Relax

I’ve spent most of Sunday in bed, though trying to be comfortable-enough to rest, there, has been a bitch, so I’m up. Last night was hell. Busted my CPAP mask, the other night, during a nightmare; waiting on a replacement. I usually keep backups of my equipment, but not this time, so I’ve been spending a few torturous nights fighting the sensation of being choked-out in my sleep. It’s particularly scary being on a sleeping medication. I worry about ceasing the breathing thing but not waking out of it and that, my friends, is death. The DISH-related pain throughout my body is getting worse. I don’t know what’s going on around my right kidney. Feels like I’ve got a grapefruit-sized area of hurt going on, there. Last night and this morning especially, it’s been horrible. The worst since diagnosis. I’ve got an appointment coming up at the spine center at St. Luke’s Meridian on Tuesday; I’ve got a lot to say to them about what’s going on and I hope they’ll set me onto the path toward some answers.

Feeling bad like this does nothing for creativity. Writing might often- Ha. See? There go my words. My mind. Memory lapse. Happens randomly. I’ve gotten to where, if it occurs when I’m putting down something, I just incorporate it into whatever I’m doing. I have to. So… Where was I. “Creativity”. And feeling bad. Yeah. I guess what I was trying to get at was that, when you’re in pain, you can use it to your advantage, creatively. Like a seasoning. Same thing when you’re elated. But, when it’s as bad as this, the pain obfuscates so much that it negates any positivity one might be able to use from it, creatively. All you get is pain. I might’ve otherwise addressed this more elegantly, but at the moment, my head’s clouded. I’m lucky I’m getting this shit out.

Recent efforts have been forced. They’ve felt as much. Whatever. I got ‘em out of the way and posted ‘em and there they are and it’s whatever. Take what you can from them. I’m talking to me as much as to anyone reading this. What’s most important, here, is that I not stop. Gotta keep going. If I pause, I might not pick it up, again. I’ve gone long pauses in the past before resuming. Starting over, really. I think that, next time, it’s done. I can’t have that.

I’m tired. Indescribably so. Lying down, however, is most painful to me. So I’m up. With this coffee. I usually have a cup of something at hand. Almost time for a refill. And another scoop of Tylenol. I’ve been eating the shit like candy. Does little good. “Did you take anything for it?” I’m repeatedly asked. To which I shrug. Yeah. Yeah, I did. It’s not magic. My comeback’s always a bit too sharp, right now. I’m really crochety. I have physical therapy, tomorrow. My story is that it helps, but does it? Honestly, it does. On the short term. A few hours after, though, my body’s sapped, leaving me wanting to lie down but there I am – in pain, needing to put myself in the most painful position available to me in order to score some kip. Which comes broken and filled with nightmarish choking. Even when I’ve got my CPAP, it’s not much fun – as is evident by the fact that I broke it, tearing it from my face during a bad dream.

What do I do.

I guess I do my best to relax. Finish this coffee, get another. Watch a movie or something.

It could be worse. A lot worse.