Author: Robert Elessar

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Crystallized thought and civilizational axle grease

It’s Friday, and I suspect I will be working tomorrow, and if I do, I will probably write a blog post.  Further bulletins on that subject as events warrant.

I’m really, really exhausted.  I think the events of the past few weeks are finally just catching up to me, now that I don’t literally have constant tension and discomfort from the stent, which truly made me unable to rest for more than an hour at a time, maximum.  Yesterday at work was really rough; by the end I was just lying my head back limply in my seat and kind of staring and trying to doze off‒at which I succeeded for a few minutes at a time.  But I certainly haven’t recovered.

I wish I could spend about 24 hours straight just sleeping in a comfortable bed in an air conditioned room with no interruptions.  Oh, and I would want plenty of water and other beverages to drink.

Well, my portable AC unit is supposed to arrive today, and if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll even have the energy to set it up and turn it on this evening.  I hope I will.  It would be a shame not to be able to take advantage of it.

I really hope it works well.

As for everything else, well, I have no idea, really.  I certainly feel no urge or drive to create anything, unless you count this blog as a creative endeavor, which I’m not sure I do.  Maybe if I get the AC in and running I’ll have more creative energy.  I don’t know.  I’m somewhat pessimistic, but that’s more down to my character than to a balanced assessment of the situation.

I still have my overarching plan about either losing weight and diminishing my chronic pain or else…well, you know, but I haven’t made much headway yet on that, because a number of events have gotten in the way.  These last few weeks even my upper body workout in the mornings has been erratic; it’s hard to keep my discipline up.

I wish there were some patron out there, perhaps some manner of “sugar mama” or whatever it would be, to sponsor me in doing some creative endeavors.  On the other hand, I wouldn’t want such a person to have the rights to any intellectual property I produced, so it’s not as though I would just welcome and work for anyone.

It would be nice to have some help, though, on a regular basis.  But, of course, I know I have no right to expect that nor do I in any possible sense deserve it.

Of course, the very concept of “deserving” things is one that I find vague and nebulous, and often without substance.  I can understand it in a situation in which one has been part of a contract and one has fulfilled one’s agreed upon end of the bargain‒then such a person deserves the payment (or whatever) to which they agreed in the contract.

Other than that, though, I think the term is usually vacuous, at least the way most people seem to use it, as in, “You deserve someone who treats you like a queen/king” or some such sentiments.  Really?  Someone deserves that?  How so?  What service did that person perform for the world or what attributes do they embody that make them deserve such treatment?

I don’t think most people actually really ever think about it when they say such things.  And yet, they fill themselves and each other with these concepts of entitlement without basis, and this leads them to a cycle of letting the “perfect”* be the enemy of the good.  It’s a kind of narcissism, in a way, and as usually seems to be the case (to an outside observer such as I am) such attributes almost always bring misery to the person who embodies them, and often to those around them.

I do wish people would be more careful with their words‒even in private, impromptu interactions to some degree.  Language is crystallized thought, and sloppy language doesn’t merely reflect sloppy thought; it engenders it.

But, of course, while language, especially written language, is the lifeblood of civilization, courtesy is the lubricant**, without which the machinery of civilization grinds itself down and rapidly ceases to function well, if at all.  Thus, it’s worth applying the principle of charity to other people when interacting, rather than trying to pounce on any potential cause of offense, or to “pwn” them (as they used to say) or to “destroy” them in a discussion.

Besides being hyperbolic (and inaccurate in other ways) such notions surely miss the whole point of a discussion (or, Batman forbid, a debate) which should be about interacting with others’ thoughts and trying to improve one’s own (and mutual) understanding and to try to achieve an ever-improving understanding of the reality in which everyone exists.

It’s frustrating.  But so are many other things, I suppose.  I wish there were more rewards to compensate for the frustrations, but it’s been a long time since that has been anything approaching a balance for me.

Whatever.  I hope you all have a good day, and a good weekend, whether or not I write a post tomorrow.

*Another word that is almost always vacuous.

**I know, I’m mixing metaphors here, but I’m doing it with full and deliberate awareness, so I hope it’s not too grating.

