life – Page 3 – Beeshive

What is my dream job?

Daily writing prompt

What’s your dream job?

to have a dream job, I suppose one would have to have dreams.

And dreams are something that I’ve never had, at least not for a long while.

Growing up, especially in the aftermath of Canadian Forces Base Namao, my only dreams were to die. To die and have my father blamed for my death. That was about my only dream.

I always had dreams of Richard going off to prison for a very long time

When we lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario, my father and my stepmother used to use Canada’s Wonderland as “Richard’s and Sue’s Discount Babysitting Service”, or at least that’s what Scott called it.

Back when Wonderland first opened up, and I think for the first season or two, it had introductory unlimited access and unlimited rides for $29.95. Richard and Sue would drop

I used to dream that I’d get kidnapped from Canada’s Wonderland, that I’d get murdered, and that my body would then be found by a hiker in the woods. And that after identifying my skeleton, the police would go talk to Richard, and Richard would lie, and lie, and lie, and that he’d eventually fess up and that the judge would sentence him to prison with extra time added on for his lies.

But, that never happened.

I’m now 54 years old, and I still dream and ponder about how life would have worked out for Richard if I had been kidnapped and killed.

So far as dream job goes, I’ve never had a dream job.

I wanted to join the Canadian Forces when I was younger, but that never went anywhere due to the recruiting centre “obtaining some information” about me that indicated that I was an unsuitable candidate for service. I think this had to do with Captain Totzke’s paperwork being in my father’s service file, which would have been available for the recruiting service.

I’m probably lucky that I was never enlisted in the Canadian Forces. I don’t really know how well my psyche would have held up in an environment where the truth isn’t based upon reality but is instead based upon the whims and desires of the chain of command.

If I had enlisted in the Canadian Armed Forces I’d probably have to have hidden so deeply in the closet that I’d be somewhere in Narnia.

Working in bowling centres was never what I’d call a dream job. But seeing as how I brought skills to bowling centres that most bowling centres wouldn’t be able to afford, I was always afforded a lot of leeway. I don’t know how well me being trans and going on hormones would have been tolerated at some of the centres, but other centres would have been okay.

There was one guy I worked for in Vancouver. He owned an electronics installation company. He started the company with money that he got from his parents. He couldn’t understand why I just didn’t get some money from my parents and start something up that I liked to do.

Two problems with that. There was never going to be any money from my father, or my stepmother, or my real mother. I don’t blame Sue. I didn’t burst forth from her crotch. Richard? Yeah, fuck no. His responsibility to my brother and I ended when he ejaculated. My mother? Richard having the military chuck her out of the military housing on Summerside destroyed her and turned her into a husk of herself, especially with Richard’s bullshit about her just abandoning the family and running of with a guy named Gus from the P.P.C.L.I..

People often ask me why I’m so leery about guys like Bill Gates, Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Donald Trump, or the various others I’ve known in my life that often portray themselves as self made and living the lives that they lead after years and years of hard work.

I worked under a general manager once who only got his job because his father knew one of the board members of the company. His business degrees were worth less than used toilet paper. His managerial skills consisted of overt threats and convincing people that other people were out to get their jobs. Yes, this manager ended up getting replaced, but not before numerous people who had been with the company for years up and quit. Of course, as fate would have it for the well connected, he ended up failing into a job with more pay and more prestige.

I had a co-worker that wasn’t all that bright, caused far more harm than good, but as he didn’t have crippling depression and debilitating anxiety he could glad-hand his way into positions that he didn’t belong in.

It’s as they say, if you can’t dazzle ’em with brilliance, baffle ’em with bullshit.

If it wasn’t for Errol Musk and his involvement with emerald mining, especially being compensated with roughage that he could then process and keep the proceeds from, Elon wouldn’t have been able to jet set from South Africa to Canada and then into America. According to Errol, any time that Kimbal or Elon needed money for anything, the safe was wide open. If it wasn’t for Maye Musk being Canadian, there would have been no back door for Musk to entre America through.

Musk didn’t found Paypal.

Musk didn’t found Tesla.

Musk did assemble SpaceX, but without SpaceX being awarded a multi-billion dollar contract from NASA for flights to resupply the International Space Station, SpaceX would never have become anything. What’s even more amazing about SpaceX is that it received its first contract with NASA without even having a rocket ready to go.

Jeff Bezos nearly lost everything in the early ’90s with his early attempt at a being a book reseller on the early Internet. Luckily for Jeff, a near 1/4 million dollar loan that his parents facilitated kept him from insolvency and allowed him to start what became Amazon. And now Amazon both via patents and just the sheer magnitude of his empire, Bezos can prevent any and all competition.

