A New Definition to “Bank Deposit” (a story)

A New Definition to “Bank Deposit”

Every morning and every afternoon, when people came back from their coffee breaks, I watched the bank manager enter the back office and lock himself in. I had tried the door often enough to know he never forgot to lock it behind himself.

You might think it’s no biggy, right? So what if he needs a little privacy? Don’t we all? But it’s a bank, first off.

It wasn’t his office. And I heard him moaning and counting. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing.

Finally, i decided to hide in the room, before he was due to go in. The room was used for storage, so it wouldn’t be that difficult.

And I acted on my decision before the afternoon schedule. He thought I had gone for a late lunch and was planning to leave early, instead of returning to work. So he didn’t think i was in the building. He hadn’t checked with security though. They could have told him I hadn’t signed out yet.

So there I was. Between a couple of shelving units, waiting for him to enter.

And when he did, I carefully looked over the shelf next to me when I heard him start to moan…

I was shocked and kind of wishing I wasn’t such a curious type.

Do you know what he was doing?

He had brought a handful of old bills and a few large coins in a sock with him. He dropped his trousers and attached the coin sock to his balls with an elastic. And started rubbing the bills over his cock and balls.

He was wacking off with the money!!??

I clapped my hand over my mouth and as extra security, I put my face into my elbow. Not that he was that observant anymore. I think cats could have started fighting right beside him and he would barely have paid attention.

I watched as he snapped a photo as he came. And send it to someone on his phone list.

Then he cleaned up and left the room. It took all of two seconds for me to break out into laughter.

Was this a new meaning to dirty money??!!

I snuck out the back door and went around front to sign out. I am not sure what I’m going to do with this info….

WW II CAMP AUSCHWITZ [27 JANUARY 2020] Memorial : Never Again

Never Again
They stood in fear
Where could they go?
They stood so brave
What did they know?

On this day hear us pray
Each prayer meant for you

B’Yom HaShoah
Yikatevun

How could it be?
The world was blind
Was no one there?
To make a stand

On this day hear us pray
Our prayers call out to you

B’Yom HaShoah
Yikatevun

Never again
Never again
Hear our voice tonight

Never again
Never again
Knowing wrong
From right

The years have passed
We still recall
The spirit left
Inspires us all

One this day hear us pray
The flame still burns for you

B’Yom HaShoah
Yikatevun

On this day hear us pray
Six million prayers for you

The last time.

……..

75th ANNIVERSARY OF THE LIBERATION OF GERMAN NAZI CONCENTRATION AND EXTERMINATION CAMP AUSCHWITZ
27 JANUARY 2020
(includes a 3 hr tape of the ceremony)
Canada’s Governor General Julie Payette represented us.

….

When he announced her attendance, the Rt. Hon. Justin Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada said:

“Although 75 years have passed since the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau, our world is not immune to the scourge of antisemitism. Today, far too many Jewish communities still face unacceptable acts of antisemitism and discrimination. Through our words and actions we must always stand up to hatred and racism in every form. The Governor General’s visit will highlight Canada’s commitment to preserve the memories of the victims and survivors of the Holocaust, and repeat the vow, ‘Never Again’.”

….

Canada is a member of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA)
Canada became a full member of IHRA in 2009.
From March 5, 2013 to February 25, 2014 Dr. Mario Silva chaired IHRA on behalf of Canada.

….. resources for the history buffs

There were over 44,ooo concentration camps
The first Nazi concentration camp was Dachau, established in March 1933, near Munich.

….

SS Captain Dr. Josef Mengele. was at Auschwitz-Birkenau,

….

How the “Red Army” freed Auschwitz

….

WW II September 1, 1939 – September 2, 1945

…..

do we forget there were other players, besides Germany though?

Lucid Nightmaring (a story)

Lucid Nightmaring

I actually read her diary, after I found her body. I wanted to know why her hair had turned white as she went off to the other realm. Wouldn’t you? I had to know… Her hair had been salt and pepper, but now was white. Pure white.
My gram was in pretty good health for her age and she didn’t actually have anything that should have killled her. She wasn’t that old either.
And when they did the post mortem, they couldn’t find any reasons for this sudden unattended death. They even checked for unusual poisons.

In the diary, I found she had had a recurring nightmare. And as she described it, I was scared. So I cannot imagine feeling paralyzed as I viewed it in my mind. I’d have been horrified as well.

