Wading through the muck

 I must admit that this effort is more challenging than I expected. Besides the motivation issues, I also face a beast of a task in learning the different process of selling on eBay. It was suggested to me that I contact a family acquaintance who, at last visit, was using the selling platform. That would require contact with the outside world, however. Hmmm.

On a side note, I cleaned out the comments from previous posts that appeared to be more spam than anything. At some point I will be rereading the missives and archiving them, as I have entertained the notion of releasing this site. Just as quickly I chuckle at the notion. As is often said, me get rid of anything? Ha!

Here I go again

 Nearly fifteen years ago I started this site (and related activities) in an effort to focus myself on something other than self-initiated demise. Two things ought to be abundantly obvious: I did not succeed with the whole self-initiated demise option and the state of this site (blog, sales and cleaning house) generally fizzled and faded into oblivion. No, not oblivion. More like back shelf storage, dust and all. All of my previous accounts were deactivated or closed, and I find that I now have a great deal to relearn about how things work.

At least typing is still the same, albeit slower and more prone to errors.

 Having pointed all of that out, I now declare that I have rededicated myself to this challenge, and with some minor modifications, seek once again to improve my situation One Room At A Time. Yeah...

Arm, leg, and left testicle

In yet another example of the "blessings" heaped upon us post-employment by a certain entity, this weekend we were hit with a bit of sticker shock. [ed. note: I really must expound upon that certain entity's action, as the impact it had around this house is profound] Granted, this sticker shock was not totally unexpected, but the extreme depth of it was not anticipated. I'm not talking autos or home furnishings or other luxuries like food. No, I'm talking about a required item, one that history has shown is very important to my existence, as well as to the comfort of those around me.

What was this life altering discovery? Well, it wasn't the price of milk or the latest hike in the cable bill. Nor was it the raise in rates dropped upon us by the local utility company, root cause of the 60 degree thermo setting that makes our house so...enjoyable...during the winter. Nope, this latest consequence of having no health insurance via the bitch-slapping provided by previously noted entity was the cost of refilling a couple of my prescription meds. Keep in mind that these two med refills cost me $40 in times past. Imagine our feelings when the pharmaperson asked us for $416.26 to refill these two meds that keep me on the even keel. Yes, $416.26 for what used to cost $40.

Excuse this brief break while I unclench my hands from a few virtual throats.

I realize that my new situation is not that much different from many others in this great society of ours, but it doesn't make it suck any less. Lest this become a rant against the pharmacompanies that leech such funds from our budget, I will point out that the cost of the insurance I would require to get back to the $40 copay would be near $800. A month. To put this into perspective, it is more than I make at my part-time employment. It is half what the spouse makes at the new employment. It is more than our mortgage. Obviously, it ought to be clear why I am currently uninsured, living my life on the edge of some catastrophe created by an exascerbation of this incurable disease I deal with daily. Fortunately, the pharmacompany that makes the shots I take daily for my Multiple Sclerosis was able to direct me to an assistance program that covers the $4200 per month cost, at least for a year. I guarantee that if this cost were not covered, I would not be injecting anything into my body on a daily basis, much to the dismay of my doctors, let alone my family. As it is, I am uncertain that I will be ingesting anything in the not-so-distant future, either. No, this is not even a rant against insurance congloms, either. This is my verbalization of my immediate thoughts as I left the pharmacy.

Put simply, I hope the MFBs at Mt. C. experience similar "blessings" in the days to come. 'Nough said.

Did he really say that?

As part of my sanity activity, the one that gives me reason to get out of bed in the morning (and even get paid for the partial time of day I spend at it), I often come across some very interesting articles. Today included one such event. As I reflected upon this article, riding the mass transit home, I found myself shaking my head.

To enlighten all, the article discussed Jim Sinegal (co-founder of Costco) and the flack he is catching over supporting Demotypes, or at least talking at the Demotype convention and not the Repubotype one, and a recent decision from the Costco BoD to accelerate a dividend payment to those fortunate enough to own stock in the company. Throwing the politics of this action as far aside as possible, I just want to focus on a quote attributed to him. "In business, you have to take the shit with the sugar." I have discovered since that this is a popular statement to flow from his lips, though not always with the "in business" add-on.

I like it.

