.dropcap {float:left; color:#4791d2; font-size:75px; line-height:60px; padding-top:4px; padding-right:8px; padding-left:3px; font-family:Georgia}

Google+ Followers


Monday, November 14, 2016

💀 ☠ Testosterone and Related Steroids Warning │ Insomnia: Do You Need a Sleep Coach? │ Last Day to Try and Keep 'USDA Organic' Label GMO-Free

Execrable conduct late last evening kept me here at my computer until long after midnight ─ I cannot recall the time even nearly.

My first break in sleep with a bathroom visit was 4:20 a.m.  My younger brother Mark had just gotten up, but had not yet begun his shower.

Unfortunately for me, he did do so before I had the chance to flush the toilet; and so I had to wait until he was finished so as not to rob him of any water pressure.

I cannot recall which side of 8:00 a.m. it was that I rose ─ I think that it was before.  Whatever the case, I felt none too well-slept, and my spirits and sense of self-worth were in 'the pits.'

At least I was home alone ─ both of my step-sons had gone to work.

But exacerbating my mood was a day blending both brilliant Sun and some cloud.  With my mood, I needed a deeply grey day.

No matter, though ─ I would be going nowhere feeling as I did.

A credit card billing arrived just recently that I have only taken a look at today ─ it's for a credit card in the names of both my wife Jack and I, but I never use it. 

Back when her two sons were in school, she let the youngest know the credit card number so that he could sign up for Netflix.  I knew we were probably still being billed for it, and we are ─ $9.99 a month.

But an identical payment is going to iTunes, as well as $14.99 to something called Steamgames.com.

So although the kid will be 19 years old later this month, has graduated high school, and has a job, we're still funding him to the tune of about $35 a month for bloody entertainment?

He doesn't even pay rent.

Also eating at me today is an E-mail I found on my wife's account that arrived November 12.  It's from Rodan + Fields, and is indicating that a shipment of complexion medication is going to be sent out on November 17.

Jack had originally gotten a subscription set up for periodic shipments of an expensive (over $200) care package for her sons, but they had long ago stopped bothering with the useless products.  She got the chap she knew ─ who was an affiliate of Rodan + Fields ─ to cancel her subscription early this year, but suddenly one shipment arrived late in September.

The guy she knew had no idea why it showed up, claiming that he indeed did cancel the subscription.  He said to just return the shipment.

Well, we did, but of course we had to pay shipping charges; and the reimbursement that took better than a month to finally show up on the credit card of course did not include their shipping charges that we had been billed for.

So we had to eat those charges at both ends.

And now they announce that another shipment is coming as of November 17?

Their E-mail says that my wife Jack can manage her account and this order just by logging in, but she doesn't have any account that she knows of.  As I said, she got involved via someone she knows who serves as a 'consultant' or something for the company.

And Jack is in Thailand until November 21.

I took the initiative of responding with the message to the sales' E-mail address, trying to explain that this should not be happening.  It was clear that I was exasperated and angry.

So we shall see.

But my day has been such that I have felt very seriously that I cannot keep living my life this way ─ the same useless routine day after day.

I am so tired of it.  There is only futility.

It ─ my life ─ wasn't supposed to be like this.

Before I move on from accounting about my day, I have this fairly old family photo to post ─ the description beneath it is from the Google album where the scan is filed:

That is my cousin Gail (née Hyatt) and her betrothed Eugene.

The setting is most likely somewhere in Calgary, back in 1974 or 1975.

I am unable to identify the lady by Gail's side.

Just beyond Eugene is my cousin Dan Halverson in the plaid suit.

I rather expect at the age of 67 that I have far less testosterone coursing through my system than I did half my life ago.

But I have never had my levels tested and measured, nor have I ever taken any sort of testosterone booster or supplement.

So what comes to your mind when you see these headlines?




Clearly there are people out there abusing themselves with excessive testosterone and steroids use, but those cited health problems oughtn't to affect anyone truly in need of testosterone supplementation, and who follow the prescription for amounts taken.
The Anabolic Steroids Control Act of 1990 placed AAS [anabolic-androgenic steroids], including testosterone, in Schedule III of the Controlled Substances Act. Testosterone and other AAS are abused by adults and adolescents, including athletes and body builders. Abuse of testosterone, usually at doses higher than those typically prescribed and usually in conjunction with other AAS, is associated with serious safety risks affecting the heart, brain, liver, mental health, and endocrine system. Reported serious adverse outcomes include heart attack, heart failure, stroke, depression, hostility, aggression, liver toxicity, and male infertility. Individuals abusing high doses of testosterone have also reported withdrawal symptoms, such as depression, fatigue, irritability, loss of appetite, decreased libido, and insomnia.   

