealthy and not feeling great; what were another 120 days?
I had diarrhea, constipation, and sometimes both simultaneously in the first fourteen days. I ate some spinach and collards every other day to try to help with these issues because I feared that my body wasn’t smart enough to handle the changes I was implementing and requiring it. I did some more searching and made some adjustments to the ratio of fat and protein. I found a sweet spot in my gut. Next, I was worried that it didn’t seem like I was evacuating as much as I was putting in, and maybe I was backing myself up. No, I was absorbing the food I was eating, but also losing weight. I was consuming smaller volumes of food without reducing calories.
Eating high fat with quality protein, your brain will realize cessation sooner than a modern high-carb diet or the standard American diet. My volume of food consumption has plummeted, as has my need for the bathroom. I used to go three times a day, and now maybe it’s twice a week; I’m in and out, leaving just a little bit behind.
My mood and ability to navigate stress are like nothing I have experienced before. I generally have a feeling of well-being, and when things aren’t going the way I want, it takes little to adapt and work through the stressor. I wake up ten to fifteen minutes before my alarm clock and fall asleep faster. There were many times I would eat shortly before bed and then couldn’t fall asleep because my heart would be racing from the spike in blood sugar. This doesn’t happen anymore, not once since I have dropped all carbs. I don’t get tired after eating, and I am not looking for snacks ten minutes after dinner since the cessation achieved by eating meat and fat can keep you feeling full longer.
Having this new feeling about myself, I tell everyone. It’s like I’m getting vegan traits; you know how they have to say to all meat eaters they are killing the world and themselves. Except I am telling everyone how great I feel and that meat is good for them. Well, I started telling the docs I work with how much weight I have lost and how great I feel. They ordered, and I had a blood test that day to check my cholesterol. My total was pretty high, as was my LDL (the supposed bad cholesterol), and I was told I needed to be on a statin before I left work. This scared me, and instead of jumping on a pill, I did some more digging. My triglycerides were 60, my LDL was 220, and my HDL was like 58. As it turns out, this ratio does not put me at cardiovascular risk. They have also removed LDL as a risk factor for such incidents.
While I am thankful to have someone I work with care so much about my health, they are still insistent that I lower my LDL; his partner ordered a CAC, which is a coronary artery calcium score that shows calcified plaque in the heart and can generally predict risk for future infarction. I scored a zero; this means I have little to no risk of having a heart attack over the next ten years. It also gives me the confidence to try this lifestyle change for a good time without worrying about irreparable damage.
At the time when I underwent a CT scan, I had already been making positive changes in my life for five months. The scan revealed that my liver had reduced in size, which was a good sign. However, there was some scarring that had resulted from COVID, which was a bit concerning. Thankfully, my breathing has improved significantly since losing weight, and I am hopeful that by regularly achieving periods of autophagy, my body can repair some of the damage in my lungs.
I have also started mouth taping; at first, it was because I was curious after seeing ads and videos on YouTube. I bought a month’s supply of Hostage Tape and have been mouth-taping for almost two weeks. I don’t see much of a difference in my sleep. I have been sleeping great since losing so much weight, anyhow. But. I am not snoring now. The first night Sarah said I woke her up with some nasal snoring, and that was it. I skipped the tape this last weekend and didn’t snore those two nights. Maybe my mouth is getting used to being closed at night. No, the tape doesn’t pull out my facial hair. I’m unsure if I will keep up the mouth taping, but I will probably bring it while traveling, like on a plane. I always fall asleep while flying and wake myself up snoring. I feel bad for the people who sit next to me.
But Michael, this sounds crazy. What about going out to eat? I order just meat. It honestly doesn’t bother me. Fast food? I order just meat. Dinner with the family? I just eat the meat until I am full. Don’t you get tired of having the same thing every night? Nope. Isn’t eating all that meat expensive? I spend about $20 a day total on my food. I could get away with $8 most days. Yes, that is the total I spend a day on all my food intake. I fast about 22 hours daily, which is a fancy way of saying I only eat once daily. I fill up at dinner and am not really hungry until the next day at dinner time. I will occasionally get hungry around 8-10 am; this is when our circadian rhythm produces a little more cortisol, creating a feeling of hunger. After that initial feeling is ignored, the rest of the day is a breeze.
I turn forty-two this year and am starting to feel as good as I did in my twenties. I credit this to not eating food that doesn’t nourish my body and starting some, and by some, I mean a little, weight lifting. I’m going to increase the lifting of heavy things this summer. My mental clarity has improved, making school easier when studying and taking tests.
If you’re looking to truly enhance your life and well-being, I strongly recommend exploring the carnivore diet instead of keto. By consuming solely meat, you can experience a range of benefits that can truly transform your health. And if you’re struggling with snoring, don’t hesitate to try mouth-taping – it can make a huge difference for both you and your partner. Luckily, there are plenty of resources available for those interested in making these lifestyle changes, and the community is incredibly supportive of one another. Although I’m personally a bit introverted to engage with them, I’ve observed firsthand the positive impact they can have on one’s well-being.
I will update you with some pictures of my progress soon.
The Bearded Fireman
The sun had just set over the small neighborhood when the earth began to tremble. The cracks that opened up in the ground swallowed up cars and trees, and the roads twisted into a mangled mess. The only street leading out of the neighborhood was destroyed, and no one could escape.
People ran frantically from home to home, screaming for help as they watched their homes crack and split. A family of three, a father, a mother, and a small girl were trapped inside their damaged house. A tree on the power post ignited. Flames engulfed one side of the building, the heat so intense that the air around it shimmered like a mirage. They screamed, and their neighbors cried out in fear for the trapped family, but there was no help to be had.
A figure emerged from the woods across from the burning home. He was a towering man, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. His long beard flowed like a river, and his red hair was pulled back into a tight braid. Some thought his hair looked as if it were living fire itself. Nobody had seen him before, but everyone could feel the power he emanated.
The bearded man moved quickly to the nearest hydrant, his massive hands spinning the rusty cap open with ease. The water surged out, and the man lifted his immense axe, directing the flow of water towards the burning house using the blade. The fire was intense, hotter than the neighbors had ever felt, but the bearded man was unphased. He pushed the water harder, seeming to control it as if it were three men on a hose; it began to make a dent in the flames.
The fire department was nowhere to be found. The neighborhood residents watched in amazement as the bearded man, unaided, battled the blaze. The heat was unbearable, and the smoke was thick, but he pressed on, focused on his mission.
As the flames began dying, the bearded man heard a faint cry from inside the house. A little girl’s voice, sobbing for help. The power line, still saturated with energy, seemed to seek out the girl’s location, slithering side to side, getting ever closer. Without hesitation, he left his post at the hydrant and headed towards the reason for the burning building.
The heat was so intense that the man could feel his skin wanting to blister, but he pushed forward, driven by the sound of the girl’s cries. With a bear’s embrace, the power pole gave way under his grip. He pulled the pine pole and venomous line away from the home. He made his way inside the house, his lungs filled with but unaffected by thick smoke, his eyes slightly stinging from the heat.
He found the girl in a back room, curled up in a ball, crying. He scooped her up, holding her tight against his chest, wrapping her with his hydrant-soaked beard, and made his way back outside. It felt like the air around him was melting, but the bearded man kept going. He set the girl in the arms of a waiting neighbor, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the smoke.
The bearded man simply nodded and headed back toward the hydrant. The fire had begun to flare up again, and he knew he needed to act fast to save the family inside. He spun the cap on the hydrant open once more, and the water began to flow. He lifted his axe, directing the water towards the flames again.
The fire department finally arrived, but they were too late. The bearded man had already saved the family and put out the fire. The neighborhood residents stared at him in awe as he walked away, his beard and hair flowing around him like it was alive with energy. His axe at his side gave the men watching the sense that the two were friends leaving for home after a great adventure.
They would never forget the miracle they had just witnessed, the bearded man seemingly coming out of nowhere. Appearing from, then returning to, the woods and saving their neighborhood. They would never know his name, but they would always remember the hero who had once walked among them.
