Well, I have a good title that describes my current emotional state, but what can I build from that? I’m literally unable to do anything towards making the thing because I can’t get the stuff to make the thing, and unless the thing is some kind of food that’s true for almost every thing, notice there is a separation between every and thing. We blew all the raw stock budget buying food 😝 When your mind is essentially a fountain of ideas that won’t stop coming until you at least get started, the inability to get something started is nothing short of painful, physically so. And that is not a joke or other attempt at humor, not being able to build any of the things I have planned is physically painful for me, a literal interpretation of “beating your head against a wall”. No kidding, I get a pain like sinus pain when I plan something for too long and not even get a glimmer of how it will get finished. And there is not a damned thing I can do about it but suffer.
This project has been stewing in the old grey and white matters since 1987, when the inspiration struck at a club meeting for the Tennessee Region SCCA, where we were discussing making a consistently good autocross car. I came up with the idea of a tube frame hotrod with an SBC and a TH350 transmission for a literal “stab and steer” car that would keep the tires mostly correctly oriented to the track. This was when the modified category rules were not as stringent as they are now, and the possibility of running a T-bucket in the production modified classes was not that wild an idea. Even if some people at the meeting thought it was hilarious. Mostly they were amused at the idea of using the automatic transmission bringing up the Powerglide (which wouldn’t be a bad idea for a trailered car), “Slip and slide Powerglide,” was the chant. I was looking at a 350/350 combo which were common as dirt in junkyards, in a car that weight slightly less than a ton, and also knew that as long as I didn’t let the power to weight ratio get too crazy the main thing to worry about was grip and brakes. I knew from experience that power without grip was pretty useless, but as long as you had enough power to get and keep going grip was much more important, witness the VW powered special with a stock 50 HP engine and sticky race slicks that consistently stomped the high powered American iron. My idea was to get a bucket and sort out the handling and clean up. Thirty-one years later it is still a viable concept if the execution has shifted more to the lightest possible V6 and 4 cylinder engines and away from the now-ancient SBC and 350/350 combo.
Anyway, one of the things I did in the past to stop this feeling was to buy something “not-very-expensive” (aka “cheap”) that would move the build forward in a tangible way, and also be something I could physically grab hold of and hold and say “This is part of my car”. The problem is I’m running out of things I can do that with. There are very few parts left that will work on any of the variants I’m “working” (thinking) on, that are still something I can afford by saving up or sneaking money out of the money I get from the trust for presents. I’m running out of options for not losing my mind and dropping into a giant pit of despair and depression. I’m not depressed (much) now, but I have played this game enough to know what’s coming if I can’t work my way out of this trap. And it ain’t pretty for me.
And now that I have horribly depressed you, a cat picture.
And the tag is another description of my physical status after literally spending almost every penny I had getting bandaids.
Or am I depressed because I’m creative? There is literally a plague of depression in the creative class, so that it looks like you have to be depressed to be creative.
In my case depression came first as a side effect of the PTSD I got as a military brat during the Cold War. Seriously, we should have gotten a medal for what the DOD put us through. “Hostile environment” does not even begin to describe what dependants endured in public schools outside military bases. My family was lucky, because of what my dad did we spent most of our time out in the boonies where they hadn’t developed a hatred of the base that technically didn’t exist. I mean, who expects a Navy base in Nebraska, or rural Washington state away from the water?
But my depression is not why I’m posting today. There are a bunch of other people who are not doing so good. I’m not naming names because it’s not my place, even though they left statements on their web sites about their conditions. Seriously, look beyond the entertainment content and into the other stuff posted on the sites for the stuff the creator wants to talk about. And some content creators are talking about their depression openly, not just me.
But that still doesn’t answer the question about whether depression and creativity are required roomies, or if you can keep the good one and send the other packing, or even not let it in to begin with. You know what? I don’t know because I don’t know for certain how early my depression started, I was displaying signs of creativity at an early age, and also signs of depression as a Junior in HS. So for me it would be very hard to tell. The only thing we know for sure is I’m depressed and creative.
