Blogging on the Edge of Sanity

Aug 18-24-The lack of joy

2008-08-19T22:46:00.005-04:00

The current day's entry is always in blue below

Monday Aug 18th.
Today started out early. Considering that most nights I can't fall asleep before 5 or 6 in the morning, dragging myself out of bed in order to be on time at a doctor's office at 8:15AM is not fun. GB/Workman's comp makes me see one of their doctors every month or so in order to make sure we're still hurt enough to be out of work.

One look at my leg is usually enough.

The stitches in my eye are really bothering me and it's agony not to rub it. The workman's comp doctor told me he's leaving to go back to Honda, because his hours are too long at OhioHealth and he's 62. Seems like every time I really get to like someone they up and leave. Now they're bringing back the one that was there before. She's the one who started all my problems a year ago by saying I could go back to light duty work despite my leg and the difficulty I have dealing with strangers.

My prescriptions are beginning to run out, so I tried to make an appointment with the outpatient clinic, can't get one until Friday.

I came home around 10AM to find the phone ringing. The head lady at Hunting*** bank called to say the loan went through... not lease extension-loan!!! I was so overjoyed I forgot to ask what the payments would be. She said they'd be FedExing the papers to me and I'd have to sign them in front of a notary.

I fought for this so hard, convinced I'd never succeed and now I should be jumping up and down for joy, and I'm emotionally numb. My life has gotten to the point that I can't feel pride over such an accomplishment. I mean DAMN!!! After being turned down dozens of times by about twice as many lenders, for the first time in a long time I won... but I can't feel it.

She said I became famous in that office, everyone knew my story and that no one had ever fought so hard for a car loan like I had.

I drove up to National City and pulled $300 out of checking, then drove over to Hunting*** and made this month's payment on the lease, using the only thing I had with an account number on it, the collection notice that said I was delinquent with a $0.00 payment.

The motor on the box fan I keep in my bedroom blew out. I'm amazed it lasted so long. I can't sleep unless I have that sound in the room; it reminds me of the jets flying over our house at all hours of the day and night and soothes me to sleep. That fan's been running on medium nonstop for probably 3 years. I went to turn it to High and the switch gave out a loud pop and a spark in the dark and then electrical smoke filled the room.

I moved the fan I have in the den to the bedroom.

It's gnat season here in Ohio. It's nearly impossible to go outside and not walk through a cloud of them. I have a feeling it's time for my annual ritual of swatting them continuously until the end of September.

Tuesday Aug 19th.
Spent the day at home waiting for FedEx but they didn't show.

I spent all day doing some cleaning and working on the graphics for the banner for my 5 websites.

Aug 11-17 Sanity or suicide-toss of a coin

2008-08-11T13:02:00.031-04:00

Monday Aug 11th.
Dragged myself out of bed around 4 this morning and put my clothes in three washers down in the laundry room, 45 minutes later I discovered that neither dryer was working-and the pre-operative screening for my eye surgery was in 35 minutes-so I went in the cab to the hospital in dripping wet clothes because there was nothing else to wear.

The operation went okay, though I won't know the results until the eye patch comes off tomorrow.

Got my mail and a magnifying glass and discovered one of those "tear this side, then this side, and that side to open letter" deals from Hunting*** Bank and was happy as hell that something was finally going right, because this wasn't their usual correspondence letter envelope, and the last one I got that looked like this was for the notice of first payment due on the lease on the car five years ago.

It was a bank collection department notice, they were threatening a collection/repo against me because my first car payment was due and I hadn't paid it. I had hopes that maybe the guy from Hunting*** that I talked to week before last actually got it approved as promised... until I saw the full letter...

Past due amount (are you ready for this?)$0.00 Late charge due $0.00. Some dumbass computer decided to play a nice dirty little joke on me. I called them just the same to see if it was a valid account number that I could pay on, but no luck, and the guy I talked to a week before last wouldn't be in his office until 8PM tonight.?.

I'd just gotten my hopes up about that car, then I'd finally settled myself with inevitably losing it at the end of the month, only to have my hopes raised and then dashed in the same letter.

Fuck it all to hell damn it.

Tuesday Aug 12th.
I got my daily harassing collection agency call from Hunting*** Bank again this morning, trying to collect $0.00 and a late fee of $0.00 which was due on my car July 17th, and after straightening it out and pointing it out, I was informed that a towing company was already hired to come and get it and take it to an auto auction, since I supposedly didn't make my first payment on the new loan that I was turned down for. Of course the caller warned me to go out and watch to make sure this screwy mix-up didn't cost me possession of my beautiful convertible... until their paperwork snafu was fixed.

This also meant that I was on hold for so long being transferred over and over, and explaining over and over, that I missed my follow-up eye appointment at Ohio State and had to reschedule it for tomorrow.

As if to add insult to injury, Social security called while I was on hold, to confirm how much I was getting from workman's comp, and they discovered that I was getting checks bi-weekly instead of monthly, which meant my yearly income was just shy of $900 more than they thought it was... all because GB tried to cut me off the beginning of this year because of my heart attack Dec 28 of last year because it wasn't part of my "original injury".

While still on hold, just to add to the pressure my sanity was under, Franklin County called to say I had to bring all of my bank statements in to see if I was still eligible for their county Medicaid program. I'd been approved last year for it in July... but a computer screw-up meant I and about (200 other people) didn't know it until March of this year! On top of that even though I'm waaaaay under 65, because I'd gotten disability for a year and a half, I was now eligible for Social Security's Medicare... But I had to turn it down because the co-payments a month were over $400 for parts a,b,c & d..... But no one told me that the County would pay those co-payments as long as I was eligible for medicaid. That means if the county turns me down on the 18th, I could lose half my disability checks (or more) per month to Medicare co-pays after the county stops paying them for me. Now that I can't get out of until next January when the new annual paperwork is done!!!

Now... Hunting*** heartlessly is trying to say that I still might be approved for the loan-despite the bankruptcy, if I talk to some guy in underwriting. When they tried to transfer me to him, they lost me. When I called back, they couldn't find who I was talking to, which meant another half hour of explaining to person after person after person.

...thus the title of this blog. The hilarious part is it's not even noon yet. I'm tempted to go hide under my bed and take the phone off the hook

Later that same afternoon as Batman pondered his next move...

The guy from Hunting*** Bank called me and said they were re-evaluating my case, and while I was digesting whether that was good news or bad, he added that he never told me I could have the car till the end of the month and the 17th is this Sunday.

He cryptically said he'd let me know if there were any further developments. Call-waiting beeped and I was confronted with another woman from their collection department, who didn't want to hear any excuses and wanted to know why I hadn't made my promised first payment on the loan. I tried to explain to her the situation, and when she said she didn't want excuses, she either wanted a payment that was due, or the car back immediately.

I told her to check the amount overdue on her computer, which she obviously hadn't done and hung up on her. County welfare called to say they had to move my appointment up from next Monday the 18th to this Thursday morning. While I was digesting that Ohio State Eye clinic called and the doctor that operated on me yesterday said it was imperative that I get on the medication he would've prescribed today, before I saw him tomorrow. He said he'd call the prescription in to Kroger's pharmacy and I needed to get it right away.

I told him I didn't have anyone that could drive me there and he had me remove the eye patch...

To the right of my right eye's center of vision, I now have a black vertical band that I can't see around. I drove over and picked up my prescriptions and more insulin. I've been taking just barely enough to keep my sugar in control for the last couple of months so that if they cut me off again, with this purchase I have enough insulin to last me 3 months... if I'm careful.

So, I could lose the car Friday if they want it back before the weekend. Driving to pick up the prescriptions was agony, it it all falls through, and I somehow doubt it won't tomorrow will be the last time I can drive the car with the top down on my way to see the OSU eye clinic, and Dr. "Mind".

The though of killing myself next Monday is never from my mind. Everything depends on if the doctor tells me the vision thing is temporary, whether the County takes away my medical benefits and if someone comes and takes my car away.

My life used to be so good and carefree. Hope is a luxury that gets grabbed away from me when I reach for it. I wonder how much time I have left to keep trying...

Wednesday Aug 13. Spent the morning at the eye clinic, they changed my prescription from the ones they prescribed only yesterday and I'm supposed to go back in two weeks.

