Monday night I start feeling a little funny when I got home.
By 11pm I was getting chills and body aches. I know I'm burning up. I totally thought I was hit by another round of the flu.
5:00-5:30am ish Tuesday morning
I wake up with a splitting migraine and I noticed that my ankles and small legs were numb. They weren't paralyzed but they were very difficult and PAINFUL to move. Like when your legs are asleep sort of and you try to move them.
I was so freaked out. But it was so early there were no one to call. I was also in tears because of my intense discomfort.
7:30am My legs were still feeling numb and pained. I called mom. She yells at me for not going to the doctors. I did not feel well enough to go to the doctors... you know, pick out a doctor, then calling to make an appointment. Nor did I feel adequately sick enough to go to the ER: well enough to get to the elevator, go downstairs, get into a cab, OR rich enough to call an ambulance.
So I go back to sleep hoping that my legs would be fine when I wake up.
So all day I'm in and out of sleep. I do believe around 1 or 2pm (????) I forced myself to get some fruits to eat. It was a struggle to go outside.
I wake up at 7 or 8pm. I can feel my legs except my midsection was in mad pain. I thought my kidneys were going to explode or something. Finally around 11pm my pain felt bad enough and I felt I had been burning up for an adequate length of time to go to the ER.
I was seen surprisingly fast at the ER. Probably because I was running a fever, complaining of severe lower back pain, feeling nauseous, and the story about my lower legs being numb. I was examined by a couple different nurses and two doctors. All were very nice.
The woman whom I roomed with, was not. She was this old lady (kind of senile) whose entire back and ass crack was revealed to me everytime she tried to move. She moved a lot. Her son sat by the door looking irritated. She left with ducolax and some suppositories.
I gave the doctors an urine sample. They gave me a dose of percocet (oxycondone + tylenol). They perfected a couple of exams on me. They they hooked me up to an IV. That was nice. It felt good. Then they added a morphine drip. I was still in pain. After a while the pain dulled a bit but I was sooooo nauseous. They did a cat scan. The results were unclear, some severe kidney infection? Really bad UTI (which I'm pretty used to by now because every time I've gotten sick with a bad cold or flu, my immune system gives out and I get an UTI)? Which doesn't really seem to be the case since I was sneezing or coughing or had a runny nose. Anyways a whole lot of my blood has been rushed for tests and I'm hoping to hear back soon. They added a second dose of the morphine drip later which helped tremendously. I'm now loaded on antibiotics and percocet pills.
Funniest thing. I was discharged from the ER around 7am. I stumble towards the nearest breakfast place I could find because I was SOOOOO hungry. I order two eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast, and orange juice. I was so out of it from the morphine and percocet.
I took four bites before I started feeling like I was going to vomit. So I look to the nearest waiter and asked for a plastic bag. He looked a bit confused but understood when he noticed I was trying to hold down the spit up. Right as he turned to get a bag, there in front of everyone I barfed everything on the floor in a neat circular orange pile. When the waiter came over to give me the bag, he saw the art then looked at me in surprise. I was sooo hungry that I just ate right away anyways. I apologized, took the bag and hoped I wouldn't puke again. Whatever, they should be used to vomit since they are located across the street from the hospital ER.
It was fun being on the morphine and percocet. I felt all jelly. The antibiotics make me puke (as I discovered earlier tonight before dinner). It is rare for me to actually puke. So its been surprising for me to be able to do so and then bounce back so quickly. Its been nothing but a "bleh."
I'll be alright. I have to followup at the doctors Friday. This is a shitty entry probably because im about to pass out from the pain medication. WHATEVER.
Its true. That's all I care about. Go China. "JIA YOU!"
I don't think he will read this; which is fine and consistent since none of my exes ever read what I write. In fact, I'd be surprised if anyone read this bastion of self-absorption. I've decided. I will start blogging about my life again so that I can look back upon this narrative and perfect my storytelling skills for others.
The last couple of days have been unnerving. I'm bleeding all over myself, my emotions out of control. Today was better. I felt less like death or that I was hallucinating my life some how. The dark felt interminable yesterday. Time slowed to this slurpiness, something like those big churning trucks noisily pouring liquid concrete onto the street. I started asking myself if I was losing my mind, if I whipped up my own "herstory." AHAHAH. I make the worst jokes.
Even though I've perfected my craigslist searching skills, me and XY have not found a satisfactory apartment to move into. We saw a place in Long Island City yesterday evening. When we got there, the building owner and ad placer did not answer his phone until a kind tenant in the building asked us who we were waiting for. She was so nice. She was so nice that I actually feel a little bad about having to liken her physical appearance to that of a Japanese horror movie protagonist/demon woman. Skinny, pale, and uncanny facial features mostly exacerbated by asymmetry. Her entire left side of face looked like it was trying to come together somehow. She was nice. When we told her we were waiting for the adplacer named J, she offered to make a call through her landline. I asked her if she would do us the favor of actually knocking on his door. XY lightly jested, noting my unconcealed disgust, "But... she is nice and a woman."
