The People Are The Problem

Friday, June 23, 2017 | 10:00 AM

Since getting state-funded medical care which occurred after a 20+ year lapse in medical care, I’ve been spending lots of time in waiting rooms.

Waiting Room Old Fashioned Camera Display

Today I’m having X-rays on my hip, knee, neck, and whateveritis else they’re going to observe so they can determine whateveritis my problems are.

There’s a screen playing old pop songs from about 10 years ago. There’s a dark brown colored woman in a black and white, horizontally-striped shirt (XL) and denim shorts that land mid-thigh. Her toenails are painted a deep, maroon and her device is small and contrasted by her wide stature. She’s sitting 10-12 feet directly in front of me on a chair to the right of the big screen that’s currently playing Crazy Love by Michael Buble. Her hair is braided in cornrows that form a sort of crown atop her head before falling three quarters down her back. Her arms are folded as are the man’s to my left. He’s less than three feet, or one empty chair, away. He’s staring stoically ahead wearing a pale, light green shirt and also has blue denim shorts. He is wearing his sunglasses. It seems like he can read this because he’s so physically close but there is no possible way he knows I’m observing him so closely. He doesn’t know my thoughts but it seems as though this is a contradiction in logic. “He’s so fucking close, he has to know!” my so-called logical brain seemingly reasons. His name is Robert. They called it and he walked to the front desk revealing a decal of sleigh bells and mistletow on the back of his shirt.

“I’ll come hide in the corner,” says the young guy on his device who’d been sitting where I’d been sitting after I arrived here, directly under the screen and speaker. Young Guy walked outside to take a call and upon returning remembered how annoying the music sounded from directly under it and felt he had to offer me a reason as to why he was changing his seat so close to mine and not knowing that prior to his arrival, I’d been sitting in the exact same spot. I give him a welcoming smile before I’d even realized why he even spoke to me and went back to ignoring him. Then I got to thinking about how I’m sometimes apologetic when I don’t have to be. For example, if I were moving my seat close to someone right after I’d been sitting far and my previous seat was still available, I too would feel I owed them an explanation as to why I was doing something socially unacceptable. Is this a good thing or a bad or neither? Just silly human behavior I suppose.

The floor in this waiting room is decidedly not so shiny compare to the floor at the opthamologist’s described in a previous post.

A Comparatively Dull Floor
Imaging Facility Dull Tile Flooring

The Bjork video for Human Behavior speaks to the ADD in me never boring me with too much repetition nor too little. The repetitive beat is comforting. And I’ve just lost 20 minutes reading the comments under the video after having stopped it. One of the comments confirmed “Love his track beat and vocals are amazing”

I am going to jot down some notes because I can’t type as fast as I want to and I want to remember what went on while I was at this appointment.

I wish I’d brought my keyboard. Been waiting 1/2 hour. Should have known better as the reviews said there’d be a wait and besides, doctor’s offices are known for having long wait times. My Bad. PAY ATTENTION MORE!

I keep being asked if I’m pregnant. It’s annoying. I understand why they keep asking but it’s like being asked over and over again whether or not you want to harm yourself or others. Nothing you want to keep having to think about no matter what your answer is.

The guy who takes my X-rays Is David. He’s in his 20s and has a nice touch when he moves me. He smells funny. Not bad nor good. At one point I have to open my mouth for a neck X-Ray and his face is in front of mine as I’m doing it but only for about a second because he has to dash back to the machine and do whateveritis he does quickly but even so, I wonder if I smell funny to him. Other things cross my mind while we’re in each other’s presence. I wonder if my nipples are still hard (it’s freezing in this facility and I had to take off my bra for the X-Rays even though I could keep my top on. Had I known this would be the procedure, I’d have dressed accordingly. I assume all guys his age are sexually active and I wonder what kind of weirdo he is. I ask him if he can read results and he tells me he’s only trained to take the pictures but he is obviously into it. At one point he says that I have to kind of pose like Captain Morgan in the advertisements for rum and once in the pose, I tell him that he’d given a great description because I did indeed feel like Captain Morgan. He told me he gets “in the zone” when he works and that was the first thing that popped in his head. I wondered if it was the first time he had to take an X-ray of hips because assumably, if he’d done a lot, he’d have come up with the Captain Morgan description a long time ago. He looks young though so for all I know, he’s only been doing this a month or two.

I’m in a newer, colder waiting room in the back. An old lady staring at me . I am her boredom relief in this room which feels about 70 degrees or less.

It’s fucking cold in here.

I’m sitting under a shitty painting.

