Skull Brushed

Forget the skull of your enemies, tell your guests it was the guy who refused to clean the bathroom:

The Skull Brush

Reading Rainblow: Fuel Objects Mob Whitening Moon

Perhaps I'm feeling overly mellow, but I'm going to mention some of the things I've read lately that didn't, you know, suck. By which I mean, these were the things that were really good, and haunting. These ones will stay with you. We'll just let the forgettable stuff be just that.

As always, the reviews will remain spoiler-free, and we'll be like good fiction and fight not to waste words.

Anyway, here we go for the last few months, in rough discovery order...


"Fuel is expensive" by Paul Lucas (Tales of the Talisman Vol 2, No. 3)

Oh yeah baby, this one will stay with you like that endless migraine.


"Objects" by Adam Nikkel (Worlds of Wonder)

Loved the quirky of this one, and its humour. This is a writer I will definitely be stalking.


"Penny Royalty for the Pound Mob" by Gene Stewart (All Possible Worlds, Vol 1 No 1, Spring 2007)

Really enjoyed the voice in this one, that's its strength, like you're sitting there having a full-out raging chat with the narrator over long glasses of tea. I know almost nothing about the technical aspects of creating music, so I can't say if they're accurate here and if music geeks would be blissing. I do know if it's a mystery to you, you'll enjoy the tone anyway.


"Whitening" by Michael A. Pignatella (All Possible Worlds, Vol 1 No 1, Spring 2007)

I enjoyed some turns of phrase here. I am just a hopeless green apple sucker for the grip of an original metaphor.


"Second Moon" by B.A. Barnett (The Lorelei Signal)

Wow. So simple, and yet so haunting. The moon poetry is just...Wow. It felt kind of short though, which is a good thing, really, it means you didn't overstay your welcome. But still, you want to see more. This is one of those ones that feels like it could have sequels or novels.

Alanis Morissette - My Humps

For this, they made awesome:

Alanis Morissette - My Humps

You never thought that revolting song could sound haunting and magnificent did you? Brilliant.

Just Breathe

So, I was back in the hospital again.

For those who want to update their tally sheets, that's four times just this month--two for the ER, two for tests. This time was ER.

It wasn't my stomach; it was my lungs. They've always been treacherous too, so they moved in to take advantage of my devastation. Last week, I got what I thought--hoped--was a cold, but then, of course, it went all death flu, drowning me in more than my body weight of phlegm, beating my face with a hammer, etc. So, more weeks of not sleeping, more pounds lost, more excruciating pain, etc.

And then, since Asthma and URIs are such good buddies, *of course* I went lung infection. My stomach felt neglected too. Sometimes I'd get coughing so hard I'd throw up. Mostly though, I was coughing so hard I couldn't stop and get any air and ended up collapsing on the floor.

I was totally going to give up and see my doctor. Yes! And then we started coughing up blood. Yes! Just like a consumptive, there I was hacking up red into a white tissue.

It's horrifying when you picture it; it's worse when it's right there in your hand.

Anyway, the lungs did not want to wait for my doctor's office hours, they went all drama queen and just, you know, stopped. So, away to the ER. If I only had the air to cry...

It just won't stop, will it?

Although, it's funny, I get to the ER, and they know I'm having a severe asthma attack--bats are flying into walls because of agony of my wheeze--and they made me wait over an hour for treatment. The doctor was 'on his rounds'. I was the lone patient in the lobby, in woozy terror and desperately sucking over and over on the salbutamol I carry with me.

The good news is that salbutamol is what they give you for a severe attack. The ER can just give a crapload more of it, and much faster. If you know, anyone cares to actually work.

The spousal unit was particularly enraged that two nurses spent the whole time a couple feet away, leaning against the counter, chatting and laughing. The SU, who still believes in, like, the fundamental decency of all people, kept asking them to please do something, but they would only reply 'the doctor is on his rounds'.

Maybe he was missing the secret code phrase. If he replied, 'the skittish clam wears jelly shoes', maybe I'd have gotten rushed right in.

Anyway, eventually, about four hours later, I got a ventilator and some meds, which made me vomit blood again, so I got *other* meds.

I still feel awful. Breathing bad, sleep impossible, cough continues. But I haven't seen blood or vomit yet today, so...

Wait, cat vomit, I did see cat vomit. But that's kind of a step up really.

Nothing Worth

I did get new meds on Monday. Sadly, these are not 'these will fix you up' meds, but instead 'take these for a month and it may buy you time for your body to heal up' meds. So no instant pleasure here, and worse, my body doesn't have a good record on the whole self-heal thing. Destruction, oh yes, repair, no. But if it doesn't succeed at this little DIY project, they are going to go in there and dice up my insides, and my stomach wolverine is REALLY not going to like that.

So we have to hope, because a fetal ball of weeping isn't going to help. Also, we would like to eat again someday. The wolverine can slice all it wants, I don't think my body has evolved into a perpetual motion machine. It still needs fuel, no matter how much it screams at me when I try to feed it. It can't run on empty forever.

And dang it's so exhausting, taking two hours to fight down a granola bar. Not to mention depressing. And frickin frustrating.

Anyway, when I was in hospital, and not actually thinking or screaming 'kill me, please, kill me', I was also thinking some variation of 'nothing is worth this'. But, of course, that is the vomming blood talking. There are always plenty of reasons why it's not worth it, but how bout I mention some of why it is...

Phoenix purrs. Pheen likes to sleep with us, between our pillows. This means I usually get to go to sleep with one of the best sounds in the known universe: the happy rumble of family. Even when I can't sleep, I like to lay there anyway.

A spousal unit who will hold your hair out of the way when you vomit, even when you've been vomiting for more than 24 hours, and you're vomming fricking blood, is beyond sweet. A SU who is the most kind and gentle person you've even known, but who also storms out ready to thigh shot a doctor to get you a new iv of meds--and then brutally overrules you to get the nurse to shoot you with more painkillers--is the perfect partner. Period.

Med Monday was kind of a letdown, yes, but I got something sweet. I got to play with someone who loves monsters and Elmo and dancing. We're going to be playing together a lot, so it's a good thing that we spend most of that time laughing. Squishies rule.

I've also discovered, at a wonderful time, the music of Mika. It's been great pick me up, although it's timing is also cruel. I can't dance right now without falling down, and when you hear 'Grace Kelly' or 'Love Today' every simple molecule in your body screams DANCE. I've been doing some chair bouncing though...

Thoughts Bloody

Gah.

I've spent the past two weeks in hospitals.

To pick a point of reference, I was vomiting blood. Lots of it. Though, you know, *any* is too much, with blood. I was vomiting every ten minutes. For days.

This was not the low point. It wasn't even in the lower point group, but it's true, and I can say it. The rest of it, I don't want to think about, and I won't talk or write about it. Because that would help me remember it, and I need to rather not.

Anyway, I think 'vomiting blood' is going to become my new shorthand, for a situ that is obviously bad, but way beyond bad, way beyond the worst you've had, way beyond the horrified recoils of others, to a situ that is actually far worse than you'll ever admit to anyone.

I'm still, uh, really really messed up, and I've got more medical intervention scheduled for tomorrow. Yea me and the body that just won't die. Of course, it just won't work either, but hey.

I'm going to argue hard for some med changes. Call me a twit, but yeah baby, I'm still stubborn and crazy and aiming for a bit better than vomiting blood...