Work has been anything but fun these days.
Not that anyone ever promised me that actually working for a living was ever supposed to be a super, super, fun ride on a unicorn while guzzling Jack Daniels. But lately I’ve realized there are issues occurring around me that will never change – because no one gives a damn about the people who recognize these issues in the first place.
And yes, I’m aware I’ve just described virtually every workplace on the face of the earth, thank you very much. And yes, I also realize I just actually referred to carrying luggage to a room via a cart and an elevator as “work”. Shut up.
We lost Uncle Johnny two weeks back after a sudden diagnosis and a mercifully-short illness. But at least he’s gliding with his beloved Helen behind the Pearly Gates. Have fun, you two.
My IBS is a nightmare on toast. It’s lovely having a condition they advertise on late-night TV and between reruns of Judge Judy and Maury Povich. There’s nothing I enjoy more than spending an hour a night in the bathroom straining to expel whatever I’ve consumed that day from my broken body.
And the IBS “cure” (more of a treatment really) is far worse than the disease. The second I ingest my medication the countdown begins; before you know it, I go from being severely constipated (awesome post so far, right?) to being racked with pain from cramps. (I swear I have immense sympathy for every woman alive or dead. You’re all heroes for what your body forces you to go through every month.) The cramps are followed by a symphony of gurgling that is so loud and inhuman, even the dog can’t believe where it’s coming from.
And so I sit in the bathroom for hours after taking a pill, praying for death, sipping water and watching videos to kill the time and block the pain.
No, I’m not watching the videos you think I am, gang. I wish I was healthy enough and capable of enjoying filmed vignettes starring Mercedes Carrera and Kenna James at the moment… trust me. But to be honest, lately I haven’t been watching anything – except for that goddamn buffering symbol swirling around and around.
You see, Bell Canada is our internet service provider. Except that lately all they’ve been providing me with is frustration. For the last few nights all I’ve done is wait as my phone buffers. Until I finally give up, resist the urge to hobble through the house while gripping my phone and launch it out the front door, and just the shut the godforsaken thing down, wait out my body’s unnatural sequencing and head back up to bed, slap in my night guard and try to go sleep.
Yes, my stress has led to a wonderful side effect: I grind my teeth to dust every night! And so now I wear a night guard that makes me look like a low-rent Dracula; one that unfortunately isn’t sexy enough for my vampire-worshiping spouse. Not that I’d be up for “relations” after one of my bathroom sessions anyway.
Let’s see, what else has gone to hell lately?
Oh yeah, the freakin’ Niagara Falls Public Library’s online system has kicked me out again. First it rejects my account number and pin then it locks me out for entering an “incorrect” sequence. I now have a love/hate relationship with my local library system; my love for books is immense – but so is my hatred for whoever runs their system.
I’m no closer to achieving my goal of trailer for a series based on this blog. I know people who have similar ambitions and who are helping each other to make their dreams come true.
But none of these people gives a toss about lending me a hand. Never mind that I’ve done what I can to help these individuals; at the end of the day, I’m nothing to them. The same goes for agents and publicists I’ve deal with. The agents think I’m not famous enough to publish a memoir and the publicists know I’m not famous enough to be worthy of their time.
And oh yeah, the basement flooded this week after four days of rain. Bloody animals were marching down the street two-by-two as my walls and carpet filled up with water. And so we’ve ripped our finished basement apart for the second time in twelve years.
So where does that leave me?
Depressed as hell but fully aware that I’m full of shit.
I own a home that is completely paid for. It’s still subject to Mother Nature’s mood swings… but it’s ours.
I have a hot wife that doesn’t vomit when I touch her. Sure we’re both busy as hell and that doesn’t leave much time for spontaneous coupling… but it still feels like the first time every time. And after twenty-two years that’s pretty darn spectacular.
Unlike many of my middle-aged white brethren I have never experienced erectile dysfunction. So at least I have something to look forward to in my golden years.
My kid is a gift from the All-Mighty – unlike most kids I see at work who are the spawn of the devil himself.
I have a stable of real and virtual kick-ass friends/acquaintances whose support keeps me from scouring garage sales and auctions in search of a vintage stove to hook up to a gas line so I can stick my head in it while holding a lit match. And yes, I realize it would be more efficient and make more sense to simply take a header into the Falls. Shut up again. Who told you to keep speaking?
I’m far from wealthy – or even rich – but I have a few bucks in the bank.
I’ve given away the bulk of my comic book collection this week but I still have a few hundred t keep me occupied.
All in all my life is a blessed one.
So that’s me at the moment.
How are you, dear friends?