Friday, August 31, 2018

Technocratic freediving

Freediving is the dangerous art of swimming deep as you can on one breath then coming back. It's insanely scary to me—but if you can do it then, wow, what a rush that must be.

I got my technocrat freak on in a freedive into the depths of MoG, finding and shaping a narrative and way ahead. I was lost in it, reveling in it as I saw what needed to be done. 

Then I got to fuck off for the bus. Freedivers don't have that; they have to arse about with towels, goggles and being resuscitated. Me? On the fucking bus in fifteen flat. 


Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Lost a tooth chunk

It fell out as I ate a sundae. I thought it was from my meal then saw it was a tooth piece and frantically tongued about until I found where it once was. 

I put the shard on a chopping board then lost it when I picked up the board and it rattled off it onto the counter and off that to under the fridge.

I'd just come back from a psych consult where I discussed early onset of aging on wonky joints only for a chunk of tooth to just fall out of me when I got home like in a fucked comedy movie. 

Seriously. I sit down, post chat about a decaying body then shed part of a tooth.

Universe, take a bow.

UPDATE: It was a filling and resin lump that had fallen out. Lump re-set. The needle barely hurt. He was most deft.

Monday, August 27, 2018

Took his sword off him

I'm playing Talisman on the tablet and my Sorceress was attacked by the Knight---who begins the game with armour and a sword.

I won the battle and took his sword off him.

His alignment is good and I am evil. Yet I did nothing to bring on that aggro. It is a nice sword though. He's lost some fights and is two lives from death. Let's see what I to make that happen.

UPDATE: I got killed by the Grim Reaper—and I lost the sword that would not have helped.

Knee ache

The lake ride I did was too much after too long away from daily exercise biking. My left knee is screaming at me for doing something it used to do an hour a day no worries. I need to ease back in then lift back up. 

I'm older and can't do what limited things I could do as well I did them—my joints are failing early because they were never formed correctly. To know and experience early degradation of your body is fucked. I never had a proper body to begin with and this fucked one is breaking half way.

I feel like the shit box loaner car at a dodgy off-the-book mechanics. I shudder to think what's inside the glove box or boot. 

If it's gloves and boots I'm a lot worse off than I realised. 

Skull hiss

Gas just crackled out the base of my skull; I heard it and felt it. There's no implants, it's just my dodgy-as-fuck un-turned body venting.

As I rode back from the lake yesterday my knees hurt and the already replaced hip ached. All of this, the gas hissing from joints and that my joints are fucked up, the result of not great preg care by the carrier.

It probably would have been okay for a sense of self as a being entitled to care if I had got it but I didn't so now middle-aged me is choked by anger at what was done to him in childhood, made worse for early joint failure and daily discomfort at use of lower and upper limbs. I have a broken puppet body only I'm alive and can feel it.

I got angry on that ride back but fell back on the fact without it I would not be me. And a skull hissing broken puppet body is a greater win because I give a sustained and impactful fuck about people I do not know.

Heroes are never chosen; they are made. And the best of them are riddled with flaws because it makes them human and that much more fucking heroic.


Sunday, August 26, 2018

Barf berries

I made him laugh so hard he vomited up his blueberries.

Comedy win.

UPDATE: He had to have a blast of Ventolin

Friday, August 24, 2018

Fifteen hours

I haven't done a 15 hour day in seeming forever but I got to see things happen and chat with great peeps. A grueler but a grinner.

I even had an outside mission on a stunning day and got assisted at the back of a queue by a roving customer officer.  

There were flashbacks to the shit but each time they came they ebbed off because what I was doing made it all worth it.

I don't have self doubt; I am one with myself. How lucky am I to obtain self worth?

Also there was a change of Prime Minister. Australia; we know how to roll 'em.

Thursday, August 23, 2018

Things that hurt

Me; like, all the time.

A pebble in my shoe when running for a bus; yes, I ran—on this body. The pebble entered as I dashed across gravel. I missed the bus.

Rimming my belly button on the edge of a chair. 

Loud noises like low flying aircraft, a cutlery rattle-drop or a scooter dropped within a bus. 

Memories, the having thereof, not the song; otherwise that would be "Memories" and how could that hurt you? Unless it was part of auditory enhanced interrogation. 

Your knees and hips after running for a just missed bus and you're pissed because those headlights were on you as you were waving it down and it ignored the universal signal for "can you please stop; I wish to use you." Grr. It was all because I had to have a safety wee before leaving. But then I got a taxi and the ride was interesting for the goss. I later texted about my getting a taco because auto-correct. 

And a bunch of shit I'm too arsed to remember. 

But, still here and kicking and that is a big, fat WFTW.

Sunday, August 19, 2018

Back fart

Last night as I was headed off to bed I farted and hurt my back.

The fart wasn't that powerful but as it happened something went "werch" in my lower back like I'd been compressed head downward. 

I had to take nurofen. I had to take more the next day. It still hurts. I get that I once wrenched my back coughing but all I did here was a normal fart, nothing super farty, and my body rebelled and hurt itself.

For fuck's sake, seriously, for fuck's sake.