Dr. Mind is so worried about me that she had a colleague sit in on our session this afternoon that went 2 1/2 hours. I overheard him say that he's worried too that with the loss of my car, I'd kill myself. They want me to check in with them on Friday.

Drove over to Kroger's and they said that the prescription wasn't covered by Medicare, Medicaid, Anthem blue shield or anything else so I couldn't get it.

Par for the course.

Thursday Aug 14.
I got a notice saying I had to do a face-to-face meeting with a county caseworker in order to retain their help with my heart medical expenses, at 10:30AM this morning. 10AM went down to my car and it wouldn't let me in without setting off the alarm. Just a little peccadillo it has, someone in our apt building has a cell phone on the frequency that resets the codes on my car alarm. I sat in it for about five very long minutes waiting for it to reset, then I turned the key to the on position and hit a button under my dashboard and disarmed it.

Barely got there on time, then waited nearly an hour. She wanted all kinds of financial records that I'd already provided for another case worker the beginning of this year, so I just took my bank statements. Bad move, now I have to go on line and find utility bills I didn't keep because everything is auto-pay out of my checking account.

I got home and found the phone ringing. Ohio State eye clinic called to say they were trying to get a work around on the prescription that the county won't cover on my medical card, So I expect (as warned earlier) to be in agony over my eye, because it feels like I have a nail stuck in it because the stitches they put in it take about two weeks or more to dissolve.

My Allstate insurance agent called to ask if I was going to renew my policy, and I told him I didn't know if I'd have a car by next week. That's when he dropped a bomb on me. It turns out that I could've gotten the same policy for less money that I've got now (with a $2,000 deductible to reduce the payments) for less per month, with only a $500 deductible and more bells and whistles on it.

I'm seeing tiny objects in my freshly operated on eye, and I'm worried. I need sleep so bad and can't get it for feeling the stitch in my eye. I'm so miserable that I might lose my car today.

Friday Aug 15.
HUGE GASP OF RELIEF
I've been sweating bullets over the car, and they haven't called yet... so I called them. Hunting*** Bank is still working on getting approval, BUT, no one in the hundreds of people I've talked to there told me that without my knowing it, the lease on it had been extended until this whole appeal process had been resolved!!!!

I panicked when she told me that as long as I made a lease payment of $299.83 at my local bank branch on the 17th, that I was okay. Then I remembered that the 17th is on Sunday. She told me that I have a grace period for Saturdays and Sundays and not to panic.

I've dodged a bullet, though their gun's still pointed at my head. If push comes to shove, I can still keep the car till September 17th, or beyond.

They're trying to get me on a program where I'm leasing the car to own it, this'd mean continuing to pay $299.83 a month, but it'd get paid off sooner.

Now if I can only keep my paranoia down about something else major (and if you've been reading along, you know that's justified) happening, I'll be fine.

On another front, now that I'm taking the right prescriptions, my eye seems to be hurting less, though it's still cloudy. The worried Dr. Mind is supposed to call me today to be sure I haven't killed myself, so I can't go out and get my prescriptions till she calls, or she'll probably call the cops to have them check on me..

Aug 4-10 2008

2008-08-06T00:57:00.011-04:00

Monday August 4th Dr. Mind wants me to try to concentrate on killing off my attackers when I go into a flashback or nightmare. So far that isn't working, it usually ends with me getting killed by the cops for killing my killers.

The nightmares have started coming back again, sometimes I'm awake until 5-6 in the morning trying to avoid sleep. That means only being exhausted during the daylight when I have to hit stores before they close, and I still can't go out after dark.

Tuesday August 6th. No call from the guy at Hunting*** Bank. No news is probably good news. I don't know why I let myself get my hopes up. Maybe after I see Dr. Mind tomorrow, I can cruise around with the top down to brighten my spirits. My "Weekly Disaster" hasn't hit yet... maybe that's a good sign.

GB hasn't called back, so I called Dr Knee and Dr. Eyes today to see if they'd heard from Dr. Heart. Dr. Heart's office confirmed they mailed out the necessary medical releases on the 23rd, so now I'm stumped as to what to do. GB could use it as an excuse to cut me off financially because I can't seem to get an appointment for either operation.

The depression and the Cymbalta seem to have made me callous to any emotion, I don't even feel bad that I've been enduring this alone. I didn't used to be like this, I was a fighter, and always found a "way out" of trouble. The last four years, I've stretched that talent to the limit, but it gets harder and harder.

Suicide is never far from my thoughts, and I hate that...

Thursday Aug 7th.
I spent the day yesterday driving around with the top down. I consolidated all my errands into one big trip and started buying supplies for the future when I won't be able to get around after the leg surgery.

They still haven't called about my leg yet.

Ohio State called at noon to tell me that my eye surgery is on Monday at 6AM. They have to call back and let me know about getting off of the Plavix. I still haven't heard from the guy at Hunting*** Bank, so I'll give him till 3 before I call him. I feel like a fool for getting my hopes up, but what else do I have?

Thursday Aug 8th.Ohio State called to remind me about my surgery on Monday, now I have to be there at 5:30AM-Yikes.

Saturday Aug 9th.
Actually it's Sunday morning... 1 in the morning to be exact. With every passing day, with every passing hour I feel more and more alone. This is how I lost so many friends in four years, nobody wanted to watch me slip from success to disaster. They all suffered from "There but for the grace of god go I" syndrome.

I've got to drag myself out of bed, probably just after I fall asleep, to be at OSU for my eye operation at 5AM. Uhg.

This isn't the ordinary laser surgery, this is in an operating room, with all the fun druges, a device to keep my eye open while they cut into it and that's followed by the laser to cauterize the leaking bloodvessels.

Cross your fingers for me...

Being Tested by God July 28-Aug 3

2008-07-29T08:24:00.012-04:00

Monday July 28th
I went my first full day without TV today. You never know what you've got till it's gone. I didn't realize how much I used CNN for background noise while I was cooking or cleaning until now. It was also strange eating without watching Greatest police chases on Tru-TV every evening between the network news commercials.

I keep having these experiences, which are completely out of my hands to prevent or control. Maybe I am losing it, because it seems as if God is really testing how far he can stress my sanity before it finally break.

I boiled some eggs and mixed some Tuna and Miracle Whip this evening for some sandwich spread. My lord it's horrible not being allowed to have salt. I spent the evening working on the new graphics for my six blogsites here.

Tuesday July 29th
My sister Betsy called me on her way to work this morning and ten minutes in, I suddenly realized that I was bleeding all over the bed. I reached down and where my groin meets my right leg, there was an almond shaped knot just beneath the skin, and I was stupid enough to squeeze it and blood with the consistency of puss gushed out. I cleaned it with some alcohol and paper towels. it's right at the site where they ran the probe up to do heart surgery.

I suddenly realized that I was so busy yesterday, that I didn't take my Lantus insulin, because I'd run out of needles and couldn't locate the stock I got at Grant Hospital last December. A nurse at Grant Hospital was sweet enough to give me a big carton of assorted cartridge needles and I just assumed-and considering my track record I should've known better. I just located the box five minutes ago only to discover that none of the 500 or so fit my cartridge pen. No pharmacy will let me buy the right sized ones unless I have a prescription for them, and the last few times since I don't have insurance for them, I've paid full price.

Now it turns out that without a prescription, I can't use my county Medicaid card to buy them.

I just went into the kitchen for more paper towels, I pulled (but didn't yank) on the sheet and the roll fell into my dish water-it was a brand new roll too. I examined the roll (one of the BIG ones) and discovered it seems to be about an quarter of an inch narrower than the holder. Probably to cut back on size instead of raising their price-like the potato chip guys do by reducing the bag weight by an ounce instead of raising the price. I'm too emotionally exhausted to be mad, or lose my temper as something so stupid, and instead tossed it away.

I have a feeling this isn't going to be a good day.

Wednesday July 30th After a rather lengthy session with my shrink today, I've changed the title of this particular page to Blogging on the Edge of Sanity... instead of suicide...

Friday August 1st
After the events of this afternoon, I'm seriously thinking of changing the title back. Hunting*** Bank called demanding that I turn in the car-no one got the paperwork saying I got the lease extended till the 17th. They found the money I paid to extend it though. It hurt like hell though because I thought we had that all straightened out and I pretty much settled that I was going to lose the car in two Weeks.

Then this call came and I thought that one of the dozen or so people I'd talked to either changed their minds after reviewing my perfect 5-year payment record, and decided to approve the loan.

