Strep

Updates to friend about it:
Downing my morning at the urgent care. My tonsils are bleeding. How the fuck am I going to afford this?
I have strep. My wisdom tooth needs to be taken out because it's more than probably infected (don't even start) and my meds were free. I didn't pay any money this morning for this shit. Slagathor even drove me there and waited at the pharm when it took half an hour for the script to be filled.
Nic bought me apple juice and my tonsils stopped bleeding. In hindsight they were probably bleeding all night (off and on or not I don't know) because every once in a while I would taste some blood but I thought it was just the tooth.
But because the tonsils are at the back of the throat they bled directly into my throat so I didn't taste or feel it really and only actually noticed because I was checking on my tooth and my spit was like brown-red.
I had a stomach ache all night and I wasn't hungry at all even though I only eat at night (since that's when I'm up). My tonsils are swollen, veiny, my mouth has bruising and yellowing. They're bleeding off and on. There's white stuff that I'm refusing to refer to as anything but white stuff in my tonsils.(Tonsil stones actually)
Oh and there is what appears to be a sore (though it's possibly a cyst) on my wisdom tooth that is more than likely infected. Fuck it. It is infected. It is displaying all the classic signs of infection. Swelling tenderness of jaw, part of neck, and tooth and surrounding area, mild bleeding, sore/cyst, redness, and clear discharge (possibly that could also be the tonsils).
I'm on antibiotics for the next ten days and as soon as I'm off them I'm going to the dentist and getting these fuckers removed.
The wisdom teeth. I'd like to wait until I have health insurance before I ask if getting my tonsils taken out would be covered. I think they have been the route of all of my illnesses since that one really big infection I got in high school that my mother never filled my antibiotics script for.
So that is your update on the Tesk's Body Fucks Her Over When It's Bored or There's Nothing on Cable Show.








I don't think I would have made it through this as calmly as I did without my sister supporting me along the way. (Update on that when I don't see two screens when there's only one laptop open).

Day 02 – A book that you’ve read more than 3 times

I don’t think I’ve ever actually read a book more than once. I honestly don’t see the purpose. I have an excellent recall when it comes to literature so it’s not like I really need it to remember the details. I do, however, reference certain books on occasion and even research further material from them. Particularly Harry Potter. I did do extra reading and research for Harry Potter. I am a big geek when it comes to HP. Those books spanned the entirety of me growing up, pretty much. I started them in grade four and I haven’t really stopped them. But I don’t ever really re-read books. I’ve attempted to read books more than once but I always get distracted or find a new book to read instead.

Day 01 – The best book you read last year

Last year I spent a sleepless night reading Howl’s Moving Castle and I did not live to regret it. It is the only book that I have ever actually read through in one day (graphic novels notwithstanding). From start to finish I was enthralled in this rather mundane narration that took me on this far grasping whimsical tale. It incorporated so many myths and legends and fairy tales that I just could not and would not get over it. The world was rich and captured my imagination so thoroughly that when I finished I felt, not that I had gone through Sophie’s adventure myself, but rested and ready for the world as if refreshed from seven leagues of dejection and imminent failure. I fell in love with Sophie. I felt her heartbreaks and her insecurities. I felt her triumphs and her love. It was Sophie and Howl that carried me through this story. I felt along with Sophie throughout and I fell in love with the person Howl really is… when he’s not chasing after pretty girls.

Rec 1

"Delicate as a machine gun, soft as a metal table, weak as a silver coin that lives in his pocket."

I have this dirty habit of reading fanfiction. X-men first class. Centered around Eric and Charles.

"Tepid". I'm awake for some stupid reason.

I just. Fuck. I don't know what the fuck. I have no idea why I'm up right now. SO MUCH SHIT TO DO! Hahahahaha. Anyway. Have this short weird... thing I just wrote.

I don't even know what the fuck this is. It's just like mouth vomit. I don't know. I really don't.

It’s hot and tepid at the same time. It creates as they war together. Bodies rocking, biting, clawing, kissing, feeling, careful, harsh, gently rough.  There’s breathing and life and suffocation and the beginning of death. He doesn’t know if he can take it anymore. If he’s willing to feel split and sewn up. Healed and hurt at the same time. It’s so much warring within himself for something beyond him. Sober and humorless and inherently funny and humiliating and—No, not another day.

It burns, the sweat, as it drops on him from above. Wet, panting breath and spit covered lips and it’s so vulgar and dirty and just a bit of a lot of a lie. The body is soft and yielding and warm and the breeze from the open window makes everything so cold and quivering. In flashes of lunar and car light he sees her. Curves and straights. Bends and narrows. Rising and falling. Falling so hard and unforgiving and here he is still. Unyielding as the day he said hello.

In the morning he lays facing the window, opening his eyes to the golden light cascading over the paradise of concrete and steel. Glorious. He lies there, sheet resting over his shoulder, back and thighs and just exalts in the feeling of beauty and life.  He feels her stirring on the bed and settles in for more of what has always happened.