Yesterday I had to get up about 4 hours earlier than my normal rising time. That was just the start of a seriously shitty day. I had to leave before I finished my coffee, and barely had time to eat an envelope of PopTarts before throwing my raincoat on and heading out the door.
To pass the time enroute I opened my Twitter app on my phone, and was greeted by videos of a mass shooter making his way through a FL high school. Wonderful, another school shooting with a double-digit body count .
Close to Over 2 dozen injured or killed yesterday. And that makes 19 times this year that a firearm has been discharged on school property…
So anyway, about that rain coat. Basically it’s vinyl windbreaker with no ventilation held closed with Velcro and held together with vinyl tape after as many years as I have had it. That means it’s a sweat generator, and the hook part of the front closure snagging on everything in range, and that hook part dangling loose after Mrs. the Poet borrowed it without understanding it was delicate because of the tape. So hot and basically catching on every fabric surface in a half-meter radius, because there was a misting rain and fog when I left the house that ended before I even got to the transit center to catch my second bus. I carry my wallet in a drawstring bag I throw over one shoulder, so I stuffed the jacket into the bag and had it under my arm the rest of the day.
This brings me to the visit with the Lab Rat Keeper. It seems that stopping the anti-depressants was a Bad Idea from a blood pressure point of view, as I have been asked to augment my current med (Byvalson) with the diuretic HCTZ to get back to the numbers I had when I was taking the anti-depressants. In case you didn’t know or forgot, I stopped the anti-depressants because I can’t live with the side effects of no sex life or sleeping all day and night. Whodathunkit? Depression is bad for your blood pressure.
And getting back to the school shooting, the shooter was 19 and legally bought his assault weapon after learning to shoot and maintain it as a cadet in JROTC. As a graduate of the Navy version of this program more than 40 years ago, I can say that wasn’t the cause, but it probably did teach him how to use the rifle. And since it’s more than likely his instructors were combat veterans he likely picked up the “run and gun” protocol he used from one of them. But how does a 19YO with documented mental health issues get that much firepower with multiple magazines and a brick of 1000 rounds of ammunition? I mean that’s the Mass Shooting Starter Kit, did nobody at the gun store contact the police?
And that’s all my stomach can handle.
I don’t have a way to use the Dingbat font in this blog, but it’s the comic strip and book substitute for swear words. And it’s cold enough in my office to make me want to swear. I have warmed my office up to 63°F from 54 when I first got here after getting out of my nice warm bed with all the quilts over it. I am the main heat source in the room right now, but there’s only so much heat you can radiate from a single human body, especially in a room as large as my office. Which is why I really want to get back in that bed with all the quilts on it.
My brain shutdown montage was cars again, but mostly the Sprint-T. I guess it is really hard to fully let go of something you have been working for for as long as I have been working on getting my bucket. This time it was about pitching the bucket build as an episode of Fast and Loud to Richard Rawlings of Gas Monkey Garage, and to run it as a GMG entry at Goodguys. Again one of those things that will never happen in the real world, but thinking about it helps me get to sleep at night. I fool myself into thinking the world isn’t going to shit on me forever, that I will have a purpose to continue existing beyond just being there taking up space and resources.
I got up early so I could check out the local places to sell plasma, but it was just too dang cold for the clothes I have without going to the long underwear. Basically all the cold weather gear I used to have is now worn out or Mrs. the Poet got rid of it because I “never wear” it. I have lots of summer wear, but not much useful when the temperature drops below freezing. So maybe I’ll try again when the temperature goes up at the end of the week. It would be really nice if I can get this to work since I can sell plasma twice a week.