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That small model of the barren earth which serves as paste and cover to our blogs

Hello and good morning.

Well, I forgot to bring my mini laptop computer back to the house with me last night, so I am writing this post on my smartphone.  At least that should tend to keep the post brief, I guess.

It feels a bit weird not to be discussing my kidney stone, doesn’t it?  Oh, wait, I guess I just brought it up, so to speak, didn’t I?  Although, you don’t want to bring up a kidney stone in any literal way, of course.  But it does seem that mine must have passed, since the symptoms are almost completely resolved.  It feels weird, in a way, to be able to go a long time between trips to the restroom!

There’s still pretty much nothing else going on in my personal news.  No creative endeavors are underway at all.  I thought about asking my boss if he could bring my black Strat back, but I haven’t felt much other than chagrin at the thought.  I imagine it sitting idle by my desk, mocking me with my apparent inability to do anything at all engaging or creative.

I don’t know what to do with what’s left of my life, if anything.  Why would I try to achieve anything of consequence when humans are, overall, so stupidly unable to recognize almost anything sensible about the world and their place in it, such as it is?  They are so small and provincial and tribal‒though perhaps it’s hypocritical of me to characterize them as such when I am expressing general misanthrope toward them, which is a sort of tribalism/xenophobia/prejudice in and of itself.

Still, I wouldn’t say that all human beings are any one thing other than human beings, and that’s just a tautology.  I don’t like to generalize about 8+ billion beings, except in the obvious, trivial ways.  Though humans are, overall, far more alike than they are unalike, there is nevertheless tremendous variation in their specifics*.  No two humans who have ever lived have been exactly the same; even identical twins have different development and local environments that make them diverge, at first subtly, but with growing potential difference, rather like the progression of a chaotic system.

Two first-degree relatives can diverge more, of course, or at least they are more prone to do so.  And two “unrelated”** humans can diverge still more.  Nevertheless, the phase space through which their trajectories may wander, while functionally limitless in certain dimensions, is nevertheless a tiny sliver of the phase space of all mammals, or of all vertebrates, or of all animals, or of all eukaryotes, or of all terrestrial life.  And we don’t even know what other possibilities may be available.

I guess my overall point is that I do not feel like a part of this species, or even of this biosphere.  I feel other.  I do not feel a sense of connection to the people or creatures around me, not in any deep and persistent way.  Maybe I used to feel that; I can’t recall right now.  Maybe I’ve just degenerated over time.

Oh, well.  I guess for the moment I will go through the motions as I have been and try to see if it gets easier.  I don’t expect it will, but I guess it’s technically possible.

TTFN

*Not in the biological sense of the word, though that ends up being a nice coincidence.

**I put the “scare” quotes around the word because of course all humans are related, and not in some absurd, Adam and Eve mythological way.  Indeed, all life on Earth is related‒yes, even octopuses.  It’s very unlikely that a life form that didn’t arise on Earth would be able to digest any form of sustenance here, because biological material, and the enzymes that break it down, are highly specific in their characteristics and interactions***.

***That’s why I currently inhabit this cumbersome, irritating body, despite all its failings****.

****I don’t really think that I’m an extraterrestrial consciousness trapped in a human body, of course.  That’s just a metaphorical way to express how I feel*****.

*****Or is it?

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A hot and muggy morning blog post*

Okay, well, it’s Wednesday morning, and I didn’t write a blog post yesterday.  I didn’t go to work yesterday, either, because yesterday was my appointment to get the stent taken out of my right ureterovesical junction—you can look that up in case you don’t already know to what I refer.  In any case, my thought process was that, since to get to my appointment on time from the office would have taken most of two hours, I would’ve had to leave work very shortly after it started, and I was not feeling well at all on Monday, nor on Tuesday.

Now, I am pleased to report, the stent came out without much trouble, though it was terribly uncomfortable.  Nevertheless, it is a true relief to have it gone.  Now, without the access “thread” from the stent hanging out, I can actually not feel like I have to use the bathroom constantly.  That’s a tremendous relief.

