The Mole-rats of Mars

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If for no other reason than stubborn curiosity, I suspect that humans will colonize Mars at some point. That, “just to prove we can” action we justify as proving the concepts of science and technology. When we begin the costs will be prohibitive for shipping large amounts of materials, so the emphasis will be to utilize available materials. Housing being a major issue will naturally move underground, copying Sci-fi classical concepts of course. We need to dig for ice, may as well use the holes for living areas and farming. Keep expanding and next thing you know, Moletown! The most exciting metropolis on the planet!

Assuming we can survive long enough for it to matter, the trip alone should prove long enough, sex will become an issue. Are we shipping enough men and women for normal marriage and reproduction. Population replacement is essential for a colony. Hopefully population growth, assuming live birth is even possible in reduced gravity. I don’t know, ask Doc if he didn’t die in a cave in. Is marriage even an option?

Currency will probably be replaced with some type of calory exchange. A 100 calory chit is the new dollar. Knowing humans, it will probably drift into “Cals” quickly enough. Subsistence living is the new fad. Dig out your own hole. Hord your sewage, you need it for the farm. Sterilization is as simple as leaving it outside to freeze, he same for unproductive males. We can’t afford to have them taking up space. The colony will quickly revert to the oppressive patriarchal models of old.

The golden rule will become common law again. It will also become the common form of natural selection. If you are too selfish to help your neighbor, you probably won’t live long. It is the “manufacture a pencil” equation writ large. One person cannot possibly perform all of the tasks necessary for survival. It takes a village, literally. I doubt that communism will take hold. If a persons need exceeds their ability, why support them?

It will be interesting, if nothing else.

Daily writing prompt
Do you think humans will ever colonize Mars? What would life there actually look like?
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Why does kindness hurt?

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I was in a store with my older brother, he’s schizophrenic and gets easily confused. I watched him trying to order a sandwich at the kiosk and getting frustrated. Before I could reach him, a young man walked up and helped him. A simple act of kindness to a stranger. My brother was happy to get his sandwich. I was almost in tears.

I’ve spent a couple of years trying to understand why simple acts of kindness affect me so strongly. I’ve thought that they take me by surprise because they are so uncommon. However, that can’t be the case. I’ve seen too many for me to believe it. I’ve committed enough random acts of kindness to know that they happen, small simple things for no reason than it feels good to be nice. The internet gives access to enough clips of strangers just helping someone in need that I recognize a trend. Call it pay it forward or random acts of kindness; call it click bait. It’s still out there.

The only real answer I have is that when it happens to me, I feel unworthy. Unworthy of simple kindness. How sad is that? I spent so long time hating myself that I don’t think I deserve consideration.

Healing is a long process and some things are harder than others, like, believing that you are worthy of love and kindness. That’s been harder than I thought it would be; he vulnerability of opening up to acceptance by others. The strength gained by closing off emotions becomes painful weakness when touched by others. Sometimes I think that it’s not worth it, but I’m still trying. If you see me and I don’t act the way you think I should, please try to be understanding. I am a work in progress and your kindness hurts me.

That depends…

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It really depends on what name I’m being called at the moment. My family name is Slavic; my given name comes from a Chaplin in the Marines. Later I gained an adopted name, when all along I identified with my great-grandfather’s name. I’ve had the usual assortment of nicknames and variations on the theme, never really liked any of them enough to embrace it.

The name I was called most often was Seargent. I grew into it and embraced the spirit of the title until it became a name. It represented a master of my trade, skilled enough to lead and teach others. Over the years, I hope that I inspired others to strive for the same level of success and knowledge.

There comes a time when you have to take off the uniform and become someone else. That sloppy undisciplined someone you were before. Today I can tell where I know someone from by what they call me. Family and old friends dredge up nicknames I have heard or answered to for decades. Soldiers and cops dance between rank and Sir Name. New acquaintances are just confused.

Maybe someday I’ll figure out who I am.

Daily writing prompt
Where did your name come from?
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A Bottle Shop… with things in them.

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There’s an old reference. If you know it, I congratulate you on a very unique reading history. Since I started reading at a fairly young age and usually borrowed my siblings’ books, that describes my personal experience.

Maybe I should open a bookstore and sell all of the books that fed my imagination. Corrupting the youth of the future seems like a worthy cause. Making sure there is a new generation questioning everything the “establishment” tells them sounds fun. We are a sum of our experiences and what we feed our minds, weird should be on the menu.

Ohhh! A gun shop. Nothing fancy, just plain old, reliable weapons. A little custom work, sights and accessories. Bulk ammo, leather work and good blades.

