My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

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.

Understand, I don’t want anything terrible to happen to anyone. That said, watching films like Cloverfield and Dawn of the Dead (2004), I know that a small, growing part of me, would enjoy a disaster of some sort. The basic idea is that catastrophic society crushing disaster also offers certain freedoms. Money doesn’t matter, schedules don’t matter, careers don’t matter, not when giant monsters and zombies are laying waste to our cities. We get to truly remember that all that really matters is survival and the people we love. I could live like that for awhile, it doesn’t seem like a bad life. Does it?

“God doesn’t save stupid people!” – There Will Be Blood

I love that in just two scant posts my blog has turned X-Rated, but the Internets made me do it!

I have decided that web sites with embedded audio should be stricken from the internets! They’re not cool, they’re not fun, they’re fucking annoying.  They’re especially bad if your computer is connected to 5.1 surround sound. Thanks to Fandango.com I don’t think my cat will be frequenting my room for some time. Apparently, she doesn’t like pop-up ads to scream at her at dawn, not that I don’t share her sentiment.

At the very least, the coders who invented embedded audio should burn in a car fire, or just have a really really bad headache for several days.

I miss talking in the dark.  I miss closing my eyes and just saying any small thing on my mind, her head on my shoulder.  I miss whispering to her in the dark, softly telling her I love her, that I’m happy she’s lying next to me.  Everything I say is said under the soft glow of a 17″ MacBook Pro, all in text, sometimes in a mechanical British accent.  I can’t change it, this is the rest of my life.  For the most part, I’m used to this new me, but not always…  Not in the dark, holding her and wanting to say things the way I used to say them.

Isn’t my Sara gorgeous?  Also, isn’t my hair a little spectacular?

Photograph by Edmund Fountain