Dr. Barnaby Oblivion
written this day of June 25, 2011 in Swaffham
There is little of my childhood that is needed to be understood at this point save that my mother spent her life, or at least most of it, in the Brineport Asylum. My mother’s childhood was fraught with difficulty and by the time she was twenty, and married, she had been in and out of hospitals most often being diagnosed with schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder. At the turn of the century, not this one my dear reader, I myself am past eighty years old, but that earlier one from long ago, there was little understanding of mental health and how is works in our bodies.
My mother bore a son and named him Barnaby. That is how I came into existence and why I believe after years of watching her suffer the dark magic effects of mental instability, that I myself came to be a doctor.
But as I said, most of my childhood, save my mother’s illness, relates directly to where I will begin my story. I begin just one week ago in my home in Swaffham. I have lived in this small village for nearly 50 years and have practiced my trade here as a doctor for most of them. Not a psychiatric doctor as one might think, but a basic doctor of physical ailments. And as I said, I was in my home one week ago listening to one of my favorite jazz albums from the New Zealand sensation Robyn Blackman. As I have been retired for nearly 10 years, I was at my usual location of late, the computer.
I have always enjoyed the crossword puzzle and upon retirement I found the game Sudoku. It has become my favorite. Early on I purchased the books of puzzles and when, three years back, the internet found its way into my home; I discovered the games on the computer. And I daresay I have had some success in challenges with others from around our fine globe!
And it is possible that this is the real beginning of my current state and why I have chosen to start my story here. In order to play in the “online” Sudoku games one needs to have a “username” and a secret password. I will not share my secret password, but I will say that I took ObivionDoc as my username in some of the games, and in others I used DrOblivion. I play often as I greatly enjoy games and puzzles. But the username took me to places I wish I had not gone.
The internet is full of strange and interesting places. I have Facebook and mail and even YouTube. I find YouTube very interesting. I have a place in eBay and I even shop at stores online. My friends at the Shearwater, my local pub, tell me I ma very advanced for my age. I always ask them if that is a compliment.
So back to my home with Mr. Blackman playing I find a place called Twitter on the internet. I look for Sudoku and there are many people talking about it in short bursts of words. My first though was, “My, what an illiterate group of people. They cannot even complete sentences!” But as I am sure my reader knows, and what I came to find out, was that you can only write for so long till you are stopped. But there was good information there so I created a person and as usual I named me OblivionDoc. It seemed there was already another DrOblivion out there. No matter. I have used both names.
So I manage to get to understand the Twitter and within an hour I see the following statement appear and it talking about me being on the telly!
“@cogdog @obliviondoc I’m unconvinced. The internet didn’t start as corporate silos, yet managed to be highly social. It’s only in the last +”
And you can imagine I was intrigued. Even frightened. It took a couple of hours to figure out that there was a group of interested parties conversing about some websites and pictures. It was clear that many of these people thought I was the teacher of the class. How ridiculous I thought! Can’t they see the teacher each day as they go to class? Apparently these people do not really go to school. I am at a loss for words over this situation. But no matter. Being interested in some adventure and being lonely and being retired, I figured if they think I am the teacher I shall act like it. That was a huge mistake I have come to realize.
As I latter found out the real teacher of the class, where ever he really is, is a fellow named Jim Groom. I saw him on YouTube. Never have I seen such a sick man. Even my mother’s sickness does not compare to the fractured personalities of Mr. Groom. He pretends to be well read placing himself in front of some books. Then he appears in a cave as a lunatic! All the while spraying his pupils with rubbish about schooling. Good lord, the man never even sees his students!
But I am a good man and mean no one harm. In fact, I am particularly sympathetic to Mr. Groom and his illness given my own background. So much so that I am working on his behalf to help himself.
That is where I shall leave this portion of the story. I will begin addressing Mr. Groom and his unique challenges in the next installment.