Wild Wild Country

Trying to watch the documentary about an Oregon cult farm ... But it's just too messed up. I actually saw quite a few really good docs and some that were said to be great but were not bad, and I skipped some bad ones, starting with Shane Dawson's Tanacon shitshow explanation (he later made a series about Jake Paul, but that was really bad, basically just bullshit clickbait allegations and looking into the camera all the time with an utterly shocked/appalled expression, regardless of what the scene in the footage was about). Then I watched Won't You be my Neighbour, RBG, American vandal Season 2, a couple of Fyre docs and a bunch of stuff on YouTube about random famous people. All of that stuff was really cool. Especially wide shots of nice places, before and after. I only don't like it when shitty people do shitty things and get away with it. That unnerves me and leaves me angry.

I think people hate cults for two reasons. One - how can people be so utterly retarded as to behave like that, I will never understand. You are grown men and women, for crying out loud, and that's how you behave? Listen to shit like that, talk shit like that, act that way and not be ashamed of yourselves? Ye, cultists prey on rich, miserable people, there's never a shortage of those. But are you fucking kidding me? 

And mostly, the main reason, is because cultists can go from quirky/vegan to full-blown homicidal/suicidal lunatics on a whim of their two-faced profiteering leaders. Leaders run away in their private jets, whereas a bunch of freaks in uniformed dresses kill themselves and all their children. Every religion does terrible, terrible things and everyone knows them and does nothing about it. Cults are that much worse because they rub it in everyone's face, bragging: "there's nothing anyone can do about it. It's our right to act like crazies, because we're rich and miserable!" 

Oh, hey, first sex in nine days. Nothing to write on the blog about, everything is still impossibly uncomfortable (the fun parts are too dry and not elastic enough, the rest of the body is tired and sore all over), but y'know, it's a start. That's why G refuses to sleep in the bed. He's not much for holding back. Let's give it another day or two. I get the papers tomorrow and the day after, I'm planning on going for a short walk. On the plus side, I almost finished the Elf sex crime chapter. Bit of a transition from suspense to revelation missing, though it is a nice anti-climax, just how I like them, but other than that it's ready for the grammar peppering. (Where I change the simple words with pretentious fancy words from the little notebook of fancy pretentious words I keep, writing them down as I find them.) 

- one - week - later -

It's Tuesday, right? One week from when the symptoms first presented. They poked and prodded me today again, and I got the results, which were very good: all but the viruses has been fixed. Even the flu's subsided, now I just have some rogue rhinovirus catching the last train out.

This thoroughly answers my question on how come people only have one disease at a time - how do diseases know their turn to strike? I was always under the impression that humans carry plenty of ticking bombs within. Well, now I know.

There's a downside to being as healthy and resilient as I am. The way doctor suggested, I got pneumonia first, or a bad cold first, but that didn't manifest, and then I got another infection, possibly the bladder, UTI, which kind of lingered, but never developed, then I got my period and had the fight at work, which shook the immune system, and then that lady with the flu happened.

Once the flu hit, floodgates came down and BAM. EVERYTHING that's been ready to have a go, went. The only thing I didn't have was a common cold. I think I have that now. Or at least some mild laryngitis, that works more on the neck than the nose area. But the blood is fine. And lungs no longer feel like an accordion full of honey.

Course I now no longer have any real muscles - other than those from coughing - left and almost no stamina to speak of. I need new shows and to start doing small treks again. all over again, from the get-go.

Doctor said: You did good. You'll be fine in no time.
          I said: Ye, thanks to you and Dr. Flemming*. How would this work without penicillin?
Doctor said: It would ... take a little longer.



* I know it's not really Dr. Flemming who "discovered" penicillin, it was plenty of other people before him, publishing plenty of other studies, but they were not white or old or rich enough to matter. Doesn't matter now. I'm really glad they did. For a couple of days, whenever something new started to go wrong with me, I just thought: tough. Like I'll notice. 

I've spent all morning wondering if I'm hungry. I haven't eaten in four days, so why would I suddenly be hungry now? Then again, my fever's down to less than a degree off kilter. Now, how the fuck does someone warm up yogurt to room temperature without cooking all the shit my intestine needs? 

Well, so my flu+pneumonia ordeal continues, day three. I am NOT feeling any better, my dear old blog, and we can add nosebleeds (from wiping), projectile vomiting of tea (due to coughing) and toothache (from insistent grinding) to the list of shitty discomforts. The energy it takes to get out of bed to pee - and then drink, because I am so parched my lips have dried and are peeling, my fever still running - is pretty much all of the energy I have. Immediately I return to bed and fall asleep again. The General has been wrapped like a bug in a sleeping bag on the couch. I am actually so tired that when he retired for the night yestereve, I was thinking: I hope he won't wish to talk, because I really can't carry a conversation right now. Then I remembered General never really talks and it was just me doing all the talking, telling him this story. (The couch is within earshot.) He had a nightmare about fighting with me, because I wanted to go outside to have a coffee date. Poor sod. He said the broken old couch is starting to grow on him and he's finding comfort in it, and then he amused himself by farting in the sleeping bag and we agreed that is probably not the best idea, since chances are he will inflate and I'll find him floating under the ceiling by morning. (We have high ceilings.) I hate the fact he's working a day shift right now. It's soooooo long without him and I have to make my own tea. He makes me food, but I haven't the heart to tell him I really have no appetite. Not to mention vomiting is a problem - I genuinely do not need to burn my throat with acid on top of phlegm, and the last time I threw up, that tea was full of medicine. I had to try and re-medicate myself once I calmed down and cleaned up the mess. It's a shitty, shitty, shitty season. Absolutely everything about me hurts, from my skin, joints, muscles, eyes, throat, stomach, chest, diaphragm, urinary works, even my fucking fingernails. Come on, you stupid bacteria. Pick your battles. 

