Okay, here, I side with the rapist, actually, though I am not saying he’s not guilty…..

I don’t agree with the students here, who were saying they felt “unsafe” on campus. Where’s the evidence? Apparently, a very young man, age 18, assaulted a 15-year-old girl just after high school graduation. Hey dude, that was damn stupid and you pay dearly for that. Then, get this: While waiting for the whole rigmarole trial, he attended college on a golf scholarship.

Holm, who had done the terrible deed, didn’t say a word. He played golf instead. Apparently no one noticed he was a sex criminal. Why should they? Sex criminals are plentiful these days. They attend your parties. They’re your boss. They might be your next door neighbor, who rapes his wife every night. They might be famous dudes, or not famous at all. They might be your teacher, who rapes his girlfriend whenever they go out on a date. Or your nice friendly policeman might have raped his girlfriend ten years ago. While drunk. And woke up the next morning not even remembering since he was in a blackout.

Should all these dudes wear the letter A and ankle bracelets and be on parole and on a Sex Offender List for life? Maybe we should test the sperm count of all golfers. Maybe we should just cut off penises and be done with it. Or complain bloody murder forever.

Listen: 99.9% of rapes never get reported. Of those that get reported, the police will simply ignore. Of those not ignored, 99% won’t see a courtroom. Of those that make it to court, only 10% will result in conviction. While these statistics aren’t exactly accurate that’s about how it goes.

This means not only is the Sex Offender List a complete joke, but anyone convicted only represents a slim number of those who rape. What are we doing complaining about a golfer who apparently didn’t do anything alarming while a student at Loyola? He DID NOT PUT ANYONE AT RISK!!!! Did he do anything wrong? Did he threaten? Did he assault? Did he own weapons or drug anyone against their will? Was he dishonest? Did he cheat academically, or commit plagiarism? Did he steal from other students, or commit vandalism or do anything terrible with a motor vehicle or insult a disabled, blind, or racially marginalized person? In other words, did he actually pose a threat?

Is playing golf a threat? It’s probably the most boring sport out there. So saith my MOM! And if she said that, we all gotta respect it.

I guess asking these questions takes balls, right? I don’t think Loyola U did anything wrong. Actually, when he was admitted he wasn’t yet convicted of a crime, so he had no criminal record. Since when do admissions people even look into that? Is a credit check and criminal background check even legal for college admission?  I know that for certain fields, such as nursing or pharmacy, a background check is required, but overall I’ll bet not. I don’t remember one for any of the arts fields, for instance. Actually, I recall ex-cons as my classmates in music school!

An arrest isn’t indication of conviction. The accusation could have turned out to be false. That has happened in the past, though almost always such accusations are right on the mark.

The ritziest nursing home in town

When I lived in Bennington, Vermont I worked very briefly at Prospect Nursing Home. This was the ritziest nursing home in town. It was right behind Bennington College, up on the hill near what was the music building called Jennings. The view out front of Prospect Nursing Home was spectacular, if ever you had a chance to stand out there and gaze out over North Bennington. At the time, I lived on top of the hill opposite the nursing home. All I had to do was walk down that hill, then uphill toward the back hill of the College to get to work.

The facility was small, smaller than the other nursing homes in town. We had Bennington Nursing Home which was situated not far from the hospital in town, and one other which frankly I can’t even recall now.

I hired myself at Prospect as a volunteer after getting out of the nuthouse simply because I didn’t know what else to do. My shrinks didn’t encourage me to go back to school. They didn’t encourage me to even try working. I tried volunteering at the hospital but they didn’t give ma a useful job. For the hospital volunteer job I had to sit at a desk for four hours and do nothing. I felt so insulted I didn’t know what to do. At least the nursing home put me to work.

That was 1983. To this day, I remember my “patients.” They aren’t alive anymore. There was one guy they called Mr D, and Blanche, and Hulda, and another guy who had been a judge. They said he had this newfangled disease called Alzheimer’s. I met another man whose name escapes me now, maybe Joey or some such thing. I remember many of them. I remember two of the workers, a nurse named Karen and a nurses’ aide also. I recall the supervisor, too.