I like it even more when combined with a recent internal conversation I've been rehearsing, one that is destined to be doled out to a certain offspring who is in great need of sage flavored advice, opposed to the usual pepper flavored. This statement flipped into the face of journalists everywhere is so spot on, albeit a bit vulgar, and goes quite nicely with a philosophy of life that many, including a certain offspring, could bear to embrace. It's just that kind of "get real" approach that has finally made my days worth bearing, makes it worth taking meds, makes it worth avoiding all manner of retaliation against a certain group of individuals (but that is quite another post). Let me expand this phrase into my philosophy.

First, a bit of modification. In life, you have to take the shit with the sugar. Look, it happens. Or rather, shit happens. Plain fact. Reality. To everyone. Thing is, some of us were wired in such fashion (or rewired, as a few psychopros could argue), that shit has a profound effect upon us. So, accepting that shit happens, it follows that shit usually happens in piles. Aye, matey, there be piles o' shit about, so watch yer step as ya walk the plank of life. Inevitably, one will step into, and even fall into, a pile of lifeshit. This is when things get fun, or as fun as one can have with shit, which is actually kind of weird now that I think of it, and perhaps 'fun' isn't the right word to describe the situation. Maybe 'interesting' is better.

Anyhoots, let us imagine, for a moment, that we have just slipped and landed smack dab in the middle of a pile of lifeshit. It is now time for action, time for a decision, and the consequences of the decision will impact any future encounters with lifeshit. We can, as some are inclined, flop about in the pile of lifeshit, getting it all over ourselves and anyone who comes in proximity, bellowing our misfortune to all who can hear, and remain in that pile until we became barely recognizable as distinct from it. Having been there and done that at more than a few stages of my existence, I can truthfully say that this scenario stinks. People really don't like to have shit splattered upon them, and will run as far as possible to escape the splatter radius. The smell keeps even more at a distance. We can find ourselves spending an extensive amount of time flopping about in shit in relative solitude. At this point, there will be no hands stretched out to lift us up, so only we can remove ourselves from that pile. This leads to the next scenario.

Let's say we fall into a pile of lifeshit, getting it upon us, and spewing out a few profanities, manage to rise up from the pile. Here we stand, stained. I always wanted to say that. People around us, wanting to avoid getting any of the shit on them (and most likely holding their noses), will express from a distance their joy that we are not flopping about in shit. This joy can quickly be dulled if we choose to remain covered in shit, walking about bemoaning our misfortune, cursing our crisis, and generally creating a stink everywhere we go. Sure, we can meet in lifeshit clubs, where everyone shows off their shit stains like so many battle scars. We can find arenas where everyones shit pretty much smells that same, so no one really notices how bad the room smells. Eventually, we will need to leave these places and move about it the realm of less shitness. Trust me, people do not want to be around those who reek in such fashion. We, who wear our lifeshit like a badge, will be avoided. We will be whispered about. We will be looked upon and bring forth shaking of heads, either from pity or disdain. Again, no hands will reach out, in fear that we will smear our lifeshit upon them, and given that everyone has their own shit to deal with, we will begin to feel quite isolated. So, is there another option? Of course.

We can, as has been known, fall into a pile of lifeshit, and becoming quite alarmed, jump up from this pile of shit, fling off our clothing, and run naked about the place looking rather disturbed as we seek out the nearest puddle, carwash, or worst of all, the end of our lifeplank and the pool of vast postlife nothingness beneath. [ed. note: this is not the time nor post to discuss end of existence events and the belief systems surrounding such events] Running about naked is viewed by many to be a rather unacceptable status, not to mention running naked into puddles or through a carwash. Those puddles might be piss puddles, which hardly helps things. Carwashes hold their own hazards, as many a car aerial can attest. And jumping into that pool of finality tends to be frowned upon. Again, been there, attempted that. While it is more likely that hands will be stretched out in aid, we have to slow down long enough to receive the aid, and we have to be wary of those hands that just want a free grope at our nakedness. Oh, yeah, I said that. Still, a vast majority of people will be too freaked out by our state of naked shitlessness to want to get close. So what to do?

Well, we could always push ourselves up from the pile of lifeshit, say something along the line of "damn, I fell into a pile of lifeshit," proceed to our comfort abodes, shower, toss the shit-covered clothes into the washing machine, and get dressed in a clean set of clothes. Follow this up by having a laugh or two with our closest allies about the lifeshit event, and we will be well on our way to doing it the same way the next time we encounter another pile of lifeshit in our path. This solution, in its utter simplicity, seems to be the hardest for many people to choose. I know, it's a stretch for some to believe it coming from my mouth, but I kind of strive for this solution to falling into my personal lifeshit piles. It's taken a few decades to get here, but at least I can ride the mass transit knowing that I am not freaking too many people out. If they can get past my seat-dancing to my tunes, that is.

