Friday, February 24, 2006

I Can't Do This Anymore

I can't wander into work delirious from the painful trauma of Dialysis to be told by a coworker, "I wish you'd cover up your bandages, they're gross."

I can't ask out a woman anymore and have her be mortified when I bring up my condition.

I can't get caught lying on the floor of the studio and risk the rumormongering that I'm "lying down on the job."

I can't stop the blackouts.

I can't sleep.

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself.

I can't fathom my last kiss.

I can't stand being alone.

I can't continue to kill myself for my job when no one seems to care.

I can't look myself in the mirror without wanting to shatter my reflection.

I can't afford all my bills.

I can't look to the future because it depresses me.

I can't endure the nightmares.

I can't laugh anymore.

I can't keep losing my hair to Dialysis.

I can't continue missing out on Life.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Insomniolithic

Oh my gawd! Did you see what I just created?? I'm amazing! I'm goddamn prolific!

I invented a new word! How many idiots in this country do that!?!?

Usually it's one of these annoying cutesy words that spread like a venereal disease across the land.

For example:

"Carpal Thumal Syndrome"

A condition of the thumbs that is brought on by becoming one of these yuppie idiots who use their Blackberry's at every goddamn opportunity.

Like when they're driving.

"Frankquilized"

When by some act only God understands, you actually possess an equal number of hot dogs and hot dog buns. Or when your hot dog is exactly the same length as the hot dog bun it's sitting in.

"Derk"

To be both a dork and a jerk at the same time.

Or my personal favorite:

"Fasshole"

When you simply don't have enough time to call someone by their given name, "Fucking Asshole!" You simply combine the two and you're done.

And they have no frickin' clue what the hell you're talking about.

I like it!

And now we come to my latest creation:

"Insomniolithic"

A period of time, from months to years, when sleep is a distant memory and cannot be achieved on a regular basis by any realistic means.

Yup. I can't sleep to save myself.

Some related topics under the subset of "insomniolithic" include the following:

"Ativan" (also known as Lorazepam, or Stacy's Dizzy Pills)

This is usually prescribed for anxiety, but it was administered for me to help me sleep. Most people take two and they're unconscious for a good six to eight hours. The same dosage makes me drowsy and causes me to laugh at the most unfunny things.

Like "According to Jim".

"Ambien" (Zolpidem, or Stacy's Wacky Bedtime Boffo Show)

I took Ambien for three months and it was great. I would make sure I was fully prepared for sleep and then I swallowed my friendly neighbordhood Ambien. Before I would nod off, every piece of furniture in my room would start dancing. I'm talking serious "Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo" moves. It was so entertaining and mesmerizing, some nights I didn't want sleep to come.

It worked for about three months until all of a sudden it just stopped. Now if I try to take it out of the blue, I get nothing. I just lie there begging for an earthquake or meteor shower. Something to make the time past quicker until the sun rises and mocks me for my lack of slumber.

"Lunesta" (Eszopiclone, or Stacy's Teasing Whore Med)

Lunesta is used to treat insomnia as a hypnotic, slowing the brain's activity so I could finally get some rest.

For the first three months, I was in love with Lunesta. I would turn in about the same time every night and I didn't stress because I knew I would get at least six to seven hours of sleep. I'm still presently administering it to myself, but it doesn't work anymore either. Lunesta is a tease and a whore and I only give in because she promises to cure my tiring ills.

"Vicodin" (Acetaminophen, or Stacy's Former Dialysis Savior)

I still have a half a bottle of this evil, evil vixen in my dresser drawer. I haven't refilled it in months since I no longer use it for Dialysis pain.

Thank god. It was driving me mad.

But every once in a while, after a good does of Insomniolithic time has gone by, I get desperate and pop a couple before bed. Sometimes they help me sleep for a few hours before I awaken, alert and pissed.

I would gladly bury all of these supposed medications in the small patch of land behind my apartment's dumpster if I could simply...fall...asleep!

My mind is like a television that has to be on in the background for a family to function. The channel's keep changing and the content is always different, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather be sleeping.

My social worker, who's very sweet but simply has no idea how to help me, has suggested I visit Sonoma State's free clinic. Apparently they have a staff there that donates their time to people with problems.

I challenged her point blank.

"Do you really think I need this?" pointing in the direction of the literature she jjust handed me.

She was put off for a moment before she replied.

"Well, I think something is causing your sleep problems Stacy and it's not Dialysis."

Sigh.

Personally, I feel okay. I'm a little disappointed in myself for not getting out as often as I should considering my single status, but other than that I've accepted Dialysis. I can't think of anything else that's truly bothering me or causing me to keep from sleeping.

But maybe that's the problem.

Maybe the problem is buried so deep in my psyche after years of neglect that it's grown stems of discord that have weaved their way into my subconscious, begging to be addressed.

Or maybe, as one of my co-workers suggested, I just need to get laid.

Psychological counseling or a night of debauchery?

I think we're all quite aware of the answer to that one.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Jen the Neckish Wonder

There are some advantages to being a radio personality in the same market for the last six years and sometimes I tend to forget that undeniable fact.

For example, women from my past can easily find me.

Let me introduce you to Jen the Neckish Wonder.

It's been at least six years since I first met Jen. She was dating one of our weekend part-timers and he brought her by the station for a tour.

It's an old washed up radio cliche, but women love to tour radio station's. It's exciting, thrilling and makes you seem like a pseudo celebrity.

Which is exactly what most radio people are.

He brought Jen by the studio and we exchanged pleasantries.

Of course, I was instantly attracted to her. She has short brunette hair and a slim little figure with a "girl next door" presence to her.

Yes, in case you're wondering, that's my fave-or-ite.

A week later I get a call from her asking me out.

(Note to women: GUYS LOVE IT WHEN YOU ASK US OUT.)

I couldn't tell you where we went or what we did, but I vividly recall giving her a neck massage and a sudden make out session not too long afterward.

Many of our dates went like this. For whatever reason, that's as far as it went. It was sweet and fun, but nothing more.

And then she was gone.

She disappeared to train to be an EMT. I continued here in Santa Rosa.

And every once and a while I would hear from her.

Last I heard she had married a firefighter (don't they all) and seemed very happy in the East Bay.

The request line went off about 6pm tonight and just like that, she was back.

"Stacy? It's Jen."

I was caught off guard as I thought, "Jen who?"

We talked for a good twenty minutes. It's just nice to hear a voice from the past from time to time. Sometimes we hold on so strong to a memory of someone, we don't realize that their life continues wandering too.

She's saving lives on a regular basis, but married doesn't describe her any longer.

Jen will be up in this area to visit her family, so I offered my cell phone just for the heck of it.

Neither of us is the same person, but we sure laughed a lot during the phone call.

Jen has the dubious honor of reminding me exactly what I'm looking for. Adorable girl next door with a great sense of humor.

You think someone like that would be easier to find.