stitches & stuff

About two weeks ago, I noticed that the end of my incision was slightly opened and a stitch was poking out.  I don't know how it happened but it was red and hurt to touch.  You know, just when I think things are starting to get resolved, I've got another problem.

So I made an appointment to see the doctor.  The first thing he did was lean me back in the chair and immediately stuck a sharp metal instrument in the incision.  It felt like a bee had just landed on me throat and stung me.

"I know it feels a bit weird," he said as he dug around in there.  "Well, I can't get to the stitch.  I'd have to cut your throat."  I wasn't sure what he meant by that.  I was too stunned by the pain to make much sense of anything and didn't think to ask him for clarification.  I think he might have been trying to either tie everything back up or maybe he was just trying to clip the excess stitch.

I was basically worried that the incision would heal wrong because of the slight opening but he assured me it was okay.  He told me to put some ointment on it until the redness went down so I guess that's all I can do.  Hopefully it'll clear up soon.  Other than that, it's healing as nice as can be expected.

forever alone (for five minutes)

I don't mean to be rude but I find it highly annoying when people throw their hands up in the air and declare that they will be alone forever but two weeks later, they are involved with someone.  That makes me want to throw my hands up in the air to punch them in the face.

It's as if people go through a few failed relationships and then want to give up on love.  They break up and them beat themselves up over it, thinking they are not good enough or are unlovable.  But if they were unlovable, they never would have found someone in the first place, amiright?  It's not that they were unlovable, just incompatible with that one person.  Or with those few people.  But certainly not with the rest of the population.

But people don't seem to get that.  They date a few people and nothing works out and suddenly their self-worth nose dives.  But don't dissolved relationships serve a purpose?  Isn't that how you figure out what you really want in a partner?

I think when we are young, we crush on people for superficial reasons.  Someone is attractive and we want to be with them.  Granted, personality does play it's part as well.  We can think they are sweet and funny and if we happen to actually get to be with them, we find out who they really are.  It's one thing to admire someone from afar but a whole new beast to know someone intimately.

And that intimacy begins to shape what we want in a partner.  And when that partner eventually leaves, we take the good in them and search for that in someone else.  Ideally, we would also avoid the bad qualities we found in that partner when looking for someone knew, but some people actually do seem to gravitate toward those bad qualities as well.

And dating and relating is simply finding a balance between those good and bad qualities in a person.  And people do it all the time.  And people break up every day.  It is natural.  It is human.  People are heartbroken and people have to let others down.  It's what we do.  And when it happens to you, it's not fun but it shouldn't make you feel like you are incapable of being loved.  You just haven't found the right one yet.  It's not a question of worth, desire, or ability, only time, location, and opportunity.

Sure, it feels frustrating to look on past relationships that didn't work out and think there must be something wrong with you, especially if you have many to look back on.  But the fact that you were able to get close to someone (or several someones) should count for something.  There are some people out there (me) who don't even have that much to hold on to.

When I was younger, I used to be hung up on being alone.  I think the timing was just bad.  I was physically a mess.  While puberty was kind to my peers, with the girls growing perky breasts and the guys molding their muscles, I was granted belly fat and acne.  And as the hormones surged beneath the skin, everyone around me started forming connections.  I only formed a low opinion of myself.  I wondered why I couldn't find someone like everyone else had.  At first I thought it was because I was ugly.  But then I lost some weight and got my image under control and I was still single.  Must be because I had a crappy personality.  But people tell me all the time that I'm funny and a joy to be around.

So I don't know what the problem is.

A lot of people have offered that it's probably a location issue.  There's just no one here that I find myself attracted to.  As much as I'd like to be in a relationship, I also can't force myself to be with someone just because I need to.  I want it to be genuine, natural.

As I have matured, so has my loneliness.  I used to be obsessed with it, used to despise it.  But now I am actually fine being alone.  I no longer crave romantic company.  In fact, my loneliness is kind of like a best friend.  It knows me more intimately than anyone else in my life.  It's been my most consistent companion.  Yes, I go through pangs of hurt over being alone but they always pass.  I can look back and see that I am not ruggedly handsome but I'm not a troll.  I don't have the best personality but I'm not psychotic (yet). 

It has taken me years to realize that I am not unlovable.  I just haven't found anyone special (or dumb) enough to put up with me and my insecurities and jealousies.

And it might never happen.  And I'm okay with that.

Or if it does, that's cool as well.

I feel I've reached a place where I am completely neutral.  Or apathetic.  Either way, I don't hurt as much and that's all that matters to me know.  I have enough pain without the agony of amorous relationships rolling around in my head.

