last thursday

This isn't a post I wanted to make. I knew Thanksgiving was going to be a depressing outing for me (that familiar sinking feeling that precedes a dark spell has recently been sneaking into my bones) and Lisa, which is why I brought along some spiked eggnog, but I had no idea just how depressing last Thursday would become.

Unfortunately this time of year, which I used to enjoy, has become something to avoid. Spending time with the family is very stressful. And depressing. So, instead of carolers and mistletoe filling me with holiday cheer, they remind me of crass commercialism and the wondrous oblivion of youth – an oblivion I attempt to regain by plying myself with holiday "spirits."

For many weeks now my mom has been battling (what I presume to be) an intestinal infection. This illness, which has mystified three doctors, causes her to regurgitate practically everything she ingests. I won't share her other symptoms, but the mystery has left her frustrated. So frustrated that she is reluctant to see a new doctor because she fears he or she will be unable to diagnose her condition. After spending some time with my dad, Lisa and I go to my mom and step dad's place for some Thanksgiving grub. At the table mom attempts to eat some of the food she has prepared (she consumes about five bites); an hour later she's in the bathroom, regurgitating the small amount of food she ingested. Mom's situation made me sad, but I was depressed further upon watching and listening to sister. She seemed off, as if she was under the influence of something (not alcohol), which was not surprising considering her history of prescription drug abuse.

The following day mom calls me: all the cash from her purse is missing. Sister is obviously using again, stealing again, and the nightmare is beginning – again. This episode is much worse than past incidents because SHE HAS A THREE-YEAR-OLD SON. As my mom tells me (through tears) about finding the missing money, my face – no, my entire body flushes with blood, angry blood because the afternoon prior sister appeared so concerned about mom's condition; so concerned that she took $50 from her sick mother's purse – on Thanksgiving.

I'm finished with sister. (Things have never been the same between me and her since summer of 2005, when the depths of her addiction became apparent; subsequent interactions have been forced and awkward.) I can't tell you how many times during the past 48 hours I have, seemingly spontaneously, found myself in the midst of an internal monologue; a monologue because, even though I'm speaking to another person, my sister is awash in chemicals and incapable of comprehending the gravity of my words. And I'm telling her that she's gone, she's no longer a part of my life. But she doesn't care. She's lost to her addiction.

(Footnote: Mom called sister and told her about the missing money. Sister, of course, denied everything, and when sister visited mom yesterday to drop off her son, she acted as if nothing had happened. Completely oblivious.)

The recurring monologue has made me consider my options. If I call her and tell her she's out of my life, I'm afraid the words might push her over the edge, and she may hurt herself – or worse. Or, she may not care, not because she truly doesn't care, but because she's incapable of caring – an addict is concerned about only one thing: the source of his or her addiction. I wonder what would be the ultimate purpose of making such a call; I mean, who really benefits? Do I benefit by simply getting something off my chest? How would sister benefit? Her lying and deceitfulness is pathological, and I don't know how one person can penetrate such dark, compulsive behavior. I'm inclined to believe that such a phone call would leave me nonplussed.

Happy holidays.

xx

(Good news: I'm no longer experiencing pain in my left side.)

awwww yeah!

Gimme dat Christian side-hug!

From The Huffington Post:

Christian youth groups finally have an alternative to normal, aka "front," hugs. As we all know, face to face embraces run the horrific risk of a clothed crotch graze. The Christian Side-Hug (or the CSH, as the kids call it) rids us of sin, as the only below the belt contact will be some good old-fashioned hip on hip action.

To help the side-hug fad sweep the nation, let us present this hardcore rap song. Yup, side-hugging has hit the streets. The group has as many emcees as the Wu-Tang Clan and as much power as a barbershop quartet.

Look out for the ominous sirens blasting on the track. Clearly, these are gangsters on the run from the law - probably from side-hugging up a storm! One emcee (wearing his bandanna 2pac-style no less) admits to taking part in the forbidden front-hug. But don't worry, God. He's married.

At the end, they all simulate getting shot and dying. We can only hope there are side-hugs in heaven.

WATCH:

canceled

I didn't go for my 1 o'clock appointment with the urologist. Canceled it this morning. Throughout the weekend the discomfort in my lower left back was manageable, maybe even somewhat diminished from the days prior. I'm going to continue taking the antibiotic and hope for the best. Maybe the ache will slowly go away. If it gets worse, however, I will have to see a urologist and simply deal with the inevitable debt.

I know some people are skeptical of the recent Harvard study that found 45,000 Americans die every year from lack of health insurance. Those skeptics probably have never had to balance pain, which, while minor at the time, could lead to a major – and potentially deadly – health problem, with the nightmare of catastrophic debt and its associated consequences.

Here's my situation: Given my medical history I am almost certain that the ache in my left side is kidney related, and although I am in some level of discomfort throughout most of the day, the discomfort has yet to trump my willingness to take on potentially thousands of dollars in medical debt.

Here's my question: As an American citizen, is that a choice – the choice of pain or debt – I should have to make?

The United States is the only industrialized country that does not offer universal health care, and the United States annually spends approximately $2.26 trillion on health care, more than any other country on the planet.

