I've been trying to avoid this for awhile, but I have been feeling really different since I got out of hospital. Better in body, but different in mind.
It's not an epiphany or eureka moment or anything, just the realization that things aren't the same , nor should they be.
It's taken me two weeks to come to terms with two things:
1) I've got the Suicide Gene. It runs in my family. At some point in the not so distant past, I gave up on everything . Without consciously acknowledging it ,I had set out to meet my adolescent goal of Dead by Forty. Hell, I just barely made it to 39.
I must've been a pretty happy person if I felt like drinking until I puked enough blood to require several transfusions. I must've been pretty damn dedicated, because it took me years to accomplish.
I decided to put down the beer a couple days before I got sick. I drove myself to the ER after the bloody vomit started.
I wonder if I could've done that if I'd been drinking? Would I have even bothered? Unlikely.
The most vivid memory I have of the whole ordeal was looking at the yard-wide swath of black blood that I had just left on the wall and thinking, "that's exactly the same splash pattern on the wall as when I found Mom."
I would have died on the bathroom floor. Lovely.
It probably would have been days or even weeks until anyone found me. They'd probably find some bones and two enormously fat cats.
Which leads me to my second realization.
2) I now only have one cat . Opus , my ex-tom, has been missing since shortly after I got home from hospital. I've been hoping that somone will call, but since I found his collar under my futon, it's unlikely they will have my number. My vet is only a block away, and has a busy lost/found bulletin board. I recovered my other cat via the board a few years ago, but not this time.
If he could come home, he would come home.
I loved my kitty, and I will miss him, but it's not the end of the world. I hope someone good adopted him-once a stray, always a stray, I suppose.
Still, everything seems far-away at this moment. There's too much to process all at once. I need to regroup, establish a healthy routine for a while and plan my next battle carefully.
This time I swear it won't be with myself.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Told Ya So, But Now What?
I told ya that the BushCo GOPhers were slippier than a rabid pack of greased weasels. That turns out to be a gross "mis-underestimation". The Nixon Years begin to seem fairly benign in comparison. At least Nixon eventually got around to withdrawing from Viet Nam. Bush won't even discuss exit strategy with the press." Making progress". "It's hard work".
My question is: What took so long for them to start getting caught?
Any internet geek with any interest in politics has been hearing about the corruption of DeLay, Frist and Rove for years. Years! As of this writing , the TV news don't seem to realize that his replacement David Dreier (R-Hypocrite) is a closet homo. He's also a vehement Anti-Gay Crusader. I imagine Dreier won't be long for his appointment once the media find out about that-probably in 2007, given the current level of mainstream journalism.
Campaign fraud, insider trading and treasonous media leaks are just the pustulent whiteheads on the swollen, festering ass-pimples that comprise the Bush Administration.
Speaking of Bush, why the hell was he monitoring the Rita situation at NorthCom HQ on Sept. 24? NorthCom HQ is in Colorado- which everyone knows is prime Hurricane country- and is coincidently the default Command center in case of Martial Law. Interesting.
Sure were a lot a rabble-rousers out on the 24th. Did Georgie think that the rabble would become dangerously roused?
I wonder if he was watching this ? Refresh the page after you click link. What the hell are those five infra-red hot spots that just materialize on the left and rapidly vanish? Notice that Rita changes course significantly northward after these spots appear.Maybe they were trying some sort of extremely dicey weather-mod experiment , just to see what the fuck would happen, and W was "staying out of the way" in more ways than one.
I told ya about Chemtrails and Government Weather Manipulation Conspiracy. I just never believed it. Turns out that I was right. In fact the goddamn Bill ( s.517 109th Congress) goes into effect Oct. 1st.
Section Eight ( Funding) allows for a measly 10 million dollar annual budget. Any Bad Guy worth his salt knows you can't do shit with 10 million bucks. That's why Sec. 8, Paragraph C merits a second look. G'wan- look at the damn thing.
Ok, I'll paste it-it says exactly this:
c) GIFTS- The Board may accept, use, and dispose of gifts or donations of services or property.
That's it. One sentence. No limits, restrictions, details of accountablity-no details at about anything.
Who knows? Maybe it's just a way to get free ski trips from grateful resort owners , but it sure looks like it opens the door to unlimited corporate influence.
Shit. All the crazy paranoid shit I used to half-jokingly rant about is actually true, or at least close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades.
So with BushCo taking it on the political chin over-and-over these days, do you think they might try some sort of nightmare stunt in an attempt to regain some ground? They are possessed of the sort of unquenchably thirsty Evil that makes Dr. Doom start saying Hail Maries. Anything's possible, the only thing we know for certain is that, if such a move is made, they'll FUBAR the whole thing. Badly. Probably badly enough for all sorts of Medals and no-bid contracts to be awarded to the guilty at the expense of the innocent.
For five (5) FIVE! years , our nation has been in the hands of evil madmen, and most of you (not you, I know you knew) are just NOW getting a clue that King George is doing a somewhat less than great job? Sheesh.
I hate to say it, bit I told ya so.
My question is: What took so long for them to start getting caught?
Any internet geek with any interest in politics has been hearing about the corruption of DeLay, Frist and Rove for years. Years! As of this writing , the TV news don't seem to realize that his replacement David Dreier (R-Hypocrite) is a closet homo. He's also a vehement Anti-Gay Crusader. I imagine Dreier won't be long for his appointment once the media find out about that-probably in 2007, given the current level of mainstream journalism.
Campaign fraud, insider trading and treasonous media leaks are just the pustulent whiteheads on the swollen, festering ass-pimples that comprise the Bush Administration.
Speaking of Bush, why the hell was he monitoring the Rita situation at NorthCom HQ on Sept. 24? NorthCom HQ is in Colorado- which everyone knows is prime Hurricane country- and is coincidently the default Command center in case of Martial Law. Interesting.
Sure were a lot a rabble-rousers out on the 24th. Did Georgie think that the rabble would become dangerously roused?
I wonder if he was watching this ? Refresh the page after you click link. What the hell are those five infra-red hot spots that just materialize on the left and rapidly vanish? Notice that Rita changes course significantly northward after these spots appear.Maybe they were trying some sort of extremely dicey weather-mod experiment , just to see what the fuck would happen, and W was "staying out of the way" in more ways than one.
I told ya about Chemtrails and Government Weather Manipulation Conspiracy. I just never believed it. Turns out that I was right. In fact the goddamn Bill ( s.517 109th Congress) goes into effect Oct. 1st.
Section Eight ( Funding) allows for a measly 10 million dollar annual budget. Any Bad Guy worth his salt knows you can't do shit with 10 million bucks. That's why Sec. 8, Paragraph C merits a second look. G'wan- look at the damn thing.
Ok, I'll paste it-it says exactly this:
c) GIFTS- The Board may accept, use, and dispose of gifts or donations of services or property.
That's it. One sentence. No limits, restrictions, details of accountablity-no details at about anything.
Who knows? Maybe it's just a way to get free ski trips from grateful resort owners , but it sure looks like it opens the door to unlimited corporate influence.
Shit. All the crazy paranoid shit I used to half-jokingly rant about is actually true, or at least close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades.
So with BushCo taking it on the political chin over-and-over these days, do you think they might try some sort of nightmare stunt in an attempt to regain some ground? They are possessed of the sort of unquenchably thirsty Evil that makes Dr. Doom start saying Hail Maries. Anything's possible, the only thing we know for certain is that, if such a move is made, they'll FUBAR the whole thing. Badly. Probably badly enough for all sorts of Medals and no-bid contracts to be awarded to the guilty at the expense of the innocent.
