Sunday, November 11, 2018

Creamy Slinky

The trouble with my scars that I pick is they are a delight to pick; deeply satisfying.

In order to stop it I put on cream but unless you have something to suplant the urge to pick you don't put the cream on.

So I have a Slinky. Instead of ripping at face flesh I bounce that, bungee jumping the end to the floor again and again. And when I'm not doing that I can finger the inside as it sits next to me.

It's nuts to enjoy picking your bod and then summoning the will to stop. At least I have my Slinky.

Saturday, November 10, 2018

Penal colony

It sounds like a sausage fest.

Thursday, November 08, 2018

Habit discussed; habit engaged

The nastier aspect of having OCPD is picking at the body. I pick at my face, neck and thigh.

I saw the psych and discussed steps to stop it. Then I went home and kept doing it. I had the cream next to me and I would not put it on to stop myself on the first two until early afternoon. Then I had a go at the thigh.

It's nuts to discuss self-harming then go home and self-harm. At least I stopped; that is the win here.


It's a hell of a thing to be lying down and experiencing your body spasming in different places: back of a knee, a little finger, a calf muscle. They remind me I've been wounded and those wounds are unfair.

But I copped most of them in the service of the state and I wouldn't have been me if I hadn't.

So I fall back on that when the spasms ripple; they're the price I pay to be me.


Monday, November 05, 2018

Democrats want aliens to probe you: Trump

"Democrats, or Demon Rats, have taken over transmission stations and invited aliens in person to probe each and every one of you.

"These aliens have your picture and address along with a personal item for their robot bloodhounds to sniff you out, to track you to where you are hiding, pull you out and stick that probe in you.

"Cryin' Schumer will be standing next to the gantry, they all have them, folks, he'll be there with a whip whipping you into the holds of their slave ships where more probing will happen, that I can guarantee you.

"Then the aliens who hate our patriots will probe them worse to find their guns so the aliens can leave you defenseless.

"It will be a mix, folks, a mix of aliens. The greys, we don't like them, do we? Those long skinny brown ones---and the ones that look human except for the antennae. All crowding you seeking to be the first to probe you so they can brag about it in a space bar. Guarantee it.

"They cut a deal with China to close all those beautiful new steel mills, folks, plugging the chimneys, the beautiful smokestacks of freedom, with trees and shrubs that I can tell you.

"The aliens, folks. Democrats invited them, want them to stay with them and take your jobs. Think about it, having to compete with hyper intelligentsia from the dark void whose concept of money has probably evolved away to not needing it since they can create anything they need from the relevant atoms, folks. And they don't need arseholes anymore, done away with them.

"Aliens with no money and no arseholes coming here to take both of yours. Not good, folks, not good at all."

Also see "Full Trumpism" at The Washington Post.

Sunday, November 04, 2018

Soul-killing clangfire

Certain noises are bound to startle; have PTSD and a lot of such sounds in quick succession you'll end up balanced on flight-fight for future noises. 

The first nasty was a five foot drop of a nail varnish bottle onto a varnished wooden floor. The rest were dice that missed the table and hit the same surface. In the end we rolled the dice (five at a time) into a box so they wouldn't shoot away except of course a couple did. The game reached the end without my end being reached but I had to have two Valium post-game to deal with the shredded nerves. 

The worst one was the one I knocked off because I knew the sound was coming and it was my fault—my fucked, work-wounded hands dropping a die. CLATTER-CLATTER-BANG-CLATTER ripping through my skull as it travelled along the wood. 

I loved playing the game but I got stuck in this weird place of "having fun playing a game" and "I am going to be attacked; prepare to defend myself". That's an insane duality to have; to be doing something fun but wreathed in fear-soaked terror that a loud sudden noise is coming and you may dive for the door. 

I yelled loudly "FUCKING (word)" each time it happened and I had to say sorry when the game was done for sounding demented at such innocuous noise—terror Tourette.

That's life with a workplace mental health injury; you're forever stained by what happened to you years on and sudden noises can drag you screaming back. 

Workplace injury blows goats; I am the proof.

Pop goes the boil-o

The ever boil had ballooned and it was popped; lanced with a needle and squeeeeeezed. 

I felt every e.

We had to pause for a breather then we went again, the tissue wad blossomed with boil gunk.


So it's hot water bottle time and pain meds. The site is quivering in aftershock.

The inner thigh boil; it just keeps on giving.

Friday, November 02, 2018

GOP releases ad for 2018 midterms

Trapped in the body of a fat child

It was my birthday recently and I thought of it in the context of childhood and school and how utterly sad I was to be trapped in the body of a fat child; for life. I am stunted in growth, have shorter fingers than I should and my joints are mildly fucked up. 

None of this was my choice; nor was it my choice to become fat—genetics and a womb-deformed body soaked in pain did that for me. It's hard to maintain the thrill of physicality when your physique is against you. 

I have all the attractiveness of a fat child despite being an adult which makes me neutered; if you found me attractive I'd consider your mind unsound. 

But when I got off the bus my son was waiting for me because he loves me and gives a shit about me.

So I won; I won life trapped in this hideous flesh suit and without it I could not have been me and done the things that I did—or created the family that I have. I never felt welcome in the one I was in so I made my fucking own.


Wednesday, October 31, 2018

One tried to eat me

One of the chickens tried to eat me. She jumped up and bit my right middle knuckle, I presume because she thinks I am part food. There are animals who can be partially food such as lizards that can drop their tail but I am not like that. Unless they're into hair and nails then there's nothing else I consider they could have from my person.

If I pass out in the pen then I shudder to think what will be gotten to while I lie defenceless. Will I try to open my eyes and find they're no longer there?

Vicious poultry, just vicious. Anyone can see that except for those without eyes due to chickens.