A Ceramic Fish Joint

My stomach is all kinds of not right lately. I have gastric paresis (literally means weak stomach but basically means I have a hard time digesting food.) I started having problems last March, and it’s gotten progressively worse. I think I’ve spent a little over two months in the hospital because of my stomach, had my gallbladder taken out and spend nearly every day in excruciating pain. It really sucks because I have to eat even smaller amounts than I normally do (which is insanely small anyways) because if I don’t, then I end up having too much food in my stomach and I throw up. Not fun.

I take medicine for it, but it’s just not working anymore. And as it’s gotten worse, my appetite has increased. Which just makes no sense to me. It’s like I have this insane need to put things in my stomach. It’s not even that I’m hungry, per se, but that there is kind of a gnawing feeling that initially feels better when I eat. Of course, this happens over and over again and after I’ve been awake 10 hours or so I start to get sick. I’ve been trying really hard to not throw up anymore. Because not only is it all kinds of not pleasant, but when you do it every day it causes more health problems. My teeth are getting weaker, and I was “blessed” with crappy teeth to begin with. And my upper GI is just getting torn up from it. I’d hate to see the damage that’s been done. When I had my last endoscopy, I already had a wicked case of gastritis (inflammation of the stomach) and it’s clear that it’s gotten worse. And I’m just nauseated all the time, making it hard to live a productive life.

For the past two weeks or so, I’ve had a moment at some point every day where I get incredibly overheated. My body temperature rises slightly, but I don’t have any of the normal symptoms associated with it like chills. Instead I can just feel the heat radiating from me. Then I get super nauseated and have this incredible pain in the upper right quadrant of my abdomen and I have to fight the urge to throw up. When I was first diagnosed with gastric paresis, I’d have an episode where I’d be sick like this for a couple days then would be fine for a week or two. When I got medicine for it, I actually felt fine for close to a month. Now it’s back and worse than ever. Plus, thanks to getting fired I’m at a stupid lull in my insurance coverage. I had to wait to extend it until I got approved/paid for unemployment because COBRA coverage costs me close to $400 a month now. I only started getting paid a couple weeks ago, and by that point I was so far behind on other bills that I couldn’t pay for insurance yet. So, the insurance finally ran out…I have until the end of January to pay for it, I already elected to sign up for COBRA. But, when you first sign up, it can take like a month for the change to go through. So right now I’m in that down time and afraid to go to the doctor or back to the hospital.

Actually, the last time I did go to the hospital (back when this started getting bad again) all they did was run some bloodwork, give me a shot of painkillers and send me home. Nevermind that with this disease there are things that I’m predisposed for, like obstructions. Which has already been a problem for me. I got the feeling that the ER thought I just wanted painkillers and that was it. If they could only know how horrible I feel. It’s like having a stomach flu every single day of your life. Or rather, being on day three of the stomach flu if that makes any sense.

In any case, my tummy is sad and it’s taking it out on me. Which makes me very sad. Stupid, stupid tummy. I can’t even convince my cat to come lay on it to make it feel better. I swear I think purring helps heal stuff because my furry purr-ball always makes me feel better when he lays on me. Maybe if I roll around in roasted turkey he’d like me more. Turkey is apparently crack for my cat; he can’t get enough of it. The fiend.

Gawd, could I be any whinier? I hate me sometimes. Please, just don’t pay attention to me. It’s too embarrassing.

In Texas, police mistakenly arrest a 12 year old girl outside of her own home, claiming she was a prostitute. At the wrong address – two blocks away. They assaulted the girl when she tried to fight back against THREE plain-clothed officers who refused to identify themselves. So there’s a lawsuit against them, obviously. That’s already incredibly crazy.

