My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, I’m back from the hospital. I could write about not breathing, and the ambulance, and the emergency room, and the needle currently in my foot, but I don’t feel like it just now. Maybe I’ll never feel like it, as these things kind of feel old, tired, written about in an infinite, tedious loop.

Right now, a friend and I are watching the end of Battlestar Galactica, which seems more important.

So, I’m in the hospital with a trache infection. I think it’s blatantly obvious that Kitty Jesus hates me. I’ll write more tomorrow.

Save for Anthem, I haven’t read much Ayn Rand, and apparently, I’m not missing anything. According to an excellent article by JF Quackenbush at EricRosenfield.com, Atlas Shrugged is one of the worst books ever written. This, of course, means that I absolutely have to read it, because that’s how I roll.

So, I think that until I have my NeuroSwitch, provided that it works, I’m going to quit the world of social typing. I’m going to put everything into one solid blog post per day, other writing projects, and little else.

Honestly, trying to type socially is getting to be depressing, it just reminds me how ridiculously slow I’ve become. I’m going to embrace solitude and give everything to my craft. I think it’s the best way to stay fairly sane.

My thumb seems to be getting progressively worse, my hand kind of feels like dead weight. At the moment, I’m rather lonely, uneasy. I’m often lonely, but this is worse because I physically can’t make it stop. I can’t type anything fast enough for a good conversation, people who are decent enough at the alphabet aren’t around. My going out assistant isn’t back yet, nor do I have a backup yet. I don’t get the NeuroSwitch for another two weeks, but I keep worrying that it won’t work. I can’t think of anything good or happy right now. كيفية لعب البوكر

I feel like much of this situation is my fault, and it’s possibly too late to fix things. I’m pretty sure I hurt my hand back in December when I checked myself into the hospital for depression and insomnia. I was depressed and not sleeping mostly because of my break-up with Sara. الرهانات I lost Sara because I made some bad choices last summer. It’s complicated and difficult to write, especially right now, but I broke two promises and they cost me. So, here I am, and it all seems so stupid. العاب استراتيجية اون لاين

There’s so much building up in my head, so much I want to write, but I can’t. Not right now.

So, last night I saw The Last House on the Left, and it’s definitely a remake that crushes the original. Still, it’s not particularly smart, or suspenseful. Also, I really don’t like watching women getting raped and brutalized. I can see women getting eaten by zombies, or bled out by vampires, none of that is real. Rape, however, is very real, incredibly evil, and it happens to women every single day. It’s something no woman should ever experience, and I don’t like seeing it in movies. Yes, I knew what I was getting into, but I can complain about it just the same.

Yet, at the very end of the movie, something kind of hysterical happened. There’s a scene at the end involving a microwave, a scene so absolutely fucked up that it inspired a girl behind me to shout, and I quote, “Jesus Christ!” Who knew a microwave could affect someone so?

Look on the bright side, suicide… – Nirvana

Talk about resilience!

So, according to The Salty Droid, apparently I’m “one resilient mother fucker.” I don’t know if “resilient” is necessarily how I see myself. تعليم البوكر للمبتدئين I can’t think of any one word that describes me, I’m too many contradictions.

I see myself as a dark, good spirited, depressed, melancholy, optimistic, charismatic, persistent, rarely content fellow. شرح لعبة روليت  I’m all of that at once, but I wouldn’t say I’m resilient. كيف تربح في الكازينو Resilience implies a lack of change, but after every success or disaster, I’m always a slightly different version of me.

Still, I love the press coverage and droid affection.

Despite my efforts, I’ve only been able to consistently maintain one assistant who can take me out on the town with the absolute guarantee that I won’t die because she did something stupid. She actually once made sure I didn’t die after one of my breathing machines quit working for no apparent reason. So, she’s very good. She’s also very out of town. 

Now, the last time she went out of town and I didn’t have a backup, I went and had myself committed. I was really depressed and not sleeping, I had way too much time for thoughts that were nothing but bad. Still, being committed was a completely awful experience. So, this time, I think I’ll just go become a nun.