My application for disability was rejected. Again. And already. Heck it's only been three weeks. Talk about fast rejection. I don't even know how to react at this point. Supposedly, they're going to send me some sort of documentation within the next two weeks that shall explain in grave detail the reason for my being rejected yet again.
So yeah, that saying about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results applies here. I must be a f****** idiot. Or something.
So, once I receive the documentation that explains the reasoning for my rejection, I'm going to wheel myself over to the Social Security office on Tatum Boulevard. It's only a couple of miles away. Perhaps three.
On the bright side, if a car, truck, airplane or any other transportation vehicle crashes into me on the way there, and kills me, I will be relieved of this forever life stressor. Or perhaps I will get damaged and disabled enough that they can't help but grant me disability pay.
My other option is getting a part-time job dealing methamphetamines. Or I can just choose to die outright. I don't sleep. I don't eat. No one would blame me for giving up. I'm just getting weaker and weaker of late. Stuck in bed more often. Why exactly do I keep making this effort - always, and every single day? There must be something very wrong with me.
Dispatched (Tuesday)
In happier news, my roommate is now and finally in the hospital. He looks like he's about to die. He's had the same illness I contracted over a week ago, and he's very unwell. But he finally decided to go to the hospital, despite fighting against this prescribed option for the past 48 hours.
Of course, he blames me for the illness. For his current condition. But really, how could I have prevented him from getting ill?
It's also my fault that his wife-to-be is just as ill, and likely headed to the hospital today.
I feel guilty enough for other things, so I have no room for additional guilt. The End.
The Void
What this means for me is that I'll finally be able to sleep. Uninterrupted. No loud snoring, no CPAP machine buzzing, no oxygen machine wheezing artificially, no inflatable mattress generator pumping every 10 minutes, no phone alarms or notification alarms sounding at all hours (at full volume), neither he nor his wife-to-be violently crashing into my parked power chair, nor the constant tension regarding the thermostat settings.
And really, it's not all that bad with him. He's the best room I've had since I've been here.
I did take advantage though today. After napping outside in the parking lot (on and off for two hours) I came inside to my empty room and did much the same. The highlight of my day (or night) was Betsy coming in and chatting with me for a solid 15 minutes before she left for the evening. Admittedly, I've been kind of depressed today. So having an extended conversation with her helped. And I'm quite sure she sensed my disposition.
Oh, I also had the Musician Nurse Dude working my floor today (a registry guy). He comes around about once a month or so. And he's the first and only person whose favorite band is also my favorite band, Mr. Bungle. Beyond that, he's got a diverse array of musical interests which allows for lively discussion. I miss having a male friend around. My best friend. But girls are okay, too.
Awake and Bake - a continuation
At bedtime (please note, I've been in bed for the past 41 hours now, but you know what I mean here - the time right before I am getting ready to sleep for the night) the temperature in my room was a comfortable 68°. I was dressed in a sheet and a lightweight blanket, otherwise, naked as always.
Three hours later I awoke drenched in sweat, noting the room temperature had somehow risen to 80° Fahrenheit. The biggest question, beyond the obvious, is why the f*** is it so damn warm in my room at three in the morning? I am the ONLY human being occupying a room on this particular thermostat controller.
So I pushed my "help" button and got the CNA to turn the heat off. I hope.
The problem being, it's still really hot in here and I'm still sweating. So now I have to open the window (it's 42° outside). Or I can leave my door open and invite each of the extraneous noises into my room unabated.
Better Than Ever (Thursday)
You'll be glad to know, or perhaps you won't be, that I seem to have recovered from my downward spiral ordeal (in regards to my physical deterioration). And all it took was one day of staying in bed and sleeping (perhaps 12 to 14 hours, cumulatively) and then a second day in bed to recover from all that sleep!
And she was doing a lot better about things at this moment. I thought that maybe I had unceremoniously slipped back into M.E./C.F.S. abyss.
4:04 Same Thing, Different Day (Friday)
It's got to be automated. I can think of no other reason why the thermostat is once again cranked up to 80° for my room.
Also, Dora's television is blasting out in Jesus verses full bore.
In response, I'm cranking out a band called Bloodbath - an album called The Fathomless Mastery. Why? Because I am fathoming less and less these days.