Motorcycles! All makes and models, stock and custom. I’ll call some friends, and we can set up a real shop. Make a rep for good prices and custom work.

The bottle shop? Fine wines and spirits. Not just expensive. Good quality no matter the price. Yep. A bottle shop. I’ll sell bottles with things in them. Just don’t let them sit on the shelf and gather dust or the wrong person open them.

Daily writing prompt
If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?
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Are we really paying for the meal?

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I’ve spent a lot for dinners, usually more for alcohol. Or a combination of the two. They have all been worth it. Probably the most for one night out with friends was about $600 with drinks and a bottle of wine for a couple that just got married. Cute kids.

The most damage in one night was taking over a bar in Myrtle Beach and dropping a thousand before it was over. Worth every penny. I don’t know what was spent overall, but I remember the tab. We still tell stories about that night and “Stinky Pinky” because I refused to order foo-foo drinks by name.

Worth every cent!

Daily writing prompt
What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on a meal? Was it worth it?
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Back in my head…

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I’ve posted about my journey of recovery and PTSD in the past. In fact, this blog was started for that and to help me my thought out of my head. Honestly, it’s getting pretty crowded in there lately.

I’ve known for a long time that my emotions were mostly shut down, except for the safe ones. “What are safe emotions?”, you probably didn’t ask. Well, anger is safe. Except for the violence it can let out. Maybe on special occasions a flash of amusement, but not much, that can lead to happiness and that’s always risky. If I’m happy something will come along and crush it. Satisfaction is usually okay, if it’s from something that I’ve accomplished. I like the feeling of completion. It just doesn’t last either. I mean what have I done lately?

The only other emotions that I feel regularly and recognize are sadness and love. Nostalgia is in there somewhere, for the lost innocence of childhood and feeling like I was safe. I don’t get envy or hatred; they take too much energy. Appreciation and gratefulness show up and punch me in the gut sometimes, when someone just does something nice. It really is stunning. Loyalty is strong. I may not keep in touch with people as well as I should, but I will drop everything to help a friend.

I feel like the slow kid in class who is trying to color, but all I have are the fat five color crayons that kindergarten kids use and everyone else is using the big 64 color set. You remember the ones, with the cool sharpener in the back. I just don’t understand. I can’t feel the rest. Are there anymore emotions out there? Compassion, empathy, fear? What is contentment like? I don’t trust it. To squishy.

Fear came up recently. It is likely why I’m awake at 3 A.M. writing instead of sleeping. I was talking to a counselor today, trying to describe why my lack of fear was an issue and admitting that I put people in danger because I lack the common sense of pond scum. I got people hurt and killed, put people in bad situations because I was too stupid to be afraid or think about them. I keep reliving incidents, walking into a riot with my partner, just the two of us. No fear, nothing can hurt me. But Stephanie, about half my size, with a daughter at home. Ed following me into an apartment with a shooter inside. Omar trusting me to get him out and holding his hand while he died. What about the kids I trained? Did they try to imitate me and my stupid, reckless behavior?

It feels like I was screaming; “Look at me! I’m too stupid to be afraid! You should be just like me!”

Shit it’s crowded in here.

4 wheels good, 2 wheels better.

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Start with a mid-90s Harley-Davidson Soft tail. Not the most impressive beasty on the road, but it still had that old Harley feel. That deep, rumbling sound you can feel without being beaten up. Great power band and decent speeds, carburetors and Hyper-chargers. Pure mechanical push.

Modern tech, gave us fuel injectors and CAD designs to balance out handling. The 103A, high output was the best of them. Tuning done with a computer, tweaked for long rides. The Beast roared down the road and only frightened parents with cute daughters.

Finally, the era of the Milwaukee 8, 8 valve, computer management, displacement went from 107CI to 131CI. It’s like putting a compact car worth of power on 2 wheels, knocking off a thousand pounds and making it faster. It leaves muscle cars at the light and the over tuned crap doesn’t even start to run. I’ve finished quarter mile sprints and not had time to shift out of 4th gear.

Yep. Motorcycles are my favorite automobiles. Two wheels rule. I’ll reserve the other two for a spare bike.

Daily writing prompt
What is your all time favorite automobile?
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I hate shopping.

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The prompt is my top 5 shopping list. Fine here goes.

Scotch – Speyside by preference. Single malt over blended.

Wine – A decent selection, mixed varieties but not a lot of sweet stuff.

Ammo – The usual selection of 9mm, .45, 5.56 and 12 gauge. There are a couple of specials, but I don’t use them very often.

Half a pig – Gotta have a pig-pickin’.

Coffee – There is no life without coffee.

Daily writing prompt
List your top 5 grocery store items.
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