Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Still in the garden

I'm still on gardening leave. The wheels turn slowly to get me back. Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying the time off work, but I'm conscious my awesome boss is without back-up and it means turning work off in my absence.

I'm spending my time playing Baldur's Gate 2. I just accidentally sold my glasses of identification to someone and now I have to backtrack to find who I sold it to. 


UPDATE: Turns out the admin processes won't allow a speedier turn and I am in the garden until mid-Winter. That's okay for me but it's not okay for my workplace since I am not there to do the awesome work I was doing. At least they care enough to have tried to get me back quicker. I could have been out for three months plus admin time instead of just two and if my workplace thought I was a liability they simply would have accepted that recommendation. 

Fuck me it's good to have people have faith in you and to support you when you need it. I never had that support before but I have it now.


Sunday, May 24, 2015

Have flu, still rode

I have the flu. I've been "mergh" since yesterday.

But I still rode SoTPC, my exercise bike, for an hour yesterday and again today.

Take that, everyone who stood in my way (1).


(1) Yes, I am aware someone standing in my way of riding an exercise bike is neither imperilled by me or can thwart my non-passage. I'm just impressed that someone with a body like mine is still able, even when sick, to push itself to that level. And everyone means anyone that's thought of me as lesser or malformed or who gave me shit or looked down on me as a child, as a teen or as a man. I beat every single one of you.

Friday, May 22, 2015


Last night was another shocker of hard-to-sleep. I eventually dozed off about 2 am.

It was not helped though at 12:50 am when I came out to discover partially digested cat biscuits in vomit sausage form on the lounge room carpet. 

Bending is hard for me but I lowered myself and with the last of the paper towel got as much of it up as I could.

I forget why I went to the front door, perhaps to turn off a light, but it was then I trod on yet another vomit sausage of compacted biscuit return and mooshed half of the sausage into the mat just inside the door. 

Cleaning that up was far worse, with buffing needed to tease out the mashed bickie from said mat. 

I was in a foul mood after that and, whilst transporting the now-loo-paper-mopped-up-cat-sick, I have to confess to shaking my fist in the face of the ginger cat whilst calling him vile names as I passed him.

It was then the black cat returned to shredding the overhang of the plastic bin liner because she could smell bones in the trash and she wanted to pull the bag out to have at them.

I lost my shit and charged at her. She hissed and fled into the dark.

The black one also has the unpleasant habit of crawling under the big bed at night so she can steal out later and jump into bed. We have to use the bathroom sliding door to enter the bathroom, closing that door before opening the normal bathroom door into the corridor because to open the bedroom door risks her darting in and under so she can lie in wait for evil cat caresses in the wee hours of the morning.

The normal bathroom door doesn't always click shut. The fucker just pushed it open and ran on through the partially-opened sliding door and right under the bed. 

I cranked up at myself. I should have thought to check the door had clicked shut.

Don't get me wrong, I love the cats. But they are little fuckers at times and it's times like vomit sausage and the under-the-bed-darting that they're at their most little fuckery.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Damn you, ALDI

So I conducted an experiment. I drank another bottle of ALDI's $5 finest—a sparkling moscato cut by me with tonic water—to see if violent IBS upset would occur. 

That and I really wanted to drink a bottle of wine.

It took 120 minutes but, sure enough, greening-brown of Operation TOILETCURRY once more. I'm wearing undies with PJs just in case I can't make it to the toot on time.

Is it because I don't have a gall bladder? Is it the alcohol or something in the wine itself? Did I receive a curse from an ancient crone who cackled that I would never ever enjoy cheap wine as delivered to me the consumer, the low price courtesy of Teutonic mercantile efficiency? 

It's pretty suckful. It could be worse I suppose. I could be an alcoholic that suffers onset of roiling guts and near-certain shartage if they drink yet still imbibes because they're an alcoholic.

An alcoholic with the major shits—that would not be pleasant. Especially if you got to near vomit stage and weren't sure which hole got primacy when calling God on the great white phone.


(Mikey sadly put away the notion he can drink cheap sparkling white wine brought to you by German-source viticulture).

Morning thunder at night (equals) no sleep

Since giving up Diet Coke about six weeks ago (1), and being at home on gardening leave, I effectively gave up caffeine since I don't have to chug a coffee on a work morning to give me the pep to go to work. 

Last night I was tired but I had a nerd night to attend, kingdom building in a long running D&D 3.5 campaign (we're thirteenth level). 

So I had a coffee. 

I regretted the decision at 2:40 am after I'd spent about an hour trying to sleep without success, even resorting to counting backwards by seven from 1000 in an effort to bore me to slumber with basic math. 

That didn't work. In the end, and being in pain, I had some pain meds then tried again. I think I dropped off about 4 am. 

Oh, caffeine, you are an amazing thing. Unless you've all but been given up and the receiving body is now wired to take your contribution to maximum effect and it's then taken at night.

The human body's ability to use and abuse stimulants is a wondrous thing. It's just a shame about the blowback.

