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Amazon Purchase

So I bought a new keyboard to try and help me write more. I have a nice laptop, but there’s something about working on my tablet that’s more rewarding for some reason. 

I’ve been neglecting my writing and my reading, but I want to get back on track with that. One blog post a day. It’s sometimes that easy to do and try something new while writing. 

I’ve got some ideas that I wanna explore and now that I have a portable and detachable keyboard, i feel like I can get back to where I’ve wanted to be since 2012. 

Go team! 

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The Verge

You ever feel like you’re going to cry? You’ve had a couple of rough days and you just feel like letting out every tear you’ve been holding back for a while? There’s nothing warranting it; you just wanna do it. 

That’s the feeling I’ve been clinching on to for about a week now. I’ve unfortunately been off my anti-depressant for almost two weeks now and at first I was fine. The last time I was off of it it took three days to feel any negative side effects. This time it took six days to feel it. 

It wasn’t normal, either. I thought I would just get really mopey and have low energy. Nope. There were dizzy spells, lower-than-expected energy, violent mood swings, and just anger seething through my teeth. It’s been awful. 

While I’m seeing my doctor soon to get more refills, I’ve had some moments of clarity and moments of utter fear. And yet the tears just wait on my ducts just waiting for me to give in and start rolling down my face.

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind it, either. A good cry is suppose to be therapeutic, and since it will be January 2016 before I see my new psychologist again, I could use a decent therapy session. 

Maybe that’s the point of being in therapy: recognizing when you need to feel something and properly feeling it instead of just surprising it. 

Meh.

“Damn…”

I haven’t posted a damn thing since December and I’m embarrassed. This used to be an outlet for me to voice my frustrations and showcase things I thought were cool or interesting, but now it’s slowly going back the way of the MARK I: a relic that has no value in this world. Well, I’m readjusting to my new job and lifestyle, so hopefully I’ll be able to clear out some things that have been piling up in my draft queue for a while.

“Holy crap, I thought that was deleted.”

A very long time ago in a nearby galaxy and hard drive, I started writing a very lengthy recount and recap of my experiences and lessons during my last break-up.

I started writing it at 3 a.m. before I went to work, but never finished it because I had to get some sleep. I thought I would come back to it later that day or night. I didn’t. Instead, it just stayed in my documents folder untouched for over a year.

Until now.

I thought it was deleted when I was updating and rebuilding my laptop, however, it stayed tucked away in the documents folder, safe from my own destruction. I’ve been re-writing and working on it for the past few hours.

I plan to release it as a series of postings over the next week and hopefully put some new posters up, too.

This is gonna be fun.

The Pups Get a Bath

My puppies went for their first major grooming today. They were trimmed, washed, and clipped. They came out look really clean and overall happy.

And according to the girls who took care of them, they were the favorites of the day and were super-friendly with everyone… Minus the one woman who was incredibly rude to us while I was trying to sign them in. God forbid the 85 pound wrecking ball I have on the end of my arm try and explore new things while your overgrown wuss of a mongrel can’t handle a puppy.

But I digress. They were incredibly good, so I decided to let them have free roam of the house when we got home.

I also learned what it’s like to be a single parent with twins today.

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Phone call

This didn’t happen to me, but I’m sure it’s happened to someone.

Scene: Apartment interior. Dark.

Man comes stumbling in, reeking of cheap whiskey and cigars. He fumbles his trousers for his phone. He dials his ex-girlfriend.

Man: I hope she picks up.

The phone rings. And rings. It clicks and the ringing stops.

Ex-girlfriend: Hello?

The man hesitates at first to answer, but with bravado he pushes on.

Man: Heeeyyy yyou.

Ex-girlfriend: (Annoyed, yet understanding) audible sigh Why are you calling me at 3:30 in the morning?

Man: (his tone varying between a nervous wreck and a man of confidence) I was just out with the guys and we were chatting…

The man nods off.

