Archive for the addictions Category

pain, replaced by leakage

Posted in addictions, disease with tags , on August 10, 2009 by wkct

Saturday, the pain we beyond belief.   Coffee had to poke a few holes in my skin around the  pressure wound to relieve the  pain caused by dead blood.  

By Sunday, I was getting used to living with the pain and starting to worry I’d have to wind up at a doctor to have a scalpel open up the area.  That would entail a long, long recover, and I just can’t just afford that now.  But, while washing dishes, the weakened skin opened and the wound we were trying to heal opened up  a wealth of puss and blood. O, lovely puss!.  The process of healing could now begin.

I stayed home from work today, letting the wound seep.  The stench of infection is gone, and the whole area is now healing.  The only problem is that I must now have towels everywhere I want to sit, like an incontinent old dog.

The real victim here is not me, but Coffee.  She waited for the Super Happy Family Fun Weekend for two weeks and wound up squeezing puss from her wisecracking, probably dying idiot boyfriend.  I feel really bad about that.

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my extra butthole will be the end of me

Posted in dieting, disease, food with tags , on August 8, 2009 by wkct

Pain, and lots of it.

My behind  hurts so much. So very much.  Looks like I’m developing a new pressure sore, probably from overcompensating for the original extra butthole.

I’m taking Zinc, and I’ve finally admitted that I need Metformin, so I’m stealing Coffee’s.  At least I’ve started my sugar-fee diet today.   I got a very simple egg sandwich on wheat and I ate my bran today.  Beats the hell out of adding bacon and ketchup.

Only about 80 pounds to go.

full tilt hard on smokin’

Posted in addictions, quitting smoking failure, smoking with tags , , , on July 19, 2009 by wkct
OK, I haven’t blogged (not that anyone has noticed) for quite a while because I had nothing to report but failure.  I failed again.

I was just so tired of being in discomfort, of fighting the urge, of thinking about smoking for maybe a half an hour at a time that I gave in one Sunday so I could finally relax.

Now I have the opposite effect; I’m tight because I haven’t quit, and when I look inside, I find no desire to quit.  I’m even back to waking up and smoking in the middle of the night.

So this is how it happened…

I was filling up on gas at a gas station that has a mart. I was holding the pump while looking at the mart. I knew cigarettes were in the mart, peacefully sleeping until some lucky bastard bought them and brought them home to play.

I couldn’t get the idea of smoking out of my mind. It was like eight tracks of schizo smoke of consciousness. I was thinking, one, just one to get over this hump. Just one more trip to the top and I’ll be all right.

The pump clicked off, the kiosk beeped and whirled at me, I finished paying and then marched right to the mart, overpaid for a pack of stale Kools, and then ran (OK, wheezed) to my car. Coffee was so disappointed. I was so ashamed, but now I didn’t have to think anymore about quitting. For now anyway.

becoming unhinged

Posted in addictions, quitting smoking with tags , , , , on May 10, 2009 by wkct
Now I know why all mental patients smoke like fiends.  Smoking keeps back the darkness.
 
Even with the Nicorette gum, I’m jittery, anxious, tired and nervous.  I can’t really relax.  Really relaxing involves lighting up, sucking in that cool Carolina flavor and feeling my chest expand with smoke.  Now, that’s relaxing.
 
Drinking water, staying busy, and chewing nicotine-laced gum in almost the opposite of relaxing. It’s like climbing oil coated stairs. When I take a deep breath, there’s only air, and I feel like – oddly enough – I can’t breath.
 
For over a quarter of a century my little tubular friends helped me hold back the darkness. Hell, they did all the work, all I had to do was inhale. How does anyone get through the day without twenty or thirty cigarettes???
 
I feel like I’m dying, though the exact opposite is happening; my lungs are starting to clear a bit and I have a little bit – and I mean just an iota – more of stamina.
 
I’m depressed and I’m starting to see things out of the corner of my eyes.  Could cigarettes have been keeping me from developing psychosis?  Is is just I haven’t pulled my hair back for two days and I’m see strands of hair?  I guess we’ll know in a few weeks when I’m either starting my new health(ier) life or I’m strapped down to a gurney in a psych ward, listening to other patients scream about bugs.
 
Nothing’s making me feel better. I’ve done a bunch of chores but nothing gives me a sense of accomplishment because there’s no smoke reward. Even internet pornography isn’t helping, though I bravely gave it a try.  I don’t know if actual physical contact with a living woman would even help at this point.
 
This is A DAY AND A HALF of quitting! What about a week and a half, a month and a half??
 
Since I went off the Chantix I’ve quit for a day or two here and there, but this is the worse.  Maybe I’m motivated to quit so I know that there’s no cheating in the future. I think this is my last chance.  Shit, just writing that made my heart race. I hate this, though I’m glad to be free of giving my money away to the pump jockey at the gas station, and not having to stand on my porch like a dumbass,  looking at the muddy, spotty grass.
 
This is terrible.
 
 

and then there was nothing….

Posted in addictions, bullies, quitting smoking failure, smoking, Society with tags , , , , on May 5, 2009 by wkct

I haven’t posted for a while because nothing was really happening. I gave up quitting for a bit.

I also was enmeshed in some work problems. I won’t blog about my company, but I will say that there was a lot of maneuvering about the bully that runs our department. The end result of all the psychodrama is that I decided not to pick a fight.  I have too long to go for retirement.

