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Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

created on 06/24/2012  |  http://fubar.com/just-south-of-blue/b348855  |  9 followers

At times I was assisted by pharmaceuticals, but I've slept most of the last two days away
lost 4 lbs, had a few cool dreams about playing in the little-league world series.

What started all this?
I snorted to clear my throat at about 8:00 Sunday morning, threw out every ligament and muscle in my neck and upper torso and hovered at about a 7 on the pain scale in about 45% of my body for 36 hours.

I'm not kidding. I snorted and hocked my throat, and felt my muscles snap and spasm in shock, and couldn't move my head in any direction for several hours.

I did not go to work today.

My range of motion is shot. I was barely upright until today.
I've used my exercise ball, my inversion table, and some leftover painkillers and muscle relaxers

now the pain and tension has finally crept up to my head at about a 4, I'm actually thankful for this.
I can move.
I can sit up.
I can eat.
I can get out of bed.

The will to live is slowly creeping back into me.

There were moments it was gone, and I was fairly convinced that this would just be the start of pain management, harsher drugs, and a rapid descent into addiction, overdose, joblessness, and eventually death. It's not going to take a whole lot to push me from pills to needles. Not being in pain gets me high.

I'm scared. I'm hurt. I'm angry.

A weird cocktail of hope and rage keeps me going, but days like this really bring it all back, and pile it on.
They tell me that's what PTSD is.

I guess I just gotta reinforce my coping mechanisms and keep running as fast as I can from the past.

This morning reeks of fetid promise.
Of molding red leaves, and dewy herbs threatening frosty revolt.
Today, only, I am the last best hope of mankind.
A vessel of the noisy, lonely heart therewithin.

This is the kind of night I'd spend drinking in a friend's back yard.
Painted ladies, passed on hash, artisanal beer, bon fires,
Neckbeards. Meth etchings. Broken glass.

On second thought, this is the kind of night I'd spend drinking with strangers.
Anonymity, wobbly stools, spinning urinals,
Police calls. Bondsmen. Sanitized cement floors.

This is the kind of night I'd spend drinking in my bathtub.

We're beginning phase two of the operation.
Not sure how many phases there actually are, but with everything paid:

Begin phase 2.

Phase 2 will consist of counting my stacks of money, financial planning (with ridiculous contingencies in mind), and real estate hunting/home design.

Yeah... home design.

I'm not finding paradise, so I might have to build it.

I'm getting so damn close to this thing that it's making me crazy(er).

I'd get away from it, take a break, think about something else

But there is nothing else. Especially with the Baseball season ending. Woo. Playoffs.

Romance is slamming into a brick wall. Game of the decade (Phantom Pain) is wrapping up with a few secret endings and some other shit to finish out.

It's close.
It is fucking

I dunno what to do with myself after that. Keep working and keep living.

I feel on edge all the time, and I'm months from making the first damn move.

I need to call a realtor, ask some feeler-questions, and get some quotes.

I've done harder, crazier things. But this is big.
At the moment, this is everything.

Got my raise. The medical debt check posted.
I informed my boss of an earnest attempt at getting a promotion by next review.

The lawsuit

is probably a bust.


I'm still celebrating, win or lose, it's over.

Pain's been pretty high lately. Sleep has been pretty low.

Haven't seen any fantastic houses on the market.

I'm taking a four day weekend and playing the bejesus out of The Phantom Pain. Should be here Wednesday barring any shipping errors.

And yes, I'm not taking vacation for your wedding, anniversary, birth of your child
I'm taking vacation to play video games in pajama pants.

This next check will have my bonus, and my new pay amount.
Pretty neat.

I'm kinda lonely. I'm sure some of you have picked up on that.
But I don't think I'm remotely capable of a relationship.
Or giving a shit.

That's a problem. It'll get fixed in time.

I'm gonna wear burgandy pants and my heinous houndstooth jacket from the 60's to celebrate.

Then I'm going to crush my enemies, drive them before me and hear the lamentation of their women.

I cut a check for the grossly inflated overchargy medical expenses I couldn't get written off that I'm not legally responsible for.
Meeting with the lawyer Tuesday.

I'ts been a week... month... year. Decade.

I think I -have- to have my yearly review by next week or my boss' ass is on the line.
I think.

Not that I'm really chomping at the bit over it, but it'd be nice to know how well I'm doing, and if I'm getting a raise.

So this week promises to be a little purple too.

I thought I'd feel more relief being in this spot, being able to pay these vultures off, and stacking even more of my money each month in more neat little rows.

