Fun with ChatGPT

 So I've been doing some research on Life Coaching and this morning I played around with ChatGPT and one of the questions I asked it was for a "dialogue between a unicorn and a disbelieving life coach." Pretty nice writing for a machine.

Photo by Paul Bill on Unsplash

Unicorn: Good day, human. I am a unicorn, and I come seeking guidance.

Life Coach: (skeptically) Ah, yes. A unicorn. Very amusing. What can I do for you?

Unicorn: I sense doubt in your voice, but I assure you, I am real. I seek advice on navigating the complexities of existence.

Life Coach: (raising an eyebrow) Right, well, let's entertain this for a moment. What exactly are you struggling with, Mr... Unicorn?

Unicorn: You may call me Starlight. I find myself surrounded by disbelief and skepticism, even from those who claim to guide others. How do I stay true to myself in a world filled with doubt?

Life Coach: (leaning back, intrigued despite himself) Well, Starlight, it sounds like you're dealing with a crisis of identity. But let's be realistic here. Unicorns aren't exactly a common sight. How do you expect people to believe in you?

Unicorn: (nods solemnly) I understand that I am a rarity, but does rarity make something any less real? My existence is not defined by the beliefs of others. I seek to inspire wonder and hope, even in the face of disbelief.

Life Coach: (pausing, considering the unicorn's words) That's... surprisingly profound. So, what do you propose? How can you maintain authenticity in a world that questions your very existence?

Unicorn: By embracing who I am and staying true to my purpose. I may not convince everyone of my reality, but those who believe will find magic in their lives. And perhaps, through their belief, others will come to see the world with wonder once more.

Life Coach: (smiling faintly) Well, Starlight, I must admit, you've given me something to think about. Perhaps there's more to this world than meets the eye. Thank you for sharing your perspective.

Unicorn: (dipping its head gracefully) The pleasure was mine, dear human. May your journey be filled with light and possibility.

Life Coach: (watching as the unicorn vanishes into the shimmering mist) Perhaps there's more magic in the world than I realized.

More grief memes

 

Eclipse

Some pictures from Cleveland. My hotel was The Tudor Arms, up near Case Western Reserve University and far from the madding crowds downtown.

 I took pictures of the stages by putting my eclipse glasses over the lens of my phone.

Poultry Class

 Braaaack! Squaak!

Past proof of poetic perfection

Hahahaha.

I'm taking an online poetry class from the Sarah Lawrence writing lab. Yes, yes, yes. I'm already a published poet. I fuckin' know that. But I've lost my mojo and am trying to get it back. A couple of recent tries went absolutely wrong and then last Monday morning (an hour or two before it was due) my brain came up with the poem published below.

I had the two classes Monday, poetry and right after poetry, the Lolita seminar. Then Tuesday I had four events. Four times of meeting and talking to people. I was exhausted by the end of the day.

 

 

 

 

SOMEDAY I’LL LOVE KAKE HUCK

 

 

she says. Because I pay her. Because she likes me.

Because her couch has the usual number of cushions

and it’s what the ketamine was for. The breathing

among trees. The money and massages. The church

working and the sex worker. Decades of weed

and hours of influencers. And the broken glass.

And the knife. And the flights. And it gets better,

it gets better over time.

 

Standing near the Thames

a screen away from Oregon

I am watching the detectives

discover you are dead again

today.

 

And today.

 

And today.

 

 

 

 

© Kake Huck 2024

The Good Narcissist

So I took a 150 point hand assessed Likert-like scale for narcissism, by suggestion of Brittney, baby therapist.  Yesterday we talked a little about it. We agreed that this kind of test has a certain level of bogosity thrown in (because of language use, time and place issues) as all "personality" type tests do. Nevertheless, she did the clustering of the 15 basic items being looked for and told me that my top five, especially the numero uno, were far above the other scores.  And seeing my bottom five made me feel good.

So, top scoring personality aspect?

"Shame: concerning shame or humiliation in response to perceived slights, criticism, failure, or rebuke."

