The Obscure

Complete transcendance, or is it the other way around? I sit here in this chair with the drug eating away at my brain cells, and I control the cosmos, all who are, live and die by me.
The great One-Eye has come again, to wage a war against the titans of democracy. Meanwhile, all I can do is sit and stare at my hands, these vile hands that have wrought so much destruction.
Perverting even the most guiltless of saints, I truly am the stranger in a strange land. "Behold," I said, "I am a Son of Man."
And in outrage the multitude stoned me, and my lovers ate my flesh.

On the way to 'frisco I met the jersey devil, who drove a red cadillac. I hitched a ride with him, and he challenged me to a game of riddles.
"What is slower than cold molasses, but can shatter stone more powerfully than a wrecking ball?" He asked.
"A tree, of course." I replied.
"Correct!" said he, "You win a prize!"
"What prize is that?" I asked the Devil cautiously.

I awoke suddenly to find myself out of sight and out of mind, being harassed by a group of large-breasted cyclops women. I dispatched them quickly with a few well-aimed thunderbolts. I picked up my bags, and continued my quest to save the love of the 'frisco bay.

If only you rosebuds knew the depths of my self-loathing.
Here I sit with an intolerable squeal grinding straight into the center of my brain, my scalp growing sprouts of itchy intelligence and my hands thinking with a speed twice that of a normal man.
What then do I long for? Why then do I continue to question and rave about the contradictory nature of my fellows? All the while I sit here grinning, thinking in my head how much I wish to taste the cold edge of the knife. Imagine a bludgeoning, a blunt object crashing into my body with all the might of omnipotent death, crushing my body to a paste and hurling my soul down into the darkest depths of the Earth.
There, a subduction fault sucks me under, and the intense pressure of eons of rotation crushes my spirit into a tiny metaphysical diamond, over a fraction of a millennia. Here stand I, on the threshold of a higher consciousness, wandering to and fro, wondering which man is the true Ginsberg of the bunch, and questioning whether I will ever fully actualize any of my insufferable dreams.
I am a dreamer, they say. Not John Lennon's brand of dreamer. I am just a Ridiculous Man, to quote my buddy from Mother Russia. In my mind I feel a constant need to substitute a more interesting world for this lousy one, a need to invent countless timelines by which I may live to make up for the obvious dull nature of the one in which I am currently imprisoned.
Wherefore art thou, dignity? I sit on the crest of a wave that broke under the nose of a very large God. Omniscient was he. And once I did ask him if he knew the best way to find out where I was going. He hurled at my heart a cold bolt of lightning and said with a grimace that I'd never find shelter. I tapped out a beat with my left foot and fingers, and walked twenty miles to the nearest bus station.
"Who was to stop me?", I asked without warning, and I found that my shoes had gone suddenly missing These words are to the scheme of that song by Bob Dylan, or Zimmerman Jewcakes, as some of us knew him. The one where William Zanzinger kills someone some-something, with a cane that he twirled 'round his diamond ring finger.
I digress. Of course I digress, I have never spoken a sensicle word in all my life.
And I don't think I shall start now. Goodnight ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time.

Hello everyone.
WAIT! I'm not ready to write this post yet, I need an espresso. Be back in a minute or two.
*clock ticks on indefinitely*
A-ha! I return, one espresso older and deeper in debt. I tell you, Italian espresso does cappucino really well, but if you want a straight shot, man, nothing does it like Bustelo. That's my hispanic opinion, though.
I love my lil' demitasse, I made it myself in art class, it looks like a third grader built it. I may have some knack for cartooning, but I have no talent whatsoever as far as pottery is concerned. I like it though, plus, it holds a double-shot.

My mom bought me a four-pack of those black and white composition books I love so much, as well as two twelve-packs of my favorite pens ever ('ceptin nib pens, of course) Gel-Sticks! Gel-sticks are so awesome, if anyone reading this is into drawing in black and white, and/or has any interest Gonzo, I highly recommend them, the lines that come out of them, the darkness of the ink, the ink flow, everything is just perfect. They are as cheap as hell, too. When I got them at first I thought they would suck, it's like 4 or 5 bucks for 12 of them. If any of you guys dig black and white illustration, gimme a holler, I'll hook you up with a pen or two and maybe you will see what I mean.
I have been updating this blog for so long that my entire writing style is bloglike now. When I write in my journal here at home, I write it like a monologue to a faceless mass of people, not like myself writing for only my eyes. It's really strange, of course you guys will never know. You stay the hell away from my journals!
I found one of my old hair elastics just now and it made me miss my old hippie hair. It's growing back, slowly but surely. I secretly decided that I think I am going to grow my hair like... 8 inches long or so, because when it gets really long it requires too much maintenance. The only maintenance it needs now is a hat to keep it from bein' too poofy.