When I was a volunteer I could pretty much do what I wanted. I tried to figure out the needs of each patient and then, brought in materials such as paper and glue or crayons or clay. One of the patients liked to smoke but needed supervision while smoking. I believe he was blind, but I cannot quite recall.

In the fall of 1983, two things happened. I was rejected for “disability,” for one thing. My psychologist threw his hands in the air saying, “I don’t know what you’ll do now.” I figured that if SS said I didn’t qualify, then I should immediately try to get a job. That’s about when Prospect Nursing Home made me an offer. From what I recall, I was out of town at the time and I called them long distance to accept. Did I want the night shift or days? I said days, which was probably a mistake.

So I was a “working girl” now. They taught me how to bathe the patients. This was how: Wake the patients up. Take them out of bed and put them on the commodes. Tell them to pee. Strip them down naked. Wash them while naked and exposed and seated on the commode. If they complain, yell at them. Then, dress them and put them back in bed.

Shortly after I learned that exposing patients is highly disrespectful. The personnel at the nursing home were trying to tell me that demented patients didn’t have regular feelings like other people. The demented patients didn’t matter. Even if they tattled, who would believe them? We should do this the most efficient way, then lie to their families. Standard fare.

One day, I was transferring Blanche from the bed to the commode. Blanche decided to rebel. She wouldn’t bend her body. Blanche couldn’t speak, so this was her way of saying “No I will NOT!” She continued to keep her body straight in such a way that I couldn’t keep my grip on it. Slowly, gradually and gracefully, yet much to my horror, she slid to the floor. She was totally uninjured. There was no impact.

Unfortunately, I had to summon Irene, the nurses’ aid, who summoned Karen. Karen was a bitch. She said she had to write up an “incident report.” Well, so be it. I was a brand new employee and they shouldn’t have had me working all alone with Blanche, who was much heavier than me. They knew Blanche was frequently up to tricks, especially when it came to newbies.

All in all, it wasn’t a big deal, or shouldn’t have been. Most of my work was fine. I showed up on time and did what I was supposed to do. One day, Karen the bitch summoned me into the break room. She sat down with a cigarette and ashtray and motioned me to do likewise. Then she said, “You’re not catching on as fast as you should.” She went on and on, saying a bunch of berating stuff, saying I was stupid, spacey, didn’t know my right from my left (I don’t!), etc.

A lot of her moral criticism of me was simply pointing out the realities of the way I am, the physical reality of how I was born, which isn’t a moral issue at all. Certainly Ii wasn’t lacking in motivation, as she claimed. I really am physically clumsy which isn’t an “attitude problem.” Sadly, many ignorant people attach a moral overtone to clumsiness. This is a false association.

Undoubtedly I didn’t belong in a job like that, but that, too, isn’t a moral issue. It was matter of finding a BETTER job, if any were to be had, considering I was female.

Karen went on and on. I should not have even stayed in the room. Sadly, “mental health” taught me to “listen to feedback.” Fuck that. I sat in the breakroom and let the tears fall down my face. For that, therapists used to praise me. “There, there,” the therapists would say. On the job, tears should never show. Oops.

Then, Bitch Karen said, “Oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you feel that bad.” Hmm…So her intention was to make me feel bad, but not so bad I cried. 

Okay, after that I saw my feel-good therapist Tom Alkoff. By feel-good I mean he didn’t really do therapy, he only told me what I wanted to hear. For that, he got paid. From what I recall Tom put me in the hospital that afternoon. I was in for three days.

My roommate called Prospect Nursing Home to tell them I was “sick” and wouldn’t be in for a couple of days. I honestly wonder how that conversation went and I’ll tell you why in a sec.