The urologist recommended that I drink lots of liquid every day from now on, and when I suggested “At least three liters?” he shook his head and pointed up with his thumb The Accountant style, and told me “Four or five at least”.

I’m not going to resist that advice, of course.  I already live in south Florida, and the heat and humidity are ridiculous.  I probably need to drink quite a bit more than even that if I can; the threat of recurrent kidney stones is a powerful one.  What’s worse, my room’s air conditioner is on the fritz, and it has been for some time.  I looked this morning at a little digital thermometer that I have and that I had forgotten for a while, and the temperature in my room was 89.5 degrees Fahrenheit.  This was at four in the morning.

Well, I already have a new, portable air conditioning unit on the way, which should arrive no later than Friday.  I look forward to it because, although I have quite a good and powerful floor fan, that leaves me with more of a tendency to dehydrate because it cools by evaporation.

I know, all this is rather boring.  I apologize.  I never told anyone I have an exciting or interesting life, though it carries its share of intense drama and angst, I guess.  Still, I can write about much more interesting things than would ever happen to me, and I can even give people happy endings to their stories, which is something that is almost certainly not going to happen to me.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I am writing this blog post on my mini laptop computer, as I suggested I might on Monday (I think I suggested it then, but I’m not going to check to be sure—I’ll have put a link to it, so anyone out there who so desires can go check on my behalf).  It’s been just over a month since the last time I wrote on the laptop computer.  It is a pleasant change to be able to write so fluidly, and in a way that feels much more natural and easier.

That being said, I don’t really have much about which to write other than my recent medical issues.  I continue not to write fiction, and I continue not to play music, let alone to compose it, and I continue not to draw or paint, and I haven’t been reading anything educational at all, whether about physics or mathematics or neuroscience or biology more generally.

Maybe I should get Richard Dawkins’s recent work about the genetic book of the dead.  His stuff is usually pretty gripping, and I like biology.  It’s harder to find physics books that I want to read, because much of the popular writing about physics is stuff that I already know, and about which I know more than is usually discussed in popular books.

I guess that’s just the way it goes.  The world wasn’t built for any of us or for all of us.  It just happened, as did our so-called civilization.  That doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying to make it a better situation for as many of us as we can and to try to avoid committing injustice to others.  But that requires reflection and calm assessment, and humans in general are not strongly disposed to such things.

We can only try, I suppose.  Meanwhile, at least try to have a good day.

*By which I mean that the morning is hot and muggy, not that the blog post is hot and muggy.  What would that even mean?

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Another very brief Monday blog post

It’s Monday again.  In fact, it’s the last Monday in May of 2025, the end of a very small and arbitrary era.  It’s also Memorial Day, a day on which I don’t like to say, “Happy Memorial Day,” since it’s a day of remembrance of the fallen, but I do wish you well on this holiday.

I don’t really have anything to write about today.  My brain is borderline completely fried, not least because no matter how often I use the bathroom, I still feel like I have to go, and urgently.  So, I haven’t been getting much sleep, even for me, and what little I get is interrupted every half an hour to an hour.

This is all nothing new, and I’m sure it’s terribly boring for all of you readers.  I do apologize.  I’m basically a boring person.

I have my appointment with the urologist tomorrow, and hopefully that will spell the end of this current situation, at least.  If not, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Actually, I don’t know what I’m going to do either way.  I am fairly clueless and at a loss.  I don’t know what to do about the future or whatever.  Life is just so uncomfortable all the time.  The Buddhists underestimated things when they said merely that life is inherently unsatisfactory.  Life is frequently quite a bit more than unsatisfactory.

That’s not exactly a rip-roaring insight, is it?  My brain is so foggy and fatigued.  I’m glad that work has at least been productive over these past two weeks, given how uncomfortable and worn out I am.  I’m glad that the discomfort isn’t a necessary prerequisite for work being productive.  If it were, I’m afraid that I would be forced to withdraw my services, so to speak.

Ugh, I’m tired of writing these posts on my smartphone.  It continues to irritate my thumb joints, and I make so many typos because the “keys” are not suited to adult male hands, and probably not to adult female hands, either.  I should just bring my little laptop computer again instead of being lazy.

