Josh Hilden's Blog, page 3
December 17, 2023
90 SECONDS UNTIL MIDNIGHT
The world is on fire.
From South America to Africa, to Russia and Ukraine, to South Asia, to the Middle East and the Far East, chaos envelopes the globe. Only in the West (America, Canada, Australia/New Zealand, and the European Union are things still calm. Buy calm. I don’t mean peaceful. I mean, the powder kegs of insanity are buried close to the surface in these.
We are closer to World War 3 than at any time in my life. The Cold War was scary, but it was “fought” by two nations that didn’t really want to fight to the death after the terror of the Cuban Missile Crisis.
If it did anything, the Cold War proved that anything can be negotiated if both sides are willing to give ground in some areas in order to make gains in other areas and in good faith.
Right now, America is sitting on the crest of a deteriorating fire break. The fire break that has protected the lower 48 since the end of the Civil War.
Distance means nothing anymore.
On the one hand, we are ruled (Ruled, not governed anymore) by an incompetent regime of almost exclusively old white people who won’t be around much longer anyway. They say all of the right things (sometimes), but in the end, they will do exactly what their paymasters tell them to do.
On the other hand, we have an openly fascist racist cadre of more old white people waiting to reign in 2025. They have made it exceedingly clear that they want America to become a fascist dictatorship, rolling rights, and legal protection to pre-World War 2 levels. They are talking about using the military against American citizens. They’ve discussed building concentration camps put west to hold all of the undocumented residents of the United States.
I could say a lot more, but I’m too disgusted to continue.
Read up on Project 2025 for more nightmare-inducing content.
My overriding question in all of this is, who would willingly reopen Pandora's Box and plunge the world into a thousand years of darkness.?
Oh, that would be the world powers, the multinational mega-corporations, religious fanatics, and the cabal of old white men who still run the world. Although to be fair, more Chinese and Indians have earned more seats at that table every year.
And why would they do this?
It's all about the race for power, and as many Benjamins they can get until they're worthless. These are the people who run the world. They have leveraged conflicts across the globe for centuries in the name of power and profit.
These people don’t care about anybody but themselves. To them, we are the crud their manservants scrape off of their leather shoes. To them, we are nothing more than property. The post-Civil War barons didn’t care if slavery was officially crushed. They just found a new way to keep Americans under their yokes.
We are cattle in our own land, led around by velvet and silk ropes.
By 2026, I believe the Middle East will have several slabs of nuclear glass where ancient cities once stood. America will be embroiled in an unwinnable war with China over Taiwan's right to exist. Palestine will only exist as annexed apartheid regions of a larger Israel. Ukraine will be crushed under Russian boots after NATO and the United States abandons them.
And The United States of America?
Unless things change sooner rather than later, I see a second Civil War in our future. The MAGA party will occupy the major cities, deploying the active duty military into the major cities. Martial law will be the order of the day, and many citizens will die trying to defend what America is supposed to be.
I don’t want any of this to happen, and I hope I am being hyperbolic and 100% wrong. I want the old people who control the world to sit down and ratchet things down before they explode.
Maybe you’ve heard of the Doomsday Clock. It’s a measurement of how close we are to Armageddon using a twelve-hour clock as the representation. It was created in 1947 by an international community of scientists. The closer the clock gets to midnight, the closer we are to the end of civilization. Or maybe the world.
I’m a husband.
I’m a father.
I’m a grandfather.
I look at my family, and I believe in my heart that the old men in charge love their families as much as I do mine. Or, at least, most of them do. I have to believe someone can send out the break men and stop this train before it derails, and we all die or return to a darker age of civilization.
It’s 90 seconds to midnight.
I have to believe.
- Josh (12/17/2023)
From South America to Africa, to Russia and Ukraine, to South Asia, to the Middle East and the Far East, chaos envelopes the globe. Only in the West (America, Canada, Australia/New Zealand, and the European Union are things still calm. Buy calm. I don’t mean peaceful. I mean, the powder kegs of insanity are buried close to the surface in these.
We are closer to World War 3 than at any time in my life. The Cold War was scary, but it was “fought” by two nations that didn’t really want to fight to the death after the terror of the Cuban Missile Crisis.
If it did anything, the Cold War proved that anything can be negotiated if both sides are willing to give ground in some areas in order to make gains in other areas and in good faith.
Right now, America is sitting on the crest of a deteriorating fire break. The fire break that has protected the lower 48 since the end of the Civil War.
Distance means nothing anymore.
On the one hand, we are ruled (Ruled, not governed anymore) by an incompetent regime of almost exclusively old white people who won’t be around much longer anyway. They say all of the right things (sometimes), but in the end, they will do exactly what their paymasters tell them to do.
On the other hand, we have an openly fascist racist cadre of more old white people waiting to reign in 2025. They have made it exceedingly clear that they want America to become a fascist dictatorship, rolling rights, and legal protection to pre-World War 2 levels. They are talking about using the military against American citizens. They’ve discussed building concentration camps put west to hold all of the undocumented residents of the United States.
I could say a lot more, but I’m too disgusted to continue.
Read up on Project 2025 for more nightmare-inducing content.
My overriding question in all of this is, who would willingly reopen Pandora's Box and plunge the world into a thousand years of darkness.?
Oh, that would be the world powers, the multinational mega-corporations, religious fanatics, and the cabal of old white men who still run the world. Although to be fair, more Chinese and Indians have earned more seats at that table every year.
And why would they do this?
It's all about the race for power, and as many Benjamins they can get until they're worthless. These are the people who run the world. They have leveraged conflicts across the globe for centuries in the name of power and profit.
These people don’t care about anybody but themselves. To them, we are the crud their manservants scrape off of their leather shoes. To them, we are nothing more than property. The post-Civil War barons didn’t care if slavery was officially crushed. They just found a new way to keep Americans under their yokes.
We are cattle in our own land, led around by velvet and silk ropes.
By 2026, I believe the Middle East will have several slabs of nuclear glass where ancient cities once stood. America will be embroiled in an unwinnable war with China over Taiwan's right to exist. Palestine will only exist as annexed apartheid regions of a larger Israel. Ukraine will be crushed under Russian boots after NATO and the United States abandons them.
And The United States of America?
Unless things change sooner rather than later, I see a second Civil War in our future. The MAGA party will occupy the major cities, deploying the active duty military into the major cities. Martial law will be the order of the day, and many citizens will die trying to defend what America is supposed to be.
I don’t want any of this to happen, and I hope I am being hyperbolic and 100% wrong. I want the old people who control the world to sit down and ratchet things down before they explode.
