January 21, 2019

Fighting. Losing?

I'm tired, I hurt, I'm panicking, I'm depressed.


And I'm whining.  That's all I seem to do around here these days... remember those wacky good times of "Next Week: More Zombies"?  Yeah, fun stuff.  Now I'm at the point where I have a new 12" memory foam mattress that feels like heaven but that I'm afraid to sleep in.  Anybody here ever fast for more than a day or two?  Back when I first hurt my leg, such things as "standing up" caused enough pain that it was common for me to say "I'm hungry... but not so hungry that I'm going to inflict that on myself."

Since the day I went to the hospital, so effectively the entire month of January, I have had four or five meals.  Now, we're not talking lavish buffets or 10-course dinners served on platinum tableware, no.  A bowl of soup.  A few forkfuls of macaroni salad.  A sandwich.  That sort of thing.  So, back to my original question: anybody here ever fast for more than a couple of days?  Because there's a neat trick the digestive system plays when you do... you get epic bouts of the stuff pepto bismol is designed to slow (or stop)..  And it occurs with little to no warning... wacky, huh?!?!

Is it possible to get refunds on life?

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January 16, 2019

So What The Hell, Wonderduck?

I don't know if that's been thought by any of readers but were the circumstances reversed, I know I would be.  I'll be honest: it's painfully embarrassing.


You may remember that I was taken to the hospital on New Year's Eve after not being able to remove myself from my bed for over a day.  What you don't know is that a week later, it happened again.  I thought my damaged leg was feeling better and decided to actually sleep in a bed.  Bad idea.  Once again, I called 911, once again the CVFD EMTs came out... except this time they were accompanied by the Fire Chief.  He read me the riot act, then said that he'd be contacting the apartment complex and "other agencies."  See, they believed my apartment to be a fire hazard... probably because of the piles of amazon boxes blocking the entry hallway, dining room and the front half of the living room.  

Yeah.  Remember back when I was fired from the Duck U Bookstore?  Around about that time I began to lean more and more on Amazon for just about everything but food... Prime Pantry was a thing at the time, but it wasn't much of one.  For a while I managed to keep the boxes under control, and then the winter came, your truly became a recluse, and snow and cold conspired to keep me that way.  Then came the depression, after which very little of anything got accomplished.  And the boxes kept a'comin'.  I got a job, and I continued to not take boxes to the dumpster... not laziness, but simply because I physically couldn't.

See, I'm kinda overweight.  That TLC show My 600 Pound Life doesn't have me on speed dial or anything, but I'm a lot closer to that than I am to 250 lbs.  And the boxes kept coming... more slowly now that I could have many of them sent to my work address, but still they came.  And I was either too stupid or too prideful to ask for help.

And then last thurday I get an e-mail from the complex manager: she and "other agencies" would be entering my apartment on Friday.  I asked her to keep me informed, and left it at that... I had a job to do.  The appointed time came and went, and around 3pm I took my lunchbreak and checked e-mail.

The very first one was from the County Health Department, informing me that my apartment was condemned as being unfit for human life in the condition it was currently in.  The second was from the Apartment Complex manager, asking me to contact her ASAP.  She had tried to prevent my place from being condemned, but failed... government workers don't exactly have a lot of leeway in their rules, after all.  To be allowed to live in my own place again, all of the boxes had to be gone.  She then gave me the number of one of her employees at the complex, someone who'd be able to help.  I quickly called him, we agreed to meet at 11am Saturday, and we'd get to work.  Along the way, I also touched base with the people from the County, then had a talk with my supervisor. "Take as much time as you need, Wonderduck."  So then I left and ran back to Pond Central to grab some clothes and find a hotel.

Saturday rolled around, and the guy I hired showed up.  We'll call him Beast, because what I expected to take four or five hours and maybe two days... took 2.5 hours.  He had the easy job, though... I had to clean the kitchen sink.  I'm pretty sure I killed off an emerging intelligent lifeform.

Monday rolled around.  The powers that be congregated in my apartment, were pleased with the results, and took down the sign saying "CONDEMNED.  THE PERSON WHO LIVES HERE IS A SLOB."  And then said that I'm really just on probation... there will be irregular (but scheduled) visits to make sure progress is progressing.  

There's a few other things I'm leaving out, but suffice to say that when you combine them all... well, I can't imagine being more humiliated than I am.  Oh, and depressed.  Whee.

So that's it, that's the story.  Cool, huh?

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January 15, 2019

Hold Tight

Explanation post coming soon.

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January 11, 2019

Quick Update On Going's On

I'm alive, but I need a hotel room for a few days.


More as circumstances allow.

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January 08, 2019

All Right. You Win. There. You Happy Now?

I'm sleeping in the no-longer-comfy chair.  When I wake up in the morning, my feet hurt from swelling, and I've got what must be something like a bedsore on the back of my left leg... right where it sits on the end of the seat.


Getting out of the chair requires effort and pain... but at least I can do it.  Shower, get ready for work...

...and then I have to face the NINE STAIRS OF DOOM.  I have to go one-by-one, basically dragging my right foot off the front of the step until it falls to the step below.  I then follow up with a normal stride with my left foot.  Rinse, repeat.  The best I've done was when I was surrounded by EMTs.  This morning, it took about 10 minutes.

Get into the car, drive to work (not as easy as you might think... foot doesn't move without causing the muscle to twinge), get out of the car.  Keep cursing to a minimum.

Walk the kilometer from the far end of the parking lot to the door.  At least I have two canes now, that makes it a little more stable.  Realize that your lunch break is seven minutes getting up and walking to the break room, 15 minutes hating life, then another seven minutes going back.

Finish up work.  Trek to the car.  Drag self into car, don't care about amount of swearing.  Turn the key in the ignition.  "Grunt.  Grunt.  Grunt.  Grunt.  Vrooom."  The battery seems to be unhappy... and all the presets are gone on my radio.  FSCK.

Drive home, apply brakes to turn into apartment complex, feel shoe fall off right foot, because why not?  Take forever parking nose-out in case of battery failure.  Walk up the stairs (much easier), get into Pond Central, and begin unwrapping my new memoryfoam mattress.

Realize new memory foam mattress is toying with me, refusing to unwrap from the first level wrap without tearing the second level and, I assume, exploding like a comfy jack-in-the-box.  Give up for the night, come to the computer, realize there are only two cans of soda left in the house... and I can't exactly go shopping.

Any wonder why for a quarter I'd break down and sob for the rest of the night?

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January 06, 2019

Update

Things are not well over here.  Health is okay, so I've got that going for me.  I just don't like much of anything else.  Details when I can bring myself to enter them.


Good wishes would be appreciated.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 03:59 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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