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It seems I’ve stopped saying what I want to say here. Bad Me! I think everyone who’s tried to have any kind of conversation with me recently has been dragged kicking and screaming into a conversation of my making about girls… not in general, particular ones. I was out drinking last night with Davron and I realised I only really seem to have 3 topics of conversation these days: girls, languages and TV. Luckily for him he has more, so he wasn’t bored out of his mind within the first half an hour.
So we got to talking again about my new favourite subject; the thing that has been on my mind for almost a month now and I eventually got to thinking about this place. I used to write up here about girls I’d meet and the idiot things I’d say, but I didn’t this time. The rational part of me doesn’t believe in jinxes or anything of that sort but I guess there’s a fairly strong irrational side in me too, that exerts its will disguised as apathy. So maybe I didn’t write about such things in case that ruined everything, not that there was really anything to ruin in the first place, but you get the idea.
On saying that though, I’d already told anyone who came within earshot (or typeshot) of me all about it, so how does that make sense? (Answer: It doesn’t.)
That’s all besides the point… but the point is really close to it, so if we just get off at the next intersection and take a left we’ll be there. The thing I got to thinking about, and I know this is all kinds of stupid but like I mentioned that seems to be what this place is for, was what if eventually things go well. I don’t necessarily mean now, but in general. What if I meet a girl and she likes me, and we get together and she decides to read this thing, and she gets to the parts where I rave about girls I’ve just met because I’m too stupid to let reality set in before I type my excitement up here for the world to keep a copy of forever? Then what if she’s not there?
On the other hand what if I type it all up and she sees it and she likes that I was so excited, but then gets to the archives and finds out that oh… he always gets that excited, maybe I’m not so special after all. What if she doesn’t want entire conversations recited to people because I get excited and can’t keep my trap shut? What if I meet someone I like and I write stuff up here and then we become friends and then she sees this and realised I’m hoping for more and that kills it all? What if, what if, what if?
I don’t need guidance on this point. It’s just a thought that I never really considered when making this thing because I pretty much thought I would be the only one interested enough in what I had to say to ever really read it. The answer actually is that I’ll talk about the ones I want to when the urge takes me. If there are reasons I want to keep stuff to myself I will. After all, this is not about what I want people to hear. It’s about what I want to say.
Unrelated – I made a blogger blog so I could comment on blogger blogs. I haven’t done anything with it other than link here, and one night I wrote a post so there was something on it. I read it again this morning, and I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. I don’t know if that says more about what quality of writing I’m capable of (good or bad) or the quality of my judgement of the things I read. But anyway, http://riversofrust.blogspot.com/
Feeling: reflective Hearing: cars and vans and other moving things |
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Once upon a time I was in love. A love so pure it seemed as though it was the only way the world could exist. This is true. That love was the air that I breathed. No, literally. I really loved the ability to breathe. I often took it for granted. That's to be expected really; I had been doing it since... well, I can't quite remember when I started exactly, but to be fair I was pretty young at the time. Things went well for a while, and then, one day, one... fateful day... the air changed the terms of our love. I could feel it pulling away from me. My lungs no longer filled themselves effortlessly with its bounteous blood. I had been abandoned.
I went to see a doctor, but instead of a shrink they sent me to some form of medicine man. I was very young at the time, but I'll try to remember the conversation for you. I warn you, it may not be 100% accurate. Some details may be fudged... slightly.
"Hello child."
"Hello Mr Doctor Sir."
"Well, I hear that your super-powers are failing and you need some help."
"I have been spurned by my one true love. I fail to see how a humble physician such as yourself could help me."
"I understand how you could feel that way, but at only six months old, perhaps you would agree an old man like myself..."
"Of course doctor, if you need to strap me inside a magnetic resonance imaging machine, feel free. I shan't resist any tests."
"Good. Now please..."
"Ah, the humble stethoscope, of course, let us begin."
He concentrated on my lungs, sure he already knew the problem. After I'd proven my fitness by running 32.1 miles on the treadmill and bench pressing 200Kg he gave me a tube to blow into. On the top of this tube was a little measuring device. I blew. I failed to push the measure as far as so called "normal" people could. I didn't hate normal people though. My mind was not that far gone at that time. My grief was still raw and new. I hadn't yet had time to find a scapegoat to accept my rage.
"As I suspected, the culprit is asthma."
"Asthma?" I knew of asthma from my vast medical reading. "My own body, turning against me; driving my lover away!"
"I'm afraid so."
"I suppose you will prescribe ventolin inhalers."
"That I shall. They shall act as trojan horses, allowing armies of centurions to flood your bloodstream through the thin..."
"I understand. You don't have to make me feel better using heroic war terminology."
"You are a brave young man. I wish you well."
"Thank you doctor."
I may have put on a brave face but inside I was thankful for the knowledge that I had my own legion of warriors attacking the new menace. Aggressively attacking.