I've been messing around with some Russian things a lot over the past few days, but the Cyrillic alphabet has thus far proven too much for my borderline retarded mind. I have decided, after discussing it at great lengths with Mine Papa, that it would be a better idea to try to figure out ancient Greek first, as that alphabet has only 24 letters as opposed to the Cyrillic alphabet's apparent 8 million. He gave me a Greek primer and this interlinnear Greek New Testament thing. I figure, if I can get a method down to figure Greek out, it should be that much easier to figure Russian out, and then I am just a hop, skip, and a jump away from a career in transcribing Solzhenitsyn into English at some strange European museum! Wouldn't that just be the bee's knees?
I know, it wouldn't be. Man, I am such a loser.

Beh, I'm boooored. I guess this blog post is done with now. Y'all have a good day and such.

Oh, mama, can this really be the end?
To be stuck inside a mobile
With the memphis blues again?

This morning was another victory over the forces of John, by the army sent out by the Empire of Uneventful Mornings.
I'm on my second cup of coffee, I am three quarters of the way through Blonde on Blonde, I woke up at nine AM; and what do I have to show for all these things? I've got a poison headache (but I feel alright), I am one terrible sketch richer for the two boring hours I have spent in front of this sketchbook, and my body is once again filled with all sorts of foreign chemicals that have thus far done very little to aid me in my quest for physical comfort.
Actually, that's not entirely true, my head hurt a lot worse earlier, but the cortizone nasal spray my dad gave me made my sinus inflammation go down like crazy, so I feel vastly better now.
Still, it's annoying that I am not drawing well. I hate it when I have bad drawing days, and this is like the third one in a row.
It's raining really hard all of a sudden, that kind of depresses me. I mean, I love the rain, but I was thinking about going up on the roof later. I love to climb up onto our roof, it's so comfortable; and when it's warm and and breezy the view is so pretty. I can sit up there for hours just hanging out, sketching and stuff. Who's going to bother me when I'm up there? Nobody, that's who.

Anyway, my energy for writing is drained for now, I may add to this post later on. See you later, fellas and fellettes!
Oh yeah, and:
Welcome Home, Becca!

*Edit*
Also, Tim, Taylor, Erin, and I saw Katie Hakala at the Starbucks in Taunton the other day and it was as freaky as hell.
There, ya happy?!

Good morrow, boyos and goilos! I am distressed beyond repair, and as my forced audience, you shall surrender to my will and read about the series of neurotic reasons behind my current mental and emotional upheaval!
To be quite frank, there wasn't a long series of neurotic reasons behind this particular upheaval. My only issue is that I have come up with a new phrase that I like to preface my writings with, I've used it twice on this here blawg, but I think using it on every post would take away from the lovely nature of the phrase. You know the one (or not, it doesn't really matter), it goes, "Welcome, one and all, to the incongruent ravings of the inferior mind!"
I like it, but I don't want to kill it. Alas, I am at an impass. Wait! The clouds have opened above me, and a piercing golden light from on high has burst through the dark mist that enshrouds my skull and illuminated a clever solution!
Phew, now that that is done with, onward to business!

I had a very restless night last night. Well, I rested some. But not a lot. I kept tossing and turning, although, given the violent nature of the tossings and turnings I would have to say that the tossing was more of a whipping or hurling motion, and the turnings were all-out spins. It was as though in my dreams I were trying to navigate and extremely difficult luge course at an incredibly high speed. I woke up with my blankets strewn about my room, my furniture splintered and defecated on, gripping one of my mutilated pillows between my fists and shaking it back in forth like a demonic bartender making martini, screaming, "HOW MANY MORE MUST DIE BEFORE WALMART IS SATISFIED!?!"
Luckily my parents called the New England Patriots to come and inject me with Elephant Tranquilizers before I brought about the apocalypse; but it is only a matter of time, my friends. The souls of the damned are a meal fit for a King!

Dang, I am afraid I have to go to work now, friends. Have a wonderful day!
*Edit*
At work now, there is very few cookies for me to make, so I guess I will be getting out early, I'll probably just go chill at tim's house for a while until I can get a ride home.

