Sorta kinda more or less.
Went to the hospital today, of course. Ended up there at a bit before 9:30 am.
Took a cab. Can’t really afford it, but it helped compensate for the whole having to be up before noon thing.
I know it’s not reasonable, but I still resent the fuck out of that. What can I say, the one subject about which I am reliably grumpy is sleep. Mess with my sleep and you are bound to see the dark side of the Fru.
So I get there and get checked in and hooked up, and eventually Doctor Vortel shows up to check things out.
And it was way better this time. He still didn’t spend much time on me, but he at least made eye contact with me and smiled.
On the way home on the bus, I realized that it was not really fair for me to take the fact that he was in a huge hurry on Wednesday personally.
He didn’t know me from Adam, so how could it be personal?
But I forgive myself for doing so because it touched on a very sensitive issue for me and kind of got attached to that issue via association.
Anyhow, the good news from him was that, assuming the bloodwork from the blood he got a nurse to take today comes back clean, I will probably be off the whole daily IV antibiotics thing come Tuesday.
After that, I will be taking the ghastly monstrosity on my leg to a wound care clinic/
Speaking of my nightmarish flesh creature. when Maria, tje wound care nurse, took the dressing off today, we both agreed that it was looking way, way better. Nearly all of the swelling is gone, the area is pink and healthy and no longer inflamed, and the drainage is down to a trickle.
There’s just the little matter of a freaking hole the size of a hockey puck left to deal with.
And it’s extremely sensitive on the inside. All Maria did was lightly dab at the inside with an alcohol swab and it burned with the heat of a thousand suns.
But fuck it. It’s only pain. It was intense but brief. So whatever.
I am glad that I will soon be free of the daily trips to the ER, even though, as patient readers know, they have kind of been good for me. They get me out of the apartment and out into the fresh air and sunshine, and the fact that I handle the situation on my own (apart from drives from Joe) has increased my self-esteem and my sense of my own ability to deal with life.
So the trick, then, will be to find something to replace it.
I have pondered makoing a habit of walking to 7-11 and back once a day. I am not tempermentally capable of just taking a walk, so I would have to buy something small, like a Slurpee, to justify the trip.
It could work, at least during what’s left of the summer.
I will, of course, be back later.
Cocaine never sounded like a pleasant experience to me.
I mean, yeah, intellectually,I get it. Coke can make you feel invincible and powerful and super, super alive. I imagine it can also be quite the thrill.
But on a personal level, to has always sounded like something I would hate.I don’t like feeling super energetic and hyper. Like I need this massively mighty mind of mine to go even faster! I already feel like a runaway train half the time anyhow.
No, I lack is not energy but focus. If there was an illicit drug out there that made it easy to focus my mind and my energies so I could direct them into productive pursuits,I would be all over that like white on Norwegians.
Cocaine kind of takes you in the opposite direction.
As far as I know, no such drug exists. Focus is a little too complex and ephemeral a mental state to be the predictable and controllable result of a chemical intervention.
I could be wrong, though. Psychpharmocology is getting pretty sophisticated these days. Maybe an OTC mental focus aid is just around the corner/
If so, sign me the fuck up.
But what about the crash? Presumably. after the effect wears out, you would be left in a very unfocused. incoherent state of mind.
Yeah,well welcome to my world.buddy.That’s my default state!
I’ve always been a dreamer. Someone who is a lot more focused on their inner world than on what it going on in the outer world. Someone who gets lost in their own thoughts on purpose,and enjoys it. Someone who explores reality by exploring their inner version of it.
We dreamers, no matter how high our IQ (ahem), often come across as stupid on a practical level because we pay so little attention to reality.
To say this makes us less effective in it would be a wild understatement. We stumble about like, true to our dreamer designation. we are half asleep all the time.
We pay a stiff price for how stingy we are when it comes to using our precious mental bandwidth on mere reality.
And in my case, at least, there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it. My settings are set. When needed, I can increase my attention to my surrounding etc by a modest amount, but that’s it.
Anything more than that would take some kind of super rewarding external stimulus, I would imagine. Something to convice my inner miser that there is something worth staying out there in the physical world for.
Like really good sex.
Otherwise, I am stuck with my head in the clouds and tripping over every puddle and pothole on the road.
And then I come here and whine about how mean the world is for having puddles in the first place and how they were clearly put there to hurt me personally.
But the truth is,I am just not built for survival.
And yet I manage it anyway.
Maybe I really am a wizard.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.