She rolls over and touches his back, traces patterns or shadows. He stays still because he doesn’t not want her touch but he doesn’t want it either. Her lips are soft and implore on his shoulder. She pushes with small hands and he allows his body to fall on its back. He looks at her slowly and she smiles mischievously. He blinks. She frowns. His face stays impassive. She runs a hand through her hair in irritation. Or rather, tries to run a hand through her hair and encounters too many tangles and loses her hand to her morning jungle.

He doesn't know particularly what to do but he knows what he wants. He wanted to love her. He wanted to be with her. He wanted a normal life. He wanted so much but it's just not there. Just not possible. He hates this. 

"You should leave."

"We were meant to be."

"No."

"Why can't you see what I see?"

"Because it's not there."

"Yes, it is!"

"Maybe you feel something but I don't."

"Why are you so cruel?"

"Would you rather a loveless marriage and a passionless life?"

"With you anything would be bearable." 

"You're still so much of a child."

"And what does that make you?"

"Tired of the lies."

"What lies? I'm not lying to you."

"We're both lying. You that you're happy. Me that I care for you."

"You do..."

"No. Leave. It's better if you do."

"I will never give up on you."

"There was never anything to hold out on in the first place."

I

I hate my family. And I don't mean the idle "hate" that teens have for their parents because "they don't understand" or "they're so uncool." It's the sort of hatred one has for people who have wronged them. I hate sounding petty or whiny but they destroyed whatever good I had in me. I love them, I do. Really. They are my blood, I have to love them. But... I hate them. I hate what they did to me, either actively or passively. They've hurt me. So much. All of them except one and that one doesn't count because he wasn't there for the entirety of my life.

But it always hurts to realize that they really don't regard me on equal grounds with the rest of them. It hurts when they blame me for things that I didn't do or cannot control. I don't want to be the bigger man, as it's put. I really don't. I just want to leave them all behind. Delete them from my contacts list, de-friend them on facebook and forget their faces. I want to stop having nightmares about the things that happened to me and to stop feeling so afraid and angry because of how they hurt me. Mostly I want to be free to just feel. To really feel and not hold back or keep things back or repress things. I want to be free. Really, that's all I want. I don't want to forget or for it to have never have happened but I want to be able to feel freely.

I want to be able to feel happy without having to pretend. I want to feel angry without it bringing up my anger at what went down when I was younger. I want to feel grief. To really, truly, feel the kind of grief that everyone else does. I don't want my automatic response to every emotion to be repress, forget. I don't want to have to make a conscious effort to feel, actually feel. Because reacting I've got down pat but actually feeling I don't.

I hate feeling like a monster because I don't feel the way I should. I walk around each day and I'm so full of nothing. It's heavy and it takes so much effort to do anything. Every interaction involves so much thinking and acting and it is just so damn tiring.

The Mischievous Genius

Some of the most intelligent and unique people on this Earth are not all that different from you or me. What truly sets them apart are four things. 1) They ask why. 2) They ask how 3) They look up for no other reason than to see what's there.  4) They take "I don't know" as a personal challenge. It is not I.Q. or originality that sets some of our most valued citizens apart but this crucial ability to look at the world and wonder and never stop wondering; to look and imagine and never stop imagining; to break standards and conventions not simply on accident or through contrivance but because it simply was in the way. These are the type of people that make impacts so profound that they are never not felt. These are the people we see echoes of in our daily life. They become archetypes through their impressions on society's psyche. These are the people that made "the mad scientist," "the cook philosopher," "the mischievous genius," or "the lonely prodigy."

So This Is What I did For the Past Week Or What I Remember of It.

I had these great writing plans for this past week but they all failed through horribly because of The Flu of Doom. There were moments there I thought for damn-cocking-shit-for-cunting-pisser-fuck that I was going to be the next rare instance of spontaneous human(ish) combustion. My fever broke after one night of hallucinating and flailing about like a minute old kitten but left me weak, sore, tired, thirsty, and with a resilient malaise.

It resurfaced that night after I managed to be well(ish) enough to make it out to the Greater Saint Louis Renaissance Faire Ground (I work there at a smoothie booth on weekends in May and September). Where I spent all of Saturday drifting in and out of consciousness on my boss' bed, visited sporadicly by friends coming up to escape the heat or have an afternoon smoke. I tried valiantly to stay for the Cast party that night but barely made it down to the showers before existence seemed like such a damn hard thing to do.

My friend kindly gathered up my assortment of drugs (for the sickness) and me and drove me home. Through which I spent the entirety of the ride alternatively napping on my stuffed penguin pillow or telling him orders for random fast-food places that I thought I wanted. (I ended up getting a burrito from Chipotle and glaring ardently at the server who, in my opinion was too cheery to live.)

I spent Sunday sleeping or propped up against the headboard pretending to talk to friends but mostly staring out into space and wondering how hard it would be to set the world on fire to make it all stop. I don't even remember Monday except for a throbbing indirect pain in my ears and a coughing that would not cease. What I remember from Tuesday may involve making my friend drive to the store to get me an econo pack of cough drops and some sweets? I'm not sure about the sweets. Wednesday I felt very good. I was well enough to accidentally make previously spoken about generous friend cry no less than three times in a span of two hours. Thursday I thought I was well, honest to Moffat. (Save for the part where I slept for approximately twelve plus hours).

