Cleared for landing

And by landing, I mean coming home and not going to Emergency.

Thank frigging god.

Made it to the walk-in clinic. The doctor checked me out in a refreshinlgy old-fashioned low tech way. Pulse, check the heart, blood pressure, etc.

I have nothing against high tech – in fct I adore it – but when I am nervous and “awaiting my fate” I find the old fashioned stuff reassuring.

I guess I really am getting old.

I mean, if the place had been super high tech, that would not have upset me, as long as the decor was not too harsh or dehumanizing.

I almost said “too clinical”, but seeing as we are talking about an actual clinic, that did not seem to be la mot juste.

But I definitely prefer my doctor’s offices to be friendly ,and humanistic in the decor/design sense. I am already nervous just from being in a doctor’s office and feeling all the layers of worry, pain, and stress lingering in the air.

Yes, rational materialist that I am, I believe in “vibes”. The evidence from my own life experiences is overwhelming. Some places have a lot of bad vibes.

But I don’t think it has anything to do with magical energy vibrations or ESP or whatever. In fact, I am pretty sure that it is mostly pheremones.

Like I have mentioned before,. pheremones are perceived by a very, very old part of the brain that bypasses our conscious mind entirely and plugs directly into our emotional control center, thus making us prey to powerful unconcious emotional influencers.

In fact, they might be the most unconscious thing ever because while there are a lot of things going on in our brain of which we are not conscious, only the pheremone center is unconscious on a hardware level.

I wonder if there are people born without the ability to react to pheremones, and what their lives are like.

Anyhow, my point is that I think “vibes’, at least the kind that can build up in a fixed area, are really just pheremones.

The kind we get from one another when we are close to one another must involve something else as well because, in my experience, there’s more information in them.

Then again, given what we now know about how people tend to be attracted to people whose antibody profile is the most different than theres (thus insuring that their offspring have the biggest antibody arsenal possible), anything is possible I suppose.

AIn’t science wonderful?

That was a long divergence even for me.

Back to our story. So I saw the doc and he cleared me to come home and not go to Emergency. There was one troubling thing though.

We did this test where I stood with my feet pressed closely together and then closed my eyes, and I immediately become dizzy and started wobbling about.

My theory is that I have somehow been using my eyes to compensate for a certain amount of dizziness.

I will bring that up with Doctor Chao next week.

The doctor at the clinc had a French accent, and I found that surprisingly soothing. I think on a deep level it even made me trust him more.

Probably because it reminded me of my home. Le sigh.

Speaking of French, I have been playing this game called Assassin’s Creed Unity, and it takes place in Paris during the French Revolution.

As in, you are literally in the Bastille when it is stormed.

Cue the Rush song!

The king will kneel, and let his people rise

But here is the thing. The game is, of course, in English.

And that, in turn, means that all the main characters speak in some variety of UK accent. Because apparently, the world thinks everyone in history was a blood British person, from the kings and queens down to the lowest beggar.

This is a personal peeve of mine, especially when it comes to the French. They are, after all, my ancestors, and it bugs me that they never get to be French any more.

I mean, why not do like they used to do in the movies and have people speak English with the accent of where they come from?

You know,. French people with French accents, etc.

There are plenty of varieties of French accent where are just as clear and understandable as any UK accent, and it would make a lot more sense.

It’s especially galling (or is that Gauling) because Ubisoft is a French company.

Further muddying the issue is the fact that all the background and incidental character in the game speak in French!

Prrfectly flawless French, too, presumably because when you are making games a la belle France, you have no shortage of native French speakers.

I wish there were subtitles for those French speakers, because then I could be improving my French just by walking around listening in.

I guess mere exposure will have to do.

The point is moot, anyway, as I am stuck in the game in a super frustrating way. I make it all the way out of the Bastille before being cornered by the guards on a rooftop, and I am supposed to make some incredible leap to freedom to progress.

But the on-screen instructions as to how to do that do not work. For one, they want me to press W, Up, and E at the same time, and W and Up are the same damn key.

And the Internet is of no help. There is one walkthrough that says I need to do something called an Eagle Dive at that point, but there is literally nowhere on the Internet that explains how to do that in this situation.

I have some more things I want to try in order to get it working. I am going to look into rebinding the keys to make W and Up different keys.

And I am going to look into cheats I can use to skip directly to the next scene.

As God as my witness, I will make the game work.

Or die tying.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Health update, April 18

But first, a joke.

If you combine lady fingers with Butterfingers, you get Lady Butterfingers, the world’s clumsiest female knight.

