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Thursday, February 2, 2017

Yoga May Help Some with Low-Back Pain │ Warning Against Gout Medications │ Cancer Patients Should Not Neglect Depression Therapy

For the second consecutive night, I managed to get to bed by 11:00 p.m. or shortly thereafter, and was probably up this morning by around 7:30 a.m., with but one bathroom break overngiht.

Again, we have had a sunny day ─ when I was waiting for my coffee's water to boil this morning, I heard that it was -4º Celsius, but expected to elevate to 6º Celsius as the day's high.

Incidentally, I found myself home alone. I recollect that when I retired last night, neither of my two step-sons were home.

I learned from youngest step-son Poté this afternoon that he sometimes has to work at both of his part-time jobs on the same day. Thus, he worked this morning, and also has to show up at his other job later this afternoon.

Fortunately for him, both are in the same Guildford shopping complex.

The sunny day probably kept me from getting out to do some local shopping. I just feel too unpresentable, and wholly disinclined for public interaction at the physical level.

At least I finally finished and published the post I have been working on since January 24 at my Lawless Spirit website, even if it took me into the early noon-hour: What Is Holistic Meditation? II.

As I said yesterday, I would truly like to get into meditation, but I spend too many hours a day working on posts ─ each morning is devoted to one of my six hosted websites, while the afternoon belongs to this blog.

But as I have also said before, it just is not paying off. The whole purpose of getting involved in blogging in the Fall of 2008 was to try and eventually earn a second income, but I have never even approached such a feat. For example, in checking my AdSense account just prior to starting today's post, there was nothing there as yet today. And the previous two days have been total busts ─ not one penny to show for all my work.

I feel as if I am throwing away my life, and for nothing.

I may quit it all this year. Perhaps come the Summer, I will go silent. Besides, I seem to be doing no one a service with the sacrifice of my time.

For right now, though, here are a few more photos that my wife Jack took ─ probably back on November 4, 2016 ─ when she was back in the Nong Soong area near Udon Thani, Thailand. Nong Soong is maybe a 15-minute drive from that city.

The first three selfie photos appear to be taken from a highway median, while the fourth selfie looks as if she is probably across the highway:

A close-up of one of the flowers on that plant just above:

She then took this photo of these two decent-looking young chaps ─ I have no idea who they are:

Part of an outdoor meal on a woven mat:

And a selfie of Jack showing the better part of that mealtime mat ─ the seated woman is someone Jack has always referred to as her "sister cousin":


Apparently a recently published analysis of various studies has found that yoga can bring some relief for sufferers of chronic, non-specific, low-back pain ─ in other words, long-term pain with no identifiable cause such as an injury.

These are some of the fairly positive reports on that study:





But not everyone views this analysis quite without negativity:


If you are unfortunate enough to have this sort of low-back pain in your life, possibly the following website may offer you some helpful information:



I sure would hate to suffer from gout ─ I have enough problems

But if you suffer from it, there are a couple of reports that you should read warning about the medications prescribed for gout:



I very much like that statement in the latter report ─ the explanation of why physicians keep prescribing these dangerous medications for gout: "...Too many doctors have “skin in the game” when it comes to gout meds.


It most certainly stands to all reason that anyone battling cancer will probably also be battling anxiety and/or depression. Even the mainstream treatments will bring that emotional plunge on.



This is one element that has always personally concerned me. I do not have the psychological attitude to remain positive if I was ever to learn I had cancer. I am just too negative and lacking in the sort of self-respect that seems essential in waging a successful war against such a disease.


Well, time to 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 place in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

This was to be one of those days in which I hiked out to visit my mother Irene Dorosh in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey. The home she shared with her husband Alex was my main mailing address.

Although that house is now gone, its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. The hike to get there from my room was about 1½ hours of fast walking. 

I had been out drinking the evening before, and never got home until well beyond midnight.
MONDAY, February 2, 1976

Arose about 10:15 a.m. after some faint knocking; Gilles? About half an hour later I was off in a mist for mom's.

At Scott-town I bought 2 money orders ($12.50 and $13) and some Lifebuoy.

Mom wasn't home when I arrived, and didn't get back till about 2:20  p.m. with Phyllis, whom she had gone to visit and received a ride home from.

I ate too much, as usual.

For mail I had a $5 tithe receipt, a third $5 muscle building course offer, and an ad offering the Financial Times.

I've felt pretty bad all day. When I left Bill last night I said I'd come over tonight, but I changed my mind; I failed to reach him by phone to tell him. On my way to mom's it looked like he had his car returned already; his place was in darkness when I came by heading home.

Earlier I found a nickel along Scott.

I paid my rent tonight.

I wish Phyllis would quit about the supper she thinks she owes me; she invited me for tonight at her place, but I said I was stuffed.

Bed at 7:15 p.m.
I would never normally answer my door if I was not expecting someone, and they had not used a familiar knock and/or called out to me. Gilles was a nice French Canadian lad I had gotten to know through working together as swampers on a charitable organization's pick-up truck. On Friday, he had said that we would have to hook up soon.

Scottown is a shopping plaza at 96th Avenue & Scott Road (120th Street) in Surrey. It seems also to be spelled Scott Town. The Scott Road connection is obvious enough, but many people might not realize that 96th Avenue's old name was Townline Road. 

My younger brother Mark and I had helped our older maternal half-sister Phyllis move the previous day ─ just two loads. She seemed to want to reward me with a meal, but I wasn't all that comfortable spending time with her. Besides, I had my own routine and did not like disruptions like that interfering with things.

Perhaps I should add that Mark and I never grew up with her. We apparently knew her when we were pre-schoolers, but the first time she returned into our lives after that was when I was at least 10 years old.  

I was feeling "pretty bad" because of the drinking and the late night ─ not because I was not going to visit my old friend William Alan Gill. He was renting a bachelor suite that was maybe four or so blocks from my room.

He had been heavily involved in the previous night's drinking, and had gotten so drunk that someone had driven him home in his own car, promising to bring it back to him the next day.

That nickel that I found on Scott Road ─ I wrote "nickel" in my journal, but I was going to spell it "nickle" while typing it out here. The latter seemed to appear more correct. However, I would have been wrong if I had made the change.
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