Ex-girlfriend: Hey! HEY! Wake up, asshole!

The man wakes up.

Ex-girlfriend: You don’t get to call me and then pass out on me.

Man: Sorry. Sorry, must’ve been that fifth scotch. But, uh, yeah, we were all chatting and I wanted to see how you were doing.

Ex-girlfriend: I’m fine. How are you?

Man: Lonely and pining – mostly for you. Do you remember that weekend at the lake?

Ex-girlfriend: We never had a weekend at the lake.

Man: Wouldn’t you like to make that a new memory?

Click. Dial tone.

The man, now dejected and sitting in his still dark apartment sits and wonders where it went wrong. However, gravity takes over and the man bobs his head just hard enough to come crashing down onto his floor. He stayed there until morning.

Inked Up

I have two tattoos. I have one on my right calf and the other is on the left side of chest. I’m actually considering getting a third tattoo, but I don’t have a set idea or location for it, so it’s pointless to even ponder the possibility of it.

I like the beauty that can come of really well done tattoos – whether they’re complex or simplistic, monotone or vibrant in color, I love a good tattoo. However, because I’m from the Internet age, I love a good tattoo fail, too.

I’ve seen plenty of misspelled tattoos and poor grammar decisions, but I can’t feel any sympathy for these poor scarred people. That, and any reputable tattoo artist/shop would have someone double check their placement and ink outline before they placed the needle to the skin.

My tattoos went through about three channels before I handed it over to my artist, and had something been wrong with any of them someone would’ve corrected it. Or they would’ve let me have something horrific on me until I could afford to have it lasered off. (Although that would be fun because it involves LASERS and lasers are cool, much like bow ties.)

Okay, that’s it. Happy Sunday, happy people.

Crick in the Neck

Everything just feels so stiff.

No matter what I write or what I try to write, nothing seems to be following like it used to and I feel stagnant with my writing. It never used to be this difficult.

I used to be able to crank out flowery and poignant sentences without second-guessing every grammar decision. I’m getting apprehensive over the most minute details, I shouldn’t be.

Although it’s almost 4:30 on a Thursday morning, I can’t sleep, I have several tabs open working on about three different things, and I’m blogging about my inability to focus on my writing.

I’m totally focused. I promise.  

“The flames on my cane make me go faster.”

So, I had to go to the hospital tonight. I don’t have health insurance, and I really didn’t wanna go.

For the past three years I’ve had increasingly worse back pains that are usually a result from my internal organs going haywire and effectively aging me several decades. It’s awful.

I mean, it feels like someone reaching to my back, grabbing my kidneys and making them into bricks and then spreading that pain through my abdomen. It makes me yelp and yell very hurtful things at people who don’t (usually) deserve it.

However, today at work my back decided to blow out, internal organs and all. After about an hour my boss made me go to the hospital.

Where I waited.

Where I waited 2.5 hours in increasingly worse pain.

Where I waited 2.5 hours in increasingly worse pain where I was turning cold and becoming dangerously dehydrated.

This was bad.

When I went to get some preliminary blood work, I had an episode that prompted them to take me back immediately. About another hour and I was given a cocktail of pain killers, saline, and nausea meds to kill the pain.

It worked. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t crippling. I could at least sit up and see colors in ether.

I just finished a late dinner and about to write an e-mail to hopefully get some insurance so I can solve this problem. I can’t wait for that day.

At least now I know I look awesome with my flame cane.

Eye Liner

I have this wrinkle under my right eye. It’s a recent wrinkle, probably a few weeks old. Two months maximum.

Whenever I get exhausted (from lack of sleep, not usually from work) the little wrinkle gets more prominent and deeper. Occasionally it gets a lighter, less pronounced counterpart that highlights my exhaustion.

I kinda like it. It shows that I’m visibly aging and acts as a reminder that I need to take better care of myself. It’s like a battle scar against insomnia and procrastination. I don’t know why people get so down on wrinkles.

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