For five (5) FIVE! years , our nation has been in the hands of evil madmen, and most of you (not you, I know you knew) are just NOW getting a clue that King George is doing a somewhat less than great job? Sheesh.
I hate to say it, bit I told ya so.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
The Truth Will Set You Crazy
It would be easy to blame the mainstream media's 24/7 'Cane-a Thon coverage for missing this story, so I will. If you were lucky, maybe you saw a bit about British tanks 'rescuing' two Brit SAS operatives from an Iraqi jail. 150 other prisoners escaped during the chaotic jailbreak.
4 were killed.
On the surface, that's pretty dramatic sounding, but if you think about this, it becomes clear that something is deeply fucked up. Why would "Coalition" forces be rescuing UK Special Forces personnel from our ostensible allies, the Iraqi police? Breaking down prison walls with tanks? What happened?
Well, the two SAS were arrested after they opened fire on civilians, which should get you arrested anywhere in the world. At least one Iraqi policeman was killed.
Oddly, the two SAS chaps were wearing Arab clothing and bushy false beards and had a load of hi-explosives in the trunk, along with a small arsenal. Huh?
From Occupation Day One , rumours of US involvement in staging 'terror attacks' have been rampant on the 'Arab street' , but were dismissed , even by most Arabs. It was just a bit too paranoid.
But then again, the white man didn't believe that gorillas existed until they caught one. Actually, they killed it , but I digress.
Well, the Iraqi police, whom the Brits trained, caught two guerrillas , and the British Army was willing to kill to get them back.
Perhaps the anecdotes in the Arab press about US/UK counter-counter insurgency have more than a whiff of truth, after all. I mean, we were fucking great at that kinda thing in Central America back in the good ol' Contra '80's. But it doesn't seem to make sense in Iraq.
Or does it?
Does BushCo really want a stable , secure and sovereign Iraq? It doesn't seem like they do. An independent Iraq would almost certainly become an Islamic theocracy- probably propped up by Iran- and we'd eventually wind up having to defer to their oily evilness much in the same way our Government kisses Saudi ass, unless we're willing to start a all-out global war with everyone except most of Europe and maybe Canada against us. We can fight in Afghanistan! War forever in the Middle East! Let's re-start the Korean War!How 'bout that mess in Taiwan? Let's get into that one too. I wouldn't worry too much about it , the Japanese are used to getting nuked. Don't forget the Venezuela Menace. I disagree with Pat Robertson. I think we should start an expensive war with Chavez, not assassinate him. War at the drop of a hat as long as the money flows one way and the blood goes the other. That's the Project for the New American Century.
The UK plans on withdrawing from Iraq in spring 2006. Maybe Blair finally figured out that he is the "bottom" in his relationship with our Glorious Leader. He suffers from strong Bush Taint. Whatever the reason ( common sense would suffice) , perhaps this news has given the UK troops a case of "Short-Timers Attitude"- you know , like when you only have a few days left at a job you hate and you start fucking up, screwing off and doing anything but work.
Perhaps , like the unpleasantness at Abu Ghraib, these were just a couple bad apples blowing off steam. Sure.
If our allies are staging terror attacks, we probably are too. This sounds so insane that even I have a hard time believing it, even though I would bet cash that it's true.
Did I mention the US Army is in the market for a bulk supply of Anthrax? Well, they are.
How did that 2001 Anthrax mailing investigation turn out any way? oh. Nevermind.
Where is Osama? It's been four years. It wouldn't shock me to find out that there is a " if you don't blow up US targets while I'm in power, I won't have you killed" deal in place. Either that or our assassins are as hapless against Osama as they were against Castro.
Since it's NFL season, let's remember Pat Tillman. It seems his parents have a serious beef with the Pentagon.
Damn, the Gulf Coast is a mess. If I were Vicente Fox, I'd wait for the remaining Guard units to get sent to liberate Syria or Iran or Venezeula. Then I'd invade and annex Texas and the Gulf.
What's that?
It's already been done?
Wow. That was quick.
4 were killed.
On the surface, that's pretty dramatic sounding, but if you think about this, it becomes clear that something is deeply fucked up. Why would "Coalition" forces be rescuing UK Special Forces personnel from our ostensible allies, the Iraqi police? Breaking down prison walls with tanks? What happened?
Well, the two SAS were arrested after they opened fire on civilians, which should get you arrested anywhere in the world. At least one Iraqi policeman was killed.
Oddly, the two SAS chaps were wearing Arab clothing and bushy false beards and had a load of hi-explosives in the trunk, along with a small arsenal. Huh?
From Occupation Day One , rumours of US involvement in staging 'terror attacks' have been rampant on the 'Arab street' , but were dismissed , even by most Arabs. It was just a bit too paranoid.
But then again, the white man didn't believe that gorillas existed until they caught one. Actually, they killed it , but I digress.
Well, the Iraqi police, whom the Brits trained, caught two guerrillas , and the British Army was willing to kill to get them back.
Perhaps the anecdotes in the Arab press about US/UK counter-counter insurgency have more than a whiff of truth, after all. I mean, we were fucking great at that kinda thing in Central America back in the good ol' Contra '80's. But it doesn't seem to make sense in Iraq.
Or does it?
Does BushCo really want a stable , secure and sovereign Iraq? It doesn't seem like they do. An independent Iraq would almost certainly become an Islamic theocracy- probably propped up by Iran- and we'd eventually wind up having to defer to their oily evilness much in the same way our Government kisses Saudi ass, unless we're willing to start a all-out global war with everyone except most of Europe and maybe Canada against us. We can fight in Afghanistan! War forever in the Middle East! Let's re-start the Korean War!How 'bout that mess in Taiwan? Let's get into that one too. I wouldn't worry too much about it , the Japanese are used to getting nuked. Don't forget the Venezuela Menace. I disagree with Pat Robertson. I think we should start an expensive war with Chavez, not assassinate him. War at the drop of a hat as long as the money flows one way and the blood goes the other. That's the Project for the New American Century.
The UK plans on withdrawing from Iraq in spring 2006. Maybe Blair finally figured out that he is the "bottom" in his relationship with our Glorious Leader. He suffers from strong Bush Taint. Whatever the reason ( common sense would suffice) , perhaps this news has given the UK troops a case of "Short-Timers Attitude"- you know , like when you only have a few days left at a job you hate and you start fucking up, screwing off and doing anything but work.
Perhaps , like the unpleasantness at Abu Ghraib, these were just a couple bad apples blowing off steam. Sure.
If our allies are staging terror attacks, we probably are too. This sounds so insane that even I have a hard time believing it, even though I would bet cash that it's true.
Did I mention the US Army is in the market for a bulk supply of Anthrax? Well, they are.
How did that 2001 Anthrax mailing investigation turn out any way? oh. Nevermind.
Where is Osama? It's been four years. It wouldn't shock me to find out that there is a " if you don't blow up US targets while I'm in power, I won't have you killed" deal in place. Either that or our assassins are as hapless against Osama as they were against Castro.
Since it's NFL season, let's remember Pat Tillman. It seems his parents have a serious beef with the Pentagon.
Damn, the Gulf Coast is a mess. If I were Vicente Fox, I'd wait for the remaining Guard units to get sent to liberate Syria or Iran or Venezeula. Then I'd invade and annex Texas and the Gulf.
What's that?
It's already been done?
Wow. That was quick.
Monday, September 26, 2005
My Second First Day
Today I went to work for a Giant Document Company inside a law firm that I used to temp at when the firm was at a different location. When my new position was created, the manager tracked me down on the internet and offered me the job. We had an obligatory interview and now I've got a picture ID that makes doors open. Neat!
