Kalamity K

The Daily Chaos of Kalamity K
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2005-03-01 04:37:24 (UTC)

A Most Peculiar Talent ... [upon arriving home to find deflation]

Okay. So to start with - I spent one full hour writing up
an entry in my diary and as usual, thought, gee, I took a
long time to do that, perhaps I should copy it before I
hit submit. And, as usual when I think something like
that and don’t actually do it (I was hitting submit as I
was thinking it, dumbass), when I hit submit, I got a DNS
error page in my browser. I thought I had been
disconnected, so I tried again, after frantically hitting
the back button to try to retrieve my lost words, but to
no avail. It would appear something went fucked with the
my-diary.org server there for a few hours - at least,
that’s how it seems from my end. So all of that to say,
while writing for an hour got my venting out, I’m super-
pissed that the words I wrote have been lost. I’m sure
you all aren’t that upset, but they are my words and my
records of things so I’m allowed to be upset!

I went through an entire rant - some heartfelt and
passionate, and some just stupid - and well, I don’t
really want to redo the whole thing (also not sure that I
can remember it all because I was writing it in such
irritation), so perhaps I will just try to do a recap. Of
course, anyone who knows me or who has read any of what
I’ve posted in here knows damn well that my recaps are the
length of most people’s long, drawn-out statements, so
good luck staying with me. [-sighs and laughs, sort of-]

Of course, the one thing I do want to write out again is
about the baseball comments I put in there absolutely
unplanned and off the cuff, in a crazy, juxtaposed way.
Don’t let me forget - pitching coaches, eggshells and Blue
Jays. :)

During the day, my boyfriend and I had a short e-mail
exchange. I was worried that he was mad at me for some
reason, so I sent him an e-mail - Are you mad? He
answered back - No, not mad, his back just hurts a lot. I
felt my stomach sink into my feet when he said that. He
gets this back pain that is so bad it makes him throw up.
We can’t quite figure out if it is the pain or the Advil
back stuff that he takes that makes him through up. I
thought it was the pain. Then I thought it was the
Advil. Now I’m back thinking it’s the pain again. I
don’t know. He takes Advil a lot for other stuff, so I
don’t think it’s the Advil, per se. I think that it could
be the extra stuff in the Advil backpain medication...but
then it doesn’t seem to happen if/when he takes the
Tylenol-based stuff, and I think the extras in there are
the same as in the Advil, so I don’t know.

My disappeared entry contained a couple of fairly strongly
worded (for me!) paragraphs about pain thresholds and
trying to avoid judgments and how I was brought up
to “stoic” and he clearly wasn’t and how I wouldn’t be so
upset with him and about this whole back pain thing if he
would get off his lazy, selfish ass and go to the bloody
doctor. You see, here’s the thing. He gets this really
bad back pain and throws up. And it’s happening on a more
frequent basis, I think. It’s not like it has happened
every week or anything - maybe four times total. But sort
of increasing in frequency nonetheless. But I don’t
understand exactly what the hell the problem is. he won’t
go to the doctor. I try to ask him to go and he doesn’t
want to. He doesn’t want to spend the money. He doesn’t
think he needs to go. He won’t spend sixty or a hundred
dollars for the appointment and meds to help him not have
to go through this, but he’ll drop $250 on a new fucking
gaming system that he doesn’t need. It’s irresponsible.
I’m sorry, but it is, and it’s starting to really get to
me. I ask him if saving sixty dollars is worth going
through another night of this and he agrees it’s not. But
he doesn’t do a goddamn thing about it. And so he’s spent
the night in pain, moaning and crying out and throwing
up. He left work an hour early today and has been in bed
all night, except when he’s up throwing up. He sounds
terrible. Like a roaring bear or something when he’s
throwing up. And I feel like a mother fucking goddamn
cold bitch for not seeming more sympathetic to him
but...it just makes me so bloody angry that he won’t go
see the doctor. I think then maybe he should go to the
doctor for my selfish sake - it keeps me up at night when
he’s throwing up. It worries me for more than a few
reasons. It stresses me out. It makes me feel like a
terrible girlfriend, lover and friend because he refuses
to let me do anything for him - except when he calls me to
go and buy him some Canada Dry...

