Can't Keep A Good Man Down...

...or me, neither.

So, I'm finally back from the hospital, and recovering fine. I still have pain from the clots and from the damaged kidney, and I get tired real easy, but I'm already bored, so that's a good sign. It will probably be at least a few more days until I can really hang-out online again, because one of the dvt (deep vein thrombosis) clots is around the inside of my right elbow and typing isn't all that pleasant. Which pretty much means you only get me when I'm on drugs. Which, if I'm being totally honest, is about 75% of the time right now. But, yeah. Not so much for the sense-making. So that's the update. Thanks again for all of your good thoughts and best wishes. It meant a lot to me.

Out Sick...

I haven't really been hospitalized for exhaustion, though. I'm just laid up with a chest full of lung-butter oyster stew and a high fever that I just. can't. shake. My temp.'s been under 100 for about 3 hours out of the last 72, and that's on medication. Every time I get toward the end of my dose it climbs back up to 102 or 103. So I am exhausted, and my life right now is pretty much all about hanging out in bed all day, drinking, and taking drugs, but not like that. So, I guess my point is, if you can read this, go wash your hands. Or run a Norton sweep.

Confidential To Wendell

Everything's fine. It was beautiful out today, so I went for a walk - then my head got too big to fit back through the door.

Three Short Pieces on Instinct

I

I have nothing particularly insightful to say about instinct. Instinct is a rock balanced on a ledge. Though you may be crushed if you happen to be in its path when it falls, that fact means nothing to the rock. It is just a rock balanced on a ledge.

What interests me is how the rock came to be on that ledge in the first place, and how I got you to stand in its path at the critical moment, against your better judgment.


II

I once drove down a steep, winding, mountain pass in a storm at night with no headlights or windshield wipers. My alternator belt had apparently broken some way back, and the engine light that was always on failed to alert me. By the time the headlights and wipers started to go it was too late – I was already headed down, and there was no shoulder on the narrow mountain path for pulling over.

I locked my eyes on the taillights in front of me and drove far faster than anyone should who cannot even see the road. But I was more afraid of losing that one point of reference than of anything else. So I stayed close.

To say that I was not afraid would be an obvious lie. But I was not afraid. Not yet. I had entered some primal zone where all that existed was that pair of red eyes staring back at me from the darkness. Steering without thinking. Dancing by smell.

It was a moment that stretched on in the crooked timeless manner of dreams. And I suppose a part of me may actually have dozed off – the part that knew better, certainly; the part that might have frozen.

When it was all over and I had somehow survived, I got the shakes something awful. But when it counted, there was only the dream of what had to be done, and the strange stillness when all of the voices in my head went suddenly silent, waiting to see what might happen.


III

The art of civilization is learning not to notice what you shouldn't. The art of love is getting credit for not noticing.

A Very Special Webisode

Johnny was a Mouth-breather

I've got a touch of the crud going on, and have been gulping my food in spastic, rapid-fire fashion, then jamming it down my throat with a candy-coated ramrod, due to excessive mucus buildup (as opposed to my usual habit of gulping my food in spastic, rapid-fire fashion, then jamming it down my throat with a candy-coated ramrod, due to sheer gluttony). Having been temporarily reduced to mouth-breathing and phlegmy Bea Arthur as Gollum^Flash impressions, I was reminded of a question that's been vaguely niggling at me for some time: Why all the mouth-breather hate? How exactly did "mouth-breather" become synonymous with "idiot"? So I Googled, and found the following:

mouth-breather n. a stupid person; a moron, dolt, imbecile.
Related: English, Derogatory, Slang

Editorial Note: The original definition of mouth-breather referred to a person that, due to medical problems (usually with the sinuses or nose), was forced to breath via the mouth. This leaves the jaw hanging open at most times, which has a tendency to make a person look dopey or spacey.

via Double-Toungued.Org

True confessions time: I started life out as a mouth-breather. In fact, I was about ten when I first discovered that most people normally breathe through their noses. My family was driving past the scene of a senseless hit-and-run skunk slaughter, and everyone was complaining. I said what's the big deal, yo? If something smells bad, don't smell. I thought noses were just for smelling, and it took an actual effort to use them. Several doctor-appointments later and I had my adenoids and tonsils removed. End result? My mouth-breather stigma was history. (Naturally, I had to get my first pair of glasses later the same year. Buddy Holly glasses, long before they became hipster-retro chic. So that year was a wash for me, style-wise.)

So what did we learn today? "Mouth-breather" is an insensitive term for stupid people. The correct term is "retard".

Note: Be sure to click the Gollum^Flash link. Really.