Maybe you’ve heard of the Doomsday Clock. It’s a measurement of how close we are to Armageddon using a twelve-hour clock as the representation. It was created in 1947 by an international community of scientists. The closer the clock gets to midnight, the closer we are to the end of civilization. Or maybe the world.
I’m a husband.
I’m a father.
I’m a grandfather.
I look at my family, and I believe in my heart that the old men in charge love their families as much as I do mine. Or, at least, most of them do. I have to believe someone can send out the break men and stop this train before it derails, and we all die or return to a darker age of civilization.
It’s 90 seconds to midnight.
I have to believe.
- Josh (12/17/2023)
December 15, 2023
Vengeance
I'm in a sad and reflective mood tonight. So, I am going to curse all of you with something only my partner knows. It's a dark and humiliating story that I'm not proud of. But it needs to be told, or one day, I might go crazy, and this will be the cause.
People think they know what they're capable of at the worst of times. They think they're capable of anything or that they'd freeze up in a crisis or catastrophic situation. They don't know if they can exact vengeance in times of fear and anger or if they'll do the right thing and try to let it all go.
Most people never have to make those choices.
They're the lucky ones.
I had my "Come to Jesus" moment three and a half years ago.
When my son died, I was left with a cold numbness. It lasted almost a week, until after his memorial. A memorial, I might add, which I didn't attend because my anxiety was through the roof, and even though I couldn't feel it up front, my grief was shredding me alive.
Less than two weeks after his death, my grief began to transform into rage.
Stephen didn't die from natural causes. If you've followed me for any length of time, you know he died because his usual reaction to meth caused him to hallucinate he was being chased, and to prevent his capture, he killed himself.
We went through several versions of this in the past, so I have no doubt it's as close to the truth as anyone will ever get.
With my rage growing, I made a decision.
I knew the crowd he ran with.
I knew who I could ask to find out who supplied him with the meth.
I may be a devout peacenik, but one day, I found myself browsing pawn shops and legitimate gun stores.
I know how to shoot.
I grew up around guns.
I thought hard. Harder than any other time in my life. I knew if I bought the cheapass piece of trash gun I could afford, I'd kill the bastard who gave my son the poison.
When I realized I could really do it, I walked away.
I didn't walk away because I was some great and noble guy sticking to his morals. I didn't walk away because I still had a family. The rage and grief were all-consuming,
I walked away because the idea scared me and made me sick.
I knew I could never live in my own skin again.
I knew I'd be damned for the rest of my life.
That's it, Boils and Ghouls. That was the darkest period of my life. It didn't last long, less than three weeks, But when it'd passed, it was over.
- Josh (12/15/2023)
People think they know what they're capable of at the worst of times. They think they're capable of anything or that they'd freeze up in a crisis or catastrophic situation. They don't know if they can exact vengeance in times of fear and anger or if they'll do the right thing and try to let it all go.
Most people never have to make those choices.
They're the lucky ones.
I had my "Come to Jesus" moment three and a half years ago.
When my son died, I was left with a cold numbness. It lasted almost a week, until after his memorial. A memorial, I might add, which I didn't attend because my anxiety was through the roof, and even though I couldn't feel it up front, my grief was shredding me alive.
Less than two weeks after his death, my grief began to transform into rage.
Stephen didn't die from natural causes. If you've followed me for any length of time, you know he died because his usual reaction to meth caused him to hallucinate he was being chased, and to prevent his capture, he killed himself.
We went through several versions of this in the past, so I have no doubt it's as close to the truth as anyone will ever get.
With my rage growing, I made a decision.
I knew the crowd he ran with.
I knew who I could ask to find out who supplied him with the meth.
I may be a devout peacenik, but one day, I found myself browsing pawn shops and legitimate gun stores.
I know how to shoot.
I grew up around guns.
I thought hard. Harder than any other time in my life. I knew if I bought the cheapass piece of trash gun I could afford, I'd kill the bastard who gave my son the poison.
When I realized I could really do it, I walked away.
I didn't walk away because I was some great and noble guy sticking to his morals. I didn't walk away because I still had a family. The rage and grief were all-consuming,
I walked away because the idea scared me and made me sick.
I knew I could never live in my own skin again.
I knew I'd be damned for the rest of my life.
That's it, Boils and Ghouls. That was the darkest period of my life. It didn't last long, less than three weeks, But when it'd passed, it was over.
- Josh (12/15/2023)
December 7, 2023
I Tell Myself Stories
I’ve been told that everyone daydreams. They ponder strange and wonderful things when the real world isn’t intruding into their lives. I always thought what I did was simply daydreaming. I learned later in life that I was wrong.
I tell myself stories in my head.
The “writing " routine in my head (that’s what my fourth grade teacher called it) started when I was little, and by little, I mean the early 1980s. It began with “choose your own adventure” books. When I wasn’t happy with any of those choices and outcomes, I’d just make up my own, but I never put them to paper.
From there, I made the inevitable leap to other books, movies, and television. I would, without knowing it, break down plots and storylines in my head. They were far from good stories, but at least they were recognizable as narratives.
This is how I work out my stories before I commit them to screen. I always start with a tentpole moment. They are either action scenes, emotional scenes, or exposition scenes. I’ll work these around in my head as I go about the day.
The process can take a couple of months.
For me, it’s literally like watching a movie or television show in my head.
Once I’ve worked out the details of all, or most, of the tentpoles, I move on to the transitions. These don’t take nearly as long. That’s not to say that the transition scenes aren’t important. In many ways, I think they’re the most important scenes. It’s just that I find them relatively easy to block out and put to screen.
They take, maybe, a couple of weeks.
Once the machine, for me, stories are really a type of machine, is put together, I can start the work. When I’m in the groove, although I prefer the term channel to groove, the typing isn’t a slow process. I usually average 1500 words a day once I’m up and running.
So, what’s currently dancing through my imagination?
Lately, I keep coming back to one scene in particular.
The scene is a two hander. They are a couple who are sleeping in bed.
The room is softly illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the bedroom window.
The couple, they aren’t actually a romantic couple but instead “Friends with benefits,” are sleeping after having a night of sex.
The gender makeup of our pair is irrelevant. I’ve run every permutation through my head, and it all works regardless of the gender makeup.
One of them has a nightmare and wakes up sobbing and begging for something, I don't know what, to stop. What it is will be revealed later in the book. The partner guides the terrified person to their bare chest and sings a lullaby in a foreign language until the other falls asleep.
Again, I am unsure what language it is, but it will be revealed at the proper time,
Just before the one who had the nightmare falls asleep, they tell the singer they love them.
