Rant: Does anyone else feel like a total perv buying cucumbers at the store? No? Just me? Ok then. I try to pick out the least phallic ones....
Rave: new Venture Brothers Rant: If it weren't for new Venture Brothers, I would fucking HATE Sunday nights. Scratch that, I still hate Sunday nights. Tomorrow is Monday. Fuck.
Rave Response to my last rave is awesome. So many people traumatized. If I wasn't still kind of traumatized myself, I'd be harder than chinese algaebra right now. Rant: Need Carpal Tunnel Syndrome and Ulnar Nerve Entrapment surgery. One hand at a time, might be back at work 2 days after the surgery. Might need 12 weeks off work after the surgery. So what'll it be doc - 4 days or 6 fucking months? That makes a difference to the insurance claim and how likely I am to have a job when I get back. Jesus. The 6 months off would sound kind of appealing - but I'll be one handed for all that time. Next to no computer use possible. No video gaming. No weights work that I can't do one handed (including loading plates and if necessary handling a dropped load). No grappling. For 3 of those months I'll be stuck trying to do shit left handed - which is awkward at best. Fine, I'll still be able to wipe my ass and jerk off, but 6 months of nothing but that and cardio? FUUUCK.
In continuing with my apparently-popular Inside the Mind of a Crazy Person Series, here's an episode I'd like to call Rant/Rave: Anatomy of a PTSD Relapse. Rave: My medicine was working, hadn't had any major anxiety attacks, depression episodes, or feelings of imminent death in several weeks. Rant: Went to one of our schools to give a 401(k) meeting, walked through the door to hear a teacher about my age telling the director (who was one of the first to catch my brain tumor) that her doctor diagnosed her with a brain tumor and referred her to a neurosurgeon, but it was gonna take months to make an appointment and she didn't want to deal with the surgery/recovery. She said in as many words that she was basically going to act like her doctor hadn't said anything and ignore it because she was scared. I was now standing next to her, with my jaw on the floor. I could see her eye twitching, hear her speech slightly slurring, her posture a bit different. All my symptoms. She reminded me of me, and I felt like I was dying. Rave: I interrupted her, everyone in the office broke out laughing at the timing, and told her a quick-and-dirty version of my story. I then took the phone book, went to "neurosurgeon," and told her "Surgery isn't painful at all and dealing with recovery is better than death. Start calling these numbers. Ask for a CAT scan and appointment by the end of the week. Don't FUCKING let them tell you no." I very well could have started the process of saving her life. This is NOT an exaggeration: The potential to save that one person, made my extremely painful recovery process worthwhile. Rant: Went to brother-in-law's football game that night. I lasted until the end of the first quarter, freaked out, went home. Rave: Saturday night, one of the drunk idiots who was supposed to be staying the night at our house somehow snuck past us, got into his car, and backed directly into my new car. We mobbed him for his keys, and quickly realized he was so drunk he couldn't stand. If my car hadn't stopped him, he would have hit another car/tree on the road. That's TWO potential lives saved, in less than 48 hrs. Rant: Father-in-law's birthday last night, for whatever reason his idiot sister decided to say to me "you know you're going to die young right? Sorry hun, that's the way it is on our side of the family. All the women outlive the men." Cue my conversation with the wife last night: "I think that everyone in life has a job, and my job is becoming more clear. My job is to save people, and I'm afraid I'm going to get fired from it. Like [her aunt] said, I think I am supposed to die young." Cue me this morning and now: shaking, cold sweats, puking, depressed and terrified. PTSD Dr was able to move my appointment up from this friday to a few hours from now. Like I told that teacher, you call the doctor, and don't FUCKING let them tell you no. I'll be fine, but that's a pretty fair dissection of a severe relapse. Just another PSA on how it's ok to be a bit crazy, why it's common, and how it happens. As people have done in the past, feel free to ask me any questions. I will always give an honest answer. Like I said to my wife, I think everyone has a job in life. I'm just doing mine.
RAVE: Big Day Out 2011 lineup announced.... Tool, Deftones, Iggy, Rammstein to name a few. I'm there. Who's coming?
RANT: $590 worth of age repair on the car. Rotted brake line, two worn axles and brake pads. RAVE: I can pay it. RANT: Broke as hell. RAVE: Have an honest mechanic who specializes in Hondas. RAVE: Won't die in a fiery crash like this fuck. Although, I'm not so sure his crash involved any sort of flames. I like to pretend though. RAVE: Running is awesome. RANT: Out of Copenhagen. RAVE: My life is still pretty awesome. RAVE: Finishing my day at the gym, so no matter what it ends well.
Rant: If I wasn't forced into saying otherwise, I'd be telling someone "Bitch, you don't deserve a fucking apology" right about now. Rant: The washing machine downstairs is not working and won't be looked at until tomorrow afternoon. One of my roommates yelled at me with tears in her eyes at 11:00 last night for not telling her it wasn't working. Why? She assumed I would know about the damn washing machine since it's in the same room as my little workshop. Rave: I simply explained to her today how her lack of preparation and quick assumptions are not my problem when she approached me again. I would have said it last night, but her emotions were running too high for her to be reasonable. I am not going to remain the scapegoat for shit in this house. Rave: Tequila lime chicken bratwurst with spicy guacamole. Perfection.
