Pain, The Universal Equalizer

Brain Demons

I went to bed yesterday before dinner, hell, it was closer to lunch than dinner now that I think about it. I went upstairs to lie down because I had a migraine. I don’t bother trying to put the migraines in the “Top 10 I Have Ever Had” territory since they hit nearly every day. Still, I know when one is terrible, and I want to talk about why last night was unusually unsettling for me.

Generally, when I get a migraine, it is a miniature sun just behind my left eye. A heat that grows more and more intense until certain things occur, systematically and always in the same order a far as I can remember.

First, I will get incredibly nauseous. Anyone who has had a lousy headache, never mind any migraine activity, can relate to this. Think hangover headache with that still drunk need to puke.

Second, the vertigo sets in. Standing because an endurance sport and even sitting at an upward angle gets too much after a short time. I have never been a fan of the room spinning, I am sure I am not alone there. What makes it worse is that the spinning, again for my case, is multi-axis. The room spins yes, but then it does a delightful Rubiks Cube thing and does the same job on the vertical axis of my Universe.

Thirdly is what I like to call the buffet. At this point, I have put myself to bed or, if I am with someone in the know, been put to bed. Vomiting, Nose Bleeds happen most of the time. However, Disorientation, Cotton Mouth, Excessive Sweating, Chills, and Hot Flashes have been known to crop up. Plus, let us never forget, the ever piercing and growing pain of that fiery microcosm in the center of my skull.

Lastly, and it is always the last thing to happen before the end, I lose hope. See, no one ever talks about the psychological impact of being in constant pain. They are all busy telling you it is all fake, grab an ice pack, take two aspirin and be a man, or whatever gender expression you desire.

I cry a lot. I lay on my bed, and I weep, and I feel no shame in it because pain is a universal feeling. Not one of us alive has ever not shed a tear when our bodies’ pain has reached a certain point.

Irony? The crying makes the pain worse, and I feel more pathetic, and it is a cycle that goes on and on until one of two things happen, leading to the same conclusion.

One, I pass out from the pain. My brain gets to a certain point, and then some deep and reptilian part of it shuts off to ensure that I can survive the thing. It is a terrifying thing, lying in bed watching a show or even just staring at the wall. Suddenly, it is 8, sometimes 12 hours later. My seizures occasionally hit me like this, but unlike them, this is almost an instant thing, Ia m in Point A, then I am Point B. No dreaming, no waking up a minute to roll over, just straight unconsciousness.

Two, and I suppose this is the better of the two scenarios, I go to sleep. It is a dark and stormy sleep as the migraine isn’t gone. Like a thunderstorm at night, though, I can hear the thunder of the pain. Still, it is somehow distant, occurring in a slightly different locale.

Then, with both, I wake up, usually very early in the morning, and I fight again. I look forward to the battle because, one day, I will learn how to defeat them ultimately, or I will simply learn to deal with the pain better.

Now uplifting, but I needed to get it out of my head, and you were lucky enough to hang on for the ride.

Triple Digit Heat and I Do Not Enjoy Each Other’s Company


I lived in the desert you know. I know heat. Three hours or so away from Death Valley, you know, one of the hottest places in the world. I used to take nice long walks in it as a little Bear Cub. My brother, sister, and I would spend twelve hours a day in it in the summer and while we would be this awkward shade of crimson when we came into the house and have to be coated with various ointments, we went right back out the next day because that is simply what you did.

One other thing before we leave the temperatures of the Antelope Valley. An important thing actually. There is no humidity in the desert, it’s kind of why they’re called deserts. So while I routinely was out in 100° temperatures, there was nary a droplet of water in the sky. It was a beautiful cerulean blue that made every other shade of blue jealous at all the, wait for it, blue balls. rimshot? All joking aside, it was beyond wonderful there, beautiful to the point of bringing your tears to the eyes.

I moved back here and I learned what it was like to have water try to run away from your body, only to be stymied by the Universe itself and just sit on you and cry. Yes, sweat crying, go with the metaphor and play along with me here, my self-respect is at stake for Goddess’s sake. I suppose living next to one of the largest fresh-water lakes on the planet doesn’t help at all, but I was not precisely ever told I was the sharpest of the tools available in the drawer.

If it is 75 here, I know I am fucked. he pressure in my head builds to where I sometimes feel like I am having a stroke, my migraines flair uncontrollably and I am completely useless. Today it is supposed to be, without the heat index, and as aside that is a stupid name for a hotness death scale, in the mid-nineties. If I do try and push through the pain, I most often find myself mysteriously waking up from a nap I did not intend to take in a room I may or may not remember having been in at the time.