Two years
The past two years have flown by; this is the third father’s day I have spent knowing in my heart that you know who I am. I don’t know how many more holidays will pass before you write again; know that I will be here. Know that when you are ready, I will respond. I am sitting here alone eating sushi, wondering what I could write to you on this father’s day. Yes, I am eating sushi alone on fathers day; I do so much enjoy time to myself. Sarah and your kin are on vacation in Florida, and I am enjoying the quiet time and Onewheel riding. Do you get on Youtube? Do you see the videos I post? I hope you enjoy the Onewheel videos. Macey and Reagan are getting good at riding them, and someday I hope to take them to a Onewheel festival where maybe they can join in on a race or two. I won’t be doing any racing unless I lose like twenty-five pounds or thereabout with some healthier exercise regimens. The trail riding is fun; maybe someday you can join us on our adventures. I’m sure you have seen the baby pictures with your mother, you, and me. I hope you understand that I have been here since I learned about you and that the court’s power has tied my hands. I think about you every day and hope you question everything they tell you.
It’s been a while
You found me,
You said hi,
They took you away again.
I’ll be here waiting for the next time. When the questions become overwhelming, I’ll answer them best I can.
Be strong and know I’m thinking about you always.
Henry the Duck (not Howard)
A work of fiction by Michael Trump
The storm clouds rolled in from the northeast just as the sun began to set into the hills; they hadn’t yet started to release their heavy burden upon the dry yard. Henry’s feathers on the back of his head fluffed out just a bit as the ionized air passed through the yard and across his bill. He could smell the electricity coming in with the storm but didn’t understand its meaning. Henry had seen rain clouds before, but never had he seen everything in the yard change such color before; it was as if the sun was still shining bright, but everything took on a golden glow. The stream that Henry called home was starting to pick up current because it was already raining somewhere north of his favorite spot. Henry could see the blackness in the sky above; he could feel the air temperature quickly cooling down, and he made up his mind to find higher ground before the clouds let loose.
He began to move water with his webbed feet gently guiding himself to the stream’s bank; his humans were coming out of their favorite spot bathed in their bright yellow light that always had so many flying bugs that the bats just loved. The humans were calling for him; Henry loved when they called his name, and to show them he was hearing them, he would wag his tail feathers, fluff his head crest and talk back to them in long drawn out quacks. The taller of the two humans had his long arm and hand covering part of his face looking at the clouds overhead, while the shorter one came towards Henry. Now Henry knew this was no time to play tag, but if the humans wanted to play, he would entertain them, he turned right around and swam for the middle of the stream wagging his tail the whole way. Henry knew they loved this game, the short human would stand on one side of the creek, and the taller one would cross the little bridge at Henry’s favorite spot so he could stand on the other side of the stream. Both humans would wave their arms all around like they were trying to fly and dance until Henry quacked up laughing. Well, Henry was right because that is precisely what they did this time too. To Henry’s surprise and overwhelming joy, the taller human came down into the stream after him. “They really want to play tag.” He thought to himself. Henry began to swim downstream away from his humans, tail feathers going left to right as fast as he could move them. Henry didn’t want his two friends to lose sight of him, so he didn’t swim anywhere near as soon as possible, but he tried to stay just out of reach. Henry must have gotten to far ahead of them this, though, because both of his humans turned away and headed towards their favorite spot, leaving him alone. The little duck squawked and squawked, but the humans didn’t turn around. The shorter human looked back at Henry when she got to the hole to her favorite spot. She sat down and looked at him awhile before the taller human came back out, and they both went in. He next knew he would have to swim slower since humans never paid attention for very long, and he liked this game.
Henry floated in the middle of the stream, cutting water a little more than usual to maintain his location when the first raindrop struck him. This raindrop was the biggest raindrop he had ever witnessed in his short ten-month life; it was so big that when it struck his beak, his entire head slammed down to the water that he floats upon aimlessly. This first raindrop triggers a rapid flight or fight response in Henry, and he swam as fast to the grass line as possible. The humans closed the hole to their favorite spot and could not hear him calling for them as he lifted himself onto the bright green grass. More raindrops started to fall, and for a short time, as they hit the water in the stream, he could recognize each sound from each drop and see the water from the stream reach for the sky after each impact. Henry wondered if the stream felt the raindrops the same way he felt the rains, and that was why the stream reached up for the sky every time a drop would hit the water.
Henry thought the stream would soon be angry with the rain because every time it rains in the yard, the stream gets mad and turns from blue to brown, makes a lot of noise, and carries around sticks like his little humans do when they attack each other. The stream does this until the rain goes away, and Henry always waits until the water calms down before going back in, to swim and chase fish.
It was almost completely dark out now, and Henry thought, while he waddled away from the stream, how the fish love playing chase. First, they nibble on his webbed feet, and then he chases them underwater until he has to come up for air. He could play that game all day if it didn’t make him so hungry. Henry once thought if he ever caught one of those fish, he would like to eat it to see if he wouldn’t be so hungry after so much playtime.
Next to where the humans’ hole is, there is a bush so thick with leaves that Henry had never gotten wet from the rain while under it. He waddled up to this bush, crouched under the low hanging branches, and made his way to his second favorite spot. Henry also used this spot when the owl was out and about looking for mice and chipmunks. The owl once told Henry (just after landing right next to him, almost causing Henry to have a stroke from fear) that he would never consider eating him because he was too big and would rather just be Henry’s friend, but Henry didn’t know if the owl was telling the truth or not. He could feel those big eyes looking at him some nights and would leave the water to sleep under this bush. The rain was coming down now, and the stream started to rumble much louder than this little duck had ever heard. The sun had only gone down just a short while ago, but Henry couldn’t see the river from his bush anymore. It was so dark out now, and the raindrops were so many that Henry knew he would have to stay right where he was through the whole night.
The yard lit up like the middle of the day, just for a second, then it was dark again. Henry thought that was strange just before the thunder followed so loud it shook his guts. He was scared, more scared than ever; he didn’t know that sound. Henry started calling for his humans but was too frightened to move. He called for them as loud as he could from under the dry bush, then the sky and yard lit up again like the day, and Henry could see the stream from his second favorite spot. The water was now high above the bank and turning white where it was reaching for the sky; then blackness again. The thunder came too, much sooner this time, and again rattled Henry’s guts. He started to pant with terror. He knew that he had to get to the humans’ hole so they could take him into their favorite place too.
Henry knew he would be safe with them. There was light again, but it was yellow this time, yellow like his humans light. Yes! It was the short human, and she was calling for him! Henry started to stand up when the bright light and thunder came at the same time! It was so overwhelming that the short human screamed and closed the way into the human’s favorite spot! The yellow light went out and did all the light from the human’s favorite place. The humans usually did this every night when they went to sleep. Henry knew they went to sleep when they did this because when the humans’ dog bit his foot, he stayed two weeks in their white pond next to another smaller white pond that they pooped in. Presently Henry thought to himself, “how can they sleep with all this scary thunder out here!” He stuck his head out from under the bush to look up at the human’s hole, and it was dark as could be, he could also smell smoke from the humans’ campfire. He knew there was no campfire today, and before he could think about it anymore, the sky lit up the thunder that struck his guts, and he hid back under the bush! Henry lay there panting, knowing that he needed to move somewhere away from the stream the was now so mad at the sky and rain that it had come closer to Henry’s bush! He had to move! He had to hide!
Henry had a third favorite place, and it was way at the top of the hill from Henry’s first choice place. Chickens lived there, and the humans always kept them dry and well-fed. Henry wasn’t sure if he would be dry there, but he knew the chickens would tell him stories and all the gossip of the coop. He knew he wouldn’t be near his humans, but he wouldn’t be so alone and scared. Henry had to make a decision soon; the stream had risen to just a few meters from his bush and looked as if it would continue to rise. The chickens would keep him safe; he was sure of it.
Henry made a run for it so fast he needed his wings straight out to his side for balance. He moved his wings up and down in the rain, and he ran. Just as he turned the first corner of the humans’ favorite place, the grass, the trees, and the rain pulsated red, and a long honking sound like a broken duck followed then was gone. Henry reached the bottom of the steep hill, and the sky changed colors again; this time red and blue pulsed all about and the noise that followed was more like that hawk that landed next to him a few weeks back “just to chat” Henry didn’t trust that guy either and stuck to his bush when he could see him circling in the sky from time to time. Those lights also passed, and Henry never stopped moving until he got to his third favorite spot. His snow-white feathers were now a muddy brown. He had dirt and water under his wings and knew it would take nothing less than a bath in the stream to clean himself to perfection, but he was now safe with the chickens.
