May 25, 2013

I would like to be less angry now and a little more calm and collected.


Almost a month since I last wrote.

I’ve had a strange, lingering depression. I feel like an apple crushed for juice but there’s not a lot in me. There hasn’t been for a whole month. I started smoking cigarettes again. Stress level is way up there. Not feeling so hot.

I don’t know what is worse–knowing you have no more refills on a medication you desperately need and having to go see a prescription-pushing, plastic-faced doctor you owe money to because you missed the last appointment because the office never called to confirm and they charged you $35, or buying the other medication you really need and it being full of seeds, stems, and leaves, with barely any bud in there at all, and you feel like you’re smoking dirt.

I’m also tired of those “it gets better!” messages. Oh just fuck off will you. Damn it, by now I’m ready for the shitty days.

Memorial Day weekend is a horrible time. I don’t like remembering dead people who suited up and went and did important things in the name of ‘Murrica. I don’t much care, quite honestly. They joined up to die and they died. The end. We remember them to honor their “sacrifice”, to appreciate what they did for all the freedom in the world you guys, to feel guilty, to get an extra holiday, to sell some red white blue shit to old grandmas.

I’ve gotten a lot of hell before for saying shit like this. Usually it comes from people who are buying the red white blue shit. Or from people who joined up to die but haven’t died yet. Or from people who knew / loved those that joined up to die and died. Or think that freedom is the best thing in the world you guys, who don’t even realize the ugly truth:

Freedom is an illusion. We are all in prison.

They joined up to die, died, and were set free. But you and I? We’re still stuck in hell.


April 28, 2013

Last week I ran my roommate to the ER and we ended up staying there for just under 24 hours. It was very emotional, very trying, very I-don’t-ever-want-to-do-this-again-dear-god. I took the rest of the week off to take care of my friend and I haven’t left her side unless it was to run important errands for us. I paid bills, I talked to Human Resources people, I called her family doctor and made her an appointment, I yelled at my manager for telling me she wasn’t my kin why should it matter, I brought her water and food and got her caffeine at 1 AM from the soda machine that stands outside of the tiny trackside mart down the street. I helped her from place to place, I got her clean clothes and towels and tucked her into bed every time she got up, I brought her orange juice and kept her water bottle filled and brought her entertainment and kept her from being bored. My friend needed my help this week, and I was there to give it.

Damn it.

My tax check came in during all of this, thank goodness, because my paycheck will be utter shit now. And after all of that, after picking up cigarettes and putting them back down again (I’m on day two without smokes, go me) and after missing important doses of my medication and bla bla bla bla, I spent $100 on a big bag of funky green reefer, damn it.

Everything is real cool. I am so chill. 

Things are smooth now. No hurts, no sores, no imperfections in two CAT scans and a lot of bloodwork and 24 hour hospital observation. We’re just recovering now. Whew.