Friday, August 17, 2018

My two visitors

The first was an old man who was seeking help; the second was younger and needed help. I could help the first but not the second.

You can lead a horse to water but don't engage in its views of tower seven and 911.

Fucking horses.

Thursday, August 16, 2018

A night to remember

There are nights that represent a moment, a key into a lock and turn where you know something special has happened. I don't get out much---always sore dampens desire to be social---but I accepted the offer and went. Then the key turned with a soft, welcoming click.

I have a shit body and a sad mind but that led to nights like this. How lucky I am to be cursed as I was; yin within yang within yin.


Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Valium sleep

I rarely take Valium but it's needs based usage which means sometimes there's a cluster of use.

I had a monster chat about childhood yuck and I cried for a bit. It came two days after a scare where I'd had two afterward. After they left the churn from the talk rizzled within and I took two again. I filled a hot water bottle then went to bed, sleeping it off

It's not good sleep. It's not blissy. You just don't feel as intense and you get tired and listless. So I slept a chunk of the day away and when I woke I forced myself to go for a ride. When I got back I got hugged hello and it reminded me that all that bullshit led to okay outcomes.

I'm in constant pain and afflicted by trauma; a recollection can give me the jits and I have to medicate and sleep.

But then you have a moment like that and in that moment of it is all okay.

Acceptance for the win.

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Toilet pen II

This time the pen was dropped within a near pristine male toilet environment and it fell onto tiles under the sinks which were many feet from the urinal. "Still, don't chew that," I thought, reflecting on the last pen dropped on a toilet floor and which remained unchewed by me and then disposed of.

Yeah, I chewed it. I remembered not to chew it after 40 minutes of chewing. So the ship well sailed on avoiding masticating something from a toilet floor---but I did stop chewing when I remembered.

Just sensational effort.

Well played, pen.

Monday, August 13, 2018

PTSD and buses (interior)

We've covered PTSD and buses in the mechanical sense from the number of posts about when I've had my startle reflex fired by air brakes discharging; they're a constant menace.

But now we move into the inside where the people are because they can be a problem. Buses are supposed to be like libraries or the elevator. People stay quiet and mind their own business. People are not supposed to yell.

The drunk dude behind me, who later revealed he didn't know the day or time, on a mid-arvo ride got frustrated by the large number of passengers so shouted "JESUS CHRIST OF NAVARONE!", which may be a reference to the thriller The Guns of Navarone or something to do with Jesus Christ Superstar, but either way he was sitting right behind me when he yelled it at the top of his voice.

After being told in response to his later shouted question that it was Monday and mid-afternoon he bellowed something about him not even being supposed to be there.

He also sneezed twice with no effort to cover and his drunkenness exacerbated the delivery.

After his first yell and fight flight loomed I put fingers in my ears while I mentally prepared myself for more yelling before taking them away and enduring the queries about the day and time, his ironic presence and the sneezing. At the stop where most of us got off he joked to no one "TICKETS PLEASE!" then smugly stated that this is what bus conductors say.

I felt bad for him. He was disheveled and old before his time and his day drunk seemed likely to be his every day and that is mad sad. I hope he gets help.

But for fuck's sake you don't have to carry on in a bus packed with people whose only fault was using public transport. 

I should have moved but it was jammed with people standing. I'm big so I'd have gut-brushed people in any slow effort to distance myself from Captain DrunkYell.

The CBT helped and it was only a 15 minute trip. But it was a long 15 minutes.

This has been "Fun with PTSD and mass transit".

Saturday, August 11, 2018

Sotto ranting in the dark

I'd lapsed into a sotto rant---quiet because it's night and people are in bed but with the same intensity of yelling and boiled up anger. I hissed and spat as my right hand flexed for an object to fight with. I'd had a lapse back into childhood hurt at being a whipping boy for narcissists and had to ebb off the rage. 

So I stopped, aware I was pacing in the dim red of the single shrouded lamp lit in the front end of the house and the boiling fury was not helping. Then I kvetched here where it's healthy to do so since one is dead and the other may as well be.

It's fucked having a life wracked by a fucked, twisted wreck of a body that was effectively neutered by its potato shape and like-agility who was judged for being that way on purpose---because I self-deformed in utero with my magical powers.

I'm halfway dead and still smarting from the first level.

Then I remember without all of that I couldn't have done what I did and what I did was monstrously important; my tuber body and sad mind did that and couldn't have without it.

But a hunchback doesn't thank the hunch even if it gives them cred because to be hunched is fucked and painful.

I do have a disability parking permit though so that's something.

Soft ranting in the dark; let's hear a pop song about that. 

Old school

It was in an hardcopy newspaper, no algorithm found me, that I saw an ad for a private all boys school and thought "lucky that wasn't my old school" then turned the pages only to see an even bigger ad for my old school.

What the actual fuck.

UPDATE: ... and I just saw the online ad again.

Movie maligned

"Oh fried balls sandwich at the Whistle Stop Cafe!"

As used after a fail move in a game.

Sorry, ladies.

Deep dive in a terror pond

The trouble with a workplace mental health injury is how often you're reminded of it even if you're in another workplace. In my case I had to put on the mental health equivalent of scuba gear and light mesh chainmail and plunge into a fetid pond and grope about to find objects therein. 