The same thing happened over and over. She was in a black carriage, with four black horses running. There were other women with her and they were all frightened. Panicked actually. They kept looking behind them as masked riders chased the carriage they were in. Masked riders; some with rifles, some with sabers and some with tomahawks.

Gram wrote that the ladies knew this gang was one that kidnapped women and ransomed them back to their families or villages. And if they didn’t get the price sent, the kidnappers sent back a token body part to prove they had had the woman in question. Sometimes a finger with a telling ring on it. Sometimes a breast with a family brooch on it. And sometimes they scalped the woman, if they didn’t think she’d suit their later purpose.

Which was to sell them to high bidders in foreign countries as sex slaves. Which might be as a “wife” or concubine to some rich man. It might also be as a prostitute for sailors. Depending where they thought they could get the most money.

Gram’s dream was all about the fear of what these men intended. And the fact she knew she was alone in the world. That her village was poor and wouldn’t likely pay out for her.She had no special skills the village needed enough that she couldn’t easily be replaced.

And gram thought she looked decent enough in a skirt. But she was hardly a rich man’s idea of beauty and grace. So if she had any future, it would be as a sailor’s port toy. And it would have been unendurable to gram.

I mean she wasn’t a prude, but the thought of many hands making light with her curves and perhapes torturing her? Yeah gram said she felt shame at just the thought.

Each night gram said in her diary that she saw more and more detail. Riders’ faces, carriage emblems, tree limbs and their hoary trunks… And her fear built.

She had heard of lucid dreaming where you can convince yourself to wake during a dream. And she tried so hard to do it. But it added a weird dimension to it. She heard herself say “wake up” and beg herself to rouse. But it was like she was watching herself get taken down by these riders. And not able to do anything. She was doubly helpless.

She finally got to the point where she was sold and the sailors had her in their bordello. They were about to enjoy her….

That was her last entrance.

So my poor gram had been in a state of horror and fear. Helpless, unable to wake. And noone had come to her aid. She was now a prisoner to her nightmare. There was nothing she could do.

And in the dream, she didn’t know she was dreaming. It felt so real. She could hardly breathe. She felt her heart palpitate. Faster and faster. Till it skipped out of her chest.

And gram was gone.

I went to a local spiritualist and had them help me convince gram she was safe now. The sailors didn’t have her. And sent her off to the heaven that was this poor lady’s reward. So sad that she even knew such a thing had been possible. Because whatever else you may think…

you can only dream of what you know.

Clack Clack the Train Track (a story)

Clack Clack the Train Track

(You may be expecting a damsel in distress story, and some may actually see that in the first part… some may see it in all of it….)

They met on the train, going back and forth to work. (Does it matter if it was Via or the Go-train? Maybe if you need the location or the speed of the train? Does the Go-train go fast? Ever?)

And they began with smiles when they saw each other, then hello as they passed each other, As things begin on the train. Then one sat when they saw an empty seat beside the other. (Does it matter which?) And the other’s cheeks flushed and they grinned, knowing they finally had a chance to talk.

But what would they talk about? Well the local teams, perhaps local or federal politics? They may seem like good openers, but they tend to be frought with emotion and loyalty. Not great if you want to hook up with your crush. And yes, they were at the “I think s/he’s hot” phase.

But he saved the day by seeing the front of the book she was reading. And it was on his nightstand, ready for the day he could get to it. So he asked her what she thought of it. And she made a comment about the author being a fave of hers and this book looking like one of the author’s better ones. And telling him where she was at, in a reflective way. His ears perked up and they smiled at each other.

They exchanged names. “hi I’m Nate, I’m Kathy” and their relationship began.

They met on the train everyday. If the train stopped, they got a drink or snack. Then they began kissing, even though they really shouldn’t. They were both married. But home, love and life sucked. And they were, well had been, lonely. Bored. Unstimulated. And wanting more.

So they took an earlier train. So they could stop in between longer one day. And they checked into a hotel room, the first time. This became a thing, 1-2 x a week. Fitting their growing passion and love into a stop-over. It could have been sleazy, but it wasn’t. They went together, left together and held hands on the trains. Needing more contact, kissing, chatter. About sports, politics, books, whatever.

Thinking they had a future. Till the one day someone saw them that knew he wasn’t with his wife. And the well-meaning friend (ha!) told his wife what “she ought to know”.

There was a storm that night. And he was told he could no longer take that train. He was told either the affair ended or his marriage and family did. And he made the right decision for him. He chose to end the affair.