Boss was giving me a tour of the new building- it's very nice. The building is less than a year old and everything is new and shiny and hasn't broken yet. This is a real change from Bank o' Generica. (The fax machine at BoG had a tag on it that proclaimed it to be " Y2K Compliant". I had to think a minute -what the hell is Y2K? Oh)
We went to the kitchen for some fresh, free coffee and I saw Larry. Larry's about a million years old. He used to serve coffee at the Psuedo-Starbucks in the lobby at the firm's old building.
Now he works for the new building management.
His new job? BreakRoom King.
Larry makes sure that all 20 break rooms are clean and supplied with four varieties of fresh, hot coffee. He changes the Co2 for the soda fountains. Larry makes the world a better place. Without Larry, no work would get done.
After seeing the usual copy room, mail center and supply room stuff , it was paperwork time. I hadn't filled out an I-9 or W-4 in a long time. It felt good. No more temping!
I've been temping so long, that I'd forgotten what a "real" office job was like. Temps never get called into slow-paced environments. This place is less than hectic by my standards.
I'm used to noise and chaos and bad tempers. Instead I get coffee and invited to join the football pool. The Bank wouldn't even allow a 'for money' football pool. What's the point without the money?
The work itself is mundane, but pleasant. I sit at a computer and move data around. There's no hurry. Sometimes I print something and attach a cover sheet with a name printed on it. I put it in an outbox. Every 30 minutes or so a young woman with freakishly long and brightly painted fingernails comes by and scrabbles them up. It would be easier for her to do things if she didn't have 8-inch curlique nails. I bet she's a Temp.
On an enviro-note, the bus stop directly in front of my living room window is a straight shot to within two blocks of the new office. I can literally sit inside and watch for the bus, and I don't have to deal with traffic or parking.
Oh yeah, did I mention that the job comes with free membership in the full-size fitness center (gym) on the lower floor? It does. If I had a family, they would also have free memberships. Sadly, it doesn't have a pool. I need to get in shape- now I have no excuse for not exercising. Dammit! Every job has it's down side, I suppose.
Boss was giving me a tour of the new building- it's very nice. The building is less than a year old and everything is new and shiny and hasn't broken yet. This is a real change from Bank o' Generica. (The fax machine at BoG had a tag on it that proclaimed it to be " Y2K Compliant". I had to think a minute -what the hell is Y2K? Oh)
We went to the kitchen for some fresh, free coffee and I saw Larry. Larry's about a million years old. He used to serve coffee at the Psuedo-Starbucks in the lobby at the firm's old building.
Now he works for the new building management.
His new job? BreakRoom King.
Larry makes sure that all 20 break rooms are clean and supplied with four varieties of fresh, hot coffee. He changes the Co2 for the soda fountains. Larry makes the world a better place. Without Larry, no work would get done.
After seeing the usual copy room, mail center and supply room stuff , it was paperwork time. I hadn't filled out an I-9 or W-4 in a long time. It felt good. No more temping!
I've been temping so long, that I'd forgotten what a "real" office job was like. Temps never get called into slow-paced environments. This place is less than hectic by my standards.
I'm used to noise and chaos and bad tempers. Instead I get coffee and invited to join the football pool. The Bank wouldn't even allow a 'for money' football pool. What's the point without the money?
The work itself is mundane, but pleasant. I sit at a computer and move data around. There's no hurry. Sometimes I print something and attach a cover sheet with a name printed on it. I put it in an outbox. Every 30 minutes or so a young woman with freakishly long and brightly painted fingernails comes by and scrabbles them up. It would be easier for her to do things if she didn't have 8-inch curlique nails. I bet she's a Temp.
On an enviro-note, the bus stop directly in front of my living room window is a straight shot to within two blocks of the new office. I can literally sit inside and watch for the bus, and I don't have to deal with traffic or parking.
Oh yeah, did I mention that the job comes with free membership in the full-size fitness center (gym) on the lower floor? It does. If I had a family, they would also have free memberships. Sadly, it doesn't have a pool. I need to get in shape- now I have no excuse for not exercising. Dammit! Every job has it's down side, I suppose.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Geeks and Saviors
I had a follow-up Doc visit yesterday-everything's OK, but he discouraged me from going to DC- if one of my little internal healing do-hickies went BLOOEY! it could be big trouble. Prolonged yelling is also prohibited for a couple more weeks.
So I guess I'll just sit here and wait for someone else to save the world.
I'm pretty much a sci-fi geek, but I'm not really clear on what Star Trek event/series of events led to creation of the Federation of Planets. What kind of system is that anyway? Is it a system?
It's like a utopian blend of Marxism, Globalism (Universalism?), Technocracy, Colonialism ,Socialism and some sort of vague (to me) Parliamentary Council Rule- but I'm not sure if they are elected or appointed. All the shape-shifting and time-traveling makes it very confusing. At least I've never heard the Electoral College mentioned on Star Trek.
(Digression: I hate Time-Machines. The first time was great, but the TM has since become a sad device for advancing otherwise unworkable plots and storylines. Enough with the time travel already!)
But on the spaceships, it's like a high-tech Marxist commune with a strict militaristic hierarchy of command. Everyone does the job they are best suited for. All personal needs are supplied by the State (Federation) , so there is no currency. Everyone is fulfilled and content- life is so good that they've even removed alcohol from liqour. This sort of thing could never happen. People are inherently rotten, so some vicious, petty bastard would take over and ruin everything. That always happens in real-life.
So I guess I'll just sit here and wait for someone else to save the world.
I'm pretty much a sci-fi geek, but I'm not really clear on what Star Trek event/series of events led to creation of the Federation of Planets. What kind of system is that anyway? Is it a system?
It's like a utopian blend of Marxism, Globalism (Universalism?), Technocracy, Colonialism ,Socialism and some sort of vague (to me) Parliamentary Council Rule- but I'm not sure if they are elected or appointed. All the shape-shifting and time-traveling makes it very confusing. At least I've never heard the Electoral College mentioned on Star Trek.
(Digression: I hate Time-Machines. The first time was great, but the TM has since become a sad device for advancing otherwise unworkable plots and storylines. Enough with the time travel already!)
But on the spaceships, it's like a high-tech Marxist commune with a strict militaristic hierarchy of command. Everyone does the job they are best suited for. All personal needs are supplied by the State (Federation) , so there is no currency. Everyone is fulfilled and content- life is so good that they've even removed alcohol from liqour. This sort of thing could never happen. People are inherently rotten, so some vicious, petty bastard would take over and ruin everything. That always happens in real-life.
So how about Superman? Can't he rescue us? Don't be silly. Just be glad that there isn't really a Superman. He'd be the Enforcer for Dick Chene...er...I mean Lex Luthor. Nah, I meant Dick Cheney. Our current administration would probably wind up with Bizarro Superman, who would destroy everything and then get a Medal of Bizarro Freedom for his accomplishments.
Forget about Batman and Spidey and all the other little guys. Those guys can't even get laid. A Billionaire Philanthropist and a journalist with integrity? Let me know when you find these creatures. I will trade you my breeding pair of Dodo birds for them.
How about Godzilla and his ilk? I saw an old newsreel with the somewhat reactionary title 'Destroy All Monsters!' a while ago, and apparently a mutant menagerie of giant radioactive monsters started trashing cities all over the world. This must have been a long time ago, because there isn't any cam-corder footage , just some grainy film I saw on the History Channel at 3 a.m. in a San Diego hotel. I forget how-I was drinking at the time- but somehow all the nations of the world banded together and stopped the monsters. Everyone was getting along-except the 10 million or so dead people. They didn't even get a statue or a theme park or anything.