As I lay dying...

Hello, one and all. Welcome once again to the incongruent ravings of an inferior mind. This has been a very eventful week for the Colón family, and it is only getting eventfuller as time goes on. Luckily for me, april vacation is next week, so I will have a bit of slightly less stressful time in which to unwind.

It is a weird feeling, to realize you are about to lose someone who at one time was very close to you. The mixture of sorrow for that person's pain and shame for not spending time with them when you could have is overwhelming, it just leaves you feeling numb.
I don't really have much more I can say about that.

In other news, a friend of our family has come to visit this weekend. It my mother's former best friend's son, Sacoya (I am not sure how to spell his name, he is half Indian... the American kind.)
I spent a long and awkward time around him, my sister and my parents know him, but I do not, he hasn't been in Massachusetts for about 20 years. Needless to say, we did not have a lot to talk about. Also needless to say, my utterly useless social skills created an uneasy atmosphere between him and I.
On the plus side, he showed me this game called "Go". Some Americans call it the Chinese version of chess, but it is really nothing like chess at all, other than being a board game. It's very interesting, I don't think it will replace chess for me, though. I do love chess, I wish I played more often. I am not good at it, but it sure is fun.
But Go, man, it is weird! Sacoya (I can't spell!) said it is the oldest boardgame in the world.
"BUT!" he added, "There are a lot of backgammon players who say that backgammon is older."
Another fact I desperately needed to know, supplied to me by the cosmos just in the nick of time. I swear, if I didn't find that out when I did, I'd be dead.
Man, I just realized that you can say anything you want about the past. I mean, it's gone, how could anyone dispute you beyond a shadow of a doubt?

If I didn't drink a Pepsi today, I would sucked into a tear in the space-time continuum and spend an eternity floating between worlds.

Who's going to argue with me on that? I challenge each and every one of you to prove that statement wrong. If you can, I will give you a dollar.
A dollar that I have, because I got paid today. See that segue? Yeah, it was pretty good.
I got a big bundle of money, I spent a lot of it. Now I have less. Ain't it always the way?
I was smart this time, though. I put a hundred dollars in the bank. Now, after I go on my massive spending spree that will eat up all the money I have on me within three days, I will still have some left over. Good thinking, huh?
I am the worst impulse buyer ever.

I guess I am about finished with this post, I was just looking for a way to eat up some time and exercise my brain. Goodbye "ladies and gentle-ladies," as my dear cousin Merry is oft to quote.

The foreign sun, it squints upon
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly, totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden.

Man, my head hurts something fierce today, guys. I took the last of my pills just now, so I don't know what I am going to do from here on out. Probably cry... maybe sleep, I don't really know.

Elena has mono, apparently. I guess that would explain why she has been sleeping so much lately. The glands in her neck are so swollen that I can see them bulging out from ten feet away. Weird, huh?
So she can't do like ANYTHING for the next few weeks or whatever, because her spleen and liver are swollen, and she might rupture her spleen if she has too much activity or something. I'm not really good with details, but it's a weird situation.

Oh jeez, I am feeling so weird. I need to write something, but I don't know exactly what.
Whatever it is, I am not going to write it here. Goodbye ladies and gents, sleep well or forever hold your peace.

Don't bogart that joint, my friend.

Man, this is shaping up to be the worst week of all time, in Johnny-Town. I have school four nights this week, Monday through Thursday, which ruins the plans I had tentatively set up with Katie for tomorrow night, I have extra baking at work this week (AGAIN, DAMNIT!) and I am already running low on painkillers. The doctor told me that I should be feeling better after a while if I followed this sinus thingy he told me to do, but I am not, and I burned through my percoset pretty quickly because I expected the pain to go away, and now I have very little of it left. My life is officially ruined!
And to top it off, my good sketchbook is almost full! G'damnit! I KNEW I was drawing too much! Now I'll have to spend, what, SIX bucks to buy a new one?! GOD!
I've been messing with a new drawing technique lately, it is incredibly fun to do. It is my humiliating homage to the work of Ralph Steadman. Right now I am flinging ink around and creating my ghastly designs with my cheap two-dollar crow quill pen, it's very entertaining, though not incredibly useful.

I have so many things that my next check is going to, I doubt I'll be able to cover them all. I need new ink and some new nibs, for one thing, a new sketchbook, sunglasses, car payment, prom stuff, and.... world peace... and so on.

