For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been on the go. In fact, I’ve always craved adventure and activity of all sorts.

However, as I’ve grown older, I’ve discovered that some of the things I’ve survived have left their mark. The biggest mark in this case is my broken back.

Along with this come the usual aches and pains in and around the fracture site. But also because of this, my neck, shoulders and legs hurt from time-to-time.

It is with some hesitation that I share this as recently I added another pain in which I could bemoan. I’ve severely pulled (or even torn) my groin muscles and this is a hurt, though temporary, is one that I truly despise.

My philosophy about adventuring out into the wilds is much like my philosophy on life: I plan to do so for as long as I can walk and breathe. The moment I decide to give-up outdoor activity is the day my body id delivered to the undertaker.

That being said – I took a chance by rock-hopping some 50-plus feet above level ground. It nearly cost me everything as I stepped on some loose gravel and found myself without footing and rushing towards the edge of a drop-off.

Not one to readily panic, I flattened myself out onto my stomach and spread my legs as wide apart as possible while trying to find even the tiniest finger-hold to halt my decent. Somehow, I slowed and was able to grip a rough area in the rock’s surface using only a couple of my fingers on my right hand.

That was enough exertion to stress the muscles in my forearm, something that bothered me for a day or two. However, going spread-eagle really did a number on my crotch.

The burning sensation of a pulled muscle was nearly immediate – but far less painful than the alternative of falling. So, in essence and while it might sound like I’m complaining, I’m actually very happy to feel the hurt brought on by this newest injury.

It tells me that I am alive.

It also reminds me that I am not as young as my brain tends to trick me into thinking that I am. I’m also reminded that while surrendering to old age and aches and pains is not an option – being more careful while on trail is one option I cannot afford to overlook.

There may still be hope for the S.S. United States as Crystal Cruises has signed a purchase option to restore the historic ocean liner and bring it back into service. The option commits Crystal to cover the costs of preserving the ship while undertaking a technical feasibility study, expected to be completed by the end of 2016 at an estimated $60,000 a month.

Known as “the Big U” and “America’s Flagship,” S.S. United States has a history that harkens back to the golden age of ocean liners. Before its retirement in 1969, the SS United States was the most glamorous and elegant ship in the world, having transported four U.S. presidents, international royalty, many of Hollywood’s “golden era” celebrities, as well as a million passengers.

I also have a personal history with this vessel, as it was the ship that carried me and my parents back to America from France in late 1962.

Conceived as part of a top-secret Pentagon project during the Cold War, the S.S. United States was to be converted into a war ship and carry 15,000 troops halfway around the world without refueling, if needed. The ship is 590 feet long, about five city blocks, which is 109-feet longer than the Titanic.

Crystal plans to turn the ship into an 800-passenger luxury liner with 400 suites that measure 350 square feet. To transform the vessel — at one time, the most powerful vessel in the world, setting a record, which still stands, for the fastest transatlantic crossing in 1952 — will cost between $700 million to $800 million.

The S.S. United States Preservation Society has owned the vessel since 2011; before that, it was owned by Norwegian Cruise Line. If Crystal Cruises is able to navigate the S.S. United States through safety and environmental regulations and finance the overhaul, the ship could hit the seas sometime in 2018.

I’d love to sail aboard the S.S. United States once again.

My medication arrived via the U.S. Postal Service. The heavy plastic packaging was a mangled hole-filled mess and all but three of the 90-day supply of pills were gone, having fallen out of the severely crushed bottle.

Now, I’m trying to get the prescription refilled and the VA is dragging its feet. This is bureaucracy at its finest.

Good thing I’m being treated for depression, bi-polar disorder and PTSD and not paranoia — otherwise I’d think someone was out to get me.

The course work seemed easy as Jerry struggled to put his life back together. At his true middle age, he found himself homeless and without family or friends.

Each day Jerry arose, dressed and walked the two and a half blocks to the library and sat a computer console to complete the assignments given by his instructors the week before. He was such a regular that many of the staff, along with the other homeless men, knew him by name.

They could count on Jerry. He had a way with people – always upbeat – the sort of guy who could place a positive spin on most any negative situation.