But, but, BUT. There’s a countersuit against the girl and her father of assaulting police officers because she tried to defend herself and the father tried to protect her when she ran off. Because, you know, three strange men in an unmarked blue van attacked her, giving her two black eyes and damaging her ear drums. A 12 year old girl who wasn’t even the same race as the person they were after. Even worse? They came to middle school and arrested the girl because of the “assault of a public servant” along with her father. No apologies whatsoever. Instead, the following statement:

Also, “The city has investigated the matter and found that the conduct of the police officers was appropriate under the circumstances,” Helfand says. “It’s unfortunate that sometimes police officers have to use force against people who are using force against them. And the evidence will show that both these folks violated the law and forcefully resisted arrest.”

Holy hell. What the fuck is wrong with people?

“I want to getopts all over your mknod and slocate your head and tail so I can mount and unmount all night long” – best line ever said to me

So last night I stumbled on a new message board site. It’s one that has a really nifty real-time update and is widely used by bunches of people – so there’s a lot of activity there. I normally would lurk and get the feel of the place for at least a few days if not weeks or months. I think I was on Threeway Action for six months before I started posting; even then it was rare. Eight years later (!) I still have less than 2000 posts. Anyway, so I stumbled on this site, right? Literally stumbled. I made a typo that forwarded to the site (it’s a very common word) and had read maybe two posts before I clicked on one that completely drew me in.

It was from a depressed teenager (see where this is going?) that had overdosed or some such. It turned out to be a troll, but many people, including myself, were completely wrapped up in the situation. Now, here is apparently where I made my mistake. After reading the post, it struck me so closely and was honestly so real, that I registered and responded to it. I’m an idiot, apparently. This site requires that you register and verify your email address, but you can post anonymously. And I think you can create an account and use it for like a day without verifying it. Which leads to more chances for abuse.

So, this post just happened to occur mere minutes before I came to the site. And I happened to verify my account roughly five minutes after the original poster. This person had created a second account and was “supporting” herself at the same time. Lovely, lovely trolling.

Anyway, it was about an hour or two before it became apparent to everyone that this was a farce. Someone had given me the IP address of the poster because I offered to call the police in their town. Oh, this site has a good percentage of people from other countries…and not everyone responding to the post was from the US. I made three calls to the police and one to their ISP to report it. One other person did as well. Later on, one of the moderators called the police as well.

Apparently the officer he spoke with claimed that no one had called to report it. I’m not sure if they can’t give out that information or what, because I swear I think I spoke to the same officer the other guy did. By this time, multiple people had already decided that I was a part of the game. I can’t even think of another instance online when I have felt as attacked as I did last night. And today, even. I’m not entirely sure why I’m so upset about it, but I am. I was so emotionally involved in the incident last night. So worried about that person for a good two hours. Whoever it was that made the original and follow-up posts was a clever person – it didn’t seem like bullshit at all. I’ll admit that I can be naive, but it was a long time before I ever even considered that it could be fake, even with a few other people assuming it was. I guess my belief that it was real led others to believe I was the person behind it all. Or, more accurately, one of the people behind it. It was decided that two adults were playing the game. Me being one of them.

I can’t even believe I’m writing about this. I’m just so bothered by it still. I’ve never been accused of something like this before. And it really kind of hurts. And the thing is, I can even see where it’s coming from. It just so happened that I registered within minutes of the other person. It just so happened that I knew where her town was in Maryland, despite my current location in Tampa. Because, you know, I grew up in the Western Maryland area and this person lived in the Baltimore metro area. And finally, it just so happened that I knew so much of what this person said they were going through. Depression, sexual abuse as a child, a recent hospitalization for overdose, a tendency to take too many pills when upset. Hell, I could have been writing it at 28. But I wasn’t writing it.

Maybe it’s the emotional exhaustion from having a mortal fear for another person’s life that is bothering me so much. Maybe it’s the scrutiny I received there, the expectation to justify myself and my words – which were nothing but supportive. I don’t know. I guess that despite all the things that potentially linked me to the stupid troll is that I actually posted in other areas on the site. I responded to messages to me from everyone who wrote. I even made my own topic post tonight for something completely benign.

