Bored with life

Yep. Bored with life. Pretty much. Yeah.


And no, Virginia, stupidity isn’t in the equation. Things just suck. No forward motion, that kind of thing. M’kay?

Settling into an increasingly harmonic vibration; a monotone. 439Hz. Hum drum. Been at my job long enough I was allowed to sign up and start my 401(K). Couple that with my savings account and, um, does that mean I’m getting old? Hmm. Being old wouldn’t matter if variations happened, if things were interesting for once. Christ’sakes.

Tired of working, tired of eating, tired of laundry, tired of sleeping, tired of hanging out, tired of missing concerts, tired of skipping parties, tired of iced tea, tired of ramen, tired of smoking, tired of anxiety, tired of projects, tired of programming, tired of driving, tired of writing, tired of reaching out, tired of talking, tired of digging for shit to say, tired of keeping with bored company, tired of trying to find a good woman, tired of wondering what the secret formula is, tired of having no reason for people to seek me out, tired of seeking, tired of being without base, tired of appearing to lack depth, tired of lacking confidantes, tired of sharing too much with acquaintances, tired of “too much information”, tired of helping, tired of no returns, tired of failure, tired of this journal entry.

Serendipity, I could really use your touch right now.

I feel like wandering.

How appropriate. When I viewed this message after posting it, the fortune cookie gave me this: “Far duller than a serpent’s tooth it is to spend a quiet youth.” Synchronicity is cruel.

My State of Affairs

OK, I’ll get you folks up to speed on what’s been going on with me. For the last 5 days my lungs have been twinging, spasming, and producing excess phlegm. Sunday night it reached a head: I laid down for sleep and kept getting panicked because I had extra difficulty breathing. I had had enough. So I checked myself into the E.R. at Seton Hospital.

After five hours of getting tested, injected, inspected, treated, x-rayed, heart-monitored, and all else, the doctors couldn’t pinpoint why my lungs were spasming. Our only conclusion is that my situation gets worse when I smoke, especially when I smoke like I have been for the past few months. Folks, this is not good.

The doctor did find something wrong when he had an EKG done on me. Found I have a slight abnormality with my heart. Either some scar tissue or more likely some conductivity problem between my upper heart and my lower heart, like a neural pathway is too active. I have experienced sudden flutters and speed-ups before. This also is not good.

Since the albuterol treatments didn’t help, since the x-rays didn’t turn up anything (thankfully), since the EKG’s didn’t turn up anything conclusive, I am left with only one, knowable fact. I need to quit smoking. Now. If I want to get better.

I’ve known for a long while that all of my cardio-pulmonary problems, most of my digestive problems, many of my stress-panic problems, stem from my excessive tobacco usage. There’s no denying that. There’s no point in denying any of this. I’m smoking myself to death. It was fine way back when, when I didn’t have the effects of 8-years’ damage, when I didn’t find myself thinking 1 pack a day wasn’t bad, when my body didn’t know what the hell a panic attack felt like, when I found myself saying, “Oh, I’m not addicted – what is this thing we call ‘addiction’ anyways, eh?” But it’s not fine now.

I worked two hours yesterday after being up all night at the ER. Our secretary and everyone else who knew my situation told me I should go home, and I did. I attempted to call my doctor, but his office was closed for lunch. So, being weak with sleep, I laid down for bed around 12:30pm. I finally got out of bed around 5:30 this morning. And interestingly enough, I did not crave a cigarette. As long as I associate the smell, taste, look of a pack of Marlboro Lights with clenched lungs, I think I might nick this nic-thing. For some stupid reason, though, I forgot this and had half of a cigarette to curb a small crave, and now I’m dealing with the clenching again. Stupid move, stupid mistake.

The first stupid mistake was going to the quickmart when I got home from that bad date in October ’95. Stupid, self-destructive move. And how stupid of me to keep blaming my addiction on that fateful night.

I’m finding myself remembering what life was like without cigarettes. Luckily, I started when I was 23, so I have plenty of years worth of memories untinged by smoking, plenty of reference to go by. I remember having unhampered sense of smell, of taste. I remember running across campus with no remorse, no passing out. I remember hanging out indoors for hours on end without having to step outside.

Friends, this is something I must do. If I’m AWOL for some time, I hope you’ll understand.

Yawn Two Three Four

Burning the midnight oil a lot these days. So little to do, so much time. :sighs:

Starting to get mighty warm around here. Nothing like good heat and dense humidity. Mmmm. Makes opening my car door that much more pleasant. I swear, I gotta start cracking the windows or something to equalize the humidity. Sheesh.

I’ve been finding myself doing more programming lately. It’s now again starting to become fun, like a puzzle I do. The drill is simple: create a problem (if one doesn’t already pop-up while solving another problem), and write code to fix it. Some people have their crosswords, I have my programs. My current puzzle is trying to split and parse an SQL insert statement. I want to split off all the flag keywords and parse the remainder of the statement in any of the three standard ANSI SQL formats. I’ve been running into problems having my code differentiate between column text and actual column names. Currently, though, I think I’m on my way to getting this problem licked — I wrote a small finite-state automaton (a smart loop — a bot, basically) that steps through the statement, one character at a time, and tests that character against a small nested list of rules. To me, this is exciting stuff. So far, with a few logic problems aside, I think I really do have it beat. I hope so, anyway.

I want to thank each and every one of you who extended sympathies and shared in my anger at what happened to me a few days ago (as eloquently described in the last entry). You folks are indeed my good friends. Thanks.