This was a long time ago, but you don't hear it mentioned on the news much these days. The Japanese aren't quite as squeamish about the Bomb as they used to be, but they'd like to wipe Monster Island off the history books forever. If you don't believe me, check this. The Japanese are really good at historical revision, which is odd, since history is traditionally written by the victors.
Jesus? Have you even glanced at Revelations? YIKES! I'd rather be invaded by Martians than caught up in the Cross-Fire of Armageddon. I doubt that many (if any) self-professed christians are actually virtuous enough for Ascension. This means that everybody gets "Left Behind", not just poor black children. Stuck on Earth with billions of religious fundamentalists with marginal personalities and apocalypse fetishes? That sure sounds like Hell to me. Sarte was right, he just didn't grasp the scale.
The only ones who seem to having a good time in this pic are the guys sporting horns on their heads. Even the naked people in heaven look miserable, which makes sense. If the way to heaven involves guilt, abstinence and sexual repression, then you probably ain't gettin' any in the after-life either. And that's for Eternity. Even my dry spells don't last that long.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
I Wonder About Stuff , Ask Questions
I can ask questions faster than I can type, so I'll never catch up with myself, much less the external world. So I won't even try.
However, some things have been nagging at me for awhile. In no particular order:
1) Did I recently kill somone or was it assisted suicide? An accident?
Some background: My car is a beater. The wheels tend to fall off at the worst possible times ( Midnight on Christmas Night in the middle of nowhere-true story!) I carry extra oil, brake fluid, duct tape, sledgehammers , blankets, knives, matches, lots of books, road flares, emergency food and water and coolant with me at all times.
The coolant is a 60/40 coolant/H2O mix that I keep in an old 64 oz. Gatorade jug. It's almost exactly the same color as lemon-lime Gatorade.
I almost never lock my car. Years ago, I locked my keys in my car at a friend's wedding. Another guest, who was fresh out of prison, showed me how to break into my car using no tools and breaking no windows. Takes 30 seconds.
So anyway, a few weeks ago, I went to the sub shop at lunch and parked next to a couple vanloads of day laborers. Went inside, got my sub, went back to work. Ate.
Leaving work that evening, I decided to pour some coolant into my radiator before I headed home.
Except the Gatorade jug is gone. It's nowhere to be found. I saw it that morning.
Did someone steal it, thinking it was a soft drink, and accidently drink warm anti-freeze instead of sports drink?
I'd be lying if part of me doesn't say, "I fucking hope so".
I'm glad my Inner Sociopath hasn't entirely vanished.
2) Do I want to know about this shit?
Some people I volunteer with seem to have polarized into two camps while I was in the hospital. There was an Incident. I do not know any details, but I keep hearing second-hand BS and it's really hampering communication and organization efforts. For example, we had an ill-planned Katrina benefit Friday- I got a last minute call to do sound. When I think of doing live sound it should either be:
a) PA system already in place, ready to set up mics , sound check and go on.
b) Get in very early, set up PA , see a) above.
This was C) , for Confusion. There's a couple guys I don't know setting up a PA with cables that looked like squirrels have been chewing on them. Suddenly it starts feeding back- EEEEEEEE...piercing shriek... AAAAAHHHH...!!! Everything's plugged into the wrong place-it's amazing that the speakers just didn't explode. I turn one knob, press one button and re-route one cable. I'm post-hospital tired and am not ready to deal with this. I leave this mess in the hands of the PA guys who brought it. I go downstairs and shoot a couple games of pool with some friends. I don't see many people from the station and the few that I do see seem confused and disorganized. Loud clubs are boring if you aren't drunk. I leave before midnight.
Back to the schism gossip problem. It seems that some people thought that the whole benefit concert was to be managed by myself, since it involved live music. Because Person A isn't talking to Person B, the planners did not know I was in Intensive Care and not really capable of planning any events more complex than avoiding another bedpan mishap.
Today I went in to record some interviews. Person A asked me how much money we raised.
I have no idea-I had nothing to do with any of it.
Have I talked to Person B about Project X?
Yes , I have. Everything they said contradicts what you just told me. Besides, it's over now anyway.
No, I don't want to hear about it. Leave me out of your squabbles and don't assign projects to me without informing me about it.
No one knows which side I'm taking. This is good, because I'm like fucking Switzerland when it comes to stupid work arguements.
(Aside: What if the Swiss have Nukes? Maybe they should.)
The spat has been tainting my email inbox. As in , "FWD: Stupid Shit". Can I believe the email that person A sent to B or vice/versa?
I dunno. I delete all that shit without reading it. That's why I gave a blank stare when asked for comment.
I don't know what you are fighting about, but it's a safe bet that you are both wrong.
However, some things have been nagging at me for awhile. In no particular order:
1) Did I recently kill somone or was it assisted suicide? An accident?
Some background: My car is a beater. The wheels tend to fall off at the worst possible times ( Midnight on Christmas Night in the middle of nowhere-true story!) I carry extra oil, brake fluid, duct tape, sledgehammers , blankets, knives, matches, lots of books, road flares, emergency food and water and coolant with me at all times.
The coolant is a 60/40 coolant/H2O mix that I keep in an old 64 oz. Gatorade jug. It's almost exactly the same color as lemon-lime Gatorade.
I almost never lock my car. Years ago, I locked my keys in my car at a friend's wedding. Another guest, who was fresh out of prison, showed me how to break into my car using no tools and breaking no windows. Takes 30 seconds.
So anyway, a few weeks ago, I went to the sub shop at lunch and parked next to a couple vanloads of day laborers. Went inside, got my sub, went back to work. Ate.
Leaving work that evening, I decided to pour some coolant into my radiator before I headed home.
Except the Gatorade jug is gone. It's nowhere to be found. I saw it that morning.
Did someone steal it, thinking it was a soft drink, and accidently drink warm anti-freeze instead of sports drink?
I'd be lying if part of me doesn't say, "I fucking hope so".
I'm glad my Inner Sociopath hasn't entirely vanished.
2) Do I want to know about this shit?
Some people I volunteer with seem to have polarized into two camps while I was in the hospital. There was an Incident. I do not know any details, but I keep hearing second-hand BS and it's really hampering communication and organization efforts. For example, we had an ill-planned Katrina benefit Friday- I got a last minute call to do sound. When I think of doing live sound it should either be:
a) PA system already in place, ready to set up mics , sound check and go on.
b) Get in very early, set up PA , see a) above.
This was C) , for Confusion. There's a couple guys I don't know setting up a PA with cables that looked like squirrels have been chewing on them. Suddenly it starts feeding back- EEEEEEEE...piercing shriek... AAAAAHHHH...!!! Everything's plugged into the wrong place-it's amazing that the speakers just didn't explode. I turn one knob, press one button and re-route one cable. I'm post-hospital tired and am not ready to deal with this. I leave this mess in the hands of the PA guys who brought it. I go downstairs and shoot a couple games of pool with some friends. I don't see many people from the station and the few that I do see seem confused and disorganized. Loud clubs are boring if you aren't drunk. I leave before midnight.
Back to the schism gossip problem. It seems that some people thought that the whole benefit concert was to be managed by myself, since it involved live music. Because Person A isn't talking to Person B, the planners did not know I was in Intensive Care and not really capable of planning any events more complex than avoiding another bedpan mishap.
Today I went in to record some interviews. Person A asked me how much money we raised.
I have no idea-I had nothing to do with any of it.
Have I talked to Person B about Project X?
Yes , I have. Everything they said contradicts what you just told me. Besides, it's over now anyway.
No, I don't want to hear about it. Leave me out of your squabbles and don't assign projects to me without informing me about it.
No one knows which side I'm taking. This is good, because I'm like fucking Switzerland when it comes to stupid work arguements.
