Washed out on the way to the work shift.


They always happen after I’ve been left or ditched—the nightmares, that is—and getting back to sleep is a trial because I tend to fall back into them.

This time it was a combination of the ditch and the almost aggressive way I’m misgendered at work. No matter what I do it’s in one ear and out the other.

These things always leave me dizzy and exhausted. I’m not sure my “breakfast”—a double espresso used to shoot my meds—will do much against it.

And now I get to pull a mad long shift…

Weighing (literally) the pros and cons of the meal.


Hold on to me tightly, I'm a sliding scale

So I’ve noticed that the worst of my stomach isn’t what I eat, it’s the physical weight of it. So in addition to the food tracking app I use I’ve been weighing everything I eat.

No, I’m not backsliding.

I’m making sure I get enough in me before my gut declares “HAHA FUCK YOU” and puts me out for several hours.


The interesting thing about the tracking app is when I logged on, I got a pop up.


*Paraphrasing. Of course an app called My Fitness Pal wouldn’t launch at me like that.

So I’ve very carefully crafted a smaller, lighter version of one of my more famous sandwiches to eat. Not bad on timing: there’s meds coming.

The morning call off was well decided. They may have sent me back to the ER. And I would not have blamed them. The interesting fact I got out of today was that you can drink a 17 oz iced coffee and if you’re going to faint or pass out, it’ll give you just enough time to say “You know, I’ve think I need a second to lie down” but not enough to actually do it right. You thud. Quite inelegantly.

It feels like falling asleep backwards. You went down too fast, and it’s like the blinds are going up but letting in darkness instead. A creeping exhaustion sets in, and you either you panic, or there’s this strange sense of relief.

You don’t come to like you do from sleep. There is nothing but confusion. Where am I? What day? Did I oversleep?

I missed most of my meals in that blank out. But I’m making sure I eat now. My alarms are set and I’m making sure I get my strength back.

Oh… And if y’all DO catch me backsliding, permission to hit me upsides my fool head granted.

Another day in…


A look out the window

You know what’s going to suck, if I don’t get called off work today?

Today is the first time in days the weather has been something other than “are the gods trying to wipe this spot from orbit” (some days, I can’t blame them). A side effect of this weather is my knees being complete and absolute dicks and I’ve been unable to go pick up a prescription I need.

Specifically, my nausea meds.

So I’ll be working without my nausea meds, which is gonna suck.

On the upside, I’ve learned that 2k words a day is in fact a doable pace.

An attempt at work after the hospital.


They’ve decided to take a gamble on my condition at work today. I’m far better than I was the last time I gave it a shot but… They’ve also put me on full duty after I’ve basically been forced into bedrest for the last five days.

That, I’m not so sure I can handle.

I’m noticing how green and spring-like things got while I was out. I feel like I missed the important part of the season change.

Time to see how much sick and squishy this place will put up with.

Frankly, I’d rather be writing.

Dazed. And confused too.


I awoke with the vocal of the track Sunday ringing in my head—no music—dazed and confused.

For in truth, it’s the beginning of nothing
And nothing has changed 
Everything has changed
For in truth, it’s the beginning of an end
And nothing has changed
And everything has changed 

As this fades from my ears I realize I have no idea what is going on. My stomach has improved little and the distant memory of having tapped out early on everyone over some lousy pain. Fucking wimp, a voice I recognize as my masc-swung of centre side berates. Disembodied Bowie lyrics appear as if in light, invisible headphones again—Sunday, still out of order, first verse following second.

Nothing remains 
We could run 
when the rain slows
Look for the cars or signs of life 
Where the heat goes 
Look for the drifters
We should crawl under the bracken 
Look for the shafts of light on the road
Where the heat goes

The music is still missing. It’s only his voice. I wake up completely and realize that I might get a better idea of what is going on if I call work.

It’s mid dial that I realize it’s Tuesday. I have the day off.

…and I’m hearing phantom Bowie.

Almost a week removed from the collapse at work.


Tesla the kitten. We're all sure she's an evil genius.

I just woke up and am not photogenic so here’s my friends’ kitten, Tesla.

I think I am now in the “medications do weird things to me” phase of treatment.

I dreamt Pharrell was in my kitchen with a bunch of judges and we were trying to learn two things: how to make a good turkey flat wrap with country music on the side, and an indie 8-bit concept-punk game. (Yes it was sponsored by tumblr, why do you ask)

At one point he panicked and I had to talk him down from using HAM, which was banned… So naturally, red versus blue bass pumped low riders follow and we do that instead of the contest.

What hell, medications.