I could say that I'll never fall in love, that no one would ever fall in love with a piece of crap like me but I can't say that.  It's unrealistic.  I could declare it and then two weeks later, I'm changing my Facebook status to "in a relationship."  Then I'd just be another ass like I wrote about at the beginning of this entry.  While it's likely I'll be forever alone, it's not improbable.

So, if I can't say it, neither can you.  Try going twenty-six years without being in a relationship or having a real kiss or ever getting to hold someone you care for.  Then you can come talk to me.

Draw Something pictures

I often peruse the app store and go to the top 25 apps to see what fun and popular apps are out there.  It saves me the trouble of weeding through the tons of crappy apps.  All the work's been done for me!

I came across the Draw Something! app and was pretty excited.  It's like Pictionary for your smart phone and although I haven't drawn in years, I thought it might be a fun, simple, no pressure way to get back into it.  I really enjoyed it!  Things got really fun once I got my iPad and had more room to get a bit more precise.  There's only so much you can do with your finger and a small screen.

So, in a half-hearted effort to gain more readers by posting more pictures, I thought I'd share some screen caps of some of my better drawings.

Note:  I don't always put so much effort into my drawings because sometimes I get lazy and plus, the game records you as you draw and then plays it back to the person you're drawing with.  And when you get really detailed with your drawings, it takes a lot of time.  And when it takes a lot of time, the other person has to sit there and wait for you to finish and it can get boring for the other person to have to sit there for five minutes while you're shading.

i look better online

"I'm so ugly but that's okay
'cause so are you..."
-Nirvana, Lithium

I wash my face and neck and when I run my hands down my throat, it's smooth, sans the scar, and it's a weird feeling, almost like a limb that's no longer there.  But it's good because it was a limb that was never supposed to be there in the first place.  It's simultaneously strange and thrilling.

Yet, I'm not completely satisfied.

I still have a bit of swelling that needs to go down, which might take a couple of weeks or months.  And although I knew and didn't mind the fact that I would have a scar, it's a bit puffier and more apparent than I anticipated.  Everyone says it will go down in time but you never really know how those things are going to work out or how long it will take so I'm still concerned that it'll always stick out.

After all that, I still have to lose all this weight in my face before I'll feel like I have a good-looking face and throat.  It might seem strange to be so preoccupied with an odd area of the body but for whatever reason, I've always been focused on having a good jawline and a smooth throat.  And that was even before the lump popped up so you can imagine the misery I endured when I had this cyst screwing up my image of what I should look like.

But even if I get all that sorted out, I still won't be completely satisfied.

I still need to fix my teeth (the next thing I plan on fixing when I have the funds) and of course I've got to lose the weight and now my receding hairline is really starting to concern me so if I had the money for that, I'll pursue a hair transplant.

It's just sad to look at myself and really realize that I will probably never be satisfied with how I look.  I can hope that I can fix certain aspects of my face and body and that will make me feel better but in all likelihood, that just won't be the case.  There is always something popping up or falling out that I need to address and it's daunting.  It's a struggle to think that one day I could possibly fix myself enough to be attractive vs. just accepting that I am not conventionally good-looking, that I am average at best.  But what's so wrong with average? 

I feel just as frustrated as other people do about how down I am about the way I look.  I know I am not the ugliest thing in the world and although I used to think so, I don't anymore but I still don't think I'm good-looking.  I know that's irrational and maybe I just have a mental problem but I can't seem to overcome it.

Maybe it's just because I don't have any self-esteem and I am under the wrong impression that good looks will make me feel better about myself.  But the thing is, I'm smarter than that.  I know better.  I was thin(ish) at one point.  My face was clear and my hair was full and I still wasn't happy.  Sure, I wasn't as miserable as I was when I was fat but I was still unsatisfied with myself.  It's just that when your life is in shambles and you're gross, it does add an extra splash of stress to the strain of trying to survive the onslaught of daily dilemmas.

I was watching a television program a couple of years ago and it followed this girl who was obsessed with getting her nose fixed.  It was all she could talk about and when she finally got it done, she was happy at first.  Then, things changed.  She eventually started disliking her nose again and she wanted to undergo the knife one more time.

I just hope I don't end up like that.  What if I get my teeth fixed or my nose fixed and I'm still not happy?

It's a big fear of mine.  What will it take for me to just accept myself how I am or is there nothing I can do?  Is surgery going to do the trick?  What if it doesn't?  What more could I do?  Or will I eventually grow out of this?  Will I one day just give up and not care?  What if I die never having felt good about myself from not only an aesthetic standpoint but from a spiritual one as well?