This place is very anonymous – which is super weird to me. On 3WA, there’s something that’s very personal. We all share intimate details, we talk about our lives, we share pictures/journals/etc. We meet up with each other, we’ve had huge parties where people from all over meet up. We send Christmas cards, participate in “secret pals” where we shower another person with love and fun and prizes for an entire month. We laugh together, cry together, love together. We’ve helped people through divorce, we’ve seen people fall in love after meeting on the site (and have babies! ThreeWayBabies!) helped out one another during tough times virtually and in real life. We’ve lost members due to disease and mourn for them together. That closeness is what I’m used to in an online community. I totally realize that not all places are 3WA and appreciate that. It just wouldn’t work everywhere; we are lucky to have a very special group of people there that Make It Work.

So there is this whole super anonymous factor to this new site I stumbled on, which contributes to this type of abuse that happens. And also contributes to people jumping to conclusions about other people, especially new users. Like me. Even though I shared personal information, these people didn’t believe me. I used my real name there. My real name, which is easily Google-able. In a few minutes you could find out that yes, I’m 28 living in Tampa. And yes I lost my job last month and was admitted to a psych unit the day I was let go. Etc, etc, etc. All these things that people claimed to have checked out on “questionable” users is so easy to find on me. I don’t hide behind a random username online. I never have. Perhaps that’s wrong, it just seems silly to me. I hide things about me in real life, what possible reason would I have to do so online?

I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’ve let a completely fabricated situation control the last 36 hours of my life. I can’t not think about it. Maybe it’s because people generally find me so trustworthy that these attacks are bothering me. I’ve noticed that people tend to let their guard down with me. They share things with me that wouldn’t normally be shared. People keep me in their confidences. I befriend people quickly. It’s just something that happens. I’m not sure what it is about me that is so disarming, perhaps I’m just not a natural threat. Who knows.

In any case, I just have not experienced people who are so suspicious of me, let alone actually accusing me of creating (or helping to create) this huge, horrible farce. So I’m having a hard time letting it go. I’m still trying to wipe my jaw from the floor, actually. I’m in total shock over these accusations. And that doesn’t even come close to how I feel over the deception of a stupid, stupid troll. What. The. Fuck.

Roughly two weeks ago, someone went in search of ’symptoms of stupidness’ – and they found me. Apparently, I’m the fourth hit on Google. Is this something I should be proud of?

I have pain. Real, imagined…physical, emotional. I have pain. I hurt all the time. I cry for myself sometimes. Because it hurts. Because I’m not who I thought I would be. I can’t do the things I think I should be able to. And it hurts.

I’m not sure why I’m even talking about this.

I found a prescription for painkillers just now. I thought I had an extra prescription….thought I had two, actually…but found the one. Last week. I got a bottle of Oxycontin filled. I don’t really like them. But I was in pain – I was in withdrawal. I have been taking large doses of painkillers for nearly a year now, and it hurts when I don’t have them.

Just now I was looking for the paperwork to extend my health insurance through COBRA. My bedroom is a mess, and I’ve been keeping all kinds of stuff on my bed. Paperwork, movies, my digital camera, purse, makeup, basket of pills, etc, etc, etc. Anyway, my health insurance ran out last week. I need to pay for the continuation of it through COBRA. I have an appointment next Friday with the pain management doctor. Which I can’t miss, because of the whole need for painkillers.

Anyway, this month the doctor gave me one extra prescription for Oxycontin by mistake. And the pharmacy accidentally gave back the prescription for Oxycodone by mistake (I had two scripts I was getting filled – they didn’t have the Oxycontin there…so they gave me that prescription back, along with the one for Oxycodone while actually filling it. Or something like that. They filled one, didn’t have the other. But gave me both prescriptions back.) So, I just found a prescription for muscle relaxers (which is good, because I ran out) and stuck to the back of it was the one for Oxycodone. Hurray! I say this because I have 14 pills left of the Oxycontin. I’m supposed to take one every 12 hours because they’re time release. But they’re not strong enough if I’m not taking anything else. So I end up chewing up three or four at a time. Which means I would run out of them by the weekend. And then would have all next week of being sick.