Nate told Kathy. And they held each other one last time. She didn’t blame him, but she would have chosen differently if she had been allowed to participate in the decision. So she got mad. Sad. Afraid that this was it for her life. For love for her.

And making that come true.

The next morning, the train that they would have taken was stopped due to something blocking the tracks. Yes, it was her body.

When he found out, he was crushed. He felt like such a heel.
But didn’t know how once it had begun it could have played out any differently.

The next morning, he received a package from her. And he opened it, expecting love and sorrow. But he heard anger and fear instead. And was kind of confused by it. It was like everything good had been erased. They’d been friends and lovers. They’d both stepped outside their marraiges. Why was he getting all of the blame now? Because he’d ended it? Because he hadn’t chosen her?

His life from then on was surreal. It was like she was haunting him. And in a real sense she was. He read and re-read her final letters. He almost cried everytime he passed their hotel, went on their route. His steps got slower and slower. He missed her.

He tried to keep his wife from realizing, but she knew. And she got angrier with him. So even though he had chosen her, she left him for grieving for the “slut” as she put it.

Would it have been different if he had chosen Kathy? Would they have been happy?

I guess we’ll never know.

Antipsychiatry: Comorbidity Factors

 

There are many reasons why the DSM series isn’t as valid as people would like to think, when they use it as the ultimate source. And even more reasons why 2/3 of the World’s psychiatrists and psychologists use the ICD -10 by the World Health Org instead.

These concerns affect people’s lives and don’t really predict what the APA and AMA would have you believe. Certainly not for people, families and cultures outside the USA. So in many ways, they are useless as tits on a bull. And should at least be considered with a jaundiced eye.

One of the biggest issues is the nature/nurture debate… did young buck with some bio anomyly cause what they went thru, or did his social environ shape him for bad or good?
While some would have you believe it’s always going to be an either/or debate. some say there are comorbid factors.

A good example of this is Fetal Alcohol Syndrome which has biosocial factors and more people who have it end up in jail than stay outside.. They are impulsive and easily manipulated by other people and left holding the bag, basically.

So, much as you want to discard the bio factors completely as not being predictive at all, there are some that just are. And only the most rigorously positive support system would counteract that beginning.

But as the experts say, comorbidity and not otherwise specified (NOS) criteria complicate diagnostics. To the point where what you are quoting as fact, may have been an error in clinical judgment.

And it’s not sanism to say that when they are still discussing the factors that make this person a risk to themself or others. Which is the ultimate criteria for whether they are incarcerated in a mental health or correctional facility. IMO of course. But I stand in some pretty good company. It’s a field of study that needs to be carefully used still.

Delilah the Divan Diva (a story)

 

Delilah the Divan Diva

Rex may have thought he was the one in charge, since he was the one who held the wallet. They used to say purse strings. He had his name on the lease, he paid the utilities, and he gave her an allowance for food and toiletries. And he thought that meant she was his.

Maybe in another day and time, he might have been her king, as his nom d’amour suggested to him. She had no idea if it was his real name or not. She just knew his expectations were that she was there for just him, whenever he pleased.

But her nom d’amour should have taught him something too, a lesson he failed to appreciate. She was Delilah. The one who had taken Samson’s powers from him. Just by taking what gave him strength. His hair. She seduced him till she learned what made him weak and gave him that as a present.

And this Delilah knew that Rex tied his prowess to his wallet.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so specific about the rules and his schedule then. Because Delilah found a way to sneak past each and every one of them. To find a place where she could be the Reina to his Prince Regent. He may have set up the palace, but she sat on the throne.

Rex gave her the finest of linens and sweet meats. He said her loyalty made her worth any price. And he painted this picture of her sitting on a divan all day, waiting for him. Maybe bathing and painting her nails to get ready for him.

In a way she was. In a way she wasn’t. She had all her needs met by men that served her. Rex thought they were gay. He had met them all.

These men didn’t bluster about power and money. They talked about art and music. They didn’t bluster about women being weaker than men. Instead they looked up to even the washer woman and the maid. They gave gratitude for their time, excellence and service. Where he gave shame for their place in the pecking order. Rex earned no loyalty from the household staff. Delilah and her men did.

So these men around Delilah had Rex’s blessing to care for her. And she took full advantage of his blindness.

Rex thought he knew everything. Till the day he realized that he actually knew nothing.

And it was really too late and too mean of him to get mad. He had done it to himself after all.

Oh but he did it anyways. He got mad. At the air …that was all that was left for him to shout at.

