Category: health

taking a break

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The knowledge that we’re about to plunged into a hellscape has made me withdraw a little.

I was hoping we were finally done with these assholes, but nope. At least another four years (and who knows how much longer because the fuck wants to do away with elections) of them.

So, I’m taking a break. I’ve got probably a month or less before I’ve got a presentable version of The Mungk (at least, that’s the target). I’m going to focus on that for now before rejoining the fight in the only way I know how.

Writing, and not being a complete piece of shit.

I mean, I’m a little turd, but maybe there’s some leftover corn in me?

Anyway, not a total piece of shit, like those guys.

Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em forever.

Target: 900 words
Written: 331 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Hepatitis Bathtub And Other Stories, NOFX
Comics: 100 Bullets 85-88
Music: The New America, Bad Religion (I know, I know, not exactly comfort music given the situation, but hey, as a man raging against machines once said: anger is a gift.)

the end of the cold?

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I mean, it’s not horrible today. I’m tired still, and there’s still some guck in my throat, but other than that, it’s not terrible.

The coughing has stopped. The sinus headache has dissipated into the air.

I’d like to disappear into the air.

Who knows where I’d land?

Target: 900 words
Written: 640 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 69-72
Music: Never Trust A Hippy, NOFX (it's true, you know)

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: Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols (it's such a shame that Johnny Rotten turned out to be a nazi punk, instead of, you know, the good kind.)

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 Let Me Down, David Bowie (apparently, he hated this album, which, like, okay, I guess it's less lyrically poignant than most of his others, but it's not exactly horrible, which just goes to show how good he was, I guess.  If the work you hated is still pretty good, you must be doing something right.)

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: Never Is A Long Time/Love Of Your Life, Red Hot Chili Peppers

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: Never Hear The End Of It, Sloan

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 moving around.

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: Naveed, Our Lady Peace

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: Use Your Illusion II, Guns 'n' Roses

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: Use Your Illusion I, Guns 'n' Roses

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: Use Your Fingers, Bloodhound Gang