Yup.  As some influencer noted, "the kryptonite of the narcissist." After so so many years of working to deal with this particular aspect of Self, it's ba-a-a-a-ack. I don't know how many of my many, many therapists have told me that my language and my attitudes towards others reveals a great sense of shame and it's my fear of shame that sometimes gets me to feel depressed. And, yes, I'm going to agree. When I look back at my life, most of my cutting incidents have been related to shame, to the sense that I've made some terrible mistake in my relationship with others. It turns out I have a huge fear of being humiliated by doing the wrong thing. There's a part of my brain that understands every criticism of me as a death threat.

The famous Mike Ryerson photo of Portland Mayor Bud Clark

Therapist Phil, back in 2014, told me that my fear of being shamed was actually what lead to my "shameless" sexual behaviors. The way he explained it was that someone who was so afraid of feeling shame would purposefully do things others would consider shameless as a way of showing she was in charge of shame.  So, control is also a big issue.

"Exhibitionism: a seeking of constant admiration, showing off when in the presence of others, and attention-seeking, without reference to feelings of insecurity."

I laughed when I saw this one because, yes, that is a big characteristic of mine and I will totally own it. "Lookit me, lookit me, lookit me" is certainly a big part of who I've always been.

"Reactive Anger: concerning anger and rage in response to perceived slights, criticism, failure, or rebuke."

This is part of my reality since caregiving. I don't think I was that reactive when I was working, at least most of the time. And certainly not in my classrooms (at least not once I completed my PhD). And since widowhood I've been far too angry far too much of the time and very reactive. I don't like it.  It feels like it did when I was young, when the fires of rage could just consume my mind. My reactive anger is why I accidentally cut my radial artery. Little things can set me off. 

"Need for Admiration: involving a sense of inner weakness, uncertainty and insecurity with respect to a desired or perceived greatness."

Yup. This is like my exhibitionism. I like being special and it's because in my heart I feel like I am nothing and of no consequence. Especially now that Will is dead there is no one to whom I am special. And as I look at my life, I see a person who has enjoyed being the first one in class to raise my hand, the one who understands what the teacher wants and gives it to them. I like having the poem everyone admires. 

"Authoritativeness: assessing a tendency to take charge of situations, to authoritatively take responsibility for making decisions, and to perceive oneself as a leader."

This is one of those "if I have to" issues. I would really prefer anyone else be in charge but if it's necessary, I'm like my Mom and can step in and gets the cats organized. Also, I can have a loud voice and commanding presence when I want to, in spite of my lack of height.

So much for my top five characteristics.  We'll look at these a bit more next week but one thing Brittney said was that she sees these top five as also about a need for connection (that's her big theme for me, by the way). She also noted that these five aspects were about my need for control.  Oh, yes.  I have a hu-u-u-ge need for control. Well, I don't "trust" the world.

The best thing about the scoring, however, was that I scored the lowest in what I consider the worst qualities of the narcissist: lack of empathy, manipulativeness, indifference, and exploitativeness. 

The way Brittney talked about narcissism was that a pure narcissist would feel like they deserved having everyone in the room focusing all the caring on them and do whatever they needed to do to get that. She said that I simply seemed to want connection from someone, somewhere. I want to be special but I don't want to take away anyone else's specialness.

So, I'm not sure what the next steps are. But I do know they will involve talking about myself so they will be fun.

More Cleaning

So yesterday I had Jesus (Hey soos) come by with his College Hunks Hauling Junk truck and he and his co-worker managed to fit in a bunch of stuff to take to the dump.  He remembered me from two years ago "when your roof was being redone."

1. The old chest of drawers I'd originally purchased from Goodwill back in 1988 when I moved here. It was pretty much junk anyway. So Sunday night I opened its drawers and found several "trip memento" boxes that I stacked in tubs awaiting my desire to create a few more memory books.
2. An old trunk covered in peeling-off floral wallpaper that had originally accompanied me to Pocatello, Idaho, in 1971.  When I cleaned out this trunk I found A WONDERFUL surprise: a photograph I had lost since 2006!*
3. A bunch of linen paper saving boxes that my dad had packed his columns in.
4. A box of throw away books once used for crafting.
5. Old wooden shelving.
6. Scraps of tarp material.
7. a weird old 20 lb weight (metal with concrete inside)

Jesus managed to fit it all into the very last part of the truck so I wound up paying only $139.