When the nightmare victim wakes, they find a note left behind by the singer. The note says this is too much and that they can't be together.
I have several projects, either in process or still in the head writing (hehe) stage, where this scene will fit perfectly. I’m looking at you, The Vampire Years Book 1.
Well, that’s it.
That’s the essay.
I hope you enjoyed learning a slice of my writing process.
Come back next time when I’m sure I’ll be back to my middle aged emo malarky or my angry social, political, and economic rantings.
- Josh (12/07/2023)
I tell myself stories in my head.
The “writing " routine in my head (that’s what my fourth grade teacher called it) started when I was little, and by little, I mean the early 1980s. It began with “choose your own adventure” books. When I wasn’t happy with any of those choices and outcomes, I’d just make up my own, but I never put them to paper.
From there, I made the inevitable leap to other books, movies, and television. I would, without knowing it, break down plots and storylines in my head. They were far from good stories, but at least they were recognizable as narratives.
This is how I work out my stories before I commit them to screen. I always start with a tentpole moment. They are either action scenes, emotional scenes, or exposition scenes. I’ll work these around in my head as I go about the day.
The process can take a couple of months.
For me, it’s literally like watching a movie or television show in my head.
Once I’ve worked out the details of all, or most, of the tentpoles, I move on to the transitions. These don’t take nearly as long. That’s not to say that the transition scenes aren’t important. In many ways, I think they’re the most important scenes. It’s just that I find them relatively easy to block out and put to screen.
They take, maybe, a couple of weeks.
Once the machine, for me, stories are really a type of machine, is put together, I can start the work. When I’m in the groove, although I prefer the term channel to groove, the typing isn’t a slow process. I usually average 1500 words a day once I’m up and running.
So, what’s currently dancing through my imagination?
Lately, I keep coming back to one scene in particular.
The scene is a two hander. They are a couple who are sleeping in bed.
The room is softly illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the bedroom window.
The couple, they aren’t actually a romantic couple but instead “Friends with benefits,” are sleeping after having a night of sex.
The gender makeup of our pair is irrelevant. I’ve run every permutation through my head, and it all works regardless of the gender makeup.
One of them has a nightmare and wakes up sobbing and begging for something, I don't know what, to stop. What it is will be revealed later in the book. The partner guides the terrified person to their bare chest and sings a lullaby in a foreign language until the other falls asleep.
Again, I am unsure what language it is, but it will be revealed at the proper time,
Just before the one who had the nightmare falls asleep, they tell the singer they love them.
When the nightmare victim wakes, they find a note left behind by the singer. The note says this is too much and that they can't be together.
I have several projects, either in process or still in the head writing (hehe) stage, where this scene will fit perfectly. I’m looking at you, The Vampire Years Book 1.
Well, that’s it.
That’s the essay.
I hope you enjoyed learning a slice of my writing process.
Come back next time when I’m sure I’ll be back to my middle aged emo malarky or my angry social, political, and economic rantings.
- Josh (12/07/2023)
November 29, 2023
So Long TYT... I Hardly Knew You
Last night, I canceled my subscription to The Young Turks (TYT).
I became a fan of TYT starting with the run-up to the 2012 presidential election and continued moving forward. I appreciated their straight talk and their willingness to criticize both wings of the political bird, honestly.
As for Cenk’s trademark rants and screaming fits? I didn’t enjoy them. I felt, and still feel, they drive away more like minded people than they bring in. But I was able to look past them because I agreed with the foundation of what he was espousing.
Also, they were farther left of the spectrum than any other serious news outlet. As I was a leftist, although I didn’t consider myself a Socialist at the time, it was a breath of fresh air to have my views expressed on a large platform. For a long time, more than a decade, I walked side by side with TYT. They seemed to be the champions of the Progressive movement.
Then things changed.
I think it all really started with the 2016 Presidential Election. I believe the infamous TYT meltdown when the race was called for Trump broke them.
In the years since the election, TYT changed.
The screeds from Cenk and Ana became more polarizing and, at some points, unhinged, where before I could overlook their hyperbole, I found myself cringing. They seemed to be doing exponentially more damage than good to the Progressive cause.
It turned out I was kind of right.
The once large TYT network shrunk as the changes in the main show became more and more… insane. Shows once affiliated, even allied, with TYT left and quit having anything to do with them.
Still, I held out, hoping the ship would be righted.
Since the pandemic, The polarizing speech, 40 minute segments on issues that don’t significantly affect the average American, and the views of TYT skewing away from my own have all spiked. These have all contributed to driving me further and further away from a news source I once respected.
That’s fine. People change, and I don’t hold that against them. When I was a teenager, I considered myself a Liberal Republican.
Have you ever suspected I adhered to such nonsense?
The TYT views on the struggle of transgendered people finally made me pull the ripcord. The Main Show hasn’t gone full on TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist), but they’ve been dipping their big toe in that world all year.
I have transgender friends.
I have transgender loved ones.
I could accept, if not fully support, TYT’s positions. I still agree with them on a full 90% of their views. I want money out of politics, an end to the Electoral College, ranked choice voting (I don’t know if they support that, but I do), and common sense gun reform.
I can’t accept or support this newish position on transgender people. That’s the final drop in the bucket. The water is running over the sides, and I am choosing to abandon the ship rather than try to save it.
11/29/2023
I became a fan of TYT starting with the run-up to the 2012 presidential election and continued moving forward. I appreciated their straight talk and their willingness to criticize both wings of the political bird, honestly.
As for Cenk’s trademark rants and screaming fits? I didn’t enjoy them. I felt, and still feel, they drive away more like minded people than they bring in. But I was able to look past them because I agreed with the foundation of what he was espousing.
Also, they were farther left of the spectrum than any other serious news outlet. As I was a leftist, although I didn’t consider myself a Socialist at the time, it was a breath of fresh air to have my views expressed on a large platform. For a long time, more than a decade, I walked side by side with TYT. They seemed to be the champions of the Progressive movement.
Then things changed.
I think it all really started with the 2016 Presidential Election. I believe the infamous TYT meltdown when the race was called for Trump broke them.
In the years since the election, TYT changed.
The screeds from Cenk and Ana became more polarizing and, at some points, unhinged, where before I could overlook their hyperbole, I found myself cringing. They seemed to be doing exponentially more damage than good to the Progressive cause.
It turned out I was kind of right.
The once large TYT network shrunk as the changes in the main show became more and more… insane. Shows once affiliated, even allied, with TYT left and quit having anything to do with them.
Still, I held out, hoping the ship would be righted.