Upon my return to Prospect Nursing Home, oh, after I’d been at work for about an hour, I disovered I didn’t have a job. I had been “replaced.” So I was there, but I wasn’t an employee anymore! I found out because the supervisor took me aside and informed me of this little fact. “We didn’t know how long you’d be in the hospital, so we replaced you,” she said.

I never found out how they discovered I’d been in the hospital. Except Bennington was a very small town. I knew the personnel at the hospital had big mouths. Any of them could have leaked it out to the nursing home staff. They could have been drinking buddies or neighbors. Or Tom Alkoff himself could have said something, thinking it was the “right” thing to do. I never ever found out.

On the other hand, the nursing home people could have questioned my roommate. They could have said, “Oh, so Julie is sick, eh? Is she in the hospital?” My roommate would have avoided answering, but they could have been extremely pushy and forced her to answer. That would have put my roommate in a quagmire, and honestly I doubt she would have wanted to tell me even more bad news.

After I found out I’d been essentially fired, I had yet one more appointment with feel-good Tom Alkoff. I told him I had been fired because they found out I’d been in the hospital. I told him I was going to kill myself. He said, “You’re doing great. Keep it up. I’ll see you next time.”

I went home and took all my pills. Which was good and bad. It was bad because the punishment was two months in the slammer and almost six months in Gould Farm. The good was that Tom Alkoff and his buddy Carl Burak were shaken out of their minds. It’s possible, of course, that they weren’t. I knew them both to be excellent fakers.

Stripes on the uniform

The other day I met someone who had fallen upon hard times. Having been there myself I didn’t want to yap on and on about “thinking positive.” What an insulting thing to say to someone! How naive! I didn’t in any way want to insinuate that he had brought his hard times upon himself. I don’t believe that at all. I know bad luck can happen to anyone. In fact, it happens to the best and worst of people. “Best and worst” is meaningless, in fact.

No way did he cause it himself. No way was it due to “not trying hard enough.” No way was it “bad attitude” nor “laziness” nor “carelessness” nor “lack of faith” nor “bad morals.” I’m tired of the blamers out there. I tried to show compassion toward him. I know how others tend to blame and point fingers and those who are already down, shoving them further down into the pit.

I don’t want to act all Pollyanna about this, but to be honest, I’m behind those hard times now, looking back. I’ve turned the corner. I can tell you hard times will humble you. Just now I got some good news, kinda random good news but good news nonetheless. I think of it as one more stripe to add to my uniform. One I found on the ground. I’m gathering them, much as many times I have gathered twigs on the side of the road as kindling to make a fire.

Will you come stripe-hunting with me? I got a surprise…did you? I didn’t expect it. Just something I can sew onto my uniform to cover up the nasty bit in my past that’s fading away now. In a while, after a few washings, no one will know what was underneath the new stripes I’m sewing on. You won’t even see the old stitch-marks anymore.

Remember the day I left on a plane from Logan Airport and said goodbye to Boston and the city disappeared behind the clouds? I remember that day so, so well. I remember whispering “Good riddance” to myself over and over. I remember the thrill I felt inside. Freedom! Boston gradually faded away, and out of my life.

Does your past come back like a ghost and haunt you? Is that little story really true? I don’t know. From what I know, it fades away. Give time a chance to bury it. Give time a chance to start new beginnings that overshadow what came before, no matter how powerful the past may seem.

At first, yes, everything seems hard. The trauma of hard times seems to run your life no matter what you do. It is foremost in your mind. After a while it fades, but in my opinion, time, not some hocus pocus therapy, is the best healer and will do the best job at closing the door. Better days lie ahead for sure.

Real life takes the place of hard times. Real life is random, not good nor bad, just normal day-to-day struggles instead of the pit of bad luck. Here’s a random issue: I purchased “male” shorts at a discount store and discovered they have a “fly.” Okay, do I sew up the fly, or leave it since the shorts are only for running, not for shmoozing around in public places?