If AGGRESSIVE health-care reform doesn't happen now, then when?

xx

saturday night’s all right for blogging

A couple weeks ago I joined the rest of the world and "got on the Facebooks." I was compelled to join Facebook because I thought that by joining I would be able to stalk some old flames. This isn't the case. Unfortunately Facebook's default setting allows only those designated as friends to view the juicy stuff.

Of course I'm kidding. I would never stalk an old flame on Facebook. Cyber-stalking isn't as fun as actually physically stalking someone.

Seriously though, the discovery of old names from my high school days (I graduated Highland Senior High School in 1997) has stirred up many emotions. Shock never ceases to strike me when I see the name of some long-forgotten classmate and his or her accompanying profile photo. ("Oh my god, that's so-and-so!") And judging from those photos, all my former classmates are either happily married and/or have at least one child. And those who have neither are apparently having the time of their lives parasailing on some sun-soaked beach far away from here. It's quite depressing, actually. It feels like high school all over again: everyone except me has seemingly found a group of which to assimilate. They have made all the right choices, and I can't seem to get my shit together. Yes, I have finally collected myself, but fuck! the time that has forever slipped away is not something that leaves the memory so easily. Neither are the memories of the embarrassing carcass I occupied as a high school student.

I'm terrified of friending a classmate from those days of mortification because I feel as though my high school ghost clings to everything – and memory is impermeable. Yes, I realize we have all grown and matured into 30 year-old adults, but my metamorphosis was embarrassing and painful. I suppose I still haven't resolved the issues that were at the core of my self-imposed exile. I wanted to belong – I still want to belong – to something so badly that I accomplished the opposite of my intentions, and, in doing so, became a cardboard cutout. An imposter. An imitator. Embarrassing.

When I reconnect with someone I haven't seen for a while an inevitable question eventually arises: What have you been up to? See, my response to that question is never simple and eloquent. I feel as if, to answer the question sufficiently, I must crack open the dog-eared book of my inhibitions and neuroticism and impart every motive for every decision I've made since our last contact; however, history has told me that most people are not interested in the psychological underpinnings of choosing to wear a pair of black Chuck Taylors over a pair of red Sauconys. So, in lieu of answering those inevitable questions, I wonder about what happened during my high school days. And wonder why all my former classmates look so happy in those profile photos.

xx

friday night update

Unfortunately my blogging presence lately has been lacking. Time for an update:

As a young child I experienced excruciating stomach aches. These stomach aches always seemed to occur in the left part of my abdomen. Initially doctors were baffled; however, during a physical exam Dr. Behm noticed that the left part of my lower back was swollen. These stomach aches were actually a result of urine failing to exit my kidney in a timely manner, so, at the age of seven, I had major surgery performed on the left ureter. The ureter is the tube that transports urine from the kidney to the bladder, and my left ureter had developed a kink, which obstructed urine flow, thereby leading to significant and irreversible kidney damage. The kidneys are vital to body homeostasis, and because the kidney was still functional (well, somewhat functional – functionality of the kidney is about 15%) the kidney was not removed. My left kidney's state leaves me vulnerable to kidney infection, which is something that flares up every two or three years. So, when I developed a slight ache in my lower left back nearly four weeks ago I hit the cranberry juice. It didn't help. On Monday I went to the doctor only to discover that the ache was not a kidney infection. I was given an antibiotic anyway and four days later nothing has improved, so I called my urologist and will see him Monday. Normally none of this would be cause for alarm, because ten years ago I experienced a similar situation and underwent a procedure, which involved sending a scope up my urethra to the ureter, to clean up the scar tissue. I sense that that is indeed what I'm dealing with now.

But I lost my health insurance last July. And my kidney condition qualifies as a "pre-existing condition," which means no health-insurance company will offer me coverage. And that Monday trip to the doctor cost me over $200. And $200 is a chuck of change when you are a part-time college student and part-time worker. And that $200 looms even larger when you realize that more doctor visits are coming, along with expensive tests and a possible surgery/procedure.

And these circumstances led me to produce two handwritten letters addressed to Indiana's respective senators, Republican Richard Lugar and Democrat Evan Bayh, in an effort to convince them that aggressive health-care reform must happen now. I chose to manually write the letters because such documents are not as easy to disregard, like a phone call or e-mail. Also, my political hero Chris Matthews, who worked on the Hill during the '70s and '80s, always says that, even in this day and age, a handwritten letter to your senator still means something. Additionally, Senator Bayh is one of the Blue Dog Democrats who doesn't quite but just might support a public option. Senator Lugar is a lost cause, but I wanted him to know that those who suffer from "pre-existing conditions" are real people with real stories. And very expensive problems.

I'm sounding my voice.

I hope someone will hear me.

Because sometimes we don't choose to fight for a cause until we are personally affected by the spark that spurred the cause.

More update stuff coming soon… stay tuned.

xx

second thoughts?

It pains me to type this, but I've recently been having second thoughts about some of the anti-roommate rants that I have posted here. Pains me because this blog -- my blog -- is a space for, among other things, my unequivocally honest, and sometimes brutal, opinions. Perhaps some of the anti-roommate posts have been too harsh. But then, every night I lay my head here and awake the following morning I find this:



and I think, No, those posts haven't been harsh enough. FML.

xx