On the depression front, I am. Still depressed, that is. The meds that used to work aren’t any more, or have side effects I can’t live with. Most days aren’t too bad, I mean I’m still alive, still fairly mobile, still married to my first wife and two weeks out from celebrating 40 years in that condition. Things really could be a lot worse. They could be a hell of a lot better, too. We got our tax documents back and we are living on about $12K last year, about $4K below the point where they start counting taxable income. But we have food on the table, a roof over our heads, and the full suite of basic modern communications: Internet, basic cable, cell service, and a land line. By some standards, we are rich. Hell I had a bowl of Cocoa Dyno-bites cereal mixed with vanilla yogurt for dessert tonight, I’m doing good. Still depressed though.
I’m eliminating all the brain drugs because the side effects are worse than the disease. I was taking anti-depressants because untreated PTSD from when I was a kid turned into depression, so I took SSRIs which helped the depression for a while until the side effect of destroying my ability to have sex kicked in. I managed to get most of a year in without depression, and I had a positive attitude and everything. I was even cheerful and talked with my wife regularly. That was great while it lasted. but eventually side effects kinda blew that out of the water.
So, then I changed meds in an attempt to find one without sexual side-effects, with the first attempt getting the side effects in full effect before the intended effect of reducing depression even started. Which brings me to the current med, that uses a chemical strategy that does not even affect my depression. Well my soon-to-be-previous-med, that takes as long to wean off of as it required other meds to be clear from my system. It will be about 2 weeks to detox enough to switch to an SSRI. Then at least another 2 weeks to get back up to speed on the SSRI as I mourn the death of my sex life, or not. I might decide to just save the money and live in a dull, grey world, and retain something of my sex life.
In other news I was going to get my toes done Tuesday, but we are experiencing the southern end of an arctic cold front that dropped the temperature about 40°F overnight, from a high of 57° to a forecast low of 20 tomorrow morning, with wind chills expected to be in the single digits. That’s chilly. We had to fight to get the cats to come in and stay in because they want to be out in what is still pretty warm, and now they are pacing the hall yelling to be let out.
I don’t know if I will ever have the re$ource$ to build out any road-going version of the hot rod, and it has caused a downward trend in emotional futures here at Casa de El Poeta. Those of you betting the new anti-depressant was not going to work after it “settled in” can now collect your winnings. It looks like I can either have a sex life or not be depressed, but not both at the same time. And that knowledge is depressing in and of its own self. Throw not having the financial resources to build the car on top of that… Fortunately I’m staying above the suicide line. I’m sad I won’t have the hot rod, and all that but I won’t let it drive me below the suicide line, I’ve been there and it is a Very Dark Place (using Milne Capitalization for emphasis).
On the other hand, not having to restrict myself to any rules or regulations except “will it go fast” and “will it be fun to drive” turned loose a bunch of mutants from the imagination. One in particular was based on the A-Mod car with the 90° Vee Twin sidewinder engine next to the driver, and the exhaust pipes running out the passenger side of the body and a small gas tank hanging from the roll cage to feed the EFI pump. That one would have been funny-looking with the rear axle tucked up behind the body and the front axle just far enough in front of the body not to hit the tires against the fiberglass at full lock. No visible engine, especially if I run the exhaust under the body. And not enough room outside the body to put an engine as small as the 420cc Predator from the local Harbor Freight store.
I then went through all the permutations of putting a liter class I4 motorcycle engine in the car, using both the mid-engine short chain drive to a differential and the front-engine offset to a lightweight rear axle. Both of those would work as long as a separate electric motor could be used as a reverse. I was sticking that engine in every which way trying to find a performance advantage. The only way that had a theoretical advantage was the mid-engine short chain drive. So still thinking even though there’s really nothing I can do with it.
OK I’ve been doing this writing thing for a while, and my nose is froze just from normal breathing. And right now I’m listening to “The Bertha Butt Boogie” on YTM, the album version. In case you thought things were “normal” around the ranch. I think I was in 8th grade when Jimmy Castor did his thing with Ms. Butt. The other hit from that album, “Troglodyte” is also in my rotation. But that still doesn’t do anything to make my office warmer than the current 64°F which is the warmest reading I’ve had with all the TVs and computers running plus my personal heat pumping into the space. It was 62° earlier when I first looked today.
