I feel like lately my posts sound like a first grader coming home from school hyperventilating to their parent about everything that happened that day.
“And then this happened and this happened and then THIS happened!”
But a lot has happened already this year and I’m still trying to organize and process it, and I’m bringing you all along on the ride because who likes to go on road trips alone right? I mean, it’s a lot easier to siphon gas from people’s cars when you have a lookout.
That said, I’ve mentioned in passing that I have some heart issues.
Over the past twenty years I’ve been to half a dozen cardiologists, tried a number of medications and had surgery twice. It seemed like the last surgery I had in 2010 had done the trick until about June of last year when I started to really feel like shit again. I didn’t want to have another surgery I had to go down the medication experimentation route–and let me tell you how much fun this was because I’m one of those people where if there’s a 1% chance of a bizarre side effect I will be that 1%.
Over the year I ended up trying so many different meds that I was seriously losing track of which one I currently taking. In April the doctor decided to think outside the box and prescribed me two new meds. The first thing that I noticed when I picked up the meds from the pharmacy was that the one bottle was a lot larger than usual. I unscrewed the cap and made a face at the contents.
“Holy shit these things are huge! Are you sure they’re meant for humans and not for horses?” I asked him.
“That’s them,” he replied without looking up.
“Well there should a Linda Lovelace instructional video that comes with them because I have no idea how I’m supposed to get these down my gullet.”
The eighty-year-old pharmacist finally gave me his attention and gave me a dirty look. That was good enough for me so I grabbed my bag of horse pills and left.
I took the pills as soon as I got home–which was not the best idea since I was going to fall asleep soon but I’m impatient like that.
And this is going to sound cliched but when I woke up the next morning I already felt like a different person.
Over the next three months I continued to feel better but it wasn’t until I happened to see a recent picture of me next to a picture from a few months ago in a Facebook album that it I realized just how shitty I had felt and how shitty I looked this past year.
I’m not completely fixed–I still get tired and I still have the occasional arrhythmia–but I’m feeling so much better and most importantly I’m writing a lot more efficiently since I’m not fighting to stay awake all the time. That right there is worth choking down some horse pills every morning.
I’m a bit MIA.*
And what’s worse is that my superstition about announcing-something-until-it-has-already-happened-in-case-something-fucks-it-up keeps me from disclosing everything that has kept me from interacting with my kickass peeps on here. Just take my word for it (for now since I can’t wait until I can scream my face off) that I’ve been working like a bitch on the down and dirty aspect of being a writer–aka the business aspect of writer–and it’s extremely time expensive and about as much fun as going through your recently deceased great-aunt’s belongings and finding her collection of foot long dildos.**
**Though not nearly as awkward, so there’s that.
This business-y type work is of course in addition to recovering from the trauma of nearly losing my beloved Eskie at the beginning of the month–which a normal person would be over by now but I, on the other hand, have anxiety issues and thus continue to have spazz attacks and feel the need to stop what I’m doing and cuddle her.***
***Kira, being fully recovered, isn’t too happy when I do this since it usually disturbs her from a nap.
In the meantime I did make a video in reference to the two cases that the Supreme Court is hearing about same sex marriage this week.****
****Some of you are probably thinking that a video would take longer than actually writing a post but not for me; as much as I enjoy “vlogging” I don’t worry over it as much as I do about my written words and so I can do a vlog in a fourth of the time that I do a written blog post.
Some people will hate this video because they are stupidasses who won’t get the tongue-in-cheekiness of it*****, and some people will hate it because they disagree, but that’s their prerogative. All I ask is that if anyone feels the need to express that they disagree that they do it with respect.
*****I already have one of these and for the record, I am pro-marriage and said commenter is a moron.
In closing, it’s after 1am as I write this and I’m really bloody tired, but thank you so much for being here, my dear peeps.*******
*******Also, I know I say “thank you” a lot, but I truly mean it. I’ve had to deal with a lot of shit in my life and I just want it known how grateful I am for the support that you all have given me.
Once again I am forced to wonder if I am the universe’s favorite plaything or whatnot.
What are the odds that when you are down in the depths of despair*, working too many hours, battling atrial tachycardia, and exhausted yet unable to sleep through the night, that you come home from work and manage to fall asleep on the couch only to be awoken by a meat delivery service trying to hawk their meat subscription service on you?
Apparently in my case, the chances are pretty fucking good.
Last week I was dozing in living room when I was roused by the doorbell ringing and the explosive barking of my dogs expressing their indignation that someone touched their doorbell. I slept-walked to the front window where I could see who was on the porch without them seeing me. I did not recognize the young man and for some reason–I’ll blame my sleep deprived brain–I decided to answer the door anyway. This is very unusual for me because I don’t open the door to strangers, not because I’m scared that they’ll kill me but because I’m scared that they will bore me.
I opened the door and the dude took a few steps back as he was greeted by two dogs snarling with all of the fury they could muster from their fifteen pound frames.
“Can I help you?” I asked him.
I blinked at him in confusion thinking that I must be hallucinating from lack of sleep. “You’re… selling meat?”
“Yeah, you like saving money, right?” he asked revving up for his salesman spiel.
“On meat?” I was still in disbelief. You would think that with the shit that I’ve experienced that a random guy selling meat wouldn’t be that much of a mind fuck to me and yet it was.
“Yeah, we sell a wide variety of steak, seafood, chicken and pork,” he recited.
And then the evil part of my brain woke up.
“How’s your sausage?” I asked him in a low voice.
“It’s great!” he said overflowing with enthusiasm at my apparent interest. “But we only sell it as part of our pork variety case so there’s a lot of meat in there.”
“I’m sure that I could handle any amount of meat that you were interested in…unloading,” I smiled.
“The case has got pork chops, spare ribs, loin steaks and sweet Italian and sage sausage,” he continued.
“I’ve had Italian sausage, but never sage sausage,” I replied. “Though I would prefer to try it before I buy it.”
He scratched his head. “Oh sorry, we don’t have any samples.”
“That’s okay, I’ll just have to take you at your word that your sausage is as amazing as you say.”
He whipped out his clipboard and clicked his pen to begin writing. “So are you interested in any beef or chicken?”
“No, I’m a vegetarian,” I told him.
His face clouded with confusion. “But the… It’s a meat variety case. Like pork chops.”
“I’ll confess that I have no interest in chops, but if I need to buy them to get your sausage then I’ll do it,” I said. “So will you be able to give me that delivery now?”
“I…have to put in the order,” he said still looking uncertain.
The guy was obviously pretty dense and I was running out of innuendos so I crossed my arms and screwed my face into a look of annoyance. “Don’t be a sausage tease. You come to my house hawking your sausage and now you won’t give it to me? Let me be clear, I want your sausage and I want it now!”
His jaw hung open in response and he just stared at me for a moment probably taking in my knotty hair that had escaped from its hair band, the dark circles under my eyes from no sleep and my pale, anemic face.
The guy’s eyes darted around looking for an escape from the nutty nympho and he began backing away. “Sss… sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said then turned on his heel and bolted for the safety of his truck.
I gave a very theatrical shrug and then closed the door.
I’d like to add a side note that door to door salespeople on my street are ridiculous and relentless. They do not take no for an answer and will visit your door every single day until they wear you down. Considering this and the fact that I was unable to fall back to sleep after the interruption, I feel no guilt WHATSOEVER at traumatizing the dude responsible for ruining my precious nap.
*Okay maybe it’s not that bad, but fellow “Anne of Green Gables” will appreciate the reference.