After I got the extension confirmed, I started getting bounced around to supervisors who wanted to know my situation, and the last one I talked to said I could have the car till the end of August, and he would look into a loan.

dare I keep my hopes up?

The one thing that keeps me going is my interaction with my readers over at BlogCritics. Now there seems to be a glitch that prevents me from logging onto the site unless I have Firefox.

God continuously finds new ways to test me... if he even exists, he's a very cruel and unfeeling fellow.

July 21-27 Hell is a broken down air conditioner

2008-07-21T15:40:00.027-04:00

Monday July 21st
Went to the heart clinic today, surprise of surprises I've lost 5 pounds and even more astonishing is that my sodium levels were right where they should be (with all the cheap food I've been eating.)?!? Afterward I bought a head of red cabbage, shredded lettuce and carrots and I'm planning to eat nothing but salads for a week.

I'm getting more and more paranoid,edgy and impatient. My shoulders and face are beginning to spontaneously bleed again (from nerves) and the night sweats have come back.

I keep telling myself things have to get better.

...Even though I've stopped believing that long ago. Like a tease holding a piece of candy just outside the reach of a toddler's hand, fate waits for me to reach for hope, and laughs as it's pulled away when I almost have it in my grasp... I've stopped reaching for it.

11:04PM... I think I just figured out why losing my car is hitting me so hard. When I'm in that car-I'm free, the car and I are one, and I'm my old self again. I get into it and the horsepower of the car, the great looks of that car, the freedom of that car embodies me the way I was in my carefree days before the attack. When I didn't have a care in the world, and I had the money, the looks, the talent, and the business savvy to take on the world.

That's all gone now and I feel like I'll never-ever get it back. The acceleration makes up for my mangled and beaten leg. The "Inferno Red" paint and the styling represent the body I once had that turned heads and earned compliments wherever I went. The envious stares of other drivers at that beautiful red convertible with the top down represented the confidence and the drive I once had, but now I've lost it. I think that if I lose that car, that part of me (the best part of me) will be lost with it.

Family members that once discarded me years ago as a pervert or worse, never even saw the best years of my life, and if I told them about them, they wouldn't believe me. Sometimes I have trouble believing it myself. Judge Judy says on the subject of lying, that if you tell the truth, you don't have to have a good memory. My problem is I don't remember half the lies I've told to an already judgmental and dismissive family to cover what my real life was actually like.

On my quarterly visits to San Diego, I would've loved to visit my brother at the naval base, just to see his astonishment at what a year's worth of gym training and a few unnamed and unmentioned injections did. Can you imagine going within half a mile of your brother and knowing you weren't welcome to visit? Unfortunately that muscled body didn't come with a warning label that said that if I didn't become a slave to it, it'd turn into a grotesque lump of blubber in revenge...

I shake my head that they never questioned where it came from when I'd send a thousand here or a thousand there at the mere hint that they needed it, or sent lavish Christmas and birthday gifts. Oh I'd hint at it every once in a while with photos of the penthouse, or the customized British Sports cars, and luxury convertibles, but they didn't catch on or wonder. They'd discard the evidence of their own eyes and then shake their heads and turn their backs... poor Jet is making up his ridiculous stories again... Now I regret being so camera shy in those days, preferring to be on the other side of the shutter of that Nikon I'd carry with me wherever I went.

The very thought that I'd have to prove it to them, is telling of what they think of me.

I don't think I can deal with that anymore, or the loss of my beloved car; and as the days dwindle down to a precious few and I have to give that car back and know that it (like my pride)is going to be sold at some auto auction for a fraction of its value... I don't think I can bear to think about it... and it scares me to think that... God, I'd sell my soul if I could find the strength to cry-to experience that grief and the release it'd bring.

Everything that once said I was here on this earth is disappearing right before my eyes. Two houses where I grew up (one across from the Air Force base, the other across the parkway from the airport where I got my nick name) have been torn down decades ago. The airport where my mother worked as a waitress in the coffee shop, where I playfully ran freely up and down the halls day in and day out, and spent hours watching the planes and then jets take off and land has been torn down too.

The Moon High School class ring that never left my finger for as long as I can remember was lost uncountable months ago; My brain so numbed by this ordeal and by Cymbalta that I don't even mourn its loss. It's like if I look behind me, I see a wave of erasers trying to engulf me, getting ever closer, and someday soon they'll catch up to me, and like some nondescript factory worker who lived in the 1890s, the only evidence that I was here will be some weathered tombstone that no one could read, even if they could figure out who I was... and I'll be as nonexistant as I was before I was born, in limbo.

And what of my art? The pieces that started my career, were beautiful portraits of civil leaders and common folk, and landscapes of homes long gone on the walls of two non-descript McDonald's. Both of which have been torn down and replaced, leaving no evidence that they'd ever existed there, like Illustrations of obsolete refrigerator compressors and VCR components for long-forgotten appliances that also are long discarded, along with the repair manuals that serviced them. Those line drawings were the bread and butter of an unnoteworthy art career.

The movies I did the camera work on, have all been re-edited and renamed, so that the new owners wouldn't have to pay me royalties for them. Like a deer in oncoming headlights, I see that wave of erasers catching up to me, careening headlong at me and I feel nothing... I'm too numb from everything I've lived through to feel anything... everything that I once was has almost all ceased to exist...

My writing at BlogCritics still exists, telling people I was here... but so do the snide remarks, derogatory and cutting, that my loyal readers also see that were left by those who would discredit my point of view, but never write articles of their own so others just as ignorant can do the same to them.

I can't sleep tonight because of the heat
I can't sleep because of the fear of nightmares
I can't sleep because of the flashbacks.

I'll stay awake until I fall asleep finally from exhaustion...
...then I'll wake up screaming... again.

Tuesday July 22nd-Heaven is a quickly repaired air conditioner.
All my central a/c stuff is on the roof and I was awakened to the sound of footsteps on my ceiling... Santa Clause? The air coming out of those vents is almost as good as an orgasm... I said almost!

We had one hell of a storm at 4 this morning. I woke to the sound of cannons and to Mischief poking my face with her declawed paws. I swear she looked like she'd just pleaded, "I'm scared-hide me!" You know it's bad when bright light flashes through closed window blinds. With all the office buildings around here equiped with lightning rods on their roofs, it isn't any wonder that storms are an event around here.

I was going to delete all of yesterdays ramblings, but then it wouldn't be an honest blog. I discovered this morning I'd missed my dosage of Cymbalts... oy

Thursday July 24th Dr. Heart cleared me for surgery yesterday, GB called this morning to see if I went to his office and if I got clearance. I guess I'll make a bunch of phone calls on Monday

Saturday July 26th The bulk of the last couple of days have been spent reorganizing my web pages, not much else, except to go out and drive around and puck up supplies here and there. In the last two days my vision has clouded and I felt like I was going to faint. It scared the hell out of me.

Sunday July 27th I have a big-screen TV-the tube type that weighs a ton. It's a 42 inch Sony that I bought in 1996. It's got 5.1 surround sound. It sits in a custom shelving unit about five feet off the floor over my 80 gallon aquarium.

Tonight Mischief decided to play with all the speaker cords back behind it. Two speaker lines got crossed from their push-in connections and blew something out, and I had to rush and find the power cord as the smell of wire insulation smoke billowed out. It wouldn't turn back on for a while, I just tried it, picture but no sound.

Just great-just fucking great. It's built into the custom shelving unit, and too high and heavy to get out. Even if I could, I can't afford to repair it, or buy a new one-since the HDTVs are all hundreds to thousands of dollars... even if it was only $50 I'd have to cust back $50 worth of food or prescriptions.

I've just lost a major source of entertainment and news.

I can't take much more of this.

God-why won't you stop torturing me?

July 14-20 Waiting For the Axe to Fall

2008-07-15T07:17:00.024-04:00

Monday 14th
I had a 2:30 appointment at Ohio State's Eye clinic that didn't finish until almost 6. (The clinic closes at 4:30.) I wound up with a needle stuck in my left eye to relieve pressure and to administer some drugs into it. They're trying to schedule surgery on my right eye to remove the debris from an exploded capillary that's partially blocking the optic nerve, but can't operate until I get clearance from my cardiologist on the 23rd. I'm holding my breath until this Thursday to see if everyone got the word that I extended the lease a month on the car, since no one will finance it. I know one thing, I can't afford a cab to see Dr. "heart", last time it was over $135 round trip, so I need the damned car.

