Today has been stressy.
First, wound care. Everything went smoothly until the end, Dumbass that I am, I completely forgot that now that Joe’s on his summer hours, I need to call Julian when I am done at wound care instead of just going outside to the parking lot where Julian has been waiting for me with the car.
The reasons for that are dull and logistical.
So I end up going down to the parking lot and parking my ponderous posterior in the crude but quite comfy “seat” of my walker and wait for Julian, whom I assumed would be along at any moment.
Only THEN do I remember that I was supposed to summon him by phone.
Now I have to go back up to the clinic and get Megan to call Julian for me. I linger in my comfy seat for a while hoping Julian will just magically appear and then I go back up and hand the little card Julian made me with his cell number on it to Megan.
Then, I get home, and it is time to order my groceries. No problem, let me just register this Pay Power card and…. what do you mean, it’s already registered?
I am momentarily existentially poleaxed. I try a few more times and then give up. Clearly the fuckery is well afoot today.
So I then have to find the phone and call the 1-800 number for Pay Power in order to find out WTF.
I mean, there is $500 of my money tied up in this card!
I talked to a nice customer support dude, give him the numbers off the card, and he tells me the card is already registered but not under my name.
Helpful dude and I investigate.
Upon reading him the numbers from the back of the card for like the fifth time, I squint and realize what I had taken for a 6 might actually be an 8.
Problem solved. I have now been a dumbass twice.
Card activated, I am able to do my grocery shopping via Instacart like usual but these things come in threes so ya just know something else has to go wrong.
My order arrives and here is what I ordered :
And here’s what that peckerwood (or pussywood, don’t want to be sexist) decided was the logical substitution for it :
So now I am with those fricking things and no lovely ice cream treats this week.
Even if I bought some sugar free ice cream (once again from Chapman’s), it wouldn’t help, because the cones themselves have sugar in them.
I complained to Instacart. They gave me a couple bucks’ credit in apology.
But I didn’t want a couple bucks. I wanted my damned ice cream treats!
And the thing is, I had set up Chapman’s ice cream sandwiches as a substitute for their cones ahead of time.
Didn’t have the word “cone” in it, I guess. Or they were out of those ones too.
Oh, and we also ended up with someone else’s bottle of Palmolive.
I definitely did not order that.
More after the break.
I’m always falling
At least, that’s how it feels sometimes.
I dunno. Maybe I have some kind of inner ear issue. My ears do frequently end up clogged with backed up sinus fluid that travels up from my nasal cavities via my eustachian tubes when it can’t find a way out via my stuffed up nose.
Which works until I end up with stuffed up ears. Sigh.
And like the Metro in Paris, it never stops running. Which I suppose is another of those things I should probably bring to the attention of medical professionals.
But to be honest, I have so many of those that I have no choice but to prioritize.
Either that or farm them all out to like a dozen doctors.
Basically I’m a wreck. Thanks for asking.
On a more psychological and/or metaphorical level, I also feel like I am always falling. Like I am falling forward in time and picking up speed so the days get subjectively shorter and shorter as my mind compresses its contents and it really does feel like I am headed straight for the grave and picking up speed.
And that is a terrifying and depressing feeling.
Maybe if wouldn’t feel so bad if my days had more content in them. My life of abstraction and screens is all too easily compressed into almost nothing because one day is pretty much the same as the next and the next and the next…
And there is so little content to them. It is all just phantom reflections in black mirrors with no substance or weight.
Just games. It is all just a bunch of fucking games.
And I am sick and tired of play. I want to work. I want goals and objectives with real impact that I can see and verify and confirm that I am, indeed, alive. And real.
I spend so much time with illusions that I can’t help feeling like I’m an illusion too, no more substantial than a flickering image on a dimly lit screen.
And at any moment, that screen could flicker out and never come back, and I will be gone like yesterday’s sunset.
I take comfort in that thought. This might not be forever. My sentence might be commuted and my soul be freed without my doing a thing to harm myself.
Not that I want to die. Most people with depression don’t.
We just want everything to stop for a while. For all the nattering monkeys in our heads to shut the fuck up and for the aching tectonic strains in the substrata of our subconscious minds to cease making our world rumble and shake and for us to get some good, clean, wholesome, restful sleep for once in our god damned lives.
If I could get that without dying or knocking myself out cold via substance abuse, I would never be suicidal again.
And wouldn’t that be nice?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.