.
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I can't tell you what is wrong, only that something is just off. It's big, whatever it is. No pain, sleep is okay but weird in that when I sleep can shift by half a day, in either direction, without notice or needlework. At least it doesn't mess me up, or on top of the feeling that something big is messed up. Hmm, I might have figured it out. Will know soon. Yeah, I'm on it, as usual.
Yesterday I woke, appropriately... I think... given bedtime. This morning I was up at three moon beams and two clouds past 6:00. Again, an appropriate waking time given my bedtime, if for a somewhat shorter sleep cycle. Waking has been simple, but muted by that big weirdness that is infecting my life. The sensation is akin to pain responses, but covering my whole body. And so flooded with the natural pain killers that little else can be felt. And yet I am almost absolutely certain there isn't even a hidden pain, or many pains, below my conscious awareness as can sometimes be the case. Usually I have some idea that there is a hidden pain, unless other issues are further suppressing my ability to simply be conscious. That isn't the case.
Odd as it might seem, this is one of the key features of my ability to survive. Pain, felt raw and open, can kill all by itself. It can also make you want to consciously die. And should you be able to survive the pain itself, and overcome the call to death from it, your ability to function so as to actually live, extricate yourself from the situation, survive, is greatly degraded by pain. This ability, alone, has saved my butt more times than I can count. Just that.
Some people are social. They work in groups. They work together. Honestly, that is the way of mankind. It works out best. Small self-selecting motivated groups are the best, whether as social units, military units, or what have you. In some cases women fit in, in some cases they don't. Women aren't warriors, but if properly motivated, they can help with defense. My guess is, though, given the vagaries and hardness of life, women have been more dangerous to a military unit than helpful, or they would already have been a part of the military without the use of force to try to make it so. Dogs? Okay. Women? No. Even cavemen knew this. Not the point, mind you, just... delineating some things.
I, however, am not people. Whether genetic or simply fated, where I walk others shouldn't. Not when I am there, not with me, maybe not ever. It isn't, as I once thought, because I am better, or even worse as was also posited. It is merely fated, I think, now. It isn't my strength, resilience, smarts, or anything of the sort. It isn't even guaranteed the next time I go out that I will return, save that until I am released, I will continue to... walk a line others can't. Some people prep. Heck, I prep. I like to be prepared. But I know that where I go, and how things turn out, there is no way to prep. I am seemingly dropped naked and half asleep into the middle of hell with the suggestion that I ought to get out. Hrmm, asks I. Yeah, just get out, I am told. How? I... I don't know THAT... comes the reply. Then a cheery, Good luck, see you at the gates! Really. Is my life training? I shudder to think what such training would logically lead toward.
I have forgotten more people who have failed when with me... The few who I remember who made it didn't make it by going my way, dodging or simply not following, and sheer luck. I am a bit cold about it. Not harsh. Not judgmental (any more). I just can't burn for... the willful, not anymore. I just know I don't want folks going my way with me, when out there. I'll make room, if you insist and I find you acceptable. But I won't slow down, speed up, or do anything other than what I know I should do. I will survive it. Even if scathed, I will recover. You won't. Not hubris, not anymore, just an understanding. I even checked, a few times, to see if it was me or fate. And, to be honest... it's not me. It just is. I can't really brag, if my stories might indicate such. There can be delight in it. But it's not mine. There is only one engineer who could have designed things as such. Flawless, really.
No, I couldn't even save her. Hollywood just wants it's patrons to feel good. They spend more. Truth is, she is just one of those few ghosts I can't quite forget, not always. Even she doesn't bug me much, anymore, mostly. Just one of a number. But you ain't her.
I did learn to actually respect women, starting with her. Some women truly have tried to... hold Doom. I just haven't found one who can. No lack of effort, and at great cost, just...
I think I should begin thinking about something... anything... else. Good night.
Well, I don't know about other women, but I know I'm not a warrior. Threaten those I hold dear though? All bets are off.
ReplyDeletePerhaps some ghosts are not meant to be forgotten. I have some in my past, one a young lad, a teen at the time as was I. He was riding a bike when he was run over by a drunk driver. I loved him .. not a crush.. Just love. If the memory of your ghost isn't pleasant though, I hope it does fade.
I do hope you feel .. not off .. soon. Be well, Doomster, eh? :-)
Well, and guns make women viable, too, foam. Short range, home defense. Back when it was clubs and fists, not so much.
ReplyDeleteLove can cross lines which blur things. Things aren't even my fault. It just seems that too many who get close aren't here any more, some more directly some less. The results are the same.
I figured out what some of the problems were and am fixing what I can and putting up with the other. Medicines were raised, which lead to a chain reaction of lack of ability for personal care and psychic control.
I'm back on personal care, if thinly. Glad we decided to raise half the dose at a time, again. Wretched stuff, until I cam riding that wave again. Then it is splendid, mostly. :p
Burning Man. Not feeling guilty, just a little angry with myself for not realizing the peril and pain you were opening yourself to by falling off your regime. I could have been a much bigger bitch than I was, and you'd be thanking me today for the PITA I should have been.
ReplyDeleteNah. My meds were shot. Once wet, and a bit mixed up, I wouldn't have known what I was taking. And efficacy would surely have suffered as well. The only other option, now that I think on it, would have been a visit to a local V.A. to get replacement medicine. In the future, while I won't take all of my medicine, I will take an extra double supply, kept separate. I'm just not used to travel and dealing with medicine.
ReplyDeleteAs for the problems I face... I didn't know it would come out quite this rough either. Sometimes medicines can be hard, sometimes not, relatively. It was more of a perfect storm of events, with medicine just being one part of it. I'll get better. I'm almost there.
I sort of look at it this way. Being disabled, and truly? It's like I am paid to suffer. I'm just glad, all in all, that I do it relatively well. What I did kills people, several parts of it, with the given, alone, actually.
'I'm like an ak. If I die, bury me in mud, run me over with trucks, toss me in the river for a bit, then get me loaded and I'll be ready to go.' *grin*
Well, efficacy or not, you had them sorted by daily dose. Whatever mushy mess would have been better than falling off completely.
ReplyDeleteNot so much, that pill box wasn't very good. I checked several and noted... oddities. Things weren't where they should be. I always had to double check medicines, daily, just mostly sitting here at home. On the road they went all over the place. Trust me. I just couldn't have taken that with any confidence, not enough. ODing on that high of a level ran me into problems too.
ReplyDeleteAs I said, if that happens again, I'll just call the V.A. and arrange to pick up medicine somehow. Unfortunately they won't give me scripts, even for travel. But I bet there was a V.A. in many of the cities we traveled through. While not technically open on the weekends, they might have arranged for me to pick them up somewhere. Their in-hospital pharmacy is open every day, for one thing.