TV Mediums’ Trope (a story/ish)

 

what is a medium?
can you learn to become a medium?

……

sample TV drama series
Ghost_Whisperer
Medium
Afterlife

……

reality shows that follow mediums
Crossing Over with John Edward
The Dead Files

…….

I follow a lot of shows in this vein. Something that looks at the spirit world and it’s interaction with humanity. Whether it’s angels and demons, or otherkin who are part human, part something else. Whether it’s a hunter who sends the spirit back to the other realm, or someone who communicates with them to learn their lessons or hear their messages and tell the human race. The hunter who wants to vanquish the spirit and the medium who wants to help them transition to the spirit realm.

The shows I like more are ones that incorporate skepticism. And I mean more than a spirit who doesn’t know their status, or a human who refuses to hear that message. I mean someone who checks the medium’s work. If they say the spirit was born in 1963 and was named John Doe, and died or went missing in 1975, they check to see this person actually existed. That this was fact. It could be a historian, a cop, a PHD in something that involves belief and research.

….

I also like shows where they use a medium, but that isn’t their sole aim. They also actually record the site with cameras and other tools that measure psychic factors.
Like Paranormal State

…..

At the base is the belief that the spirit world and the human world interact. That there is a degree of involvement as well. From one who basically follows a track, a loop or is bound to a person or place and one who is more like a person in their freedoms. Yet they have a lot of extra-sensory abilities. They have a path of movement that is between realms and can teleport themselves anywhere they need to go.

…,,

And along comes someone who can hear or see them and interacts with them. Sometimes that is because they were attached in the living time of the spirit, and sometimes it’s because the person is psychic, sensitive, empathic, clairvoyent/audient and has more ability to interact.
Sometimes the medium has family who handed down the traits, and sometimes they died and brought back the conduits to spirit with them. Sometimes they have to be high to get over that, but then that leaves the door open for their experience to be denied. Until the skeptic comes along and confirms their experience. Sometimes they use divination tools, or rites, and sometimes they make contact thru the person the spirit wants to engage with. By being around them or touching them.
But the one thing they all need, is belief that spirit exists. It’s ok to doubt, it’s ok to question what they see. But they have to consider that it’s plausible.

…..

And if there is one thing that leaves the door open for me to “believe”, it’s that energy is perpetual. It never dies, it just changes form. So how can we not believe in spirit and a realm that runs parallel to ours? They have to go somewhere, right? Maybe? Did I make you think for a second?

What is a “Life” to Society?

 

Whether you consider the topic of abortion, capital punishment, suicide, murder or euthenasia, eventually you have to consider this question, don’t you?

How autonomous is your life and death decision? When do you have final say over your body and what happens to it? When does your family and culture/faith? When does your service provider? And when does the govt?

When is the decision about money? Limited resources? How many dollars do we give to just one person when we have to support the whole system for everyone?

And when is it about quality of life?

Is that lack of quality about a disease, an injury, depression, lack of support and caring? Is it about loss of hope and love? Is it about feeling lonely? Is it about feeling broken hearted today, because you just broke up with someone?

If someone wants to die, do we stop them? If someone wants to take a life, do we stop them? Are we responsible if they take their life? Or are they?

There are advocates who would argue that life is paramount and under all circumstances to be protected. And there are those who fully have situational ethics. There is no one-size fits all solution. Yet every day we have this discussion, don’t we?

How we were raised, how we were trained to caretake, and our moral ground all play into what decision we make when we’re offered the opportunity to be part of this decision making process.

And to some abortion is easy. Mom has to survive.

To some euthenasia is easy. We don’t kill ill people, we comfort them.

Is that illness easy when it’s curable eventually, but the treatment is beyond what the person is willing to endure? Or the mgmt and it’s side effects are untenable to the patient?

Is that decision easy still when the illness is mental and can harm others? That is when the criminal factor creeps in. Because in my country, we don’t have capital punishment. Yet in many they do. But how do we know for sure that the person being executed isn’t suffering from mental health issues we just haven’t diagnosed yet? And what crime do they have to commit for you to say enough is enough? All crime is some form of theft or violence. Many criminals are addicts and/or have a lower IQ than average. It’s a slippery slope, isn’t it? Even sociopaths and malignant narcissists have brain anomylies.

This is the type of decisions that whole countries and religions have struggled with for some time. And it isn’t simple. So how do we teach advocates and govt workers to think about this, when we cannot come to a united ground ourselves?