Depends upon the size of the fly, right? Shall I ask those with Y chromosomes about such matters? Do files pop open at inopportune moments? If it did, would that be one more stripe on a guy’s uniform? Or do we sew the stripes on right there? Dear Abby……


Drug-induced insomnia, revisited…..

I’ve been gathering data on drug-induced insomnia, which the medical and pharma fields barely recognize, yet it is staring us in the face.

Any sedating drug can cause drug-induced insomnia, any drug you take regularly or frequently. Anything that causes you to become sleepy or drowsy. This means not only psych drugs, but antihistimines, anticonvulsants, muscle relaxers, pain relievers, cancer drugs, drugs for blood pressure, various stabilizers, cough suppressants, anti-anxiety, antidepressants, anti-psychotics, sleeping pills, anti-inflammatory, heart pills, cancer pills, the works, even some herbal pills. If you take these long term, you can develop drug-induced insomnia.

Even a child can figure out why. This doesn’t take an advance science degree. You have a mechanism in your body that causes you to fall asleep. It works like a charm under normal conditions. This is how: You feel tired after being awake a long time. So your body tells you to lie down. You lie down. Your body falls asleep!

If you are taking sedating drugs, here’s what happens instead of the usual sleep response: You have been awake a number of hours. You take a pill. Your body would usually feel tired due to being awake too long, but instead, responds to the pill by signalling you to lie down. You fall asleep due to the sedation from the pill. Your inner sleep ability is no longer needed since the pill is doing the work. So what happens? If it’s not needed, and you aren’t using it, your body will likely shut down your normal sleep center. You are now pill-dependent.

Problem is, pills will quit on you. It’ll be years, possibly decades before this happens. Doctors are idiots and you’ll notice that after decades. you are taking more, and more, and more pills and you are having more and more trouble sleeping. Ach! The pills don’t work, do they? Nothing works, and nights are a nightmare! More pills, worse nights!

The solution? The docs will tell you YOU are to blame! Nope! They are, but they are not about to admit fault. You need to get off the pills, but they say not to go off cold turkey.

Does the natural sleep ability ever return? Most people say it takes many years before it does. For some, it never returns, that is, the damage is permanent and they must maintain themselves on very low doses of pills (any pill!). Others find they must wait an extreme amount of time before their sleep ability returns. Either way, high doses of pills will only do more damage and will not improve sleep.

Tactics vary. Some choose to endure years of insomnia and constant exhaustion until their ability to sleep returns. Most cannot endure this since the exhaustion is unbearable. Some choose to go back on pills at a very low dose, then gradually taper down, very gradually.

This decision is a personal choice dependent on one’s circumstances. Are you employed, or caring for children or elders? Nodding off at the wheel can be a fatal result of drug-induced insomnia. If you are sleepy, don’t drive! However, if you can make your own hours and have the ability to take breaks when you need to, then waiting it out is an option.

I have spoken to many people who have drug-induced insomnia but I see very few official medical studies that verify it. Of course, your doctor doesn’t want you to know that this will happen to you in a few years. Preferably, you should stop seeing him and quit the pills before it happens! He’ll lose your business but you’ll be spared insomnia hell. Take it from me.

The joy of normal life sure beat being bossed around by a therapist!

Ah, the normal challenges of life! Debt! Staying warm, or cool! Keeping one’s house clean, washing clothes, washing the dishes, cooking food, paying for groceries, fending off the bill collectors….These are the normal joys of living!

Were you rejected from a job? Normal life! Hey, that’s better than bowing down to a shrink day after day, or being brainwashed into believing you are a disease, or being a slave to a therapist for years!

Two days ago I decided my bedroom overhead light is too dim. Ah, normal life! The search for a brighter light bulb for a reasonable price! Did that take rocket science? No! About 15 minutes later, I found one! Today after my run and shower I might get up on a step stool and replace the bulb…. If I don’t get distracted by the phone calls I have to make to bill collectors. “Hey, dude, the check’s in the mail…” or…”Hey, dude, I don’t owe that bill….”