No one should be taking such supplementation who is not biologically deficient.  There is no excuse for anyone whose body is producing normal quantities to be seeking to escalate the amount in their body.

Whether or not it is true, I have heard since the 1970s that abuse of steroids can result in a diminishment of the body's ability to produce its own testosterone; and impotence also is reputed to become an issue in even fairly young men.


I don't really have too much trouble getting to sleep ─ my issue is returning to sleep after that first block of three or four hours.  Sometimes, the block of initial sleep may only be a couple of hours.

Apparently it truly is effective, according to a recent study ─ here are a couple of reports:



This sort of treatment certainly isn't my 'thing,' but I have no doubt that there are people it probably could benefit.


Today may be the final chance to prevent genetic modified organisms (GMOs) from being allowed to be included in foods certified as 'USDA organic.'

The National Organic Standards Board is scheduled to convene on November 16-18, and it will be considering a provision to allow GMOs to be included under that organic label.

If you care at all, then sign this Organic Consumers Association petition:


If the 'USDA organic' label falls to the interests of the food manufacturing industry and the rest of 'Big Foods,' the last recourse you will have as a consumer who has no intention of eating anything containing GMOs will be the 'Non-GMO Project' label.


I now close out with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the little affair in a house located on Ninth Street at Third Avenue.

At the time, I was working just one day a week ─ usually Friday ─ at a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends) that is today known as Fraserside Community Services Society.  I was usually a swamper on S.A.N.E.'s blue pick-up truck.

They then were housed in a building on Carnarvon Street, right where I believe that the New Westminster SkyTrain Station now opens up onto Carnarvon.

My employment was through a partnership that was in place between them and New Westminster social services ─ it was an employment initiatives or incentives programme.

However, on this day, I was expected to keep a 9:00 a.m. appointment set up for me by New Westminster social services ─ I usually rather dreaded these things because I never knew what to expect.

My bedtime the evening prior to this journal entry was 7:00 p.m.
FRIDAY, November 14, 1975

I overslept, not getting up till past 4:30 a.m.

I considered abandoning my 6 laps, but managed to convince myself to do them; back at home, it took 3 sets before I was able to complete the 400 leg-raises I generally get out of the way first thing in the morn.

I'm not anxious to keep my 9:00 a.m. tryst at the welfare office, this 25th day of the postal strike.

But keep it I did.  I was interviewed by an E. Skolseg from the Dept. of Health. 

It was nothing to fear; he discussed skill development.  But before anything further is done, he requires my doctor's name & address, plus my medical history.

I am to arrange for myself a physical, hopefully for during next week; an eye examination is also to be arranged.

Reba spoke with me when I first reported to the counter at the office.

I didn't work hard this morning, being only 15 minutes late; my partner is a Murray; Judy joined us in the truck for the 2nd half of the morn.

I really needed my lunch!

After, all I was faced with was a small dump load.

Gordy said he got permission for us to leave, probably just after 3:00 p.m., for the welfare office to wait amid the crowd for our incentive cheque; after getting mine and cashing it, I and my $50 came home in the rain.

I practically promised everyone I would attend a staff party tonight at Shirley's, and bring along some guys, but really I don't intend doing either.

I'll be in bed slightly short of 7:00 p.m.
I ran those half-dozen morning laps at the New Westminster Secondary School track.  

I don't recall who "Reba" was.  And my co-swamper "Murray" was likely a one-time thing. 

Judy was the eldest and beautiful daughter of my driver, Esther St. Jean ─ a delightful woman in her early 40s.

Although I do not say so, I likely went home for lunch.  I seem to have often done so, although I cannot remember it anymore.

I think "Gordy" may have been an irrationally talkative young fellow who had some challenges mentally.

I'm unsure of just who "Shirley" was ─ the hostess of the S.A.N.E. staff party.  Normally I was delighted to get bombed with the gang, but I was doing my best to keep early hours in a bid to enhance my fitness.

I was quite popular with the ladies of S.A.N.E., truth be told.
Post a Comment