I’m actually a lot sicker than anyone knows.

I got problems I haven’t even gotten around to showing anyone or addressing yet.

:Like my feet and ankles have been cold and/or numb and/or tingling for a very long time now. I’ve never talked with anyone about it, not even my podiatrist.

Why? The bitter truth is that I have become used to it. It’s my normal now. It doesn’t even occur to me that it is a problem most of the time.

I am too goddamned adaptable.

Seems to be spreading up my legs, too. I suppose eventually I will be paralyzed and that will force me to deal with it.

I’d really rather not end up in a wheelchair or on crutches. Or a “scooter”.

Then there’s the fact that my nose has been running nonstop for the last year to year and a half. It really messes with my paranasal sinuses.

Honestly should get those checked out too. Pretty sure they are fucked up somehow. I might have a deviated septum, or something even worse.

My mother told me once that her dad, my Pepe, had serious sinus issues until he got an operation to fix them and then he felt a million times better.

Sounds good to me.

But that’s become part of my normal too. Sniffles, blowing my nose. sinus headaches, feeling like my head is being squeezed in the fist of a giant.

Bone grinding against bone. Feeling like my teeth are going to pop out because of the pressure. Constant ache in my jaw.

That’s normal, right?

Speaking of teeth, my dental situation is presumably beyond nightmarish because I never brush or floss. It’s been decades since I did.

Hard to fit it into my busy schedule of wasting my fucking life.

And it hurts, and makes me bleed extensively, and those are powerful disincentives. Specially when depression already makes a lot of simple things nearly impossible.

I honestly feel like I have no power to change things sometimes. Like I am locked into a life where it seems like I am in control. but in reality I am just a helpless spectator to me own slow pathetic demise.

Gee, that brick wall sure is coming up fast. Guess it won’t be long till I crash into it and die in a flaming wreck.

Sure wish I could like, steer, or something. I guess.

But that would too much responsibility for me.

And you know I don’t want to be like this. I want to be strong and masterful and in command of my life and my destiny. I want to have the strength and confidence to truly be free to make my mark on the world and get the kind of life I deserve.

But instead, I sit, and I rot, and watch myself slowly fall apart, know that this decay will eventually kill me but too numb to feel the fear that should make me care.

The knowledge that I should care and that my life is an increasingly deadly slow-burning crisis just increases the pressure that is keeping me paralyzed in the first place.

So really, I’m ultimately going to die of some kind of motivational logjam. All my healthy impulses are trapped behind one mother of a bottleneck in my mind and so nothing gets through and all I can do is let the days go by while I die.

Here comes the waterfall.

Anyone seen my paddle?

More after the break.

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What I leave behind

These words, mostly.

For the most part, when I die all I leave behind is all these words I’ve written. I am a dedicated diarist, though a tad lacking in focus for that role.

That’s because I have a lot of things I have to say and talking about the weather or news events of the day does not rate amongst them.

I’m not looking to capture my times. God knows, in this modern world, there is no chance that future historians will have to wonder what it was like back now.

Just read the millions of words written about it every goddamned day.

No, my writing is extremely personal. It comes from deep within me, and expresses the thoughts, feelings, and ideas that mean the most to me.

Granted, that tends to be stuff about my depression.

The reason for that should be obvious.

That’s why this blog has no format. Neither does it have a topic. This blog exists for me to express whatever needs to be expressed when I sit down and write, and that’s impossible to the point of absurdity to predict beforehand.

So I make shit up as I go. I improvise. There is never a plan or a script or even an outline. I just sit down and write.

Sounds crazy, and it is.

Even crazier is the fact that I pull it off. Day after day, week after week, year after year. I write in this thing twice a day and have done so for almost a decade now.

And every single time, I write something that you’d swear was the result of a lot of time and energy and perfectionistic effort.

Nope. I just do it. It’s all intuition. All the perfecting and balancing and whatnot happens during the act of creation,

It just comes out of the oven that way.

The closest thing to editing I do is I rephrase things as I am typing. I will be constructing a sentence and intuit that something seems off, and then fix that thing on the fly.

After that, though, I just keep going. By all common sense and logic, that should not work, These words should come out as a sloppy pile of incoherent notions strung together haphazardly into no particular shape at all.

And I am not saying that is not what happens. It is.

It’s just that my incomprehensible goop is much more polished and perfected than most people’s hard-won final rafts.

Story of my life, really. I outperform the hardworking keeners without even trying.

And boy, does that piss them off.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.