William Henry Gates the 3rd is NOT the plucky little guy that started from nothing. The Gates family is a well established and well monied Seattle family going back generations. Bill Gates and Paul Allen both went to the same exclusive school in Seattle. Their respective families were able to get them access time on mainframe computers where they could hone their programming skills. This was at a time when access to mainframes was about $1,000.00/hr. This was before the advent of home computers.

Bills mother was a socialite who hung out with the wives of board member of IBM. This was at a time when IBM was looking to release a personal computer. IBM had the hardware, but they didn’t have an operating system. However it happened, Bill’s mother found out from a wife of an IBM board member, and Bill’s mother told Bill.

Bill Gates then did what any kid with access to easy money did, he bought a licence from a small company in Seattle called the Seattle Computer Company for their product called “Quick and Dirty DOS”, rebranded the QD-DOS as Microsoft DOS and sold a lot of units of this new “MS-DOS” to IBM, and quickly pissed off the Seattle Computer company.

Did I mention that Bill had one of the most influential Seattle lawyers as a father and the founder of the Seattle First National Bank was his grandfather?

Donald Trump is the ultimate Nepotism Baby. Donald would be nothing if it wasn’t for the real estate empire that his father built in New York city. This empire was built from tax payer dollars that were paid to Fred Trump by the US Govt. to build housing for American troops returning from WWII. The fact that the Trumps are even in America is solely due to the fact that when Friedrich Drumpf immigrated to America, immigration requirements were almost non-existent. Friedrich Drumpf immigrated to America he only to avoid a prison sentence in his home country of Bavaria which he was given for failing to enlist for compulsory military service. Friedrich also had no proper documentation when he came to America as Bavaria had stripped him of his citizenship. If Friedrich Drumpf were to try to immigrate to America today he would be refused entry.

Fred Trump was one of the most reviled slumlords in American history. The many scams of the Trumps are far too numerous to list here, but they are publicly available for review.

Needless to say that Donald wouldn’t have reached where he is today if it wasn’t for his family’s money.

Almost everyone in a position of influence these days got there solely due to family money.

This isn’t to say that I would have had a happy life if I had family money, but having family money opens up a lot of doors for a person.

I’ve had co-workers that fell into good positions in life solely due family money or family connections.

And quite honestly I do get rather sick and tired of people telling me that if I wasn’t such a lazy asshole and such a whiny crybaby that I could have simply applied myself and I could have easily been something.

A lot of what the world is these days is people using their family capital to build their personal wealth and empire. And once they build that wealth, they use every means at their disposal to prevent challengers. Microsoft, Apple, etc. don’t own thousands upon thousands of unused patents for no reason at all.

But having family money early on would have allowed me to go to school, maybe to have travelled when I was younger. Maybe bought a house. And afforded myself the ability to have recovered from the trauma of CFB Namao, of my grandmother, of my father, and of Captain Terry Totzke.

Maybe then I could have discovered what a “dream job” was.

When I was 10 years old I was given an IQ test as part of a psychiatric evaluation by my civilian social workers in an attempt to ascertain what the fuck was going on in my brain.

136 +/- 6 was the result of my test.

At work I’m reviled by everyone there.

Every attempt that I make to bring my section into the modern era is met with heavy resistance. Almost every initiative that I’ve tried to institute to ensure compliance with the Safety Standards Act just meets with more stubborn resistance.

I know that I shouldn’t be here.

But power engineering was the only way that a “poor” like me could get into a union position that would protect me and allow me to move out of the life of poverty that the Canadian Armed Forces and my father had assigned me to.

I thought that power engineering was my ticket to the future, but then I very quickly realized that power engineering is just to ensure that there is a warm body in the plant so that mgmt. can assure Tech Safety BC that they are meeting the requirement to have a warm body in the seat as required.

And that’s it.

Nothing more than glorified plunger jockeys.

Yes, I know that I’m too smart for my position and that my knowledge and my abilities intimidate other people.

Yes, I know that I am a complete asshole for not teaching people how to do what I do because I do it so easy.

Yes, I can troubleshoot computer networking issues. But it’s not because I received special training. I just read the books and read the manuals.

I don’t like computers. I don’t play computer games. I don’t edit videos. I don’t make music.

But I can RTFM ( Read The Fucking Manual).

I am also not afraid to call or email tech support for guidance.