Shitty Painting


In the room with David doing X-rays, it sounds like birds are chirping but he tells me is some kind of machine that has to do with ultrasound and/or helium. I can’t remember.

There are shitty paintings everywhere.


This guy Babbitt SUXXXX. Can’t believe he even signs this shite and by shite I mean shit.


Bye Babbitt


Another Babbitt Original

I shouldn’t be all judgey about this guy. I’m just trying to be funny, and troll-ish, and hipster-y. And maybe I’m even succeeding in some people’s judgment. But I’m also thinking, “Hey I should do more art. My shit’s not any better or worse than Babbitt’s”. I’m thinking, “I’m sure there are lots of things about his shit that are really great and I just don’t see it because I’m not in the art community.”  I’m thinking, “…strange Human Behavior to be judgmental but also self-aware enough to know that what you’re doing isn’t unique and that you’re being triggered by something that’s causing you to judge (and there’s nothing unique in that either). What is it that’s triggered you?”


I think it goes back to the question/statement: “What do I want to do and how will I make money? Can I be an artist? I’d need to put a lot of time, money, and other commitment-related stuff into this investment. Babbitt did. Would anyone buy my shit? Would I get sick of doing the same shit of a specific type of shit I did got popular and people just wanted me to keep producing that shit over and over again? I have in the past. But I don’t discuss that in this journal even though it’s a private journal and anonymous, there are things about me that I don’t want anyone to know even though I know I’m not unique. Will my ego get pumped up if I have too many followers and that impede my own personal spiritual progress? What if in the years to come, some weird stuff I was into becomes stuff I think/realize is stupid, embarrassing, trivial or even harmful? Then what? I’ve embarrassed myself and hurt people! What if people hated me? What if everyone hates me? What if I end up lying on the side of the road dying a long, painful, meaningless death?!?”

I’m no longer in the waiting room. I’m home now appending my notes and spiraling into the dark abyss of death/eternal blackness/nothingness based on a judgment that Babbitt “SUXXXXXXX”. Paintings trigger me. All Apologies to Babbitt wherever he/she is/was.

Back to rest of my notes which literally/unedited read:

“I’m waiting for a DEXA bone density scan.

My fans have no idea.

G doesn’t .49 seconds.

Have fun on that summons David jokes to someone my age.”

Should I expound on any of those short notes? I can’t. I’m dying on the side of a desert highway for God’s sake! Plus they relate to shit I don’t want to reveal to the public. Back to Alan Watts’ quote: “Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone.” that I seem to keep coming back to in my thoughts both journaled and unjournaled. “If you publish this,” a voice in my head reasons, “people may think you’ve done something illegal…or illicit.”

I knew someone who I wanted to tell about a job I’d had but was hesitant about revealing and their reaction was to ask me if it was “illegal or illicit”. My answer was “no” but others’ may have other opinions such as that what I’ve done either was illegal or illicit or should be! So again, I’m experiencing the worry of being judged, hated,  and made to defend myself and my actions to others who may judge and/or ostracize me from resources I need to continue to survive in my/our community.

The people are the problem,” is one of my sayings/possible future book or blog post titles. What I mean by “the people are the problem” is best expressed by my referencing this Scrubs moment.

Sidenote: I was placed in front of a television from the time I can remember and probably watched more programmed TV than most humans on the planet to day. Has it hurt or helped me? Neither? Both? I can’t determine this. “It is what it is” as they say. I’m a TV kid. I’ve experienced a lot of my life via a screen. My eyes are now older than they should be and damaged. My bones and muscles hurt more than they should for someone my age. I’m still active and fit due to my having learned (via screens, books, and other resources available to me) how to maintain my space suit (i.e. human body).

I clearly have an issue with staying on topic BUT…I’ve been dealing with having what is now termed ADD or Attention Deficit Disorder which means I have a hard time paying attention and/or sticking to one thought/topic/task and who knows what else it means? I have read enough to know I have it, and I’ve been diagnosed as an adult by other adults professionally trained to recognize it. And I’ve been dealing with it, as I’ve stated before I got sidetracked telling you about my diagnosis, and I’ve developed ways of staying on topic and of, more importantly, getting back after I’ve strayed.

Dr. Cox. Elliot.


I.C.U. — NURSES’ STATION Elliot is all dolled up for her date. She finishes her slinky look by stealing a look in a mirror behind the desk to slide on some bright red lipstick before heading out. Dr. Cox comes up behind her and observes this with bemusement.

Elliot: Dr. Cox, does this shade of red make me look like a clown?