Rarely though did anyone ever think to ask him what ailed Jerry.

But he didn’t mind, as he knew by the end of the second year that he was doing God’s work. It was the design the Creator had laid out before him in several dreams.

The voice in his head only served to reinforce this knowledge. Jerry also had a series of experiences that he knew could only be God-driven and therefore was certain he’d met his calling.

One day Jerry opened his file from the online-university to find a note addressed to him. It was somewhat of a surprise.

“At first,” it read, “I thought you were cheating somehow. But then I watched as you studied, sitting on the edge of your cot in what you call home.”

The instructor, Mr. Armstrong, explained that Jerry was the only student he had that had ever ‘aced’ his course. At first Jerry felt indignant but then the more he pondered it, the more he knew he should wear the acquittal as some sort of badge-of-honor.

Life changed for Jerry as he continued to study. Over the six-year period, he’d gone from destitute to owning a simple home and a decent vehicle.

Jerry had also met and married the woman of his dreams. She was more than willing to put up with his erratic work hours – even having gone to work with him from time to time to show her support.

The only problem Jerry could see in his life, was that his work wasn’t a part of his true calling – the one he had dreamed of all of those years ago. But he also continually reminded himself that ‘God is in charge’ and when the time was right, all would fall into place.

After another two years, Jerry finally came to accept that perhaps his dreams were simply that – “his dreams.” Around the same time he’d also found other ways to serve God, especially through his work.

Then it happened, nearly a decade to the date of his graduation from Divinity school, Jerry’s world began to crash around him. He lost his job, finding himself unable to find another one.

This time though, he didn’t feel the fear of losing his home, wife or even his friends. No, he insisted that there was a job out there someplace for Jerry.

“Odd,” Jerry said to the guy behind him in line, “I thought I had it all.”

“So how’d you end up here?” the man asked.

Sighing heavily, Jerry began to explain, “My wife got sick but was killed by a drunk driver as she headed to work one early morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” replied the man.

“Then the bank foreclosed on our home,” Jerry continued, “and because she was the only one with her name of the deed or whatever – I was left out in the cold.”

“That’s heavy man,” the other fellow said.

“Anyway, I’m starting over again – this time as an old man,” Jerry complained.

There was a long silence between the men, filled only with the harsh whispers of men down on their luck, the shuffling of worn-out shoes and the ragged breathing of men who spent to long in the cold evening air around a homeless camp’s burn barrel.

“You know,” the man behind Jerry finally offered, “God has a plan for all of us.”

Jerry glared in the direction of the man, “Don’t you ever tell me God has a plan for me! This is it and there ain’t no more!”

The silence was startling as the others in line grew instantly quiet as they waited for the homeless men’s overflow shelter to open its doors. Each man suddenly felt Jerry’s sorrow and anger co-mingle with his own.

The sun shines brightly
Shadows cast down towards earth
No tomorrows left.

It’s odd how Bill and Hillary Clinton’s names pop up in the strangest places. This time in connection with the now-besieged Malheur National Wildlife Refuge.

Pulled directly from the BLM’s website:

“In September 2011, a representative from Oregon Energy, L.L.C. (formally Uranium One), met with local citizens, and county and state officials, to discuss the possibility of opening a uranium oxide (“yellowcake”) mine in southern Malheur County in (emphasis mine) southeastern Oregon. Oregon Energy is interested in developing a 17-Claim parcel of land known as the Aurora Project through an open pit mining method. Besides the mine, there would be a mill for processing. The claim area occupies about 450 acres and is also referred to as the “New U” uranium claims.

Now couple this April 23, 2015 headline in The New York Times, “Cash Flowed to Clinton Foundation amid Russian Uranium Deal,” and you have the making of a great conspiracy. In a nutshell, the Russian State Nuclear Energy Corporation, Rosatom wanted to expand their operations into the U.S. and needed a way in.

So, in 2013, Rosatom acquired a Canadian company named Uranium One as part of a deal which involved multiple parties. This is the same Uranium One that is now known as Oregon Energy, LLC, according to the BLM’s website.

