My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, it’s been an odd week, capped off by the death of one of my more important external hard drives. Granted, it’s a drive that potentially had me Hell-bound, but I miss it just the same. One might wonder how a hard drive could hold sway over my immortal soul. Well, back when I was in the hospital, becoming what I became, I was talking to God a lot. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but He’s the easiest to talk to when one can’t talk. So, I was quite desperate not to die and I figured God was a good way to prevent it.

I’m not religious, but I’m also not one who only believes in God sometimes. No, I believe in God all the time. I believe that God is constantly watching and looking for reasons to take me downtown to Chinatown. Our relationship is a little dysfunctional. On the one hand, I totally believe that He has watched out for me on many occasions. I mean, my heart stopped last year, by rights it shouldn’t be beating right now, but it is. The odds were incredibly against me, but here I am. I chalk that up to God. Yet, at the same time, I totally believe that I do things to earn His wrath and wrath I get. For some reason, He always seems to make sure I ultimately end up okay. No, I don’t blame God for every single problem I ever had, but I don’t cross him off the list of usual suspects either.

Anyway, back to the hospital and the hard drive. During one of my talks with God, grasping at straws, I told Him I’d never rip another DVD I didn’t own or download any kind of entertainment I could legally buy. I got rid of everything I had at the time. God was Martin Blank with a gun to my face and I was the guy in bed saying, “whatever it is I’m doing that you don’t like, I’ll stop doing it.” I just didn’t want God to pull that trigger. Well, of course, a year and a half and hundreds of torrent files later, I had over 200 GB worth of movies and tv shows completely contradicting every promise I made. I lost all of it Thursday night. Hopefully, I won’t end up going to Hell.

So, I’ve taken to going out somewhere, everyday, without much exception. I get lazy, actually, no, lazy isn’t the right word… Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the level of planning it can take to go do something as little as going to Starbucks. I look 30 steps ahead and sometimes I just think, “fuck it,” especially if my trach is acting oddly. It also depends on who I have for an assistant. ماكينات القمار It’s not always easy to find decent people who are skilled enough to travel. مواقع رهان However, I do finally have some good people, and so, I go… العاب ماكينات القمار مجانا

Today, hat shopping and Passion tea at Starbucks. Tomorrow, we shall see…

I’m not a religious person, nor am I an Atheist. I believe what I believe and let others do the same. Lately, for some reason, I’ve felt like going to church. I’m really not sure why, it’s just something I feel like doing. There’s an absolutely gorgeous Catholic church here, Sacred Heart. It’s just a beautiful place to sit and think for an hour.

So, that is what I did today…

Whenever Sara’s cat gets into something he shouldn’t she says, “no, not for kitties.” So, whenever I see a movie, particularly horror, that I know she wouldn’t like, I say, “no, that’s definitely not for Saras.” Normally, that phrase isn’t necessary for me. Movies and books don’t scare me, they don’t bother me at all. However, I wish to God somebody had said that to me before I watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. At this point, anyone who hasn’t seen the movie and doesn’t want to know the ending should stop reading right now.

To put it bluntly, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly fucked me up like nobody’s business. Diving Bell is the true story of Elle editor Jean-Dominique Bauby, a man entirely paralyzed save for his left eye after a stroke. Much of the film is shot in the first-person, looking at the world through his eyes. Waking up in the hospital, the initial sense of confusion and utter disconnect, the realization that he can’t speak, the frustration of not being able to communicate, the loneliness and isolation, it’s all there and it’s captured perfectly. Too Goddamn fucking perfectly. It was like watching a gag-reel of the spectacularly worst moments of my entire life. It’s amazing how I’ve thought the exact same things as him in certain situations. I’m better off than him in that I can use a computer and when I woke up two Januarys ago, I definitely wasn’t surprised I couldn’t walk. Still, we share so many other experiences. Of course, there’s one experience we haven’t yet shared, he’s dead and I’m not. Right when he starts to get a little bit comfortable, right when he’s perfected the use of eye movements and the alphabet to communicate, he’s hit with pneumonia and dies. One evening he wakes up coughing, mucus pouring from his trach site. It’s such a disturbing image and I can’t seem to shake it. I actually started coughing while writing this, needed a suction really badly and immediately saw that image. It was like watching how I’m almost certainly going to die. I’m going to have some kind of acute respiratory failure and no vent or medicine will be able to help me. I’ll drown, I’ll suffocate, I’ll die. That movie gave me a bunch of images to go along with things I already worry over.

