Well, it’s Friday

Hi. Been all week. Sorry. I did mention I suck. Skip this if you have a happy feelings. Been a week and I feel like crying. Am crying. I hurt. Fuck. If you are smart check back next week.

My cat died Tuesday. She was badass. Her name was Xiu Xiu, after a neat and strange band. Check out their Twin Peaks album. She was my only companion the last 2 months. 

That seems like enough for a week. But it was not enough to appease whatever blood debt I owe the gods. 

Thursday I woke up and did not feel right. Extra sore. Headache seemed turned up to an 11. Stomach hurt. Figured I overdid it with the workout Wednesday. Went to work and it just kept getting worse. To the point people said I looked like I was in pain. More than normal even. 

I made it 4 hours before I felt a tear on my cheek at my desk. I knew whatever it was, it was more than I could handle. So I drove 40 minutes to the closest hospital near me and checked in.

This was a chore. They put me in a room and left me with 2 beautiful PAs. This would be good normally. Except for the radiating pain in my stomach and their constant questions of bowel movements. Nothing sexier than clutching your abdomen and explaining that yes, you did shit and no it did not make it better. Repeatedly. I told them it was probably just a muscle strain or tear but I knew it was in the area of my appendix and I knew not to chance it. 

Steven, the RN, came in and became my bestie. He brought morphine. I thought it was a joke. I mentioned I always assumed my first taste of morphine would be recreational. He did not approve of my line of humor. I did not care, because morphine. Like sliding into a velvet glove. It did nothing for the pain but made it so I could look at it in a detached way. Describe it and experience it but not feel crippled by it. 

Turns out I had a lot of morphine. And appendicitis. Fuck.

Waves of agony are just spinning across my stomach. and the morphine has me hovering right over it. I understand the use for pain management. At no point are you unaware of the pain so there is no way you will overdo it. 

Met a paramedic named Damion and the RN, Steven, who hung out with me for the next couple of hours.

Time lost all meaning. What felt like three hours could be 15 minutes. I got to the hospital at 945am. I got into my room at 4. The parade of gorgeous women was splendid. I knew I was loopy when I started to question if the ladies were all hot or not. I went for a walk with my IV and ever important drip of heaven. I half remember a talk with a male nurse about how dangerous all the beautiful women must be to work around. 

like a fever dream, I believe I was staying this while sitting with said beautiful women. Morphine!

At 5 they said I had a 7 appointment with Mr Scalpel. Fear set in hard. Never been knocked out. Never been cut like this. Mortality set in. And then the questions. 

So, no one will be here when you wake up? No.

Your emergency contact is your ex-wife? Yes.

No one will be here? No.

What is your ex-wife’s phone number? No clue. let me check.

Why is she your emergency contact? Who else will tell the kids I am dead?

I did not realize then I had nothing. Never had it pounded home. Since she left me months ago I have a series of ex lovers and broken hearts. How sad is it to be above your own body and feel the pain of being an unloved fucking loser and the only person that you have is the one who will tell your children you are dead? 

No family but the kids. the rest are forever away forever long ago. 

to be continued. I fucking hurt. 

2 thoughts on “Well, it’s Friday

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