Things went well for a while, almost... too well. Before I knew anything, years had passed and without realising, I had crept into dependence. Without my inhalers I was gasping for air like a fish out of water, flopping on my back, my flippers paddling at the sky but gaining no purchase. Nemo!!!! Nemo!!!! I'll find you Nemo!!!!! Sorry... but the dependence wasn't so bad because I always had my fix, and that meant I always had my fix of air. Sure, it got hairy now and then when I left home without it, but, it was always close enough. My warriors, my salvation. Most people get a throaty cough and they use cough medicine which I'm sure doesn't work, but not me. I just gave the signal for battle and my centurions went to work slaying my internal demons.
All seemed so well but then there was the betrayal. It wasn't sudden and shocking. It wasn't blatant and in the back. It was insidious and pervasive. My centurions, turning on me. The symptoms were many and varied, including, but not limited to, upper body obesity, tiredness, purple striae, diabetes-like symptoms, sleep disturbances... It was Cushing's Syndrome caused by excess inhalation of corticosteroids. I didn't know it for a long time. I just slowly declined in health, thinking I was just a tubby tub who ate too many doughnuts, and didn't do enough exercise to feel awake most days. I had so many big ideas that I had to wait for the right days to tackle. I had to continuously put things off and back. My life was draining away down a sinkhole and taking my hope for the future with it. It was the striae that made me search for the answer. Large purple strips of extremely thin skin. First around my upper thighs, then my upper arm. They covered my left leg but still I didn't look for a solution. I just figured they were stretch marks or something, due to my rapidly fluctuating weight. I realise now the fluctuations were caused by everything I was doing to reduce my weight coupled with a condition that causes it to be retained. It was the arm that gave me the push. My arms never got fat, so their appearance there needed looking into. Having not studied medicine since I was 6 months old I had to use the internet. Quickly, using my vast and expansive knowledge of computer systems garnered from my time falling asleep in University, I googled the marks. After a lot of searching I discovered the cause. Luckily, the marks were quite distinctive. When I read the symptoms I checked off a list of my life for the last several years. A bright light shone into my eyes, and then the car turned and headed off, but it was well timed and it was lucky the curtains had been open, which is unusual enough.
Cause: Cushing's Syndrome - Treatment: reduce the amount of corticosteroids taken. So that's it. Breathe less, live more. And that's the choice I've made. Hopefully when my body is fitter it'll adapt to the lower numbers of centurions. Hell, I never wanted my body to be a military dictatorship anyway. So now there's a revival underway. I'm limiting the number of inhalations I take every day. I'm much less tired than before. The Striae are fading, slowly... very slowly, but surely. I'm consistently under 90Kg for the first time in years. The revolution is working. Also, although it's not listed in the symptoms, (but then maybe there's not been a patient as brain conscious as myself before) I'm getting smarter again. A lot smarter. I'm thinking quicker, and ideas are coming easier. I'm having the kinds of thoughts I know I wouldn't have had a few years ago. As an aside, a number of years ago I did a silly IQ test thing and I scored 176. Then a few years ago I tried another and got 156. A few months ago I got 146. IQs aren't supposed to fluctuate like that. So it feels like, and I hope, the trend is reversing, or I've at least stopped it in its tracks. Here's hoping I'm right, and the future is as bright as those headlights, and the way ahead lit for me.
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Normal Note: I don't take any other medication of any sort. Not even aspirin. I never have. I've never liked it. Never really believed in it. Not like, voodoo is the real answer. I mean, never believed in taking it when it wasn't absolutely necessary. I never wanted to be one of the masses that are wildly over-medicated. I hate being beholden to even my inhalers. Hate, hate, hate it. I never wanted to need anything else either. Just my luck the one thing I allowed for my own good, is the one thing that's the cause of my own bad. That's right, it's the only medicine I've ever taken, since I was old enough to turn down any pills my Mum wanted me to take for headaches and the like. The only thing. Modern medicine is too powerful and dangerous to be used as all-encompassingly as the world likes to these days. Of course, sometimes, we've no choice. I often wish I had a sense of moderation, but since I don't seem to... none.
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Special Note: Since it won't fit in anywhere else. I've decided to document any "They're watching me" moments I suffer from now on. Understand, I know it's all coincidence, I know they're not watching me.
Recently, I finally (I've wanted to for a very long time) started reading "Lies and the lying liars who tell them." by Al Franken. I get past the bit where he's talking about Bill O'Reilly saying the show he was on won two Peabody awards, when it actually won a Polk... after he'd left it. Within two days I'm watching "The Colbert Report" and what does he happen to mention before pulling out one of his own Peabodys? Exactly. The book came out in August 2004, but it gets a mention within two days of my reading it. They're watching me.
Feeling: like a revival is underway Hearing: The Hole, and reading the subtitles |
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