(Aside: What if the Swiss have Nukes? Maybe they should.)
The spat has been tainting my email inbox. As in , "FWD: Stupid Shit". Can I believe the email that person A sent to B or vice/versa?
I dunno. I delete all that shit without reading it. That's why I gave a blank stare when asked for comment.
I don't know what you are fighting about, but it's a safe bet that you are both wrong.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Did I Just Get A 'Real' Job?
I've been home from hospital for one week today. I feel really good.
Tomorrow I go to my New Job to fill out my I-9's and paperwork.
Yep.
New Job, not of the temp variety. Paid Vacations- Medical,Dental and Vision. Strong possibility of advancement. Free coffee and soda in the break room. No customer service calls. I will do things like send emails to Document Storage asking them why they scanned only the blank sides of a 90-page deposition that I need as a PDF ASAP. Or something. The tables in the conference rooms are ideal for playing paper football if I can't find anything better to do with the documents.
It's in a Law Firm I temped at once. I must've done a good job, 'cause the Boss went through the trouble of finding me on Google in order to offer me the job. He said I might have to pee in a cup, but he'd give me a few weeks notice beforehand. I can work with that.
Tomorrow I go to my New Job to fill out my I-9's and paperwork.
Yep.
New Job, not of the temp variety. Paid Vacations- Medical,Dental and Vision. Strong possibility of advancement. Free coffee and soda in the break room. No customer service calls. I will do things like send emails to Document Storage asking them why they scanned only the blank sides of a 90-page deposition that I need as a PDF ASAP. Or something. The tables in the conference rooms are ideal for playing paper football if I can't find anything better to do with the documents.
It's in a Law Firm I temped at once. I must've done a good job, 'cause the Boss went through the trouble of finding me on Google in order to offer me the job. He said I might have to pee in a cup, but he'd give me a few weeks notice beforehand. I can work with that.
Friday, September 16, 2005
How I Almost Died,But Didn't, Pt.4
SAT : I wake up in a strange, stainless world. I'm staring at a rectangular checkerboard of mostly white squares. It must be a checkerboard, because these red discs keep jumping each other. Some tiny yellow comets fly around the edge of the board. I think these count for extra points if you can catch them, but I can't move my hands. I go back to sleep. I dream of comets and rainy houses.
When I wake again, I realize I'm staring up at the backlit grille of a fluorescent ceiling light. The comets and discs are gone. There's a clock on the wall. 4'oclock. AM or PM? This room is all blinking machines and stainless steel fixtures. It's not the sort of room that accommodates windows and sunlight. Serious shit happens in this place, you can tell just from the number of different beeping devices and the frequent and urgent-sounded PA calls.
Yes, they really do say "Code Blue". They're saying it now, but it's not for me. I go back to sleep.
Some Bald Guy wakes me up. He looks a lot like me. He needs my blood. Check my temp. Blood Pressure.
There are great many tubes in my arms. The hoses lead to something behind me, but I can't turn to see what. More IV's I guess. What day is it?
Bald Nurse tells me it's early Saturday morning. I've had two more endoscopic operations, for a total of three in 48 hours. That's a lot. He tells me that if I hadn't got to the ER when I did, I probably would've died, but the docs found all the holes in my guts and "clipped" 'em shut. They'll explain it to me soon. I should get some rest.
I rest in 45-minute intervals. Every 45 minutes someone checks my vitals. Sometimes they stab me. Sometimes they squeeze me. They always poke me. Stab. Poke. Squeeze. Does this hurt? Deep breath. Say ...aaahhh. Scream aaarrrgghhh!!!
I should get some rest.
I should get some rest.
I am forced to request Valium. Amazingly, the Doc oks it , no problem. Comin' right up. Straight into the ol' IV. That's a kick-ass delivery system. I finally get some rest.
For lunch, I get chicken broth, jello and a lecture on alcoholism from an earnest intern. Blah, blah, support system, blah,twelve steps, blah blah, groups and meetings, blah blah, etc.
I feel like hitting this intern with my juice box, but lack the strength. The cliches continue. I promise I'll be a good boy.
I mean it. I threw up enough blood to die. I was sober when it happened, so I remember exactly what it was like. It was horrible. I was looking straight into Death and it scared the shit out of me. It scared me because I wasn't sure if I cared enough to even bother trying to save myself at the time. I really did consider just letting myself bleed out on my bathroom floor. I didn't consider for it long, though, which I guess proves that I'm not as depressed as my friends think I am.
I've quit drinking before, but never because the next beer will kill me. That should serve as suitable incentive.
No AA meetings for me. I hate those things. Dark , smoky basements with desperate coffee and recycled horror stories that are just a little bit too bad to be good and too good to be true.
The Other Doc has a much better sales pitch. He tells me that if I never drink again, I'll probably live to be 100. If I drink again , I'll die. Painfully and without dignity.
My choice.
I only need one step for my recovery program.
When I wake again, I realize I'm staring up at the backlit grille of a fluorescent ceiling light. The comets and discs are gone. There's a clock on the wall. 4'oclock. AM or PM? This room is all blinking machines and stainless steel fixtures. It's not the sort of room that accommodates windows and sunlight. Serious shit happens in this place, you can tell just from the number of different beeping devices and the frequent and urgent-sounded PA calls.
Yes, they really do say "Code Blue". They're saying it now, but it's not for me. I go back to sleep.
Some Bald Guy wakes me up. He looks a lot like me. He needs my blood. Check my temp. Blood Pressure.
There are great many tubes in my arms. The hoses lead to something behind me, but I can't turn to see what. More IV's I guess. What day is it?
Bald Nurse tells me it's early Saturday morning. I've had two more endoscopic operations, for a total of three in 48 hours. That's a lot. He tells me that if I hadn't got to the ER when I did, I probably would've died, but the docs found all the holes in my guts and "clipped" 'em shut. They'll explain it to me soon. I should get some rest.
I rest in 45-minute intervals. Every 45 minutes someone checks my vitals. Sometimes they stab me. Sometimes they squeeze me. They always poke me. Stab. Poke. Squeeze. Does this hurt? Deep breath. Say ...aaahhh. Scream aaarrrgghhh!!!
I should get some rest.
I should get some rest.
I am forced to request Valium. Amazingly, the Doc oks it , no problem. Comin' right up. Straight into the ol' IV. That's a kick-ass delivery system. I finally get some rest.
For lunch, I get chicken broth, jello and a lecture on alcoholism from an earnest intern. Blah, blah, support system, blah,twelve steps, blah blah, groups and meetings, blah blah, etc.
I feel like hitting this intern with my juice box, but lack the strength. The cliches continue. I promise I'll be a good boy.
I mean it. I threw up enough blood to die. I was sober when it happened, so I remember exactly what it was like. It was horrible. I was looking straight into Death and it scared the shit out of me. It scared me because I wasn't sure if I cared enough to even bother trying to save myself at the time. I really did consider just letting myself bleed out on my bathroom floor. I didn't consider for it long, though, which I guess proves that I'm not as depressed as my friends think I am.
I've quit drinking before, but never because the next beer will kill me. That should serve as suitable incentive.
No AA meetings for me. I hate those things. Dark , smoky basements with desperate coffee and recycled horror stories that are just a little bit too bad to be good and too good to be true.
The Other Doc has a much better sales pitch. He tells me that if I never drink again, I'll probably live to be 100. If I drink again , I'll die. Painfully and without dignity.
My choice.
I only need one step for my recovery program.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Betcha Didn't Know: A Digression
Betcha didn't know today is my 39th birthday. I bought myself ice cream.
I'm allowed to have ice cream.
I'm allowed to have ice cream.