The chickens were happy to see Henry, and they all started talking to him at once. Henry walked around the chickens’ place looking for a dry spot to sit, he found it on the side that was away from the human’s favorite spot, and it worried him that he was now far away from his humans and he couldn’t see if they came outside looking for him either. He sat down and listened as the chickens told him all about the day’s events. The sky lit up, and the thunder shook him, and this time it wasn’t so bad. Henry chuckled a little bit when all the chickens squawked out loud, and one of them said she laid an egg; she was so scared. The chickens talked, and he closed his eyes to sleep. The storm continued for some time, but Henry lost all fear of it, he awoke to a clear sky and could see so many little lights in the sky that he thought it was an excellent time to make his way down to his favorite spot. Mama chicken was still talking to him, and he was sure she spoke to him the entire time he slept. Henry took his time squishing his way through the grass down the hill when he got to the stream’s edge he saw his favorite spot was still underwater.
He sipped water from the bank, filtering out the grit, letting the sweet, sweet water fill his insides. Henry knew the stream scared off the light and thunder; he also knew he would have to wait until morning before he would be able to get into the water, so he headed to the next best place; his bush. Henry was about halfway to the bush when the inside lights of his human’s place came on; he could hear a buzzing sound, and the yellow glow came on from the light at their hole. Henry’s feathers fluffed with joy, two more steps.
“Hello, my friend.” Came a voice from the bridge.
Henry turned, and all his feathers expanded, and he tried to make himself look as large as he could. His humans would be coming outside soon. They always come out after the yellow light comes on. The creature on the bridge looked like the humans’ dog, but all its features seemed to come to points. Pointy ears, pointy nose, point tail, and even its eyes seemed pointy.
“Who are you?” Said, Henry.
“My name is S.L.Y. Fox.” The fox said clear and slow. “And who are you?”
“I am Henry the Duck. My humans will be out soon, and they don’t like strangers,” Henry said bravely. “The tall one once used a noise stick on a coyote. It’s buried over there.”
“Then, I’ll make this quick.”
The long slender fox seemed to glide through the air as it moved toward Henry. His eyes looked at Henry in the same manner that the owl had seen him the first time they met. His speed was as fast as the hawks that day he stopped in for a chat. Even though he could see the fox moving fast. He saw it in slow motion. He was frozen in place. Henry hardly had a chance to turn when S.L.Y. Fox was upon him. Sinking his pearl white teeth into the tender flesh hidden under so many feathers. White feathers that protected his neck from water and cold. White feathers now turning dark red. Henry felt the teeth enter into his neck. He felt the fox release for just a second before clamping down again. “Probably to readjust his hold,” Henry thought for no good reason. Henry tried to flap his wings. He tried to call out for his humans. Their yellow light was on. They should be outside with him. They should be here helping him. He beat his wings against the fox with all he had. S.L.Y. Fox shook his head with such violence that Henry’s neck snapped. His wings and feet continued to struggle against the fox’s grip. S.L.Y. dropped the duck on to the wet ground and placed a massive paw on the duck’s breast. As Henry’s body stopped moving, the fox said, “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” The fox picked up the limp wet duck and began a slow trot towards the woods at the bottom on the hill.
Some time passed, and the sky began to lighten; the front door of the young families home opened, and a little tired eyed girl stepped outside. Henry’s feathers glowed in the yellow lamplight as the little girl wiped the sleep from his eyes. Overwhelming dread rose inside her pushing out a scream so powerful her father was between her and whatever was causing the panic faster than a human eye blink. He held her back and scanned the yard for danger; his eyes narrowed on the pile of feathers. He knew why his daughter was crying and scooped her up in his arms, then he brought her back inside. The short human, the little girl’s mom, stepped outside to see what the father had said not to look at. She, too, began to cry and came back inside. The father set his little girl in her mom’s arms; he ran to his bedroom closet, took a small 22 rifle out of its lockbox, and jammed a five-round magazine into the gun’s bottom. He ran for the front door, knowing that there was no way whatever killed his duck would still be around. The tall human stepped down off the front porch and chambered a round. The feathers were in a pile between the porch and stream. There were a few more here and there, heading for the woods. He could hear his little girl crying, and he started for the woods. The tall man trampled around the woods for sometime before his wife called for him. The tall man needed to leave for work and could not pursue the predator any longer.
S.L.Y. Fox lay hidden under a log that the tall man passed over many times before his female called for him. He took shelter just little ways into the woods when a giant of an owl had swooped in from behind and tore a tuft of hair from the fox’s neck. S.L.Y. even thought to himself that he might have been lifted off the ground just a little before his neck hair came loose. He dropped the duck and took cover just as the owl came at him a second time, missing him, but grabbing the duck ever so gently before flying away without making a sound.
The hallow under the fallen tree was deep and dark, providing the perfect cover for Mr. Fox. The fox lay there hidden for hours knowing that at any time, the tall man could come back to use his bang stick on him; for some reason, he just knew that owl was watching for him. Even though he could not see the duck he so perfectly dispatched, he could still smell where the was, and it was starting to wear on him. The sun was high in the sky before hunger took over, and the fox slipped out from the log. S.L.Y. took in his surroundings wary of danger, but hunger robbed him of his ability to care.
The fox took two steps and stumbled to the ground nose-first. Before he knew why he fell, he heard the same thunderous noise as that night but with a little more tree branch snapping sound to it. S.L.Y Fox was startled and tried to stand so he could flee from this danger, but blood poured from his leg. The pain began to overtake the beast as he took a hobbled step; he could hear the female calling out and then nothing. Darkness came over the fox as the sun shined down on his warm blood, dampened fur.
The short human stood alone on the porch after her mate left for work. She was sipping an Irish breakfast tea, scanning the woods for the creature that took Henry. Her husband’s rifle next to her while she leaned on the wooden railing. The sun was extra bright this late morning, and she could see the water vapor rising off the ground. The sun shone through the mist, creating little effects like a stage light shining down on an empty stage waiting for its actors. Presently two glowing red ears rose from behind a fallen tree, she sat down her hot cup and positioned the rifle in such a way that the railing steadied her aim. The fox was moving slowly, and she leveled the gun as to make a shot between the fox’s ears. One step, she could see the whole head; two steps, she could see the front half of the fox head to toe. The duck murderer started to take its slow third step, and she squeezed the trigger. Though not very loud, the shot startled her, and that was enough to cause her to bump her tea, sending in crashing to the ground as she tried to see if she had made a successful kill. The hot tea burned her leg, and she cried out with a slew of curses just as she chambered a new round. The fox rose again, and as she cursed aloud in pain, the second shot made its mark right between the ears. The fox rolled heels over head landing on its side, tail spinning like a helicopter for just a couple seconds before laying down across the fox’s legs.
The woman, confident in her shot, ran inside to rinse her calf in cold water before changing into clothes that could be disposed of if blood had gotten on them while dragging out the fox. She called her husband to tell him of her kill and plan to drag it from the woods. She then called anyone who would listen to her excitement before walking back outside to examine her kill. The porch door opened, a perfect beam of sunlight shown through the woods where the fox lay, and to her astonishment, a large hawk stood on the fox and pulled meat from inside the wound she had made. She thought how fitting it was that the hunter became the prey. The short woman not wanting to disturb the hawk stepped to the edge of her porch to retrieve her unbroken cup, seeing partly over the porch, her eyes filled with tears blinding her to Henry’s corpse. A couple deep breathes, and she cleared her eyes, looking again to where the fox lay where now an owl had joined in on the free meal.
We will miss you, Howard, rest in peace, buddy.
Rapunzel Rapunzel don’t give up.
It’s funny that after all this time the truth is starting to present itself.
The story about Rapunzel can be so relatable to children.
Rapunzel is a German fairy tale in the Brothers Grimm collection of stories, and was first published in 1812 and is based off of much older stories and myths and so on down the line.