How timely. Rant: I've dealt with PTSD for the last 5 years, and have been able to keep it suppressed on my own, without help. In the process I've learned a lot about myself and how my crazy little mind works. My self-therapy worked really well until last spring. I started developing stronger symptoms out of nowhere, and the methods I used to keep it under control don't work anymore. Since then my world has gotten to be a pretty dark place. My nerves are frayed and I'm nearing my breaking point. Rave: I'm going to the VA in the morning to get some help.
RANT: Why does shit that ends up costing me out my ass ALWAYS fucking happen right before my birthday?! Motherfucker. RANT: Car problems.
Rave: Schpeaking of birfdays, today is mine. 34 years young (gag). Instead of going out to some overpriced restaurant offering over-salted food with shitty service, hubby bought 8 pounds of crab legs and we layed newspaper over the kitchen table and went to town. I got a bunch of cards, a gift certificate to O'Charley's, a book about frogs and Alan Wake. The hideous virus that has been kicking my ass for the last week is subsiding so I might actually be able to have a few drinks when the kids go to bed. Rave: It is also Cytherea's birthday. Most of you probably know who she is but for those who don't, google-ing her is quite NSFW so be warned. Enjoy otherwise! Rant: I also share my birthday with Gwyneth Paltrow, Avril Lavigne and Phoebe Price! What a pack of superficial, airheaded cunts!
Gorgeous autumn evening with the Packers about to take on (and, yes, beat) the Bears. I'm swilling Mike's Hard Lemonade out of a wine glass cuz I'm classy like that and "sort of" wishing I was in my favorite bar about to lose my voice screaming on the game...but staying home has its perks too - cheaper and less distance to travel when I'm ready to screw off all my football-frenzy energy post-game.
Rant: Whats with random friends of friends I have never met adding me on facebook, I dont want to be your friend Rant: Back in classes, one teacher sounds like he is on blow, the other is preggers and is a self exclaimed bitch...and the department head. The rest are not so bad (yet)
Rant: Fuck me running. Every weekend for the next 4 weeks I'm having some sort of massive "gathering" at my house. First is my annual autumn throwdown which will be easy. 6ft trailer smoker, couple kegs of Oktoberfest, some drinking games, and a bonfire. Easy. From there it gets progressively more difficult culminating with a 50 guest surprise party for my father. I offered to pay for the catering at a restaurant but those usually suck. You have to make seating charts and nobody gets to mingle... so sure lets hold it here. Rave: I'm hiring someone to do all the detail-setup nonsense for me. I don't have time for all this shit. Rave: Boardwalk Empire, Dexter, Weeds... ahhhh finally that Vampire drek and douchey Brah-Love are gone from television for a few months.
Rant: In two days, I have to give a presentation on, fuck, I don't know. My teacher really didn't explain shit. She explained it as if we have taken the class before and already know what we are supposed to be doing, and no one in the class had any idea what the fuck we were supposed to be doing. This has been the entire theme of the class; it seriously feels like I have missed several classes of explanation of what the fuck we're supposed to be doing, but everyone feels that way. When we attempt to ask her for clarification, she is absolutely NO help. For the first few weeks, we've been doing mini-projects. Apparently, all of this is supposed to lead to us actually teaching this lesson in a classroom to students (having them do the same thing that we've been doing, apparently, only we teach it). For our presentations, she told us we are supposed to present as if we are presenting the 6th (and final) lesson of our unit plan. We ask her "Wait, what unit plan?" She then says that we are supposed to make a unit plan, consisting of 6 lessons, and we are presenting the final lesson. This unit plan is supposed to be based on everything we've been doing. "So, we're making a unit plan to teach our subject (we each chose a different subject) to the students the same way that we learned it?" She says yes. "So, this presentation... are we presenting our finding? Are we presenting as if we are teachers presenting the final lesson to the students, or are we presenting as if we are the students presenting to our teacher? Up until now, we've been working as the students...." She says yes. We are confused, and she fails to elaborate, and dismisses us. Everyone in the class is confused as fuck as to what the fuck we are supposed to be doing, and I don't think it is physically possible for me to be more mentally stressed. Just... fucking fuck fuck. I'm going to go talk to her tomorrow, but seriously... fuck. There is no way I am sleeping tonight.
I am a substitute teacher. Subbed at a high school today, which is hit or miss. Today was miss. A student in the last period of the day stole my phone. It doesn't get worse than that.
Rant: Forgot I had a business lunch today and had a big sammich at 12pm. I then had a 2 course lunch and couple of glasses of merlot at 1pm. I feel distended. Yes I had to fucking eat, it was free food.