I am bored with this blog post, and I am on fioricet so writing is difficult. Therefore, goodbye everyone!

An indescribable destruction has been rudely set upon me, a legion of cloven-hoofed demons tear at my skin and pluck at my eyes. I am beset on all sides by the Vile Rotting Empires of Man.
"Raving", she said to me once, "And sometimes, Johnny, you DO rave."
This I know, dear mother, but you must understand that I have no choice. The words and the lines build up inside my skull, and mine only outlet is this screen. I have the paper, yes, but that is not the same. My papers do not pervert the minds of other Men, those brainless notebooks only grin for sport.
What is it that pushes these things into my fragile head? I do not know, my brethren, I've no idea. I only know that the pressure becomes too great for me, I suffer a daily mental concussion, an explosion of blood and philosophy erupts from my frontal lobe nightly. I apologize for the occasional splatter that the rest of you must clean up.
I request only that you take my ravings with a grain of salt. I do not know if that is the expression I am searching for; the truth is I do not know much, I may have been born with some potential, but it has been thoroughly baked out of my mind over the course of the millennia.
I apologize for these words, but as I say, I have no choice. Goodnight, my hundred children, and pleasant dreams.

Many thanks to the Katies for filling my last post's comment page with approxiamately 104 irrelevant comments! I hope they have earned that sense of their own self-satisfaction that I mentioned in the previous post.

So it is 7:58 on a sunny spring Sunday morning, and I am here with my cup of coffee, my disgusting cat, and the words of Lou Reed playing in the background of my mind (not in reailty, mind you, I lost my copy of that album). What have I learned from this wonderful morning? Appreciate the little things, appreciate your mother and your sister having outrageous arguments about something as insignificant as getting out of bed, appreciate the "back-up" coffee that nobody in your family likes but you all drink anyway because you need coffee, appreciate the 900 year old cat who always begs you for food and then only eats about two bites of it, so you have to throw the rest away. Appreciate all these things, my friends, because one day, they might not be there; and I know I will miss them then.
My usually obnoxiously warm house is a bit chilly today, my mother had the ceiling fans running on high all night. She likes things to be real cold, I like things to be real warm, and my dad just doesn't want to spend money. I don't know how Lena feels on the subject, if I was going entirely on this morning's evidence I would think that she is never awake enough to notice the temperature, or the time, or what year it is. Ah, now she is up, and pouring herself a sub-par cup of everyone's favorite family back-up coffee.
I have to go now, I guess have to shower, shave, and dress in about 15 minutes.

Man, a guy can't get many breaks around here.
It has been a real long time since I have gotten any kind of writing done, at least four days, I'd say. I hate when that happens, it makes me feel like I am losing my grip on whatever it is that keeps my life rolling along. I can't even take any solace in the fact that I am writing right now, I am not doing it because I have any thoughts in my head, I haven't been thinking any kind of philosophical thoughts lately. I am only writing to escape the boredom and angst that constantly haunts me, waving their ghostly tentacles in front of my eyes and obscuring my vision.
I just realized something. It's weird, and it's annoyingly simple, but it is a realization, and I am going to write a few words about it.
Erin asked me a while ago, why I always think that I am ugly and stuff. I didn't really have an answer for her. The truth is, I don't know how to judge my looks, I don't know what a handsome man looks like, I don't think I ever will. I can't judge my friends' level of physical attractiveness, I just figure that they are all nice guys, so in my head they are all the pinnacle of male sexuality. That seems to make sense to me!
My self-loathing extends beyong the physical, though. I think my personality is abhorrent, I think I am unintelligent and I think sometimes the fact that I like to read books and that some people have told me that somehow I am a brain has made me occasionally pompous; and pomposity is, in my mind, one of the most obnoxious of character traits. Mind you, I try to avoid pomposity whenever possible, but... well, I don't even have anything to add to that.
The point is, the reason I don't like my looks and the reason I think I am such an awful, disgusting, obnoxious, perverted, pompous, and all-around unappealing bastard is that I do not like myself. I spend 24 hours a day with myself and I despise it. You know how sometimes you can think someone is good-looking, but then you get to know them and they are assholes and then you think they are ugly? It's like that. I know myself so well and I put such a bad spin on everything about me that I have come to think of my entire being as distasteful.
That's all. As I said, it was annoyingly obvious, but that idea just popped into my head and I needed something to write about so... there you go.

