Had my phone appointment with my doctor. Told him all about feeling weak and tired and sick after even pathetically small amounts of exercise and how I was worried about what happens if it keeps getting worse.
I don’t want to end up a bedridden invalid.
Not even if it comes with a sexy male nurse.
He asked me a lot of questions about how I feel when I have overexerted myself, and I told him about the pounding in my chest and head, and the headache and nausea and feeling shaky and weak.
He’s referring me to a cardiologist for a dreadful thing known as a “stress test”.
You might have seen one on TV or in a movie. It looks like a middle aged dude walking on a treadmill with no shirt on and with tubes and wires everywhere.
Basically, when they suspect you may have a heart problem, they hook you up to all the usual medical probes (heart rate, blood oxygen, evil thought levels) and make you run as hard as you can so they can get valuable information when you die.
I am probably exaggerating.
But it still seems like a rather extreme way to get info.
“We think you might have a problem with your brakes, so we need you to drive real fast at this brick wall…”.
I mean. realistically,. seeing as everyone who sees cardiologist potentially has a serious heart problem, they must have a way to do this which minimizes the chance of killing or seriously hurting them in the process.
But what little I know about the procedure makes it seem very unpleasant. Like they are not really trying to kill you but they are willing to come pretty close.
So, not looking forward to that. Get the feeling that when the day comes. I am going to be very sarcastic.
Look, that’s what happens when you make a funny fat dude exercise, okay?
A recent fantasy
I’m in a store when a Karen (or her male equivalent) has a meltdown.
I listen to her shit, nodding, I subtly place myself between the Karen and the employee she’s berating so that she turns her attention to me.
Once she runs out of air and pauses. I pounce.
“Hi! I just wanted to tell you that you’re a garbage person. An absolutely terrible person. Just, you know, the worst. Here you are in your grown up clothes throwing a tantrum over some little thing. You know who gets their way by throwing a tantrum? Toddlers. INFANTS. Retarded kindergartners. Behaving like this marks you as unfit for adult privileges and in a just society would get you put back into diapers with a pacifier in your mouth until you learn to behave like a grownup. Barring that, I’m going to need you to apologize to your victim here, then go away forever.”
They will flip like a clamshell cellular phone, of course. And I will let them until they say something about getting me fired.
Then I say “Oh, I don’t work here….I just think you’re a cunt. “
And then I walk out the door while they sputter and fume because they have absolutel no power over me.
And once I am outside, I assume my true form, that of my namesake Michael the Archangel, put my flaming sword of justice back in its sheath, and leap astride my personal Pegasus and fly off into the sunset.
Look, I said this was a fantasy, didn’t I?
More after the break.\
Avoiding the traps
Been watching this :
Lots of good solid advice in there.
Like not getting addicted to games. Ahem.
I wouldn’t say I don’t even enjoy them any more. I do still enjoy them. But I would def cop to playing them less because I want to and more because I don’t know what else to do with myself and I am terrified of facing the world outside of them.
And it’s killing me because it takes up all of my time and that pretty much precludes doing anything more productive with my life.
Like the sort of things that might actually get me out of this oubliette life of mine. Freelancing via UpWork. Submitting my work to potential purchasers. Trying to netwrok with other comedy type people online.
Stuff like that.
All stuff I “could” do, but would have to stop playing video games to do, and I am far too addicted to escaping from reality via games to do that.
So really, the takeaway from my last week of blogging is that my problems all boil down to anger and video games.
They’re not as unrelated as it may seem. I vent a lot of anger by killing demons n’ zombies n’ other bad guys.
Without that outlet. I might be a far angrier person.
What I need to do is get well and truly pissed off about how unsatisfying and humiliating and cramped my current life has become.
I deserve way, way better than this. I am a goddamned genius and it’s time I started making that pay. Fuck video games, they’re killing me on the inside.
I want money, and power, and a dignified lifestyle. I want to be able to support myself and stop feeling like such a burden to everyone. I want to live in pleasant surroundings doing work I enjoy and sharing domestic bliss with the man of my life.
And I am not going to get any of that if I continue to let gaming suck my life away.
And it’s not like I have to go cold turkey. I just need to carve out one or two hours of my waking hours a day to do Other Things.
It won’t be easy, especially not at first. but I’ll be damned if I let a mindless addiction dominate my life.
Time to pick myself up, dust myself off, and go out there and explore.
At least some of the time.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.