It’s Tuesday morning, and instead of sitting at the train station, I’m sitting at the bus stop. It’s been quite rainy out, and after riding my bike back to the house from the train station yesterday afternoon in a non-stop deluge, I decided to walk to the bus to the train and so on instead.
I’m a glutton for punishment, obviously enough, but everything in my body aches now after the wet ride yesterday, and I was up more than usual during the night with back and hip and leg pain. That’s not really anything new, but it felt clear that it was exacerbated by the thorough soaking, and then of course, by nearly slipping on the wet floor in my room, which is hard, smooth tile.
I say “nearly slipping”. I guess I actually did slip, but I caught myself before getting very close to falling. I suppose that’s a good sign of improved physical strength and agility from all my walking and biking and everything, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel the consequences.
Even my supposedly water-resistant boots were literally squishing inside by the time I’d gotten back to the house, only five miles from the train station.
This is boring, isn’t it? I keep realizing how boring it is that I’m writing about this stuff, and I do apologize. I guess it’s the sort of thing about which most people talk to their friends or their spouses or their family in general when it happens, but I don’t really have any such people to whom to talk about it on a daily basis. I suppose I can mention it at work, and people will probably listen politely, as they will when I tell the about a physics article describing the extreme roundness of an isolated electron and so on. But no one really interacts about it.
No one really interacts much about anything I’m interested in; I bore people pretty quickly with them. I, in turn, have a hard time getting interested in anything in which they are interested. Certainly, typical matters of gossip or popular entertainment are pretty lost on me.
The closest thing I really have to regular, daily social interaction is reading and leaving comments and getting responses on Jerry Coyne’s website Why Evolution Is True. But yesterday, at least, every comment I tried to leave disappeared. I don’t know if that was a technical glitch or just that my comments were blocked or whatever by PCC(E)*. I sometimes get the impression, on the rare occasion when he responds to one of my comments, that he doesn’t like me (this is not an unusual attribute), so he may just be disallowing my comments. Thus, even that little outlet is fading or at least is glitching.
It’s irritatingly windy this morning, and the wind is blowing water from nearby trees even here to the middle of the bus shelter, and it’s getting on the screen of my computer some. I may have to stop and finish this later. It’s frustrating. But what do I not find frustrating?
I felt horribly depressed almost all day yesterday. In fact, ironically, I was probably least depressed while I was riding through the rain, partly because my locking mechanism for the seat of my bike had worked, and partly because it was just kind of hilarious how wet I was getting, from above and below. I would have been less soaked if I had walked, because I could have used an umbrella. It’s hard to use an umbrella on a bike.
There were a number of times during the day yesterday when I thought about how much I hated my life and hated the world and (mainly) hated myself, and how I wanted to just swallow all the Tylenol in the bottle I have at the desk** or slice myself open with one of the box cutters I have, or douse myself in lighter fluid and set myself on fire***.
None of these are great options, and I would prefer to find something less painful. Of course, the governor of the sunshine state and the goobers in the legislature are, I think, working on making it so that I’ll legally be able to purchase a gun again soon, if they haven’t already. Anyway, there are plenty of people in gun shows and so on who probably wouldn’t care about restrictions on selling guns to people like me—you know, non-violent “ex-felons” or whatever the proper term is, even though my “felony” charges were ones to which I pled guilty only because of extortion by the legal system. I never knowingly or willingly “trafficked” in drugs; I was trying to help people with chronic pain in a society in which those with non-lethal causes of pain are expected simply to keep soldiering on despite constant misery, even though—ironically—their pain will continue much longer than will that of a person with, say, terminal cancer.
It’s hard to say, though, whether I could use a gun to kill myself. I have too much knowledge about guns, and have used them with respect, shooting competitively and for pleasure—never once having so much as fired at another living thing, unless you count scaring squirrels or raccoons off with a low-power bb gun. I did once play Russian Roulette, but only once, and afterwards, though I was obviously horribly depressed, my hands were shaking. I didn’t do it again, though if I had succeeded, at least I wouldn’t have gone to prison, not that I knew that at the time. I had no clue what was coming.
I don’t know why I’m talking about all this, or rather, writing about all this, sitting at the bus stop waiting to go to the train to the walk to the office. I don’t have a therapist anymore, so that’s part of it. I don’t have a personal physician of any kind, either. I don’t have any local emotional support, and I don’t make a good friend, so I’m not likely to obtain any new ones or any other form of a social circle.
I keep wishing I would catch pneumonia or some other severe illness and be killed by it. Maybe that’s part of why I was so amused by getting so wet when riding last night; there was just the bare possibility that my resistance would go down low enough that I would catch something. But of course, that isn’t really how infection works, and I know it only too well. You have to be exposed to an infectious agent, and I don’t seem to be all that susceptible. Probably I have lots of antibodies and whatnot from medical school and then medical practice.
I’m just so tired. I can’t sleep at night for more than about an hour at a time, then I wake up and try to go back to sleep and sleep at most another hour, and then eventually just watch the clock reach the time for me to get up. I want to be able to sleep and just stay asleep until I feel rested, or forever, whichever comes first. That would be like…well, I was going to say “like a dream”, but it’s not quite accurate. That would be wonderful. That’s what it would be.
*This is how many of us refer to Professor Coyne.
**This is probably not a good choice. It takes a long time to work, and if it fails it can still cause terrible liver problems, and it’s a long and drawn out death even if it works. It’s very unpleasant.
***That’s something best not to do indoors, of course, and it was rainy yesterday, so it probably wouldn’t have worked outdoors if I had tried. Also, it’s not got too high a fatality rate, or if it is fatal, it too can be a long, drawn out, and very painful death. My point, overall, is to try to diminish and avoid or escape chronic pain, both physical and psychological.
Robert, you may have seen that Jerry informed readers of WEIT that due to some glitch in the comment system, he has to approve virtually every comment – even for regular commentors. Comment may thus take quite a while to appear. And, to complicate matters, he finds himself in Paris on a culinary expedition!
He asked for patience until the bug is fixed.
I knew that was happening, and my comments had been noted as awaiting moderation, like everyone else’s I suspect. But then they stopped requiring moderation and just started disappearing after supposedly being put up. It may still be a glitch, of course.
Robert, I always enjoy your comments on Jerry Coyne’s website. As Johan said, there are problems with comments on that website now, so don’t give up.