So take note, you who were not aware of Costco Jim's utterance and thus my philosophy of life, that we can enjoy the sugar of life so much more if we clean off the shit of life first.

Seriously

Yeah, I paid for another year of domain ownership. Perhaps I will actually commit to actively updating things. Or not. It's sort of strange, given that I began this whole thing with the idea that I would track my progress through a "project" to improve my existence, to see how much my existence had changed. While the One Room project no longer seems to be the primary focus of my days, it is still one of those tasks that haunts my daily routine. I will say that I have made some progress with a few of the rooms in the house, yet I also slid backwards in others, making more of a cluttered mess than was originally found when I began.

Yep, I look around and can smile at the fact that my guest room is nearly in a state of completion, and that my living room almost looks livable. As long as I don't go into the attic or basement, I can have all manner of positive feelings, which is a good thing. I can even pat myself on my back for getting rid of things in various ways, including the local trash can. Still, there has always been a sort of void in the background, and it is not due to the clutter which remains.

As I paid for another year of domain ownership, I came to the conclusion that I was being a bit... OCD? Anal? Pigheaded? Something tough to explain, when it came to topics for posts on this site. Well, maybe not so tough, but perhaps too limiting given the inclusive nature of the beast behind this project. Therefore I have decided to broaden the scope of what I post, in the hope of utilizing my expenditure to its fullest. I will still include updates to the project, maybe even with pictures. I will still investigate the less tangible items of clutter, to perhaps give insight for anyone else who has similar issues. But I now will also expound on other items that invade my life. Psychology, politics, religion. Current events. Even the weather. Stuff that I obviously find interesting, and hopefully others will share opinions.

Well, that is if others become aware of the revival of the newly dressed One Room project. Guess that will all depend upon if I can get word spread.

MPH

Insanity took charge for a bit last night. Net result, a new batch of clutter to which I must attend. Clutter from my car. My old car. The one being replaced by a [drum roll] new car. Not a new used car, mind you. A brand-spanking, off-the-truck, not-a-mile-on-it, new car. A for the first time ever in my many decades upon the face of this planet new car.

Wow.

Naturally, I am a bit excited. Also a bit worried, too. Extra monthly cost, worries about parking lots, fears of other idiot bozo-types on the road, extra monthly cost. Yeah, I am doing some serious mental math even as I type this. Time to empty Mom's storage unit. Time to quit smoking. Time to grow my own food. Time to give up stuff. Time to sell stuff.

Time to take a nap.

OK, so I'll do the dishes first, then sort through the stuff I pulled from the old car, then find a place for said stuff, then do something with the stuff that I will have to move to place the stuff is said place. Ugh. Can my brain race any faster?

Oh, and I have a dollar (from the old car) for the first person who emails me and tells me they read this.

Y, M, D, H

If necessity is the mother of invention, then what is the name of desperation's offspring? Just wondering. Mostly because between hated job, new job, no job, and returning to job, I'm the only one of the immediate bloodline who seems to have stable job. And it's only part-time. Thus, I've been looking around the never-ending project grounds and thinking to myself in very desperate fashion.

Ugly thoughts arise when one is desperate.

I have managed to keep myself from throwing everything out into the front yard and planting a big sign that says, "Steal Me." Why not "Free" you may be asking? Well, because free connotes no value, while as steal connotes value. Who wants to take no value (read 'junk') when they can take value? Ah, yes, the psyche of criminal behavior.

Today I considered taking advantage of weather conditions and setting stuff out to be blown into the yards of neighbors. Without tornado force winds, however, it wouldn't be blown far enough to insure that some neighbor would not recognize it as mine and bring it back to me. Then not only do I have the clutter back, but I also add the disdain of neighbors.

Before you ask the inevitable, let me address the elephant in the room. Goodwill, Salvation Army, et al have retail stores and make money from what they get donated. Granted, they do fund wonderful programs for the less advantaged, but my main objection is that if someone is going to get money for item A, why not me? See the first paragraph, next to last sentence. I don't currently plan to retire. I plan to die before I am required to retire. Thus, all funds acquired now can be used for now. Thus, if anyone is going to get money for clutter from this house, it is me. Of course, that assumes that any of the clutter would sell. Which according to "Hated Job" it won't.

