Beware Tiredness Lives Here

Over the last 5 years, I have lived with an almost constant perfidious, strength-sapping, motivation-stealing tiredness. I have been involved in a voluntary capacity with a number of community groups however along with my seemingly unending tiredness, intolerance like a cancer has grown. My capacity to engage with people, especially idiots in a respectful and meaningful way has crumbled to a point where even my give a flying fornication jar has become empty.

My appetite for meeting and getting to know new people is still strong unless of course they are conspiracists, racists, sexists or any other lists. Until covid hit I was unaware of how many blathering idiots surrounded me. As we have navigated the post covid environment it hasn’t got better, it has become worse. In one of the facebook groups I follow, a poster believed that there was a conspiracy at work because in two towns a water main had burst in consecutive weeks. They then went on about all the deliberate poisoning that councils were engaged in by adding real and imagined chemicals here is a sample “(I am always) on guard when it comes to gov entities and what they are doing to us as a collective whole. Our water is contaminated with heaps of poisons and nobody is questioning it. Fluoride is one, arsenic is another, chlorine is another. Just like using 1080. I’ll keep my eyes and ears for the next near town to have this exact same so called issue. I’m uncomfortable watching multiple towns have water main issues within a close proximity of time.” Now I know I shouldn’t judge others but sadly this is a not uncommon thing.

Fortunately I didn’t have to engage with this person face to face (I could have also chosen not to engage with them on facebook). It is the face to face idiots I cannot cope with, the rude abusive people, those who abuse volunteers and others. People who think that it is great to try and disrupt a wedding with their protests that are pure madness. Yes I respect their right to engage in free speech however their freedom should not impact on others rights to go about their business. In short my jar of tolerance is very, very, very empty.

Paul

Beware Here There Be Idiots

Dumbo’s Friend

Who can remember the name of the mouse that was Dumbo’s friend in the movie about the flying Elephant? Well as it turns out I can. I regularly do a Newspaper Quiz, I average around 12 out of 15, sometimes even ace it.

Memory is a funny thing. I incurred what is described as a minor traumatic brain injury (I think it was about 4 years ago). I was hit in the head by a rock the weight of a 24-ounce hammer, and then kicked in the head by the same person who was wearing steel cap boots, You can read that story here.wordpress.com/post/kiwipaulspoetry.word… This is not about that and it is. I incurred some memory issues, often just periods of slow recall, forgetfulness about small tasks, birthdays, well sometimes. Yet I can remember the name of a Mouse in a movie from my Childhood (Timothy) and equally obscure I can remember that there are three rules are listed in Dua Lipa’s New Rules? What the actual? I have no real idea of who Dua Lipa is? Ok, Google tells me she is a singer-songwriter. I rarely listen to commercial radio, my radio is permanently tuned into Radio New Zealand National programme, (Aotearoa New Zealand’s equivalent of the BBC). I do listen to music programmes on that station however I could tell you the name of one of Dua’s songs, let alone recognise a tune. I realise however memory is like a muscle it has to be used, exercised and rebuilt otherwise it becomes smaller, weaker, and prone to injury (forgetfulness). So I purposely continue to read, look at new research, analyse the news and test it via quizzes etc.

No matter that I still forget my words sometimes (an occupational danger for someone whom others describe as a walking dictionary) I find them somewhere. The biggest long-lasting issue from my head injury is concentration. I have become aware that I need to concentrate more when I am driving. My spatial and speed awareness is still very good, I have however missed some visual clues to behaviour (red lights). That knowledge is power so I am now far more vigilant and I haven’t needed an infringement notice to remind me ( a helpful son has been good). The other significant symptom that has endured is a significant loss in my IQ. No, not my intelligence Quotient but my idiot quota. Idiots including Bigots; racists, misogynists, homophobes, religious pharisaical plonkers, conspiracist theorists, our world is full of them. As I have written before I have learnt to sit on my hands so I don’t slap stupid people, my ability to sit on my tongue has diminished. I can however walk away and will do so. No point in arguing with idiots or engaging in a battle of wits. My father always said don’t fight unarmed opponents.