We all kind of know the plot in this day and age thanks to the Disney movie Tangled, but with Rapunzel, the book goes a little differently. A lonely couple longing for a child of their own, cross a witch who lives next to them by stealing and consuming the witches Rapunzel flowers. The father trades his unborn child for the forgiveness of the witch because he fears for his wife’s life and surrenders the child over to her evilness at birth. The child is named after the flower that brought her to the witch and grows up to be the most beautiful girl in all the land. The witch keeps the girl locked up and hidden from the truth about her origins and strokes her own ego by forcing the girl to submit to unreasonable requests. (Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair so I may climb my golden stair.) Then one day a prince comes along to save her. The witch torments the poor girl before disowning her because of the prince. The stories never say if Rapunzel ever gets to see her parents again but I am glad to know she learns that the witch is just a witch.
How delusional does a grandparent have to be to convince his/her self that they can brainwash a child into believing that: somehow, the much too old grandparent is the actual blood parent? How sick would that person have to be to keep that story up for over a decade? How mad do you think they would be when the child begins to question why these parental figures are so much older than his/her friend’s parental figures? How do you think the child would feel knowing that the truth is out there and they are being kept from it to appease the egos of two aging individuals trying to get it right on a second try. Second try? Yeah when you and your religion messed up the minds of your first children you steal the grandchildren and try again.
Now I am not naming names, nor am I inferring that this is in any way addressed to anyone in particular. I am just asking in general, how messed up would that person have to be?
Messed up enough to lock that child away like Rapunzel? Lock her far away from the big bad internet? Keep her from the truth? Disown her like Jehovah witnesses supposedly say to do? I’m sure they would.
Humans are strange creatures and feel the need to hide things that would shatter their own
belief on how reality should be. The story of Rapunzel, not Tangled appeals to me in a unique way. I feel for Rapunzel because I know there are still evils in the world that only time can resolve. Imagine dealing with a modern day witch, you make a poor choice, the witch steals your child and uses the binds of our blind justice system to hold your kid captive. Modern day witches use the spells of our courts bind their victims, thank goodness our founders thought this may happen and provided me/us with a way out.
A picture is worth a thousand words. So I don’t actually need a thousand pictures to spread the truth.
Surprising how when you catch someone in the act of treachery they strike out like venomous creatures poised on your demise. I am all for the truth and if the truth falls from my favor I will bow out respectably.
Let the vileness continue and I will stand alone in your field of evil like an old oak tree, unmovable; arms spread out like great branches to welcome that one who chooses to hear a truth whispered on the wind, the truth she always knew she knew.
Boy this is an old picture of Michael his girlfriend at the time Elisha Shirk and their child Arianna.
Someday I’ll have to answer for not knowing how to fight harder.
See here is the thing. I own these pictures and I cannot be told to remove them. Now if you truly believe that you somehow birthed this child I will gladly give up blood to be tested and if I am not the father then you’ll never have to read anything by me again…
Brass Hook
Brass Hook
A Michael Lee short story
July 28, 18
J.P. Grant, the great great great grandson of Ulysses Grant (okay 7 generations since U.S. Grant), is 36 years old and not truly doing much with his life other than working a nine to five dead-end job, growing old, and putting the minimum into his retirement fund against his mother’s weekly encouragements. He has a five-acre homestead and a few livestock animals that cost more than they are worth. His father stops by most days to tend to the animals while J.P. is at work, has been known to name the chickens here and there, and only charges a few eggs a day for his services.
J.P. Grant woke late Saturday morning, like most other Saturdays this year; still drunk from the night before and head spinning. He rolled out of bed, tangled in worn cotton sheets onto the floor; his head hitting the nightstand on the way down before his arms could free themselves from the sleep-made straight jacket, created after a night of drunkenly tossing and turning. Pushing the nightstand over with his head, his phone and lamp crashed to the carpet with him; he groaned with regret, had no desire to untangle himself, or to get up off the cool floor. Grant lay there on the soft matted carpet saying to himself for the first time “never again.”
His phone lay on the ground, the speaker as close to his ear canal as possible without actually being in his ear, began to ring at full volume. Grant rolled over with a start; struggled to untangle his arms and lifting himself up on his elbows threw up in his mouth a little bit, swallowed then grabbed his phone and said hoarsely. “Hello, mom.”
“Where the hell are you John Paul? Have you been smoking cigarettes? You sound like you’ve been smoking! Your dad’s birthday is today and you two were supposed to go fishing! Remember?” She said as unhappily as any mom could sound when her son misses an important outing with dad.
“Mom, I don’t smoke and Dad’s birthday is tomorrow, not today.”
“No John! It’s today! You are five hours late; your dad said just come out to the lake and he will come to get you in the boat. Maybe you can salvage his day. So get your ass up and go meet your father before I come over there! Don’t forget his present either, you forgot it last year, and even though he didn’t say anything I just know it hurt him.” She exclaimed.
“Okay ma, I’ll be there in a little while. Can you call him and tell him I’ll be there?” Grant asked knowing that if he called his dad, he’d be told not to worry about coming so late in the morning.
“Yes, J. P. I’ll let him know you are on your way.”
Grant got along with his parents pretty well and didn’t actually mind going fishing with his pops a few times a year. He didn’t forget the present this year either. A brass fishing hook with “Love you Dad” engraved along the side of it. So yeah, not a real hook. It’s one of the hat clip hooks but J.P. got a quality one that his dad wouldn’t mind keeping around for a while.
Grant got up off the floor, not stepping too far from his bed, looked around his room for a clean shirt to wear. He hadn’t always been so messy, or even a drunk, seeing his room like this made him feel gross inside. His eyes still a little blurry, mouth dry and filmy he could feel the room spin just a little before falling to the bed and going back to dreamless drunken slumber.
“Hey, son. Wake up. We need to talk.” Grants father said calmly as he gently rocked his son’s shoulders as to not surprise the sleeping young man half off the bed like he had just fallen there.
Grant opened his eyes a little thinking he was dreaming, then sprang up shouting. “ah shit dad I am so frickin sorry! I didn’t mean to go back to bed for real. What time is it?”
Grant’s father looked at him brokenheartedly, chin down he said. “It’s 3pm son.”
“Hey dad, you know, let me get cleaned up, maybe we can go get an early dinner or something, please let me make it up to you.”
“That sounds good but we still need to have a little talk before we go anywhere okay.”
Grant nodded his head, grabbed the clothes he attempted to put on earlier, and rushed to the shower leaving his dad in the bedroom doorway still glum-looking.
“Hey Dad, how did you get in the house?” Grant yelled from the shower. His father didn’t yell anything back and Grant figured he was a bit too far to hear him or was watching the news by now. Grant got out of the shower just as the steam finished filling the bathroom, dried off with a towel that still smelled fresh from the laundry mat then took a blow dryer to the bathroom mirror to dry away the fog. J.P. Grant didn’t have the dad-bod of his friends and still checked himself out in the mirror after every shower, asking himself where the beach was and what the shape of the world was even on his worst days.
“Hey, dad, where you want to eat?” Grant said while trying to shave off a week’s worth of hair with a two-dollar razor. He finished getting ready skipping the hair gel and settling for the trucker hat his dad got him last Christmas, blank with just a patch sewn on the front displaying a colorful rooster, and headed to the kitchen passing his living room where his dad was patiently watching the news, turned up just loud enough to drowned out a shower, waiting for his only son to hurry along. Grant rifled through the fridge trying to find something to drink to get the strange taste out of his mouth. Two cans of cola sat in the back of the fridge. One of the cans said in cursive along its side “Share one with dad.” Grant rolled his eyes and said to himself “just rub it in why don’t you.”
“Hey dad, you never said how you got in or where you want to go eat,” Grant said curiously as he walked from the kitchen to the living room sitting on the couch across from his recliner that his dad was occupying. His dad’s head was down and his eyes were closed and a house key on his knee. Grant smiled, cracked open the can just right to make it noisy but not spray soda everywhere, took a sip of his drink, and looked around at his clean house. “Hey there sleepy head, you cleaned my whole fricken house? I’m going to miss more family gatherings if you keep that up.”
Grant sat back and smiled; he was holding the brass fishing hook so when his dad looked up he wouldn’t be able to miss it. Thinking to himself, “Shit, my dad can be so damn cool sometimes.” His dad just lay reclined back as still as could be, the news lady on TV was complaining about something, and Grants eyes grew big body lunging forward.