Of course, that computer is getting on a bit, and frankly, so is this phone.  But I really don’t feel like replacing either of them.  I’ve had the thought, and the intention, that they, like everything else, should be the last of such things that I own.

I don’t know.  I can’t think of anything else to say.  Move along, folks, nothing left to see here today, you know?

Anyway, try to have a good day and a good week.

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Let him that hath understanding count the numbers of the words

It’s Friday, and I’ve already heard, from the boss’s own mouth, that we are not going to be open tomorrow.  I think everyone at the office (including the boss!) has been working quite hard this week, and they’ve been doing things they wouldn’t usually be doing in addition to their regular duties, which they’ve all (well, almost all) been doing quite well.  Everyone could use a break, and I am certainly no exception.

I’m planning to make this post pretty short, today, because I am under the influence of steadily accruing fatigue.  Of course, I’ve said such things before, haven’t I?  And then I often go on and on and make quite a long post.

I wonder how many words I’ve written on this (and my other) blog since I returned to the outskirts of this world in about 2015.  I can do a little “back of the envelope” calculating, I guess.  I’ll slightly overestimate the daily word count as an average of about 1000, then balance that by underestimating the number of days I write per week at just 5 even, so that would be 5000 words a week or 260,000 words in a given year if I were only writing the blog, not working on (or counting) fiction.  So, that would make probably something over a million words since I started blogging, probably more (there were long stretches when I only wrote one post a week).

Of course, just one of my fiction works was half a million words long (though I had to split it into Book 1 and Book 2 to be able to publish it).  I wish I could have kept writing fiction, but it gets so dispiriting just to fire your fiction out into the void, and I am not good at promoting myself.  I think if I had just one actual fan, someone who liked my stuff for its own sake and wanted to read more just because they like my writing (even though they don’t know me or owe me) then I would probably be motivated and keep writing fiction.

Speaking of fans and promotion and all that sort of stuff, there was a weird thing that happened on Wednesday.  WordPress gives you daily statistics bar graphs when you sign into the account, and normally, my blog gets in the high 20s or 30s of visitors every day, but on Wednesday there were over 900 views or visits or whatever they call them.  I have no idea how that happened or what it might signify.

Possibly it’s a glitch, or perhaps there’s some form of LLM searching through blog posts.  Who knows?  It’s curious, though.  So, if any of you has any ideas that seem plausible, I would be interested in hearing your thoughts; please leave a comment below.

Okay, well, I guess that’s about it.  This work week has not been as horrible as the last one, but it has not been easy.  I really look forward to being at least able to sedate myself with Benadryl and the like this weekend so I can try to recover as much as possible.  I wish the AC in my room were working, but at least I have a good quality, powerful floor fan.  Unfortunately, it’s not a fan of my fiction, ha ha, but it is good at what it does.  Still, I have to be careful, because there’s somewhat more of a risk for dehydration with a fan.  That’s okay.  I mean to keep myself aggressively hydrated.

I hope you all have a very good weekend, whether there are 900 of you or 90 or 9.  Heck, if there were 9 billion of you, I’d still want you all to have a good weekend.  Imagine that, if the entire human race (and then some) all had a very good weekend.

Maybe someday.

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The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees is left this vault to blog of.

Hello and good morning 

It’s Thursday, the day of the week with which DentArthurDent always had so much trouble, and also the day of my prior once-weekly blog posts.  So, you know…welcome back if you’re returning, and welcome if it’s your first time.

We started working at the new office during the day yesterday.  It’s smaller than the previous one, but that’s okay, though I need to figure out where I can lock myself away to give myself a sensory break and to rest my back during the day when I need to do so.  It’s also going to be somewhat more difficult to have a restful lunch, if other people are making noise.

Still, the area around the office is nice, relatively speaking.  It’s much quieter and more tree-lined than our previous place.  There are even some reasonably nice apartment buildings across and down the way.  I can’t help but fantasize about living in one of them and just rolling out of bed to walk across the street in the morning.

Of course, the odds of that ever happening are extremely low.  I don’t think I could pass a background check for an ordinary apartment or whatever because of my record.  So, here I am, where I am, and it’s where I’m likely to be for some time, possibly for the duration.