I went to bed at half-past two yesterday. In the afternoon. On a Saturday. (Ignore the during quarantine part for the sake of dramatic effect). All I could do is strip down to the skin (control yourselves people, I’m not a piece of meat) and lay in the air conditioner and breathe as slowly as I could without really moving at all. I didn’t hand lunch, I didn’t have dinner, I didn’t hydrate the way I should have. I simply needed to not for a while. Just be there and no be expected to do anything other than maintain the baseline living conditions I needed to take care of. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see, I ejected material from my stomach like a bullet train, nosebleeds and, ironically, insomnia because of the intensity of the owwie involved.

Now I have taken care to medicate, hydrate, eat and do all the things I can to mitigate this from happening again today, however, I am not as naive as I used to be and I fully expect today to suck.

So yeah, you needed to know all of that because, well, I needed to write more and that is the first thing that came to mind. Sorry that I am not in the least bit sorry?

Hydrate. Seek shade when you can. Loose-fitting clothes. Y’all know the drill.


Some Final Observations On Polyamory From Yesterday

Peace Be The Journey

Now that I have fully regained the use of all of my mental faculties, the strength of which I will leave to others to decide, I wanted to go ahead and say some things to add the to the conversation to make sure that it ended on the positive note that it should be ended on. 

I am not, nor will I ever, advocate for the lack of polyamorous relationships. I personally believe, entirely and wholly, that the majority of human minds are wired to have incredibly complex, romantic, and caring thoughts and relationships with more than one person. It does not make you “lesser” to disagree or flat out refuse this conjecture as it is, of course, my personal opinion and is as valid as your opinion is on the subject.

My life has been made more fulfilling because polyamory has been part of it. I have met incredible people and enjoyed extraordinary and surreal experiences that I would never have felt or experienced had I been in a purely monogamous relationship. 

Plus, no, not just sexual stuff. I am sick and tired of people walking up to me with fucking winks and nudges and eyebrows when they talk about polyamory. Do you have sex with your partners in polyamorous relationships? Sometimes, yes. Is it a mandatory thing, absolutely, the fuck not. Poly is multiple, amorous is love. Multiple love. Not multiple fuck. Go look at some other very carefully and correctly described words for that kind of thing, more power to you on your journey, and I wish you nothing but happiness and successes on it.

I cannot begin to tell you the benefits generally, so I will let you know about a specific thing that has stuck with me, and forever and always stick with me.

See, if not for polyamory, I would be a dead Bear. That isn’t a metaphor for an empty heart, not a euphemism, not a philosophical construct.

No, I would have slit my motherfucking throat and been dead.

When I tell people I love them, it means I LOVE them. It is not a half-assed thing for me, and I do not associate with people who I, at least initially believe, half-ass this complex and intricate decision. This is a life-altering wonder, and it is not to be fucked with because you think it is a sweet way to get your genitals stimulated.


Now, all of that negative stuff having been said, please do not fear. I encourage everyone, even those who choose not to become involved in it, to become educated on the subject. There are local groups who can help you. Yes, no matter where you are. Yes, even there in Jesus-Hates-Different, USA. I have lived there, and my wife and I led the group more than once.

Educate yourself so that you can feel happy for others even it is not directly a cause of your own.

Be happy, loves.

The More Things Stay The Same, The More They Change


I suppose it should matter that it is Saturday. I know it does to my friends in the ether who are gainfully employed and can rest from their burdens for a few days before going to serve the greater good once more in their chosen professions. For those of you, loving souls who work today and tomorrow as well know I have not forgotten you and I value your sacrifice and dedication just as much as those who work the weekdays alone.

Then there’s me, the unemployed guy with kids who haven’t been to physical school buildings since march and has had to look at his phone every day he has wanted to know the day of the week since very early May. It doesn’t matter what day it is in the long and the short of it, not to me. I mean, we don’t watch network TV, we don’t go anywhere, we don’t do anything. So, Day A is just as monotonous as Day R and even then I can’t tell the difference.

It is more annoying than distressing I suppose. I am sure there are some long-term psychological issues with quarantine I am not familiar with, but I am pretty sure that defeating COVID is far more important than anything that I might want to go out and do and I refuse to bring an illness that might not attack me as virulently back to people who it would decimate in every way.

My brain is very sludge-like today, so I am now going to string random things together until I don’t want to write anymore, sounds like a plan, no?

Yeah, I miss some of you WAY more than others. This is not something you are supposed, to be honest about when people ask about it. I am not going to lie and say you are in the top twenty of my People if you are simply not. If you can not accept that, that is your issue to work on internally, not my issue to change to suit the needs you have.

Who wouldn’t want to see their best and closest friends first? Isn’t that why you give them, justifiably it is mostly a negative thing, a ranking of “best” or “closest” in the first place? If I just wanted to see people I can just sit my fat ass on my stairs and wave at the hundreds of people who come down here every day to buy there stupidly illegal herbal supplements.