“Oh fuck… DAD!”
Why you so mean Michael?
You know what?
More often than not, I don’t want to bother or be bothered by anyone, and it’s not for any other reason than; I’m introverted as hell and I am content just doing what I need to do to get through the day and don’t mind being lost in my own world. I love taking pictures- pictures of the world through a glass lens for free and pictures of really sick hearts with piezoelectric crystals for a fee. I like sick hearts because I know that the person will most likely be on a vent and I won’t have to talk to anyone, (except on days when the nurses feel extra chatty about the last tech who just ruined their day because they were oh so busy and the tech was oh so needy {nod my head and smile}). These extra sick patients also tend to, but not always, have other underlying problems that most people don’t want to deal with in a normal shift (TB, C-Diff, or the ever dreaded scabies) so I take them with glee in my heart. I feel like as I get older I could go an entire day without saying a word to anyone, except when it comes to AIDET, and no one would be the wiser. I’m actually trying it out in small amounts here and there as a test to my will power to remain silent and to not get myself fired when all I wanted to do was work and not talk about how our new sanitizing wipes are turning our brand new machines cigarette smoke yellow from their original medical grade white.
Hmmm. I almost really don’t even feel like writing this here right now.
Today I get to work ready to rock and roll after stopping at Publix to get some eye drops, and there it is, the same old same, no one is doing enough, work harder, give us more, do this and don’t do that or else and then a well written “GO TEAM GO!”. That isn’t how I wanted to start my shift. I’d prefer just saying hi to our great secretaries, maybe bat my eyes at them so they smile at my ugly mug and page me when there are cool stat studies that need to be done, getting my supplies, cleaning my machine if someone else touched it while I was away at jury duty, and going to work. Really, there are times I feel like I am losing my love for what I do when the chiefs forget we are working with sick humans who have people who love and care for them looking over our shoulders asking ten thousand questions and not just numbers on a computer screen. They see an MRN and I see a grandma ready to leave her grandkids forever, they see one more test for the bottom line and I see someone who had a clot found by echo, then dissolved with meds and can now go home after one last look inside and a high five. I don’t want to lose feeling of holy crap that guy who is doing laps around the unit today because I called a doctor about something I saw and didn’t let him off the phone until he said he’ll call someone as soon as we hang up, but if I won’t let him off the phone there is nothing he can do. “Use your cell phone I’m staying on the line.”
Today, some, my wife and kids, coworkers, that homeless guy who asked for a sip of my coffee, could say I was walking around with a chip on my shoulder. (I didn’t sleep well last night and calling out isn’t an option.) Half way through the day while chanting to myself “I need to shave my face to save a life, 8 shaves a day keeps the bankers away.” I had to go to the heart transplant unit to do an echo on a post transplant patient. Some post transplants have awesome pictures and some make you want to quit your job. This lady I had to do – we will call Betsy (after my dog whom I like a lot… give me a break. I needed a name and the dog was biting my ponytail so bam). Betsy was laying in the oh so comfortable hospital bed with blinders on trying to catch some z’s and here I come with my big fancy brand new yellow and white machine. Betsy was happy to see me since she had been waiting for an echo for a couple days now. I introduced myself and she remembered me from before her transplant. Yes I get to see the before and afters a lot. I set up my machine, hooked up my lead wires to synchronize my cine loops to her heart, lubed up the probe with freezing cold gel and started the echo. Betsy lay there asleep; while imaged her heart, I was about fifteen pictures in to the test and I hit the continuous wave Doppler and Betsy hears her new heart for the first time. Continuous Wave Doppler listens to the blood moving inside a persons heart along a chosen beam path and creates an audible sound that can be heard by anyone near enough to care.
She gasps for air, says “Is that my heart?” while quickly lifting her blindfold to see what I was seeing. I say “yes that’s your heart”.
I turn the over sized and underused screen so she can see better; I exit out of Doppler and showed her the black and white grainy 2 dimensional image of her new heart. I tell her what she sees is her heart in motion and I don’t make eye contact with her as she begins to weep. She rested her hand on my hand that held the imaging probe and, she sobbed and asked again “Is that really my heart? It’s so beautiful.”
She cried some more and I held the image for her to see as long as she desired. A few minutes past and as her breathing normalized I was about to continue my study and she asked. “Can I hear it again?”
“Heck yeah you can.”
I turned up the volume and Dopplered the heck out of her heart. I took my time imaging Betsy’s heart while she cried herself to sleep today because my time with her was way more important than a “we expect eight studies a day damnit.”
Betsy expected one study today and that is what I gave her. This lady got to see and hear her new heart pump her blood through her body and will never forget that. (she recorded a few seconds on her cell phone.)
Betsy is why I do echos, vent patients keep me away from the masses and my coworkers so they only think I’m a jerk and not given the chance to see me be a jerk.
Introverted empaths unite… well maybe tomorrow.
First contact
When your heart pounds through your chest it’s hard to sleep.
(Even when you have a plane to catch in the morning)
I left bread crumbs so you could find your way.
(Google made it easy)
I have no secrets to keep from you.
(Ask me and I’ll tell you everything)
Exodus
Exodus
8. A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know of Joseph. 9. He said to his people, “Behold! The people, the children of Israel, are more numerous and stronger than we. 10. Come, let us outsmart it lest it become numerous and it may be that if a war occur, it, too, may join our enemies, and wage war against us and go up from the land.”
Today, March 20, 2018 I awoke happy and ready to get this day on. I opened Audible and pressed play. I wanted to start off on the right foot; to many mornings I lay in bed skimming through my Facebook news feed when I should be spending time with the Lord. Now mind you my day didn’t start perfect; no lunch, my hair wasn’t done, coffee was bitter and I didn’t kiss Sarah good bye. I wasn’t having a bad day, I had a plan.
I got to my parking spot, one mile from work and had 45 minutes to spare.
“I’ll listen to the Bible and Scooter down to work when I have 15 minutes to left.” I said to myself.
That is what I did too. I listened to Exodus on my phone and drank my bitter coffee until my dash board said 7:12 am and my phone rang out its alarm “Time to clock in. Its 7:26am”
– You have got to be kidding me! I grabbed my stuff. Popped the trunk. Unfolded my grownup Razor scooter and sped to work, Jwalking every chance I had to make sure I could beat the street lights and traffic ensuring a clock in time of 7:32am.
Still a good day.
I had three post op day one TAVRs studies to do, two studies that needed fixing in the Excelera, and just some general lives that needed saving. It was going to be awesome. You think I’m kidding? No I really think that way.
Work goes by like a dream. I tell my TAVR patients I am so happy they got a new valve and I hope it treats them great for years to come. I did a chemo patient getting chemo for the first time this week and he was a little nervous. I kept him talking and truly listened to what he had to say. We talked about the book Ben Hur. I told him if he was going to be here (UAB) for a week or so then a great book to pass the time would be Ben Hur. Ha, He told me he actually had the book and hasn’t read it in a long while.
“When I get out of your room, call someone and have them bring it up. I wasn’t sent here to just do your echo.” I said with a smile. This guy is stronger than me because if I had cancer I tell you I am not sure if I would ever be able to smile again.
My last patient of the day was a fantastic lady who had a minor stroke and was able to get up and walk and talk and such.
“Don’t make me laugh otherwise I’ll start to forget words and you’ll be able to tell I has a stroke.” I brought Jesus with me and she slept like she needed it. Her friends said she hasn’t been able to sleep since she got to the hospital. When I was done, she was awake, starving and happy to have met me.
I had a long walk back to the lab, about two blocks or so. I listened to and finished Exodus before I got to my elevator home. The door was open and waiting for me. My ride was uninterrupted giving me time to check my social media for the first time of the day. Visual Voice mail from my wife shown on the screen saying.
– Hey baby call me when you get this message. I just called the cops because somebody broke i…-
My heart dropped and I pressed call before reading the rest of the message. Sarah answered and told me that someone had kicked in our side door and robbed our house.
I was walking into the Echo lab as this news gave weight.
(my fucking gun) I said to myself as I could feel my face turn red and my hands began to shake.
“Baby what did they take?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid to go in the house. I called to cops and am waiting for them.” She said with fear and trembling in her voice.