Dear God, there has been a mass disarmament either occurring or becoming clear since the emergence of covid. If you want evidence, look at people who cut and paste on their Facebook pages notices instructing Meta what they can and can’t do, the irony of having ticked the terms and conditions of using a privately owned platform and expecting to be able to limit their power whilst you use their platform is palpable, the ignorance and lack of critical literacy screams out like a 20-metre bill board, the message reads “Beware Here There Be Idiots”.

Moral dilemmas,

I have been through a few, some I have failed at, others well I have managed to stand true. I am fortunate, I have a place to live, food to eat, even some toys. I am living week to week at the moment but I still have choices and I can improve my lot.

Some time ago I bought a small boat, not a lot of money, however enough. I have been out fishing three times. I want to fish more but needed to make some adjustments. I am safety-wise, I have life jackets, VHF, cell phone, first aid, and fire extinguisher and I won’t go out of the Harbour at the moment as I lack the experience to go across the bar at Waihi Beach. I am a member of Coastguard and put in trip reports (p.s. you don’t need to be a Coastguard member to put in trip reports).

I decided I would get a backup motor, I had two I had bought cheap, and regretted it, hard to start, I scrapped them this week. So I bought a brand new motor. Unboxed it and was gobsmacked, instead of the 999.00 motor in the box there was a 1600.00 one. Now as far as the law is concerned it was mine, a contract had been entered into and money exchanged hands. It felt good for a little while and I found myself justifying keeping the motor. That was dilemma number 1, very shortly after dilemma number two appeared.

I decided I better register my boat trailer and get it legal. I checked the registration plate and it was listed as stolen. My heart fell to my boots, you see for me that’s a no-brainer. It doesn’t belong to me. I may have bought it but stolen is stolen! I had a small pity party then called the Police, took that which was mine off the boat and hitched it up to my car. At the same time, I reboxed the motor and put it into the back of my car. Law or no law my conscience couldn’t keep it. Times are tough and retailers cannot afford to lose 600.00. I took the boat to the Police and returned the motor.

I would love to tell you that I felt great but actually, I didn’t. The boat thing happened as I did not do a fundamental check and run the plate number through the system. If it wasn’t listed as stolen or a security registered against it I would have been covered via an insurance system. To be fair I had ignored my niggles, it was;t super cheap or anything, there was just a quiet voice and I was ignoring it as I didn’t want to lose any money.

The Police Constable said you could have kept this thrown away the number plate and sampling removed the plate number that was painted on. I said it comes down to this I call myself a follower of Christ (thank God for Grace as sometimes I am not that flash at it) I also believe in integrity then there are the other po (posts that inform ny life). My Family and friends. A house that has only three walls or posts is not very strong. In the end if I have nothing but God, Family, Integrity and Friends then that is enough, I am a rich man.

Well I got a call from the Police, the only stolen thing on my boat was the number plate, the boat was not listed as stolen and the trailer that the plate matched was not a boat trailer. Could I please come and pick it up from the lock-up. I felt good, but not vindicated. I didn’t see it as a reward for doing the right thing. I got the money back that I had put down on the motor, so I decided to wait for an auxiliary rather than buy the one I was going to. That money needed to go to help some people who are away from their families working. to support them and I am putting on a Christmas Lunch for them. Once again I don’t feel that I am good and I don’t expect any reward here’s why.

My reward in life comes from knowing that doing the right thing as an outworking of my faith is my reward. To maintain faith in a living and practical way that also demonstrates how faith should be is something that the church just doesn’t do very well. Many people try however for many others, they go to church on a Sunday, they may put some money in the plate and that’s it.

Here is the kicker. Times are really tough for a lot of people right now, New Zealanders from the middle to the bottom of the economic scale are being smacked around in every corner. I will talk about that in my next post,

Be Strong and steadfast,

Paul

Teen Angst to 60 Year Old Satisfaction (Almost)

Recently a 3 year old boy was in the news because no-one turned up for his party however socail media came to the rescue, https://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/wellbeing/parenting/133203054/familys-plea-after-nobody-shows-at-3yearolds-birthday-brings-community-to-beach. Birthdays for me that I am cognisant of in my teens were les than humdrum, more boredome. It doesn’t help when your birthday is in the summer school holidays. Nor does it help when you are considered a geek and someone who was not invited to parties, certainly not someone whose party you went to. Growing up in a Shit Town didn’t help, Morrinsville where Rugby was sport, alcohol was entertainment and romance was a fumble in a car at Piako Beach, (a road gravel depot which flooded when it rained). I am not going to go on about provincial New Zealand because it is what it is, nothing much cahnges, to be different in Provincial New Zealand is still like hanging a target on your back. I digress however.

