ain’t that the truth

I went back to the doctor this morning, turns out that i’m sick. I have laryngitis, viral pharyngitis, some bacteria that normally live my your stomach living in my throat, and herpangina. The one thing i don’t have is fucking herpes. Thank god. Despite the insistence of a couple of you, my dedicated readers, ::cough becca & lily cough:: that i do have herpes, the doctor was very clear on the fact that i don’t.

Anyway, i do have at least 4 separate infections, both bacteriological and viral. In the hospital this morning i got three shots, and they were going to give me a fourth one but none of the 3 pharmacies at the hospital and its on-site affiliates carried what i need, so the main site pharmacy is calling their dealer (distributor? i’m not really sure the technical name for a drug dealer who operates at such large scales. Somebody my have referred to them as the ‘buyer’) to see if they have any, but apparently it’s pretty unlikely and they’re probably going to have to buy it from the military. I’ll know eventually. If i’m lucky maybe my dad will come home today and get to stick needles in my ass.

I would like to point out at this time that the fact that i have 4 infections and 4 injections (due) is just a coincidence: all of the injections are general purpose bacteriophages and immune-boosters and whatnot, so we’ll see. The one that they couldn’t find was the one that was supposed to help the most (not surprising since they’re turning to the bleeding military for it).

In addition to the 3 shots i got this morning they sent me home with 3 pill bottles: one bacterial killer, one viral killer, and one bottle of vicodin. woo-hoo.

For about two hours today i thought that i could talk, albeit in a muted voice. I also managed to eat! Which if you haven’t been around then you don’t know that i haven’t eaten since saturday, but i totally ate a whole spoonful of matzo-ball soup! admittedly it was only a little bit of matzoball, and mostly the broth with a bit of noodle, but it felt sooooo goooood. God i’m hungry.

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your cool heart has probably already judged me and my ways, and I can only hope that it will be warmed by reading this. But nobody ever takes enough time trying to understand other people. Not that we’re worth it, and not that any amount of time is really going to lead to understanding. My solution?

rock on.

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It’s late and quodlibetor is extraordinarily tired and instead of doing the rational thing, he has spent the last three hours molding a life less lived, shaping something that is no more interesting for the effort. A life of pseudo-reality and pseudo-friendship. The distraction provided by this life totally engrosses him. Slowly but surely he becomes one with them, and even more slowly and even less surely he adopts the rough approximation of false skill common to these people. Soon he forgets about the real life that lies just on this side of the electrified screen. Totally engrossed, he moves forward into realms with so little imagination that all of their inhabitants have lost interest in any sign of creativity that is not immediately obvious and painful to the eye.

He laughs at an inside joke that will not be funny to anyone because it is invisible to everyone but himself. And then he watches as others delite in the same wearisome play. Soon he is overcome with ennui so overpowering that he must sit back, must breath, must break and the life once lived come from a source of near-certain death.
He notices something. The image before him is familiar. Attractive. It conjures memories of a heady perfume and a breeze so still one would want to call it listless except for the beauty in life and nature it conveys. So one calls it golden. He looks closer. The eyes are almost purple. Beauty. Pure beauty. Andsuch words! words to make his head spin. words to cut the veil from his eyes. And then… No. It can’t be. He knows this person. This is not what he was looking at. This, this person is ugly. Ugly and scarred and emotionally barren. And then his brave false world falls down and brings his false self with it. And he stands up and goes outside into the cold and watches the end.

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generic update on my life number 1 (unless you include my one or two music blogs… but whatever you picky bastard).

The point is that i just set up my ‘public sg account’ and i realized “hey! i really like creating personalities for myself” i have no idea what kind of psychology this is reflective of. Oh wait, yes i do. Narcissism. i just love talking about myself. A lot. Not even about myself really, since profiles aren’t really ‘about’ you so much as they are alternate web-versions of yourself. i would say avatars except that the concept of an avatar is that it is a true embodiment of what it is incarnating. And true/false does not really apply in this circumstance (even by way of lie of omission in case you’re thinking of going there, because who you appear to be to the world is not who you really are anyway, so a further limitation upon the ideal, while is suppose you could argue that it is less ‘real’ in a platonic sense, is only less ‘true’ inasmuch as you associate truth with platonic reality [something which we have been tending away from since the inception of the scientific renaissance])

you know? anyway, i’m tired and drunk and don’t really know where i was going with that

p.s. Jan 18, 07: i have since come to loathe setting up online accounts. If i make one, shouldn’t that be enough? Maybe i’m less narcissistic, maybe i have better things to do with my time, or maybe setting up this website is just the most current incarnation of this old desire.

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Profundity is the bastard stepchild of absurdity.

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