Also of course, I’m still having significant urinary discomfort and urgency, but the spasm in my flank appears to be dying down, though I fervently hope that I won’t end up being mistaken about that.

I got the reading on my abdominal X-ray through the hospital app, but it seems a bit uncertain in its findings.  It claims that there is not very good visualization, so I don’t know if the stone is there or not. I would give slightly greater odds that it has passed than that it is still there, since one of the possibilities if it were there‒that it be clearly visualized in the ureter‒is definitely not the case.  It would be better, though, if everything were visualized with crystal clarity and there was still no trace of the stone.

I am still very, very tired.  As I think I mentioned yesterday, I don’t think I’ve had more than about an hour of uninterrupted sleep at a time since this whole kidney stone thing began.  I’m not counting general anesthesia, of course, because that’s not actually restful or restorative sleep.  Nevertheless, if someone offered to put me under until this situation is resolved, I would probably take them up on it.  Yes, there is always some risk associated with general anesthesia, but I’m not worried about that; if you die while under anesthesia, it’s just a situation where you go painlessly unconscious and then…stay that way.

It doesn’t sound like a horrible way to die.

I wish I wanted to live, but a fear of death is not the same as a love of life, and will not give you a reason to want to stay alive.

Of course, right now I’m exhausted and miserable, even for my pathetic self, so my outlook is tainted.  I suppose such outlooks are always tainted, but this seems more than usual even for me.

I would love to love my life and myself.  I even went a long time trying to say that I did, as a sort of mantra, a form of autosuggestion, but gradually I got to where I actually could not continue even saying it in my head.  I still can’t so much think the words, “I love my life and I love myself” without feeling very uncomfortable, because I know it isn’t true.

Saying that you love yourself and your life when you know you don’t is not much better than telling someone else you love them when you don’t.

I still think I need to get into a meditation habit, start a serious practice, at least for the time being.  It would be nice to be able to quiet my mind and hear the midi chlorians speaking to me, as it were.  It would be even nicer if people in the public sphere, at least, would practice mindfulness and even metta meditation.

I guess we’ll see if I do it.  In the meantime, I hope you all have a good day.

TTFN

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What shall we do now?

Well, it’s Wednesday now, and since I have no appointments for X-rays or anything similar, I am heading on in to the office.  It’s continued to be a hectic time, and today is supposed to be the day on which we finally begin to do business in the new office, though many things have been moved during the day over the last few days.  I would have thought that the uprooting and shifting would have made working more difficult, but we’ve had very big days, especially yesterday.

It’s good I guess, but it’s annoying, because it means I’m very stressed out by more than one thing.

I’m still quite beat, by which I mean I’m so very tired and worn down and exhausted.  I told the boss yesterday that this last week plus had been one of the top five hardest weeks of my life‒and I pointed out the various other horrible weeks I’ve had so I could try to put it in perspective for him‒but I really don’t think he quite got the point.

I think my inability to convey how I feel, or the tendency for it not to show, as well as my own inherent tendency toward a kind of nihilistic stoicism, means that people don’t really know or at least don’t understand when I’m feeling truly horrible.  I’ve said before that this is why the line from Pink Floyd’s Brain Damage resonates with me so much:  “And if the cloudbursts thunder in your ear, you shout and no one seems to hear…”

I don’t even feel I’m at some breaking point anymore; I think I’m already broken, but I’m hobbling along because of inertia, holding the remnants of me together with paperclips and twine and baling wire.

Anyway, I’m exhausted.  I wish I could get back into writing or drawing or creating songs and doing music or studying more science and math, but though I have had passion for all those things at various times, there is only so much one can do to produce creative things in a vacuum, with nearly no feedback or appreciation, before one gives up.

Van Gogh had a similar situation, I guess (not that I am comparing my ability with his) in that he produced many brilliant works of art, but only one was bought by anyone in his lifetime and no one but his sibling appreciated his ability.  And, of course, finally, he shot himself in the torso and died from the wound not long after.  I can sympathize very much, even with his choice to shoot himself in a way that would not be immediately lethal.  It’s both a fear thing‒a lethal shot is scary to do‒and a form of self-punishment and self-hatred‒one doesn’t feel that one deserves an easy death.

