Doctors who won't listen. I receive most of my medical care from the VA (Veterans Administration) hospital nearby. For those who don't know, a VA hospital is run a lot like a huge HMO -- you have access to all sorts of specialists, but your assigned primary care physician (who is assigned to you, you don't get to choose) is the gate-keeper. You can't see a specialist without a referral from your primary. I have been telling them for years that I don't want anything to do with psychotropic medications. They keep prescribing them anyway, then I get home, read the fine print in the accompanying literature, and toss the medication. Just had a slight variation on the theme. I have a chronic skin condition, which has been treated (not "controlled," just "treated") with a topical steroid cream. The downside of that is that it thins the skin, and my condition finally reached the point of episodes of spontaneous bleeding because the skin has gotten too thin. So a different approach is needed. At a recent appointment in the dermatology clinic, the doctor suggested Gabapentin. I protested, because I knew that's a psychotropic and that one of the side effects (as with most psychotropics) is suicidal ideation. Both the resident and her supervisor assured me that I would be getting a very low dose and that they didn't expect any side effects, so I agreed to try it. Bad choice. I missed multiple days of work last week and three days of work this week because this drug has left me feeling like I was swimming through molasses. I couldn't wake up and force myself to get out of bed in the morning. I finally had to get control of my life, so I decided on my own (since the doctor hasn't responded to multiple messages) to discontinute the medication. Wonder of wonders, the alarm clock went off this morning and I woke up! I am cautiously optimistic that I may once again have a life. I hate doctors who think they know more about a patient's body than the person who has been living in that body for 78 years.
With me, it's house insurance. We had a flood and trying to get the water damage fixed is like pulling teeth.
Thanks Not drinking is fairly easy for me but weed has been my main crutch for 15 years. I've taken plenty of breaks and always try to take at least a month off every year because I do recognize how beneficial it is for me despite my darndest to convince myself otherwise. It also costs me a fortune because I'll usually smoke an ounce in 3-4 weeks, just chasing the dragon all night. I get a very real physical addiction from weed too because I struggle to eat without it and will lose about 10 pounds over the week it takes me to snap it. In the past when I've taken breaks from smoking, I just drink more so trying not to go down that route. The last 3 months have been super intense emotionally for me with so much personal and family stuff so I've taken my smoking to a reclusive level. This year is the first I've ever lived alone too so it's been even easier to fall into this pattern. Sure, I get TONS of writing done which always makes me happy but it's just not healthy. I finished my most recent manuscript last month which I had been powering through as my main distraction but now that it's done (rough draft) and I've lifted my head above water and sort of taken my surroundings in, I had one of those: WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING moments. Over the last couple of years, I've moved away from my love of backpacking/camping/hiking so I'm planning a little one-nighter with the dog this weekend. He's turning 10 soon so I found a nice little 1.7 mile hike to a camping spot which I think he should be fine with. It should do us both wonders. I'm also turning 32 on Monday Sorry for hijacking this thread. Thanks for listening!
Marijuana was what took me down. I never cared for alcohol. About twice a year, I order a margarita, drink half, and hand the rest to someone else. One of the side benefits of giving up pot: no more six or eight bouts of bronchitis every year. I started smoking at 23, quit at 41 with breaks for pregnancy. You didn't ask for advice, but I'm giving it anyway: don't waste another nine years to quit all together. It'll only get worse. My not happy moments have all been spent with mosquitoes today. Nasty little bits of misery.
It happened. After several near misses I road killed a squirrel on my bike. I saw some movement, then the little moron dashed across in time to get hit by my rear wheel. Looked back to see it scurrying into the brush. Don't know how long it suffered. Wasn't equipped to help it along and it had scurried into an area with poison oak in bloom.
Beats killing a rabbit with a car. I got one a few weeks ago. Felt like shit all day. Why couldn't it be a human? Lord knows, they keep trying.
Washing machine just died. Just after I replaced my oven a month ago. Y'know those Americans who don't have enough extra to replace a major appliance? Well, I'm not one of them, but if the fridge goes it's tea and takeout until... I dunno.
A jack rabbit once committed hara-kiri by rushing between the wheel of my bike as I tooled down the highway minding my own business. No, I didn't crash. I was pleased to keep the rubber side down and was not all that damn sympathetic with the suicidal rabbit, to tell the truth. I've also gotten cracked on the kneecaps and shins by large flying insects while riding at seventy-five miles per hour. That hurt. Sigh. My bike is sitting in the driveway awaiting sale. Despite the best efforts of rabbits and giant grasshoppers to unseat me, my own aging joints have ended my riding days.
I don't wear shorts much for some reason, even in summer. Today I thought I would while doing some yard work. So there I am, pale white legs sticking out from dark blue shorts, socks and sandals, which is bad enough. Then I scratch my leg on a low-cut tree branch, and it bleeds a bit. So I put a couple band-aids on. Then saw myself in the mirror -- the borderline eccentric old neighbor, complete with gray beard and scruffy hair, who shouldn't be out without wifely supervision. I ain't him yet, but I sure resembled that remark. I put on my trusty levi's and better shoes. Purely for appearance's sake.
I recall driving through your neck of the woods one summer night 4o-some years back, five of us college-age kids, and we got flat tire. Pulled into a service station; the attendant (they had those back then) took one look at the tire and asked, "how many jack-rabbits you hit? Their bones get stuck in the there." Fact was, we'd hit 3 or 4 suicidal jacks, the sort that run into the highway, stop and stare into the headlights.
No criticism because it's a common Americanism, but hara-kiri doesn't mean suicide in general but the specific samurai tradition of death by gutting oneself. "Hara" is belly, and "kiri" is to cut. Same meaning (I just learned) for seppuku.
Probably my favorite part of Shogun... the way Toranaga would be like, "Yeah, I'm going to need you to slit your belly" whenever an underling was fired. Somehow that's all evolved to, "we're moving in a different direction." Not progress.
I actually knew that (having read Shogun ) but as you say, it's a common Americanism. Good old English, attacking other languages in dark alleys and riffling their pockets for stray phrases and words. That being said, this rabbit did probably gut himself during the attack on my bike. Things were a tad messy.
Clavel is the shit. Noble House and Tai Pan are equally excellent. He's a fascinating dude. Survived the Japanese POW camps and still wrote fairly romantically about the region and its people. I wonder if it was some kind of catharsis for him.
I think he also wrote King Rat, didn't he? That was a remarkable book. I wasn't dissing Clavel by not rereading, by the way. I'm looking for something compelling to read right now. Maybe I'll check out Noble House when the library opens tomorrow.
Yeah, I never read that one. Noble House might be the best. It takes place in "modern" Hong Kong (1960s maybe?) and has a bunch of crazy stock market and cold war espionage shit. Very long (shocking, I know) but well worth it.
I think king rat is probably his best work… dealing with changi pow camp during ww2 it draws heavily on his own experience as a POW clavell has said himself that his worst work was Whirlwind which deals with the Iranian revolution in 1979 … it’s just too big and some stands didn’t work… he later extracted one story strand from it an republished it as “ love story”
I read Whirlwind. Had forgotten about it until you mentioned it just now. A single scene from the story stands out for me; I don't recall a single other thing about it.
Oh fun, thanks for making me remember King Rat. When I had to move over 1000km away for work, my mom and I swapped a good chunk of our book collections. King Rat was the first of hers that I read. Excellent read !