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Calling from the past… | Whirling into the future…

So much shenanigans.

More pills than I care to count.


More fluids than I am comfortable drinking.


Skin sloughing off where it most certainly should not be.


And enough fainting spells that that Ion—you know, the kitten?—has taken a spot near the recliner I'm sleeping in tonight.


Despite my best efforts, somehow pestilence has followed me here. My allergy went off and I did a check in paranoia. It either came in from the job or a bus.


It's a fuck of an occupational hazard. And not the only one.


My doctor's oh so brilliant idea to lower my pain management meds led to me having unmanageable pain. My side is worse than ever. The fainting spells are back—not “near” syncope, flat out syncope. I've hit more floors than the bodies in the song.


An exterminator will be called. …here, not the apartment. They still don't have this together.


And I'm fighting two opportunistic infections right now. It sucks.

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The music of the spheres

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