I mostly feel tired, hurt, and angry.
Like I always do.

I hope you're watching.
I know you're not.

I don't know what I want to say here, about the state of things, what has happened, where I am, how I am.

I'm still standing.

I might be propped up with pain killers and raw, hate-filled determination, but I'm still here.

My year review is any time between now, and next month. I've been a little on edge, but I'm fairly optimistic. I think my overall performance and output have been the same, possibly increased, and I've made a few splashes here and there. I even helped train a couple people, offered some helpful advice. I've even taken on more responsibilities when called upon. Not much more has been asked of me.

I don't think I've synched a promotion, or landed a HUGE payraise or bonus. I'm just doing my job, desperately, to get what I need.
Strangely that's somehow remarkable.

I'm trying to stay strong, but every now and then, when I really take stock of what I've lost, it can be really hard. The goals creep closer, and I bitterly ask "then what?".

I'm spending a lot of time with my brother.
Every day hurts.
My dog still loves me.

No news on the debt. No news on the lawsuits.
I'll survive despite them.

My heart is broken and in teeny tiny pieces in the dirt.
Not to where I yearn, and pine.
I'm not drinking so much.
But I don't even imagine myself feeling any more.
The last wick and pool of passion and warmth is spent.

... course they make -new- candles for when that happens.

I don't know what comes next.
I still want to make a valiant, desperate stab at being free.
My water, My food. My land. My sky.

I don't know if my battered body will permit it.
I still want to try.

I miss the hope. The random of being so entwined in someone else.
Everything else is a red haze of agonizing tension in my back, neck, arms, and head.

It's been a bad pain ... season? A very long summer of injury.
Winter will surely be a bitch.

I can't find the way.
The words are gone.
Like a knife that won't cut.
Not even your soft, sweet, pink little fingers.
Unbidden little bites, while you absently slide down the edge.
Dancing with excitement, and longing.
The sting and sever
all but ejaculatory glimpses of red and splitting skin.

Oh, how I miss these little talks.
My hands on your neck, bare and erotic disgust inside you.
Raspy coughs, safety squirms
and wriggly, feeble gestures for air or ecstasy.

I could never tell the difference.
The words are gone.

And she is, still.

Some things have been going on.

My brother and his wife are starting a business, final inspections are happening this week.

I'm receiving a raise and bonus after the end of my job's fiscal year (July).

I'm up for (and somewhat likely to receive) an additional bonus and raise for an undisclosed amount on my yearly review which is coming up shortly. Rumors of a promotion are being murmored here and there. I have little to no expectations as I've only just recently started this job, though I have had some sizable responsibilities shoveled on me.

I have already spent the first bonus on repairing my jank-ass car.
It was just barely the amount where it would have been easier to repair than to find a different car.

I'm aggitated by that, but it was free money I wasn't expecting that I am spending.

I have enough for a down-payment on a house, but not to live off of immediately afterward.
I have no attractive plots of land on my list within my price range, within driving distance.

-someone- in our region is building itty-bitty, new rural houses, and I'll be seeking this person out.

My dog hurt her left front leg (not sure how) and is kinda hopping around, she is showing signs of progress and recovery, but it about makes me lose my mind any time that dog is hurt.

I've filed suit against my old insurance company and am seeking an injury settlement.
We have a shot, not a great shot, and not at a ton of cash.

I have not been on any dates in the past six months, nor have I met anyone in town that I'm terribly attracted to or interested in.

I spend most of my days in a dead, flat-footed sprint from my own demons and anxiety. (that's not new)

Some really, really, really exciting games are coming out this retail season. Some really stupid distractions have been coming out (mobile and poorly implemented VR launches).

It's a great week for America, almost. If it weren't for the racist mass shooting in SC, America would look like an almost livable place right now. People are getting married, people are chipping away at big-pharm, big-insurance, and big med, and perhaps soon we'll catch up to the rest of the first-world. And a progressive commy is running for president.

I've been reading.

I have almost two weeks of vacation on the books, almost a month of sick time...

Some goals have left my sight, but they're coming back as more thins settle and more fires are put out.

I hurt every day.
I try every day.
I fail every day.
I succeed every day.

I have over half of my medical debt paid off, and I -could- write a check right now to wipe it out.

Tonight I dream of being snowed in.
Kindling. Naked in the bleak deluge of summer sun and sobriety.
The smoky drip  of sweat and late barley.
A season of bad hair and blistering skin.
This is not a haiku. This is not an apology.

CoffeeHope is a cheap thing.
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