:yawn: Ok. My eyes are getting droopy. Nothing like the cumulative effect of getting less than four hours of sleep a night for the past 4 evenings. I decided to head home early tonight, and that was the most perfect choice.

Gotta take better care of myself. You should do the same. G’nite!

If only I had left five minutes earlier…

I should have left when I felt it. But, no, I hung around just five more minutes. Just enough time for me to get suddenly hit with an egg thrown from a passing car.
There is nothing you can do about people who drive by and throw eggs when you’re sitting in front of a coffee shop. NOTHING. And that’s what angers me the most. By the time you realize what just happened to you and every single bit of clothing you’re wearing, the car is at the next intersection and speeding away.
F U C K E R S !
My freshly washed shirt and shorts, fresh socks, even my laptop bag and my hair, were trashed by running, slimy egg. No telling how old the egg itself was. All I know is that I’m sitting there, I feel a smack! on my right shoulder (which felt like someone came up behind me and smacked me really hard), I turn around and find no one there, my friend Collin looks at me to see what happened, assesses the situation, stands up to get a look at the car, and notes its make and model (BMW 3-series, or something like that), and I look to see what hit me then realize it was a fucking egg. A FUCKING EGG! Even Collin’s pants got the shrapnel. I tell you, that shit gets everywhere.

I cannot put forward how much anger I feel right now. That angers me even more.


Thankfully, some guys, a bunch of badasses a few tables over, offered to help should those fuckers swing back by for another pass.

And so this summer’s round of chickenshit attacks begins. Time to take a shower and soak my clothes.

Fuck. Fuck this all to Hell. Fuck.

Weekend schmeekend

Ok. So in my last entry I raved about how well the weekend was going, how the weekend was just beginning, how I for once was going to have a kick-ass weekend, etc., etc. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Believe me, the Fates are so fuckin’ mean. MEAN!

Below is my fancy, high-tech Powerpoint illustration of my weekend. The curve, in blue, denotes the “suckitude” of the weekend with the vertical axis inverted such that low values represent the most “suckitude.” The horizontal axis represents forward time. The red boxes represent key points on the path of time.

So. Friday night was good, definitely. Saturday afternoon and early evening, when I was still going on the buzz of friday night, were good as well. Got to chill out, listen to more Harley’s cruising by, guzzle iced tea, and just hang-out in general. Had the chance to go see King’s X at the Back Room that night, but for some reason (which still escapes me) I opted out; decided to hang out some more, see who showed up. Anyway, somehow I think this is the part where the Freewillers and the Predestined’s will part ways, if you’ll pardon the pun.

There I am, it’s around 1am or so, and I get hungry. I go out and get a sausage-and-egg breakfast taco, with salsa. Chowed down on it and felt good. Went back to Mojo’s and hung out some more. Chatted with my friend Ernie about things computers and things Dell, which is a joy; been years since I could sit and talk geek for hours and suffer no social consequences. Around 4 or 5am I was feeling a little “gassy”, so home was the best choice.

About 15 minutes after I went to bed, my bowels clenched, my stomach ground, and I got that sudden, anxious feeling that’s usually immediately followed by the words, “Uh-oh.” (You know that feeling.) I grabbed the trashcan, bolted to the bathroom, and sat there for over an hour in three different sessions. No hurling, luckily, but the hair-trigger was really tickling. It was a close call, but thankfully it was all coming out of the other end, which is my preference (I’m wierd with throwing-up). So, if you’ll forgive me for the lurid details, let us continue.

Sunday, oh Sunday. After 6 dreamless hours of sleep, with me on my side on the side of the bed and the trashcan beneath me, I got up around 1pm. Wasn’t feeling all too sparkly, so I moped around. Waited on a phone call from Bart – we had planned to go out to pick up a new motherboard to replace his which fried a month ago. He called, learned that I was ill, and called it off. I tried to venture out of the house but realized really quickly that: heat + nausea = hell. Went back home with a quickness, undressed to my essentials, and moped around the house for the rest of the day, trashcan at the ready.

A bright spot, though. I did do something productive. My friend [Danielle] had called for volunteers to offer server space so she could have comment capabilities on her blog. I stepped forward last week, and we finally got it installed and set up yesterday. She was much appreciative; I’m glad I got to help (damn shame she lives in Canada).

The rest of the day, though, sucked. Watched some pre-taped TV from years ago and went to bed around 2am. Got up this morning at 8, still feeling like hell, took a shower, and slogged to work. I then realized that after not eating a single thing yesterday I was in no shape, and had no strength, to be working around machinery. Add to that the stomach spasms and twinges, and yeah, I headed home after just over an hour of work.

Which worked-out, actually. Finally got a call from a Dell service tech. Told him to meet me at my apartment instead of my job. After about half an hour of work, the hinges and plastics on my laptop’s screen are made whole again. Yay! No more cracks, no more wobbling, no more “close it carefully, carefully!” A bright point, definitely. And under warranty, too!

So, now, I think I need to eat a little bit of something bland, have some more ginger ale, and possibly see about seeing my doctor. Low-level nausea for over two weeks might mean something important. You’d think, right?

You know, I’m thinking that if I had gone to the King’s X show instead of hanging out at Mojo’s all night, none of this would’ve happened, and this journal entry would’ve been done later this evening and filled with a report of good news and glad tidings. So let this be a lesson to you, children. Don’t exercise your free will. Go do what you were predestined, and nothing like this would happen. Um, yeah.

Anyway. Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda. :sighs: Best of health to you guys. Later.