The pits is that if I do have the knee surgery, I won't be able to drive it afterward with the contraptions they'll have sticking out of my leg. On the other hand, if I let the car go, I'll never be able to get financing on another one, so I've got to find a way to keep this one-no matter what.

Wednesday 16th
Yesterday was the pits, and Dr. "Mind" only confirmed it today at our session. As Thursday is now only a matter of hours away, I'm showing more and more psychosomatic symptoms. I went the whole day yesterday with a burning sensation in the top of my throat as if I were about to throw up or about to burp. I actually walked around with a garbage bag in case I couldn't make it to the bathroom in time to throw up. At the same time I still had an appetite. I've been fighting off wanting to sleep all the time (classic symptom) and I'm having nightmares of the attack again.

The guy she wanted me to get in touch with about possibilities for my car, still hasn't called, and frankly I'm weary of hoping. I drove out to a restaurant supplier place and then Wal-Mart and stocked up on supplies in case someone shows up with a tow truck to steal the car, that didn't get notified that I paid a month's extension.
Tomorrows, I'm going to offer to send them the $1,500 I was going to use on the down payment to try to get them to let me lease it for another 6 months.

They can still refuse it, take the car, and refund me the $299.83 I paid last Friday.

I'm going to fight to stay awake tonight. I've been avoiding sleep anyway because of dreams of suicide that usually end with me screaming my head off and bothering my neighbors...

Thursday 17th:
I've dreaded this day. I really thought (convinced) that if I offered them $1,500 in cash up front, that they'd let me keep my car an additional five months. Instead they've said that the deal is already done to sell the car to an auto auction.

That's it, there's no other options left. Even if I didn't love the car, I can't get financing, even for some junker that'd probably fall apart six months after I bought it.

I seem a little less scared of death today...

I dumped a glass of tea into my keyboard and ruined it and the mouse. Just got home from buying new ones from money I can't afford. With the new tire I had to buy on a car I'm only going to have until August 17th, and having to buy license plates for a year, it pretty much taps me out. Nothing has gone right today. Dr "Mind" wants me to spend a night or possibly a weekend in a rubber room under observation...

Friday 18th
Last night was one of the worst nightmares I've had in my life... and that's saying something. It was a flashback dream of the robbery/beating, only I knew what I'd go through after they finished with me, so just as they were about to run off, leaving me bleeding and knowing the ordeal I've been going through since that night, I grabbed the gun out of the middle guy's hand. They froze and before they could take it away from me, I put it in my mouth and pulled the trigger.

I woke up screaming my head off. Over the last four years, when these dreams started, I avoided sleep, forcing myself to stay awake until I'd pass out from exhaustion.

Saturday 19th
I woke up this morning from a nightmare where my attackers threw me in an old pizza oven and I fought to find a surface that didn't burn me. I woke up screaming again.

The reason for the nightmare was obvious the moment I regained my wits... I suppose it was due, and I almost asked myself why now God? Why now? Sometime during the night, my central air conditioning compressor died, and it was 95 in here. No repairman until next Tuesday at the earliest.

I tried shutting it down in case it just froze up and needed to thaw, but that didn't help. I opened the sliding glass doors and turned on my kitchen and bathroom exhaust fans, but it's as hot outside as it inside and the humidity is a killer. Fortunately I can take a cool shower for a brief relief, but poor Mischief is suffering in her fur coat... At least she could fit in the refrigerator, not that I'd dare try.

Last February when I was denied my Cymbalta, I went into a three day rage and trashed my apartment. Now, with only three chambers of my heart working, I haven't been able to clean for over six months... that and I'm irrationally afraid to take my trash to the dumpster or venture out my apartment door after dark. When they redid the elevator last fall, the health department said the garbage chute/compactor room was too close to the elevator shaft and closed it down. Food trash goes down the garbage disposal, but the paper trash and empty pop cans have been accumulating since then, and I'm too proud and too scared of strangers to hire a professional company to come out and do it, and wouldn't have the money either.

I swear, God is testing me. Although I've been resisting it, I may have to call Dr. "mind" and reserve a rubber room over the weekend after all. I must really be strong to have not killed myself yet.

I don't feel strong. As the frustration is building, my eyes are burning, but the tears won't come to give me release. When I was a kid, I'd get a beating from my father if I cried... so it's really hard-damned near impossible to cry, especially when I need the release.+

I drove out to Wal-Mart and Kroger's and picked up my presciptions for July. It was a debate on whether I'd go with the top down or up. Knowing how much gas I'd use running the A/C I went with Down. I'm shocked I didn't get a ticket trying to work up a "wind-chill factor"

I bought a new lottery ticket; since the lotto started back in the 80s, I've always played the exact same bet 2-5-9-14-16 22. My eyes are so bad that I filled the card and didn't realize until I got home that I'd inadvertently filled it out right except the last number-which is now 20 for the next 10 Megamillions drawings. Par for the course. Mega millions is 120 million on Tuesday... yeah right

I'm tempted to sleep in my car tonight with the A/C on. How ridiculous is that?

I haven't killed myself yet because I'm too much of a coward.

July 6-10 2008

2008-07-12T11:58:00.005-04:00

My temporary tags on the car expired July 4th, and I forgot that that was a Friday, that everything would be closed, and the deputy registrars were all closed over the weekend. I spent Monday on the phone trying to find another source of money to keep my car and came up empty. I don’t want to (and don’t have the extra room in my budget) to have to pay to renew my plates for a year, when I’m going to possibly lose the car on the 17th.

It's bad enough that I had to send Allstate money for the month of July.

When I finally got myself out of the funk I was in, I went down to the car (looking forward to "cruising around with the top down"), only to discover the front driver’s side tire was flat. The frustration was so bad; I just stood there and stared at it for about 10 minutes with a tight chest. Fortunately when I first got it in 2003, I paid an extra thousand for an extended warrantee that included unlimited road-side assistance. All I could think of was that brief year when I momentarily had the physique of a Greek god, and now I doubted my heart condition would allow me to lift the “doughnut” spare out of the trunk. Just one more reminder of the life I once had and how much that one night cost me.

By the time they came out to change it for me, it was too late to get the plates renewed, so I drove over to a tire place on the next block. They wanted $39.99 just to plug a tire! I hopped on the expressway and headed to NTB.

Nothing accentuates just how SLOW 55MPH is until you get on an expressway with a dinky spare tire and everyone's doing 70-God I was miserable.

They wanted $24 and I said go for it. Five minutes later they told me that they couldn’t plug where a nail got it, because a couple of years ago I’d put Fix-a-flat in it and I’d have to buy a new tire.

$119.49 for a new tire on a car I'd only have a few more weeks, destroyed my entire budget for July. Oh they had other cheaper tires, but not in stock. Usually I enjoy being fucked, but not this time. The frustration and hopelessness were building up inside me because even the most simple things in my life seem to go against me. It didn't help either that when they pulled my car up front, everyone in the lobby started gushing about how nice it must be to have such a beautiful car and how they wish they had one too.

Tuesday, I drove up to renew my plates and they told me I couldn’t buy additional temporary tags, so I had to shell out $60 for a full year on a car I’ll only have to the 17th. I needed comfort food, so I microwaved some lasagna when I got home, plopped myself down in front of the TV and put a comedy movie on the DVD to cheer myself up… My cat Mischief jumped up on the tray table spilling scalding hot pasta into my lap and a glass of Dr. Pepper went flying… I spent the rest of the night sleeping... and wondering if it was worth it to wake up the next morning.

People who have never experienced clinical severe depression, skoff it off and say, "Ah stop it; you're just feeling sorry for yourself-so get over it." They don't know that this is a chemical process in your brain that causes it and that only prescription meds can control it. The fact that my life's been in freefall for five years hasn't helped either.

Wednesday, my shrink gave me a phone number of the head of her department, who expressed an interest in my case and might have some suggestions on saving my beloved car.

Thursday I sank into a “What’s the use” frame of mind and mostly busied myself answering comments on my latest BlogCritics’ article on line to take my mind off my woes.

Friday I tried calling the number Dr. “mind” gave me and repeatedly got his voice mail. I left my number… he never called back. I wonder what frame of mind I’d be in if I weren’t on Cymbalta; I’d probably be dead.

