December 2007 Archives

I am having trouble with one of the lights in my ceiling fan. One of the bulbs broke, and what is left is the screw part (firmly screwed in) and the destroyed filament. I have tried jamming a potato onto the filament and turning it, but all that did was turn the housing that the screwy part is screwed into. I tried turning it with thin pliers, but that didn't work, either. I would really like to remove the remains of this bulb, but I am stuck. Is there anyone out there with some new ideas, or reworkings of old ideas?

I would just like to direct you to this entry, and receive your feedback.

And happy tidings. Rose and I are in Brockville right now, and we will be returning to Montreal later today. I can't say that I am looking forward to it. Let's compare the two places.

Brockville

Montreal

A nice, warm, clean, familiar house with plenty of space. Two people that enjoy taking care of things like ironing clothes. Good food on a regular basis. Relaxation and distance from my problems, time to heal and deal. Proximity to my brother, my favourite relative. Proximity to my sister, whose house is like a mansion. Proximity to my nieces and nephews, some of which I know could benefit from my presence. Access to a car if I get insurance. Stores open until six on the weekends instead of five. That makes a big difference. Satellite TV

A small, dirty, crappy apartment whose kitchen and living room combined are the size of my 8-year-old niece's bedroom. I am not kidding. Obligations and responsibilities, not all of which I feel I can handle. A sense of futility and frustration. Having to walk around and deal with the metro and bus system, which is normally pretty good, but still. A more complicated way of living. Unfriendly people.

You can puke without interrupting the flow of conversation.

The chemo is over, and if all goes well, I'll never have it again, yet I still feel like shit. I still puked this morning, although weakly. I still have an awful taste in my mouth. I still have this gremlin in my throat that makes me want to voluntarily barf, as though there were anything to bring up. I am now 169 pounds. A week ago I was more than 180.

But worse than all that, or as as result of it, I don't really like myself at all. I have a feeling of worthlessness. I have little money, and I won't have any for a while. I hate my living circumstances. I feel stupid, listless, sad and angry, although not explosively so the way I did in October. I don't feel as though I can attend to anything properly. I wonder what I am doing at work and why they even need me at all. I better understand people that feel as though they are fakes about to be discovered. I have a make up exam tomorrow that I doubt that I will even write because I cannot even find the material I need to study. It's not even that hard, but I will fail this course. I will be a failure yet again. I can barely find the will to move. I feel like a skeleton in many ways.

Two days left of chemo, and I am feeling something that I am not familiar with. Something I have finally been able to identify. I want to be saved.

I never, or rarely have felt this sensation. But I desperately want to be saved by some outside agent from this viciously vomitous (not a word) state. I can't even trust my own saliva or my breath not to send me into gagging fits. (I am puking as I type this with one hand.)

Rose makes everything better. She can see the end when I cannot. She buys little things that I can eat, will draw baths for me when I can't bear it (can't take showers with this apparatus) and generally not forget about me. She saves me. She's away braving the storm, taking her daughter back to her ex. I can't wait for her to get back, although I will likely be too ill to show my appreciation properly. I can barely speak as it is.

But even with this generous support, I still slip into helplessness and despair. Some people feel like this all the time. I couldn't live that way, that's for sure. Tonight, I will go to sleep early to try to bring on day four that much sooner. Then there will be only a little more than a day left when I wake up. Sadly, I will be on my own since Rose has to work. And I will want to be saved again.

This time, it's the last time, unless something goes wrong in the future...

This was what I received in the mail today, along with my second to last payment from insurance. If I understand correctly, I don't get any long-term disability (and I only wanted a partial amount until the middle of January) because I started treatment during my first three months on the job. This also means that I will have to start back full time two weeks earlier, because I need the money. Luckily for me, my company gives us a paid (I think) shut down from December 24 to January 1.

The obvious lessons: insurance companies are sneaky, and don't get sick during your probation period. This means you.

Am I the only one that giggles inside whenever a man talks about "flooding a woman's inbox"?

Switching to YouTube just to see what happens.

I just heard the word "invagination" for the first time. Here's the context:

"the manner in which matter cuts across a landscape concerns a surface of invagination which is not analogical"

In this context, "invagination" has something to do with the hollowing out of an idea, not sure. Hell of a word, though it seems slightly redundant. Wouldn't "vagination" be sufficient? Or would that be confused with "pussification"?