|Whoa Chris, kinda givin' away the whole neckline there--save something for the New World.|
I have made a fantastic discovery that threatens the very fabric of reality, you know what I’m talking about, it’s that one textile in the back of the fabric store composed of irregular shapes and polyesters that elicits a vomitory reaction in humans. My discovery just made pants out of that fabric and I’m doing the Hammer dance in ‘em.
Are you buckled in? Here goes:
Talking to Doctors will increases your depression.
As long as I don’t know something, generally supplying yourself with ignorance to your own situation is found in 1) beer 2) ice cream or 3) fast food, which leaves the aforementioned human with a sweaty feeling of temporary elation.
When I have to talk to someone that will explain to me that, not only do I not know (solved with exhibits 1-3,) but they also don’t know in addition to myself. This is the something that leads you down a rabbit hole in Hammer pants.
I just got off the phone with one of my many doctors; I suppose that is probably obvious to the reader. I think he was just as surprised as myself to learn it’s been well over a month since I left the hospital. My eye has not really changed, though the eye patch is no longer necessary, and I get rides to work every day from my friend Steve, because my leg and arm are still crap. The prognosis has not really evolved beyond “well, you had a WTF stroke,” (sure, they call it “crytogenic,” but I think my description is equally, if not more, apt.) They can put umbrellas in my heart that “could possibly stop another stroke,” and it’s probable “insurance won’t cover it.” Did Shadow Stevens just show up, because I feel like the prettiest winner on Hollywood Squares.
I’m doing the cathartic equal to punching a wall right now. I’ve decided I did a fair amount of damage to my walls during Anthony Saves the World (which you should watch, if you haven’t,) so I will be text-punching my walls for the immediate future.
|Remember that time we did sword-fighting on the internet? Ah, good times.|
I was seriously going to write a blog today about why Desert Bus and Child’s Play are the awesomest things ever, but I seem to have gone off track in a hazy salsa-filled binge.
I haven’t written anything of merit in this blog for a while because this is the feeling that has so desperately wanted to wriggle out through my brain and mash the keys on the keyboard. I can’t imagine anyone wants to read that, but I think I need to hit the release valve every once in a while to maintain a certain “Mikeyness” through my actions and words. I’m generally not regarded as someone who mopes around a lot, but it does get lonely around here, which is self-inflicted through hubris. There is a line between honesty and the internet, and I’ve no idea how much to share or talk about. It seemed that this blog was born from a Chik-Fil-A sandwich filled with rage all the way back at the beginning.
I already feel better. The anger has subsided, and I can go back to writing things that don’t wallow in 90’s hip-hop begging a simple tool not to hurt somebody.