I decided when I was going to turn 15 that I would have a birthday party and invited people. I was naive in that I thought if you invited people they would come however unless you were “popular” then only friends would come and friends were in rather short supply for me. I had one person turn up and one person rang and apologised they couldn’t come. The fact that I remember it is evidence that it was a source of some hurt.

This year I turned 60 and invited people, a lot came,friends family, relatives it was great. A good time had by all.Interesting that sometimes a party is not defined by who came, rather who didn’t come. It is hard to change ones mindset and focus on the event and celebrate the good times. It requires a mindset change. It should remind us to cultivate those relationships that are important to us, celebrate having friends and familiy who are important to us and to above all else be grateful.

My learning this week is to be intentional and relational and reach out to those who are important to you, those who are lonely, those who are different.

If you get an unexpected call from the blue from me and have read this blog well it is upto you to define our relationship and where you fit into my description because as sure as David Seymour is an unctious prick, I won’t be telling you that you are different.

Paul

Scribo Ergo Cogito (I think therefore I write)

Hallelujah or really? I have started to write again, it has been a long slow progress, getting my writing mojo going again. Lots of reasons why such a lengthy hiatus they can be … oh I know blog posts. Highly personal, sometimes offensive, potty-mouthed at times however authentic, a reflection of me if you wish, so lets start at the very beginning of the decline as it were, (as good as any place) I think, it all started with a door (that’s another subject as well, doors).

I was trying to crack the nod as it were as a provisional teacher, I did some relief at a school and they offered me a short-term reliving contract (two terms). It was a hospital pass that I didn’t see coming. I was to be the 5th teacher in two terms to tackle a class of year nine pupils teaching English. These young people were at the bottom of the learning ratings with behavioural issues and learning difficulties at all sorts of levels, from coming to school high on meth, through to being bone tired because they were working to help support their families. I didn’t ask the right questions so essentially it was my own fault, I went ahead and did it. One of the teachers had been on extensive time off because of a concussion issue, the others had bailed in varying states of distress or thankfulness that they had escaped.

The night before I was due to start I was horsing around with one of my sons, pretending to chase him with a fairly large hammer (just under 2 kgs). I chased him into the bedroom and he shut the door on me knocking me out. Needless to say, I didn’t feel the best! However, I soldiered on anyway as I didn’t;’t want to ring the school and say I had concussion. (I clearly did). (Strike 1) The first day there one of my more polite students when asked to engage enquired of me “Would you like me to knock you the fuck out…., sir?) I had to add the polite bit really. At that point I should have bailed and just gone heck no I won’t go, however, permanent jobs were few and far between, with many very experienced teachers selling their Auckland homes and moving to the Waikato cashed up and able to buy freehold and in some instances even a place at the beach as well.

I had earlier applied for a one-term relieving position and the Principal let me know that they had 45 applicants for the job and that I shouldn’t feel bad as the person who took it was fully registered and had 15+ years of experience. I had trained on the basis of English Teachers being in hot demand however found that was not so in the Waikato, I desperately wanted to be working rather than the alternatives so I was prepared to commute to Auckland daily (strike 2).

I persevered, throwing everything in the book that I had from freestyling rap lessons to refusing to allow some students in the class to attend due to their ongoing behavioral issues. The school in question straddled a divide between some fairly affluent suburbs through to what some might say were effluent. The culture of the school seemed to be rather insular (partly I guess because of its size) and partly due to the way it structured its learning, add a new Principal in and it was not a cohesive place.