It seems like anything that I do at work unleashes the rage of my co-workers.

Run a fibre optic network between the Generator Control system in Phase II over to the Burrard Building power house to eliminate a long standing communication issue with the 600 volt breakers in the Burrard Building?

“Why the fuck is that asshole sticking his fucking business into this, why doesn’t he fuck off and stay in his own lane?”. “The Fuck is wrong with him, the asshole isn’t a licenced electrician so he shouldn’t be touching any of this fucking shit!”

Troubleshoot a long standing communication issue with the Phase II Delayed Vital MODbus network?

“Is he even fucking certified to work on this? What if he destroys a breaker?”

They may think that I don’t hear them, but I hear them.

Their voices, and their sideway glances, and the conversations behind closed doors are easily overheard.

These are the things that I’ve heard all of my life.

“Bobbie’s just trying to make me look bad”

“Bobbie’s just hiding this knowledge from me. If it was easy for a moron like him to learn then he should be able to teach me. Sure, I don’t like computers, I don’t even own one, but he should be able to teach me how to set-up a MODbus to IP gateway ’cause if Bobbie can do it how fucking hard can it be?

“If he wants to work with networking or electronics, why the fuck isn’t he taking a diploma course?”

People have asked why I’m not going to the new hospital even though I was involved on the design committee for the new site.

There were two individuals in particular that went to every extent possible to make sure that I understood that my presence was not wanted on the committee and that I was to stay in my own lane and that anything that I had to say was limited to my power engineer certificate and that anything that I had to say beyond this was not going to be accepted.

These two persons in particular, well there’s a third, but I don’t have to deal with him, made sure that I understood what my place was and that freaks like me aren’t welcome in their new state-of-the-art playhouse.

Get a diploma?

Get a certificate?

Fuck, I don’t even want to get out of bed, how the fuck am I supposed to have enough strength to overcome my daemons and get a fucking diploma or a certificate?

And besides, I’m not fucking 18 years old, or even 24 years old.

I’m 54 fucking years old.

No savings, no real estate, no fucking nothing.

So no, there is no dream job.

There’s just the fucking eternal hell of knowing that I’ll never have the opportunities that should have been mine. That certain assholes will always dangle these opportunities in front of my eyes to ensure that I know that they know what I’ll never have.

p.s.

There was a study that that looked at the outcomes of children with high IQs. It was started in the 1920s in California by the father of the modern IQ test, Lewis Terman. These children were traced all throughout their lives. What surprised Lewis Terman 30 years into this study was that his hypothesis that IQ levels were hereditary was wrong, the parents of the children with high IQs that went on to have better incomes had higher educations, had better jobs, lower divorce rates, and more books in the household. Almost all of the kids that came from poor families with lower education levels and lower expectations of their children ended up as “failures” of no significance that “wasted” their talents.

My view on life and death.

Don’t expect anything profound from this post. This is just my view on life and death.

Life is something that we all experience. But we all experience it differently.

Only a complete tool would expect that everyone else would have life experiences similar to their own.

To me, life is what exists from the time that you’re conceived until the time you die. There is nothing before, and there is nothing after.

This life is all that you get.

Where you end up in life is determined greatly by where you start off in life.

I get a lot of people telling me that my fascination with death is unhealthy and that I should be thankful for the life that I have.

There is nothing for me to be thankful for.

I’m not the result of some divine miracle.

3.7 billion years of evolution has insured that reproduction works fairly reliable.

My father fucked my mother, his sperm fertilized one of her eggs.

My father didn’t have to pass any tests. Neither did my mother.

There’s about 7.5 billion examples of sexual intercourse existing on this planet.

There is no divine creator.

The human brain is a curious thing. It needs answers. It doesn’t like being without answers. When it can’t discover the correct answer the human brain has no problem detouring into the land of make believe to create answers. Not knowing the answers causes the human brain a lot of stress and panic.

This is why humans have known over 3,000 imaginary friends in the sky that are responsible for or can be blamed for every aspect of human existence.

It wasn’t until the 1570s to 1580s that it was discovered that women had eggs and men had sperm. This is why historically religions had viewed women as nothing more than walking and talking incubators that simply allowed the man’s baby batter to grow into a human baby.

This is why masturbation for boys and men was always seen as wasting “god’s” precious seed, but menstruation by women was seen as just a filthy unclean punishment for eating a fucking apple. The fucking inbred goat herders couldn’t have possibly known that the woman was eliminating an unfertilized egg.