I want to hug my best friend and have her do that thing where she makes me believe the world isn’t completely waste and needs to be purged in a fire. I want to hug my Air Traffic Coordinator and spin them in a circle and make airplane noises because I am infantile and the thought of doing that gives me a laugh every time. I want to see the kids of my friends. I want to see the Warrior Princess and stun her with my fly-catching abilities, I want to give bro-hugs, to be a Bruncle, to see if you can play the guitar, to see how gigantic you have got since the last time I got to see you.

Writing sappy emails is fine and dandy, hell I do that out of quarantine, but being able to say those things to your face and make sure by your reaction I am not going to maudlin, or idiotic for that matter, is so much better than that. To see your eyes is everything, you know that, right?

I have a migraine. Yeah, yeah I know I always do. It is a bad one and I have been trying, successfully thus far if you are reading this on Saturday at all, to not go back to bed and sleep until the pain is gone and I can’t feel any feelings anymore, because I don’t want to do that thing right now, it is hard and sometimes you are allowed to do the whole “put down your labors, O ye weary traveler, and rest” thing, right? Maybe I am misremembering my Torah though, it has been a few decades since Hebrew.

I have been reading Edward Lee for the last few days. Now, if you don’t like gore-for-the-sake-of-it, nearly illegally pornographic, horror writers, maybe don’t click on that link. However, if you want to read wonderful books like Lucifer’s Lottery and Carnal Surgery, (for those that may ask, no, there are no affiliate links attached, I am not that kind of an asshole.) then I highly encourage you to read them. Despite the purposeful provocateur approach taken in the writing, the style is beautiful and if you happen to be a fan of philosophy, especially Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, he is your go-to horror writer.

A sweet kitten has just clued me into a thing dysphoric mania, or a mixed state. Think of it as being manic and depressed at once, which is pretty much hitting the nail on the head for where I am right now. I am exhausted and can’t sleep, I don’t want to do anything but sat and spent three hours organizing my Dropbox into a few dozen sub-folders this morning. I will be talking with people to see if I can get any assistance with this, but in the day and age of COVID, well, we will see what can be done.

Yeah, I think I am done now. I have all the thoughts to write all the things, but the energy to move the fingers is gone, so I guess that is what people would call a cue to disperse activities.

Be careful. Love One Another. Wear Your Masks. Stay The Fuck Home if you don’t have to go out. Flatten The Curve. Wash Your Hands. Socially Distance. Yes, I am very sick and very tired of saying this to the fucking imbeciles who need to hear me say it over and over again.

I am tired.

Goddess Love With All Of You, and, as always, until next time, I Bid You, Peace.

Winding. Fucking. Road.

Winding Road

This Bitch Is Going To Wander…

One of the things that have hit me the hardest in this pandemic cocktail drink of horror is that I am a very touchy-feely person. I love to hug people most of all and, if I can be a little cocky, I am pretty sure I give good hug. If you are a single-arm squeeze, a bear hug, or of course the patented Bear-Lifty-Twirly hug, I give a good fucking hug. I know it is a pretty minor thing in the long and short of things that people have lost, I am not trying to say it is a trauma, but it is a part of me that I am not allowed to express and that is a thing I am not used to at all.

My kids have been home since the last week of March. Now, if you can do basic math, and only basic math, like me, you know that is a long fucking time for three kids to be trapped in a place. I mean, Elder Duck’s summer vacation is shorter than the time he has been out of physical school. I don’t know what will happen when they all have to disappear and go back to real places again. I want to believe that there will be a mad rush to the door to get the hell out of a place they have been for nearly three-months solid, but Ia m also afraid the little dudes have established a routine so deep that there is a lot of bad things in the wind to get things back to “normal”.

Insert sharp hairpin of a curve…

Do you know what pisses me off? People who think that the opposite of love is hate. As my way smarter than me best friend has been trying to remind me of for the last umpteen years, the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. Think about it for a second, just stop for a second, and fucking think about it. What? No, still fucking think about it.

Now a straightaway…

My mental health, while never what one would call a particularly stable thing, has taken a hit over the last little while and I swear to the Goddess herself the next person who tells me I just need to go outside and get some fresh air is going to get my hand to their head. I am not a big fan of outside, but, you know what? I go the fuck outside. I breathe air, I go places because I need to go to them, hell I even go to places that I want to go to. Terry and I drive down by the lake to think and I breathe all kinds of goddamn air while I am out there. Do you know what else is outside? All of the things Ia m allergic to that exacerbate my migraines to the point where I go to bed at three in the afternoon for the day and then feel like a gutless fuck because I didn’t stay awake with my people.

Home Stretch Bitches…

Healing is an insanely personal thing and if I am smiling, or I make a joke or post a damn meme, that doesn’t mean it is “all good” and that I am all set for the Universe. No motherfucker, that just means that I am above water long enough just then to breathe deep and remember why being under the water for so damn long sucks so fucking bad. You stay in your lane about my mental health and I will stay in mine about yours, okay?

Now, I am going to listen to more fucking Weird Al polkas.