Some time in all of this sleeping and coughing and pain and terribleness I began making plans with my aforementioned friend to start a Food Blog (The (Mis)Adventures of the Cook and the Useless Assistant). I'm the Useless Assistant because I'm lazy and generally just sit there while he's cooking making spousal abuse jokes and cussing a lot).

Also some time in this I agreed to re-watch Jurassic Park with my BFF. We've gone through Jurassic Park, The Lost World, and tonight we're supposed to finish with the third one (We both sort of went all squeally and giggly at the adorable raptors and the too cute baby T-rex).

So that was my experience being exceptionally sick and making some terrible decisions. (Like deciding it was smart to pretty much live off of cough drops and water for a week.)

Just So You Know

I feel like writing something amazing. It's forming inside my mind but it isn't done yet.

Cheerio.

The Reason I love Horror, Angst, Romance, and Violence

I know this is going to sound creepy but I really don't give a fuck.

I love writing intimate moments. Not really sex scenes because that's different but moments where someone bares their soul and mind and shows everything that's on the inside. I love taking a scene that could be about as emotionally involved as pouring milk and make it a scene where it feels as if you've just stuck your hands in someone's warm and slick insides and they're not quite dead yet...

I could feel their eyes looking up at me-- large and round and full of an inconceivable question ("Why?"). I smile brighter, cheerier, and hum to myself as I kneel on the wet floor. The blood hasn't stopped but that's ok, that makes sense. They haven't died yet. In fact, they won't die. They will just lay there, looking up, unable to defend themselves as I slowly, softly, slip my hands inside the rent open hole in their torso. Oh, how I love the warmth in here. Inside humanity it is so very very warm.

"People always forget, you know, what temperature we run at," I say quietly, cheerily, to them. "We have an average temperature of ninety-eight degrees. That's oh so very hot. You can't touch an object that hot." Their small intestine feels a bit like a wide hose in my hand. I giggle briefly, reminded of summers spent running up to the garden hose for a drink. I remember fumbling with the hosing because it was wet and slicked with mud because I had left it in the yard just a little bit on so it leaked warm water onto the grass.

"This is why I love writing moments like these," I say and raise the intestine up to my face. "People are so soft and vulnerable and people always seem to forget that. I like to take their vulnerabilities and raise them to my face... So close I could pucker out my lips and..." I cup the length of intestine carefully in my hand because it is wet and it could slip right out and I press my lips delicately to them. "Kiss them. I like showing people how they tick. I like the act behind it."

I set the intestine down and finger the dip between sternum and rib. "I like how they pretend that it's the character, splayed out before them, helpless and unable to protect themself," I say and slide my finger like a curious young girl in bed at night on the underneath of their ribcage. "I really do enjoy taking the things that people wince from and presenting it to them, as if it were a treasure I had found."

I smirk and lightly run my palm over their lungs. I can almost feel the burning, suffocating feel that the pressure of my hand must create for them. "I love putting something before them that they will not forget," I whisper this with my face as close to their open wound as I can get and not leave my kneeling position. "I love knowing that I have invaded them and knowing that no, I will not leave and yes, you will be thinking of this later. Maybe when you're alone or maybe when you're walking under a streetlamp at night by yourself on a nice warm evening."

I dig my nails into their lung and hear their scream catch in their chest and turn into a gurgled moan. I can feel their soft tissue under my nails. So warm and tender and alive. "You'll feel the warm air against the back of your neck and know that I am there. I am with you. Because I'm in your mind now and I will never leave." I smile a slow, lazy smile and push my other hand underneath their ribcage. I can feel their intestines shift under my elbows.

I USED TO BE SO DAMN FLY. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!

My style. It has always been fantastic.

So I solved it

Turns out all it took to solve my sexuality (non)crisis was google (ALL HAIL THE OVERLORD) and a really awesome chatroom.
Turns out that all this self-hate and discomfort with who I am has stemmed from a really weird denial. Like the weirdest kind you can think of.
Seriously doubt anyone I know will see this coming but....


I'm asexual.
Specifically (And to be a douche) I'm a panromantic asexual.
There. Said it. Done with it. If you want more information on what that means go HERE.
And that's it. I'm done talking about it for a while.
In a bit I'll come back and explain but for now. That's all I can offer.

It Just Never Crossed My Mind

I've never really had a crisis about my sexual orientation before and I think I know why now. This is just... I don't know. I am so uncertain and confused right now and it makes NO SENSE because gender has never mattered to me. EVER. I really, honestly, don't care about gender. But there's another part of sexual orientation that a lot of people forget or don't think about because it does seem like it's a bit inconceivable but... I think I'm actually beginning to understand what I am. Like... I think I've finally found the words to describe that part of me but I just don't want to be throwing it out there until I know for sure for sure but... This is hard. It has never been this hard for me to find or admit to anything in my life.

I am so scared right now because this is just so astoundingly right-feeling but... at the same time it's like how could this ever possibly be true and how will I ever find someone now?