I don’t know what I, myself, am going to do.  I’m just too exhausted from my current situation, and from the feeling that I need to use the bathroom 24 hours a day.

Okay, well, that’s enough for today.  I’m very tired, as I said, and it’s only early morning.  But, of course, my sleep is even worse than usual because of the whole bathroom urgency and flank pain thing.  Ah, whataya gonna do?

I hop that what you will do is have a good day.

***

Addendum:  Well, I’m at the office, and even though the Wi-Fi was supposed to be still active this morning in the office, it seems the movers, such as they are, took the router over with them.  My phone’s mobile hotspot function doesn’t get good enough reception here, and so far the public Xfinity Wi-Fi doesn’t seem to have any ability to do adequate data, so I cannot get anything done at the office.

Why did I bother to come in?  Well, of course, that was largely because I couldn’t sleep and there was no air conditioning at the house, but I also like to get a head start on office stuff.  I’ve even finished the last of the series’ of “light novels” with which I was trying to distract myself, so I can’t even count on any reading to help me.

I apparently will not have a closed area in the new office where I will be able to be at least partly cut off from the noise and all.  I wish I had just stayed at the house today, and maybe never left again.  I don’t even have a guitar here anymore, because I gave away my black Strat.  That action was one of those “gesture” things, to be honest, and I was hoping someone would pick up on the point of it, but either they didn’t recognize it, or‒more likely‒they don’t really much care.

I shouldn’t be surprised.  There are very few people for whom it would actually matter if I die.

I’ve finally been able to get the Xfinity thing working a bit, so I should be able to post this.  After that, I don’t know.  There’s just too much for me to deal with right now.  I wish I could just go to sleep and stay that way.  I hate this life.

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A quick, belated post

This is going to be brief (I suspect) in addition to being late (already).  I have an appointment for an X-ray this morning to follow up and see if the kidney stone has passed, which I hope it has.  So, I’m going to the office late, and writing this‒well starting this‒as I wait for my ride to the hospital to get the study done.  I don’t expect to finish it until afterwards, but who knows?

I wonder whether the little app thing for the hospital system will give me the result of the X-ray when it is read, before I see the urologist.  That would be kind of cool, actually.  I like being able to review my labs and radiology reports without needing the priestly intervention of the physicians, especially since I am one, though no longer in practice.

***

Okay, I’m done with the X-ray, which went very quickly.  They seem to be a very well-run place over there.

It’s terribly frustrating that I have to quick duck into the restroom at every full stop (and even some commas).  There’s just a never-ending sense of urgency, probably because of the stent in place and the thread that goes from it to the outside world, and I don’t want to ignore it, of course, because the last thing I want to do is create circumstances for more kidney stones.

It’s a bit of a negative nostalgia situation, as well.  I was the youngest of 3 children (well…I still am) and I tended to have to pee a lot, certainly more than anyone else in my family.  So I ended up having to hold my urine in much more than did my peers*.  Not that people were unkind (though my sixth grade teacher gave me the nickname “Straight Pipes” which is somewhat unkind, I guess, but I took it as affectionate teasing).  But it just means that I have quite a lot of nonspecific memories of desperately trying not to wet my pants while waiting for, for instance, the family car to get somewhere I could use the restroom.

I don’t know, maybe that tendency has something to do with ASD.  I wonder if it could be some sort of sensory sensitivity.  I’m probably overthinking it.

Anyway, this’ll do for now.  Sorry for the delay, and please have a good day.

*Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

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New week, still weak

It’s Monday, and although I am not particularly happy to be starting a new work week, I am definitely glad that last week is over.  Last week was a very bad week indeed.  At a first estimate (and a second one as well) last week was among the five hardest weeks of my life.  And that includes the week of my open-heart surgery when I was 18 (1 week after which I went back to start my second year at university) and the week of my back surgery, and the week of my divorce and of my arrest and all that crap.  I’ve also been in residency, during one November of which I had worked 19 days without break, had a day off, then worked another seven or eight days.  I had one on-call time in the ICU when I literally did not sit down for about 30 hours.  I am not exaggerating.