There is more to this story than meets the eye.

Recently, someone sent me a post on Facebook inviting me to pick up the book nearest me and thumb to page 209, then share the sixth sentence on the page. I followed the instructions verbatim.

The closest book was to the left of me; Glenn Beck’s top seller, “It is About Islam.” I’ve found this is not a book to be read before bed time.

As quick as a wink, I opened the paperback to the specified page and drew my pointer finger down the required number of sentences. I quietly closed the book and set it aside, deciding not to play along.

Instead, I simply sat there and pondered the single word my sentence provided: “Apocalypse.”

Insomnia is a real son-of-a-bitch! I hate it when I get so tired I cannot sleep because it causes my mind to trigger and I fall into self-pity.

Honestly — this writing is nothing but an exercise in wasted time, meant only to help me clear my mind of the clutter which ails it. Being alone much of everyday gives one time to think and re-think, then eventually over-think everything.

Late night and early morning darkness doesn’t help either. Thus, I write whatever pops into my pea-brain.

A friend told me that ought to look to the future. Unfortunately this person has little to no idea that with nothing to look forward to, the past is all I have at present.

And time is running out on me. I have lost all avenues of escaping the hole I have found myself in as I struggle to hold on to what structure remains in my miserable life.

God knows how angry I am at the destruction on of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” My anger turns to fury when I encounter idiots that are a part of the destruction.

Being easily prepossessed towards melancholia as I am – I understand how loneliness and a lack of success have worn on me. I’m tired of acting as if everything in this effed up life of mine were okay.

Obviously, it isn’t or I would be asleep now and not worried about my present state of being. And worse yet, it pisses me off that when a fracture appears in my public façade and I mention it, I hear, “It’ll be okay,” or “It can’t be that bad.”

And all I can think is, “Oh yeah?! Wanna bet?! You’re life looks pretty damned great from where I’m standing – mine’s in the shitter and worse yet – I’m the toilet paper!”

The whole damned thing makes me wonder what I’ve done wrong. In the end, I know there is really nothing wrong – I’m jus’ exhausted from a lack of sleep and I feel like bitching.

Now that that is all out of my system, perhaps I can get some shut-eye.

Perhaps everyone should get themselves arrested at least one in their lifetime, that way authorities will be certain to identify you should you be found dead alongside a random roadway.

Here’s a recent article out of Northern California:

“A body found in Southern Humboldt has still not been identified. Last Thursday, on Alderpoint Road near Dyerville Loop, a resident in the area walking their dog, discovered the body alongside the road.

No identification was found on the male victim and a fingerprint test was given. Unfortunately, no name has come up in the data base and law enforcement needs help in identifying the deceased.”

Yes, I know it is a sad story– but see how my mind works?

This is my ‘ego’ speaking – but I think a couple of my strongest suites when it come to writing are ‘headlines,’ and ‘conversations.’ Some times I come up with both and nowhere to use them.

For example, I came up with a headline that I doubt I will ever use: “The Politics of Stupid.” It can easily be applied to anything life, but after several months, nothing has come to mind where I could use it.

Then there is the case of coming up with random conversation – something that generally pops into my brain while I’m doing something else and it get stuck there until I can write it down. Many times these bits-and-pieces of conversation have nothing to do with nothing.

My most recent masterpiece spawned itself while I was taking a shower. Yeah, most folks sing in the shower – I talk to myself, sometimes in the third person.

“I’m chief among morons,” he said.

Puzzled, she looked at him and asked, “Why would you say that about yourself?”

“Because it’s true,” he answered with flatness in his voice.

She didn’t respond, knowing he was in another one of his moods.

But then there are also those times when I sit at the kitchen table, cup of coffee near by and stare at a blank page in my note-book, waiting for my muse to come and tap-dance across my forehead. That’s when I come up with some of the more interesting thoughts about myself and life in general.

“All my adult life I did every manly thing I could to make up for being an overly emotional child. Now look at me – I’m physically bankrupt,” or “The more skeletons we expose from our personal closet, the more we tend to create.”

These are the times when I think, “I’ve spent way too much time alone today.”