Back to strike 1, tiredness and fatigue dogged me, apart from the 4-hour commute there and back and being a full-time sole parent to 4 I was clearly out of my depth. Having just come from a dysfunctional school where a senior staff member had been committing sexual crimes against pupils I wanted to work it out and hopefully that would help crack the nod for a permanent position.

Concussion injuries manifest in a myriad of ways I have found out. I was simply dumb in continuing in the job. To be frank I was out of my depth, I was struggling, didn’t really know where to turn to, I didn’t fit in the highly urban environment, it was foreign to me and I didn’t fit in with the staff. I don’t point any fingers around that, I was a very small cog in a very big clock, and in the end, if I had stopped working the clock may have skipped a second but then with a step like a rugby winger bursting through his opponents, it would have kept on ticking.

The end came when a student (without malice or intent) crept up to a door I was holding and pulled it out of my grasp in the process blowing my shoulder apart, it wasn’t helped when an eager newly qualified physiotherapist thought traction would sort it after all it was merely bursitis (a misdiagnosis). I finished my term at the school. I guess it probably looked cloudy however I was unable to drive for 4 hours a day and cope with the shoulder injury as well as coping with concussion. I had been going to apply for a permanent position however I was told not to bother as it was already earmarked for another beginning teacher.

To say I was disappointed was true, I constructed my own narrative of my time at the school instead of just accepting that I am not a round peg. This narrative when I look back is embarrassing, frankly stupid, and unnecessary, there is nothing wrong with admitting you cannot cope or you do not fit. In the end, it was pretty irrelevant as my shoulder injury was somewhat more extensive than what was first diagnosed with my hands turning different colours, a huge loss of strength and mobility, and add the ongoing concussion issues I didn’t continue teaching.

I had stepped away from statutory social work, burnt out from all the assaults and threats, retrained, and found myself in a place where actually on a numerical basis the assaults threats and pure antagonism were worse than working at Child Youth and Family, (the only difference was that the assaults were much more minor). I had not understood when I left the Department that I needed to carry my registration through so without another two possibly three years of study I was not able to be a registered social worker, essentially consigning me to working as under valued, underpaid, overworked resource worker.

I guess that is really enough for today, my shoulder is certainly telling me that, and brain fog is slowly descending again. So I will leave it there to continue.

Paul

I’m Tired (its the human condition)

Conflict wears me out. It grinds me down and dries my spirit, soul and body. Sometimes there is no ethical choice apart from engaging with an issue and that often leads to conflict. As much as I will still engage in issues I have learnt to pick my battles, know when to yield, know when to stand and know when to walk away. I should have learnt it a long time ago but there it is.

I walked away from a group recently, theier mysygony, racism, ableism and every other ism in the book you could think of just became too much. As individuals they are nice enough people, they mean well and are generous with their time and money often. They are however dinosaurs who are stuck in times past and cannot break free from their thought patterns, you can throw a dice and take your pick why people choose to remain with beliefs that at the best are immoral. Religion, politics, personality, hurts fear they are all there to choose from. The biggest of these in my humble opinion, (a wee pause whilst you all laugh at my use of the word humble… ) ok that’s enough people.

Fear is based on the unknown and an unwillingness to grapple with that. What if someone looked at their racist attitudes and saw they were wrong, what then? Change, redress, possibilities of vulnerability, relationships at danger? All real fears. I am happy to go out on a limb and say it takes real intyegrity and bravery to admit you were wrong, the older you are the harder it gets. We that is in the communal we actually reinforce the notion of not admitting our failings. From Kings and Queens to Politicians, Prime Ministers, Presidents through to the completely average person have grown up in a world where being wrong is hard wired to feelings of fear of the consequences.

Much is said of restorative justice, however in a world where injustice prevails everyday, enabled by society, the state the church, clubs, individuals, political parties justice is a a very rare beast, almpost as hard to find as rocking horse scat. Martin Luther King said “Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals”. This is why I still engage because not to do so is unjust. The key to surviving is to detirmine what you can do and when, how much can you care, surely one would go mad if one was to rail at every injustice in the world (externally). It is fine and healthy to be aware of injustice, doing so makes sure your reflective lens is in place and it keeps one honest.