(1) I went cold turkey on anything with artificial sweetener after reading a Time article that said it fucks up your digestive system. I went from not drinking any normal water a day to drinking about two litres. I think it's helped with my IBS and overall health.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Lewis Black on forgiveness

Lewis Black was on The Daily Show and he did a bit (1) about the ex-Nazi guard, aged 93, on trial for being complicit in the death of 300 000 people

Lewis ended the bit with a revelation that a former Jewish inmate, who was 10 when she was put in the camp along with her sister, forgave the guard and then riffed on how he, Lewis, couldn't forgive such monstrosity and if he had his way he'd perform genital origami by way of revenge. 

It got me thinking about anger and forgiveness. That the one advantage religion has over atheism is the capacity to forgive. 

I only wish I had that capacity in my "there is no God" life. I still have so much anger about what happened to me, both as a child and in the workplace, that to forgive manifests as a Game of Thrones high wall of ice that I have to climb if I am going to let go of the bitterness and hurt.

Oh well I suppose it's one thwack of the ice pick at a time to pull the body up and you just concentrate on the next thwack and not the entirety of the journey.

Nonetheless it's going to be a long hard climb.

(1) Lewis Black bit here but it's not available to view in Australia. Damn you, Comedy Channel!

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Get the ____ out of my house!

I had one of those on-the-cusp of sleep dreams the other day. Where you are dreaming about something that is happening to you at that moment in the position you are in. In this case lying in bed and looking at the doorway.

Two men burst in, I think one was a teenage boy and perhaps in a sailor's hat. I rose up in bed and shouted "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!"—as if I had some sort of Paul Atredies-style weirding voice that could damage my foes.

I snapped back into reality, and sailor boy and friend were gone. I was spooked enough to get out of bed and check the front door was locked and that there was no one else apart from us in the house.

Thanks, dream, thanks a lot. 

UPDATE: I am concerned I may have dream manifested Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy...

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Double reverse PAG

I rarely drink. When I hit my thirties the need to chug on down greatly reduced. But tonight I had maybe a bottle and a half of $5 ALDI's finest.

I don't know if this is correlation or causation but my lower hole just evicted what seemed like a large-sized curry of fine minced greening-brown. I had worm sign just before, horrid abdominal spasms that caused me to fold in on myself like I was a card table, and then scant minutes later Operation TOILETCURRY. 

The agony forced me to *yoink* pain meds and now the pain is subsiding but still with much aftershock. 

I felt self-pity for a moment. But then I remembered that ridiculously handsome man with an awesome Ken beard I saw on an ABC show that was perfection, save for the lack of arms and legs. 

So I can hardly complain.

Even so, yee-ouch. That was a mo'fo of an unpleasant reverse PAG.

Again, I do have to ask myself why my own body hates me so. Even though it be gifted with all of limb. 

I guess that's my journey; constant pain. A reminder of humility and the coke for my steel. 


Chipped an upper tooth

A while back I chipped one of my upper teeth. I think it was via ALDI's delicious honey cashews and I likely didn't notice when it happened and probably swallowed the shard.

At least, though, it's not a bad chip. Not like the last tooth which, due to the size of the chip was such I needed root canal to save it and chose not to, having the tooth extracted instead.  I didn't have time to spend on root canal and was not willing to endure the three one hour sessions to save it.

As luck would have it that tooth was extracted the day before my last work day in my old role. The agony of its post-extraction a contributing factor into my collapse that occurred the day following the extraction and the subsequent week when I literally went insane. 

Teeth and mental health, inextricably linked. Well, in my case.

I doubt I will get this chip seen to. It doesn't hurt and I don't feel the need to tongue at it excessively.  

So that's a dental win. Besides, I'm now middle-aged. It's to be expected for bits and pieces of my bod to fall off the twig. And I have a glorious list of failing bodily components it can now join.

They need a reunion. That would be nice. Old tooth can swap school stories with my former left hip socket that I had replaced back in 2011 and which nearly resulted in my death.

Mikey, he just keeps on ticking. Even when bits of him fall off or fall away. 

UPDATE: Another chunk fell off but this time a different tooth, ole' upper right back. What was I eating? A gummy bear. That's right, a gummy bear. Area man is falling apart. I feel like one of those people in a movie who spits out a shard of tooth or teeth following a fight. The chunk that fell off doesn't appear to have left the nerve exposed but I presume it's off to the dentist now to find out "what the fuck?". Maybe dramatic tooth decay is like buses. Nothing then two come along at (near) once. 

I'm a reverse Humpty

I had a meeting with my doctor and rehab person to get the tick to go back to work. It sucked having to go on gardening leave but I know it wasn't personal, it was my workplace looking after me. And, thanks to having been looked after when I collapsed in 2013 and again now with my recent return of anxiety, I am soon to walk straight back into work. I won't even need a graduated return.

I'm a reverse Humpty: all the King's horses and all the King's men in this case were able to put Humpty back together again.

I like it. A reverse Humpty.

Take that, haters.


Twatwatch—Will Cain

I saw Realtime with Bill Maher from 8 May 2015.

Will Cain was on. 

He is such an insufferable fucktard of right wing fuckholery I felt the need to resurrect Twatwatch to point it out.

Only, here's the thing. Twats are awesome. It's stupid to call him a twat because he's just not that useful. 

Roadkill? Roadkill watch? As in someone who is of less value that roadkill? After all you can always eat roadkill. 

Anyway, Will Cain. Wore a loud jacket, had loud opinions and was insufferably elitist and an arsehat. 

Ah, that's where he's from: Glenn Beck land

Well that explains everything.