Category: health

out of cold

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I hope.

I still have an annoying tickle and my nose is a little stuffy, but otherwise, I seem to be beyond the worst of it.

Mostly, I’m just glad it’s not COVID.

Even though my experience with COVID wasn’t terrible (annoying cough for a couple of days), the tiredness never really seemed to leave.

That could be for entirely different reasons, however.

One never really knows. I only hope the afterlife is filled with answers.

That’s all I really want, at this point.

Target: 900 words
Written: 203 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 57-60
Music: Unreleased Album, Screaming Trees (so underrated, these guys - Lanegan's brilliant)

still working on a cold

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It still sucks, but at least, the running, drippy bullshit is mostly over.

Now, it’s annoying cough, hey, thanks for joining the party. Did I introduce you to plugged ears?

No?

Well, here, you two will get along swimmingly. Perhaps we can entice fever over for a little menage-a-trois?

No? Not yet? Just the tip?

Is delirium a cold symptom? Asking for a friend.

Target: 900 words
Written: 152 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 53-56
Music: Never Worked That Hard, The Tragically Hip

plugged

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Like my whole life, I am plugged up. Stuck. Caught in a relentless onslaught that packs behind my skull and makes it impossible to hear or breathe.

I sweat.

Blow my nose, more comes. Autoreplicating, instantaneous snot, filling every inch of headspace.

Ears pounding, I cannot hear.

I am on a subway; I am underwater.

I am cold, and yet, simultaneously, the boiling man.

I am man-baby, trying not to let on that I suffer, while suffering audibly.

To bed, to bed.

Illness is weakness; no, to work.

Target: 900 words
Written: 507 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 49-52
Music: Cutthroat, Interpol (could I?)

cold

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And I’m sick. Runny, plugged nose (funny how these two opposite things go together so well when it comes to the common cold).

I don’t know where it came from, but probably karma.

Probably fucking karma.

Fuckin’ karma.

Target: 900 words
Written: 201 words, novella: The Mungk

Reading: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 45-48
Music: The Unraveling, Rise Against (certainly seems that way)

restless dogs

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I’m not sure what was going on with Sofi, but it felt like she woke at least twenty times last night, moving around and cuddling up and pushing away and just generally being a pain in the butt.

Plus, the LEDs on the new mini-splits we got to heat our house (which work great as coolers, less as heaters) seemed very bright. I don’t know what was going on.

Things conspire to rob me of my rightful rest.

Great, now I sound like some long dead hero or evil god in a fantasy novel.

Torak, am I.

Ironic that the guy writing a whole book on the darkness of night should find himself more disturbed by unrelenting blue light.

Target: 900 words
Written: 358 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Wishsong Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Die 13-14, Once And Future 11-12
Music: Live Things I Found On My Computer, Red Hot Chili Peppers (I should explain - at one point, I had a shit ton of bootleg stuff laying around.  It was all labelled and such, but then, MICROSOFT AND APPLE, and something happened to rename all of them to 4 random letters, stripping them of all metadata.  It sucked, and while I've put the names of the songs on them, I have no idea where they came from, just the song and the band names.)

it’s a day for staring blankly

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I feel like my body is about to burst from my skin, and yet, the only thing I want to do is sit and stare blankly.

Being a vegetable seems cool to me, somehow.

I worry I might be a bad person; on the other hand, maybe I don’t give a shit.

Target: 900 words
Written: 328 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Club Dead, Charlaine Harris
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 40-41, Die 1-2
Music: Live Shit, Green Day

tight pants

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I’m tired of them.

I can’t take the pushing on my belly anymore. I had lost about a dozen pounds, but then, of course, we went away so I regained seven or eight, and now my belts, my shorts and even those that are just stretchy push in on my stomach and leave me feeling nauseous.

(Not to mention the blood pressure raise.)

Anyway, I hate going to the office; where are my comfy pants? My PJs? My board shorts with the elastics so old that they’ve lost most of their elasticity?

An elastic with no stretch; if that ain’t a metaphor for getting old, then I don’t know what is.

Target: 900 words
Written: 764 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Club Dead, Charlaine Harris
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 38-39, The Wicked + The Divine: 1373 AD 1, The Wicked + The Divine: The Funnies 1
Music: More Live Random, Guns 'n' Roses (you wanted the best, but they didn't make it... so here's what you get.)

crawling skin

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Sometimes, I think I have Parkinsons or some other truly debilitating disease.

I seem to lose track of my fingers, my legs stretch and flex without my volition and I can’t sit still.

It’s not ADHD; it’s uncontrollable muscle spasms or the inability to tell my fingers to hit the right keys, repeating the same mistakes again and again and again (as I did typing this).

I don’t know what’s going on or how to fix it. If I lose the ability to type, I lose the outlet of writing, which is a death knell.

My skin feels like it’s on fire and trying to leave at the same time.

Target: 900 words
Written: 662 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Club Dead, Charlaine Harris
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 34-37
Music: Live Shit, Flogging Molly

new beds

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We’ve got new beds coming today, and I’m praying it does for my sleep what a remote mountain lake does for my peace.

I’m praying to sink into oblivion and forget everything that exists.

Until, of course, the next time it does.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1276 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Happiness Of Pursuit, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 14-16, Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl 3
Music: More Random Covers, Electric Frankenstein

letting it slide

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And so I did. Let it all slide.

Everything but the writing and reading.

Meditation? Nope.

Exercise? Nope.

I even forgot to walk the dogs, and neither my wife or I noticed until it was bedtime.

Good thing we wore them out the previous couple of days.

Now, if only someone would allow me a day of rest.

My “sick” day, taken for rest, wasn’t exactly restful. I’m tired of the constant go.

I need hibernation. I need newness. I need to get laid.

I need to be out of this routine, and committed (in either sense of the word).

Target: 900 words
Written: 649 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Happiest Days Of Our Lives, Wil Wheaton (ironic, ain't it?)
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 8-11
Music: Random Cover, Anti-Flag