How I Almost Died,But Didn't, Pt.3
FRI: A new curtain cube. This one is a cube within a cube. It's got a TV mounted on the wall. Sunlight enters from a window somewhere behind the sickly-green curtain on my right. I see the sillouhette of a large , bed-ridden man. I think he's reading a paperback.
I'm distracted by the nurses setting up my EKG and IV's .
Wow. I'm getting a blood transfusion- how cool is that?
I remember breaking my arm when I was a kid , and how proud I was when my class-mates took turns signing my cast. I wish someone was here to sign my blood transfusion. My saline drip must have some dope in it, because I keep slipping in and out of a weird dreaming state. Am I talking to that person? I hope not, because they aren't there. What language was I speaking? I seem to know so many. How did I get outside? Don't they know it's raining? Look at the ocean rise...
Eventually, the world becomes nearly solid.
Just as I'm getting my bearings ( actually, it was more like six hours later), a Serious Young Doc comes in and sits down slightly behind my left shoulder. I don't like him. I can't look at him without twisting my neck, but he can stare at me over my shoulder. I hate this.
He wants to talk about my drinking.
I save him some time and tell him I already know that I'm an alcoholic.
He asks me when my last drink was.
Two days ago, I tell him, but I went on a Labor Day bender...
Did I know that I was going through alcoholic withdrawal?
Shit. No, I did not know that. This spooks me. Aren't the DT's all about seeing elephants and feeling bugs crawling all over and stuff?
Nope. I'm not having DT's , but my heart-rate and BP are through the roof and it ain't helping with the nausea either. My body temp is a balmy 101.
Heres the deal, he explains: I've got a bleeding ulcer and a thing called Mallory-Weiss tear , which is a bleeder located at the spot where my breathing pipes meet my digesting pipes. I bleed into my stomach, this aggravates my ulcer, which bleeds some more , which makes me puke, which makes my M/W tear bleed more, which aggravates my ulcer and so on ... untreated, it's a slow death of internal bleeding, highlighted by gorily dramatic vomiting.
My withdrawal symptoms are making it worse- my heart is jackhammerin' the hemoglobin into my gut at a runaway clip- I can feel each beat. It hurts, but I'll get a higher dose of pain med once I get some fluids and blood replaced, so I have to deal with it for now. I'm pretty well tranq'd out anyway.
He continues: They are going to stick a tube with a laser, a camera and other gizmos down my throat and examine and repair my innards. They won't even have to make any traditional incisions. Cool, eh?
Ok, Doc. When do we start?
He tells me I've already had my first operation, but I went into convulsions during the exploratory stage and they had to abort. They will try again in about twelve hours.
I don't remember any of this operation. Prepping for it, where it was done, who did it-nothing.
Convulsions?
I am very frightened.
I'm distracted by the nurses setting up my EKG and IV's .
Wow. I'm getting a blood transfusion- how cool is that?
I remember breaking my arm when I was a kid , and how proud I was when my class-mates took turns signing my cast. I wish someone was here to sign my blood transfusion. My saline drip must have some dope in it, because I keep slipping in and out of a weird dreaming state. Am I talking to that person? I hope not, because they aren't there. What language was I speaking? I seem to know so many. How did I get outside? Don't they know it's raining? Look at the ocean rise...
Eventually, the world becomes nearly solid.
Just as I'm getting my bearings ( actually, it was more like six hours later), a Serious Young Doc comes in and sits down slightly behind my left shoulder. I don't like him. I can't look at him without twisting my neck, but he can stare at me over my shoulder. I hate this.
He wants to talk about my drinking.
I save him some time and tell him I already know that I'm an alcoholic.
He asks me when my last drink was.
Two days ago, I tell him, but I went on a Labor Day bender...
Did I know that I was going through alcoholic withdrawal?
Shit. No, I did not know that. This spooks me. Aren't the DT's all about seeing elephants and feeling bugs crawling all over and stuff?
Nope. I'm not having DT's , but my heart-rate and BP are through the roof and it ain't helping with the nausea either. My body temp is a balmy 101.
Heres the deal, he explains: I've got a bleeding ulcer and a thing called Mallory-Weiss tear , which is a bleeder located at the spot where my breathing pipes meet my digesting pipes. I bleed into my stomach, this aggravates my ulcer, which bleeds some more , which makes me puke, which makes my M/W tear bleed more, which aggravates my ulcer and so on ... untreated, it's a slow death of internal bleeding, highlighted by gorily dramatic vomiting.
My withdrawal symptoms are making it worse- my heart is jackhammerin' the hemoglobin into my gut at a runaway clip- I can feel each beat. It hurts, but I'll get a higher dose of pain med once I get some fluids and blood replaced, so I have to deal with it for now. I'm pretty well tranq'd out anyway.
He continues: They are going to stick a tube with a laser, a camera and other gizmos down my throat and examine and repair my innards. They won't even have to make any traditional incisions. Cool, eh?
Ok, Doc. When do we start?
He tells me I've already had my first operation, but I went into convulsions during the exploratory stage and they had to abort. They will try again in about twelve hours.
I don't remember any of this operation. Prepping for it, where it was done, who did it-nothing.
Convulsions?
I am very frightened.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Intermission
Got an email today from an Old Boss from a long-ago temp job. He heard my name broadcast on the station, got my contact info from our website and offered me a permanent job at his new office. He's a Cool Boss- great humour of sense- so this is Good News.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
How I Almost Died,But Didn't, Pt.2
Note: This is a 'serial'. Read Pt 1 (below) first.
THUR: Someone is addressing me by my last name, but I can't see them through my eyelids, which I can't seem to open. They ask me if I'm awake. Of course I'm awake. How could I be listening to you if I were asleep? What a stupid question.
Then I remember. The blood. The ER.
I force my eyes open. I'm in a curtain cube in a hospital. Man, these lights are bright. Ouch.
There's a worried-woman looking at me. She's the one talking to me. There's also a guy moving beeping things around and talking to someone that I can't see.
Yes. I'm awake.
Can I tell her what's happening?
I tell her. (See yesterday's post)
She asks me a battery of questions: Am I allergic to anything?Do I have Diabetes? High BP? Hep? Am on drugs or alcohol? ( Thank Godzilla I hadn't been drinking, otherwise there'd be no morphine for me). Have I had a stroke or cardiac incident? Got HIV/AIDS? Cancer? Etc...
She needs to do things to me, but I need to sign a consent waiver in case the things she does wind up killing me. I'm dying anyway, so what've I got to lose? I sign.
I'm immediately stuck with a thousand needles. Wow. There's all sorts of IV bags headed my way. Someone puts a mask on my face. It's tastes like the inside of a ballon, but it clears my head a little. The mask comes off.A different woman is talking to me. She shows me a long clear
tube with a huge plastic syringe at one end. She intends on putting the tube into my nose , through my mouth and into my stomach. Then they will suck all the festering blood out of my stomach . I need to stay awake so I can help swallow the tube.
This sounds pretty fucking horrible, but in reality it's a lot worse. First it really hurts my sinuses and then it kicks my gag reflex into overdrive. I lose it, my body goes into choking panic mode. I cough blood everywhere. Please, please make this stop.
They do this twice before I'm purged.
All of that came out of me? Oh shit.
A warm feeling creeps up on me. I recognize it from my arm surgery. Sweet anaesthesia. I decide that I want to have a daughter just I can name her Anaesthesia. She could tell people it's Russian. I start having another brilliant idea, but I instantly forget it. I shouldn't feel happy, but I do.
Things go away.
THUR: Someone is addressing me by my last name, but I can't see them through my eyelids, which I can't seem to open. They ask me if I'm awake. Of course I'm awake. How could I be listening to you if I were asleep? What a stupid question.