This is why back in the olden days, when a woman couldn’t conceive she was deemed to be worthless and barren. The man was never at fault.

Because of this fascination with imaginary friends instead of allowing me to end my life for personal reasons, society insists that I keep on living for another 20 or 30 years because otherwise I’d be wasting god’s precious gift and then I’d be going to hell for committing the sin of suicide.

Don’t believe me? Check out this wonderful comment that was left on my other blog by a concerned person with an imaginary friend.

This of course is all based upon religious nonsense that has carried over from a time when everything that was unexplained was magic.

And then of course there are those who wish to use outright fear because if I want to die then can life really be the cake walk that they’ve experienced?

They will go so far as to use American prisoner executions as an example of how M.A.i.D. will cause suffering, and that my death will be painful just like that of a prisoner.

In the American penal system, the death penalty is seen as a punitive punishment. The Americans aren’t simply happy with executing a prisoner, they need for that prisoner to suffer as much as possible without causing outrage and public anger. So they don’t use a humane protocol. They only use enough drugs to kill a person, but not enough to ensure a quick and humane death. It’s called the “penal” system for a reason, penal being derived from penance. Suffering and pain are supposed to make your soul learn a lesson.

What do I believe happens after death?

Nothing.

Just death.

The M.A.i.D. protocol used in Canada is comprised of three drugs. Propofol, Rocuronium, and Bupivacaine.

Propofol is an intravenous anesthetic formulation used for induction and maintenance of general anesthesia. This is what knocks a person out. One of the benefits of propofol is it seems to inhibit the brain’s ability to form memories. At the level it is introduced during M.A.i.D. it will typically cause a deep coma.

Rocuronium is a muscle relaxant that inhibits the skeletal muscles. The diaphragm is a skeletal muscle. The rocuronium stops a person from breathing. Normally not being able to breath would cause a buildup of carbon dioxide in the blood stream which would then cause great discomfort and possible panic due to the inability to expel the carbon dioxide. However, due to the propofol in the system the brain won’t be aware of the carbon dioxide levels in the blood stream.

The heart will still be beating at this point, this means the heart will still be circulating blood around the body, potentially supplying the brain with minute amounts of oxygen. The bupivacaine is administered in order to stop the heart and to cease the circulation of blood.

The human brain cannot survive more than four minutes without blood circulation. Once more than four minutes have elapsed brain damage starts to occur as the neurons and nerve fibres start to die due to a lack of oxygen and due to the build up of toxic waste products.

And that’s it.

No more pain.

No more suffering.

No more memories.

No more judgemental assholes.

No more dealing with the “smile and be happy” brigade.

72 hours elapse and then I will be cremated.

It will be just like it was before my father fucked my mother.

I won’t exist anymore.

Not existing for 13.7 billion years didn’t cause me any grief.

Not existing after won’t cause me any issues either.

Sure, there will be those in the god brigade that will wring their hand and try to shame me for upsetting their imaginary friend.

But this life belongs to me and to myself alone.

My life does not belong to you nor your imaginary friend.

My life does not belong to the Department of Justice, or the Senate of Canada, or the Conservative Party of Canada, the Canadian Armed Forces, the Catholic Church, the pope, or the imaginary friends in the sky.

You don’t like people taking their lives for “no reason”?

Don’t make people suffer.

Don’t deny people treatments for mental health issues.

Don’t deny people justice.

Don’t patronize people.

As I’ve said elsewhere, human life only seems to have value when people wish to take their own life.

We tolerate 2,000 easily prevented deaths by automobile in Canada because slowing cars down would hurt car sales.

We tolerate drug overdoses in this country because we don’t want to slow down traffic at the border as that would make day trippers sad.

And we have absolutely no problem with adventure seekers dying “do what they liked doing”.

Airlines have crashed due to management decisions to cheap out on designs or to cutback on maintenance.

And we have no problem shipping people off to foreign countries to die fighting the good fight.

Death is tolerated by society so long as it’s due to any reason other than a person taking their own life.

I think this has to do a lot with society not wanting to admit its blemishes and its failures. When someone takes their own life, society will sit back and try to assure itself that there was nothing that could be done, that we exist in Xanadu, where everything is perfect so long as you intentionally ignore all of the flaws.

People taking their own lives whether it be by their own hand or with assistance from a medical professional means that society has to reflect upon just how horrific and unfair life really is and how our society treats people as disposable objects that are the property of the state.

Your life is really not your own

It’s often said that Canadians have rights and freedoms that most of the world don’t enjoy.