Can you get the flu and bacterial lung infection at the same time? Why, yes, yes you can.

Ok, so it's not the flu, it's more something like a threshold of pneumonia, but holy goat this shit hurts. I didn't know an adult in this day and age can get so awfully discomforted for no apparent reason. It's not like I fell in a frozen river. Okay, ye, I remember at least on one occasion I was moist from heavy lifting and then had to stand at the cashier's, which was in a draft from the outside parking lot. I figured, okay, sniffles, everyone's got sniffles in winter. But I can't barely make it up the stairs! I went to the doctor's and he looked at my throat and

    "I think I have the flu, doctor."

    "Uh. Oh. No, I'm afraid it's a little worse than that."

But at least it's bacterial. Viral you have to weather through, bacterial you can combat. There goes my pussy flora, but at least now I know not to fuck around with my mortality. I am not the racehorse I was when it was just me, being clever at home. Crikey, imagine getting this sick this fast outdoors on a hike. When you can't even move, let alone make a safe shelter. I can't stand long enough to make myself tea. When he was tapping my back, it felt like he was hitting me with a baseball bat. 

Scary, really. 

Aww, come On, don't tell me I have a fucking flu??


I haven't had flu for fifteen years. Longer!
Why? Whyyy????

Ghosts and Jason Clarke in a dollar store stoream

Aaaa!! This time it was not a myoclonic twitch that woke me, but the General! And it was such an excellent dream!!! (When we are closing the dollar store where I work, usually something goes wrong and I am always in such an urge to just wrap shit up, because I know G is 'surprise' waiting for me outside, having come to drive me home... And somewhere out there is a shitty horror movie about ghosts with Jason Clarke, which I haven't seen, but I find him to be absurdly fuckable, so this was a ghost-horror dream with him in the role of the waiting General.)

Okay, so, we're at the large mall at night, and we're closing up our store, everyone else already pulling down the shutter doors and windows and vacuuming. Our store, in the dream, also has a little bit of a hotel on the above floor, which also needs to be cleaned a little, trash collected, utility closet doors locked, so on, but nobody likes to do it, because during the Blitz supposedly a bomb landed on it, killing the guests inside. Some kid who was supposed to collect the trolleys was also supposed to do it and also bring down the books for us to sign out for today's business. Meanwhile, I am hitting SO HARD on Jason Clarke, who is our filling-in manager; (IRL the dollar store staff is so scarce often people from sister stores come to act as managers on loan.) he's in a chair behind his desk, I am getting nearer during the conversation - we're waiting for everyone else to finish up so we can close the cash registers for the night. We have a few minutes to kill, so flirting with complete strangers seems like a good call. At some point he is telling me something - regarding the shop - as he would like to do and I lean into him, saying well, I want you to stop talking and kiss me. He responds: with all politeness he is going to decline my kind offer. If he must suffer for love, he would rather skip love altogether. I asked: so, you want me to hit you first?

         Before he could say no, I grab him by the neck - he's a large neck, but so does G and I know how to hold it with one hand by nooking my thumb against the esophagus, bending the head back. I did that thing instead of a kiss that drives my lovers crazy, when I just sort of rub my whole face against theirs, cheeks, nose, eyelashes, eyelids, breath, whole body, all of it, from earlobes to the whole jawline, fully in almost pre-orgasmic, wholesomely committed mode to the moment - it doesn't matter how resolved against it you are, there is no way you can think of anything else while I'm doing that 'kiss'. Stunned, sitting back and staring at me shocked - and that man has a good face for shock, because his eyes are so large and bright - , sweating, he's forgotten why he doesn't want me to kiss him, but our moment is interrupted because the damn kid refused to bring the book from upstairs because it's full of ghosts.

         Anxious to get laid, I run up and run into the whole array of apparitions: first the lady vacuuming turns to me and her face is a horror. She also seems aggressive and has pointy teeth: I run right through her, saying, yes, yes, I know, I know, you're a ghost. A lot of them are extremely scary, but I really haven't the time to appreciate their effort, because I have an erect Jason Clarke downstairs. I run through each room, trying to get the ghosts to realize they're dead so that they'd vanish and leave me alone. Some woman, who was supposed to babysit, but failed to save the baby, is now helping an old lady, asking: but how did you survive the bomb? ... And again, I usher them: she didn't, she's dead, you're all dead, can we please move it along?

         The book I'm after is deep in a shelf that some old lady is trying to reach - she's all packed to go to the shelter, she'd just like her favorite book. As she turns, I know half her body will be burnt, so I don't even look, I just push her away and get her book and start reading it hastily, hoping that if I read it, the ghosts will be satiated and tune out for the night. It's some kind of Charlie Brown book, but he's saying he's on his 3.413.328th day now, and is upon his 800's lifetime. I remember thinking: what the ....

         ALAS, I was reading that line out loud and the General, who was in the room, called out for me, saying he's told himself to wake me before I start talking in my sleep again. AAAaaaaaarrr!!! I was SO CLOSE! 

But ye, that's usually the end of work day in our dollar store for ye.