Since the pandemic, The polarizing speech, 40 minute segments on issues that don’t significantly affect the average American, and the views of TYT skewing away from my own have all spiked. These have all contributed to driving me further and further away from a news source I once respected.
That’s fine. People change, and I don’t hold that against them. When I was a teenager, I considered myself a Liberal Republican.
Have you ever suspected I adhered to such nonsense?
The TYT views on the struggle of transgendered people finally made me pull the ripcord. The Main Show hasn’t gone full on TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist), but they’ve been dipping their big toe in that world all year.
I have transgender friends.
I have transgender loved ones.
I could accept, if not fully support, TYT’s positions. I still agree with them on a full 90% of their views. I want money out of politics, an end to the Electoral College, ranked choice voting (I don’t know if they support that, but I do), and common sense gun reform.
I can’t accept or support this newish position on transgender people. That’s the final drop in the bucket. The water is running over the sides, and I am choosing to abandon the ship rather than try to save it.
11/29/2023
I Wash Myself With A Rag On A Stick
Do you know what it’s like to be fat?
I don’t mean, do you know what it’s like to have some clothing get tight?
I don’t mean, do you know what it’s like to overeat for the holidays and have to burn it off after the first of the year?
I don’t mean, do you know what it’s like to get a little chunky?
I mean, do you know what it’s like to be Fat?
To not be able to put your shoes and socks on because it makes your back hurt?
To not be able to cut your toenails because you can’t see them, and you’re afraid you’ll cut the flesh?
To have your arms and legs go numb because you’ve stayed in one position for too long?
To have to rock yourself up from a sitting or laying position so you don’t land on the floor belly or back first?
To feel the agony of trying to get up from the floor?
To not be able to catch your breath after a walk up a short flight of stairs or from the house to the car?
To not be able to reach far enough to wipe, so you either have shit in your undies or you take a shower?
To not be able to have sex because you can’t get it up, and even if you can, you get too exhausted to finish?
I mean, DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO REALLY BE FAT?!
I do.
Thanksgiving 2023, I scared the proverbial (and later literal) shit out of myself.
As I posted a few nights ago, On Thanksgiving, I ate more in one meal than ever before. Literally, in my entire life, I've never eaten that much in a single sitting. The food kept coming, and I “pushed through” the pain and let unfettered gluttony reign.
I spent the night breathing hard and pretty much beached on the couch, almost unable to get up. I fell off said couch one of the times I tried to get up. Rising from the floor is painful, to say the least.
I’m short, five foot eight inches tall, and I’m a type 2 diabetic. Add that to my weight, and you can see why I got scared by my inability to function that night.
At the very beginning of the pandemic, I’d scraped 265 pounds for the first time in well over a decade. I’d been bouncing between 270 and 280 pounds for a long time.
I was weighed two weeks ago at the Doctorb's office. I've never been this heavy, and I think I'm about an inch away from the point of no return, as in I’ll achieve the approximate size of a baby elephant.
I have never shared my weight online, but I will do it now.
Deep breath...
I weigh 306 pounds plus or minus a few ounces.
It hurts to even write that.
Here's the hard truth, Boils and Ghouls. I'm a 47-year-old, five foot eight inch tall, 306-pound diabetic man. If I don't make fundamental changes, I will die.
I don't want to die.
- Josh (11/28/2023)
I don’t mean, do you know what it’s like to have some clothing get tight?
I don’t mean, do you know what it’s like to overeat for the holidays and have to burn it off after the first of the year?
I don’t mean, do you know what it’s like to get a little chunky?
I mean, do you know what it’s like to be Fat?
To not be able to put your shoes and socks on because it makes your back hurt?
To not be able to cut your toenails because you can’t see them, and you’re afraid you’ll cut the flesh?
To have your arms and legs go numb because you’ve stayed in one position for too long?
To have to rock yourself up from a sitting or laying position so you don’t land on the floor belly or back first?
To feel the agony of trying to get up from the floor?
To not be able to catch your breath after a walk up a short flight of stairs or from the house to the car?
To not be able to reach far enough to wipe, so you either have shit in your undies or you take a shower?
To not be able to have sex because you can’t get it up, and even if you can, you get too exhausted to finish?
I mean, DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO REALLY BE FAT?!
I do.
Thanksgiving 2023, I scared the proverbial (and later literal) shit out of myself.
As I posted a few nights ago, On Thanksgiving, I ate more in one meal than ever before. Literally, in my entire life, I've never eaten that much in a single sitting. The food kept coming, and I “pushed through” the pain and let unfettered gluttony reign.
I spent the night breathing hard and pretty much beached on the couch, almost unable to get up. I fell off said couch one of the times I tried to get up. Rising from the floor is painful, to say the least.
I’m short, five foot eight inches tall, and I’m a type 2 diabetic. Add that to my weight, and you can see why I got scared by my inability to function that night.
At the very beginning of the pandemic, I’d scraped 265 pounds for the first time in well over a decade. I’d been bouncing between 270 and 280 pounds for a long time.
I was weighed two weeks ago at the Doctorb's office. I've never been this heavy, and I think I'm about an inch away from the point of no return, as in I’ll achieve the approximate size of a baby elephant.
I have never shared my weight online, but I will do it now.
Deep breath...
I weigh 306 pounds plus or minus a few ounces.
It hurts to even write that.
Here's the hard truth, Boils and Ghouls. I'm a 47-year-old, five foot eight inch tall, 306-pound diabetic man. If I don't make fundamental changes, I will die.
I don't want to die.
- Josh (11/28/2023)
Josh Bad
AHEM!
Please, never be ashamed of needing mental health help. Seeking mental health support at the lowest period of my adult life saved me. I've seen a psychiatrist and a therapist for years. When I was younger, I hid it from all but my nearest and dearest. Now, I shout it out whenever appropriate. Like I said, don't ever be ashamed.
That said, I feel guilty about many things in my life.
Most of my guilt comes from my childhood, and I’ve been processing those bits and bobs for years. I’m still working, and it’s still getting better dealing with those trigger points.
Adult me is wading in new ickiness.
Here’s something you need to know. Young Josh used to be a real asshole.
I'm not saying Old Josh isn't. He's just a different kind of asshole.
Young Josh was a schemer and borderline scammer.
He was selfish and lazy.
He convoluted stories to make them cooler and downplayed his lies so he wouldn't be caught.
He also told lies, at times, because, for some reason, it was better to tell people something short and simple as opposed to a long descriptive answer.
Young Josh always had something boiling in the kettle with three different spoons stirring at the same time.
I really hate Young Josh.
