Another Work Moment

I thought for a minute that perhaps someone had sent me a cross dressing blues brother singing telegram. A large women with almond shaped shades was standing at my door, her head slightly hung. But when she opened her mouth, she did not break into a song about living the wild life or how much she loved "to rock." But rather, these words"I'm going home. I have a migraine." That is not Rock `n Roll at all; just a fat chick with a fake disorder. And here I thought my day was going to get good.

Monochromatic Days and Leftover Erections

Man, it’s fuckin’ gray today. The world, as seen through the only window I can see from my tomb of an office, is just shades of gray piled up on one another. It physically hurts me to be at work today. So I’m sitting here bummed that my weekend is over and what makes it really weird is that I got a rager of a hard on due to some herbal, big dick pill that I took on Friday. They work good. I also, want to take a shit, but everyone is standing in the route to the bathroom and I know that if I walk way they’ll notice, cause these slacks are great for broadcasting when you have a boner. This is my fuckin’ life. I’m being held hostage by my own erection.
I went to the doctor on Friday (see last entry). I’m not dieing. I’m just crazy. She wanted to medicate me for anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. I declined the meds. She said that I’ll probably get worse. At least my life will be interesting, right? My hearts fine. She gave me a bunch of stuff that I need to start doing if I don’t want to die by the time I’m 40. Typical stuff, walking, eating veggies, less carbs, less meat. So this is the part where I try to keep it going for longer than a week. We’ll see what I can do.
I guess that is it.

Bong Hit and Heart Attacks - A tale of Neurosis

Last night was a lovely demonstration of what my life is becoming. My brother called me and asked if I wanted to come down and watch the new episode of South Park. My lady was asleep and I was going to either read or get real stoned and call people, so I figured that leaving the house might be good for me. Oh-contraire-mofraire (sp?). My brother’s apartment is one of the few places that I enjoy leaving my house to go to. It feels a bit like the club houses we built as kids, but now it has my most favorite bong in the world to smoke out of. I hate the way the thing looks, but I love the way it hits. Anyhow, I wake my lady up and tell her that I am leaving. She grumbles something indicating that she heard me and after grabbing a few nugs from the stash I leave through the garage door as to not wake her further. I’m a bit on the stoned side, when I leave and it’s dark and cool and everything that a autumn night should be so I’m cruising a long at my usual 20 miles per hour and listening to Nirvana Unplugged and really enjoying my buzz. Then everything starts to go wrong. As soon as I pull onto the first major street, a cop gets behind me, but I keep my cool as I know that I’m not too stoned to drive and that I could totally communicate with a cop if I were to get pulled over. I take stupid back roads everywhere I drive because I think I don’t like looking at headlights and illuminated strip malls, so I turn down one of them and the cop follows me. He turns out soon enough, but gets replaced by another cop. So that starts to get to me. Soon enough, every third car is either a cop or looks suspiciously like an unmarked police car. But I keep my cool until I’m 2/3 of the way to brother’s place. Then I realize that I don’t remember closing my garage door. I hate the thought of my garage door being opened and people going in and chopping up my lady so I turned around. I wish this was the first time that I have ever done this, but it isn’t, if I don’t watch the garage close and say to myself something like It’s Wednesday Night, I’m going to my Brother’s, The Garage is closed. I’m doomed to coming home to check on it. I don’t have a cell phone, so I couldn’t just call and I didn’t want to wake up the lady anyhow, so I just turned around. I’ve called my family and asked them to drive by and turned around and even left work during the middle of the day due to that fuckin’ door that I can’t even count. So what’s one more. Besides South Park wasn’t on for over an hour. So I drive home and naturally the garage is closed. I’ve never left it open in my entire life. Not once. I’ve considered putting up a webcam in there and having a live feed to some website so that I can check on it from anywhere with a computer, but that sounded like a lot of trouble, so I just started parking outside.
So I get to my brother’s house and I open a diet wild cherry Pepsi (which is my all time favorite soda, but I deprive myself of it so that it stays that way) and load a nice size bowl into my bro’s bong and I take it one hit, knowing that I’m taking a enormous hit and trying to be cool and show off. My brother even obliged and commented that if were to take a hit that big he would be coughing and puking. I loaded him a bowl and then finished it off after his hit. Then I sat back to enjoy my high. Things went down hill quickly.
Ever since I heard about that marathon runner who died in a marathon in Chicago or wherever, I’ve been having chest pain. I’m only 27. Sure I’m fat and my cholestrol is creeping up, but I’m not on schedule for my first heart attack for a couple of more years yet. And while I was sitting in the chair laughing with my brother about something random and not that funny, I started to realize that I might be a little bit on the way too high side because he started... changing. I don’t know if there is any way to describe it. Every once in a while, when I’ve smoked too much, people’s faces look like there’s but it’s like I’m seeing them for the first time and all their action seem really fake and stuff. I don’t know how else to explain it. Then my chest started hurting. I went from 0 panic to about 300 in 2 seconds. I started pacing around my brother’s apartment. Then my left arm started feeling funny. I knew I was just having a panic attack, but what if I wasn’t? My brother asked me what was wrong and I told him that I was panicking, and he wanted to know about what and I told him that I thought I was having a heart attack. He said something indicating concern, but knowing that I was just being a head case. By this time I’m in a cold sweat, my left arm is dead and it feels like an unearthly claw is gripping over my heart up into my shoulder. I need fresh air, so we walk downstairs and I pace around why my brother pisses in his shared front lawn. I feel better when I’m outside, but I realize that I can’t stay. We haven’t even watched the re-run of South Park yet, but I headed home. I shouldn’t have been driving, but I had to get home. I remember that I had some Aspirin in the car (Baer because, I’ve never seen a generic Aspirin’s commercial tell me that it saved lives) from an earlier panic attack/heart attack from earlier in the week. I almost drove into a tree while I frantically downed two or three of those. I started hyperventilating and realized that I had to get to the hospital or I was going to die. Luckily, it was a few blocks away and on the way home. So being convinced that i was going to die, I found a convenient parking spot and walked to the hospital’s which I found to be closed. I started to realize that I had now been having my "heart attack" for like 30 min, so I was probably not really having one. So rather than walk to the correct door of the hospital I decided that I had better go home, as my brother was going to be expecting a call letting him know that I made it home alive. So I drove home, almost running over a couple of deer and then I woke up my lady and asked her to calm me down. I was clamming, my pulse was up, I was flushed, my left arm was dead and I felt the gripping on my heart, so I probably looked like I was having a heart attack, but luckily my lady knows me well enough and just sat while I took a bath and then we went to bed and she cuddled the hell out of me. I eventually made it to sleep, but not soundly. I’ve gotta stop smoking so much dope and start running or something. This is bullshit is my life.