Getting back to the opening paragraph, now I need to go through detoxing from my anti-depressant, which takes about 2 weeks to do and from the instructions sounds like Hell to go through. There are 2 main reasons to go through this, the first being it doesn’t work for me and I don’t need any more chemicals running through me than absolutely necessary. The second thing is this med makes me sleep half the day, and depression does that to me all by itself, I don’t need any help in staying unconscious. So the med has to go. I guess I’ll be unmedicated for a month to see what my baseline feels like, I really need to test that when I’m playing with my brain chemistry. Back to baseline after a failure. Making a note of that. Right here in my blog I’m making a note that I need to spend a month without brain meds to gauge my mental condition after I have a brain med that fails to work as advertised.
And with that, I really need to take this shoe off. I have a toe that needs a trim and the nail base is starting to hurt. If I try to run around the house unshod I’ll be hurting from another source so I need to get my feet back in bed where they will be warmish or so. I think I really need to hit the road and get my nails done in the morning, or after I get up since technically it’s already over 2 hours into the “morning” as I post this.
And a map would be nice, too. That is what depression does, it robs you of your sense of direction and knowledge of what is ahead and behind you. And in this case knowing is not half the battle. Just because I know that I’m depressed, and that depression robs me of my sense of self and self-worth, doesn’t mean my depression goes away. Even with medication I’m still depressed, just not as depressed as I was without. And that only takes care of the chemical part of depression. Anything that’s caused by external factors, like a pair of nit-wits threatening to destroy the world in a dick-measuring contest, is up to you to deal with. So Cheeto Jesus and Rocket Man rattling sabers are creating a whole new group of medication-resistant depressed people.
Anyway, I know what I need to do to get the money to build the car, I know what I’m going to buy with the money once I get it, I know how to use the parts and materials once I buy them. It’s just finding the drive to get up and get the money. Taking that first step, that’s the scary part. Literally getting the courage to take the first step, and the next and the next. In my mind’s eye that first step is a huge cliff towering in front of me. In reality it’s literally getting out of bed and walking out the door. I do that. I get up and get dressed and walk out the front door to go to the Lab Rat Keeper, but it’s a struggle when I’m doing it for my own selfish purposes. I know that people need the plasma I would be selling, but that turns it into a commercial transaction, not expanding the bounds of medical science a minutia. And for some reason, doing things for just me with no altruism, makes silly things like getting up in the morning almost impossible tasks. Going to get my insides poked around on the off chance it will lead to a surgical cure for hypertension, I’m ready to go. Sell something that people need to live, me-h-h-h, that’s too haaarrrd! Same action at the same time of day, one altruistic and the other mendacious, but only by the tiniest margin, and altruism wins. Don’t ask why, I don’t know. That’s why I’m mentioning it here.
Another thing that’s worth mentioning is that writing about this is easier than not doing anything about it, believe it or not.
One of the really bad things about this change on meds was the rebound effect from the washout period. I went through hell because I rebounded much worse than if I had just never taken meds. But the washout phase is almost over now so I’m actually starting to feel closer to “normal”, for values of normal <1.
A second side effect of the washout is racing thoughts, ideas that just barely even slow down to register, much less be able to transcribe them to permanent record. An example of this was working on the idea of a different donor vehicle than the 1996 Chrysler Town and Country minivan, in case I don't get it to work with. I was barely able to look up local auctions for salvage and junk title vehicles, much less get them bookmarked for future reference. But what was really sad was the number of flood cars with no minimum bid because they will never be driven on the road again, some with very low miles. There were several vehicles with less than 100 miles for sale with junk titles because they were in dealer's lots when Harvey hit Houston. And the racing thoughts have derailed my train of thought, where was I going with this? Home, I was going home. And to sleep.
And I'm getting the new med today at the store, so things will be improving on the mental front.
Long story short, I’m in the process of changing meds and there will be a period where I’m not taking the old med but haven’t started the new med, and I’m in the process of tapering off the old med. This will make my depression worse, on top of the broken toe not helping my disposition. Mrs. the Poet and the cats are already leaving me lots of room around the house, except when Clint decides I need some lap time.
