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September 26, 2008

Say Hello to Old Rusty, my Car-Bound Hand Axe.

So Wednesday.

Oh, Wednesday. You would not believe the horror I have endured, on yonder Wednesday. The sheer indefatigable terror inflicted upon my body amazes even me, and yet, somehow, I am alive. It's the kind of thing that one would say they would wish on their worst enemy, but at the same time, I would hesitate after having experienced it. And describing it to you would scar your MIND.

So, let's.

See, I've been having problems with my dick lately. And not just my obsession with the word Dicking, neither. See, I've had not one, not two, not three, not four, but five (count 'em) operations on my dick over the years, ever since I was naught but 19. At first the problem began with me being able to pee less and less. And I thought eh, no big deal. Bladder infection or something.

So six months later... it's just getting worse. So I go see a doctor - a urologist. And he sends me through to a bunch of medical students, and they cram about twelve ounces of X-ray goo into my arm, so it'll filter out and they can X-ray me and see where the problem is. And as it turns out I don't have an infection, so much as my dick has grown shut. Now, how in the hail.

So the doctor, he says to me, we need to open that up, 'cause you're not peeing and all of that pee, it's backing up into your blood. So they set up a thing and they do it, and I get to go through a week of horror after 'cause I get to wear a catheter and it hurts and blahblah, but it's okay, 'cause hey - I was unconscious for all of that. I just had to live through the after effects.

And so went the second operation. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. Of course, between operation four and five I switched doctors, 'cause poor Doctor Hong died right after he worked on me, from brain cancer of all things. Poor guy - he was a good fella. But the new doctor, Doctor Lim, he gives me a choice: to try the same operation his way or something more... drastic.

Well, I figured maybe being a 'second opinion' after a fashion, he'd maybe do it differently. So I agree to operation five and bam. Well, a few months after the deal would start acting up but then slowly fix itself, usually within a day or so. Well... as I've found over the years, I've become very very good at lying to myself, and assumed I wasn't going to need me another operation.

Well, surprise. It started getting worse on me here a few days ago, so much so that hardly anything would come out when I would try to go. And I was thinking in my usual, stupid way that hey, it'll fix itself. Because I am a doctor, and I apparently have a magic self-healing dick. Well I was going about my bidness and living in fantasy land until last Sunday, where it went to shit.

See, before operation five, I am told my brain went south and I was acting weird. So weird that I was a 'different person'. And sure I use quotes because you know, I felt fine but apparently I wasn't; what was clear to everyone else wasn't to me so I lack perspective, but I honestly have no reason to disbelieve. Well, I guess that hit me again on Sunday at work. And I turned stupid.

I mean the staggering array of incredibly dumb shit I pulled which could get me in hot water if anyone was listening was truly impressive. Not me telling jerkoffs from Jersey to eat a candy bar from my ass so much as... basic things I have done for three years that I suddenly couldn't remember to do. At all. At ALL. For about half my shift... and then like a switch being thrown, the mental fog lifted.

And I know this because suddenly everything was super clear - at least, in comparison to say, a half hour before. And so I knew. And now you know why I went to the doctor Wednesday. Because I made someone a Promise. I specifically told 'em that if I started going south again, that I would get some fucking help before my brain turned into swiss cheese a second time... so I went see Doctor Lim.

And boy did he have fun in store for me. The doc, he strapped me down on the table, 'cause he planned on doing some X-rays. But before then, he had Team: Humiliate The Shit Out Of Denny work me over proper. Team: Humiliate The Shit Out Of Denny was four (count 'em) nurses, all vaguely surly older women (which would be hot normally) doused my bits with scalding water and scrubbed them clean.

And then, and then. They applied the scalding hot lube. And then, and then. The doctor made his guest appearance amongst Team: Humiliate The Shit Out Of Denny's glorious work, and he jabbed a camera into my dick. Now, the last five times I had a camera inside my dick I was unconscious, so this was a singular moment in my life. A whole new level of pain and fucking suck.

So he says, hey, check this out, and points to the monitor, where I can see that the actual opening remaining is... perhaps as wide as a pin. So there, I have my verification that I've been lying to my ass. And then he starts FUCKING the camera in and out of my DICK so fast he makes me dizzy as I watch the thing piston in and out of my dick on the monitor. So now I'm nauseous too.

And then he pulls the camera out and shoves a hose in. And promptly pumps me full of X-ray juice with enough pressure to get it back into my bladder. So now I have to pee 'cause I'm full of X-ray juice, and then Team: Humiliate The Shit Out Of Denny X-rayed my fucking junk for about what, a minute? And this isn't the first time, so ... yeah, my little swimmers are probably all mutants now. Great.

And with that, the doctor tells me, see you in a month. So here's hoping that I can go a month without popping. Or losing my mind. I have lost myself once and didn't even fucking know it so I'm pretty damn scared of having that happen again. Sure, I'm defective and uptight and angry and have issues but keeping all that in mind, I still like me. Hell, I'm better than most people I deal with daily, after all.

So yeah, I'm scared of that, and scared of having a much more drastic operation, and I'm fucking pissed that I have to go through all this a sixth fucking time. Motherfucker.

But you know? I've been feeling good lately, at least in a 'mood' sense, something I've mentioned here a bit ago. Though since I haven't been updating this a lot recently it may've been a month or somesuch. Despite all the abject suckage, I'm feeling optimistic here. And really, though it's something I have a hard time relating in words after my bizarre history, it's there.

I'm at a point, especially after looking at my train wreck of a life in hind sight, that I'm kinda tired of lying to myself and trying to convince myself that maybe I'm not thinking or feeling what I think i'm thinking or feeling. And yeah, that's probably not really all that easy to follow, but what I'm trying to say is I feel a certain way about a certain someone and I'm just going to run with it.

I mean, they've been in my fucking corner far, far longer than I realized... partially 'cause my brain was all fucked up before, and partially because I'm fucking stupid when it comes to 'inter-personal relationships'. But the point is this incredibly smart, talented, and perfect human being has somehow blessed me by liking me for me of all things, and it still stuns me to this very day.

That I was this lucky still just stops me cold now and then. You know, when I'm not thinking about this person all the time when the stupid minutiae of job one or job two or job three isn't at the forefront, or just looking forward to talking to them when I get a chance, or even, you know, sneaking a texty message or two while the both of us are toiling about at work. But yeah, I can finally admit it.

I love you too.

Sure, I may've choked up like a pathetic teenager when I tried to say it last night, and pulled one of my classic dodges (you may've noticed the dramatic pause) but it's true. And honestly, you're the only reason I am handling my impending doom so well... just knowing you're there pulling for me is absolutely making the difference between how I'm handling things now and the alternative.

Which is collapsing into an emo fail pile on the bathroom floor in the face of what I'm going through and about to be subjected to. And while I talk of being 'thankful' and being 'blessed', I assure you that I'm not about to go all Jesus Toastie on you, so don't worry. I've just had a staggering moment of clarity after talking with you last night, and thought I ought to let you know... they're rare for me after all!

As for the the hatchet... well. I'm saving Old Rusty for operation seven. 'Just In Case'.

firebomb@obnoxiousjerk.com