I'd Rather Offend With Intent, but Stress Prevails

I'm pretty sure I've been pissing off a lot of people lately, despite a complete lack of intent. Well, that's not entirely accurate as there are people I've intentionally been trying to piss off, but that's mostly related to my opinions on socio-political matters. I couldn't care less how those people feel about me, so I won't bother getting into that right now.

No, it's the people closer to me who I seem to be offending lately, and I'm not sure exactly which part of everything offensive that I've probably said, that was the real trigger. I've been in a harsh and impatient mood lately, a lot of which has to do with a lack of sleep, so I've been completely lacking in sensitivity. I've also been very angry about what's been going on in the world lately, and I'm sure that has contributed to some extent.

Here's the thing. I'm being myself, but probably the worst version of myself, these days. I'm upset by the notion that I might have lost something that I thought I had, but then maybe never really had in the first place. I'm angry with myself for a life I have little control over. I'm cranky from lack of sleep. I feel like I'm being paranoid about a lot of things at times, but then I wonder if it's really paranoia or if it's truth. I live in a constant state of confusion regarding intent and meaning, and it isn't a single person that I'm feeling this way about, it's almost everyone.

What this tells me is that it's me. It's my problem. I'm causing the issues and the crappy level of communication. I'm reading things into things, or not reading the signals. I'm missing all of the subtleties I should be catching - the nuances if you will. Hell, I can't even read all of the words printed on a piece of paper these days, let alone the subtle signals from people I'm not even talking to face to face. Sleep deprivation is catching up with me, and I'm starting to lose brain cells. Soon there will be hallucinations. I know this road too well.

Hopefully I can avoid this by spewing a few things that are bothering me, but that I didn't think were an issue. I was just talking to a friend the other day about not being able to sleep, and if I remember the conversation correctly I said I wasn't even stressed out. The deeper I get into the mental miasma of sleeplessness, however, the more my subconscious kicks in and starts to taunt me with all the little things I've been repressing.

For obvious reasons, my ferret having cancer is a stressful thing for me, yet on the surface things have been great because he hasn't been getting the nausea lately. He's been aware and moving around more, with his regular personality showing through once again. I'm grateful, truly grateful, for this time of good quality of life that I've got with him. The dark part of me knows it can't last, and sits there, waiting to kick me in the heart every time Stimpy makes me smile. If he does something cute and funny I'll laugh and enjoy it, and then there's the thought, "Enjoy it while you can." That sounds almost motivational, doesn't it? Instead it's a sinister imp of hatred, reminding me that I am going to lose him soon.

I have to give Stimpy medication twice a day to maintain his current state of relatively good health, and I certainly don't begrudge him the little bit of time that takes. It does add a level of difficulty when it comes to me getting some sleep, however. You'd think twelve hours in between doses would be enough for me, but it seems like every time I get a bit drowsy it's only about an hour away from the time I have to give him his prednisone. So I stay awake. I can't afford to miss any doses. The vet's office said to be consistent with it, so I am. I want every spare minute I can get with him. By the time I give him his meds, though, I'm usually wide awake again.

In addition to Stimpy's medical issues, I have my own. I have been trying for months to find a doctor, and now that I have a referral for one that I'm supposed to be seeing in the next couple of days, there are some problems that go along with it. First, their office lost the bloody paperwork. Second, I faxed my copy to them and was then told he was on vacation and they couldn't book me in until he was back, as he does same-day appointments. I thought that would be great. However, when I called yesterday to book that appointment I was told they couldn't find the paperwork and would have to call me back. Now I have to assume they're going to be calling right about the time I've just managed to fall asleep. That's the way it always works for me.

The big issue with the medical stuff, though, is that I'm scared. I've got some major surgery coming up, and the actual slicing and dicing isn't what's terrifying me. They're most likely going to have to dislocate my hip in order to repair the damage inside the joint, and even thought I get a little bit squeamish at the thought, that isn't what worries me either. No, what makes me want to say, "Screw that!" is the anaesthesia. I've had bad reactions to general anaesthesia in the past. Out of three surgeries I've had two bad reactions, and two out of three really is bad in my books.

I have to go through this surgery twice. First they'll do one hip, and then it'll be the other. My terror gets drawn out quite nicely because of the fact that having both hips operated on at the same time just isn't all that feasible unless I want to remain in a hospital bed during my entire recovery time. It would mean one less instance of anaesthesia, but being in the hospital for weeks is just not an option. I've got too much to do. God, I'd lose my mind if I had to lie there doing nothing. From everything I've read, the full recovery can be anywhere from six weeks to six months. I'd be even more of a blithering idiot than I am now with the lack of sleep.

Of course, they'll have me on some great drugs for a while. My last surgery I was on a healthy mix of OxyContin with self-administered morphine. Oh, what fun! Oh, and an anti-nauseant because I have that little sensitivity-to-narcotics problem. The drugs for the aftermath are worrisome, too. I spent years on narcotics - literally years - and I finally turfed them so I could avoid zombification. Now I know that drugs will be a necessity for some time, but I hope to hell it isn't going to be for as long as the full recovery period. Even six weeks is unacceptable there. As I said, I've got too many things to do.

There are going to be times over the next few months, that I know I'm going to be feeling really alone. As much help as my daughter is when it comes to things around the house, it isn't fair for me to put my fears off on her. She knows I fear anaesthesia, because she overheard me talking to a friend the last time about making preparations in case something happened on the table. My fear is a justified one, based on my reaction to it in the past, so I was trying to do the right thing. I made sure my life insurance was in order, and that she was listed as my beneficiary so that she'd get money right away, rather than it having to go through probate. I told her what would be the smartest things for her to do with the money, and all that wonderfully morbid stuff. I scared the shit out of her, basically.

Now that she knows what she needs to know, I won't be discussing it with her again. She does not need to hear that crap from her mother. So, I bury it. I must be interring it pretty deeply, though, because I didn't even realize it was bothering me this much until I stopped sleeping properly for a few weeks. Now the random thoughts are creeping in to poke at my psyche. The sinister imp of hatred is back to tell me I'm not going to make it through, and in fact it likes to say that I'll make it through the first one only to be disposed of in the second match-up, just to taunt me with the possibility that I might get through it.

It's amazing the load of crap the brain likes to shovel on your morning corn flakes, isn't it? Really stupid shit that wouldn't even cause a blip in your life if you were thinking straight, but that effectively destroys all your confidence by attacking when you're sleep-deprived.

So, in a roundabout way this is meant as an apology to those I've hurt or offended unintentionally over the past few weeks, if I have indeed done so and it's not the sinister imp of hatred whispering lies to my id. Still, it can't hurt to really let everyone know how messed up I am, can it? You might as well all know the true horrors of the inner working of my brain. Of course, if I'm a little too messed up for your liking, and you wish to excuse yourself from my life, you can go straight to hell anyway - now that, folks, is offending with intent.