There was also the week when I was in university and, thanks to some very serious issues between my then-fiancée and my parents, my parents cut me off from support for room and board (not just for a week‒we didn’t speak for about 8 years).  I was on a full scholarship, but I had to scramble to be able to pay for housing and food and books and so on.  That was a hell of a thing.  We got past it eventually, but it was pretty rough 

Anyway, my point is, I’ve been through some shit in my life, but last week, between the pain and the stress of moving, and the horrible rest (even for me), and the more pain, and the schedule that was incoherent for the move at work, and the unexpected (by me) work this weekend and so on, was one of the most difficult and unpleasant weeks I’ve known, both objectively and subjectively.  It had a huge silver lining, of course, in the person of Ezra, my youngest, and I cannot easily exaggerate how wonderful that was.  If not for Ezra, last week might have been the hardest week of my life.  I am, after all, older and much less healthy (especially mentally) than I was when dealing with some of my earlier issues.

It’s probably stupid to try to rank or categorize such life events.  After all, the weighting I give now is colored by my current state of mind, and of course, there are many axes* along which one can measure the “difficulty” of a week, and criteria by which one may judge them at any given time.  Reality isn’t even linear, let alone binary.

My point is, last week was one fucking rough week, and in addition to my physical stress, I came very close to a full-on mental breakdown.  And it’s not as though I have fully recovered; I’ve had all of 1 day of comparative rest, and now I’m heading back to battle.  It’s a mark of how physically exhausted I am that I was able to nap for about two hours straight yesterday afternoon.  But as you may know, I often start off on Monday mornings with relative energy, even sometimes with slightly ambitious plans, but by the end of the first day of the week, I am often already completely wiped out.

I’m certainly not starting this week from a place of enthusiasm and energy, even relatively speaking, really.  So I guess I’ll see how it goes.  It would be absurd, magical thinking to expect that I’ll feel better at the end of the day because I’m starting the morning from a relative low, since that would be a sort of “opposite” pattern.  It would be nice if things worked that way, but as far as I can tell, they don’t.

I hope all of you had a good weekend, and I thank you for putting up with my antics, or whatever you might want to call them.  It’s greatly appreciated.

*By which I mean, the axes of a Cartesian style graph, e.g., the x-axis, the y-axis, not as in “more than one sharp, wedge-based tool such as are used for chopping wood”.

by

It’s Saturday now

And I’m in the office.  I haven’t come to the office this time, of course, I’ve just been here since yesterday, as I noted in my confusing and single-paragraph post yesterday evening.  I slept at the office, on the floor, and it was just as comfortable in many ways as if I had been at the house.  True, I couldn’t shower, but I’ve buzzed my hair down to 1/4 inch after seeing how it looked after I was in the hospital, and so it’s impossible to tell just by looking that I’ve not showered.  I usually have deodorant and other toiletries at the office, but those are already moved to the new office now, so I’m going to need to go over to the convenience store and get some deodorant and mouthwash this morning.

As for the house, well, there’s a reason I don’t refer to it as home.  It’s not a home to me.  I haven’t felt like I have a home since before I went to FSP.  No, it’s just a place I can hide for a while at a time, and not have to interact with anyone, and where it’s just my stuff inside, such as it is.  But I don’t feel at home there, I don’t feel comfortable, it’s just a place I’m existing.  I don’t even have a real chair there, though I have a piano bench and a folding metal chair tucked into a corner.  When I’m at the house, I just recline on a pile of pillows on the futon on the floor.  It’s good for my back in the short term, though after I stay there for a while it tends to backfire*.

Everything in my existence orbits around pain.  I guess it’s no irony that one of the two songs I have had memorized on piano for decades now is the Police’s King of Pain (the other is Eleanor Rigby by the Beatles).  Maybe it’s because I memorized that song that my life took on its current aspect.

I don’t really believe that, of course.  That’s absurd, magical thinking, and there’s no evidence that it’s the way the real world works, except through confirmation bias and the like.

