My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, I’ve had a needle in my neck for trache related IV anti-biotics. It’s been a little creepy having such a thing outside the hospital, especially since it wasn’t used to administer narcotics. That’s just the association I’ve developed with having a needle in my neck. Yes, there’s a needle in my neck, but if I’m getting Propofol or Morphine it really doesn’t matter. At any rate, I really had to go out today, needle or not.

I decided to go for a tattoo, one I keep trying to get, and a latte. I got to the tattoo shoppe at 2:30 PM and they were already booked. I couldn’t believe it. I had to make an appointment for Sunday. The latte, however, was excellent. Of course, none of this particularly interesting. The interesting part, at least to me, is that at some point during my travels the needle came out of my neck. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t bleed. I didn’t notice. So, obviously, I’m a highly evolved zombie.

So, I’ve been falling asleep and waking up listening to my iPod. I had more really bad dreams last night. I used to have fake bad dreams about zombies and what-not, but lately I’ve graduated to real ones. Anyway, I had a particularly bad dream and woke up with a start listening to Radiohead’s Creep. It just seems fitting to wake up that way.

This is whorey, but does anybody have a good .mp3 of this video?

You know, if I want to avoid a searing desire to enjoy large quantities of opiates, I really ought not watch the TAL episode for the time being.

So, right now, I’m in my room with an IV bag attached to a coat-hanger, duct taped to my ceiling fan and a needle in my neck. The juxtaposition is odd, I’ve never had an IV in my neck outside of the hospital. It’s nothing serious, just a few days of anti-biotics for the trache, but it’s weird. 

Some family friends visited yesterday, they prayed over me. They mean well, but getting prayed over never makes me feel anything but uneasy. It just feels a little weird, like maybe you’re “going somewhere.” I mean, I pray, but not like that, with “please Jesus” and “thank you, Lord Jesus,” every few words. My prayers are conversational, one-way, but still conversational. I think God knows me enough to where I can just talk (not literally), and sometimes swear. I like to think God’s cool enough to be called a fucker and take it, He knows what’s in your heart anyway, and that’s what’s sometimes in mine.

I had terrible nightmares. Sometimes I miss the exhausted, empty sleep before Ativan.

I’m thinking about someone again. I think about said person a lot.

I’ll write something better after I wake up a bit.

These pictures are for Jonny, an awesome fellow.

Me and Catcher at the airport

Me and Catcher on Venice Beach

Me and Catcher Shopping

I’m back from the hospital, again. Last night was definitely better, but things have been worse.

I keep thinking about certain people, one in particular. I could write much more, I surely could, but I’m tired. Exhausted, really. I want to sleep for thousand years sometimes, but only sometimes. There are reasons to wake up, not always many, but enough. I wonder who’s thinking about me while I think about them.

You know, I’m in the hospital and all. There’s a needle in my neck, I’m not breathing amazingly well, but I really don’t particularly care. I had a really nice evening, nice enough to kill the worrying. My iPod’s on nice and low, Aimee Mann, Elliott Smith, sad songs lulling me to sleep, but I’m not sad. I’m falling asleep happy, in this dark place.

So, I went for a tattoo, stopped for a latte first, drove to the hospital. My trache loves me like Jesus and Bono, who I actuality think are the same person.

Hold me close, love.

Talk to me awhile.

Help me feel safe.

Guide me through the dark.

Once we’re through, I’ll hold you.