Asshole Cookies

The holidays are coming. I’m not going bag on them and say I hate Christmas and blah, blah, blah. I try to not to think about the how many holidays are now just one more demonstration of sad excess worship. I recall once being on a public bus and getting a very loud, very Tiny Tim(the fictional cripple not the dead guy with the ukelele)-esque speech about how Christmas was great because people feel good at Christmas. The rest of the bus seemed pretty irritated to me, though the teller was convinced that it made our fellows patrons of mass transit to look deep in their hearts and find the spark of Christmas spirit that hid therein, but then for as long as I’ve known him, he’s seen the world through after-school-special colored glasses. And of all the reasons that I dread the coming of Christmas, it's because of my Tiny Timish friend that I dread it the most. I was pals with this guy for a long time and then it got old and I parted ways rather abbruptly. I’ll be honest, the better friends I am with someone, the less I want to see them after I’m done participating in an active friendship. It’s not nice, I know. But the thing of it is, that I when I’ve been good friends with someone, I tend to stay that way unless I quit liking them and then I stick around for much too long after I begin to mildly dislike them because I don’t want it to be awkward, and then the mild dislike increases and then... well something usually happens and pisses me off and then I’m done. I don’t bother explaining to them why they are fucks or anything, I just quit coming around and quit returning calls. I’m a jerk, but what do I care? Anyway, it’s been two years since I exodused myself from Tiny Tim, but he and his family persist. I keep getting invites to things that, I don’t attend. But worst of all, is the Christmas Stop By. They bring me cookies, which is nice and all, but you know... I just wish they would keep their Christmas spirit to themselves because It’s fuckin’ awkward. The whole family, Tiny Tim, included comes over and stands in my house, we make small talk like we’re still friends, but the whole time I’m stoned off my ass and my house reeks like dope and there they are with there judging eyes and all I want to do is run around in circles screaming "WE’RE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I know stupid, right? I just hate it when people are in my house. What’s more, is there anything ruder than stopping by without calling? So basically, I’ll spend the two weeks before Christmas with the living room lights off and not answering the door. Don’t think I’m joking, I’ll really do it. It's not even Halloween yet, why am I worrying about this shit?

A microsm of my work life

This was an inner office email sent to me this morning by one of our more complaint-prone employees. A medical release is needed for a doctor's office to send us copies of their records.

Question. What is the policy when medical records requests are being mailed and there is no medical release in the binder downstairs? Is it to put a sticky on the records request and write "Need Medical Release" and stick it in my mailbox or for the person mailing things to pull a medical release from the file and get a copy into the binder downstairs?

I just wish I could express how much I hate my job.