Yeah, one can only hope that desperation is sterile.

D, W, M

It's not like I haven't thought about it. I just didn't do it. So now I am. Thing is, I still have this underlying feeling of "who gives a flying " when it comes to writing things. Yeah, yeah, so my delusions of OFF were summarily squished. So my aspirations of accomplishment with 1RAT have rusted in spots. So my therapist and a handful of others would get really miffed if they knew what I was thinking lately (not planning, mind you).

The only real relevance a person has in this world is that which is self-created. Note to self.

So it's a start, another tiny step in THAT direction. Time to dust off some old trade tools, and while I am at it, see if I can fire up the engine and get the project moving forward again.

It never fails

I suppose that when I do a bit of deep retrospection, I will find that I am not as patient as I think, or hope, that I am. Case in point, my latest endeavor. Having a few people read it and give positive feedback has not contributed to my ability to wait for things to happen. I come home from work, find no phone messages, find no emails, and become just a little sad. I end up taking a nap, which screws with my night sleep schedule. I putter about the place wanting to work on the 1rat, but find apathy to be stronger than motivation.

So, as of today, I guess I will either have to a) make myself a true nuisance, b) consider shopping my work around in traditional fashion, or c) say "Screw It" and be glad I didn't give up my day job.

Not for the weak

Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick.
Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker.
Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson.
Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.
Will Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith.
Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn.
David Arquette and Courtney Cox-Arquette.
John Travolta and Kelly Preston.

Quite the list of names, isn't it? I comprised this list because:

a) They are all generally respected actors who have some serious skills.

b) They are all "Hollywood" couples who have managed to stay together for quite a few years, in an industry that seems to do more to destroy relationships than to foster them.

I developed this list for a particular reason, but not to establish any sort of fan club. Granted, a group such as this deserves a fan club, and I would probably join such a club if one were to be established, as I respect them all for both of the above reasons. It might have to do with the fact that I a) have been involved with theatrical arts from age ten and b) have been involved in a relationship for quite a few years, with all the associated joys and trials that those years brought. OK, so it's the Mrs. that deserves the props for staying with me, as there is no way I could have stayed with me for so long, or put up with so much. And I live with me. Daily.

Anyhoots, back to the list. Yep, all long-term couples and all actors. My interest in them is far from passing these days, although not stalkish. It ties into a certain project (that does not involve cleaning of any sort) I managed to get myself involved in of late. An Indie project, as it were. Yeah, yeah. I know. 'A'  listers. Get in line. Get real. See previous post, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. A person can dream, right? I mean, I've thought about it, and to me the best combination to play certain characters in a certain production of which I am der schriftsteller would be a married (or long-term committed) couple. Given there is a great deal of chemistry that is required to pass along the subtle nuances of the lead characters, it only seems right to have an intimate pair play those characters.

So, if any of the above couples are bored of late, and are not so ego-bloated as to think an Indie project is beneath them, and would welcome the opportunity to spend some time in a slower-paced Midwestern community (perhaps in the company of Dana Altman or Alex Payne), then I invite them to drop me a line at the email listed over there <-- and I can provide more details.

Nobody special

So, here I sit looking at a blog about a project that has for the most part stalled, due in most part to the fact that real life must continue on, and I have one question burning in my chaotic mind.

Who do I think I am?

A simple question, and one that is not unique to the human race. Everyone, at some point, has asked themselves this question. Everyone, at some point, has answered this question. It is within these answers that each person can discover a piece of the truth about what is involved with being human.

Take a moment, reflect on that truth. Is it glorious, life affirming? Is it mundane or cliche? Is it downright scary? Do we collectively need to make appointments to see therapists?

For me, there was a time when I would answer the question in a near delusional fashion. I thought, at one time, that I was destined to be important. A world-changer. Famous or infamous, I would be known. Now I recognize and accept the truth; the honest to goodness, down to earth, undeniable truth. Even more alarming, personally, I have to admit that it might just be better this way.

I am nobody special, and someone special.

So, as I sit here looking at this blog about a project that has for the most part stalled, I release a sigh, think about the little things I want to accomplish today, and smile.