I baked 1200 cookies today. It only took me 5 and a half hours. In response to this, I have decided that I have become a pretty efficient baker, I like my job and I like my co-workers, and a thirty hour week isn't that bad, I don't think, so I think I'll keep it up. 30 hours a week'll get me a 400-some odd check every two weeks, which is pretty good methinks. Right now I've got 64 hours put away, I don't know how much that'll add up to, but it should be enough to tide me over for a while. Even after the car payment and what I owe my mom, I still got like 180.
I had a headache, but I am trying to cut back on my perk intake because... well, just because. So I've decided not to take it for a week or so. I took some fioricet for the headache, so now I'm all sleepy and woozy. Lousy fioricet.

A few months is all I have left, my friends. I don't know exactly what I am going to do when I have earned freedom, I'll probably continue working and saving for a while, but I'm not going to work there forever. All I know is, everything in my life is going to change, I don't know if it will change for the better or for the worse, all I know is that it will be a welcome change, because I am bored with work and school and everything. I am going to write a lot of introspective "don't have plans for the future" crap now, so if you aren't into that, skip ahead a few paragraphs.
I really don't have any plans for what I am going to do with my life, and it's beginning to worry me a bit. Well, "worry me a bit" isn't exactly truthful, I don't care very much at all, but I feel like I should care. It feels like not caring is a problem, but I don't know how to solve it.
For a while I was thinking about biting the bullet and going to college, but I don't think I want to do that. As disappointing as it may be for my parents, I just don't have the zest for learning that they have. I'm not as smart as any of my family, I don't have any talent or ambition, all I want to do is get a place, write, draw, work, sleep, and eat. Maybe have a cat, that would be pretty cool. As far as my relationships with my friends and things are concerned, I have no idea how they are going to turn out. I mean, if my "plan" works out right, I'm gonna be in and out of the state a lot anyway. (My "plan" is to drive around the country aimlessly and write a lot, and sleep in the bed of my truck. Yeah, good planning, huh?) Chances are that won't pan out, and I'll just end up taking a small aparment in like Brockton and working at Veronica's, trying to get short stories published in magazines and getting halfway through comics and then throwing them out all the time like I do now. Then I'll die. Then I will get married and have kids. Not necessarily in that order.
I'm scared of getting married and having kids, too. If I don't go to college, I'm never going to be able to afford to support a family. I'd barely afford to support myself if I had the job I have now. I shouldn't even think about that, though, it is not a pressing issue by any means.
Anyway, I have no idea what I am going to do with my life. I thought about trying to conquer my fear of the ocean and join the merchant marine. I mean, I'd get to visit different countries and have a little excitement in my life, but who knows how that would work out? Especially in these turbulent times, I'd probably end up getting shot or having some long, drawn out, Crusoe-esque misadventure that would end in tragedy when I am felled by a piece of shrapnel in a freak coconut explosion.
I fully expect that to happen, I really hope that is how I die.

Anyway, I know when I said, "Skip ahead a few paragraphs." I implied that there would be more to this, but I am tired, the fioricet has made me drowsy, so I am going to go to sleep. Goodnight, ladies and gents, thank you for your time.
Edit
I found a typo in here, and then I fixed it! If you can find the one I fixed, and I have no idea how you would, you win the ultimate prize of your own self-satisfaction.

Hull folks. I apologize for the awful writing and pompous tone of the previous post, I had inadvertantly taken far too large a dose of Percoset yesterday because I forgot how strong my new pills were, so I was pretty mind-numbed at the time.
I feel kinda gross right now, I don't know what's up. That's all the updating I am gonna do, I think I shall go nap for a while! Toodle-oo buckaroos.

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there
With silver bracelets on her wrists, and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
Come in, she said,
I’ll give you shelter from the storm.