I've thought of trying to get two different $5,000 loans, but that'd mean paying double the int erst. Now I'm thinking about trying to get them to change their minds about not extending my lease on the car, by offering to use my $1,500 down payment to give them the first five months up front.

I went over to Hunting*** Bank and paid up to August 17th with their little ticket in the back of the book. It was only after I got my money out that I saw the fine print that said I'd need prior approval to extend the lease another month. I gambled and paid the $299.83 and they took it, so I guess I'll be alright.

I'm waiting for someone to screw up on a computer somewhere and send a tow truck to take my car on the 18th of this month because I didn't turn it in...

Well five days after getting my new plates I'm still driving around with temporary tags on the car that expired July 4th, because I keep forgetting to take a screwdriver with me to put them on. Somehow this has to stop.

I got three numbers on the megamillions last night!

I won a whole $7... whoopie.

How Not to Buy Your Own Leased Car

2008-07-07T14:11:00.007-04:00

All through my bankruptcy last year, I was careful not to include Hunting*** bank in it because I didn’t want to lose my beautiful car. It’d almost became an obsession, not because it was an object, but because it was the first car I ever took possession of brand new off the showroom floor. Now I want to keep it because I know for a fact how well it was kept up and maintained.

Click on the photos to enlarge them...

One year after the bankruptcy was final, I went to Hunting*** Bank to see about buying my beloved car. In the whole five years that I had it, I never missed a monthly payment, nor was I late with one or missed an insurance payment. The attack that left me disabled was on November 4th 2004. From that point on I was on workman’s comp. In June of 2005 I started getting Social Security Disability for my destroyed left leg.

I pointed out that I’ve had the exact same income for nearly four years and had the track record to prove that I could keep up the payments despite the hardships. The lease payments were $299.83 and Allstate robbed me at $722 every six months because Hunting*** bank insisted that I be insured to the hilt and then some to the tune of $300,000 for anything that could possibly happen to the car.

When I first got it, I didn’t care-I could afford it easily. Around 2005 when I was declared totally disabled, I realized how much I’d need to start stretching every dollar, and raised my deductible to $2000 to lower the payments by a measly $16 a month. There was still a small ding on my driverside wheelwell where a lady backed into it at a grocery store, then gave me false information. Since I had planned to own it after the lease, I wasn't all that concerned. Now however when I turn in the car, they might charge me thousands to fix it.

With my bankruptcy last year, it'd be impossible to get a used car loan.
I was turned down by my bank-National C*** the moment they heard the word “bankruptcy”.
I was turned down by Hunting*** Bank, whom I was leasing it from.
Lease turn-in date is July 17th-last payment due June 17th.

June 3rd, of this year, I went into the dealership where I got the car. Laid out the situation up front concerning bankruptcy and how I'd never missed a payment nor been late with one.

The head salesman told me it might take some doing, but he'd give it a try. I filled out all kinds of loan papers of which I have copies, laid out the whole situation regarding being on Workman's comp, and Social Security disability, figuring they'd quickly find out if I didn't tell them up front. He had me fill out income statements, He got some kind of approval over the phone and called Hunting*** Bank to get the buy-down figure on the car. He was amazed that I only had 40,000 miles on it. More papers were signed and shuffled.

Workman's comp didn't pay a bill in 2006, and kept insisting they had, this went on my credit report, which gave both MasterCard and Visa an excuse to charge me 33.9% interest and impossible to meet minimum payments. Thus I filed successfully for bankruptcy in March of 2007 and it was final on July 2nd... all of which was explained clearly to the salesman I dealt with at the dealership.

Half an hour later he congratulated me, shook my hand and gave me even more papers to sign. In the midst of it, he suddenly remembered that he wanted me to sign an income statement leaving the amount blank. He takes a $1,000 cash down payment from me, removed my license plates from my car, issues me temporary tags and installed them, has me sign odometer reading and lease turn-in sheets, had me sign a bunch of "As is" and "We owe" papers.

I was a little worried, because it seemed that since I was the 2nd owner the 7-year 70,000 would be invalid. Never got a straight answer on that one, however I was told that since “technically” I was the first co-owner so to speak, that it shouldn’t be a problem.

He informed me that I need not make the final lease payment to Hunting***, and issued me papers that stated that my payments to Chrysler Financial would be $292 a month for five years. The first payment would be due by July 4th 2008.

He congratulated me on being the 1st/2nd owner of my car, and sent me on my way in my car arriving in a lessee and leaving an owner.

He said the ownership documents and payment book, so I can get my plates would be coming soon. The salesman wanted me to by gap insurance for the car incase anything happened to it, but I couldn't afford it. He took a moment (never leaving the room, nor using the phone) and said he negotiated my finance rate down a point for being a repeat customer and used that to buy the gap insurance for me.

The first year of my car lease I paid $299.83 for five years to the tune of about $18,000 (paydown was $11.000+). The new agreement papers I have, say $292.40 over a period of five years... which means all in all I'd wind up paying $36,000 for a $29,500 car. But I didn't mind, I love that car, and would never be able to get another of any kind with my finances.

I went home a happy man… for a change.

Out of the blue on the afternoon of June 17th (the day of my final lease payment to Hunting*** my car dealership called me to say that Chrysler changed their minds and that my loan had been canceled. I had 15 minutes to rush to Hunting*** Bank to make the final lease payment before it was late. It took them 15 minutes to find it because it wasn't on the computer-it'd been canceled/bought out? by Chrysler.

I went to the dealership and politely and calmly asked what the heck was going on. I even offered to put an additional $500 down if it'd help. I was asked to wait a few days to see what happens, while they tried asking a few more places. The salesman had Monday the 22nd off and asked me to come in the following Tuesday.

Little did I know that each and every time a credit application was made and rejected, my credit score gets even lower? Meanwhile I had no idea who owned my car or if the insurance is valid on it (yes if by Hunting***-no if by Chrysler). I was really hopeful for this deal to go through because I'd never be able to get another car with the credit I have, and would be out of transportation unless I couldn’t figure a successful way out of this situation.

I'm still being treated for posttraumatic stress at OSU, and severe depression because of the major things that keep going wrong in my life on a regular and frequent basis without warning, making it nearly impossible for me to talk myself into leaving my apartment… for a week

I spent the whole time sleeping. With severe depression, it’s an almost physical thing to want to sleep all the time rather than face the world. The following Monday I gathered my wits about me and began making phone calls. I got an appointment with a lawyer with offices on the ground floor in my building. After searching the fine print, he finally found a clause in one of the loan contracts that allowed Chrysler to pull the financial rug out from under me.

My depression deepened almost to being unable to function, but I knew I couldn’t face my shrink that Wednesday if I gave up, so the next day I got even busier on the phone.

Hunting*** Bank wouldn’t approve the loan, I explained the circumstances and she transferred me to her supervisor who promptly told me the same thing. He transferred me to his supervisor. After once again explaining the circumstances she put me on hold and came back ten minutes later to ask me if I could afford $222.80 a month. I was ecstatic and took the deal immediately.

She told me the problem was that the loan (mysteriously had fallen to $10,200) was worth more than the car. It’d fallen more than half its value in five years. I asked her what the gap was, and she said $11??. I told her that the dealership still had my thousand down payment, and I’d happily put it and $500 more if it’d help. She said it’d cinch the deal.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I was put on hold for about 15 minutes.

She came back and told me that the bank’s underwriters refused my loan. I thought of walking out to my balcony and falling over it six stories. My ears were roaring and ringing and I felt like I was trapped under a waterbed mattress. Even then, tears wouldn’t come.

She said she’d like me to call a place in Alabama that might be able to help, or even arrange for an extension on my lease.

They set up a deal for me at $252 a month to purchase it, No one will lease out a car that’s five years old, then told me the same thing I’d heard all morning and afternoon. She pointed out one thing though. She told me to get my lease payment book and see what was on the last page. There was a page that said if I wanted to keep the car an additional month past the contract to use that coupon.

I have a one month reprieve, that extends the lease from July 17th to August 17th. July 23rd I go for my heart exam and then surgery for my leg.

It hurts like hell to admit this, but the thought is never far from my mind that I hope I die on the operating table.

Then I pull back what little sanity I have left and know it’s not true…

Posted half an hour after the above.. I went out to get some pain medications, only to find my car has a front driver's side tire flat. What are the odds?