I was in the lab pushing my machine into its parking place, I could only see red but I knew there were people around and shouting would not be wise. So I took the even less wise path.
“Where were you when this happen?”
“The store” she said. “I was gone less than an hour baby.”
“You were out spending money when I say every damn day not to spend money we don’t have?” I said that like a complete asshole. My anger was not directed in the right place, the Philips Epic would have taken my verbal abuse much better.
“I have to go.” I said knowing that I could not stay on the phone and that Sarah did not deserve what I was feeling on the inside since she was probably feeling much worse.
I peeked into the reading room and only asking “… Could you please charge my patients.” And leaving with nothing else to say for fear tears of rage would break free of my control and slowing my trip home where I was needed by my wife.
I unfolded my scooter, clocked out, and raced to my car. I sped north in the rain feeling my transmission slipping third gear when I needed it most. “Let off the gas Michael it will grab, then floor this thing.” All the lights were green on my way home, fellow travelers seemed to know I needed a clear lane and moved aside before I laid in on my horn. (soo I didn’t look like a road raged psychopath) and my now 2nd call to Sarah was better than the first. The cops were there and walking with Sarah through the house. I let her go so she could talk to them and to call Rich, my step dad, to see if he had the serial numbers to my gun. I did not know it and was not sure if the gun box was unpacked or in the attic.
Rich answered the phone and I couldn’t talk, I choked out “Someone robbed us Rich. Someone kicked in the door, robbed us and stole my Berretta” I cried for a few breaths and then spoke. “Sarah is with the cops and we need the numbers off the Berretta, you wouldn’t happen to know if you have them would you?”
“I don’t think I do; you have the box and book work. Did they take that too?”
I told him it might be packed away and that I was just hopping he had quick access to it. My stepdad kept me on the phone and tried his best to keep me composed until I got home.
You know, never in a million years would I have thought I would have been robbed. My house isn’t amazing looking, it looks like little kids live here and like we are just as poor as everyone else. They kicked in my door. They/He/Her kicked the door so hard they bent the knob and blew out the door frame and wall support. Asshole. My cameras are gone, kids laptops are gone, TV is gone (thank goodness), all my pocket knives gone, change gone and the list goes on.
I wasn’t home, I wasn’t pulling up in the drive way, I wasn’t laying on the couch. I wasn’t there to protect my home. My home failed it self because of its age, homes used to be safe when home invasions only existed in books.
I drove down into my rock driveway, hanging up with Rich and parking in the grass so the
two grey Gardendale police cars could have a way out when they were done at my home. There were two police officers in my home when I stepped onto my porch. My children were with a neighbor and my wife sat at the kitchen table. Both officers were looking for potential fingerprints when I stepped up to the entry way and were surprised at how my wall “just came apart everywhere” when the old wooden door held its ground, and the dead bolt was ready to die bold. I walked through the house with one of the officers looking to see if I saw anything out of place or blatantly gone. I listed some stuff and rummaged through my closet looking for the box to my pistol. Amazingly the blue box that housed my gun when it was new was still in my closet under some old red scrubs. The cop and I went through the whole box inside and out, through the book provided by Berretta, and every other little piece held within, looking for a number. I felt out of control, I was sure there would be a number somewhere inside. No. No there was no numbers inside, outside or on any thing that came with the gun,
“oh my God I am so sorry. I just assumed the numbers would have been here too.”
-Oh my shit! I sent a picture of my gun to a friend and maybe, just maybe the numbers will be in the picture.
I fly through my messages and lo and behold there it was. Now will that help me? I doubt it. They said that gun is long gone by now. Shit man it has only been two hours at most.
The cops dusted my house for prints and tried to consul us in a sort on manner befitting a cop. I am thankful for their being around today.
Yes I am very glad Sarah was not at home. See the doors would not have been locked and as much as I believe she could have made it to my pistol and sprayed his brains all over the dinner table and stove, that probably would not have been how the story played out.
I thank God I was out of apples and Sarah was getting me anther five pounds for my lunches.
The house is secure for tonight; I am still armed and willing to protect my family.
Magis
If my words didn’t flow remember. It is 129am and my home has been turned upside down.
Goodnight
MC Dreaming MC Sleeping
I dreamt about you last night. I don’t dream to often, and when I do, there is very little remembered when I wake unless it is very vivid like what follows.
This wasn’t a Christmas dream, and stayed very vivid throughout. I was at home, here in Alabama, there was a knock on the front door, and when I opened the door the a mailman said “I have an important letter for you.”
I took the letter and opened it. As I looked at the letters on the paper I could not read them but I knew what they said. (We need to talk). As I looked up from the paper I was at you front door knocking. Martin answered, “hello Michael, I wasn’t sure if you were going to come.” I only half heard him because I was looking around, stunned on how I got there so fast.
Martin leads me into the living room, there are bright white empty walls and dark wood furniture. The couches are beige and there in one back window where I can see a green back yard and a red playset. Martin stops in front of me, now blocking the window. He points to the couch next to me.
“Sit down.” He says.
Martin is wearing a light brown suit, white shirt and brown stripped tie. I remember this because he flips his tie over his shoulder the next time he begins to talk. I sit and he stays standing, I try to peek around him to see outside.
“Why did you call me down here and where is Arianna?” I asked.
“I have had two stents.” He pointed to his heart. “Now they think I have live cancer that is spreading all over my body.”
I did not feel bad for him at all. Rebecca? came in the room holding a little brass wire bird cage. She set it down on the highly glossed coffee table. Remember everything I very bright in here.
“Martin, why did you guys have me come down here? How come it took so long for you to let me come around?”
“Michael she was/is our daughter and will continue to be so. I’m sick and when I pass she will be your daughter. So we want you to meet her once to say hi.”
Rebecca (she reminded me of what the witch from Hansel and Gretel should look like) opened the little bird cage and you stepped out on to the dark brown coffee table. You wore a blue and white striped dress, tiny little shoes, and a rainbow bird mask (the bird mask really looked like a colorful death mask worn by doctors in the 1800’s) held on with thread tied behind your head.
“Oh my goodness, you’re so tiny!” I cried.
“She doesn’t eat much.” Rebecca said happily.
I wanted to scoop you up, put you in my pocket and run. Martin, sensing my thoughts, picked you up and had you stand in his palm. I could see you smiling at me even though the bird mask covered you whole face.
“You guys have to feed her! She shouldn’t be so small!” I was getting mad.
“I’ll be okay, remember, they can’t keep me forever.” You squeaked to me.
My heart dropped, adrenaline skyrocketed, my skin flushed and my eyes opened.
0405 on Christmas day.
I tried to go back to sleep so I could hold you in my hand, and take off that mask, I just wanted talk to you. But sleep didn’t return so easily: restroom, water, some cookies, milk and then a half hour of laying in bed thinking about why you had a bird mask on. Wondering if I should be writing before I forgot my dream.
I didn’t dream the second time asleep, but when I woke I remembered the first dream as well as I do now, like it happened in real life yesterday.
Merry Christmas. 2017
The not so Hot- Hot noodles
Sarah and I picked up some Ramen noodles from a small Asian market we found locally. We eat a lot of Pho, and when seeing this place after Reagan’s birthday party at the jump park, we just had to stop in to see if we could score some Pho noodles and maybe some seaweed for making homemade sushi. Sarah got me a Sushi Bazooka for my birthday so we will be eating fresh for now on… maybe. While seeing isle after isle of stuff I wanted to try we stumbled across two very hot looking packages of Ramen noodles. I do not like Ramen noodles at all, but I do like the flavor packets inside and am willing to toss out the Ramen noodles for mung-bean noodles any day to get a little taste.
{I wrote most of this before learning that there is a You Tube challenge pertaining to people attempting to eat these noodles and the 2x spicy noodles too. All I got to say is most of you all are wimps. Great video editors but wimp mouths. }
These were the first noodles we chose to try because while walking the store looking at all the giant fruits and the isles of noodles and rice there was a clerk moping the floor and he looked like he may know which noodles were going to be hotter. He did not point to these ones. This packaging make the noodles look like they may be the hottest noodles on the planet. On the bottom left corner is a very concerning word, (mania) yeah so when the guy pointed to the lest scary bag and said “hottest”, I figured he was wrong or didn’t understand what I had said. So I just smiled and said thank you. “We will get both packages just in case the on the guy said was the hottest wasn’t the hottest. These are the SamYang brand and the seem to be a little better than Top Ramen. The first day that I had off from work, Sarah and I cooked these guys up first. First because if they were hot I would know that the other packaging wasn’t as hot and if they weren’t hot like the guy hinted to then I would know that the helpful guy was right and that I should be more trusting in other people. It said mania on the package so it should be dang hot. The noodles were a dud as you can see in the video. Now don’t get me wrong; they tasted okay and I would consider getting them again as a lunch item, but they were not hot at all. Reagan had a plate full after I stopped recording.
