Sunday morning I drag my old ass out of bed thinking I’ll make some real strong coffee and check my emails on my laptop.

I don’t want no drama. I’m not feeling too secure in this crazy ass world. I just wanna have a relaxing morning…

So what does my computer do? It lights up with this.

Dance of the Dwarf Galaxies!

My computer has this feature called Windows Spotlight, a built-in service created and managed by Microsoft. My computer automatically downloads and displays high-quality photography from around the world on my lock screen. My computer thinks I’m interested in the impossibly vast and maddeningly cruel universe, as if I’m a Worker Ant, yearning to understand Shakespeare’s Tragedies.

Here’s what my Computer thinks I’d like to know:

The Full Timeline of This Cosmic Ballet

• ~200 million years ago – First close encounter. The larger galaxy, NGC 4490 (nicknamed the Cocoon Galaxy because of its dusty appearance), swung past tiny NGC 4485 and tore out a gigantic stream of hydrogen gas.
• ~30 million years ago – The stolen gas mixed with NGC 4490’s own reservoir, compressed, and collapsed, triggering a second, ferocious wave of star formation that lit up the entire system.
• Today – Webb shows us the glowing aftermath: a spectacular red tidal bridge packed with warm dust, newborn stars, and super star clusters just a few million years old.

All I can figure, the larger (cocoon) galaxy 4490, sideswiped the little bitty galaxy 4485. This collision (or dance) occurred 200 million years ago. that’s how long the light from the event took to get to us….

Up down left right. I don’t give a shit!

My computer doesn’t seem to understand my true feelings. I don’t wish to be reminded of how small, helpless and inconsequential I am. First thing in the morning I’d rather be shown calming images. How do I get this point across to my computer, who seems to be concerned with my welfare? I mean, sometimes he or she gets it right. Like yesterday, for example.

Yesterday my computer showed me a gentle forest stream.

I’d rather look at this first thing in the morning.

Or I can just look out Joan’s Patio Door at her garden and the lagoon beyond.

My buddy Rel Render will accuse me of whining. Rel’s a man’s man kind of dude. Me, I like to whine. Especially when I feel like I’m spit out of the elevator on the wrong floor and the door wont open again no matter how many times I push the button.

I got so pissed off, I fixed my computer screen…

I asked A.I. for a little help and A.I. told me what to do.

1. Click the Start Menu (the Windows icon in your taskbar) and select Settings (the gear icon).
2. Click on Personalization in the menu.
3. Select the Lock screen tab from the list.
4. Look for the dropdown menu next to “Personalize your lock screen” (it currently says Windows Spotlight).
5. Change the dropdown selection to either Picture (to choose one favorite image) or Slideshow (to rotate through your own personal photos).
6. Once changed, Microsoft will stop asking for your feedback and will no longer change the background image automatically.

I confess I have not fixed it yet.

But at least I know how. This is important. Knowing I have control over something no matter how trivial it is makes me feel good. I’d rather feel good than feel like a helpless piece of shit. Especially first thing in the morning. Especially when I’m drinking unsweetened coffee.

So much about being an American is knowing how to fix shit

How to be self reliant. I used to do everything on my own. I wasn’t handy like some dudes I knew. But I could fix shit. We called it doing a Micky Mouse Job. This is what I’m doing today, as a matter of fact. I’m hanging at my Trumpy Girlfriend Joan’s pad. Doing laundry. Joan’s dryer runs kind of half-assed. What it does, it goes cold. So what I do, I drag it around sideways and reach through a hole in the side and press a little valve that’s stuck, and the dryer goes hot again. Until maybe two or three loads later when it goes cold again and I gotta repeat the fix.

I don’t gotta dismantle the machine. I simply You tubed the problem and was offered a few dozen quick fix trick videos.

You tube and A.I. have made my life a little easier. Especially now that I’m an old fart and my patience and self-reliance are not what they were in my youth.

But what I’m talking about here is a different kind of help, not simply help fixing stuff.

I’m talking about what happens when you get old. What happens to your head. I’m talking about depression and emotional stress. Two things I never admit to myself. But it’s there. I’m looking around nowadays, and it just seems like life was different before. When I was younger, life was easier. That’s a word I’d like to emphasize. Easier. Everything was easier when I was middle aged or younger. I could roll with the punches like…like it was no big deal. I knew how to look out for myself and other people didn’t matter. IF I thought about other people it was with fondness or derision but never with a worrying mind. Now that I’m old, I worry more. I worry about who’s sick or who might be getting ready to croak. It gets me down when I think of people I know who are in trouble and there’s nothing I can do to help them. Often I expand this anxiety I feel to the size of our country. These are serious times.

Lester’s Delivery Boy

Today I get a call from Lester.

“Listen,” he says. “I found a way to pay you cash from now on.”

Lester is referring to a demand I made that for any future deliveries he pay me cash for the beer instead of a check. I told him I don’t want a check because it’s a pain in the ass I gotta drive all the way to Larkspur to deposit his check thanks to the sad fact of my bank having only one god damn branch in all of Marin County and no other bank branch ready tellers will accept a BMO check.

“I’m going to give you cash from now on,” he says.

“How you gonna do that?”

“I’ll have Michael help me with it.”

Michael’s the long suffering Stepson or kinda sorta stepson on account of he’s the son of poor Lester’s girlfriend who died in bed after confessing to Lester that he had made her life a living hell.

“Don’t worry about the cash,” I told him. “I thought it over and it’s no big deal. You can pay me by check.”

“No, no, no…I can pay cash.”

“Just give me a check.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“You know what? I just thought of something.”

“What’s that?”

“I could give you a check for a hundred instead of twenty five.”

“Wait a minute. You wanna give me a check for a hundred. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes. For the next four deliveries. That way you don’t need to make so many trips to the bank.”

Sounds like Lester wants to lock me in to a long term Delivery Boy position.

“Look, man. Just give me a check for each delivery.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Gloomy. You’re a true friend. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Forget about it.”

He hangs up with a kind of haste that tells me I was nothing more than a nagging problem he needed to solve.

I’m no true friend. IF I was a true friend I’d put out more effort to get him some professional help. Nor am I a lifesaver. If anything I’m hastening his demise with my beer and hard liquor deliveries.

If this don’t help, nothing will

I just got a call from the V.A. Hospital, which I ignored. The call went to voice mail. A reminder that I have an appointment on Thursday 29 November at 3:30 p.m.. I don’t remember making the appointment. The caller, a computerized voice, didn’t specify the part or parts of my body I need examined. I suspect it may be the vision clinic. But I may be wrong. I know for certain it won’t be a psychologist or a Therapist. I’ve never reached out for therapy. I’m wondering how many old Vets request Mental Health appointments. I’m thinking if I had an appointment with a head shrink I would most likely sit with him or her and just talk…like I’m doing here with this blog post. This Blog is my depression tonic. I always feel a little better when I post this shit…thanks to you readers I got out there. And I don’t mind admitting that I ain’t made of Iron. Everybody needs a little help from time to time. Even my buddy Rel Render though I’m sure he won’t admit it. Here you go, Rel.

I do appreciate you being around.