Life is full of the usual surprises. I ran into someone I had previously dated…oh, about two weeks ago. Now I am dealing with that. I’m not sure what to make of it. He’s awfully nice and sweet, but nice and sweet becomes demanding practically overnight. Now, the demands are not for sex but for “using” in other ways.

It’s hard trying to tell a person to lay off and just stop being so needy. I guess that’s the word for it. Like I’m supposed to provide in ways I cannot, in the practical sense, provide. I can’t provide him an instant apartment, instant job, instant income, instant financial security. What am I? His mom? The Welfare State? Oh well. Such a thing does not exist.

There is no Fairy Godmother that provides for us, except the False Gods among us, that some choose to fall back on such as cult religions, addictions, therapy, or psychiatry. Some people are even addicted to meditation. Four hours a day? Get real! Maybe get a job, eh?

We find these things out, don’t we? The challenges of real life are pretty decent. The nuisances we face pale in comparison to psych abuse. Waiting too long for the bus is better than waiting too long for the doc whom you are hopelessly dependent on.

Ah, that doc! He struts in, carrying with him all his self-importance and airs of superiority. The suckers in the waiting room, the masses that worship him all suffering there, let the secretaries deal with them! One at a time, the suckers file into his office, where he dismisses each one, sending each away with a prescription, day is done. Off to the squash club (in Britain it’s polo) and sauna he goes, where he schmoozes with other docs and fancy patrons.

Oh well, folks. Time to get a move on. Have a nice day.


Got what I wanted…..

After lengthy investigation I have obtained a landline and can make free, unlimited calls! I’m not sure of the country list but I can call the USA, Canada, and a few other countries with this landline completely unlimited and landlines and cell phones in those countries can also call me free. Of course this was always the case, but now, I got a super-duper clear connection courtesy of an actual fancy handset that doesn’t blip and crackle all the time, nor echo nor drop calls. Nor does it react to face proximity nor turn on and off just because you are carrying it in your pocket. Nor does it malfunction because your hands are cold, nor does it give you error messages telling you you’re out of minutes.

I’m so thrilled. I spoke on it last night. Real conversation is so important to all of us, and I can’t believe I went without it all those years.

Reach out and touch someone. Next best thing is to call.


I switched to Linux a while back. I’m very happy with Linux. It’s so much more logical. This hit home for me when I had to go back to my Windows machine briefly yesterday. For one thing, the shiny touchscreen is impossible to see. It is too reflective. I don’t understand why Microshit boasts of being so, so accessible when their screens aren’t even visible! Who can see the screen when all you see is what is reflected off of it? My Linux machine is an ancient Dell machine that’s too old to have a touchscreen. Thank goodness! These nice visible matte screens are much easier on the eyes.

Also, with Linux, you don’t have to pay, pay, pay. Everything’s free. To figure stuff out you go to forums and peek at what people have to say. When I first tried to use Linux, it was more or less guesswork, but my guesses were usually right. I learned how to use the terminal when I have to. My old antivirus does not work with Linux, nor does my old VPN service, but Hide My Ass! does work, and if you need their tech support they’ll get back to you.

Microshit Word doesn’t work but Microshit Online does. That I know of, Shit Online won’t cost you. I still use OneDrive. I figured out that since they seem to limit the space allowed I can zip up files and then, cloud-save them that way. You can also get photo editing software of all sorts online if you want, including a version of Photoshop. I used GIMP with Win 10 and it comes bundled with some versions of Linux. GIMP suits my needs fine.

I’m using a Beta version of Chrome, only because Maps was screwed up in the latest Linux Chrome version. Apparently many of us had the Maps problem and were resorting to using Firefox until someone came up with the Beta solution. Don’t ask me where I found the link, I don’t even remember!

I am pleased with Libre Office for word processing so far. It also has a spreadsheet program I have used on occasion. All my documents that I created with Word open just fine with it.  I have been able to convert word to .pdf using Libre Office and the entire package is libre…FREE.