Dr. Cox: No, Barbie, no. It makes you look like a prostitute who caters exclusively to clowns.

Elliot: Oh, I’m sorry, that was my mistake. I keep forgetting that you’re a horrible, horrible person.

Dr. Cox: Oooh, backbone, Barbie.

She starts to walk out.

Dr. Cox: Heeee-xcuse me! You wouldn’t happen to be signing out Mr. Hudson to the on-call resident, would you?

Elliot: Eee-yeah, why?

Dr. Cox: He’s your patient, he needs a lumbar puncture, and you can’t necessarily count on the on-call resident to do that, now, can you?

Elliot: It’s just that, Dr. Cox, I’ve got a date with this guy named Sean–

Dr. Cox: Would you do me a personal favor and excuse me just for one moment?

Elliot: Yeah?

Dr. Cox shuts his eyes and begins snoring loudly.

Elliot: Dr. Cox, I cannot miss this dinner!

Dr. Cox: Oh! Barbie, I–I actually see your point. You should, in fact, go on your little date, because I have some busy work that’s gonna take me over into the vicinity of Mr. Hudson’s room, so I’ll just pop my head in there and tell him that he’s going to die. But, if you have a moment between dinner and giving it away for free, if you could pick up the phone and call Mr. Hudson’s wife and kids and tell them about, you know, the dying…?

Elliot gives him a bitter look and takes the patient’s chart.

Dr. Cox: Oh, I know, sugar. This would be just the most terrific place to work on the planet if it weren’t for all these sick people. Wouldn’t it?



To summarize/synthesize what I mean by  my #1 Bestseller entitled: The People Are the Problem by Trillian Pace:

This would be just the most terrific planet if it weren’t for all these people!

And that leaves me with this dilemma: If the people are the problem and I intend to get busy living or get busy dying (because whether or not I’m conscious of it, I’m engaged in either one or the other unless I’m in a total state of conscious surrender), I have to deal with people because if I don’t I’ll surely die because I cannot survive Planet Earth alone, and I don’t want to die so I have to help the people so the people can help me not to die and how can I help the people of the planet when I currently have so little to give?

“If you don’t help me, I’m not coming back,” I could threaten. “And you’ll be stuck with generation and generation of the kind(s) of people your community currently values the most: Young, dumb, horny kids.”

“Who the fuck cares?” I imagine the reply would be from the young, dumb, and full of cum.

Side Note: ADD trigger. I looked up the phrase “young, dumb, and full of cum” on Urban Dictionary and didn’t find a good definition of what I think is a great clarifying phrase. So I created one! I’m submitting it now in this form to see if it will rejected or not:

A phrase that can apply to all genders usually indicating someone is sexually active and between the age of puberty (arguably) through about 40 and that their fertility may be affecting their logic/decision-making abilities.


Rick is turning 35 but he’s still as young, dumb, and full of cum as he was in high school.

I only went steady with Rick because I was young, dumb, and full of cum back in high school.

And now I’m way off topic again. Oh yes. Who cares if some old lady dies and threatens to never reincarnate?

And that brings me back to the otherworldly, and preparing for a journey back into the dirt of and, at the same time, released from the forces of gravity and the materiality of Planet Earth.

What’s a space traveler to do? Make a decision. Create a plan.

still haven’t written much about otherworldliness in this public report. I’m still in denial that I’m destined to have to move someday off this planet into the great unknown. I still care about “me” whomever “me” is.

Lately when I’m meditating, The Guru, it seems to me, takes me out of my body in a wave of bliss. I am still “there” in my room but it feels like I’m taking a nap even though I’m clearly not as I am sitting up. I am aware of what’s going on in my surroundings even though it seems as if I’m dreaming. I’m also unaware of my surroundings…as if I were dreaming.

It’s nearly as impossible to describe meditation to the uninitiated as it is to describe sex to the virgin and it should be because it’s something that has to be experienced to fully comprehend but unlike sex, it can be experienced at any time and with no costs or accessories. Also (like sex), it’s a helpful tool to help reduce tension that one can continue to practice until one’s dying breath (unlike sex).

The guru said that people’s tension needs to come down and that is the main thing to focus on–reducing our own tension via meditation and then, once our own tensions/minds are under control, we can help others’ tensions via teaching them meditation.

So, that’s the plan/decision at the current moment. I guess this Astronaut Queen does have some Mission Orders after all!

I have to end now. It’s 4:40 PM and I’ve been doing nothing but recording this mission journal. I have other stuff to do. I can’t record when I’m busy experiencing!

And now it’s 5:54 PM and I’m still editing!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s