I surfaced with the job achieved and with surprisingly little damage because the swim was about making the pond clear---or setting it up so nature would keep it clean once toxic waste stopped being dumped into it.

After the dive I went on and did other things; I didn't trigger from distress. It was as if Beowulf had just killed Grendel then shrugged and went across the road to get a Diet Coke then do some light office work.

That's life with a workplace psychological injury; you're forever diving into foul ponds of your wounded mind's making.

Friday, August 10, 2018

Who stole me lucky charm?

Talisman and I am the Leprechaun. I just happened to also have the lucky charm magic object that when used allows you to determine the result of a six-sided dice.

Even if I had used it the Dwarf who stole it would have won the battle, the fucker. Better it takes me charm though instead of a life.

Fucking dwarves; wee folk are supposed to stick together!

Always after me lucky charms...

UPDATE: I caught up to him in a fields square and beat the snot out of him; he had already used me charm. Bastard.

Fifteen minutes

I'm an educated, work-experienced cat from the world of the white collar. 

I spent 15 minutes attempting to turn a flat-packed archive box into a normal archive box.

The instructions were clear, I just didn't understand them—or failed to translate their pics into concrete boxed action.

Fifteen minutes.

I felt epic stupid. 

I did succeed—and I didn't chuck a snit.

Later I had to do cutting, lots of it. I was getting up and down so got a head sweat going and I'm balding. 

I risked bald sweat dripping on the contents I was cutting. 

So by the end of the mission there was a pyramid of soaked paper towels of daubed up bald sweat—a moist mountain of translucent salt watered balls.

It was not a good look.

The box was for recycling; the head sweat towels went in the bin.

Area man stymied by a box; what a fail.

Wednesday, August 08, 2018

Fear cake

The other day I was in a fear cake; caked in fear. It was like I was baked into it and I could not move it was that paralyzing. I had to go through a long list of titles to make sure something was not there. I had to read every one with the expectation it could be and it freaked me the fuck out; tunnel vision, acute dreads, quickened shallow breathing, frozen but with the need to run the fuck off with my low ambulatory speed only to be taken down by whatever normative faster thing is chasing me. 

It was hideous. I got to the end of it with no sight then sent an email to confirm their absence. I got that a couple of days later. 

I was back in it; severe anxiety and overwhelming dread. 

But I got through it and even if I kark it at least I've protected the future or given a red hot Mikey go at it. 

Red hot Mikey goes; that sounds like a laxative for masochists.

Slept it off

I had a psych visit where I was angry and I cried. When we got home I crawled into bed and slept the grief off. I felt better for it. It was better than being awake and fixating on what was said. 

Hooray for a shut down reboot; sometimes you really do have to turn it off and on again.

Tuesday, August 07, 2018


I rode up an embankment of concreted rock. I didn't mean to, I didn't use both brakes is all. 

On another ride I rode into a hedge; well, through it. My arm dragged through thorny greenery for a few seconds until I could wobble away. Stupid hedge. Stupid me for riding through it.

We have some; most are terrified. They look up with a mute scream. And so it came to be that as I snuck an outside wee I looked down to only see a frightened meerkat look back at me. 

Later on another outing I saw a plastic blue jaybird looking on. 

I had crippling IBS and woke to mung meds and get a hot water bottle then float back to sleep once the codeine kicked in. Upon waking I was able to unleash the beast and had post-movement spasms for a bit. Now I feel great. 

It's amazing what doing a normal thing with your body can feel when you don't get to do it as often. It turns out you appreciate life more when you're not churning agony.

I got wins that will lead to bigger wins. Plus I got to use a computer with two monitors again; technocratic bliss. My hands danced that day; they fucking danced. I should name my hands like fighting people name their fists. There, I've decided, they're Taxi and Haggis.

A favourite deep thought from Jack Handy
If you saw two guys named Hambone and Flippy, which one would you think liked dolphins the most? I'd say Flippy, wouldn't you? You'd be wrong, though. It's Hambone.

Friday, August 03, 2018

Aquaplaning then a kangaroo

It was pissing buckets in the nation's capital and about a half dozen times the car aquaplaned for what felt like a heartbeat or two. You had to grip the wheel and keep the accelerator down without cruise control to maintain control and go slower---I wonder if you can get an un-speed camera ticket because I passed one at 70 in a 100 zone.

I used to joke with overseas visitors that, no, they were unlikely to see kangaroos just hopping about in Canberra. We're not that cliched.

It had stopped raining when I came down a hill in the dark and a roo crossed the road in front of me. I was driving carefully, going about 50, and so I only had to tap the brakes for a second before it bounced onto a wet sporting oval. If I'd not being paying attention I'd have hit it or hard swerved on instinct. Either way it would have been bad. 

So hooray for methodical driving in poor conditions; I kept a car on the road when it skipped across water and I avoided a skippy.

It felt almost too Oz; nation's capital at night in the wet and nearly clipping one of the two animals from the Coat of arms.

I bet if I had his emu mate would have come looking for me...