The one right that I don’t have is the right to request that my life be terminated.

For some reason my desire to die is either taking rights away from people who don’t want to die, or if I am allowed to die then the man in the sky will be angry.

I didn’t ask for this life.

I didn’t ask for my grandmother to be a residential school survivor.

I didn’t ask for my father to be a pissed tank alcoholic like his mother.

I didn’t ask for military rules and regulations to allow dead beats like my father to have my mother discharged from military housing.

I didn’t ask for Captain Father Angus McRae to be a sexual pervert.

I didn’t ask for my babysitter, Captain McRae’s altar boy, to work as McRae’s agent.

I didn’t ask to be sexually abused by the babysitter when my grandmother would go into town to visit her husband in the nursing home.

I didn’t ask for the 1970 RSC National Defence Act to be written in such a way that unscrupulous members of the Canadian Forces could bend and obstruct a criminal investigation to hide and minimize the true extent of the crimes.

I didn’t ask for Captain Terry Totzke to interfere with my mental health and wellbeing so as to keep a lid on the events of CFB Namao.

I didn’t ask to be blamed for the abuse my brother endured at the hands of the babysitter.

I didn’t ask to be disowned by my father for “fucking” with his military career.

I’m suffering from a myriad of issues that I didn’t ask for and didn’t have any control over.

And then I get ambushed by disabled rights groups and mental health advocates because I can be fixed or cured so long as I am willing to hide, bury, and internalize the shit I went through.

I get ambushed by the members of the Invisible Sky Daddy crowd who seem to think that their invisible friend will be sad and upset if I end my own life.

And then I also get ambushed by the Canadian Armed Forces who will move mountains to prove that nothing whatsoever happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao and that I’m just a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the military”.

I should be able to make a simple request, go through a simple verification process, a subsequent cooling down period, and then the procedure if I wish to go through with the procedure.

The fact that others may be upset about my death shouldn’t be a factor in this matter.

Society has absolutely no problem with my death if I get killed by an out-of-control car driver because speed and horsepower are more important than my life.

Society has absolutely no problem with my death due to pollution, because pollution means production, and production means owners get wealthy.

The right-to-die is a basic human right that should never be removed from a person.

Don’t want physically healthy person dying for mental health reasons?

Don’t let children get sexually abused, and if they do, take care of them.

Don’t let them get fucked over by the dysfunctional military sham justice system.

Don’t let unqualified persons fuck with children’s brains.

And don’t hide, minimize, and then victim blame the victim.

Shit that I can do.

Here’s one of my problems. And this problem irks me to no end.

I’m too stupid to be smart, and I’m too smart to be stupid.

In case you think differently, where you end up in life is wholly determined by where you start off in life. Anybody who tells you any different isn’t living in reality.

Anyone who grew up in a dysfunctional family and I mean a really dysfunctional family should be lucky to find basic stable employment.

If you didn’t grow up on military bases in Canada where dysfunctional families were shielded from civilian social services by the military’s wall of secrecy you have nothing to say on this matter.

How dysfunctional was my family? My alcoholic rage prone father brought his own alcoholic rage prone mother into the military housing on base to raise my brother and I as his physical abuse, mental abuse, and drinking was too much for our mother to handle.

My father tried to blame my mental health issues on his own mother. He told Alberta Social Services that my difficulties came from his “authoritarian mother, who was an alcoholic, and who was extremely cruel to his children”.

My issues at the time were not caused by my grandmother, nor my piss tank alcoholic father.

No, my severe depression and my major anxiety were caused by the two years of sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao.

The “counselling” that I received from Canadian Armed Forces social worker Captain Terry Totzke absolutely amplified and made my issues much worse, considering that my father, due to the chain of command, was expected to not question Captain Totzke’s treatment methods, such as blaming the sexual abuse I endured on CFB Namao as a result of some sort of “homosexuality” that I had exhibited.

And also Totzke’s refusal to let me receive treatment for major depression and severe anxiety really didn’t help the situation much either.

As I mentioned elsewhere, my father was heavily into electronics and computers. So much so that he always had work benches in the basements of the different PMQs that we lived in. He also always had subscriptions to Popular Electronics, Radio Electronics, and occasionally Elektor Electronics. Plus he always had his CAF / DND educational literature laying around, as well as his DeVry course manuals laying around.

Seeing as how my father had very little interest in me as a kid, I thought that if I picked up an interest in electronics and computers, maybe Richard and I would get along as we’d have something in common.

