Friday, December 23, 2005

This Blog Could Be My Life

One of the sad side effects of my unfortunate incarceration was that I had to miss the Fall/Minutemen documentary double bill mentioned below. I was out in time for that second evening, but in no shape to go.

I mention this in part because there's a great tribute to the Minutemen over at the Huffington Post today. It's well worth reading and will have to take the place of the doc for me for the time being. A nice job, though.

It's actually a little spooky, poring over some of the posts that immediately preceded my trip to the ER. The way they seem to foreshadow what was about to happen makes me wonder who's writing who: posts that talked about abdominal pain that made you double over, the ennui and boredom of living too long...

...and, of course, pee.

Which is to say that one jettisons the ennui and boredom pretty damn quickly when someone's trying to help you urinate.

Not to make more out of it than it is as the procedure's about as safe and common as getting a tooth extracted these days, but when they take your clothes away and put that shower cap on your head, you do begin to feel awfully grateful for the simplest things. Melancholy seems very much like a luxury.

It's almost as if the powers that be decided that they'd had enough of my complaining and decided to show me some real belly-aching.

That should wake him up.

Well, consider me awake, for the time being anyway. Because if there's one thing I've learned about these kinds of lessons, it's that their effects evaporate quickly.

I stopped off at the pharmacy to get my percocet prescription filled and ended up waiting in back of this couple in the "drop off" line.

They were giggling at everything on the counter and you got the feeling that they both thought they were terribly funny and clever. A woman would come and go and speak to them about some kind of refund and it appeared as if their transaction had nothing to do with dropping off anything.

Still feeling weak and achy from the hospital I quickly became impatient, and when the couple, after about ten minutes of this, turned around to me with my rather obvious prescription in my hand and told me "Oh, we're not dropping anything should probably wait over there," nodding to the empty line next to them, my head nearly exploded.

All the way home I nursed a blinding hatred for these two, how smug and thoughtless and stupid they were. I was white hot with anger. Until I stopped and thought for a moment:

You idiot!

Do you remember where you just came from? Do you remember what just happened?

You were afraid for your life. You were afraid you weren't going to make it and that you'd die alone on an operating table.

You moron! You stupid, ignorant bastard! What will it take? What will it take to appreciate what you've got?

Are things getting better now?
Are things getting worse?


Trusting in an endless sky

I remembered where I left off.


Anonymous Santana Clauss said...

Hope you are feeling better and up on your feet soon! Hospital stays are always a nasty experience.

You are a lucky bastard, my surgeon didn't hook me up with any good pain-killers. No Hillbilly Heroin for moi- take 2 Naproxen and bite the bullet!

Remember, Percocets go down well with tequila and an ether chaser!

Happy Festivus!

Much love, Santana

Saturday, December 24, 2005 3:20:00 PM  
Blogger Count Screwloose said...

Thank you, Santana Clauss. I'm coming around nicely.

Naproxen? What the? Haul that fellow up on medical malpractice charges now! The only real upside of having someone rummaging through your innards in the first place is the implied promise that you'll be sent home with a Ticket To Ride. Now I see why Limbaugh was making appointments with multiple doctors!

I take back all of those nasty things I said about him. Now don't bogart that codeine!


Monday, December 26, 2005 2:55:00 PM  

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