Eh. I should be just fine. I got over four hours of solid sleep in. That should be enough to get through the rest of today. Perhaps I'll even thrive!
Take care,
Howard
So yeah, that saying about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results applies here. I must be a f****** idiot. Or something.
So, once I receive the documentation that explains the reasoning for my rejection, I'm going to wheel myself over to the Social Security office on Tatum Boulevard. It's only a couple of miles away. Perhaps three.
On the bright side, if a car, truck, airplane or any other transportation vehicle crashes into me on the way there, and kills me, I will be relieved of this forever life stressor. Or perhaps I will get damaged and disabled enough that they can't help but grant me disability pay.
My other option is getting a part-time job dealing methamphetamines. Or I can just choose to die outright. I don't sleep. I don't eat. No one would blame me for giving up. I'm just getting weaker and weaker of late. Stuck in bed more often. Why exactly do I keep making this effort - always, and every single day? There must be something very wrong with me.
Dispatched (Tuesday)
In happier news, my roommate is now and finally in the hospital. He looks like he's about to die. He's had the same illness I contracted over a week ago, and he's very unwell. But he finally decided to go to the hospital, despite fighting against this prescribed option for the past 48 hours.
Of course, he blames me for the illness. For his current condition. But really, how could I have prevented him from getting ill?
It's also my fault that his wife-to-be is just as ill, and likely headed to the hospital today.
I feel guilty enough for other things, so I have no room for additional guilt. The End.
The Void
What this means for me is that I'll finally be able to sleep. Uninterrupted. No loud snoring, no CPAP machine buzzing, no oxygen machine wheezing artificially, no inflatable mattress generator pumping every 10 minutes, no phone alarms or notification alarms sounding at all hours (at full volume), neither he nor his wife-to-be violently crashing into my parked power chair, nor the constant tension regarding the thermostat settings.
And really, it's not all that bad with him. He's the best room I've had since I've been here.
I did take advantage though today. After napping outside in the parking lot (on and off for two hours) I came inside to my empty room and did much the same. The highlight of my day (or night) was Betsy coming in and chatting with me for a solid 15 minutes before she left for the evening. Admittedly, I've been kind of depressed today. So having an extended conversation with her helped. And I'm quite sure she sensed my disposition.
Oh, I also had the Musician Nurse Dude working my floor today (a registry guy). He comes around about once a month or so. And he's the first and only person whose favorite band is also my favorite band, Mr. Bungle. Beyond that, he's got a diverse array of musical interests which allows for lively discussion. I miss having a male friend around. My best friend. But girls are okay, too.
Awake and Bake - a continuation
At bedtime (please note, I've been in bed for the past 41 hours now, but you know what I mean here - the time right before I am getting ready to sleep for the night) the temperature in my room was a comfortable 68°. I was dressed in a sheet and a lightweight blanket, otherwise, naked as always.
Three hours later I awoke drenched in sweat, noting the room temperature had somehow risen to 80° Fahrenheit. The biggest question, beyond the obvious, is why the f*** is it so damn warm in my room at three in the morning? I am the ONLY human being occupying a room on this particular thermostat controller.
So I pushed my "help" button and got the CNA to turn the heat off. I hope.
The problem being, it's still really hot in here and I'm still sweating. So now I have to open the window (it's 42° outside). Or I can leave my door open and invite each of the extraneous noises into my room unabated.
Better Than Ever (Thursday)
You'll be glad to know, or perhaps you won't be, that I seem to have recovered from my downward spiral ordeal (in regards to my physical deterioration). And all it took was one day of staying in bed and sleeping (perhaps 12 to 14 hours, cumulatively) and then a second day in bed to recover from all that sleep!
And she was doing a lot better about things at this moment. I thought that maybe I had unceremoniously slipped back into M.E./C.F.S. abyss.
4:04 Same Thing, Different Day (Friday)
It's got to be automated. I can think of no other reason why the thermostat is once again cranked up to 80° for my room.
Also, Dora's television is blasting out in Jesus verses full bore.
In response, I'm cranking out a band called Bloodbath - an album called The Fathomless Mastery. Why? Because I am fathoming less and less these days.
Eh. I should be just fine. I got over four hours of solid sleep in. That should be enough to get through the rest of today. Perhaps I'll even thrive!
Take care,
Howard