I have realised that my limits are somewhat smaller than what I thought them to be which is a nice segue back into the title of my blog. As you may or perhaps may not know I have had cardiac rythym issues, they seem to be well managed however one of the medications just knocks me I can wake up tired and continue in that for the rest of the day. The post concussion syndrome doesnt help either. The good news is that eventually I will be able to stop that medication and very very slowly my concussion symptoms are abating, (hence the writing). The bad news, well it could be 6 months to a year before I can change medications. The problem with the medication is that my pulse rate sits at around 54 and doesn’t increase to much above 70 when under load, which doesn’t allow enough oxygyn to power the exertion.

Small steps towards more cardiac fitness will help as will weight loss. As to my brain fog well being hit on the head witha 900 gm stone doesnt help, nor some subsequent falls however re-engaging the left side of my brain does help, so trying to instill discipline back into my writing will eventuall help that it does tire me as does conflict however that which doesn’t kill me, postpones the inevitable but it does help climb above the walls, swim the moats and walk the fields.

Paul

His name is Reuben

I remember clearly, every moment (perhaps not every moment) however clarion clear like the call of a Ruru on a still night I remember 26 years ago when Reuben was born. Now when it came to giving our children names I usually deferred, (apart from one) however I took him in my arms and said his name, the only objection was in fact from his older brother who said “his name’s not Reuben it’s Stepen (Stephen was a family friend whom Joshua had taken a shine to. I knew in my heart however that Reuben was his name and so it was.

Now people who know me or Reuben closely will know that it has been one hell of a journey for both of us, Both with our own stories. I am not going to tell you about Reuben’s journey as that’s his to tell. Mine well where do I start, but its not about me. Reuben turns 26 tomorrow, typical of me and my head at the moment, I had talked about it being tomorrow and yet I still rang him to say happy birthday.

I (as normal are carrying on. Lets cut to the chase). I was driving home from a beautiful day today and thinking about it and I felt tears coming to my eyes, why I can’t tell you. It wasn’t a cathartic release, nor any overwhelming sadness though God knows I probably need to do some work on myself again. I digress.

I was thinking about how awesomely proud of how Reuben has taken on the challenges and taken control of his life. I cannot say that I love him more than when he was in the midst of his journey because unconditional love is what I have for all of my children good bad or indifferent relationships as they have been I have loved my children and will do so from the bottom of heart and it is the essence of mv very being. I would lay down my life for my children without thinking twice, but this is about Reuben and a celebration of his tenacity, strength of character and his willingness to give and help others. His willingness to ask and listen to advice. His changes in how he approaches his own decisions and the fantastic choices that he makes.

I am proud (if that is such a thing) of all my children, as they have all faced adversity, I however wanted to celebrate my son Reubens 26th trip around the son, and to do so with a wish that he continues growing (and fiximg my boat and car when he can. He is a talented, resourceful, artistic young man, and my prayer for him is to continue to be happy and to succeed, (ps he is an awesome welder, so if you are looking for an engineering apprentice, hit me up.

In the meantime, Reuben I celebrate you as you continue your journey withing family and manhhod,

I love you, Dad!

One One, Two Two, Three Three, Shit, Fuck!

I read the Death notices the other day, just to check if I was still alive, not that I would necessarily want a death notice in the paper. Those who are close to me would know already and why give the miserable buggers who don’t like me reason to celebrate?  I digress, in the notices was the name

I went to Church

I went to church this morning, partly to cleanse myself of the commercialism of easter, partly because I wanted to sing and partly because my daughter was visiting.  Some of you know I moved six months or so ago. I went along to a local church and it was a time warp, as if I had jumped into the Tardis and gone back 35 years.

WALK A MILE

Walk a mile

I have being having an internal debate recently about what to do about someone who shouts at his wife. No, not here at home however close enough for me to hear. I was contemplating calling the Police as I see it as a form of violence (yes I have been guilty in the distant past) or calling the child welfare Oranga Tamariki. In the end, I decided to either speak to the shouter or to the shoutee. Today the opportunity came up to speak to the shouter, just as I was getting ready to say hey mate he opened up. He said that you have probably heard me shouting at my wife, I just nodded, knowing when to listen is important. He then relayed his story, his journey.