Richard wasn’t the type of person to try to instil creativity or curiosity in a child.

In fact, Richard was so insecure that he was never going to let his stupid fucking kids eclipse him. The stupider Scott and I remained the smarter he would look in comparison.

Picking up electronics and computers was indeed beneficial, but not in the way that anyone thinks.

When people learn that I dropped out of school after grade 8, people always assume that it was because I was a troublemaker or a problem child. The truth is, between my father and my brother, things were becoming too violent and too unhinged in our house on Canadian Forces Base Downsview.

By 1987 my brother was starting to run with a gang of thugs. He had already been to group homes a few times after he’d been arrested for B&Es and car theft. He was only 13 years old, but he was already taller than my father. Richard wouldn’t dare hit Scott. And because Richard could no longer beat Scott he turned his attention to me for failing to raise my brother properly and for not looking out for my brother. Everything that Scott did was because I let the fucking babysitter touch him.

And no, my father never got over the fact that I had apparently “fucked with his military career” by being the cause of the posting from CFB Griesbach in Edmonton, AB to CFB Downsview in North York, ON.

Even though in reality I know that Richard never would have paid for trade school, or college, or university, I know that when I moved out of the house at 16 I pretty well wrote off ever obtaining a trade or a diploma.

Yes, I did get my grade 12 GED, but that doesn’t matter for much.

And yes, I’m a 4th class power engineer. But that doesn’t mean a lot on its own.

See, when it comes to most any job that I’ve ever had, I’m actually nothing special.

Weird.

Misfit.

Fag.

That’s how most of my employers would have referred to me.

I even had one manger refer to me as “Freddie Mercury” as he “knew” that I was gay. Kept making me promise him that I’d use protection when having sex with other men so that I wouldn’t get AIDs and die.

Many years later I would have one manager at work who refused to have anything to do with me, and when I mentioned this to the manger’s supervisor I was told that the other manager felt very uncomfortable around me because I was “too flamboyant”.

Yeah, when you come from a dysfunctional family and you’ve got no family safety net to fall back on, you just have to put up with this shit and keep going. Standing your ground and making a scene is for people that have backup plans.

I’m a loner. I like to be left alone. I don’t interact well with others. I have to fake smiles.

I’m perpetually late for work in the mornings because I really don’t want to get out of bed. I’m usually very disappointed in the morning when I wake up as that means that I didn’t pass away in my sleep.

I don’t have the slightest interest in sportsball, movies, movie actors, or bands. Yes, I like music, and yes I like watching movies now and again, but I’m not a “fan”.

The one thing that has always seen me through like an ace up my sleeve is my familiarity with electronics and computers, and my reading and comprehension abilities.

But the one thing that my skills have never been able to do is make me feel fulfilled or proud. They’re just shit that I can do.

So, what do my skills let me do? Wait, I can’t call them “skills” because I don’t have a diploma or a TQ or a Red Seal. I guess that I can call them hobbies.

This.

Below is a write up from my second round of testing.

(b) Breaker PDC- E3 delayed vital

Voltage data request from holding registers 41000 to 41007

TX 05 03 03 E7 00 08 F5 FB –

RX 05 03 10 02 54 02 53 02 – 50 01 64 01 55 01 5A 02

52 01 5C 09 72

TX 05 03 03 E7 00 08 F5 FB –

RX 05 03 10 02 54 02 53 02 – 50 01 64 01 55 01 5A 02

52 01 5C 09 72

Amperage Data request from holding registers 42200 to 42207

TX 05 03 08 97 00 08 F6 04 –

RX 05 03 10 02 2F 02 56 02 – 5A 80 00 03 17 03 17 03

02 80 00 7C D6

TX 05 03 08 97 00 08 F6 04 –

RX 05 03 10 02 2F 02 56 02 – 5A 80 00 03 17 03 17 03

02 80 00 7C D6

Using modbus slave software to listen to the output of the IP to RS-485 gateway I get this:

RX 05 03 2E EF 00 03 3C 92 –

This means that the system requested that device 05 (delayed vital breaker) send the contents of the holding register (03) 12015 (hex 2e ef) and three subsequent registers, 12015, 12016, 120170. The 3c 92 are the checksum value for the transmission.

My software masqueraded as device (05), with the contents of the holding registers (03), acknowledged that the request was valid (06) and sent the value of decimal 50 (00 32) to the system. The 0a 6b is the checksum for this transmission.