Obviously, I’ll get over it, Diving Bell will fade some, but not yet. I wanted to drown it out with brandy, but I know that is the worst possible thing to do. I’m better off writing and getting things done. That is exactly what what I’m doing.

So, I spent most of today at the hospital testing out a new ventilator, the ultra sophisticated LTV-1200. For such tests, you get admitted into the ICU as an outpatient. I’m kind of a small fellow, so I usually end up in the pediatric ICU, their hardware is just better suited for me. You know you’re close to the peds ICU when you look up at the ceiling panels and see what I imagine is meant to be cheerful artwork. However, in reality, these hand-painted works of “art” are often astonishingly creepy. For instance, allow me to present the Crucifix of Comfort +12.

Whenever I’m nervous and afraid of my own death, looking up and seeing the brutal device of Christ’s end always makes me feel better.

A reader commented…

“I don’t know, and think (hope) I may never know, how you feel. If something does happen to me though, I’d like to handle it with the grace that you do. Everyone has dark moments, not everyone can pull themselves up out of them.”

Honestly, I don’t feel like I show any particular amount of grace. I screw up. I get nervous. I’ve been known to cope with stress by way of drugs and alcohol. I get melancholy. I sometimes still feel quite lost. None of that seems graceful to me. I am, however, a persistent fellow. I have never been able to give up on things that I really want. No matter how down or frustrated I get, no matter how I fuck things up, the Neo in me always gets up and says, “no.” I’m ridiculously flawed and ridiculously persistent.

Silence takes a great deal of fortitude, and I don’t always have it. I’m not even talking about having to type or spell everything I want to say, that is difficult in an entirely different way. Right now, I’m talking about being in a room full people and hearing the perfect moment for the perfect remark over and over again, but not being able to do anything about it. After awhile, I just quit listening, I get too annoyed, too frustrated. I get lost in my own head, it’s just Mike and Mike’s thoughts, and they’re not always good. The longer the silence goes, the more a certain degree of claustrophobia sets in. I start to wonder things like, “if I actually died, how long would it take anyone to notice?” Then, “No, that’s just stupid, you’re paying someone to make sure you’re okay, and Sara loves you too much to let anything bad happen to you. Also, you fucker, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. If your BiPap spontaneously stops, that’s God’s will and you’d deserve it.” Right after which I think, “But I really don’t wanna’ die.” The inner monologue never stops, my mind is never quiet. Being a silent observer for long spans of time is extremely difficult for me sometimes. I try to think about good things, cheery things, but I inevitably drift through dark places. I think that is my nature, I’m just prone to wander down roads of reverie and melancholy. I don’t see that as bad, it’s just how I am. How I’ve always been. I wonder if that is a cop out. Could I change if I wanted? Do I want to? I have plenty of time to think about it. Silence affords much time for thinking.

I’m finally getting my Kurt Cobain tattoo. The only question is, which image should I get?

Last night Sara and I went out for desert and a new tattoo. Sara drew it for me, a little piece of her artwork is now on my stomach. It’s quite beautiful…

Thanks to Ed Powell at The Blue Devil for his outstanding work.

A few weeks ago Sara and I went to see Radiohead. Between the two of us we only knew a hand full of songs, but the show was absolutely fucking awesome. They sounded amazing, but their stage was just gorgeous. العاب قمار  The lighting was insane, I have no idea what it was, but I totally want a set in my room. مواقع روليت

It was a really nice evening, Sara and I held each other, surrounded by music. كرابس I was happy…