But it's not all bad.  Maybe there's progress being made under the surface.

While I was away from work, the boss hired three new people, two of them young, thin, attractive guys.  At first I was worried.  I saw these guys, one tall and thin, the other muscular and tanned, and both well dressed, and I felt a tinge of worry about the idea of the girls liking those guys better than me.  I am a pretty jealous person and didn't like the idea of seeing the girls I liked talking to those guys, possibly starting to prefer them over me.  I didn't want those guys "stealing" the girls away from me.  Maybe it sounds silly but it was my fear.

But when I actually met them, those fears slowly subsided.  I realized that I just didn't look like that, that I wasn't as young and good-looking and there was nothing I could do to fix that so there was no point in dwelling on it.

It was an unprecedented feeling of getting it, as close as I've ever come to self-acceptance.  

Unfortunately, it never lasts.  I have these moments where I look in a mirror (and it has to be a certain kind of mirror) and everything looks kind of good.  But then I look in another mirror with different lightening and I'm hideous again.  Or when I'm trying to take a picture of myself and it never comes out right.  And I just wonder what side of me other people are seeing.  Is it the good lighting/mirror side or the hideously flawed picture side?

All I know is I'm tired of talking about the same thing over and over again.  Tired of looking in the mirror and seeing the same sagging pores over and over again.  I'm tired of my face.  I'm kind of tired of myself.  And I need to come to some kind of resolution.  I need to either accept that with enough effort, I can become presentable or accept that I never will be and just be okay with that.

And just move on.    

subway pimp

During the end of the work week, I usually allow myself to go out to eat for lunch. Because I am on a diet, and my small town doesn’t offer very much in the way of eateries, I mostly go to Subway and order something from their healthier sub selections. When I happen to be working the same shift as one of my coworkers, we’ll often go together. And because most of my coworkers are female, I hang out with a lot of girls.

Today, I went in by myself and the group of girls who worked there mentioned that I was alone.

“Hey, where’s your girlfriends?” one of them shouted.

“Riding solo today,” I replied.

Another one added, “We call you the subway pimp because you always have a different girl with you.” I was slightly embarrassed by that but brushed it off.

“Where’s your pimp hat?” another girl asked.

“Left it in the car.”

We were all kind of laughing about it and smiling and it was all light-hearted and fine. Eventually, everyone scattered except the girl making my sandwich. I pretty much knew they knew these girls I ate with were merely coworkerss but there was that small part of me that had to make sure.

“Um, you all don’t really think I’m seeing all those girls, do you?”

The girl looked up at me and laughed. “Oh, no. We was just playin’ with you.”

“Oh, okay, good,” I said with a slight sigh of relief. “I just wanted to make sure you all didn’t think I was that kind of guy.”  I smiled at her and she smiled back and it was a fun little exchange.

“Naw,” she said. “I told them you probably didn’t even have a girlfriend.”

And that’s when it wasn’t fun anymore.

“What?” I had to make sure I heard her correctly.

“I just said you probably didn’t even have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.  Oh.  Okay…”

I went from being an imaginary mac daddy to a real-life loser.  Even strangers can tell no one wants me.

“What kinda cheese you want on this?”

After what she just said?

“Every kind.”

book notes #7

I underestimated how drugged out and nauseous I would be from the surgery so I wasn't able to get as much work done on my book as I would have liked.  I thought I'd be able to get a lot done because I would be off work for a good seven days but I spent most of the time in bed and in pain.

But despite being dizzy and general feeling of grossness, I was able to complete the second part of my book.  Well, the majority of it.  The last chapter took me this past week to do, partly from my fractured concentration and partly because I just wasn't sure what I wanted to convey with that particular chapter.  But I was able to squeeze something out and so that's good.  I can always go back later and polish it up but I can't keep writing if I'm stuck on that one part so I'm glad I was able to finish it and now I can move on.

I have about twenty-something more chapters to go and the third part will be finished and the first draft of the entire book will be done.  Finally.  After working on it on and off (mostly off) for years now, it's finally looking like it's coming together.

Then, the rewriting and editing and rereading will start but I hope it won't be as time consuming as writing it all out from scratch.  With the material right there in front of me, I should be able to work at a faster pace.  I just have to make sure it makes sense, conveys what I'm trying to say, and is entertaining.  We'll see how it goes.