I smiled until my face hurt.

It didn't take long, either. This morning, on the way to work, the strangest notion popped into my consciousness. I decided to smile all morning, or at least for as long as possible. Not sure why, but I did. My face started hurting within minutes. Now, some could say that the root cause of this is the fatigue of muscles that are not used enough to keep them flexible enough to maintain the required tension. Or something like that. My mom would have said that I frowned too much and my face froze that way, so smiling was an unnatural act. Yeah, whatever. I did give it an effort, though.

I did smile when I finished the cart this afternoon, repainting everything down to the bolt heads, with exception of the wooden castors. I'll smile even more when I put it all back together and the Mrs. is smiling because the dishes are off the dining room table. You never know, my face might not hurt too much when that happens.

Maybe I like colored snot.

Not the standard colors, either. I mean the kind you get after spray-painting old furniture to make it all newish looking, or least not as ugly as it was prior to the paint job. Give the nose a blow in a trusty old tissue and the result almost puts Pollock to shame.

Now, I've known this disgusting bit of art trivia for some time, but today (and yesterday), I was creating marvelous nose art as I was renewing the old cart we used to hold up the dishrack. For those of limited life experience, a dishrack holds dishes, generally hand-washed dishes, until the are hand-dried or air-dried. Quite the concept, I'm sure, but for the moment I will avoid that literary tangent. This particular old cart has been with us a long time, so long I can't remember when we came about it, but I do know that it was owned by the Mrs.' parents before us. Wooden castor wheels give a clue to the true age of this cart, and it has just been sitting next to the sink, bearing the burden of a strange orange paint job over it's original ivory ceramic as it bore the weight of dishes, as well as pots and pans stored on the lower shelves.

Did I mention that it was an strange orange color? As in pumpkiny orange of the kind you find on the road the day after Halloween. Don't try to imagine it without something of pleasant color to imagine, or at least imaginary whip cream.

So, scraped and primed and repainted, the cart will go back to its under-appreciated but functional use, and the nose will issue forth the standard colors, and my attention will shift to other mini projects in the drive toward progress with the bigger project.

So I fart on elevators.

Granted, it is usually when I'm the only one on it, but it's really fun when a death cloud gets released just before a new arrival. I'm amazed how many people avoid eye contact in such situations. Hehheh.

Back to the subject at hand. When I started this project, many moons and meds ago, I found a name for it that was unique, and snagged the .net domain name for it, mostly because the .com was parked, and I didn't have fundage for the half dozen other variants. Now I discover that there are many, MANY domain variants, most of the common of which are claimed, and some of which are very similar in theme. Funny, there is even some Inc. out there that uses my project's name. I'm impressed. I did think about offering my .net for sale and finding a new name that better reflects the reality of the project's status (like, omghowlongdoesittaketofinish.xxx or justthrowthestuffoutalready.yyy or ifthewifewasletlooseonitthingswouldbedonebynow.zzz), but I've grown kind of fond of the old name.

Thus, and therefore, I walked about the place noting what has and hasn't changed, and determined that a great deal has changed, while much has remained the same. Yeah, chew on that one psychobabble types. Shame I couldn't get more original. Oh, well. Still, enough has changed to give me hope that someday I can bring this to a conclusion (and maybe start up another blog on some obscure topic, or better yet, some disgusting topic like farting), and enough is still cluttered to drive me to recharge the cleaning bots and make literary note of the efforts and results.

Now, I must go before I...too late.

Yeah? Well...

So, I receive this “notice” in the mail that looks like a bill but really isn’t a bill, and it gets me to thinking that I have long ignored some element of my existence, and that I really need to revisit this project (or life endeavor as it would appear) before it becomes yet another example of “you are such a loser”-ness, and blah blah blah.

I’m back.

With a vengeance.

And some good medication.

It's just a shadow, but...

January is finished, and in the grand scheme of things, was a fairly decent month. Definitely better than the January of last year, although that one was not as bad as some initial months of years past. I managed to get back into the One Room flow, to some extent. A very small extent. OK, I didn't really focus on any single room, but I did send some things off to new homes. Did my part to stimulate the economy by making some money for eBay and PayPal. Did a few things to move forward on an idea I have been working upon. Oh, and I made a few rugs.

So, now that the month of the groundhog is upon me, I will keep with that slightest of forward momentum. Perhaps this month I will actually get a room cleaned.