For scanning I had to download a couple of different packages to try out since I wanted to scan multiple pages. You’ll need to obtain the drivers for your printer first, then if you also need scanning software, try gscan2pdf. I believe that one works the best for me. You might also try SimpleScan.

If you want to read books a la Kindle on your Linux machine, I discovered a program called Calibre. You will need to install Calibre then import your books into it. It will read just about anything, including epub, which is the Kindle format. Download your books and be sure they’re written onto your other machine, whether it’s a cell phone or computer. I’m not sure how to get Kindle files off a Kindle as I do not own one. Then, either write onto a removable microchip and transfer, or email the files to yourself, or transfer them via bluetooth or USB connection. Calibre will also read .pdf or any text files as books with turnable pages. How cool is that for a long bus ride?

Linux doesn’t require tons of disk space to run. This means it’ll run fast on a smaller computer, so I hear. This means saving a lot of money. Windows tends to need a lot of space, otherwise it’ll run at a crawl. I notice that Microshit takes forever to boot up by comparison, too. Linux boots up in an instant.

I was even able to get a version of Scrivener for Linux. I have no complaints about Scrivener for Linux, though I have seen many complaints at forums. So long as I can see the darned thing, I’m thrilled. Importing was no problem at all. I was able to adjust the font and color to my liking, move the chapters around as much as I wanted, and it does “save” brilliantly. Bravo to Literature and Latte for a fine product.

I found that one program I loved, Efficient PIM, didn’t work with Linux. Oh well. I found one called Evolution which is a decent free substitute. For passwords, I used PassKey. I’d suggest backing that one up in the cloud or on a thumb drive since it is stored locally to my knowledge. I’m wondering if there’s an Android version of it. Please do not lose your master password to PassKey! Another option for essential information you don’t want to lose would be to use the online version of Evernote, which works fine on any device and also there are smartphone versions. Yes it does cost money if you want a fancy version.

I would suggest to new Linux users to keep your old Microshit computer around just to laugh at the thing now and then, or, on occasion, you might actually need the thing momentarily, dreadful as it is.

Good morning, suckers!

This morning I am laughing my fool head off remembering the 20 therapists I wasted my time with. Why on earth did I fall for such a thing? Therapy was supposedly the answer to everything…but it wasn’t.

Back in 1978 I started a new job with a new employer. I won’t mention his name. He’s not at fault here and I don’t really blame him. He was one of these new-agey hippie types who had discovered many of these self-centered, self-discovery-type things, including therapy. Honestly I wasn’t into it at all. I believed, at the time, that it was all too selfish. I didn’t think it was a good idea to sit around thinking about your problems all day. i still don’t.

But he kept trying to sell everyone on this therapy idea. Mind you, ordinary folks hadn’t heard of therapy back then. It was only for the very rich, people who could afford to spend time on the couch. I didn’t want to waste my time doing that, nor did most folks.

Therapy, back then, wasn’t in the mainstream. It wasn’t most people’s answer to “problems.” Nowadays, it’s the go-to, sadly, since there’s been a switcheroo and it’s become part of “healthcare.”

I finally took myself to therapy hoping my former employer was right. The addictive nature of therapy sucked me in. It was a horrible mistake. With or without the drugs, therapy sucked me into the “illness” idea right away. I feel that therapy is far more harmful than drugs since therapy is far more addictive and creates a worse dependency. Very few acknowledge the addiction, making it more dangerous than drug addiction.

Ordinary therapy is addictive and harmful. This is not some huge exception to the rule, this addiction is commonplace, the norm. I cannot recommend therapy to anyone due to the dependency it creates. Tough it out, form friendships, create neighborhoods and nonprofessional alliances. You’ll be glad you did.

In case you suspected The Arbour and Westwood Lodge were extremely crooked, you were right….

These are UHS-run hospitals. UHS is currently under Justice Department investigation following a Buzzfeed expose.