I have some concerns regarding my story, though.  As we all know, I'm long-winded and I feel it's going to be a long book.  I could cut some stuff out but I hesitate to do that because I want to present the full picture to the reader of how everything went down during my time at college.  I could shorten it and make it a bit easier to read but it might not be as enjoyable.  Then again, it might not be enjoyable to read a 500 page book, especially with people's short attention spans these days.

And what if I'm only good in short bursts?  There's only so much alliteration and whiny emo bullcrap one can take before it's not fun to read anymore.  I might be able to crank out a decent essay every once in a while but is my writing strong enough to carry an entire book?  I'm not so sure.

As much as I would love to be the next Amanda Hocking or J.A. Konrath, I'm not sure it'll happen for me.  I shouldn't expect as much, especially considering I've been here for three years and have a very small readership.  And so sometimes I think I should just write the book how I want to, as if I'm the only one who will read it, because it's quite likely that will be the case, and just use it as a cathartic tool to deal with the troubling times I had at college.  I hope that, if I can make a good book out of it, something creative and beautiful, it will help me cope because it's still a painful time for me to think about.

In fact, while writing the book, I had to relive a lot of memories and it forced me to examine my actions and behaviors and frequent outbursts and it's really embarrassing now to see how I fell apart so easily and how I still haven't fully recovered, even after all of these years.

I hope to be done with the third part in the next month or so.

cracked

Fortunately, I didn't have to travel the two hours for my check up like I did for my surgery.  I just had to wait in the doctor's office for two hours.

Turns out, they lost my  name in the shuffle of patients.

I entertained myself on my phone and for the first hour before I began to wonder what was going on.  When the appointment was originally made, the lady said today was the only day the doctor could see us and it would be a work-in.  So, I just assumed the fact that we were being worked in was what had caused the delay.

After another hour, my mom wanted to ask them what was going on.  It triggered a conversation my sister had with us several weeks ago when I went to see the doctor who performed the surgery.

We went out to dinner afterward and she told us she went to a doctor one time and they took her into a room and after about an hour, she poked her head out and politely asked if they had forgotten about her.  The nurse got nasty with her and now any time she goes back to that doctor, he comes in and is very condescending and asks her if she was treated well and if she felt comfortable and that whole bit.  It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine was listed as "difficult" on her chart.

I didn't want Mom to go inquiring about the doctor's whereabouts and cause me to be Elained.

After a while, it looked like I was about to rain so offered to go to Mom's car and get the umbrella and by the time I came back, she was at the window asking about us.

Great.  I was going to get Elained after all.

That's when Mom came back and said one of the nurses crossed my name off by mistake and then we were basically forgotten about.

We were promptly ushered into a room where the doctor came in, squeezed on my throat, told me I was fine, and sent us on our way.  Took all of seven minutes.  No charge, though, so that was good.

As far as how I'm feeling, I can describe it as garbage.  I'm still dizzy and get tired easily.  It still hurts to yawn, turn my head or laugh and the underside of my chin is numb.  The doctor said all of this was normal considering the stress my throat went through coupled with the anesthesia and pain medication and just my body trying to heal itself.

I had really hoped I'd be back to normal by now so I could have enjoyed some of my time off from work but that didn't happen.  I also wanted to finish reading a book I began before surgery but I just haven't been up to it.  My concentration has been at an all time low and the thought of trying to read made me feel queasy.

Funny enough, though, I have been writing.  I really had to force myself to, however.  I just couldn't allow myself to not utilize the time off work.  I'm almost finished with the second part of my book and I only have about twenty chapters left to finished before the first draft is complete.  Of course, editing will then begin and that could take months but I'm closer now that I have ever been to finishing that mofo so I'm pretty happy about that.

I have to go back to work tomorrow and I don't see things going too well, especially with my dizziness.  I've either been in bed or sitting down for the majority of the past week and having to stand up all day might send my face to the floor.  I'm not too worried about it.  If I need to sit, I will.  Nobody else does any work at that place so if I take it a bit easy, it shouldn't be a problem.

I might just take a Lortab before going in tomorrow just to see what happens!  Let the fun ensue.

Another gross picture:

I couldn't make sense of the wound so I didn't want to put a razor to it and accidentally reopen that baby so I decided not to shave.  Well, and plus I had been too cracked out to care about being scruffy.  I did end up shaving before going to the doctor because I thought he would be able to see the wound better on a cleaner canvas.  It took thirty minutes just to shave around the wound and I didn't even get all the hair.  It was a mess. 

Also, it's not as clear here as it was on my phone but the incision caused a bruise that has spread all the way down to my chest.  I also have a nice purple one on my wrist where the nurse unsuccessfully tried to insert an IV.