Thank the universe. I'm not him anymore. Or at least that’s what my therapist keeps telling me. But I still need to remain vigilant. If I look away, he'll come in a flash. I fear that if he does bear his piggly little again, that will be the end of Old Josh.
Young Josh was an asshole, and I'm ashamed I ever was him.
I like Old Josh just enough to want to see what he becomes.
Now, Old Josh’s guilt.
Sometimes, I feel like I can't do anything right around here. I feel like I let my partner down because she works her ass off, and I, let's be honest, have a tough time contributing sufficiently.
In the general vernacular, I don't pull my own weight.
Every time I spend time with my older kids, I feel like I'm being evaluated against what kind of father I was when they were growing up.
The answer?
Not a good one.
Now, I'm always on pins and needles, not wanting them to hate me.
I feel like an abject failure as a husband and a father.
Yes, I am fully aware this post is pure self-pity, but sometimes you need to get it out before you either explode or implode.
Remember, never feel ashamed to seek help.
- Josh (11/27/2023)
Please, never be ashamed of needing mental health help. Seeking mental health support at the lowest period of my adult life saved me. I've seen a psychiatrist and a therapist for years. When I was younger, I hid it from all but my nearest and dearest. Now, I shout it out whenever appropriate. Like I said, don't ever be ashamed.
That said, I feel guilty about many things in my life.
Most of my guilt comes from my childhood, and I’ve been processing those bits and bobs for years. I’m still working, and it’s still getting better dealing with those trigger points.
Adult me is wading in new ickiness.
Here’s something you need to know. Young Josh used to be a real asshole.
I'm not saying Old Josh isn't. He's just a different kind of asshole.
Young Josh was a schemer and borderline scammer.
He was selfish and lazy.
He convoluted stories to make them cooler and downplayed his lies so he wouldn't be caught.
He also told lies, at times, because, for some reason, it was better to tell people something short and simple as opposed to a long descriptive answer.
Young Josh always had something boiling in the kettle with three different spoons stirring at the same time.
I really hate Young Josh.
Thank the universe. I'm not him anymore. Or at least that’s what my therapist keeps telling me. But I still need to remain vigilant. If I look away, he'll come in a flash. I fear that if he does bear his piggly little again, that will be the end of Old Josh.
Young Josh was an asshole, and I'm ashamed I ever was him.
I like Old Josh just enough to want to see what he becomes.
Now, Old Josh’s guilt.
Sometimes, I feel like I can't do anything right around here. I feel like I let my partner down because she works her ass off, and I, let's be honest, have a tough time contributing sufficiently.
In the general vernacular, I don't pull my own weight.
Every time I spend time with my older kids, I feel like I'm being evaluated against what kind of father I was when they were growing up.
The answer?
Not a good one.
Now, I'm always on pins and needles, not wanting them to hate me.
I feel like an abject failure as a husband and a father.
Yes, I am fully aware this post is pure self-pity, but sometimes you need to get it out before you either explode or implode.
Remember, never feel ashamed to seek help.
- Josh (11/27/2023)
Forty More Years In The Desert
(Fair warning. I’ve been working on this essay for a fair amount of time. I’ve used my social media posts and original writings to knit this scattered mess together. I think the messiness is appropriate, considering the subject matter and volatility of the views concerning it. Also, I do not claim to be an expert on the Israel-Palestine issues. I am not an expert on world religions. And finally, I know enough about the shenanigans my country engages in to be afraid. Very afraid.)
America has had boots-on-the-ground presence in the Middle East for roughly forty years. Basically, almost my entire life. Some of my earliest real-time memories are the 1983 bombing of the Marine Barracks in Lebanon.
I’ve kept tabs on the news from the region ever since.
Over the decades, the obvious causes of the chaos in the Middle East, from the American point of view, seem clear.
Religion and oil.
Religion is a two-fold problem for us. First, Americans tend to see Muslims as the dangerous “other,” always ready to steal our treasure and rape our women. To them, the Jews of Israel are seen as a bulwark against the evils of the followers of Mohamed.
The second, specifically to the right-wing American Evangelicals, they need there to be a State of Israel to usher in the end times and Christ's return to the world. In their end-times, the State of Israel will be destroyed, and almost every Jew (other than the ones who convert to Christianity) will be eradicated from the face of the Earth.
Wonderful people. Right?
Do I really need to move on to the oil reasons?
No?
Good. Moving on.
Since October 7, I've been scouring news sites, message boards (yes, they still exist), and social media for a feel for how America views the Hamas-Israeli war.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has stated the ground invasion of Gaza will not be halted. If anything, it’s going to intensify.
I've thought hard about this long, and you know what? I don't know who's to blame at this point.
Hamas is a vile group that needs to be destroyed.
On the other hand, Israel has been an apartheid state for decades as the ultra-right (who control the government lock, stock, and barrel) seem to be tacitly encouraging illegal settlers to absorb what little land the Palestinians have left a bite at a time.
Add to that the reality that Gaza is the largest open-air prison in the world, where half of the population are children.
So no, I don't have any answers. But I do know that if the USA keeps 100% backing Israel, this is going to get so much worse before it gets better.
If it ever does.
I'm a peacenik, and I make no apologies for that. We need to talk, for real, not the proforma stuff that's happened since Rabin was assassinated by a fellow Israeli. But I'm not pro-Israel. I'm not pro-Palestine.
I am pro-stopping this insanity before it gets a thousand times worse and some monster of a human being pops a nuke.
No matter how this ends, it's going to be horrible. Right now, I'm afraid of someone popping off that aforementioned nuke. I'm one hundred percent positive one of the non-Israeli organizations over there has an old Soviet nuke hidden away.
Also, it's an open secret that Israel has nukes.
Who is the biggest puppet master behind Israel's arrogant stance as the biggest dog in the Middle East?
The United States of America.
It’s the American government, pushed hard by the right-wing pro-Israel (not pro-Jewish) lobby. That reinforces Israel vis arms, money, and if needed, military intervention.
I love my country, but let's be honest. America gets away with rape (figurative and literal), theft, murder, slavery (figurative and literal), war crimes, terrorism. Americans live with blinders on. The truth is we're the biggest, worst bullies on the block.
Just because someone is/was/could be worse doesn't make the American government the "Good Guy" anymore.
I want Americans to force the leadership (preferably through the ballot box) to make an honest attempt to do better for the world instead of claiming we already did and patting ourselves on the back.
What infuriates me is knowing this could be appreciably better for us and knowing the love of money and power won't allow that without a fight. As long as that remains a dream and not a reality, we will continue to churn the Earth in places we don’t belong and leave nothing but poisoned ground and bodies in our wake.
