And it means I might not make it to FRED. God damn it.
I woke up feeling wretched and not feeling up to going to FRED. But that is par for the course for me.
Every single time there is some actual,. genuine, leave the house type socialization on the horizon, I have to overcome that feeling. I always get the urge to tell everyone I am sick and not go.
And it wouldn’t be a total lie. A panic attack is a form of being sick. right?
But now that I am more awake, I realize that this time, I really am sick. Something in my throat is swollen and making it hard to swallow and there is this ache that starts in my throat and goes all the way down into my chest and my lungs.
Well that fucking sucks.
It especially sucks because I will still need to brave the cold in order to go do my usual Sunday shopping. Either that, or I will need to ask Joe to get me some stuff from 7-11, which would also suck because 1) it will be more expensive that way and 2) it means I won’t get my awesome sugar free desserts from Pricemart.
7-11 has sugar free ice cream, at least, but it’s not the same. Still,. that might seem like a lot less work to Joe than picking me up and taking me to Pricemart.
Either way, laaaaaame.
Philosophically, I find myself wondering whether this is the same cold that has never totally gone away for two weeks or if it’s a brand new strain here to make its Fruvous debut and really show up that pneumonia I had before.
And I still have not been able to make a doctor’s appointment, god damn it. I was pissed off but not that surprised when I didn’t get an answer when I called a bunch of times on Thursay because I know that my GP takes every other Thursday off.
And what possible reason could there be to pay the receptionist when he’s not in the office, other than people?
But I was very disappoined and pissed off when I couldn’t get an answer on Friday. And now I am extra pissed, because now it’s not just that pesky little cold that wouldn’t go away, it’s something making me feel seriously sick.
And there is something fundamentally depressing about my usual wretched feeling upon waking failing to go away this time.
That’s not the deal, man. That was never the deal.
So once more, being sick is going to make my life suckier and more stupid and cost me a great deal of my very limited social time.
This shit is getting out of band. I really really hope I don’t end up with pneumonia again. I made it through the first time by keeping myself busy with puzzles and games on my tablet and doing quite a remarkable job of not thinking about it too much.
But I don’t think I could do that again. This time, I would worry and freak out.
And that would make everything worse.
I feel somewhat better. The physical symptoms are the same but I have managed to get some good sleep so I am able to handle the pain much better.
I’ve ordered in. I figure I was going to spend money on supper either way, so I might as well treat myself.
But it turned out to be more complicated than I thought because I had no appetite at all. I could not think of a single kind of food that sounded good to be. Everything seemed “meh” in the extreme.
So I decided to scroll through the list of restaurants on SkipTheDishes.ca…
…to see if something jumped out at me, and something did.
The weird thing was, it was McDonald’s.
It was as if suddenly the clouds parted and a vision of a Big Mac shone like golden (arches) sunshine and the angels sang “Ee-ee-eat me!”.
So now a Big Mac meal with large fries and a large diet coke plus a carrot muffin are wending their way to me via the miracle of the modern gig economy.
As of the moment I am typing this, it is 21 minutes away.
And I won’t lie. it feels weird paying $20 for what I normally pay $12 at McD’s. That is eight bucks worth of convenience I am paying for. And the tiny Scotsman in my head rails against such extravagence.
But he can go fuck himself. If he had his way I would never have any fun. He’s the one I have to fight in order to buy brand name pop, for fuck’s sake.
The problem is that when my disability cheques were much smaller, and definitely when I was on welfare, he rules the roost. I had to be extremely parsimonious because I had so little money that I could not afford to waste a penny.
My compulsive optimization was, for once, functional.
But I have a lot more now. and I can totally afford the occasional indulgence. But in order to actually indulge myself, I have to drag that little bastard kicking and screaming all the way.
The thrift became deeply compulsive. And I can feel the beginnings of what make someone into a money hoarder in my mind. Because that part of my psyche, if it totally had its way, would still spend as little as possible and let the extra money build up so it can squat on it like a dragon.
Why? For emotional security. The bigger the pile of money, the more safe and stable I would feel. And that’s a dangerous road to go on because even if it starts off as a long term need for emotional security, it would rapidly become a topical remedy for negative emotions like any other addiction.
Feel bad? Add to the hoard! “Enough” is a dirty word! MUST ACCUMULATE.
Fuck THAT noise.
So I try to teach myself out of the compulsion by forcing myself to buy nice things for myself now and then.
It’s a work in progress.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.