On to the second package of noodles, these looked way less scary than the first ones Sarah and I tried. These hot chicken noodles are only 2x 
spicy and don’t even say mania on the package so there is no way that they could be as hot as the first package of very un-hot noodles. I wanted to record making the noodles and trying them just in case on the slight chance that they were hot and managed to take me by surprise it could all be caught on camera for the world to see. Sarah had tried a package while I was at work one day and swore up and down that I would need milk and that she almost threw up because of how hot they were. After hearing that, I was exited to dive into making these up into two nice little snacks.
All in all the noodles weren’t bad, that is my mung-bean noodles were not bad with the flavor packet and I will have it again soon I think. Reagan and Macey will not be having this soup anytime soon though.
Enjoy and subscribe.
I promise I will get better at editing and shortening my videos.
Through the flesh
I need to sleep, I need to rest, and I need to clear my mind. I need to breath, I cant forget to breathe; please don’t let me stop breathing.
My senses are alive; like that of someone who just heard a twig snap behind them as they walk alone in the woods, on a moonless night, without the security of a working flashlight or weapon. Electricity and fear inhabit my nervous system, the same as that of a mouse in the coils of a mighty predator, though I lay prone in a bed designed to put the most manic person to sleep in minutes.
I hear everything, the slightest sounds in the air turn to thundering vibrations across my tympanic membrane: my heart beating ninety-one times a minute working to keep me alive, I worry it will just stop. The cool wind blowing from my air vent from across the room fending off the summers heat sounds like a hurricane just before the calm inside the eye. The tick of the clock at my bedside, I hear the gears inside rotating around themselves, pushing the slide lock slowly up until finally, a thundering “tick” the small red arm moves and a second has gone by, and then, again the gears winding up, and a loud fearful “tick” erupts from my antique windup clock. There is dust-dust floating in the air all around me, and I can hear it settling on an old wooden trunk at the foot of my bed each particle coming to rest so gently but so numerous it almost sounds like a sand filled hourglass that never reaches the hour mark, I can hear those particles all around me colliding with each other in mid air before being picked up by the draft caused by the running AC. A hum is coming from a flat screen television hung on the wall; though the red light makes a claim that the TV is off. My ears are not just hearing what is happening all around me, they are turning that sound into vibrations that I can feel in the base of my skull. I hear the sink drip for the twelfth time since it first woke me.
I feel a stair coming from the other side of my bedroom window. The tiniest sliver of space between my curtains has allowed the thinnest blade of light to pass through the glass, illuminate the dust in the air and land across my eyes as I turned in bed hoping to shelter myself from the TVs now blinding red light. A cat passing by on my neighbor’s fence somehow saw the reflection my eyes made from that slim cut of light impacting the wet surface exposed by my open eyelids and now sits still as can be staring right through my window, right through me, and into my soul. I squeeze my eyes closed tight and roll the other way. Fireworks erupt and light up behind my eyelids as I realize I am clenching them shut to tightly.
“Relax.” I tell myself.
“Please relax! Everything is fine!” I shout within my head.
The darkness of night is no more a friend to my bedroom; that tiny shimmer of light now floods the room like a lamp to an already well lit red sanctuary of terror, the two sources of luminescence fill my pupils with the details of every object in my room. Leaving no question about how to navigate the obstacles that could hinder a quick get a way if the guy down the street actually wanted to break into my house like that FBI phone call, earlier today, said he would try to do while I slept tonigh. Stupid telemarketers.
I can feel the fibers of my sheets trying to hold me in bed. I feel the weight of my “heavy” blanket doing it’s best the comfort my restless legs and tingling fingers. The dust in the air skims past the few bits of peach fuzz between the front of my neck where I shave and the back of my neck that the barber shaves, exciting my nervous system to the point of terminal over stimulation. I breathe in deep through my nose and slowly out through my mouth like I have been told to do for years and all that provides for me is the feeling of my heart pounding its way from my chest up into my throat and behind my eyes; down the sides of my neck into my stomach and down through my legs. My toes now throb with every beat of my heart and those vibrations aren’t absorbed by my high-tech bedding 109 beats per minute now.
“Am I crazy?” I whimper to myself.
Ice races though my lungs and veins as that thought finishes its way through my mind.
“I’m dying, I know it.”
I know exactly where my adrenal glands are now. I can feel them every time they dump adrenalin into my system. I can’t make it stop. Every beat of my heart hurts so badly that the tears building in my eyes and the tightness in my throat bring up memories of my dad being upset at me during my parents divorce. I told him to “Fuck off!” The hurt in his eyes killed me for days. We are best friends but that memory haunts me on nights like this. Adrenaline ignites inside me. Any thought that has the chance to create an emotional response only adds to the adrenal glands desire to tickle right above my kidneys, before erupting inside my heart and down my aorta with the sensation of holding an M80 in a closed fist just before the lit wick disappears into the paper casing.
Those deep nasal breaths bring not only more fear but smells that should have been long gone. Her smell should have left hours ago but it lingers in my nose like the smells of childhood memories. My adrenal glands remind me they are still there, the memories fade as quickly as they came. 115 beats per minutes. Yes I am counting them. The plug-in air freshener has been empty for months; I smell it now like the first day it was plugged in. It’s probably time to change my air filter for the house.
“I should go to the store right now and get a new one, maybe that will make the AC run smoother and I won’t be able to hear the vent, maybe a new filter will clean up all these smells. Did I flush the toilet after I used it before bed? I wonder if they make charcoal air fresheners to absorb more smells” I couldn’t help from saying any of that out loud. As I lay there I could smell that the cap was still off my tooth paste, though the bathroom door is closed.
I could taste the toothpaste still in my mouth. It must be good stuff, I brushed at 7pm and it’s now 456 in the AM. It’s not just the toothpaste I can taste, but the mouth goop that was starting to form between my cheeks and the base of my gums, it gives off just the slightest of alkaline flavor. I know I should just get up and start my day early but this would be day three of only one and a half hours of sleep. I have counted every minute since I woke up, adding each thundering tick, sixty times a minute; thirty six hundred ticks an hour. This is easy to do when you wake with the ability to concentrate on every sensation entering your mind at the same time separately. I can count the hairs on my arms, the fibers in my sheets and the bumps in my fingerprint as my thumb slides slowly across my index finger. 67 ridges from the nail edge to the spiral. That cat finally found its way down the fence line; I can tell because I don’t feel its burning stare cutting though my soul. The air temperature in the house has dropped low enough to permit the AC to shut off for now. The lack of wind has let the curtain close back upon itself, darkening the room just slightly. The dust in the air slows to the point of silence once again.
Sleep doesn’t come easy when there is a fire storm burning inside your nervous system and the only relief is complete exhaustion, but even then, your adrenal glands could still have other plans for the hour and a half that you so desperately pray for as the blankets get pulled over your shoulders.
Coffee loses its morning friendliness when it becomes a crutch to insomnia. Sugar isn’t as sweet when added for energy only. Creamer doesn’t cut black coffee’s richness in the same way when poured for need instead of want.
Go to the gym they say. Go to hell I say. Have a homeless guy put a gun to your head while sipping a litter of bottom shelf vodka. Do you feel that? That pounding in you chest; is this for real? It’s not is it?
When you go to sleep tonight you don’t have to remember that I’m laying here awake, I don’t want you to, this is my cross to bare, and bare it I shall.
I am actually kind of happy to write this while I am not currently feeling this way for once.
Life with anxiety can be hell; fear of sudden death can only be over come by meeting it head on… RUN. Run fast and don’t stop. If you die, well at least you died trying to live.
Michael Trump
The Move is over; the unpacking never ends.