RX 05 03 2E EF 00 03 3C 92 –

TX 05 03 06 00 32 00 32 00 – 32 0A 6B

When my software transmits the value of 50 to the system, the system displays that it read the value of registers 12015 (hex 2e ef), 12016 (hex 2e f0), 12017 (hex 2e f1) as decimal 50 (hex 00 32).

RX 05 03 2E EF 00 03 3C 92 –

TX 05 03 06 00 7B 00 7B 00 – 7B C7 85

When I change the value of registers 12015 (hex 2e ef), 12016 (hex 2e f0), 12017 (hex 2e f1) to the decimal value of 123 (hex 00 7b) the display on the system changes to 123.

Now, please understand that I am not trying to claim to be some sort of genius or expert. I just read the manual for the system, I read a quick write-up on MODbus, I ordered in an off-the-shelf USB-to-MODbus converter, and I bought the software.

Believe me, I’m not trying to claim to be a “hacker” or a technician, or anything like that. I’m also not trying to pretend that I wrote the program, or designed the interface, or “cracked” the system.

I just followed the instructions. When things weren’t clear, or when I needed further information I went searching for it.

I often feel the need to make this clear and to make it understood that I am not trying to claim credit for anything. This is just the stupid shit that I do.

Now, before you ask why I don’t go get a diploma, or a certificate, or a TQ, realize that my depression, my anxiety, my ultra low self esteem, and my intense lack of self confidence have never been dealt with.

Pills, therapy, head shrinkers, magic crystals, tarot cards, and positive thoughts don’t do sweet fuck-all against untreated mental health issues.

And mental health issues can’t be dealt with so long as the Department of National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces want to go out of their way to pretend that absolutely nothing occurred on Canadian Forces Base Namao from 1978 to 1980 and that I’m just a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the Canadian Armed Forces”.

The Shoreline room

Just in case you’ve been at St. Paul’s recently and you’ve seen construction going on in the former contractor parking lot and you’ve wondered what’s going on, well this is the Shoreline room.

I won’t get too much into the politics behind this. But it’s not being run by St. Paul’s or Providence Health Care. It’s being built and operated by Vancouver Coastal Health.

B.C. negotiates workaround to allow St. Paul’s Hospital patients to access MAiD

It honestly sucks knowing that I’m going to have to wait until March of 2027 to see if the Government of Canada finally has the balls to let me obtain M.A.i.D. for mental illness, or if I’m going to have to turn to alternative methods.

I was really looking forward to the legalization of M.A.i.D. for mental illness in March of 2021, but the government caved.

And then came March of 2023, but again the government caved at the last minute.

So, now I have to wait until March of 2027.

Will the government cave again, or will the government make the requirements to qualify for M.A.i.D. so fucking onerous that I’ll die of old fucking age or suicide before M.A.i.D. becomes a possibility.

I wish the my emotions hadn’t been destroyed when I was a kid.

Maybe people would actually believe me when I say that my brain is so fucking numb all of the time.

As a kid growing up on Canadian Armed Forces bases, I learnt to just keep my fucking mouth shut. My father was an abusive piss-tank alcoholic that blamed every issue that he had on others.

Living on base was just like living in a company town. Everybody minded their own fucking business. No matter how physical my father would become, everyone just minded their own business.

No matter how fucking drunk my father was in the PMQ and how out of control he was, nobody ever said anything. Everyone just minded their own fucking business.

When my grandmother moved into the PMQ to raise my brother and I, she drank worse than my father. And when my father was home both him and his mother would get into some really spectacular yelling matches and fights.

She lived by the maxims of “children are to be seen and not heard”, and “children only speak when spoken to”. She must have had those beat into her skull when she went to Indian Residential School as a child. As fucked up as my father was, she was fucked up even worse.

My father, being a member of the regular force, said sweet fuck all when orders and instructions were given in the aftermath of Captain McRae’s sexual fiasco on Canadian Forces Base Namao. Sure my father was enlisted, and sure, he was legally obligated to follow the “lawful” commands of his superiors, but for fuck’s sake he could have grown a pair and quit the military.

What type of sick self interested fuck wants to work for an employer that wants to hide the sexual misdeeds of his coworker? Yes, when you think about it, Captain Father Angus McRae was my father’s co-worker. Actually, superior would be more like it.

And then we have Captain Totzke. Sure, Totzke was only following orders. But interfering with the mental health wellbeing of a child that was traumatized by 2 years of sexual abuse? That takes a special kind of self interested prick. And of course, my father being the ball less wonder that he was, dutifully obeyed the “lawful” commands of Captain Totzke.