My temporary tags expired las Friday.

unfuckingbelievable

Chapter 3-1987-1996 Livin' the Good Life

2008-05-05T08:42:00.108-04:00

For reasons that will become obvious, I’m going to have to disguise people’s names and alter company names. Also I’m going to have to compress some time lines to save space… Please remember that unless you know who I am behind the handle “Jet in Columbus” no one could possibly figure out who YOU are, so don’t be so paranoid!

ALL PHOTOS IN THESE BLOGS ARE PUBLISHED AS SMALL IMAGES-SIMPLY CLICK ANY ONE YOU'D LIKE TO SEE AND IT WILL ENLARGE FOR YOU... THANKS…

This is how I lived the good life and then found myself living on the edge of suicide.

By 1989 I’d scrimped and saved enough to finally start living the good life while I was young enough and had the looks to enjoy it. In that year I moved into a nice one-bedroom third-floor apartment in the heart of downtown Columbus, Ohio. I had hopes of one day living up in the penthouse, but for the moment the apartment served my needs, since I was rarely at home most of the time anyway. Instead I was away on either art business, in San Diego or shuttling pizzas around. Most of my clients were here locally, and the rest were in San Diego, San Francisco, Chicago and New York.

By then I had eventually taken up photography seriously. My uncle had given me my first tiny camera as a child by helping me purchase it with the Bazooka bubblegum wrappers I'd been saving.

Why settle down in Columbus?

Right out of High School, my sister helped me move away from the soap opera that was my hometown of Moon Township-a suburb of Pittsburgh. I wound up in Barberton Ohio, just south of Akron. I worked midnight to eight in the morning doing maintenance work for McDonald's for just shy of ten years.

I had always liked to pencil sketch and had even dabbled in acrylics oils, and one day a friend noticed a doodle of the house I'd grown up in on my wall. He asked if I could do an artist’s conception of what a home he wanted to build would look like from a set of blueprints. Just for fun I did several showing different versions with siding, brick, stucco etc. As word got around, other friends would describe their hopeless fantasy dream homes, and I’d do faux-blueprints, wall paintings and sketches as a sideline living.

Two days before a full-field inspection of our McDonald's, a bunch of black & white prints of historical pictures were vandalized at our store. I was asked if I could quickly produce some replacements in time for the inspection. This one is of the long-gone American Hotel.

I guess they liked them because shortly afterward I was invited to do some landscapes for a couple of other McDonald's in the area under construction; mostly pictures of local homes, farms, and businesses that’d burned down, or had been torn down. There's a few more examples near the bottom of this chapter.

Jet'sArt Custom Illustrations was born.

One day on a business trip with some friends, I discovered and fell in love with Columbus, Ohio. After moving down here and setting up shop, my friend Rich talked me into purchasing a little 1979 Triumph Spitfire convertible. A friend took a polaroid of it-it's the only photo I have because my Nikon was stolen from my car at a rest stop on Rt. 70. (It's the top image of three below-The one without a wing... and before you ask, it came with the stripes already on it.)

Wing?

Uh Rich?...I've never driven a car with a clutch before! He taught me how to drive a "standard" the same way he'd taught his wife... In the middle of a school parking lot, he showed me the shift pattern, showed me where the clutch pedal was, then got out of the car... Needless to say, after about a month of cussing I had to replace the clutch. His wife would later laughingly confide that the reason that he'd talked me into buying it was because he'd hoped I'd destroy the little *%^#@! trying to learn a clutch and then give up and sell it to him really cheap.

To quote "Tweetie Bird"... He don't know me vewy well; do he?

He pulled a practical joke on me one morning... I went out to find he'd painted "JET'S RUNNERS" on the tires in giant white lettering.

WING?? .......(patience)

No one told me just how hard it'd be to find parts for the little British 2-seater... because they stopped making them in 1980. When I decided to replace that clutch, I discovered that the only way to get the transmission out... was through the interior ...which meant my taking out the passenger compartment tranny cover, floor shifter housing, seats, and the carpet... oy. Oddly enough, the more I learned its "pain in the ass" foibles, the more I grew to love it.

Shortly thereafter and out of necessity, I began buying several of its cousins, brothers and sisters to get replacement parts such as very breakable pot-metal interior door handles, trim pieces, tail lights, mirrors etc, not to mention hard-to-find engine parts. Looking back, I don't seem to recall that I had ever wanted to know about a Stromberg "side-draft" carburetor... or for that matter how to adjust one. The stock 4-cylinder 1500cc engine came with a carburetor that occasionally requires you to unscrew the cap on the top of it and put a couple of drops of oil in it every so often??? I'd never seen a carburetor that stuck out of the side of an engine. I was going to ask what that canister stuck sideways on it was, until I guessed correctly that it was the air cleaner. It took me 20 minutes of muttering to myself to discover that the fuel float that I was trying to locate and adjust was only accessible through the bottom (?) of that little carburetor!

A riding lawn mower engine?

Nah too big for that-It produced damned good fuel economy though and the little thing "hauled ass." (went fast for you non-Americans)

In all of my photos, I couldn't find even one Spitfire with an open engine compartment. I found this one on the web. (In case you suspect me of doing it, I'd never paint anything even resembling pink... yuk) Take note of those chrome clips up there just behind the wheel wells. If you undo them, the whole entire front clip flips up and stands vertically on the bumper! You'll need to know that in just a few paragraphs hence...

With four cars to pick things off of, I spent all of my spare time restoring it, and in fact wound up with enough spare parts to build two good ones, one for long trips (plain brown) and one to show off in (the striped one below). Rich managed a pizza shop in Hilliard, Ohio, and during the winter break in the art business, I delivered pizzas for him. A huge blizzard hit that winter and he in his little Spitfire and I in mine, were the only two vehicles that didn't wander off into a snow drift and get stuck. The comical part of that is when I got stuck, I simply put the car in first, got out, and lifted up the back end, then rushed to get back into the car... I had a lot of fun that winter.

I eventually sold one of the restored Spitfires (the one without the stripes) to a constantly begging and pleading collector in Chicago and was pleasantly surprised that I got enough for it to have paid for both cars and then some! He sent me on a scavenger hunt by telling me about a couple of rumored mid-70s Spitfire prototypes and after doing some research and a ton of driving, I discovered not one but TWO brown "JetFire Xs" (!) with those distinctive "Super Bee/bird" rear spoiler wings. The middle one's serial number ended in Xo2 and the bottom one ended in X05. They apparently had been proposed for the American market, but never went into production and they'd somehow avoided the usual practice of putting failed prototypes to death in a crusher. Now come on-with a name like Jetfire how could I resist?... So I bought both of them. I found out later that British Leland couldn't use the name Jetfire because GM had named an Oldsmobile that and they held the rights to it. Oddly enough, they're both titled as 1979 models, but I think they may actually have been based on two different model years. Either that or one was updated after it was built to display the final "1980-1" model, which was the last year they were built.

They both came with stock OEM equipment in "plain Jane" BL brown when I got them, with the following exceptions...

The spoilers...obviously, but each "wing" was of a different design, materials, and probably manufacturers. I saw a photo of one on a race track with a HUGE one. If it hadn't been for the weight of the engine, it probably would've rested on its back bumper with its nose in the air. Both cars also had identical custom tan interiors, but without the usual plaid tartan in the door and seat panels. I liked the yellow paint trim stripes that came on my stock Spitfire so much that I had it (kinda) duplicated on the middle one (stripes) to set off its wing...

Unique to the middle one in the above image to the left (yellow stripes + wing)

It had a huge Triumph logo on the hood (excuse me, bonnet) in yellow, which the other didn't. It vaguely resembles a "T/A screaming chicken", but not quite. It had flared body-colored brown side mirrors with a yellow trim stripe. After deciding to keep this one, I matched the yellow color when I and a friend with a paint shop added the stripes later.

...Of course Bill (the backyard mechanic guy I was buying/swapping parts from) had a screaming fit when he saw I'd had the very rare car repainted. It got three coats of stock brown paint, another two of the yellow, and three of clear-coat... then it was sanded to within an inch of its life to a near mirror finish.