I’m so fucking irritated...and irritated with this entry,
too, because the other one was at least vibrant and
somewhat humourous. This one is just stupid and dry.

So whatever. This one is just about done, I think. I
went through a whole thing about pain thresholds and is he
really in dire pain or does he just have a low pain
threshold (which does amount to the same thing, I realise)
and I said I thought it was probably a combination of
both. I tried not to pass judgment or to say I
was "better" than he was in this regard - I can take a
fair bit of physical pain from external sources, or what I
call external sources (muscle aches and pains from
exercise, etc.), etc. When I busted up my knee and had to
have it reconstructed I don't think I made as much noise
as he did after the initial shocked scream. In fact, that
shocked scream of horror came when I started back playing
again on a knee almostly completely torn up and with no
protection, brace or what have you, and when I did the
final damage to it. But still, I don't think I made as
much noise as he's making. And I guess that's a
judgment. I don't know. But I hasten to point out that
when I get cramps from my period, I'm a mess, even though
they aren't severe. Coupled with the hot and cold waves,
the lightheadedness and dizziness and disorientation I
always get, plus the fucked up mental state that it's been
driving me to of late, it makes me want to scream and
scratch someone's eyes out. That is a horrible imagine,
but I feel that crazy with desperation (not so much
physical pain in the end as a weird kind of mental torture
but the physical does not help). But that is what I
call "internal" pain. Your muscles acting out of their
own accord - whereas the other is something being done by
you to your body...etc., etc., etc. I've never been
afraid to throw my body around in volleyball, basketball,
hockey, soccer...but the flu or cramps just floor me. Go

I grew up in a house where you just dealt with pain. You
were supposed to be stoic about it. My father was, at
least. Even now, if I complain that I'm feeling fluey or
achy, I feel terribly guilty about it because I think I
should just shut up. Of course, my boyfriend certainly
doesn't really adhere to this thought process - of course,
the reality could be that he is in absolute, utter and
tremendous pain and that his pain threshold is higher than
anyone else's and so he's actually being a saint by making
the minimal amount of noises that he is - but I don't
know. I am not suggesting one sacrifice one's health just
to be stoic, but nor am I suggesting that more Eastern
style of open wailing and throwing oneself on a funeral
pyre to express one's grief and pain and sadness. It just
fucking drives me nuts and I can't stand it and I am tired
of it and I don't care how mean I sound. It's the way it
is. I feel guilty but that doesn't change the fact that
it's the way it is.

My most peculiar talent - I've become immune to sympathy
retching, I think. Many people I know throw up as soon as
someone else is doing it. As my boyfriend was in the
bathroom retching, I was in the kitchen cooking my first
attempt at a proper dinner in months and was sampling the
wares greedily as he retched. I didn't even bat an
eyelid. I think that's a pretty good talent...[-sigh-]
Also proves my cold-heartedness.

Upon arriving home to find deflation - I was talking about
the feeling I got coming home, when I realised as I
stepped in the door that he was home and not feeling
well. A sort of cold chill settled in around me and my
instinct was to turn and leave. I hate walking on
eggshells in my own house. Hate it. I wasn't happy when
I got home, but I was feeling better than I thought I
would - even thought I had beaten my boyfriend home for
once and that I might even get a few precious minutes of
alone time in my own apartment. But no. He came home
early and sick and was here. He's always fucking here -
and when he's supposed to go out there's always a fucking
excuse. I don't help him, I know, but whatever. I'm not
feeling charitable tonight. He didn't go out last week.
We'll see if he goes out this week like he's supposed to.
We'll see. I want desperately to believe him. I want
desperately to believe that things are going to go
better. But right now I want out - yes, just because his
back is sore and I'm pissed. That's what happens to me.
One thing can just flip the switch and make me crazy for
wanting to get out of this thing called my relationship.
I am, without a doubt, a cold-hearted, class-A bitch.