It is a funny thing, looking back on life. It is strange to see how the horror of the moment does nothing to take away from the beauty of the whole.
I have lived my life in imaginary misery, in my head every smile I see is concealing unbearable scorn and distaste for me. This feeling has turned me into a strangely shy person around people who I do not know very well, but my shyness is not the usual strain. I become very loud and absurd around new people. I constantly try to mask my social ineptitude and self-loathing with an obnoxious and unapologetically vulgar sense of humour. This is a very self-defeating illusion, as the people who I am trying to fool into thinking me normal oft label me as an annoying and coarse person, unenlightened and unintelligent.
Then there comes people who do not know me well, but have heard people like my sister or my close friends and family talk about me in the past. I do not know how they really feel about me, unfortunately a lot of them end up in a position of power over me, be it through age or circumstance, so my normal defense of making a jackass out of myself does not suffice. Instead I become a very respectful and obedient person, rarely speaking and smirking politely at all of their jokes.
I feel this has gotten me labeled as somewhat of an idiot savant. “Yeah, that Johnny is a bit soft in the head, but he sure is a whiz with ‘dem letters!”
Yet, despite all my neurosis and inscrutable paranoia, I am blessed with these occasional introspective mental binges that do not stop until I have uncovered some enormous truth about myself that I had been previously unaware of. I am happy to say that this happened to me this morning while I was at work.
Now, this is not to say that I am a lackadaisical employee, far from it in fact. Mine is the kind of mindless paid turmoil that allows one to move at a quick and efficient pace and still draw on less than %1 of one’s mental abilities. Thus leaving the rest of the mind to roam free in the universe it has created for itself unhindered, at least until a co-worker comes in and questions why one keeps on pausing to jot down strange and wholly delirious prose on the back of one’s baking to-do list.
To make a lengthy story slightly more bearable, the conclusion I came to after my sojourn into the dark, abysmal cavern of my only-slightly-conscious is that despite my chronic emotional dumbassery I do actually have a lot to be thankful for in my life. I mean, I have a wonderful gal, and physically I am not all-together unappealing; I seem to “do ok with the ladies.” There is that whole intelligence thing that my parents insist that I have while berating me for my lack of scholarly interest, that is pretty cool; and I got some friends, that’s pretty cool too, a lot of people don’t have that. And I get to draw, if I couldn’t draw (if I literally couldn’t draw, we’re not talking talent here, folks, because I think we can all agree that I don’t have any of THAT) I would probably kill myself. And… uh… that’s about it, I think.

My only problem with these days filled with philosophical self-examination is that I always come to pretty much the same conclusion, so it never really does me any good; I guess it’s just a reminder or something. Praise be to Allah that it came when it did.
Seriously though, it would take a far more formidable math student than I to count the amount of “epiphany about the worth of life” posts I have written. There is a phrase my mom called me once, and I think it will summarize what I am and why I write the things I do pretty succinctly. She said that I am, “emotionally labile.”
I think that makes perfect sense.
Anyway, have a good afternoon, ye sexy ladies and clean-shaven boys in blue.

Hello there ladies and gents, I am at Ryan's house right now, writin' some words. Him and Reba are doin' that thing, y'know, where they enjoy a film. Those BASTARDS!
I myself am not enjoying this film, at least not to the fullest extent of the law.

Guys! I have the most wonderfully disgusting news!
I went to the doctor (to see what he could give me, etc..) today, and it turns out that I am fully and completely healthy as far as my brain and surrounding blood vessels are concerned, which was what I was worried about. My problem is far different and more hideous than that, my friends, and that problem is this: My sinuses are inflamed, and packed full with an immovable mass of cysts and polyps.
Isn't that GROTESQUE? But I am ecstatic about it, just because it means there isn't something else dreadfully wrong with me. Like my father before me, I am doomed to a life of chronic sinusitis that is so bad that I have been prescribed three severely controlled substances to deal with it; BUT I do not have an aneurism or a tumor, so man, I am happy!
Also, my pituitary gland is slightly enlarged. I don't know what that means, but he said that because of my occasional blurred vision and dizziness I have to get another MRI just of the gland, and I have to go for an eye exam. Also, they took some blood to test my hormone levels, because that gland could mess them up. I am not growing breasts, though, so I don't think that that is happening.
So I have like five appointments in the next couple of weeks, and he gave me a prescription for thirty more percosets, I think I am going to get another one once a month or something if the pain keeps up, or he could find something else for me. WHo knows?

Seriously though, man. I have to rinse out my sinuses with a saline fluid twice daily, which means that a horrible collection of nasal cysts, polyps, and fluids is going to come out of my nose and into the jar that I am going to collect it in to freak out my fellows (namely Katie) with.
I'm so excited. I'm not going to die, AND I get my truck today. This is the best day EVER!
If only I didn't have the horrible pain. Eh, whatchu gonna do? On the plus side, I can take the last of my percoset now because I know I am getting more. Fweakin-dazz!

*edit*
Well, I'm not dying at least, haha. Truck: Wednesday! Or so! We'll see how it goes.