The past two years- Just noticed I didn't publish this last December, here is....

As many of you have surmised, I haven't posted in a couple of years. Here is the past two years. In spring of 2012, as OU finished it's system of quarters, and switched to semesters, I finally finished my undergrad career, spanning some 20 years. And the following semester, I began grad school. Well the high points were easy to list. I swear the Athens Gods were out for me full time. I moved back to Athens the summer of 2011. Times were promising! A buddy of mine, who is a merchant marine, and spends his life at sea for 9-10 months of the year, said I could live for free at his house, just to have someone there, and do up keep on it. Sounded perf to me. Well, the neighbor, wow. Turns out I was also to help keep him a bit off step, he kept trying to move the property line. So I got to play the insane old vet. The houses, well, my buddies house, and the good neighbors houses, and this idiots tenement on wheels if they hadn't been removed were in the middle of nowhere. I soon made connection with the other neighbors and they were on board with the plan. The plan being, at 2 or 3 am, I would open up my private gun range. And flew a Jolly Roger outside the house next to an American flag. That was actually kinda fun, I would set my alarm, and unleash hell. The good neighbors were in on it. I used my night vision to watch this idiot freak out. In my tenure there he was genuinely afraid of me, and the property line moved back to where it should have been. Then the world caved in. Literally. It was the 4th of July, 2011, and I was working on the house, running satellite for both levels of the house (2 story, double apt style). I stepped on the first step of the stairs on the deck, and went through. But not all the way. I was kissing my left knee, stuck in what was the first step. Right leg dangled, was sure I broke my ribs. Did I mention I lived in no where? Yeah, I had to self extricate myself from the situation. And by extricate, I mean I sucked up the pain (no skin on my right back, broken ribs, various injuries), and hurled my self down the rest of the stairs, thinking, fuck it, I'm broke anyway. I rolled down the stairs to sweet mother fucking earth. And laid there. A while. Then realized, I should go to a hospital. And the next realization was I had my cell phone and my keys in my hands, and they were no longer with me. 30 minutes of crawling under the deck and stairs, I found everything that evacuated me, locked up the house, and crawled into my Jeep. I drove myself to the hospital, where the staff thought I was a whiner until I too my shirt off. They were impressed. I am still paying on those medical bills. Well, in the summer of 2012, I had to leave that house. And so did my buddy. Was rather sudden. Long story, legal complications not on our behalf. I moved in town. That was good for my health, I lost 20 pounds because I had to walk every where. Fall started, I started grad school, and found out I may have brought something back from Iraq with me, a bit of PTSD. One of my office mates was and Iraqi. Now, don't get me wrong. Yes, I fought in Iraq, but I don't hate Iraqi's or Muslims. And he is a super nice guy, very smart. But hearing him on the phone (constantly) talking in Arabic, got my brain in the wrong place. Now, most vets with PTSD don't get the way the media portrays, because that doesn't sell ads. I got really depressed, and couldn't concentrate, because I couldn't believe myself, and the way my subconscious reacted. Why would he upset me? I learned from him. My grades really plummeted, and I was advised to drop spring quarter. My adviser had went to college with several Vietnam vets, who had issues. More on that later. Earlier spring semester, I had some chest pains, and, true to me being myself, drove myself to the hospital in a snow storm. Being a big guy, usually when in a medical situation, they assume I am having heart problems, and therefore, my heart is one of the most studied organs in my body. And it is always healthy. And this turned out to be true this time. However, my potassium was a little low, and they put me in an ICU unit for 3 days. Of me feeling fine. I actually had to threaten them that I would pull my IV's and walk out. They had not given me my blood pressure meds, and were bitching my blood pressure was high, and they couldn't release me. I also had a schizophrenic roommate, who the ICU knew well, but couldn't/wouldn't give him his meds until his doctor could be contacted. Day one, he was kind of a nice guy in a bad way. Day three, he was constantly screaming at a little girl who wasn't there. I really hope he got the meds and help he needs. He was also about 6'4", 300 pounds. I don't often get scared of people. This man terrified me. On a fun note, I often took my IV for a walk, and purposely not wear underwear and not tie my gown up. The nurses loved me, and really worked to get me out. I kept them laughing. The Indian doctor, fuck him. He was the only one of the three doctors who thought I should be there, and was the one who denied my meds. I finally got out. Those are the big points. I'll post more later. Involving me apply for food stamps, being fired for the first time in my life, and being ten minutes from being homeless, and getting kicked from grad school. Just got to think of a funnier way to tell it. And all 9 of you are face book friends of me, so you know I broke my finger so bad it needed to be surgically repaired because of the Blackhawks winning the Stanley Cup again!