Bill was very soft-spoken during the day, but he was a demon at night. He even tried going after me, but his knee — on which he wore a brace — gave out on him, and he fell to the ground. He got up and bluffed us by feigning an intent to start a fight with someone. He walked down the hall, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and then set it down.
It was a couple nights later when the crap hit the fan. I had my earplugs in to drown out noise while reading, but this time there was more yelling and the sounds of glass being broken.
Law enforcement arrived. They Tasered him, shouting, “Stay down!” That’s when I walked down the hall to see what was happening. One resident had had his skin on his arms scraped up and bloody. He also showed how macho he was by hitting a female nurse in the head three times.
He won’t be coming back to this facility.
Bill has an anger management issue. A week or so ago, I heard from my bedroom some sort of commotion. Bill was throwing a tantrum.
When Bill saw me, he ranted and raved about homosexuality and told me that I was gay and asking me to suck his penis. It was odd because the accusations about queers, fags, etc. were meant to be insults.
Why are sexuality accusations insulting? Gays certainly aren’t worse people than guys who hate gays. Yet somehow “You’re a fag, suck a dick” is an insult.
I was afraid I would have to beat him up, and kind of wanted to, to be honest. But the staff here at the RCF held me back and suggested I go back to my room and let them handle it. Apparently he wanted a room down women’s hall (such as I have, for which Bill said I was gay for sleeping with women, which on first hearing seems an oxymoron.
Anyway, he had that big fit but had since calmed down, until this afternoon. I was in my room, ear plugs in so I wouldn’t be distracted while reading. So I didn’t hear anything until I got up to stretch my legs a bit by walking down the hall.
Then I saw Bill talking to law enforcement. Somebody filled me in on what I’d missed. Bill taken a swing at one of the female residents, but she dodged the blow, but Bill went on to shove another of the females.
Bill left with the deputy, but he was soon brought back here to the RCF because there was no other placement available.
Here we are in the care facility. I sit next to an older guy at meal times. You must understand that this place comprises idiots and other who are mentally impaired. I’m pretty sure that, of all the residents, I have the highest IQ, and I’m a whole standard deviation short of being a genius.
I’ve written about Russ before. He’s the guy at the table with me. In that other post, I corrected him on the concept of density. I have also written about his misunderstanding about banana seeds.
Neither does he understand, even in the weak sense, what chemistry is. The RCF uses artificial sweeteners as a substitute for sucrose. The person who served us said, “That’s not sugar. That’s a chemical.” I told him that sugar is also a chemical.” I looked at the label which said the artificial sweetener contains dextrose, which is a sugar and a chemical.
Russ again, today, set me off. We’ve had many storms so far this summer, so we keep the local TV channel on when we’re under a storm watch. This is the point at which Russ says (he’s said it multiple times) that we need to turn to the Omaha station (as opposed to the Des Moines station). Why? He says that Iowa’s radar doesn’t reach this far south (in southwestern Iowa). But it does; they sometimes zoom right into the little towns in this area.
I got tired of it, and strongly urged him to come back to reality, but that’s a fruitless endeavor.
Okay, this post is about something that shouldn’t be hard to comprehend. I’ve heard several people misuse a certain concept, most recently from good ol’ Russ.
Joe was saying that he could tell that I’ve lost weight and he encouraged me to keep lifting weights. Russ butted in, “Muscle weights more than fat.” To which I added the qualifier, “Per volume!” Russ shot me a weird smile, looking a bit confused.
It makes no sense to say that some things weigh more than other things without specifying a unit. I’ll spare myself the statistics and just say instead that it’s clear by the way these people out here mean when they mean that muscle weighs more than fat. What they mean is that muscle is more dense than fat.
Woe is me! For I have an iron-clad reason, a reason for which there is no alternative and no absolution, and that reason is that I ate a slice of chocolate pie tonight.
Everybody here at the RCF gets whatever treat they so desire on their birthdays. Debbie chose chocolate pie for tonight.
Who, then, am I blaming? Whose choice was it to eat the pie? It seems on the face of it that I made the choice. Pudding and whipped topping: How could I resist?
Then again, I don’t particularly like chocolate pie. I would have been perfectly happy if I had just stayed in my room, reading a book. Instead, I sit here with a bloated tummy and regret for having eaten an empty-calorie food.
Was there any choice in this matter? It appears as though I myself am to complain. But maybe I had no choice; maybe I live in a deterministic universe. Still, eating pie and then regretting having done so could have been pre-determined.
This article could turn philosophic very quickly, and that’s something that I want to avoid; avoid as I should have avoided the pie. Let’s just say I’ve learned my lesson and will henceforth work on avoiding junk food.
Unless all motion in the universe is deterministic, in which case… Ah, screw it. I’m going to do some free squats.