Then I remember. The blood. The ER.
I force my eyes open. I'm in a curtain cube in a hospital. Man, these lights are bright. Ouch.
There's a worried-woman looking at me. She's the one talking to me. There's also a guy moving beeping things around and talking to someone that I can't see.
Yes. I'm awake.
Can I tell her what's happening?
I tell her. (See yesterday's post)
She asks me a battery of questions: Am I allergic to anything?Do I have Diabetes? High BP? Hep? Am on drugs or alcohol? ( Thank Godzilla I hadn't been drinking, otherwise there'd be no morphine for me). Have I had a stroke or cardiac incident? Got HIV/AIDS? Cancer? Etc...
She needs to do things to me, but I need to sign a consent waiver in case the things she does wind up killing me. I'm dying anyway, so what've I got to lose? I sign.
I'm immediately stuck with a thousand needles. Wow. There's all sorts of IV bags headed my way. Someone puts a mask on my face. It's tastes like the inside of a ballon, but it clears my head a little. The mask comes off.A different woman is talking to me. She shows me a long clear
tube with a huge plastic syringe at one end. She intends on putting the tube into my nose , through my mouth and into my stomach. Then they will suck all the festering blood out of my stomach . I need to stay awake so I can help swallow the tube.
This sounds pretty fucking horrible, but in reality it's a lot worse. First it really hurts my sinuses and then it kicks my gag reflex into overdrive. I lose it, my body goes into choking panic mode. I cough blood everywhere. Please, please make this stop.
They do this twice before I'm purged.
All of that came out of me? Oh shit.
A warm feeling creeps up on me. I recognize it from my arm surgery. Sweet anaesthesia. I decide that I want to have a daughter just I can name her Anaesthesia. She could tell people it's Russian. I start having another brilliant idea, but I instantly forget it. I shouldn't feel happy, but I do.
Things go away.
Monday, September 12, 2005
How I Almost Died , But Didn't Pt.1
I can only write this in parts. I'm too fatigued to do otherwise.
MON: I'm sitting in Scam Class when I feel something really wrong happen in my guts. It feels like Alka-Seltzer and thumbtacks. It gets really hot and I starting sweating. Classmate Teetha asks me if I'm OK. I can only groan. She asks me if I wanna Advil. It would go down like gravel.
Moan. OOhh...
Teetha stands up and announces to the class in general, "Hey, Allan don't look so good. I'm worried about him!"
Sub-Teacher asks me some question. She's asking me if I can talk. My silence speaks volumes.
Instead I make a questioning 'leaving' gesture.
Go.
Imagine converting an Iron Maiden into an automobile. Every bump, every stop, every turn,nail, nails nails. Throw spill some cat food in the vicinity of the dishes. Lose the work shirt. Collapse on bed.
The pain eases and I realize I'm very tired. Taking a nap seems like a good idea.
When I wake up I feel a little funny. Dizzy and sick. Rush to the toilet!
Splash everything with blood.
Blood? Black blood. I'm still in shock about this when here comes some more.
More blood. The floor , the walls the tub-it's a mess in here.
Suddenly, the spasms ease. I'm shaky , but it feels like maybe I'll make it. I'm very thirsty.
Knowing that cold water is hard on the stomach, I start with tiny sips of room temp H2O.
For an hour or so I feel ok. Probably food poisoning.
Waves of black blood fill my mouth. It's thick and bitterly metallic tasting, with the just the wrong amount of bile. I'm convinced that I'm dying.
I decide to drive myself to hospital in order to save on ambulance fees. It's now after midnight so I run every light and sign on the way ,Honk! HoNK!HONK!
Stagger into the ER. Hurl blood.
No one even asks me to register-I just hand my wallet to a nurse and I'm rushed into a bright shiny place. I think i'm floating in water. I wish it wasn't so loud in here. What's everyone yelling about?
They're yelling about me!
I'm flattered. A nurse leans down.
I think she's going to kiss me.
MON: I'm sitting in Scam Class when I feel something really wrong happen in my guts. It feels like Alka-Seltzer and thumbtacks. It gets really hot and I starting sweating. Classmate Teetha asks me if I'm OK. I can only groan. She asks me if I wanna Advil. It would go down like gravel.
Moan. OOhh...
Teetha stands up and announces to the class in general, "Hey, Allan don't look so good. I'm worried about him!"
Sub-Teacher asks me some question. She's asking me if I can talk. My silence speaks volumes.
Instead I make a questioning 'leaving' gesture.
Go.
Imagine converting an Iron Maiden into an automobile. Every bump, every stop, every turn,nail, nails nails. Throw spill some cat food in the vicinity of the dishes. Lose the work shirt. Collapse on bed.
The pain eases and I realize I'm very tired. Taking a nap seems like a good idea.
When I wake up I feel a little funny. Dizzy and sick. Rush to the toilet!
Splash everything with blood.
Blood? Black blood. I'm still in shock about this when here comes some more.
More blood. The floor , the walls the tub-it's a mess in here.
Suddenly, the spasms ease. I'm shaky , but it feels like maybe I'll make it. I'm very thirsty.
Knowing that cold water is hard on the stomach, I start with tiny sips of room temp H2O.
For an hour or so I feel ok. Probably food poisoning.
Waves of black blood fill my mouth. It's thick and bitterly metallic tasting, with the just the wrong amount of bile. I'm convinced that I'm dying.
I decide to drive myself to hospital in order to save on ambulance fees. It's now after midnight so I run every light and sign on the way ,Honk! HoNK!HONK!
Stagger into the ER. Hurl blood.
No one even asks me to register-I just hand my wallet to a nurse and I'm rushed into a bright shiny place. I think i'm floating in water. I wish it wasn't so loud in here. What's everyone yelling about?
They're yelling about me!
I'm flattered. A nurse leans down.
I think she's going to kiss me.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Love
So much pain.
Barely holding it together.
Not alone.
Not MY pain.
Let's ignore it and hope it goes away.
That'll work.
A Jungian meltdown? I dunno.
I wanna give the world a Big Hug but I can barely move my arms.
Can someone else type this for me? I'm not well.
Oh.
I'm in better shape than I thought.
It's my friends and family that are broken.
So many. Everyone is sick, dying or dead and we didn't even have a Hurricane.
Can someone please help the people I love?
I can't.
Maybe I can.
Forget that.
I know I can.
If it's not too late.
Return to maybe.
Return to blender.
Fuck it all.
Barely holding it together.
Not alone.
Not MY pain.
Let's ignore it and hope it goes away.
That'll work.
A Jungian meltdown? I dunno.
I wanna give the world a Big Hug but I can barely move my arms.
Can someone else type this for me? I'm not well.
Oh.
I'm in better shape than I thought.
It's my friends and family that are broken.
So many. Everyone is sick, dying or dead and we didn't even have a Hurricane.
Can someone please help the people I love?
I can't.
Maybe I can.
Forget that.
I know I can.
If it's not too late.
Return to maybe.
Return to blender.
Fuck it all.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Gloom Suit and Nausea 2005
I'm ashamed that I can find the time to complain about my insignificant life.
Numbness is setting in.
No, that's not true.
I wish numbness would settle in.
Today started badly. I slept in my Gloom Suit last night. It's all wrinkled when I get up, but I lack the will to change it.
So I shower in it and go to Mortgage School. I'm soggy with gloom.
I dread this. Each day is worse than the previous one -maybe it is the same one.
How can one tell?
What a fun schedule : We have part two of Flood Insurance andPolicy Training. It involves yet another fucking binder full of wasted paper. I don't even bother opening it. I open 'Paint' instead.
Random bits of color appear, fail to please me, and are banished.