My baseball ramble came about walking on eggshells and had
a few nice descriptions about Tom Cheek and Jerry Howarth
and how they are the soundtrack to my summers and crisp
early autumns, especially back during the heyday of my
boys of summer in blue. What I had said was that while I
know the term walking on eggshells generally refers to
treading lightly around one who might get angry if the
treading is too heavy, I can no longer hear the term
walking on eggshells without someone in my mind thinking
of a long-time former Blue Jays pitching coach. I think
his name was Gil Patterson though I could be so completely
wrong that it wouldn't be funny. Whenever he walked out
to the mound to see the pitcher, either Tom or Jerry would
say, "And there goes pitching coach Gil Patterson, with
his familiar walking on eggshells stride, out to see so
and so pitching" or something like that, anyway. He
wasn't scared to see the pitchers. He just walked in a
particular way that made him look like he was treading
very carefully.

That's it. This was too long and uninspired. I was
inspired to do so much more tonight, to write so much
more, but then I got a few e-mails that made me livid with
despair that I missed seeing someone by a mere fraction of
a second, and then after that got me fired up, I started
to crash right down again and I'm very tired. I'm
actually - gasp - thinking of going right to bed.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I better think about that more seriously,
though, b/c it's snowing a storm out tonight and the
receptionist was away today and if she's away tomorrow
(which I won't know until I get there), I need to open the
place, so I have to be there early/on time so really, all
that to say that sleeping might be good.

I have Nasty Chat open. Pray to the deity or being of
your choice that I don't go in there tonight. I'm bored.
I'm lonely. I'm depressed. I'm sad as hell. I'm angry.
I'M ANGRY. And my characters as screaming in my head to
get out but I can't yet give them life because my frame of
mind is not where it needs to be... fuck I was going to
come and write on MAE (My Alter Ego) tonight but no. It's
amazing how quick inspiration can strike and ebb - the
ideas are still there, though - just the motivation to
write them out in glorious rapture is not. Writing this
goddamn entry has sapped me of my energy, methinks. FUCK

Oh shit. I forgot. I have another fucking application
due tomorrow. SHIT SHIT SHIT. I completely

My mom - I invited her to come with me to the symphony
tomorrow. She hasn't seemed all that chuffed about going
ever since I asked her and it's driving me nuts - and now
with the snow storm...she already served notice before the
storm came that she might not be able to go it there was
snow. I just...fuck. If she didn't want to go she should
have just said. Now I'm kind of feeling guilty but
confused. It's a swing performance. She'd love it. She
loves that stuff. We never do anything together. But
yet... ? I don't know. Fuck it.

I have to go. I need to at least find MAE a surname
before bed - or at least a possible bunch on a list. I
don't yet know the exact details of her heritage, which is
delaying the surname decision, if anyone cares. But...in
the car tonight...in the snow - always inspired when it
snows - and listening to Die 12 cellisten von der Berliner
Philharmonicker or some such in German, I was totally
inspired and nailed MAE in one go after agonising for a
few days over the simple question, "when will she REALLY
come to me?"

She's arrived. I love her. Wow. [-smiles-] I have all
this creative bullshit in my head though and I'll lose it
if I don't get it out now and I don't have time. IT
SUCKS, I TELL YOU! I have entire pages of stuff composed
in my head...aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhh
this is torture!

Shit I have to go. Have a good night. This one
definitely lacks passion and beauty but it is what it is.
Angry and pissed off. Now there's a surprise.

Until we meet again,


P.S.: will do the job application tomorrow from work, I
think...FUCK. F U C K ! ! !

P.S.2: did I mention that Wheezie is a disgusting, vile,
horrible pig whom I hate and who is finally understanding
that I can't stand her and is no longer talking to me? I
refuse to talk to her - I say the minimum number of words
encessary to do my job and that's it. I could give a shit
what she thinks of me. I could give a shit if she wants
to fire me. I hate her. She's a disgusting fucking pond-
scum-sucking toad and she will never change and I DON'T

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