About What Matters And Purging
I tend to think of myself as a fairly adept manager of pain. This is probably a desperate and fallacious self-characterization—I attribute the fact that I deal with a lot of pain as an argument that I can deal with a lot of pain.
Whatever. Kinda ridiculous. We all have our crosses or aches or creaky knees or whatnot to bear—you just do it.
And then, you get really sick. As in, it doesn’t matter if you live or die, Dear Jesus, take me now. I was there for about 48 hours earlier this week. Overwork and treating myself like I’m still 24 landed my butt in the hospital. It was embarrassing. The ambulance came. They had to pick me up of the floor. The whole time I’m moaning that “I’m good.” What a schmuck. I couldn’t even remember calling them. Guess that self-preservation thing kicked in. Anyway, I’m up and walking, though still very much on the mend.
I’m terrible with pain. I moaned like a wimp in that hospital room. I hope the staff had earplugs. Me in duress is probably the most pathetic thing in the world to have to hear.
Real agony is good, though. In the hospital they basically had to get everything out of my system so it could be replaced with more salubrious stuff. Mentally, there’s a purging that goes alongside with the physical. All the crap that you worry about goes by the wayside when your kidneys feel like two flaming steaks cooking inside your body.
Nice imagery. But it’s true. Suddenly the non important away. What you are and who you love and who you should love better comes into focus when you think that maybe tomorrow isn’t such a good idea.
Maybe I should be a Buddhist. They get it. Life is pain. But those dudes seem totally chill. I think it’s all the fountains and the lack of worry about hairstyles.
To your health. Have a lovely weekend. See you after.