She smiled, disappearing into the door behind the door, and two minutes later, XY's cell rang. The building smelt of its pre-war age. There were two apartments available, one unit on the first floor and one on the second. Building owner J reminded me of my current "landlord." Lean, appearing confident while concealed; in total small vendor business man mode. You know exactly what I'm talking about. NYC is full of them. Like cockroaches, they scurry on about in tight spaces, never fully content, but content themselves in the petty glories of making cash here and there. I throw out scattered questions and stupid comments: "Hows the waterflow?", "Thats nice.", "Good price", "Great investment on your part." etc. I was trying to save our disatisfaction from fully revealing itself. The tired light coming through the kitchen windows of each unit weren't enough for that.
Back to the search. *Sigh*
I'm struggling to say more. Something something something about moving a fifth time in 2008. Something something something about the nonexistent poetry chapbook I'm working on. Something about it being a story of failing myself. HA HA HA.
No, I look forward to the future. Toward interesting times and people. Simply because thats the way it has always been.
I don't think he will read this; which is fine and consistent since none of my exes ever read what I write. In fact, I'd be surprised if anyone read this bastion of self-absorption. I've decided. I will start blogging about my life again so that I can look back upon this narrative and perfect my storytelling skills for others.
The last couple of days have been unnerving. I'm bleeding all over myself, my emotions out of control. Today was better. I felt less like death or that I was hallucinating my life some how. The dark felt interminable yesterday. Time slowed to this slurpiness, something like those big churning trucks noisily pouring liquid concrete onto the street. I started asking myself if I was losing my mind, if I whipped up my own "herstory." AHAHAH. I make the worst jokes.
Even though I've perfected my craigslist searching skills, me and XY have not found a satisfactory apartment to move into. We saw a place in Long Island City yesterday evening. When we got there, the building owner and ad placer did not answer his phone until a kind tenant in the building asked us who we were waiting for. She was so nice. She was so nice that I actually feel a little bad about having to liken her physical appearance to that of a Japanese horror movie protagonist/demon woman. Skinny, pale, and uncanny facial features mostly exacerbated by asymmetry. Her entire left side of face looked like it was trying to come together somehow. She was nice. When we told her we were waiting for the adplacer named J, she offered to make a call through her landline. I asked her if she would do us the favor of actually knocking on his door. XY lightly jested, noting my unconcealed disgust, "But... she is nice and a woman."
She smiled, disappearing into the door behind the door, and two minutes later, XY's cell rang. The building smelt of its pre-war age. There were two apartments available, one unit on the first floor and one on the second. Building owner J reminded me of my current "landlord." Lean, appearing confident while concealed; in total small vendor business man mode. You know exactly what I'm talking about. NYC is full of them. Like cockroaches, they scurry on about in tight spaces, never fully content, but content themselves in the petty glories of making cash here and there. I throw out scattered questions and stupid comments: "Hows the waterflow?", "Thats nice.", "Good price", "Great investment on your part." etc. I was trying to save our disatisfaction from fully revealing itself. The tired light coming through the kitchen windows of each unit weren't enough for that.
Back to the search. *Sigh*
I'm struggling to say more. Something something something about moving a fifth time in 2008. Something something something about the nonexistent poetry chapbook I'm working on. Something about it being a story of failing myself. HA HA HA.
No, I look forward to the future. Toward interesting times and people. Simply because thats the way it has always been.
I don't miss him. The connection has been cauterized. I blame him. I want to blame him. I replay the Saturday night we walked around the beautiful cobblestone streets and talked about our future. The sharp sensation of alienation as he willed any emotion away, appearing as practical as possible, becoming himself tomorrow ten worlds away from me; in that projection of the limited self, he became his own empty pride. And I held the questions of commitment between my teeth; "Can you?" "Can I?" "Will we make this work?" Shadows shifted, I saw him common as he was; all the pieces came together. I will always love the possibilities. I could never love a man who can not overcome himself.
The mind plays forward. I was crying silently in his car on the way back to his shared apartment. He was oblivious; probably feeling sorry for not saying more comforting things to me. So completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that I was in mourning. I continued nursing the answer in my hand even as he reached his hand over the brake to hold mine. I hated myself.
I wanted a nice vacation. I made it one. I came back to NYC and tried to revive my appreciation for our amazing ability to banter with each other for long durations over the phone. Except I couldn't do it for more than another three weeks. His voice and words, once sweet and boyish, lost their charm. All I could hear were ocean waves lapping over each other and the white heat of the sun.
Oct. 14th, 2005:
Let the leaves fall,
and brush,
all the words into the sea,
for I know, I know,
he'll never give to me.
So lets be quiet,
and hush,
these feelings all away,
for I know, I know,
death's for but a day.
Then let me sail,
and rush,
like waves into the shore,
for I know, I know,really nothing anymore.
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