Saturday, May 12, 2018

Sick Of It All, Let's Be Real

Copyright holohololand

As I write this, I am wrapping up a sneezing fit and have snot running out of my nose, and that's the best I've felt all day.
Physically I don't feel any worse than I ever do. I don't feel good but I don't feel awful. Awful enough that I don't really feel like doing anything, but not awful enough that I can't. Story of my life.
Let's get this out of the way first. Whoever you are that may be reading this, this isn't about you. This post isn't about you. This blog isn't about you. I'm not thinking about you. You are not the center of the fucking Universe. 
Now, not all of you think you are the center of the fucking Universe, I'm aware of that. This is addressing those who think they are the center of the fucking Universe so much that they think a stranger's blog posts need to be about them and their beliefs and attitudes. Fuck that shit. I've encountered your type far too often. I'm not pandering to you.
This is about me.
This is my fucking blog.
I am writing this post.
Let's talk about me for a minute.
Fuck it. First, let's bring it back to you.
I would rather receive no reply to what I've written than to receive fucking platitudes.
"Have you tried yoga? It works for me."
Yeah, I have money to go to yoga classes. I have sooo much money that I never need to worry about money.
She said, her voice oozing sarcasm like a slime waterfall dripping over rocks.
"Have you been drinking enough water?"
Bitch, I drink so much water that I'm always peeing. I have diabetes. I tend to drink a lot of water.
"Have you been out in the sunny sun sunshine?"
Do I have a pleasant place to walk?
The answer to that is "no."
Walking along a busy street isn't very pleasant.
Do I have time to walk?
Well, let's see. I fell asleep when I fell asleep. Threw together some slop, ate the slop, and now it's time to go to work at my shit paying job. Go take your dog for a walk.
"Have you tried meds?"
Let's see...I'm 53 years old, have struggled with mental illness all my life. Despite being stubborn like a pissed-off mule, I actually do possess a modicum of intelligence and reasoning ability, so how about you take that dismissive shit and fuck right the fuck off. 
"It isn't ladylike to complain."
Well, Bitch, I've never been mistaken for ladylike.
Eh, I'm wasting time. Let's get to the meat of this rambling mess.
I dreamed about work last night.
I deliver food. I don't mind it. It's a job I can do. Because of my health problems, there aren't many jobs I can do. But the other night, I went to work and sat there for four hours, making no money. I was very upset.
I dreamed about work.
I dreamed that I somehow failed to deliver an order and the kitchen somehow failed to notice it.
Note that both of these scenarios are very unlikely.
In any case, I went to the kitchen and told them I wanted to include a box of cookies for the customer since their order would be late.
The fucking cooks proceeded to hide the cookies from me and eat them.
This sounds funny on the surface, but it wasn't.
At the end of the dream, I went home, never having delivered the order, and wrote a final post on my main WIP story blog. The post contained one word:


Now, in case y'all want the truthiest truth, I initially thought "this is fate. This is what I'm supposed to do. This is the best idea." 
Maybe it is. I've been frustrated by the fact that I'm unable to work on writing the way I used to. 
I'm also frustrated by people who have the reading comprehension skills of your average amoeba.
Right at the top of the blog, it says that the works contained therein are first drafts and are not in chronological order. But do fuckers bother to read that? Fuck no.
Now, I will share a link to a contentious chapter and complain about a certain critic thereof.
Here is what this critic had to say:

The snippet was quite interesting but...why all the randomly bolded words? And it was on the 'talking heads' side, with no action or way to really differentiate the characters for the reader. I know it's hard, working only with snippets though.

This was my response. Looking at it after more than two months, I realize it was a triggered response. Not to say that I agree with the critic, just to say that I responded more vehemently than necessary.

I take it from your other criticisms that "quite interesting" means "I hate it." That's cool and all. 
The words weren't randomly bolded. It was to keep up with the Wordle prompt, to remember that we had used the words. 
Honestly, I'm kind of brain damaged and stupid. I work at a menial job earning about minimum wage. I write when I can if for no other reason than to keep some aspect of what I believe myself to truly be alive. With a little help from my friends I am able to do this. 
Maybe I'm fated to just be a giant talking head, much like the Face of Boe in Dr. Who. 
Sorry my work didn't meet your exacting standards. 
I probably won't participate in this particular prompt again. Really, the only reason I do is as an exercise in constraining my word count because I tend to be overly verbose in my so-called writing.

I have previously stated--to this particular critic, in fact--that I have no plans for ever professionally publishing this work. 
I'm only trying to keep the work alive. I used to have a set plan for working on it. At this point, it's catch as catch can. 
Shit doesn't work out for me, and this particular critic and everyone like her can go eat a bag of...deer nostrils. Which is nicer than what I was going to say.
At the point when I lost my job last year, I think I may have had a small stroke. I was blaming the resulting weakness, activity intolerance, and inability to concentrate on my diabetes and hypothyroidism, but something in my cognition changed as well. I started thinking about it after I tried to go back to work in a long-term care facility and was unable to even remotely keep up or do the necessary tasks for such a job. 
I would look at the screen for what medication a patient needed when. 
I would understand what the medication was.
I would understand that it needed to be given at a certain time.
The task was impossible. 
Even though I understood both of the components, I couldn't make it work.
I was unable to do the physical aspects of the job, such as helping patients into bed.
I felt like I was going to pass out.
That part is probably diabetes. 
The bit with the inability to put two and two together even though I academically understood what I was supposed to do, I just couldn't pull the trigger and actually do it, is not diabetes.
I am very angry that I am being punished for having reversals in my health. Is it right that I should be food insecure because I have endocrine and neurological problems? Is it right that I should be living in fear of becoming homeless?
I see homeless people in fucking wheel chairs huddled together to stay warm.
I see homeless families with little kids sleeping in tents in abandoned parking lots.
The working class can't afford food and shelter.
Homeless people aren't lazy.
Homeless people may have mental illness, physical disabilities, or just plain bad luck. They may have made bad decisions at some point. But they aren't lazy. Also, people with addiction issues are not weak or inferior. They have a problem which tends to be misunderstood.
At the kitchen where I work, they've enacted this ridiculous, hardcore, "no drugs" policy, pretty much meaning "no marijuana", because ain't nobody working there can afford cocaine, I assure you.
Now, of course you don't want people toking up while working, but you don't want them swigging booze while working either.
Whether they toke outside of work or not should not be anyone's damn business. It's a fucking restaurant, not an emergency room or aircraft hangar.
I'm a contractor, so this bullshit doesn't apply to me. I could be mainlining heroin, and as long as I got my job done, nobody could say "boo."
I still think it's bullshit.
Anyway, I'm very tired right now.
What I was trying to get around to was the fact that I was trying to keep my project alive and some people are such fucking shitweasels that they can only feel big if they're tearing other people down. If that's the kind of person you are, stay the fuck away from me.
Pretty much what I feel right now is "fuck everything."
I don't think I'll mind being dead awfully.
Not because I believe it's the end. I don't. But I also don't believe in any sort of eternal salvation or eternal damnation.
Just because I'm sick of this shit.
I guess that's all.


1 comment:

This is a safe space. Be respectful.