And Fail.

So I played Ultima IV two days in a row, died three times in the first five minutes the first day, then finally found my way to two other towns in the game.  I’m afraid I just haven’t got the focus to maintain the game play.

 

Also fail, my therapist spends so much time fulfilling his talking agenda I don’t even get an opening to talk about the things I should be talking about and which my psychologist/psychiatrist (whichever one it is that does the prescribing) says I should be addressing.  He hasn’t heard a word about my aggressive behaviors, my violent tendencies, my risky sexual behavior, all of which are only not current issues mainly because I live in virtual isolation.  I didn’t even get a word out about my most recent attempted suicide because he had a printout of Counting Your Blessings he wanted to read off and then hand to me.  These sessions are supposed to last at least 50 minutes, right?  He got me in and out in about 25, if the clocks are not wrong.  The psychiatric doctor rediagnosed me from cyclothymic to Affective Disorder with Combined whatchamacallits, both Depression and Anxiety.  I’ll be looking that up shortly to see what the actual difference is in the diagnosis.

An Experiment in Time Travel?

So, last night I had my daughter obtain for me a copy of Ultima4, which was released a full year before she was born.  Clearly I hadn’t the equipment at my disposal back then to play computer games at all, but after reading Felicia Day’s memoir, “You’re Never Weird On The Internet (Almost)”, I found myself craving the experience so many of my peers went through.  So I believe I shall keep a log of my gaming experiment here.  Later today I will go through the creation of my first Ultima character.  If screen grabs are a thing in it, I may pull some and share them, too.

Are You Kidding Me?

Well, this morning I was scheduled to visit with an oral surgeon, because there’s a lump in my jaw and there’s pain when I open my mouth too wide, like if I try to yawn, it hurts.  So, I had to go without food all morning, and being diabetic, I had to keep a close eye on my blood sugar.  By the time the appointment came, it was at 79.  Before the end of the appointment it was down to 66.

The good news is, I don’t have to get surgery.  He found nothing abnormal i my x-rays or physical exam, so not even a biopsy.  But what he did finally diagnose me with?  Arthritis in my jaw.  When did that become a thing?  He gave me a pamphlet about TMJ — oh, so that’s what TMJ is then, arthritis of the mouth?  Crap.

Am I Really Doing This Again?

So I’ve had lame attempts at establishing web based journals, and I haven’t done much better with them than I have with tangible notebook style diaries, but here I go, making another stab at it.  Stab, whee.

That picture in the header is my Princess Winnifred when she was a baby, apparently offering herself up as a sacrifice to The Great Allmommy, also knows as NeNe. That was on 2011, and since then, Winnie has grown to appoint herself as my personal service dog.  She pokes at me when she thinks it’s time for me to check my blood sugars and take my meds.  She even fusses at me if I don’t get up and go to the bathroom as soon as I need to.  Winnie, and all of her family, a total of seven brothers and sisters as well as both parents, are Chiweenies, a mix of Miniature Dachshunds and Chihuahua. Personally I like the name Dachshuahua, but I was not consulted on this.