At this moment Canada is weighing this very decision again when it come to euthenasia. We support abortion and the woman’s right to chose. We are against capital punishment. So where will our line in the sand be for the patient’s right to die?

Time willl tell.

I don’t expect answers, but I do want civility if you chose to engage and put your view forward. I get that it is fraught with concern.

1-900-XXX-2345 (a story)

 

1-900-XXX-2345

Su-sooozie was famous among her clients for always finding the right thing to say. She was a good listener, not judgmental, and gave them the GF experience or the slut mouth.
She could do a really cute voice, or a sweet sultry one.
Whichever they wanted.
Su-sooozie would only give them a general idea of what she looked like, and allow them to fill in the rest. And agree to whatever they thought. It couldn’t be far off game, if they remembered what she said.
Whatever they wanted to talk about, Su-sooozie would listen.

Now you’d think it’d be all about sex, fetishes, kinks, and always be about getting the client off. But that was more often the ones who were just trying it on than the regulars. They more often wanted someone to talk to. So she listened and made enough notes so she had the jist when they called back. So they felt like she cared. She had a fact sheet on each of them taped to her desk.

They had no idea how many times she sat with a friend and listened to their call, while on mute. How often they poked fun at him.

They had no idea that the sweet lady they were so busy trying to seduce or tease, the lady they saw as their friend, wasn’t even a lady.

Su-sooozie was a guy with a high voice when he did the falsetto. It was really hard to tell on the phone.

He was also straight. So he often had to grit his teeth when they talked about sex stuff. Half the time he thought they were pigs he’d probably bash in the locker room for talking that way.

Why would a straight guy act like a woman on a phone sex line? Because he was going to college and wanted to work off hours. And his co-workers’d often find him with his head buried in some text between calls.

Su-sooozie might be there for their pleasure, but Sam was there to get his education. And with his job, he could keep on dreaming.

He was going to be Sam Jones PHD, and work in anthropology some day soon. His profs sure thought he was smart enough.

And best yet, if a client ever ran into him off the phone, they’d never know Sam was Su-sooozie. He was safe as houses that way.

Parental Burnout : From a Song to a Real Life Struggle

 

Mother’s Little Helper – Rolling Stones

We all try to do our best. And more often that not, in the history of the world, mom has had the most presure put on her when it comes to parenting. She gets little praise and support, then gets blamed when things go wrong. She could go days or years feeling abandoned then gets told she is isolating herself and her child. She attends every cry, every whine. every booboo gets kissed, but when she finally takes a moment for herself, she gets called selfish.

If things go wrong, she is the first pointed at. And the first charged.

But where was the extended family? Where was dad? In today’s time, mostly they are off doing their own thing and have no idea what happens. Then if things go wrong, they come rushing in. Not to help (finally), but to separate mother and child. And to blame mom. I’ll ask again, where were they?

This is an iissue near and dear to my heart as I raised my child alone, with so litte in the way of support. I had to actively seek it out from strangers and groups, rather than be given it by right. As one half of the parenting unit, why was it all on me? I had a huge family… but they were so wrapped up in the fact I was unwed, that I was “taught a lesson” and blamed for her existing. Because to do otherwise would have meant leaving their bar table and being something like the “perfect Christian loving family” they claimed to be. But weren’t.

They never caught on to how much pressure they put on me and how that had to affect my daughter. Is that what they call love and concern? I don’t see drunks being mean and belligerant (and in some cases violent) as helpful to her or to me. I don’t see that as wanting to see her safe. Which is why I became estranged from them.

I’m glad I was never the type who expected me or her to be perfect. I knew we were both loved, needed and valued by our friends and each other. And I put my time priority on her and I, vs boyfriends, career, and some days, even housework. Though I did take some univ courses when she was a toddler. Just to feel like I had a brain. It’s also when I saw a therapist, to sort thru the family shit.

There were times when it was all I could do to get a shower or go pee. And that is a lot to ask of someone. Collic was horrendous!! Then I had to run a bath when she was awake, and get in when she finally slept. I had a lot of tepid baths. (which I HATE!!)

That is the context of me looking up what to most is a cute song by a rock band. And the context on why I am focusing on mom. Because my dad and her father were wastes of space when it came to parenting. I know nothing about good fathers as more than a wish.

…..

And here are the pro resources on parental burnout and the system’s role in the song:

mosaicscience
nih
sciencedirect
nih
sciencedaily