As opposed to Butterfinger, a chocolate bar has always sounded to me like a dairy themed Bond villain,.

“You see, Mister Bond, this yellow ray is actually a beam of pure cholesterol…. and it’s aimed straight at your heart. ”

Oh, and he would, of course, have a Wisconsin accent.

Lady Finger, on the other hand, has no obvious specialty, but she does seem to be really popular with the other royal ladies for some reason.


OK, enough shenanigans.

First, good news, I am still alive and nothing further along the “twinge then fall then nosebleed” type of thing.

I still feel rather frail and wobbly and a wee bit spooked. Death and disease have tiptoed over my tombstone, and I can feel their shadow still.

But I am pressing on.

I posted about The Incident on Facebook. Why? Well as my friend the Magnificent Em quite rightly pointed out. I posted about it to Facebook because I already knew what I ought to do and I just needed someone to tell me to go do it.

She is such a cool chick.

The answer, of course, is to see a friggin’ doctor, sooner rather than later.

Come to think of it, the whole “I’ll take care of this thing when I see the doctor next week” does sound like it comes straight from one of those “if only they had treated it sooner” stories about men who don’t take their health seriously until it is way too late.

So I am not going to wait until I see Doc Chao next Wednesday. I am going to go to the walk-in clinic nearby tomorrow afternoon.

Hopefully, they will be open on Good Friday. I swear, these things ALWAYS happen right before a holiday where everything closes.

I know I should have gone today, but I just couldn’t. You all know that I don’t do sudden. I needed the time to warm up to the idea.

If it turns out the clinic is closed, I guess I will just have to bite the bullet and go to Emergency at Richmond General Hospital.

It was originally a Lieutenant General Hospital, but it got promoted.

Anyhow, I dread going to Emergency but somebody has got to check me out for this shit ASAP. And I know that if I go there, there is a good chance they will admit me for at least as long as it takes to run a whack of tests.

Or even they don’t admit me,, my problem is not, as far as I know, urgent. so triage will ensure that I am there a really long time.

So I might as well pack a bag and take it with me if I have to go.

God, I hope I don’t have to go.


I had a serious revelation when I was writing all that previous stuff down.

Deep down, I feel like nobody could possibly love or respect someone who cannot work for a living.

Especially not if that person is me.

I am pretty shocked to find this floating around ibn my brain. If someone said that shit out loud in my presence I would land on them like a ton of bricks, verbally speaking.

But there it is. My deep deep shame at being a non-productive member of society extends so deeply into the very core of my being that I feel like my being disabled means I am impossible to romantically love.

For who could love one so foul and uiseless a thing as I?

Sounds pretty emo, don’t it.

Obviously, it’s not a statement I consciously agree with, but just as obviously that does not make this emotion disappear in a puff of insight.

It does mean I can start working on it, though. And that’s good. I can try to dig this poisonous vine out at the roots and watch it die.

Harsh image, but then again, I am crazy.


OK, so let’s do a deep dive on this shame. Like my man Nietzsche said, let’s overcome by going under.

I had no idea it was there, but it makes sense. I know that I have dreaded the moment when someone asks you what you do for a living.

Possible answers include :

  1. “As little as possible! *fake laughter*
  2. “I sign checks for the government. The hours are short but you don’t get a lot of them. The hourly rate is amazing, though. “
  3. “I’m an unemployable drain on society. You?”
  4. “Right now my job is “not killing myself”. Takes up most of my time. “
  5. “You call this living? *fake laughter*

And so forth and so on.

See, the worst part is that before someone asks me that question, I can pretend to be a normal, intact, functional human being.

But once that line is crossed, everything changes, and people look at me differently. Especially after I tell them I am disabled due to depression.

No matter how cool they are, some part of them just doesn’t buy it. And with those who do, I now bear the stigma of mental illness.

“Uh oh, better keep him away from the cutlery. ”

It’s very unfair that I feel ashamed of my inability to earn my own keep via productive labor. I certainly wouldn’t think less of anyone else who was disabled.

But part of the tragedy of having a wounded sense of self is that the rules for others and the rules for yourself aren’t even on the same shelf.

They’re barely in the same library.

And of course, I know, on a completely different level, that I am an amazing person with an incredible intellect and loads and loads of talent, and that I have so much to offer the world when I am ready to do so.

But that’s head knowledge. Tell that to my heart, my soul, and my spirit.

You can find them undergoing triage in the Emergency Room.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.