I fear this will be the unshakable fate of the Middle East.
Here's the depressing conclusion I've reached.
Thousands of dead kids and innocent people who never hurt anyone are okay as long as a handful of terrorists die. America, and sadly, it seems most Americans, could not care less about things that aren’t happening to them or people they know.
The recent hostage exchanges between Hamas and Israel scream “just for show.” The deal was brokered by the US (and others) as an attempt to quell the mounting ati war footing of the citizenry.
I wish I could say it won’t work.
When I was a kid, my father told me the next major war will be fought in the Middle East. By major, he didn’t mean the Gulf War or the Iraq/Afghanistan Wars. He meant the next real World War.
This war will continue until the “Superpowers” get their shit together and stop it.
At this moment, it looks like we’re committed to forty more years in the desert.
Forty years, if we’re lucky.
- Josh (11/26/2023)
America has had boots-on-the-ground presence in the Middle East for roughly forty years. Basically, almost my entire life. Some of my earliest real-time memories are the 1983 bombing of the Marine Barracks in Lebanon.
I’ve kept tabs on the news from the region ever since.
Over the decades, the obvious causes of the chaos in the Middle East, from the American point of view, seem clear.
Religion and oil.
Religion is a two-fold problem for us. First, Americans tend to see Muslims as the dangerous “other,” always ready to steal our treasure and rape our women. To them, the Jews of Israel are seen as a bulwark against the evils of the followers of Mohamed.
The second, specifically to the right-wing American Evangelicals, they need there to be a State of Israel to usher in the end times and Christ's return to the world. In their end-times, the State of Israel will be destroyed, and almost every Jew (other than the ones who convert to Christianity) will be eradicated from the face of the Earth.
Wonderful people. Right?
Do I really need to move on to the oil reasons?
No?
Good. Moving on.
Since October 7, I've been scouring news sites, message boards (yes, they still exist), and social media for a feel for how America views the Hamas-Israeli war.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has stated the ground invasion of Gaza will not be halted. If anything, it’s going to intensify.
I've thought hard about this long, and you know what? I don't know who's to blame at this point.
Hamas is a vile group that needs to be destroyed.
On the other hand, Israel has been an apartheid state for decades as the ultra-right (who control the government lock, stock, and barrel) seem to be tacitly encouraging illegal settlers to absorb what little land the Palestinians have left a bite at a time.
Add to that the reality that Gaza is the largest open-air prison in the world, where half of the population are children.
So no, I don't have any answers. But I do know that if the USA keeps 100% backing Israel, this is going to get so much worse before it gets better.
If it ever does.
I'm a peacenik, and I make no apologies for that. We need to talk, for real, not the proforma stuff that's happened since Rabin was assassinated by a fellow Israeli. But I'm not pro-Israel. I'm not pro-Palestine.
I am pro-stopping this insanity before it gets a thousand times worse and some monster of a human being pops a nuke.
No matter how this ends, it's going to be horrible. Right now, I'm afraid of someone popping off that aforementioned nuke. I'm one hundred percent positive one of the non-Israeli organizations over there has an old Soviet nuke hidden away.
Also, it's an open secret that Israel has nukes.
Who is the biggest puppet master behind Israel's arrogant stance as the biggest dog in the Middle East?
The United States of America.
It’s the American government, pushed hard by the right-wing pro-Israel (not pro-Jewish) lobby. That reinforces Israel vis arms, money, and if needed, military intervention.
I love my country, but let's be honest. America gets away with rape (figurative and literal), theft, murder, slavery (figurative and literal), war crimes, terrorism. Americans live with blinders on. The truth is we're the biggest, worst bullies on the block.
Just because someone is/was/could be worse doesn't make the American government the "Good Guy" anymore.
I want Americans to force the leadership (preferably through the ballot box) to make an honest attempt to do better for the world instead of claiming we already did and patting ourselves on the back.
What infuriates me is knowing this could be appreciably better for us and knowing the love of money and power won't allow that without a fight. As long as that remains a dream and not a reality, we will continue to churn the Earth in places we don’t belong and leave nothing but poisoned ground and bodies in our wake.
I fear this will be the unshakable fate of the Middle East.
Here's the depressing conclusion I've reached.
Thousands of dead kids and innocent people who never hurt anyone are okay as long as a handful of terrorists die. America, and sadly, it seems most Americans, could not care less about things that aren’t happening to them or people they know.
The recent hostage exchanges between Hamas and Israel scream “just for show.” The deal was brokered by the US (and others) as an attempt to quell the mounting ati war footing of the citizenry.
I wish I could say it won’t work.
When I was a kid, my father told me the next major war will be fought in the Middle East. By major, he didn’t mean the Gulf War or the Iraq/Afghanistan Wars. He meant the next real World War.
This war will continue until the “Superpowers” get their shit together and stop it.
At this moment, it looks like we’re committed to forty more years in the desert.
Forty years, if we’re lucky.
- Josh (11/26/2023)
October 29, 2023
Josh Hates Other Drivers
I know what you’re here for. A new installment of "Things Josh Hates." Something I’ve never done before and may or may not do again depending on if the mood hits me again.
Also, it ain’t funny (to me). I have no interest in continuing it.
And, hey, if I never hate anything again, you’ll know I’m a much happier person.
BWAHAHAHAHA!!!
Yeah, I could barely type that out without laughing my prodigious posterior off. We all know despite the reality that I’ve mellowed over the years, I still have an ample amount of hate in my heart.
As much as I want to live by my new mantra, “Please be kind to yourself and others,” it’s still hard to accomplish. But I never stop trying.
Now, on to the hate
I hate the "Zig-Zaggers," not people who use Zig-Zag brand rolling paper. You shine on, you crazy diamonds.
I mean the assholes in sporty little cars who zip and zag through heavy traffic.
These are the men, they're almost all men, with $200 sunglasses on.
Sometimes, they have the top down, and sometimes they don't.
These people have the radio turned all the way up and seem to be constantly headbanging along with music that’s not made for said activity.
Seriously, who headbangs to Hall & Oates?
These jackholes are doing at least half again as fast as the speed limit, weaving in and out, sometimes leaving less than a foot of space between their bumper and the bumper of the car they are passing.
These people seem to think they're NASCAR drivers instead of a middle-aged divorced man paying alimony and child support.
These people are the scourge of our highways and byways.
They must be stopped.
Maybe with decoy hookers and flamethrowers.?
- Josh (10/29i/2023)
Also, it ain’t funny (to me). I have no interest in continuing it.
And, hey, if I never hate anything again, you’ll know I’m a much happier person.