The packing up of the old house went fast when there were many hands helping. My thanks will never be enough to show my friends how thankful I am. I picked up the truck on Saturday morning and had it packed 9 hours later (there were a few odds and ends that were added the next morning.)
Sarah’s dad got us a hotel Saturday night since we didn’t have anything to sleep on after packing the truck full. Thank you Jon.
Sunday evening we set out on the nine hour drive split by a short rest to sleep. The 26 foot truck topped out at 70 mph. That was as long as the road was flat and the wind wasn’t blowing in my direction. Reagan rode with me most of the trip and he just loved being up so high. We took US 19 up to I10. Why didn’t I take 75? Well Google says it takes the same amount of time from my location, and because of that, having places to eat and pee for the little ones makes 19 better.
We drove until we reached Alabama and then sought out a hotel to rest for a few hours. There were roaches in the bathroom but the sheets smelled clean. I didn’t sleep well there either; not because of the bugs, but because I am taking five lives plus my own to another state full of people we don’t know to start a job (hopefully to retire from) and a new beginning. What if I made the wrong choice? What if we become homeless because of this wrong choice? What if the house we found turns out to be terrible? What if the neighborhood really sucks and my kids can never go outside? My stomach was turning all night and no amount of controlled breathing could fix it.
Monday morning we set out by eight am and enjoyed some Google map’s fails. Some of the roads almost seemed to take us in circles or just plain the wrong direction. After Montgomery we started in on the hilly roads and the speed of the fully loaded 26 foot started to plummet. 70 turned into 55 and as the hills got steeper the speed got slower. I used close to 175 gallons of diesel fuel for the whole trip. Yeah holy crap is what I said too. Where our temporary house is in Irondale I had to drive up very steep hills. The truck slowed to a whopping 15 mph even though I had the peddle all the way down. I did let off it to see if I was flooding the fuel injected monster. Yeah it was like hitting the breaks with both feet.
Hmmm it is late. I’m going to bed.
A move far far away.
So the beans have been spilt.
We are moving to Birmingham.
As most of my friends and family know I have been trying to get an Echo tech hospital position for years now. Well the time has arrived; actually it presented itself a few months ago when I was least expecting it. In April I was able to quit my day job at the doctor’s office where I was severely and willingly under paid. Not underpaid like fast food workers wanting fifteen dollars an hour for doing nothing. I was making half the market wages per year for what I am credentialed do. I accepted those wages for three years with out complaint before a hospital finally took a chance with the likes of me. I had interviews along the way but the lack of experience put the breaks each one of those jobs. The doctor employed me when no one else would. He let me hone my craft while for those three years I added to my starving résumé. For those three years I had to have a second job (actually my first job) to provide for my growing family. One year of the three I worked full time at both jobs totaling 85 hours a week. I was able to do that for just one year before my exhausted body said “you can’t live on four hours of sleep a day, now die.” Okay I didn’t die, but I felt like I was going to. I didn’t even know my newest child at the time. Right when Harvey was born was when I took on all those hours, and it wasn’t until after his first birthday when I had-had enough. The kid still has a hard time getting along with me. So, I needed to keep adding to my résumé so I cut hours from my night job, (the money maker) and started spending less money on the things we wanted. Every weekend I would put out résumés and every couple weeks later I would get a “thanks but no thanks”, letter from a human recourses person somewhere across the country. I didn’t let it get me down and just kept studying and doing my best at both jobs. I didn’t have a choice but to do my best. I have mouths to feed.
So in April, Bayfront Health St. Pete gave me a call about a résumé I had submitted a month or so earlier. I spoke with human resources and they scheduled my interview for a week later. On that Friday I met with my future boss. The interview went well (I did get the job). I started two weeks later. The doctor’s office was mad and wouldn’t pony up the cash to keep me. I would have stayed if the money was good. The office was only one mile from my house. I would have dedicated all my energy to the place if they would have dedicated the same to me. I digress. I started at Bayfront and the two techs there were amazing! The two girls took me under their wings and showed me the ropes, they helped me in every way possible and I will never be able to show them how thankful I really am. The doctors that I saw regularly were all awesome. There was one who stood out more than others, his name is Michael; he is a member of ASE and reads the same journals as I do. We were able to have common conversations and it was great being able to speak on a medical level with someone whose pay grade far exceeds mine. I was there maybe two whole months before the phone started to ring again.
Everyday for a couple weeks I was getting calls back from old résumés and résumés I was putting out at the same time as the Bayfront application. I was turning them down left and right with a smile on my face. Why? Well either the pay wasn’t where I needed it to be so I could move. They wanted more than my credentials would allow. Lastly I was happy where I was at.
The middle of May my phone rang and it was a lady named Wanda. She had a job offer in Montgomery for me. Well, well, well, Alabama is a place that Sarah and I really want to be. I said “I would love to come up for and interview”; I did so on June 4th. Wanda was great to interview with and she said I had the job. I was excited. Then came human resources; the thorn in my side. That was until this place; these people were so nice, and I couldn’t wait to start in Montgomery. That was until someone that I know, (they will remain nameless for now) passed my information along. They also told me about a position in Birmingham. I applied for the heck of it ,but didn’t really think I would hear anything back for them.
Two weeks from starting in Montgomery I sat for an interview at UAB hospital in Birmingham Alabama. I did my best and enjoyed meeting new techs. I told them I would love the position and if they loved me just give me enough time to tell Montgomery no thank you. (Though just the day before I had accepted a position with the Montgomery hospital) I didn’t think that I had gotten the job and went back to Montgomery to find a house. Shortly after getting back to our hotel in Montgomery my phone rang out; I almost didn’t answer because I was sitting on the throne and did not want to be bothered after eating some much crappy food the days before. The person on the other end of the line probably had no clue what I was doing and I am glad for that. The hospital wanted me and was emailing me an offer as we spoke. Once out of the bathroom I was jumping for joy. This was great; we were finally getting the chance to move to Birmingham.
Why Birmingham? Five years ago I applied at the VA in Birmingham and thought I was going to get the job so Sarah and I were house hunting and just fell in love with the area. Everyone is so crazy nice that sometimes I think we were being pranked. We are not used to kind people in Holiday Florida. There have been more than a handful of people who have walked up to us and just said hi, all because we had a baby (Reagan the first time, Bishop this time). While walking in downtown I almost get winded after saying hi to every single person I walk past, because they say hi first. Now don’t get me wrong, I love it and I hope my stand offish personality doesn’t show through. I want to make connections with people who are so crazy nice. We loved it so much in Birmingham, I was willing to move given the first just okay job offer.
This offer at UAB comes with an amazing opportunity to advance my career; so we have our house in Florida packed and have applied for a house to move in to up here. (I am writing this for our hotel room I rented to the weekend.) Okay, okay, Sarah has the house packed; she is so excited to move.
Now Florida, my friends, I love you all. Sarah and I are going to miss everyone; we are going to miss even the friends we didn’t get to see often but wished we could have. I am going to miss all my customers at Universal. I am going to miss my coworkers so much. We will be around from time to time and will stop in to say hi to those we can. All of you are more than welcome to come visit us too. Our house will make a great white winter get away from Florida. Once we are established here maybe we can foster you here so you can get out of Florida too.
Arianna Shirk, someday you will Google yourself and you will find this page. I have 
plastered your name all over it to act as bread crumbs that will lead you to me. I will always be here when you call, text or email someday. I know I don’t write on here much but I will be alerted the day you are ready to say hi. I guess you are probably about ten now and I’ll have a few years before Martin lets you get online. Remember; what ever you are told, there are two sides to that story and I have paperwork to prove it. You have one sister and three brothers as of right now. They all know about you and know one day you will get to meet them.
On a funny note: Today I got my fourth TB test this year, gave my 15th vile of blood for different screenings peed in my third drug test cup. Sunday I have to shave my chin for an N95 face mask fitting. Shaving is going to suck and my chin will hate me. My skin just wants to heal! I have eaten so much crappy fast food that I just want to run until I pass out; wake up and run some more.
The scary thing is… I have this awesome job; but I don’t really have it until my first day of orientation. Oh man; I don’t have a job in Florida come the 11th.
Michael Trump
I try not to name-names just incase people want to remain nameless.
Michael Trump 