It has twin five-foot-tall tilted back antennas on either side of the fiberglass airfoil. The passenger side one is for the AM/FM cassette and the driver side one is for a CB radio. Someone wandered off with the CB equipment (but fortunately not the wiring) before I got it, so I installed my own. (I had a great CB handle back then, which required anyone wanting to talk to me to call "Earth"... This is Snowman to Earth!)

Oddly enough an admiring cop at a restaurant pointed out that it had no side marker lights, which shocked me because after a couple of months you'd think I'd have noticed!?! I frowned and went out to look for myself... he was right!

The bottom car of the image above had a much cleaner look to it, but "felt" smaller, and it had an unusual set of accessories that I'd never seen on a Triumph Spitfire. It came with a bulked-up 4-cylinder with a Weber carb on it, but I didn't have it long enough to figure out where the motor was from (probably a Brit brand or something shop-built.) It also had a metal interior transmission cover instead of the usual fiberglass.

It came with black wheel hubs, flat black flared side mirrors, electric windows (!), windshield wipers with a delay circuit, electric 6-way driver seat (!!!) a motorized rear-view mirror that auto-tilted when someone with high beams was behind you, no stock body striping along the sides and it sported the more modern black rubber bumper. For some unfathomable reason, the tan interior and seats came with black carpet, and the matching floor mats had big white Triumph logos which would've been a bitch to keep clean.

It had an unusual airfoil that folds/curves in at the bottom supports and appears to be fiberglass over steel. It looked very breakable and if I hadn't bought it as an investment to resell rather than keep, I probably would've junked it in favor a duplicate of it's twin brother's much sturdier wing. I felt sorry for the poor thing and transferred my "Jet's Runners" tires to it to give it a more sporty look until I could get out and buy stock white-letter radials for it.

Frantic car collectors began hating/dreading/blacklisting me because I had a knack for finding unusual cars and then had the nerve to actually drive the damned things, customize them, and let them run free to terrorize the unsuspecting local townsfolk, rather than grow old and bored somewhere in peace on display. I had a friend build me a new dashboard out of mahogany (All Spitfires' dashes were hand-made out of wood) for the striped one, and installed digital instruments (another unforgivable sin from what I'm told.) What? Oh calm down; I saved the original to put back on... what're you cringing about?

After all, isn't that what they're made for... driving? I loved driving it too, and it was great at gas stations and restaurants, but the cops kept pulling me over because they wanted to know what the hell it was. I got used to them taking photos of it too, and then sending me on my way.

From what I'm told there were only five prototype versions ever built, each with a different air foil and engine; one was missing, three were still in existence and one had been wrecked beyond repair on a race track...

In my travels, I spotted a beautiful brown absolutely immaculate Triumph TR7 and fell in lust... uh love. After having it checked over by a body shop, I was astonished to discover there were only two very minor dings on the whole car, and it had its original paint!

A week or so later I bought a 2nd older brown TR7 to strip body parts off of, in case I needed them for the good one. As it turned out I didn't need them and the second older one got the dreaded (by others) yellow stripe treatment and became my daily driver while the nice one you see to the right took me on business trips.

I also soon learned that the downfall of every Triumph is its dreaded and storied Lucas electrical system. I began storing aluminum foil in the glove compartment to wrap fuses with until I could get home.

I don't think I even thought about how much I was spending back then. I was doing well enough to be careless with my budget. That financial condition was to the point where I'd pay my apartment rent up a year in advance and overpay hundreds on my utilities so I wouldn't have to be bothered with them.

Bill and I started looking for a warehouse where we could stash the cars that we were buying and then stripping for parts. Without really trying and out of necessity, we started a business (with me a silent 1/3 partner) selling and repairing Triumphs and MGs, and parting out what was left. (Cue the Pet Shop Boys) "I've got the brains, you've got the brawn-let's make lots of money!" Much to my surprise my partner Bill did quite well in the mechanic/business end of things.

A couple of months after I’d lovingly completed my older TR7 the way I wanted it, a drunk driver doing about 60mph plowed into me on a rainy night near Ohio State University. I was sitting at a dead stop at a light and he hit me from behind, crushing the back of it all the way to the seats, and slammed me diagonally across the intersection and into a tree… then continued on as if nothing had happened.

Fortunately there was a Columbus cop coming the opposite direction and radioed help for me, while he chased him down.

Two mind-boggling things happened that night. I had to be pried out of the car and was amazed to find that I only had a couple of bruises. The second was; take a look at the deck lid in the bottom photo of the wreck. The Camaro crushed the trunk nearly to the seats (the gas tank is behind those very seats by the way) and yet the trunk lid was almost completely untouched and is hanging right where it should have been!!

His insurance company asked if they could surprise me with an offer of something special if I’d settle without litigation. All they'd tell me sight-unseen was that it was a Triumph TR8 convertible...

(Well, it was titled a TR"8" convertible) anyway. I spent a couple of days fantasizing and wondered if it was some freshly painted bondo-covered junker.

The next week Bill called me all in hysterics and ordered me to get down to the shop NOW.

They delivered it to our shop wrapped up like a Christmas present. I signed a document releasing them from further damages and took possession of it. It was in nearly pristine show-car condition except for the top which had been damaged while in storage. I think I nearly fainted on the spot when Bill pointed out that I hadn't noticed that decal over the right tail light, having been distracted by the custom one-of-a-kind tail lights themselves... it says TR9-with a rather cryptic serial number beneath it?!? I researched and could find no mention of a mid or late 70s TR9. (Compare the stock taillights on the brown one above to the ones below-big difference.

My not noticing it is understandable... I had since moved forward and was too busy staring wide-eyed at the front end... and wondering what was underneath it. Problem was I couldn't find...

If you're not familiar with Triumphs and you haven't enlarged the photo yet, you may not have noticed some peculiarities unique to this particular car. For one thing there's no hood (bonnet)!?! The guys laughed when I tried to raise a hood that wasn't there. The metal front fenders and bonnet had been replaced with a one-piece fiberglass unit. See that clip on the fender in front of the door? Undo them on both sides and you''ll discover that the car was configured just like a Triumph Spitfire and everything forward of the doors-including the wheel wells-pivots up and forward, hinged on the front bumper! I loved the Spitfires for that very reason because it gives you complete access to any part of the engine from nearly any angle.

I was also distracted by a neat bit of custom "metal shopping." Someone had recessed the door handles into black triangles to make them look like a vent for a mid-engined car.

I took these photos after I'd driven it in the rain down to a shop to have a new top put on it (apparently the poor unsuspecting thing had stuff piled on top of it while it was hiding under its tarp.) The duct tape and immaculate paint had me a little suspicious too, but after I had a few body men look it over, they said "No bondo." While they did that, I tore the back end apart trying to figure out why the backup lights blinked with the turnsignals. (crossed ground wire.)

I was looking at a rare car that had been stored in the back of some Jaguar dealership and forgotten... that only happens in fairy tales and car lover's wet-dreams. I also discovered where the big pop-up headlights used to be, now was replaced by modern rectangular headlights underneath that sank down beneath the bumper until they were turned on; then they'd swing up to just beneath the blackout plastic... using the same motors that used to operate the old headlights. Even I was impressed!

His insurance company had the nerve to call and ask me if I liked it. It was a fight not to gush. Note the custom British vanity plates! Whoever transformed it had dumped the standard little small-block V8 and replaced it with a more modern fuel-injected Buick 3.8 liter V6 "Grand National." That was then connected up to a Borg-Warner 5-speed manual with overdrive transmission, and they'd completed the drive train with a rebuilt Ford 9-inch 12-bolt rear end off of a ’69 Ford Torino.

The rear drive train was so big, it was necessary to install air shocks to jack the back up so that the beefed up drive shaft would clear the interior tunnel. Perched atop the power plant was a new and enthusiastic Holley 4-barrel and Edelbrock intakes. Also along for the ride were Cyclone headers and stainless steel pipes... just to make it sound good.

I believe it was Jay Leno who while stating what he thought of a Porsche he'd just driven said regarding it... "If you have an erection lasting more than four hours, consult your physician."

I knew the feeling.

People unfamiliar with the little British sports convertible were always complimenting me on the European wedge styling. Those at intersections were aghast at how fast I could power away from traffic lights, assuming (wrongly) that there was some dinky little power plant under the hood. It also sported the only pair of British Racing Green fog lamps under the front bumper in the U.S.