Right now it still hurts to urinate, with spasms up in my right side and flank, which lingers a little even in between.  It’s nothing compared to the acute onset of the issue, but it’s still there.  And my back and hip and leg pains haven’t ceased to exist out of some strange courtesy.

I’m overwhelmed, and not in a good way.  There is too much happening in my head and around me right now, too many stupid little, annoying changes, too many deeply unpleasant surprises, too much chaos and randomness even in the day-to-day routines.  I am overwhelmed.

I used to be a person who could accomplish things, at least partly because I had people around me whom I loved and for whom I wanted to make things good as much as I could.  I cannot do good for myself.  I cannot live for myself.  But I used to be able to do good and make good things and relieve suffering.  I’ve saved people’s lives and even helped ease people’s deaths when it was appropriate.  Some of the most copious thanks I’ve ever received were from the families of patients who had died.  I was told by one family that, before he died, their 96 year old father/grandfather said I was the first doctor he’d had that he felt that he could trust.

Now look at me.  Or rather, don’t look at me.  I’m disgusting to start with, with my teeth that used to be good but have been ravaged by years of pain killers and prison and then just an inability to have the energy to take the very good care of them I used to take.  Also, I’m currently crying, and there’s snot on my face.  I don’t look great at the best of times anymore, and certainly no one is going to want to look at me now.

I’m caught in the pincers of some kind of weird metaphorical tweezer.  I cannot stand the thought of trying to change my situation; the idea of moving, of trying to change jobs, of trying to find something, is literally horrifying–imagine needing to wade through a swimming pool filled with roaches and centipedes and maggots and other larvae, above which soars a nearly-opaque cloud of mosquitoes, all female.

But staying where I am, doing what I’m doing, is just as horrifying, and now there are a bunch of new stressors, not the least of which is my fresh, new pain problem, which hopefully will be temporary, though it isn’t gone yet.  I guess a week is a relatively short time, and maybe I’m expecting too much, but it’s a fucking huge level of discomfort, and I don’t have the mental resources to deal with it, not on top of everything else.  Why I am I continuing to endure my already-existing chronic pain, my anxiety, my depression, all the other things associated with my hitherto undiagnosed ASD, and then now dealing with newly discovered problems?

I’m overwhelmed.  I cannot summon the will to make a change, or even the conviction that I ought to do so, because I cannot really think straight.  I cannot imagine what to do.  I don’t know that there is any way at all to escape, except by dying.  And I am always afraid.

You might think that after having pain every day for decades and having lost basically everything that ever mattered to you and for which you had worked so hard for so long you wouldn’t have any need to be afraid anymore.  What do you have to lose, after all?  But fear is not a rational thing, it’s not the conclusion of a thought process, it’s an emotion, one in which nature has invested heavily, and having pain after pain for a long time, of various kinds, can cause a “learned-helplessness” reaction related to depression, but even then, fear doesn’t go away.  One is always afraid of yet more pain.  One is afraid of facing another day with the same old pain.  One is a afraid that one is going to live a long, long life and never for one day of the rest of it not be in significant pain.  One is afraid that one will also be alone for the rest of that long life, with no comfort and little joy.

I don’t know what’s going on.  I mean, I’m writing this post, of course, that’s going on.  But I don’t know what else.  I’m falling apart, I think.  I’m breaking down.  Like I said yesterday, I can practically smell the melting plastic and circuitry in my mind.

Whatever.  Nothing I do or say matters, nothing I am matters.  I don’t know what I expect to happen because I’ve written about this.  I feel a bit like Frodo crying out for his friends in “Fog on the Barrow Downs” after they’ve been separated, but the only answer I will probably get will be from some foul undead spirits.  There’s no Tom Bombadil out there to come rescue me.  I wish there were.  And I could really use Elrond’s healing power, or even Aragorn’s.

That’s enough.  Go on, go read something else.  No one wants to feel miserable, and that’s how I tend to make people feel, so you should probably find something comical or at least entertaining to explore, and just try to have a good weekend.

*Honestly, no pun intended.  I didn’t even notice it until the editing process.