So yeah, over the years I had to learn to hide the major depression and the severe anxiety. After all, nobody likes a depressed whiner that fucking worries too much. So if you want to stay employed, you gotta hide that shit.

Richard was always willing to assist me in not crying by using his backhand or the belt.

Bobbie, why didn’t you get counselling?

Counselling for fucking what?

I didn’t find out until I was 40 that I had actually been diagnosed with major depression and severe anxiety and that my issue wasn’t that I was suffering from “homosexuality” like Captain Totzke and my father said I was.

After the fucking hell that I got put through back in 1981 through 1983 being caught between my civilian child care workers and the military social worker how the hell am I ever going to feel comfortable around a counsellor.

My father was well adept at making sure that I told people what he wanted them to hear.

This is why being able to obtain M.A.i.D. means so much for me. I don’t want to be here anymore. Actually I’ve never wanted to be here.

There is absolutely no point to my existence. My parents fucked, my mother got pregnant, and I popped out. With 7.5 billion people currently on the planet, this is not a miracle.

If anyone really cared, they would understand my desires instead of giving me fake and meaningless parables of wisdom.

Breasts and death

My hormone related changes are well under way.

And I still really want to die.

And I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with that.

Death won’t be an option until 2027, and there’s still no indication if M.A.i.D. will be legalized for mental illnesses or not, but I am still hoping to be “allowed” to die.

Isn’t that the funniest of things?

I’m not allowed to die, but I also didn’t choose to exist.

My mother and my father got drunk one night. An exchange of DNA occurred. And 9 months later I popped out into the world.

Through my early life all sorts of people with their own agendas were making decisions about my life based upon their own ideas and interests.

And here I am at 52, burnt out and tired, and unable to make a decision about my life.

But Bobbie, I thought that if you transitioned that you would be happy and that you’d want to live?

Fuck no.

With an official delay in M.A.i.D. until 2027 I thought that I would avail myself to fixing the one thing that I had always wanted to correct all of my life but was unable to due to circumstances beyond my control.

Transitioning in and of itself is not the cure for my desire to die.

My desire to die comes from my rancid childhood.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases was hard enough under the best of circumstances.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases as a sexually abused male was an absolute fucking nightmare.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases as a sexually abused gender non-conforming male during the days of CFAO 19-20 was a fucking soul destroying experience.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases in a dysfunctional family in the era when the military’s policy towards members with mental issues meant that the military just outright ignored these issues meant that there were none of the normal experiences that children require to grow up mentally healthy. In fact my father’s alcoholism and his out-of-control and unacknowledged PTSD meant that the experiences that I grew up with caused a shit ton of mental issues that have plagued me for my entire life.

How bad have these issues affected me?

Here’s some moulds made of my teeth by my dentist in a last ditch attempt to save what’s left of my teeth.

Yeah, I’ve worn my teeth down to absolutely nothing.

That’s ’cause I wake up in terror some nights grinding my teeth away.

I’ve had night guards before, but I usually grind through them in a few weeks.

So Bobbie, if you still want to die, why are you transitioning?

I’ve never identified with being a male at any point in my life.

And this has nothing to do with the babysitter, Captain McRae, Captain Totzke, or Master Corporal Gill.

I’ve never identified as a boy. I always thought that I was a girl.

Around age 10 or 11 I remember hoping and praying that I would wake up the next morning with breasts and all the rest.

And everyday that I didn’t wake up with the much hoped for changes, I was devastated.

And was I ever jealous.

The girls at school were starting to fill out, and I wasn’t.

So, I intend to spend the next three years-or-so getting some of the changes that I’ve always wanted.

I’m not going for bottom surgery. I’ll get some items removed, but I’m not going for vaginoplasty.

And for the topside, I’ll be happy with what the hormones give me. I’m not going the augmentation route.

Body wise? Yeah, I’m already enjoying the muscle loss. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve always felt that my body is smaller than what it actually is. By losing muscle mass I’m hoping to finally get my body muscle structure down to what feels more natural. I’m already getting some of the fat redistribution, but the full effect won’t be for another year or so.

The goal of this all will be that when I finally go to sleep and escape this fucked up existence, that I present as close to a female as I can.

Never wanted to be a male.

Never identified as a male.

I don’t want to die as a male.

But, in the meantime I’m going to keep on with the hormones and the changes.

The Canadian Armed Forces had an extensive amount of say over my childhood.

I will not allow Canadian Armed Forces to say single fucking thing about my remaining days or my death.