About The Author

       Oh it could be difficult to talk about myself. I write these blogs. Why be afraid? I wrote about my own Mom and she loved it. So I won’t love this any more than a literal pat on the back by myself feels very thoughtful like there’s a “me” who CAN hug myself. Most people laugh if they see a person give themself a hug. The reception of oneself is like kissing one’s own butt. It wouldn’t feel like a greeting.

    Ha. Ha. Ha. So I hesitate to speak.
But I’m already saying a lot about myself, the way I think through blogs. I say a bunch about how I relate to the vehicle of myself as sort of preposterous and a joke. Self reflection is an awkward an necessary science to realign yourself. Its also a rut to analyse and not like yourself- and as MUCH as you do not like yourself- THERE are your limits of endurance, forgiveness acceptance. And still, I have not said anything about myself in regards to timeline and education, summary of experience, because I already know it. I assume YOU don’t, so here we go.

     I was born in April, on the tenth, in 1974. I was born in Portland, OR and raised in Tigard, OR. My father was a physician and my mom a home maker. Dad had a private practice which is almost unheard of now and the phone would ring at dinner in the 1980s, where patients would call him about concerns. Back then, being a GP was 24/7 consciousness.

     We had a 4000 sq. ft. custom-made house. My dad drew the plan and it was edited to meet the law. In the summer a sprinkler system watered the upper and lower lawn. The upper lawn was too steep to play. The neighborhood guys were a year younger which to me was no good. One was spastic, Brennan, another Donnie who was into sports and egotistical bigtime. He went into pro Italian baseball and as far as I’m concerned he can enjoy Italy.

      The last neighbor Ryan, made sense to me because he was pragmatic and insecure but self-aware. He went military. Brennan, I don’t know. Friends my age, I didn’t understand. I’d either have fun with Rob, my age but dramatic, raised by his momma. And Sean, raised by his dad with a brother was more sensible than me. For sure.

      But I could not, and cannot find friends like many. I didn’t like competition. Ego was invisible to me and I hated it in others. So school time served the purpose of pre-education and soceital attatchment. I attatched myself to teachers as equal minds. They were not my friends though.

     In high school I found school boring and just eeked out B+ average. I couldn’t wait to go home. I’d get food, watch tv, do homework. But I was lonely for my parents. They had minds. They could talk. Many of you probably feel your family does things THE way. I did. I saw discrepancies as I became myself.

      Does this sound dry? Try this- I was born on the bathroom floor at age 15 from what was most likely a small heart attack at age 15. I foind this year I have had hereditary high LFLp (1675. That’s like Crisco in your veins) and untreated til last month. Its happened numerous times. As a  result at age 18 I was diagnosed atypical bipolar/ PTSD. The PTSD was from having a rational phobia of a ghost being torn in me. You know, the usual “Teen Wolf” thing. I was not fully human all the time. YOU try that feeling and see if YOU feel 100% human. Right Steve-O stuntman with enlarged heart?

     So I was born on the red carpet, in a fetal position, afraid to say I felt like a demon stabbed me and God didn’t protect me. Dad and mom were under my plane but I gave them my son ship. My “depression” that I voiced they nutured me through. So good. They were so good.

     They missed my knighthood by Thor’s Mjölnir to my body. I stood up. A fetal terminator. I couldn’t say what happened. It was a secret between a terrible world and God and I. I brushed up on every religion in the world. I became slack in school. Boring. Girls? Pretty. But I was as numb all over and downstairs as an 85 year old.

     I was supposed to be dead but wasn’t. Anybody de-fib for fun? Fe-fib. Walk a mile to high school. I remained athletic cycling. There’s more to say. I have been to the deep of me. There doesn’t alway have to be fear. Condemning is for bad buildings. As for self-esteem, I’m sure you are every bit as wonderful as I am within- a dark ocean with armies of freakish creatures! Hahaha! Don’t be afraid of your insides. That is the under ocean that the Light is unafraid of. I want to be made of stars and light one day in life, beyond wrong and righting.