Well I seem to have passed through the eye of the needle once more.
That’s how it feels when I go through one of these period where I am even sicker than usual. Like I have passed through the eye of the needle and been squished and compressed in the process, and had all those nasty toxins (both literal and psychological) squeezed out of me.
So I guess I got my big profound pain. It just came in as un-dramatic and drab way possible. No profoundly Zen experience where I see the face of God.
Just a few days feeling somewhat crappier than usual. Yay.
Still, it’s good to be back to my standard level of daily misery. I feel a lot better today than I did yesterday.
I’m not entirely out of the woods yet. I missed a lot of sleep when I was extra ill. Or rather, I missed a lot of decent sleep. I slept a lot, but never for very long, and the quality of sleep was atrocious.
So I am quite tired. And sleepy. I honestly would still be in bed if I hadn’t needed to get up and eat, blog, and make a phone call.
The phone call was to Doctor Costin to tell him that my 12:40 pm dermatologist appointment would preclude my being home for out usual 1 pm therapy by phone session and we’d have to reschedule.
I really hope the dermatologist will know what to do to clear up my scalp. I’m very tired of having this nightmare on my head. It’s super gross and disgusting, plus I am very tired of having to clear my scalp of (sorry) dried pus like three times a day.
I’ve tried just ignoring it. It only gets thicker.
Still have not made contact with the surgeon who is supposed to eventually fix my hernia. I tried calling their office yesterday, and first I got a long message about their hours and COVID policies and such, and then at the end of that it said “DO NOT LEAVE A MESSAGE”, followed by “*BEEP!* Please leave a message at the tone. *BEEP!*”, followed by “This mailbox is full!”.
All of which makes me think things have really gone to hell over there.
La piece de fuckery was that the message told me I could book an appointment via their website, and then totally failed to give me the address of said website.
This is not exactly filling me with confidence. I am suppose to trust this person to slice me open and patch me up when they can’t even get their voice mail game together?
I will give them one more shot. They mentioned the name of the clinic in the initial spiel, so I will Google that and see if contact can be made that way.
But if that doesn’t work then I am going to ask Doctor Chao for a new referral. And inform the BC College of Surgeons and Physicians that one of their members has fallen off the face of the earth.
This is all getting so complicated. I need to hire me a medical secretary.
More after the break.
Eh, who cares?
Caught myself trying to find the “right” jumping off point for part 2 of the day’s blogging.
But fuck that. That’s not how I operate. I just dive in and write.
That’s the only way it works for me because it obviates any possibility of hesitation. If I stop to try to think of the “right” whatever, that will give my doubts and fears and chronic indecision a chance to sink their teeth into me and I will never do anything.
That’s why I have a healthy disdain for perfectionism. It can be quite toxic. And when all is said and done, I’d rather make a terrible something than a perfect nothing.
Similarly, I am learning to just plain not give a shit about all the great ideas for blog entries I think of during the day and then forget long before I actually blog.
Fuck it. It’s all just part of the process. Nothing of value is lost. And there’s nothing I can do about it anyhow, as I can’t remember them and I can’t write them down either.
Patient readers know that if I write an idea down, I lose all desire to execute it. Whatever I was going to express via the idea has been expressed by writing it down, and I have now moved on.
Not at all how I want my muse to work, but smart artists do whatever their muse asks of them without trying to impose their own expectations and desires on it.
So I am trying to simply not get attached to the transient ideas. They are fine ideas but not the “right” idea because they came at the “wrong” time.
When I sit down to write, I just reach into my stream of consciousness and grab the first fish than swims close enough.
I think it lends a certain immediacy to my writing.
And that’s going to be the norm at least until I overcome my lassitude and ennui enough to become the sort of writer who gets an inspiration and dashes to the computer to immediately get to work on it.
Even typing that makes me feel tired. So uncomfortably energetic.
But who knows, that might be the depression talking, and if I manage to write my way to sanity one day, I might see things differently.
Still feeling relatively good. Or at least no worse than usual. So if my recent suffering did nothing else for me, it at least made me grateful for my usual level of health.
After all, it could be far, far worse.
Things can always be worse.
It does make me wonder what the hell I just went through, though. I’ve been through more or less the same thing dozens of times in my life and I have never known just what the fuck was going on.
I think maybe my pores get clogged and that fucks everything else up as I overheat.
Allergies might be a factor too.
And the crisis lasts for however long it takes my body to unclog.
Clearly, I need a more aggressive cleaning regimen. One that clears ALL the gunk out of my oversized pores on a regular basis.
Can anyone recommend a deep cleansing body wash?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.