 

*Now, about the photograph that once was lost but now it's found. I had noticed it was missing after I moved from my "airlock office" in Deschutes Hall and into the "Administrator's office" in Pence. So I haven't seen it since 2006. I found it wrapped in a bunch of material I'd used to line one wall of my teacher office.

 It's a picture of old friend Lee, me, Mike's boyfriend, Mike's friend who was a girl, and Mike. I still feel embarrassed by the way Mike's boyfriend and I behaved at his funeral in 1986. We were horrified by the way the Catholic priest, who didn't know Mike at all, talked about him and we acted badly. I feel sorry for Mike's parents. At some point his mother gave me a bad smelling knitted bedspread as a keepsake. Mike once told me that he was the only gay man he knew with a cliche relationship with his parents.

Mike was my closest friend in graduate school. From January, 1985 until his death in August, 1986 he lived in the apartment upstairs from mine in an old, chopped up mansion on East South Temple in Salt Lake City. I've mentioned him before. It's hard to describe what a wonderful relationship we had. At the time I was separated from Will and working through my terrible relationship with Chris. And I was struggling with the doctoral program at one of the top ten comm. schools in the country.  Mike helped me survive my first two years at the University of Utah. He was so much smarter and better educated than I was, having gone to a "good" four year university where they actually read academic articles in classes rather than "original" work by Aristotle and Churchill, as I did in my Idaho classrooms. Mike also introduced me to the work of Matt Groening and the world of Dr. Who. For months we'd end most weekday nights having cocoa in front of his small tv, watching Monty Python or Dr. Who as they played on KUED. We would quote the Pythons as we walked to class and talk in silly voices and do silly walks.

My brain was not working for a full quarter after his death. So much so, that a member of my committee, Dave Eason, later told me that he "gave" me a B in his class that fall only because he felt sorry for me.

I'm so happy to have found this photograph so I can remember better what Mike looked like. It's also helpful to remember a time when Lee and I were still good friends. That close relationship ended in 2012 (though it should have ended in my head much earlier). Lee and I are still friends but not in "that way."

"That way" of knowing what the other would say, of being in the other's heart and mind.

I don't know what friendship is anymore. Is it the relationship I have with someone I see once a month?  Once a quarter? Once a week? Is it determined by what we talk about? By what we do together?

I'm clearly at a loss as to how to do it. I'm in mental pain so much of the time because I'm such a failure at it. I've lost people because of my ineptitude.  And then there is the "friend" I gave thousands of dollars to to help her out and just got a texted "thank you." Not a card. Not a call. Basically someone I've loved for 20 years just shitting on me. To me, because of Will, giving money is a way of showing love. He couldn't tell me he loved me or that I was beautiful, but he used money to support me in spite of all those moral decisions I made with which he disagreed. Why would I show so much love to a person who shit on me? Because I'm a loser. Because I hoped that giving someone money would encourage them to care about me.

So it's such a blessing to have this picture to remember a time when I had no "lover" but I had a friend who I saw every fucking day. A friend I lived near. A friend I watched tv with. A friend to go dancing with.

Drawing mix of Tom of Finland and Matt Groening by Mike Swan

It's my relationship with Dead Mike (murdered Mike) that I use to measure my relationship with Dead Will. I still have four years to go before my brain is working properly.

Colonoscopy

(I started this post yesterday but nodded off before finishing. I also left the garage door open and the car in the driveway last night! I was NOT supposed to be driving yesterday, according to my take-home paperwork, but I needed to deal with Mr. Winston -- he wasn't eating and I thought it was because he hadn't pooped. So I drove him to Compass Park last night to see if he would poop. So he would eat something. He ate nothing all day until around 5:00 pm he was that worried about me. And this paragraph started out being about forgetfulness and turned into a story of my relationship with my dog. And poop.  Everything comes down to poo. Writing was ever thus.)