Don't look now...

Has it really been THAT long? Wow. One could easily get the idea that things have been abandoned by the lack of communication, and one could be close to the truth. Sort of, that is. No, I've not given up on the project, but let's just say that the last year was not the most conducive for progress. That's an understatement.

OK, a new year is upon me, and much like the other lemmings of the world, a new resolve is upon me. This is sparked mostly by an inner dialogue along the lines of "good lord, look at all my shit cluttering up the place." Yeah, me telling me that. So, today I shall begin anew to make money for eBay, and perhaps remove some of the less important material items from my existence.

You Only Thought I Was Done

I'd like to say that I removed all the clutter in the last few weeks since I last posted. I'd like to say it, but it would not be true. I have removed some via the trash collection service, and I am preparing to remove other clutter via the online adoption service ( known by most as eBay). There have been some serious modifications to the living quarters, soon to be discussed. I was selected to participate in the advancement of medical knowledge. Oh, yeah, and I have a job.

Heh.

Think I will just leave with that last little bit of news taunting everyone...

Just a moment

Well, I have to say that there are moments, and then there are moments. Like most human beings, I attach a value to moments, defining some as good and others as less than good. Take, for example, that moment while watching the AFI 10 Top 10 and realized I had ALL ten of the animation films, and patted myself on my back for my good taste in film. Or the moment that I looked at the table my son refinished and felt great pride in what he accomplished. After just a little guidance and a few tips from me, he worked diligently and transformed an old, stained second-hand cast off into a beautiful piece of furniture that deserves to be given a place of honor in any room. Or take, for another example, the moment I watched the backyard bunnies run around the garden, happy in the knowledge that the fence I put up was keeping them out. At least, keeping out the larger ones. I have to make some adjustments yet, as I noticed that baby bunny was able sneak in and dine on some of the garden growth. I guess that gave me a moment of frustration, but not a long one. I'll be "huntin' wabbit" soon enough.

Then there was another moment, also in the realm of frustration, that occurred recently. It had to do with the project. Way back when, early on in the project, I decided to add to the clutter, if only for a short time, and for the purpose of raising some money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. One might recall (or can reread from the archived posts) that I bought a large lot of fast food toys. I sorted them, found a number of complete sets, a number of incomplete, and a few strays. The complete sets I listed, some of which sold, and made a few cents for the NMSS. The incomplete sets are still sitting...there. The strays, however, I put in a big, white garbage bag, so as to slowly ration them out into the 'Free Stuff' basket we use at our GaYaPo sales. Now, somewhere between the last sale and this moment I managed to, well, create a situation. During that situation, several bags of "garbage" went out to the local landfill. Fast forward to the current month, where I decided to sell items to raise money this time for the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America. Ready for the frustration? I searched and searched again for the complete sets that had not sold, all to no avail. A thought entered the chaos called my brain, and I searched for the big bag of near 100 stray toys. Not finding it, a new thought entered my chaos, and that moment flowered into further frustration. Yep.

Oh, well. Now the frustration has turned toward that fact that NOT ONE of the things I have listed for MSAA has sold, and I await a moment of joy to replace it. In the meantime, I continue on with the guest room...

Because of a cause

I was a bit distracted in late February and early March, the details of which I will leave undiscussed at this time. The distraction did cause me to lose track of the project, as I have mentioned earlier, and it also caused me to miss an event that is generally important to me. Just because I missed it, however, does not mean that I still can't observe it. In fact, I have even more reason to observe it now. Therefore, I am making June my own Multiple Sclerosis Awareness month.

Some explanation is in order. First, I have MS. Had it for some time now. Second, the disease has brought some health care procedures into my life that, well, are not cheap. The medicine I inject every day costs my insurance company nearly $2000 a month. While I don't have to pay that much for it, they manage to reclaim some of the cost by allowing me to pay a large portion of my annual MRI expenses. Some years our portion of the expense becomes quite a challenge for the Mrs. and me, but this year I am blessed. An agency known as the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America is paying for my portion of the cost. I am blessed.

In light of this, I am going to list some items on eBay during June and give 80% of the proceeds to MSAA. Kind of my way of giving back, since lack of employment makes it difficult to do anything else. I invite anyone reading this to check out what is available and pass along the word to others. Just look for "MSAA" in the title of my list of items for sale, and feel free to bid, bid, bid!!