Repeat. I start drifting away.
I hear my name. It's Teacher and she sounds a bit cross. Could I please open my book to page this or that and tell the class where to look for various bits of data on a Flood Determination form. Why bother with the book? Just tell me what vendor we ordered the Determination from and I will tell you exactly where to look.
Ok, she says, it's from Company X. Where is the order number and date?
Lower right corner. It'll be a three-digit number, a hyphen followed by a four digit number , another hyphen and a four-digit number with either a J or a D at the end. J means it was sent from their Jacksonville office, D is for Dallas. The order date is directly under it.
I'm showing off.
(I've seen thousands of these easily read utilitarian documents. Maybe tens of thousands).
She looks at her book. I'm spot-on.
Well, OK.
At lunchtime, I go upstairs to see if my bestest work buddy wants to grab some lunch. Where is she? I ask another work-pal. Where's my buddy?
She got fired yesterday.
Huh? She was the best temp they had They just offered her a "real"job. Everyone likes her. Fired?
Turns out that The Bank discovered she had bounced a check in 1999. She was 21 at the time. ( $36, I find out in an email)
This turns my sour mood into curdled milk. Curdled milk reminds me of our suck-ass Company Cafeteria. Maybe they'll have something good today.
They don't, so I throw some vaguely green shit into a styrofoam bowl and call it a salad. Yum.
I sit with some class-mates. I know that they aren't bad people , but today I loathe them. One of them had just interviewed for a spot in the next City Police academy. He tells me he was asked if he was capable of taking a life. His deep, empty eyes indicate that he awaits my comment.
Well, I explain, as an Existentialist (I'm not) , I realize that life is inherently meaningless and we are lost and alone in a hostile world with nothing but our own will to sustain and protect us-in this context, killing another person is a pointless yet life-affirming action.
I look around me. I'm surrounded by people so burdended by petty bullshit that they don't even realize they exist.
They look at me like I'm crazy.
I hear Cop Boy spewing some humanist blather, his sincerity makes me feel ill. I'm clutching a plastic spork in my right hand. Only an excercise of will prevents me from using it to gouge his eye out. His sincerity blinds him to his narrow brush with monocular vision.
I throw my plastic untensil into my styrofoam dish.
It doesn't rattle.
Back to class. We are taking a Flood Test. It's 8-parts and we have 4 hours to complete. I'm done before most of the class has even logged in. I score 98.
Teacher asks to speak to me outside.
She's trying to find a way to accuse me of cheating. No one can finish Flood Test in 15 minutes.
How did I do that?
I tell her that I used to process Flood claims for a living. I refrain from telling her that FEMA hasn't been worth a fuck since it fell under the Homeland Security umbrella, but I guess we all already know that by now.
Anyway, we talk a bit and both loosen up a little, which is nice. She says I can leave early and still get my hours-just don't tell anyone. I tell her I'm going to post it on the internet. She thinks I'm kidding.
Cool. This evening,I've got a phone interview to record for one of the DJ's. I'll have extra time to get ready. I need some pointers from SuperMax on recording from the phone line, so this is well-timed.
I get to the station. Aaaahh...I love this place. I really do. It's my escape from corporate Hell. My cocoon.
Hey Max, could ya spare a few minutes- I need to set up for a phone interview.
Sure.
The phone tap in the Production room is missing. Huh?
We can't find it anywhere, but we notice that a number of other expensive items are missing.
Our Sanctuary has been violated. I have to tell my host we can't do the interview. She has to call her subject and explain. I hate this.
This was our Good Thing and someone we trusted has gone and fucked it all up.
I feel sick.
Numbness is setting in.
No, that's not true.
I wish numbness would settle in.
Today started badly. I slept in my Gloom Suit last night. It's all wrinkled when I get up, but I lack the will to change it.
So I shower in it and go to Mortgage School. I'm soggy with gloom.
I dread this. Each day is worse than the previous one -maybe it is the same one.
How can one tell?
What a fun schedule : We have part two of Flood Insurance andPolicy Training. It involves yet another fucking binder full of wasted paper. I don't even bother opening it. I open 'Paint' instead.
Random bits of color appear, fail to please me, and are banished.
Repeat. I start drifting away.
I hear my name. It's Teacher and she sounds a bit cross. Could I please open my book to page this or that and tell the class where to look for various bits of data on a Flood Determination form. Why bother with the book? Just tell me what vendor we ordered the Determination from and I will tell you exactly where to look.
Ok, she says, it's from Company X. Where is the order number and date?
Lower right corner. It'll be a three-digit number, a hyphen followed by a four digit number , another hyphen and a four-digit number with either a J or a D at the end. J means it was sent from their Jacksonville office, D is for Dallas. The order date is directly under it.
I'm showing off.
(I've seen thousands of these easily read utilitarian documents. Maybe tens of thousands).
She looks at her book. I'm spot-on.
Well, OK.
At lunchtime, I go upstairs to see if my bestest work buddy wants to grab some lunch. Where is she? I ask another work-pal. Where's my buddy?
She got fired yesterday.
Huh? She was the best temp they had They just offered her a "real"job. Everyone likes her. Fired?
Turns out that The Bank discovered she had bounced a check in 1999. She was 21 at the time. ( $36, I find out in an email)
This turns my sour mood into curdled milk. Curdled milk reminds me of our suck-ass Company Cafeteria. Maybe they'll have something good today.
They don't, so I throw some vaguely green shit into a styrofoam bowl and call it a salad. Yum.
I sit with some class-mates. I know that they aren't bad people , but today I loathe them. One of them had just interviewed for a spot in the next City Police academy. He tells me he was asked if he was capable of taking a life. His deep, empty eyes indicate that he awaits my comment.
Well, I explain, as an Existentialist (I'm not) , I realize that life is inherently meaningless and we are lost and alone in a hostile world with nothing but our own will to sustain and protect us-in this context, killing another person is a pointless yet life-affirming action.
I look around me. I'm surrounded by people so burdended by petty bullshit that they don't even realize they exist.
They look at me like I'm crazy.
I hear Cop Boy spewing some humanist blather, his sincerity makes me feel ill. I'm clutching a plastic spork in my right hand. Only an excercise of will prevents me from using it to gouge his eye out. His sincerity blinds him to his narrow brush with monocular vision.
I throw my plastic untensil into my styrofoam dish.
It doesn't rattle.
Back to class. We are taking a Flood Test. It's 8-parts and we have 4 hours to complete. I'm done before most of the class has even logged in. I score 98.
Teacher asks to speak to me outside.
She's trying to find a way to accuse me of cheating. No one can finish Flood Test in 15 minutes.
How did I do that?
I tell her that I used to process Flood claims for a living. I refrain from telling her that FEMA hasn't been worth a fuck since it fell under the Homeland Security umbrella, but I guess we all already know that by now.
Anyway, we talk a bit and both loosen up a little, which is nice. She says I can leave early and still get my hours-just don't tell anyone. I tell her I'm going to post it on the internet. She thinks I'm kidding.
Cool. This evening,I've got a phone interview to record for one of the DJ's. I'll have extra time to get ready. I need some pointers from SuperMax on recording from the phone line, so this is well-timed.
I get to the station. Aaaahh...I love this place. I really do. It's my escape from corporate Hell. My cocoon.
Hey Max, could ya spare a few minutes- I need to set up for a phone interview.
Sure.
The phone tap in the Production room is missing. Huh?
We can't find it anywhere, but we notice that a number of other expensive items are missing.
Our Sanctuary has been violated. I have to tell my host we can't do the interview. She has to call her subject and explain. I hate this.
This was our Good Thing and someone we trusted has gone and fucked it all up.
I feel sick.
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