I found this interesting article that stated what I already knew: my terribly quick wit is a response to my natural tendency to being depressed.

why are some common things so hard to do

Posted in addictions, money, quitting smoking failure, smoking, Society with tags , , , , on April 29, 2009 by wkct

Firstly, let’s get my addiction problems out of the way.  As we know, I can’t be trusted with money because I will immediately use any eight dollars I find to buy cigarettes. I thought I’d be quitting on Monday because I ran out of cigarettes and money at the same time. I won’t ask Coffee for cigarette money.  I felt ready to quit.

But I found ten dollars and in my pocket that I immediately converted to cigarettes.  On the upside,  I just ran out of money again (yes, I’m calling that an upside) and will be forced to not smoke tomorrow.

Remember critics (as if anyone reads this blog), the simple ideas like that I could stick to a pack a day, chew nicotine gum instead of smoke, or even consent to the situation of not smoking because I’m out of scratch instead of robbing a convenience store for all its menthols is a major improvement over the last quarter century. Am I proud?, No, like Bart Simpson, I feel less shame.

Onward to this common thing business. I’m reading postings on MSN about credit issues and I thinking, credit is universal to all adults, and yet no one knows how their credit scores are actually tabulated.  There’s no conventional wisdom involved; strangely, many smart moves involving credit repair are counter-intuitive.  Why should this be so hard?  Here’s some other  things that shouldn’t be so hard…

Divorce – a common situation that bankrupts all sorts of couples and takes years to conclude.

Marriage – getting all the crap together, holding the ceremony and the party, all that business is way too intense.

Taxes – few people understand their filings, or even why their tax payments are what they are

Credit – why so mysterious?

Buying a Car – why can’t I just walk into a store, pick out a car, pay for it and drive it away?

a good reason not to quit

Posted in addictions, bullies, quitting smoking failure, smoking, Society with tags , , , on April 19, 2009 by wkct

On Saturday I had quite a little adventure that wrecked my plans for quitting this weekend.  I think near felonious assault counts as a good reason to buy a pack of smokes.

We were in the Shopwrong doing a bit of shopping.  Coffee walked up to the open express line while I wandered in a circle sucking on my iced vanilla drink.  We probably didn’t look like we were together. 

My senses weren’t really up, looking for danger, but out of the corner of my eye I caught this big guy practically running through the store coming in at an angle that looked a lot like a trajectory for the register.  I was like, no way, he’s not trying to cut in front of Coffee. He cut right in front of Coffee.

I couldn’t hear her, but I’ve known her so many years I knew what she said to him.  She said, “You cut right in front of me. That’s rude.” She continued to put her stuff on the conveyor as the line cutter purchased his little crap.

He looked down on her – she’s four ten on a good day, and this guy was maybe six four – and bellowed, “Yes I did, and it’s tough, isn’t it?”

I just stood there behind my sunglasses and straw, processing this interchange.  Did this really happen? Did this guy really say that? I contemplated letting it go, but then I thought about it.

It’s one thing to be an ass to me. I don’t care. I’m not looking for trouble. But he picked on this tiny woman because he’s bigger. A fucking bully. And I’ve had enough of bullies.

I see the bullies all day at my company, picking on the weak, abusing the fearful.  I have totally fucking had it.  I decided to have a little conversation with the bully.  I said slowly, in a cool cucumber way, “The proper response would have been ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

The bully immediately went into the classic bully defense, the Poor Me.  He said, “I would have said I was  sorry if she properly talked to me, ” and blathered on some more, basically saying, Coffee was mean to him, that’s why he was rude back.

I’ve known her for many years. I know her reaction in different circumstances.  I know how she says things. I knew this was complete and utter bullshit.

From there on, things became a little cloudy, and I’m not certain exactly how the events transpired,  but  in the middle of the store I reached deep, deep into my limbic brain and pulled out the few words that I stored there.

“You know what, ” I queried, ” FUCK YOU!.”

He tried to play it off, he tried to play the intellectual, hectoring me about my bad language. He tried to stand his ground, and he was good at it. But I wouldn’t let go. For every thing he said to my like, “I’ll talk with you about it when you use proper language,” I simply said…

“FUCK YOU.”

To everything. Every litle application of logic he tried. Every sentence he over-constructed. He was a long-time bully, and he knew how to deflect, how to never take blame.  I had no interest in discourse, in logic, in a discussion of manners.  The man needed to be smote down, and when the fog of battle momentarily cleared and I could think with my higher functions, I said, “You thought you could pick on a little girl. You’re a bully. GO FUCK YOURSELF.”

He eventually headed for the door, but my admonishment of, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.” brought him back to save face. He rushed up to me so I rushed up to him. Inches from each other he tried to play the school teacher. “You want to fuck me? Do you want me to fuck you?” Cute.

I looked at him and then just roared with disgust, “FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD.”

Interestingly, each time I yelled at him, Coffee would yell at me, “Stop it!”  She was afraid he was going to hit me. I wasn’t afraid. I was in full on battle mode and ready for a fight to the death. I wasn’t going to let him leave with any face. I was going to tell him all my limbic brain had to offer which was…

“FUCK YOU YOU DICKHEAD.”

I don’t know how he extricated himself from this. He left. He said something. The sound of swords beating on shields filled my ears. I was deaf. I was a machine. When he left, my vision expanded and I was able to see some old dude motioning to me to calm down. He said, “He’s not worth it.”

I turned to grab our groceries, and noticed the poor cashier, a teen boy, completely in shock, wishing to be somewhere else. Odd, I thought, teens see much more violence in a day than an old man like me.

The Ernie Kovacs monkey trio of FUCK YOU, STOP IT, YOU WANT TO FUCK ME? had ended. I explained loudly, “He’s a bully. He thought he could pick on a little girl. Now he’ll go home and pick on his wife. ”

Then I drove to the first gas station I could find and bought smokes.

Ta Da!