I eventually sold my beautiful and untouched brown one to the same collector that just wouldn't let me alone before. His chest all inflated at saving the poor thing from me. Where it is now, I'm not sure... probably some undisclosed location with a guard on it...I had no intention of hiding that beauty under a tarp, but I wasn't going to overdrive it either, so with the proceeds I bought a “daily driver”…

...a midnight blue turbo-charged fuel injected Cobra Thunderbird.

The only thing that gives it away to victims of my lead-foot at intersections, was that little chrome Cobra emblem behind the front wheel well? It's got a gas-guzzling 5-liter Cobra Mustang super motor under that grandfatherly looking hood... that'll press you into your seat-Ho ho ho!! I used to be known for never driving a normal car without a story connected to it.

I loved that car ... The striped brown "Jetfire" was borrowed by a friend who wanted to drive it to a local car show. On the way back it was broadsided by a cab running a stop sign. It died as it lived-having fun being gawked at... Ohhhhh Ahhhhh!

I miss the Cobra T-Bird too. A few years later I had the nerve to use it as a pizza car. I sold it to an assistant manager who promptly blew the engine... alas.

While all of this was going on, a good friend of mine talked me into doing a 24 x 36 portrait of Little Raven, Chief of the Arapahos in pencil and charcoal for his local Bureau of Indian Affairs. It's displayed on the wall behind his desk.

Life went on and my partner Bill really started making us some good money and we were gaining a great reputation in the local area… Then his wife sued for divorce, insisted that the business be sold as part of the settlement so she could grab half of his share of what the shop was worth. Bill was devastated and was left with barely two nickels to scrape together.

My money and time was tied up in other ventures, and Jet’sArt Custom Illustrations of course, so I couldn't help him much. I waited until after the divorce was settled and she couldn't take anything else from him, and then signed over my nearly completed yellow TR? to him and my titles to the junkers to sell for what he could get for them, and then arranged for the new buyers of the business to hire him to remodel the shop into an auto parts store in exchange for a small apartment in back where he could live rent free and be employed as a mechanic/salesman/night watchman for them. He has since moved down south somewhere and we lost contact.

I loved that yellow car. I drove it around for about a month before we started transforming it. If anyone knows where it is now, I'd love to see it completed.

Such is life...

This is another example of some artwork I used to do professionally... The image/screen print below is from a nifty screen saver I'd created for my office help's computers where my image (bottom right) and logo fade in and out of the picture in different places and in different sizes. If you catch "me" with the cursor, it would bring up a game menu (for when I was out of the office and they were bored). It's entitled "The Woods". Click on it to enlarge it-though I should warn you it's designed for a 28 inch wide screen graphics monitor...

My art business flourished a few years later, mostly designing custom graphics for CD covers for local bands or graphs and charts that businesses used for inventories etc. In my spare time I worked on a gay spy novel entitled "System 10" and its sequel, "A Ghost of a Chance." It seemed like I'd just finish updating the 600-page single-spaced manuscript, when technology would lurch ahead faster than I could rewrite it, so the book wound up on the back burner again and again... alas. A publisher friend said it'd only sell if it had a lot of sex and violence in it, and so I reworked it accordingly. Now I'm seriously thinking of taking it back to its original state and selling it as a period piece.

In the 1990s a good friend named Brian S. let me hitch a ride in his private "time-share" business jet (that's it on the cover of my manuscript behind the two people shaking hands) for a trip to San Diego. I paid half the fuel and airport fees-it was great. We’d stop to refuel in Las Vegas and I’d have a good time at MGM Grand's blackjack tables.

I've always dabbled in photography, but never-ever seriously. I'd taken one of my Nikons with me on the trip, and had it with me while visiting a friend's small movie studio. As a joke, I was talked into designing the box artwork for a gay X-rated feature that he was producing. To my shock they actually liked my ideas better than their pro's work! They offered me an irregular job whenever I was in town, which eventually became a regular pastime around three times a year.

As I became more experienced, he took me under his wing and taught me videography too. I graduated to much larger and more complicated equipment, none of which I'd be able to explain having-not that it mattered because it all had to stay at the studio in San Diego anyway. I started submitting scripts later and to my shock some were accepted! (Yes, porn has scripts-how do you think they're copyrighted?)

The piece to the right is 48 x 24 and is framed in brass. The lady who was interviewed for this said it was her grandfather and she had an unusual request, considering it'd be displayed in public. He was the local blacksmith and when he posed for the photo many considered it immoral for a man to blatantly display his chest, especially if it was muscular and specifically if it was hairy. Therefore when the plate was developed his undershirt was airbrushed closed to his neck. She asked me if I could draw it open as he was very proud of his physique, having to tote heavy wagon wheels all day... I was happy to do it, and got a bonus hug from her when she saw it.

I began earning some good money-not insanely great money, but it helped me live comfortably and was a factor in my moving into my penthouse and buying some great cars. On one such trip I paid to have my favorite sister flown down to meet me in Las Vegas for some fun at the tables, then afterward we flew back on a commercial airline to her home in Oregon for a great visit.

I recall once offering on a whim to buy her a new refrigerator for Christmas, and it almost came to blows when she wouldn't let me. She's always been very independent and self-reliant. I could see how it'd prick her ego for me to do that, and now I'm sorry I did. I'd always had an open and over-willing wallet when my family was concerned... and despite my current hard times still do.

I've often wondered how my family didn't figure out something was going on, since most of them thought I was only a pizza delivery guy... despite a hefty bank account, a downtown penthouse filled with curios and collectibles, and a fancy car. At one point while touring around Oregon with one of my sisters, I let it slip that I was doing some video work, I don't think she actually understood what I'd meant-in fact she may not have even heard me, but just in the slight case I let it slip again I went out with her and bought a little Sharp camcorder at Sears to explain any further "slip of the tongues" away.

Back then, only two members of my family actually knew about what I was doing on the west coast; my favorite sister and a wonderful aunt. I'd never exactly sworn them to secrecy, after all I'd been disowned by the rest of my folks years ago anyway for being gay. Sometimes I think that they see me as some evil lying perverted homoSEXual who probably has kidnapped and molested every little boy I saw and would rot in hell in eternal damnation. I've mostly shrugged it off figuring if they found out they'd start pointing fingers and self-righteously saying in unison "See, I told you!", which most of them do anyway without provocation.

If certain members of my hypocritical and judgmental family actually knew just how many of their number were gay, they'd spend the next solid month in church, PRAYING that it wasn't some sort of contagious disease, which it nearly is...

...denial runs rampant in my clan-even I'm not immune to it at times.

I figured it was a lost cause after learning that the sister who still lives near Pittsburgh where we all grew up, actually married and raised a family for 18 years and never told her kids that I even existed!

Speaking of relatives, my one regret was that some of my family were going through tough times while I was enjoying myself. My younger brother had been in the navy serving on an aircraft carrier during the Gulf War(s). I was so worried about him, I became addicted to CNN Headline news hoping I wouldn't hear bad news about him.

Before they sent him there, he was stationed somewhere at the naval base in San Diego with his wife and I often wondered what he'd think if he'd seen me all bulked up. He probably wouldn't have recognized me... Hell; I didn't recognize me.

He eventually moved to Seattle and is doing very well for himself.

The 36 x 24 painting below (yes that's a painting) is of a general store in East Liberty Corners. The owner broke down in tears when she saw her long-gone business. She had only one complaint...

She blurted out with a laugh that the sidewalk was never that clean and uncluttered out front.

My older sister in Oregon from my father's first marriage owned a great restaurant in the Willamette National Forest, but it was going under because of local economic bad times, the road through the National Park was often closed and fraught with landslides or downed trees, and her health was failing. I began sending $1,000 checks and Wal-Mart gift cards to them to help make ends meet, without asking for anything in return. I mention this only because later on in my time of need, my father would throw it up in my face.

It’s a sign of the times when you occasionally do something nice for someone, just because it feels good to do it, but then they always suspect that you have an ulterior motive hidden somewhere.

One of my very best friends had moved to Chicago and on one of my visits there he asked for a loan of $40,000 because he’d run into unexpected expenses while opening up a bar in the suburbs. Some real estate magnate was converting a big warehouse into condos, and rather than tear it down, he sold an attached building to Tom. Unexpectedly the building wouldn’t pass inspection without a new roof. It felt good to be able to help him out and even better that I realized I had enough cash socked away that I could do it without too much financial pain.