Sick Boy, Complainers, A Priest, and Restaurant Week

More boredom from outside the Compound. Having just put down a book, still sitting in a chair in the yard, feet propped up to ease the pain, feeling the need to actually DO something.

It is Day 21 of no drinking and I have to admit, there is little redeeming about it aside from the fact that I have accomplished it with little effort which is the way to go (this applies to everything in life really). I'd like to say that I'm bouncing around, full of energy, with a new outlook on life, but that's really just in the movies. My days are spent reading, watching the news, spending hours coordinating doctors appointments then complaining about all the time I lost doing so, cooking (one positive is that I am eating more), and lottery scratch off tickets. While doing one the other day I thought what I would do if I won $5000 a week for life. That depressed me even more. Its not like I can go anywhere and even if there were options like something exotic I would pass. I get bored with exotic, sitting waterfront, under a palm tree. That does not interest me. I'm interested in the human condition and that would be ripe right now with all the protests along with the upcoming election (and more protests) with every waterhead in the country losing their minds. Once again, thanks to the virus, all goosed up with nothing to do; probably punishment for all the years complaining about the same bands playing every week/Fest. Hell I would take a George Morris Gypsy Chorus show right now. Couldn't be as bad as drowning in your own lung mucus right? Don't answer that. Now don't be misunderstood, none of the above is meant to complain, just to give insight to the walls closing in and the newness of sobriety (dull, overrated, easier than expected). If you want to see real complaining just go to Facebook. Good lord. I don't really go to others' pages anymore but members of the Honor Roll still send me screenshots to try and get that Bryan Metro lockbox open. Every post I see is somebody complaining; very depressing. Its not just complaining actually, but parlayed with looking for handouts. Take these gems from Deastro from earlier this month. Now would be a good time to repost the Blog policy that if anybody finds anything offensive or not accurate please message and request that they be taken down and I will gladly comply. On to the whining:

Posts like these make me stay as far away from the internet as possible. You can see it on the local and national level. FYI, I have Medicaid and have seen over ten doctors this past year, none of whom were in Taylor, not that there is anything wrong with Taylor, as implied in Robo-Twerp's post. If not being able to buy weed is a major issue earmarked for the entire internet to know then your life is actually pretty good. I can't vouch for the pain part but I assume there is a squatter in a loft a few blocks over who would wave cash fees for....lets forget about that. In all seriousness there are websites where one can look up/recommend medical facilities that accept your insurance. I realize that we probably have different Medicaid providers with me winning the DMA over Deastro, but that's what I did The internet research not the DMA; WAIT, both). Blow up the internet (tee hee, how quaint) that way. Jeeeeeze.

Another popular gimmick is setting up a GoFundMe so one can quit their job because they hate their boss (Racism! Sexism!). You would be surprised at how many of these there are.

Looks like XXXXXX XXXXXXX [Redacted] was a true trailblazer. Other things I've noticed are people posting the same opinion/memes (meaning they reach the same 40 people, irony that is over their heads). They all have similar messages of stopping hate and coming together. I believe there's even a hot phrase checklist out there with items like " stopping systemic racism and "inclusivity", things anyone with a brain can get behind. Unfortunately, these posts devolve into going on a racist, hate-filled diatribe. I'd give you some examples, but, well, y'know. These people probably have no idea what "unity" even means, but I bet they have decent pot. Barring health issues, I'd still like to attend a protest or two. I don't care what issue its for, so basically I'll fit right in.

Speaking of health stuff (back to boredom), the fluid has returned to my stomach and surrounding areas making me look seven months pregnant, or Hip in Detroit during Restaurant Week; ALL of Restaurant Week, the whole fucking week. I never bothered with Restaurant Week (RIP) because half of the restaurants would be closed within the year anyway. I digress. So, I have three more obstacles before being cleared (if I avoid the virus at all these non-Taylor hospitals). This week is the big one. Liver specialist at Henry Ford Main, the place I was born, making this a return to the scene of the crime. I guess when I was in the ER they found a cyst on my liver (or an undigested Sweet-Tart or Gobstopper). I will put on my mean, yet apathetic, face and tell the Doc that the last person who crossed me caused me to kidnap a priest and drive to a graveyard and place made-up voodoo symbols on random graves using chicken bones I'd been saving for months.
   "What are those? he nervously asked. One of us had already pissed themselves.
   "Chicken bones, padre. Now bless them," followed by the infamous, "Are you prepared to go to court?" Out of the three remaining check boxes, the liver one seems most likely to croak me, so it comes first.

Next up is the Gastro-Doc to try to figure out what to do about the stomach, fluid, hernia, etc. That is, if I'm not locked up or catatonic. Finally, is the official rehab which shouldn't take too long, could be fun, and starts after the 28th day of not drinking, the unofficial mark of alcohol completely being out of one's system. Hopefully I'll be in the clear by Labor Day (RIP Labor Day Fest). Right now I can't even carry a gallon of milk. Once again, not complaining, just trying to look on the bright side. I don't have to carry the milk. My occupation on my tax forms is freelance writer (ie: a bum). Did I even do my taxes this year? What's next? Everybody stay safe and keep drinking. Drink a lot. Too much! Build a campfire in your neighbor's garage. Then drink more. I could use the company in the hospital. And if something goes terribly wrong, know I was ready for it, it never got weird, and don't forget the chicken bones. I should be fine though. God wouldn't want me sending angry missives from the relocated National Affairs Desk in purgatory. Talk to you soon. Keep the screenshots coming!

As I Remain,
Jefferson Rank (is Bryan Metro)