In this case, the plane of limbo known as Urgent (ha) Care.
So this morning I made the weekly pilgrimage to Wound Care at the good ol’ Community Care Center here in Richmond.
I was worried that I wouldn’t make it because after my latest run in with my flu-like symptoms last Tuesday, my muscles are weaker than ever, and I was worried that I would not be able to make it to the car.
But it was fine. Painful, but fine. It hurt more than before and it tired my poor muscles out at wildfire speeds but I made it.
Once there, I was on my way for the usual care when I was stopped by Vivian. She is a “wound care clinician” and a senior nurse. She debrides my foot calluses (calloi?) now and then, and I like how she fusses and clucks over me.
What can I say, I didn’t get much of that as a kid. It’s kinda annoying but it also feels very good to have someone care enough to do it.
Anyhow, she stops me and looks at me all worried and tells me that I don’t look well and that my breath smells acidic and we have a discussion and she tells me that once I leave the CCC I need to go to the Urgent Care Center.
Well, she’s a senior nurse, and the junior nurse working on my feet agreed with her so strongly she actually pushed me in a wheelchair down to the parking lot rather than have me huff and puff the way down myself.
Glimpse of my future, that.
So I got Julian to drive me to Urgent Care. I mean, when a senior nurse looks at you with worry in her eyes and strongly urges you to go to Urgent Care, you go.
I didn’t wanna go. Urgent Care sucks. So much waiting! It’s like the ER but somehow even slower, and without the air of excitement and danger.
I was there for four hours or so. I felt like I had been swallowed by a huge but sluggish beast and I had to wait patiently while I was slowly digested.
Eventually I saw a doctor. I told her my story. She gave me the “resist my pushing you” type muscle tests I’ve had before. This time, I was really trying but I offered almost no actual resistance to her movement.
That’s not good.
They took chest X-rays. No probs there. The tech was irritating, though. Very pushy and chirpy. Did not see the connection between me needing a walker and me not being able to stand for very long.
I was then sent off with a big fat lab req. I will get the lab work done soon.
But not today. Today was…. more than enough.
More after the break.
A musical interlude
WARNING : The following is kinda noisy and synthy, but I love it.
Auto-translated English captions are available.
I love that gabber-style use of vocal samples as a kind of deconstructed audio texture that kind of massages the language center of my brain.
And it could use a good massage. It works very hard all the time.
Whether I want it to or not.
No wonder my sleep sucks.
More from my mind
I guess that could be the title for this entire blog.
Come read all the weird dark twisted shit that this one deranged dude drips out onto the virtual page for all the world to see!
His lack of boundaries can be your ironic entertainment!
Not that I think what I write here is entirely without merit. In fact, I honestly think some of what I have written in this obscure little corner of the World Wide Web[1] as I struggle to express all the dark, strange, borderline inhuman thoughts in my head is actually uite brilliant and worthy of being read by other intelligent persons or entities.
Of course, it’s mixed in with a lot of porn, mundane journaling, pointless meanderings, bizarre prose that reads like poetry, and of course, porn.
(Offscreen voice : You said “porn” twice!)
Me : I like porn.
Then again, James Joyce wrote in a crazily stream of consciousness subjective3 style that almost nobody could comprehend and he’s consider a literary giant.
I’m not saying that I, too, am a literary giant.
Just a literal one. Ha ha.
Anyhow, I am not saying that I know for sure that I am a literary giant.
I am just saying that weirder things have happened. History is full of us cramped up weirdos whose inner demons force them to toil away in the dark on things that make sense only to them that turn out to be geniuses creating masterpieces.
Of course, most of us….. don’t.
Most of us stay in our dank warrens and carve our emotions into the walls in weird little caveman hieroglyphics and die, as we lived, in utter obscurity.
The ones lauded as geniuses today are the lucky ones who somehow managed to get noticed by people who are extroverted enough to tell all their friends about this brilliant writer they found and encourage them to go read their stuff.
I don’t know those kinds of people. The people I know seem to be as instinctively unable to be that overt as I am.
When you avoid social exposure like Dracula avoids sunlight, the idea of drawing attention to yourself in order to draw attention to a friend or a find is unthinkable.
Shy folk don’t “network”. We have our little circle of friends and we are perfectly content with that. We live in our own little worlds and that suits us just fine.
But that shyness is the reason that there are so many people like me who can create wonderful things, but can’t bring themselves to show them to anybody.
That’s why we need agents.
Of course, I don’t know any of them, either….
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.