Another day in the swamps of Hell

I am in my usual post bad sleep state.

You know the drill. [1] Mental fog that is thick and clinging. Sickly sticky flop sweat all over me, making me feel glazed, like a ham. A vague tingle permeating all my body, no doubt the rest of sleep apnea’s oxygen deprivation. Disorientation and a disconnected and detached confusion. Heavy feeling in the limbs.

And so the words are not coming easy right now. I am drinking some Diet Coke and eating an apple, and hopefully one or both of those will help liven me up so I can think and pulls my collective poop together.

If not, I will just have to push against the veil in order to get anything done. Like usual.

Oh well. This too shall pass. And I have reasons to be happy with myself. I finally got my diabetes meds, and so my blood sugar should be on track soon. No more attacks of keen cutting hunger, hopefully. [2]

That shit gets real old, real fast. I suppose it’s my body’s response to dropping blood sugar levels. But fat as I am and with all that I eat, I should not be getting gut wrenching hunger pangs three hours after a full meal.

And most of what I eat is real food, too. So it’s not the malady of modern malady of mallbnutrition, where people are fat and starving at the same time because they don’t get enough nutrition from all the crappy food they eat.

So what do they do?

Eat even more crappy food.

It’s downright barbaric, when you think of it.

So anyhow, I am on track to get my health back. And my career, because I applied for five different jobs on UpWork yesterday.

So, yay me on that. Dunno how much of a chance I have at any of them, I don’t meet all the qualifications for any of them. But none of them are hard requirements, just “preferred candidates” type stuff.

I mean seriously. 1000 hours of paid work on UpWork? In your dreams, people. Especially for those of you looking to pay as little as possible.

I mean sure, I could put an ad on craigslist looking to buy a three bedroom apartment in the middle of downtown Vancouver for a dime, but it wouldn’t be very realistic.

Beside, I am brash and cocky enough to think that the overwhelming power of my talent as exemplified by my work is enough to compensate for such minor concerns.

I hope to continue job hunting till I get something. I was a much healthier person when I was working. I had purpose and direction and definition in my life, and I desperately need all three of those in my life in order to help me retain my shape.

Otherwise, I lose resolution and dift into being as I am now, a vague grey cloud that blogs and plays Skyrim.

And that’s not enough to keep a soul alive. A body, sure. A brain, most definitely.

But not my soul. Not my heart. There is so much more to life than I have been experiencing. So uch so that it scares the bejesus out of me sometimes. Just thibnking of that big,  loud,  intensely real world out there makes me so scared that it makes me want to burrow even deeper into my safety pit and shut my eyes tight to block it out.

But it’s also the cure for what ails me, I have a massive number of unmet needs. In fact, arguably, I haven’t even made it to the second from the bottom layer of Maslow’s hierarchy yet. I have food, shelter, heat, and water, and I have friends.

But the rest just plain ain’t there.

And the only way I will cure this malnutrition of the soul is if I embrace the real world. That’s like, the very first step.

Not all at once, of course. In baby steps. It’s like exposure therapy for phobias. You don’t cure someone of arachnophobia by going right for the tarantula on the shoulder on day one. That will only make things far, far worse.

So, baby steps. Seems simple enough. But there is always a strong force on me that wants to turn away from the world and silently weep. A part of me that is permanently freaked out and can’t handle anything and can’t possibly get far enough from that big bad real world in order to truly calm down.

And it can’t be a straight up fight between the two sides of me any more. That’s not going to work. Instead, I want to give that silent weeper a deep warm hug and hold on tight until it is all cried out and then listen while it tells me why it’s so scared and pours out its heart to me and tells me the whole sad story, warts and all.

So, look for a reply to my letter to myself some time soon.

Probably. Hopefully. Whatever. Either way is fine.

In fact, I had planned to write that today, but the bad sleep left me in too mentally messed up a state to focus enough to do it.

Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow I will have all day to myself. Tonight, I am getting together with tout le gang to go out for dinner then hang out here in Fanhattan.

So I didn’t have the luxury of waiting till my mind cleared before the bloggening.

Right now, I am going to lay down again, probably take a nap. Hopefully, this time, I will wake up feeling better.

It’s been known to happen.

And I am too tired to do anything else anyhow.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. “Now to work here, you have to have deep knowledge of one of our tools… ” “Yeah yeah. I know the dril.”l
  2. Why do some people have a problem with the word ‘hopefully’? They say the word ‘hopeful’ is enough. But it isn’t. If you swap it in, it doesn’t work. “Hopefully, it won’t rain. ” makes sense. “Hopeful it won’t rain” does not. Who is being hopeful?”

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