BWAHAHAHAHA!!!
Yeah, I could barely type that out without laughing my prodigious posterior off. We all know despite the reality that I’ve mellowed over the years, I still have an ample amount of hate in my heart.
As much as I want to live by my new mantra, “Please be kind to yourself and others,” it’s still hard to accomplish. But I never stop trying.
Now, on to the hate
I hate the "Zig-Zaggers," not people who use Zig-Zag brand rolling paper. You shine on, you crazy diamonds.
I mean the assholes in sporty little cars who zip and zag through heavy traffic.
These are the men, they're almost all men, with $200 sunglasses on.
Sometimes, they have the top down, and sometimes they don't.
These people have the radio turned all the way up and seem to be constantly headbanging along with music that’s not made for said activity.
Seriously, who headbangs to Hall & Oates?
These jackholes are doing at least half again as fast as the speed limit, weaving in and out, sometimes leaving less than a foot of space between their bumper and the bumper of the car they are passing.
These people seem to think they're NASCAR drivers instead of a middle-aged divorced man paying alimony and child support.
These people are the scourge of our highways and byways.
They must be stopped.
Maybe with decoy hookers and flamethrowers.?
- Josh (10/29i/2023)
October 26, 2023
Life Isn't Supposed To Be This Way
Why was I gifted with the joy of mental illness?
I wish I knew😢
I had a lovely mental health incident yesterday.
But first, a quick rundown of my mental health journey. Some (many?) of you have read about this before. I'll try to be as fast as possible.
I spent the summer of 1993 (I was 16) in a mental institution. Which I checked myself into following a failed halfhearted suicide attempt.
Funny side note. I was diagnosed as Bipolar in the hospital, and they suggested Lithium. Dad said no. I wonder what life would've been like if he'd said yes.
Oh well.
I was in therapy for two years before the attempt and a year following it. Needless to say, I never allowed my therapist, a good guy, to see more than the surface of my issues.
Following my stay, I was "alright" for about 12 years. Actually, I was white-knuckling it, and there were many near breakdowns that I never talked about until I entered therapy two years ago.
I had a nervous breakdown in 2005 that lasted (on and off) until 2011.
Since then, I've been medicated (it works sometimes), and I've been seeing a psychiatrist and psychologist since 2019.
I'm still a complete mess, but I understand why I'm such a mess.
Well, that wasn't short. Sorry.
Now, on to the most recent near breakdown.
Yesterday I was waiting for the mail to come.
I was waiting for something important. The mail came, but there were people outside, and the idea of them seeing me threatened to leave me paralyzed with panic.
The main box is mounted next to the front door, so I stuck my hand out and tried to fish the envelopes out.
They all spilled out on the porch, and I was so panicked.
It was so horrible (to me) that I had to yell for my kid to get them. He came and did the deed. He's always been my good right arm, and (as much as anyone can) he understands my situation and doesn't judge me. Not that any of them do. He's just been here the whole since I made my struggle public.
Would you like to know the kick in the nuts part?
The letter I was waiting for wasn't even in the mail.
I've been asked in the past why I write these personal bits about my personal life.
Here's the only answer I can give.
I write these missives for two reasons. One, because talking about my struggle publicly helps me work through things and clear the chaos in my head. Second, I hope my story helps at the very least one person with their own mental health journey.
-Josh
I wish I knew😢
I had a lovely mental health incident yesterday.
But first, a quick rundown of my mental health journey. Some (many?) of you have read about this before. I'll try to be as fast as possible.
I spent the summer of 1993 (I was 16) in a mental institution. Which I checked myself into following a failed halfhearted suicide attempt.
Funny side note. I was diagnosed as Bipolar in the hospital, and they suggested Lithium. Dad said no. I wonder what life would've been like if he'd said yes.
Oh well.
I was in therapy for two years before the attempt and a year following it. Needless to say, I never allowed my therapist, a good guy, to see more than the surface of my issues.
Following my stay, I was "alright" for about 12 years. Actually, I was white-knuckling it, and there were many near breakdowns that I never talked about until I entered therapy two years ago.
I had a nervous breakdown in 2005 that lasted (on and off) until 2011.
Since then, I've been medicated (it works sometimes), and I've been seeing a psychiatrist and psychologist since 2019.
I'm still a complete mess, but I understand why I'm such a mess.
Well, that wasn't short. Sorry.
Now, on to the most recent near breakdown.
Yesterday I was waiting for the mail to come.
I was waiting for something important. The mail came, but there were people outside, and the idea of them seeing me threatened to leave me paralyzed with panic.
The main box is mounted next to the front door, so I stuck my hand out and tried to fish the envelopes out.
They all spilled out on the porch, and I was so panicked.
It was so horrible (to me) that I had to yell for my kid to get them. He came and did the deed. He's always been my good right arm, and (as much as anyone can) he understands my situation and doesn't judge me. Not that any of them do. He's just been here the whole since I made my struggle public.
Would you like to know the kick in the nuts part?
The letter I was waiting for wasn't even in the mail.
I've been asked in the past why I write these personal bits about my personal life.
Here's the only answer I can give.
I write these missives for two reasons. One, because talking about my struggle publicly helps me work through things and clear the chaos in my head. Second, I hope my story helps at the very least one person with their own mental health journey.
-Josh
October 19, 2023
All Dogs Go To Sto'Vo'Kor
In the spring of 2014, Alexis “Lexi” Luthor Johnson was born. Lexi was a Red Nose American Pitbull. She was the runt of the littler, something the nurse at the vet’s office called a “Pocket Pittie.” She was my son, Stephens, dog, and no matter how far he slid down the funnel of addiction, he always locked out for her.
In 2018, he finally realized he could no longer take care of her and sent her to live full-time with us. I’d always loved her from the time she was a tiny puppy I could hold in the cup of my hands.
Lexi was the protector of this family. Nobody could even pretend to threaten someone in this family without the barking of a 55-pound pittie who sounded like she was a 105-pound.
She loved the kids. None of them could do any wrong in her eyes.
She loved and defended the grandkids. No one will ever be able to convince me that she wouldn’t have killed for those babies.
I think my friend Brandon said it best, “She was a heckin good doggo.”
Lexi passed away in the early morning hours of Saturday, October 14, 2023.
I don’t believe in a religious afterlife, but I do believe it’s possible that something of us, call it a soul if you want to, goes on after our corporeal form has burned out. After all, energy cannot be created or destroyed. I want to believe we’ll be reunited one day. Like I told her before I went to sleep, on the couch with her lying on the floor next to me.
