Wow. Ordered a nice fat footlong sub from Subway for tonight’s dinner and it says it will be here in 17 mins.
I am used to waiting around 45 minutes for my food, so that’s pretty frigging impressive.
We will see if they make it.
Fiiiiiinally got that frigging ultrasound today.
So that’s a load off my mind.
Got the call at 8:30 am. Thank goodness I happened to be awake. Normally I would be asleep at that time,
So,,, yay insomnia, I guess. I had a very hard time falling asleep, even after the phone call. I was feeling very agitated and tense for no readily discernable reason.
Could be that what I really needed was to ejaculate. Empty those big ol’ balls of mine. I have spent most of my adult life kind of ignoring whatever they had to say and as a result, I think I have blamed a lot of feeling ill on other things when it was just a case of the good ol’ blue balls.
I ignore my sexuality in general, to be honest. It is as childlike and underdeveloped as the rest of my instincts and drives. I know that on some level, I would love to have lots and lots of high quality gay buttsex , please, but like everything else that should make me want to do things, it goes nowhere.
And when I try to imagine it actually happening, that freaking-out feeling starts and I know damned well that even if the sexual opportunity of a lifetime fell into my lap, I would have to fight an incoming tide of deep, deep anxiety to take advantage of it.
It makes me wonder if sex is ever going to be a part of my life. Between my very deep seated issues with it and the level of performance suppression from my antidepressants, and my profound social damage, it’s hard to imagine a scenario where I would actually get it on and get off too.
Makes me kind of wish I could just skip the whole thing, to be honest.
Of course, it might be a different story if something appealing to either of my two illegal sexualities came along. That might be stimulating enough to blow that clog on my energies away and let me have a good time.
The illegality of them, though, presents some spectacularly difficult logistical issues not to mention a strong element of risk.
So (irony intended) I guess I am just plain screwed. At least until a more enlightene world that can tell the different between moral consent and legal consent comes along.
Like i have said many times before, it is a hell of a thing to be told by society that you should never, ever, ever get the kind of sex you really want, that if you ever did it would be a terrible crime, and that people like you should be locked up (or even killed in awful ways) for even wanting what you want.
Well I can’t stop wanting it. That’s hardwired. Human sexual imprinting is not, as far as science can tell, alterable in any way.
You get what you’ve got and that’s it. That’s your primary sexuality and absolutely everything else will always be an inferior substitute.
I have two. One is illegal. And the other is really, really, really illegal.
So illegal that it would be far too huge a risk for me to do anything to seek that kind of sex. So in that sense, the system works. I will not act on my impulses.
But I refuse to believe that getting that type of sex is inherently wrong. That’s just mindless taboo talking. I am positive that it is possible for all parties involved to thoroughly enjoy themselves and even grow emotionally closer through it.
But due to the extremely hostile social and legal climate, it would take meeting the exact right kind of people for me to ever get what I really want, and I haven’t the slightest idea how to find such persons.
Guess I will just have to never, ever, ever have what I want.
God, that’s depressing.
The ultrasound was painless, of course. Partly that’s because it’s so noninvasive, and partly it’s because my leg demon is not very sensitive to touch any more.
Not long ago, just having my pant leg rub against the dressing hurt like a son of a bitch. But that’s not true at all any more. In fact, I can poke the thing or squish it around a little and it doesn’t hurt. And it’s not red and inflamed at all any more.
This leads me to believe that the infection itself is dead and that further treatment is mostly a matter of wound management.
That’s not going to be easy. I won’t go into the (literally) gory details, but the centerpiece of the whole gruesome tableau is a cavity in my flesh about the size of your thumb.
It’s so freaky to even know that’s there.
I assume that, at the point in the infection before it self-perforated and began draining on its own, this cavity is where the fluid collected.
Thank goodness for that self-perforation then. Probably saved me far worse damage.
The ultrasound was super thorough. Ended up taking a lot longer than I thought it would. But I was lying on my back and being touched by a cute Asian guy the whole time, so I didn’t mind too much.
And hey, if Doctor Kwok (around the Blok) wants a highly detailed and rich dataset from which to draw his conclusions, I am all for it.
I just wish I could have a copy of the file. I would love to have a highly detail 3D scan of the wound as a memento of this whole fiasco.
What can I say, I am a very strange man and I find information comforting.
One last thing – when I got to the ER for the day’s IV antibiotics, I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was almost 3 pm.
I was too sick to eat before leaving for the hospital.
So I asked for something to eat, knowing that Richmond Hospital pretty much always has sandwiches and juice around for just such an occasion.
And yay me being assertive to get my needs met! *applause!*
And as a reward for that, what the nurse brought me ended up being exactly what I would have asked for if I had been asking : egg salad sandwich and apple juice.
That hit the spot perfectly and gave me what I needed to keep my blood sugar from taking a nosedive.
So that’s pretty much been my day. After that, Joe drove me home, and I’ve been my usual lump of a self ever since there.
At least I’m a cute lump.
So there’s that.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.