I’m still working out the packaging for the TGS2. If I don’t try to get the driver forward for better balance, and put the fuel tank in front of the bucket body instead, it’s pretty easy to put the powertrain in the fake pickup bed and still have a fairly normal-looking T-bucket. Well as normal as a mid-engine bucket can look when they are usually front engine. The proportions would be sorta normal, close to that of the original Model T front to back, but much wider because of the minivan donor vehicle axles and driveshafts. And the front axle made so the widths kinda sorta matched. This is on the assumption that I’m going to get the minivan donor vehicle.
Now if I’m not getting the minivan donor vehicle then things get… different. Then everything depends on the donor vehicle or the crate engine and transmission combination. I can say I would love to get a flood-damaged front engine RWD car as a donor vehicle but again that would require resources to buy and then get the car home, in fact I found a Corvette listed for $700 but I would need a flatbed to tow it home. I also found a couple of V6 Chargers and Challengers with $100 or less prices. But again I would need a trailer, something to tow that trailer, and gas money for the tow vehicle. But now we are getting into the real pipe dreams, unless I can find something in a local auction with some kind of cash for seed money to buy the car. I might as well wish for working wings on my back. And yes that is the depression talking, but it is also realism talking. Which is another reason why I’m taking a break until I get my meds under control, you guys don’t need to be dealing with my depression any more than I do. Now that I have ways of not being depressed, I really want to not be depressed.
I’m starting to repeat myself and having to delete things, so this would be a good time to quit.
Today is Veteran’s Day (observed), so I’m wishing a happy Veteran’s Day to all my green-blooded brothers out there (in joke).
It was cold last night but warmed up this morning enough that I wore my normal next-to-nothing today, which annoyed Mrs. the Poet as she was wearing long pants, t-shirt, and a sweatshirt over it with fuzzy socks on her feet and complaining about the cold. We have vastly different temperature tolerances all year long as I go out and walk or ride my bike in both the summer and winter in weather that has Mrs. the Poet staying indoors or kvetching about the heat/cold as appropriate for the season. I think it’s kinda funny, but that’s because I’m not the one complaining about the cold or heat. My nose does get cold when Mrs. the Poet is complaining about the cold while I’m in a pair of shorts and nothing else, and when I get cold enough to put a shirt on my ears are also getting a bit chilly while Mrs. the Poet is busy putting on everything in the closet and dresser. And I’m not as cold-tolerant as I used to be back when I wore shorts and t-shirt in freezing weather, scaring the rubes when I walked home from work. I saw people tossing liquor bottles out of car windows after seeing me walk home in shorts and T-shirt with heavy frost on the ground. This was back when I was in my 30s, long before I got hit with the truck. I can’t quite do that these days, one of the downsides of years of conditioning myself to be able to ride in ridiculously hot and humid weather.
I’m still stymied at trying to get something moving on the TGS2 build, beyond getting the spindles installed on the axle, which also hasn’t happened yet. I mean I don’t even actually have the donor vehicle in my hands yet, just a car cover for it when I get it so it doesn’t get towed for not having registration since it can’t pass inspection. Since the registration sticker is on the inside of the windshield if you park under a car cover they can’t check to see if your vehicle has current tags. I guess I should be doing something with the parts I have to work with just to be doing something that moves the car build forward, but it is very hard to become inspired for building when you will still have next to nothing to show for it when you get finished except a few more parts not in separate piles. I guess this is another symptom of my depression, the inability to inspire myself to do things. Writing I don’t consider “doing something”, it’s more of a way to avoid doing things. It’s much easier to write about doing something than to actually drag myself into a situation where things are getting done. Also I write when I’m depressed, the “the Poet” in my name came from writing free verse during depressive episodes. I even got some song lyrics down from some of my depressive episodes. Some were good, others were scary bad. Bad as song lyrics, but passable as free verse.