Good news : I am feeling a heck of a lot better.
Not out of the woods yet. In fact, it feels like whatever kind of infection (??) I have is threatening to move into my lungs. Grr.
But I feel a lot less dead, and that’s what’s important.
Hello, at least I am finally awake. I spent the entire morning going through the same cycle over and over :
- Wake up because I need to pee, pee
- Sit down in front of the computer and try to do stuff
- Five minutes or less later, realize I am too sleepy to do anything, go back to bed
It was most annoying. Well, what of it I was awake for, anyhow.
I also had some breathing troubles of a sort with which I am familiar. They happen when the “used air” in the bottom of lungs has accumulated past a critical point and I am just not getting enough fresh oxygen per lungful any more.
Yet another thing I should probably tell a doctor about at some point.
Anyhow, normally, this is not that big a deal. I have breathing exercises I use to clear out my lungs and that put things right.
But I was not awake or coherent enough to remember them this morning so I went through a period of feeling like I might be dying.
Luckily, I was able to remain calm and keep reassuring myself that I have been through this kind of thing before (apparently I remembered that much) and that everything would be okay in the end.
Pretty good self-coaching, if I do say so myself.
And I do.
I did remember what to do eventually though. And the pee/sleep cycle calmed down enough that I began to get some real sleep.
And that brings us to now. Like I said earlier, I don’t exactly feel well, but I feel alive, and that is a striking improvement.
Which means it is time to reluctantly turn to the question of what this all means.
Christ, I don’t know.
I really hope it doesn’t mean my muscles are even weaker now. Like I have mentioned in this space before, I don’t have a lot of room left on that scale before I become more or less bedridden and my life gets even worse.
But I can’t ignore the pattern. Things like this just keep happening to me. I get these nasty one or two day infections and they drain the life out of me and make me miserable and incoherent and afterwards I can’t help but wonder how many more times can it happen before one of them “gets” me and turns into something much worse.
At least I have the medical establishment at least mildly interested in my case now. Maybe they will pay attention long enough to actually figure out what is wrong with me this time, or even be able to treat it.
I’m such a dreamer, I know.
Right now, I am going to lie down yet again and hopefully bank some rest so I can make it to Denny’s tonight.
More after the break.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this
You know, it occurs to me that in the ensemble dramedy of life, I might just be super loveable, funny, highly sympathetic, character who dies near the end to create pathos.
That is not literally possible, of course. Life is not a script and as far as I know, there can be no authorial intent because there is no author and we are free to live our lives completely free from the rules of narrative.
But it seems very metaphorically possible in the post modern sense. And I have had enough moments in my life that seem scripted (except then they would have to be plausible) that I can never entirely turn my back on the idea.
And that’s not even counting the subconscious influence of the rules of narrative on the mind of a writer, which technically I am.
Not that this means anything
Wow. At the end of the previous full paragraph, i had written exactly 666 words. Spooky.
Trust in J&J
It occurred to me tonight while we were at Denny’s (more on that later) that I completely and totally trust my roomies Joe and Julian.
Let me repeat that with emphasis. I completely and totally trust Joe and Julian.
And that’s quite an accomplishment.
Because that means that I not only trust their intentions (relatively easy) and their characters (a little trickier), I trust their competence, and that’s nigh on impossible.
I know that if I entrust a task to them, they will not only do it to the best of their ability, they will do it right.
This is the glory of living in an all Taurus household.
And even though I have become a rather high maintenance friend. I have never and will never hear a single complaint about it from them.
They just shouldered the burden and moved on.
And that is why I am so god damned lucky to have them in my life, and why I can’t imagine having any other roomates ever.
The only thing that could change that would be if I moved out on my own, which is something I have the urge to do presumably based on some kind of nesting and/or territorial acquisition urge.
I won’t claim it’s rational. Presumably it is something I just have to do in order to satisfy that urge and then I will get over it and be rational and pragmatic again.
But I promise I won’t do it until I can afford not just my own place but at least own and preferably two high competent nurse/assistants to keep me from killing myself.
I know that by Taurus standards, I am a stumblin’ fool. I can think very practically, but by behaviour is clumsy. clueless, and naive.
It’s a good thing that I’m cute.
Oh crap, I really AM the breakaway sympathetic character from a ensemble dramedy.
Enjoy me while I last, folks.
Because I may not live to see Fin.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.