I’m sorry to be so indiscreet
But I really must excrete
All the toxins I secrete
From my dark s spoiled meat

It’s easily understood
Void the bad, keep the good
Not done as often as I should
In this dusty neighborhood

It’s a dirty little sin
But way better out than in
But as soon as you begin
You lose sight of the end

And so I walk this endless track
Three steps forward, two steps back
Pace this obscure cul de sac
A world of magic on my back

Just waiting for someone to want in.

michael bertrand, sep 24, 2019

I knew an atgtack of poetry was coming on. Some times the emotions I need to express are more than even my randomly poetic prose style can contain.

Had my weekly medical appointment. Was expecting great improvement. The part of my wound I could see when the bandage slipped down were quite encouraging. Scabs sloughed off, healthy deep pink flesh underneath.

So I was disappointed when the bandage came off and there was this big gross nasty patch underneath. It’s not a wound, thank god….. nothing has reopened.

It looks more, in fact, like a very nasty scrape. The kind that is also a bruise. Blue-black, raw, wet looking (but not wet, thank goodness), gross AF.

Also worrying : there was a discolored patch left on the bandage where the wound had been touching it. Looked like the world’s most disgusting BBQ sauce.

So presumably, the nasty bit leaked at some point. Just when I thought I was all done with the oozing.

I am not happy with my treatment by the nurse, as she did not reavt when I pointed the stain out to her, neither did she take a picture of the wound like she was supposed to.

She seemed very tired too, the poor dear. The usual snipping the bandage off then winding the two layers of the fresh compression bandage on seemed to take a lot out of her. I felt kinda bad for her.

I’ve felt fairly lousy today, God I need that shower. And yet, when I had the opportunity to take one right before going to my appointment, I just did not have the energy.

That fucking figures.

I want to draw a hot as fuck bath and soak myself in it to loosen up all the gunk, replacing the water as many times as it takes for me to feel clean.

That feeling seems so damned far away now.

I’m positive that my pores are all clogged to the max and as a result, my skin is not breathing properly and I am not sweating properly and that my skin (and thus the rest of me) is unhealthy as fuck right now.

But I confirmed with the murse that taking the fucking bandage off would be Bad. My leg would swell up and the wound might reopen.

Bad mojo all around.

At least it’s a very nice day. Sunshine, blue skies, the works.

Amazing how what I took for granted all summer suddenly becomes magical and precious again when it’s been rainy and grey for three or four days.

More after the break.

---

Feeling somewhat better after some more sleep.

Finished a major section of the plot in Pillars of Eternity. Man, am I getting sick of cities descending into an anarchy of riots, chaos, and fire. It has happened in so many games now that it has lost all shock value to me.

I just shrug resignedly and says “Oh, right. Of course. This again. Fire everywhere – check. Corpses littering the streets – check. People killing the fuck out of each other for no good reason – check. ”

Ho hum, just another urban hellscape.

Borderlands is becoming somewhat ho-hum as well. It’s still fun but it’s getting repetitive. There’s only so many ways the game can send me to the same kind of place to fight the same kind of enemies with the same sorts of weapons before it begins to wear a little thin.

So it’s like the game is currently coasting on personality alone. And make no mistake, it has loads of personality.

But it only goes so far.

Been pretty sleepy today. Coicidentally, I forgot to have my Diet Coke with lunch.

I am beginning to think I am a caffiene addict and that sleepiness is my primary withdrawal symptom. In which case, great. Beats the hell out of the headaches, nausea, and irritability other people get from caff withdrawal.

Then again, if something was keeping me from sleeping and forcing me to be up and “on” doing things, I would definitely get the irritability at least.

Not that sleepiness is all that fun. I am still sleepy right now, in fact. I have nearly dozed off a bunch of times while writing this.

I want nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep like a particularly tired log.

But I have social commitments and I also need to actually eat a meal soon or my blood sugar will slide down and crash and that would make everything much, much worse.

Sometimes I feel like I am trapped in the glass maze from a fun house. You know, the hilarious maze made of extremely clear glass that you can’t see until you whack your nose into it as you try to find your way out of this world gone mad?

Good times, every time.

Well that’s how I feel sometimes. Like I am in an invisible maze that makes no sense to me, and my opitions are to either sit there and rot, or venture into the maze to try to find my way out, knowing I will endure many painful dead ends and never know if I am makibng any kind of real progress, or if I am just going in circles.

So I just sit and rot instead.

That sucks too, but at least it’s predictable.

What I honestly need is a parent. SOmeone to look after me and keep me healthy and strong. Someone who is far wiser than I am, and strong and competent to make me feel safe in their care.

But I am 46. So that shit ain’t happening.

So I’m fucked.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.