So, yesterday was my fourth colonoscopy.  I had soooo much anxiety preceding it. I was praying hard and talking to God about meeting Will and made sure to get my advanced directive to my doctor, my sister, and a friend. I'm glad I'm terrible at predicting anything! So I'm here on the planet at The Haven this morning, with some residual pain in my gut but happy to have this done! 

Now I can move forward with being anxious about my trip on Sunday.

Fortunately, all of the nursing staff at St. Charles that worked with me were awesome, as was the doctor.

Folks assuaged my fears but didn't try to talk me out of them. The lead nurse, whose name at this moment I can't recall, saw my "Bistro Huddy" shirt and said he was a fan of the same creator. We had a nice chat about funny influencers. Other nurses were concerned about my comfort level ("another blanket, please"). The "get your clothes off and lie here" area was very chilly. 

Although I was scheduled for 11:45, I didn't actually get my clothes off until around 1:00 and didn't get operated on until around 2. Then the doctor came to talk with me while I was barely awake. He told me I had more holes, that he cut out and sent for biopsy two polyps, and that there was something a bit odd about my colon, though I forget the exact term. They have to use the pediascope (kids colonoscope) on me.

I'm good now for five years.

The prep was worse than during my third colonoscopy and I will never go through that prep again. A gallon of awful stuff -- Gavilyte-C.  For my last colonoscopy the laxative was in a bottle smaller than a coke can. So I managed to keep the first eight cups down, during and following which I spent a couple of hours on the john. 

But then I accidentally took a nap on the couch (having been awake and drinking only clear liquids since 3 am Thursday) and woke up after midnight. I was supposed to take the second half gallon at 11:00! So I gulped down four cups and sat on the john and woopsie daisy, all eight cups wound up very quickly on the floor. It takes approximately 1/2 of a paper towel roll to get up a quarter gallon of that stuff. Do you know that Gavilyte-C is an excellent floor cleaner?

Miss Poppy beside my hospital armband

So, I waited 15 minutes and then, more slowly, tried to get down the last four cups. I got down 3 then got a sauce pan on my way to my throne.  Good thing, too, or I would have used the other half of that roll of paper towel. So, no more Gavilyte-C!!! Ever! 

It just seems ridiculous to me that a small person like myself is taking the same fucking dose as someone 6 foot tall. 

So I'm glad it's over, except for getting the story from my two polyps.

I was taken and picked up by my sweet new friend and fellow widow Beth Ellis, who also gave me a homemade chicken pot pie for my dinner and it was deliciouso.

Easter

Holy Week has my favorite service of the Episcopal church -- the Maundy Thursday foot washing.  I find this the most Jesusy of services and I like washing other people's feet. This time the feet I washed belonged to the sermonizer who said my washing gave her chills. I tried to put a lot of love and concern into the act. I missed doing the Great Vigil this year but I also didn't miss it because it's a lot of work and our altar guild is small right now. The flowers were beautiful on Easter morning, thanks to the flower ladies who worked so hard on Saturday.

Pope Francis washing feet of female inmates 2024 (Reuters)

Dear Will -

I asked you once, maybe a dozen years ago and probably after your dementia had already started, whether or not you had this beautiful memory. You said you didn't. But I still hold it.

It was the Easter of our first year together, before most people knew about us. You were living in the apartment next to Audrey Greenwood. It was in the days when we could hear her two kitties (One was called Hercules, I remember) racing back and forth down the hallway next door that paralleled your hallway. You had put on Handel's Messiah, which I had always thought of as Christmas music. But you explained that it was Easter music. And we made love in the couch in the front room near the grear windows while listening to it.

The first year was so magical, perhaps because it was secret. And writing that reminds me of the time I met you while we were each crossing the perfect square of Caldwell park on some Saturday and you leaned in and kissed me! It felt so rash after months of secrecy! And yet so perfect when you smiled that smile of yours.

That smile that was on your mouth the day before the day before you died, when you told me you loved me for the last time. 

Until we meet again,

 

Kake