“Don’t be scared. It’ll be over soon, and you won’t hurt anymore. When you wake up, you’ll see your daddy again. There’ll be fields to run in, and water to swim in, and all of the rabbits you could ever want to chase. I love you.”
What follows are the social media posts I made during the last days of Lexi’s life. I think they encapsulate my thoughts and emotions better than anything else I could write. My perfect pupper is gone, and I miss her so much.
I know I’ve posted a couple times before that the pupper was near the end, but then she bounces back. This time, I don’t think we’re going to luck out again. Even when she’s sleeping, she is struggling to breathe. From now on, I’m sleeping in the living room again to be near her. We will take her out on Saturday and do everything she loves. Then, on Monday, I will call the vet. Even typing that has my eyes watering and my body wanting to vomit. I just love that girl so much. No matter how it goes, here or at the vet’s, I’ll be with her at the end.
-October 11, 2023
Tomorrow is the sad day I’ve been dreading since January. At 9:30 a.m., we’ll be sending Lexi on her final run. She’s been the best dog. Once she’s passed, it’s no more pets for the Hilden Family.
-October 12, 2023
Lexi passed away early this morning. She was at home with the people who loved her. It was peaceful.
-October 13, 2023
I just want to send a heartfelt thank you to all of you who’ve reached out and/or lent your support to my family and me in this time of loss. Some of you may know that Lexi was my son Stephen’s dog. In many ways, she was my last link to him. We were told that Lexi wouldn’t make it past February. She made it to mid-October. We had all those extra months with her, and I cherish every day. Anyway, whether you realize it or not, your love and support have meant the world to me.
-October 13, 2023
We (the family in the house) have decided that our house, especially the backyard, needs a dog to be complete. Also, we feel we’re diminished as a family without one. So, in a few months (say spring), we’re getting a new dog, and it will be a pitbull. But a different type. Lexi was an American Red Nose. We’re thinking of a Blue Pittie.
-October 14, 2023
I keep thinking I’m seeing her out of the corner of my eye, taking her place at the far end of the couch. Or I’m hearing her bark, wanting to be let in after she’s done chasing the rabbits she was never able to catch or, more likely, never wanted to. There’s a pitbull-sized hole in my heart, and I can’t seem to bandage it. Sorry, it's just another middle-aged American fat guy crying over his dog. I’ll bring the sarcasm and the funny later.
-October 15, 2023
Last Lexi update for the duration. I’m not stopping the updates because I’m ashamed or anything. It’s just because I’m all cried out for the foreseeable future. Today was my weekly testosterone injection. Yes, I have low testosterone. I’ve never hidden it, and, once again, not ashamed. Whenever I had one, Lexi would come in barking at whoever was giving it, the Spoose or the youngest boy-child, to protect me. She was never serious. It was a performance, but it made me feel special. Today, there was no barking. She’s really gone.
-October 16, 2023
- Josh (10/19/2023)
In 2018, he finally realized he could no longer take care of her and sent her to live full-time with us. I’d always loved her from the time she was a tiny puppy I could hold in the cup of my hands.
Lexi was the protector of this family. Nobody could even pretend to threaten someone in this family without the barking of a 55-pound pittie who sounded like she was a 105-pound.
She loved the kids. None of them could do any wrong in her eyes.
She loved and defended the grandkids. No one will ever be able to convince me that she wouldn’t have killed for those babies.
I think my friend Brandon said it best, “She was a heckin good doggo.”
Lexi passed away in the early morning hours of Saturday, October 14, 2023.
I don’t believe in a religious afterlife, but I do believe it’s possible that something of us, call it a soul if you want to, goes on after our corporeal form has burned out. After all, energy cannot be created or destroyed. I want to believe we’ll be reunited one day. Like I told her before I went to sleep, on the couch with her lying on the floor next to me.
“Don’t be scared. It’ll be over soon, and you won’t hurt anymore. When you wake up, you’ll see your daddy again. There’ll be fields to run in, and water to swim in, and all of the rabbits you could ever want to chase. I love you.”
What follows are the social media posts I made during the last days of Lexi’s life. I think they encapsulate my thoughts and emotions better than anything else I could write. My perfect pupper is gone, and I miss her so much.
I know I’ve posted a couple times before that the pupper was near the end, but then she bounces back. This time, I don’t think we’re going to luck out again. Even when she’s sleeping, she is struggling to breathe. From now on, I’m sleeping in the living room again to be near her. We will take her out on Saturday and do everything she loves. Then, on Monday, I will call the vet. Even typing that has my eyes watering and my body wanting to vomit. I just love that girl so much. No matter how it goes, here or at the vet’s, I’ll be with her at the end.
-October 11, 2023
Tomorrow is the sad day I’ve been dreading since January. At 9:30 a.m., we’ll be sending Lexi on her final run. She’s been the best dog. Once she’s passed, it’s no more pets for the Hilden Family.
-October 12, 2023
Lexi passed away early this morning. She was at home with the people who loved her. It was peaceful.
-October 13, 2023
I just want to send a heartfelt thank you to all of you who’ve reached out and/or lent your support to my family and me in this time of loss. Some of you may know that Lexi was my son Stephen’s dog. In many ways, she was my last link to him. We were told that Lexi wouldn’t make it past February. She made it to mid-October. We had all those extra months with her, and I cherish every day. Anyway, whether you realize it or not, your love and support have meant the world to me.
-October 13, 2023
We (the family in the house) have decided that our house, especially the backyard, needs a dog to be complete. Also, we feel we’re diminished as a family without one. So, in a few months (say spring), we’re getting a new dog, and it will be a pitbull. But a different type. Lexi was an American Red Nose. We’re thinking of a Blue Pittie.
-October 14, 2023
I keep thinking I’m seeing her out of the corner of my eye, taking her place at the far end of the couch. Or I’m hearing her bark, wanting to be let in after she’s done chasing the rabbits she was never able to catch or, more likely, never wanted to. There’s a pitbull-sized hole in my heart, and I can’t seem to bandage it. Sorry, it's just another middle-aged American fat guy crying over his dog. I’ll bring the sarcasm and the funny later.
-October 15, 2023
Last Lexi update for the duration. I’m not stopping the updates because I’m ashamed or anything. It’s just because I’m all cried out for the foreseeable future. Today was my weekly testosterone injection. Yes, I have low testosterone. I’ve never hidden it, and, once again, not ashamed. Whenever I had one, Lexi would come in barking at whoever was giving it, the Spoose or the youngest boy-child, to protect me. She was never serious. It was a performance, but it made me feel special. Today, there was no barking. She’s really gone.
-October 16, 2023
- Josh (10/19/2023)