Being dope-sick is not the most fun thing to do. Especially when it’s all holiday season and whatnot and people expect you to be jolly. I can’t be jolly. I’m not a jolly person.

Being dope sick reminds me of the bad times when I was on heroin. I have a long and treturous past with opiates. Hell, I even bought opium poppies to grow. I haven’t actually planted them, and will wait until I move back home. But yeah. I have planned ahead to make my own drugs. Okay, not really make them. I am in no way capable of making heroin. But in its most basic form? Yeah, I can do that. You scratch the pod on an opium poppy, let the sap run out. Consuming the sap gives the mind-numbing, pain relieving opiate effects. No fuss, no muss. Just have to manage to keep a plant alive. Which, well, is a hard one for me. I killed a palm tree that lived on my lanai. All it needed was water. Florida has all the sun. But I forgot to water it for..oh…six months. I’m not real good at plants.

So, I have these prescriptions that I can get filled tomorrow. And it will make me a much nicer person. No more yelling. No more tears. I’ll be okay for a few more weeks.

Did I ever write about how I overdosed last month? I actually overdosed twice. The first time, I got a phone call from T-Mobile’s HR department telling me I was fired. I took a handful of Xanax. Probably 10…maybe more. I wanted to make the hurt go away. I felt so rejected. I knew it was coming; knew I would be fired eventually, but hoped that I could at least get a severance out of it or something. Or be able to work some more before I lost my job. I didn’t want to be laying in bed, sick from surgery, when I got that call. But, I didn’t get what I wanted.

To say I flipped out is putting it lightly. It’s pretty well known that I’m not the most mentally stable person out there. And I think I had just been beat down so much over the last six months that I couldn’t handle another thing going wrong.

The most Xanax I’ve ever taken before that is 6mg. Which is a lot. I’ve done that a few times. Once, when my brother picked a fight with me. I forget what it was even about now. Another time when paperwork wasn’t filled out for my LOA at T-Mobile, and I thought I would get fired. Things probably would have been so much easier had they let me go a year ago. No car accidents, no dad living with me – leaving my mom, no getting sick and being alone…being afraid and asking for my mom, which led to her living with me for the past six months. None of that. I probably would have just stayed in WV. Of course, good things happened in the past year. Not many, but some good things.

So, anyway. My “case” at work had been handed to a new HR person. I had never spoken to her before. The only conversation we had was the one where she fired me. I took a handful of Xanax. It was at least 10mg, but likely more than that. I didn’t take my entire bottle, though. Odd, that. After a few hours of sitting here being upset, I called my psychiatrist. I guess I knew I needed to be hospitalized. I don’t really remember what all happened. Apparently I told the office that I had overdosed. He had me come see him at his office in Largo. Somehow I drove myself there (with my mom) while being incredibly, incredibly drugged. He asked me to voluntarily check myself into the psych unit at Memorial Hospital, which I agreed to. If I hadn’t, he was going to force me to check in so it didn’t matter either way.

I don’t remember the meeting with him that night. Or the ride back home. Apparently I wanted Chinese food for dinner and either stopped to get it on the way home, or had it delivered. I didn’t realize that until I got out later in the week and there was leftover Chinese. I spent about 8 hours in the ER, waiting to be admitted. I had some bloodwork done – my liver was not in good shape. It never is, thanks to the loads of pills I have to take on any given day.

I was taken upstairs around 3am and had to go through admission on a psych unit for the first time ever. I wasn’t allowed to have anything apart from my clothes, not even lip balm. My roommate was a 61 year old lady. She said she was pregnant, and that her husband had died. She was wandering around when I was admitted. And, ever night after that, she woke up around 3am. Turning on the light to get dressed. Then out to wander the halls again. She also walked in on me every single time I was in the bathroom because she apparently didn’t understand a closed door or the sign that said KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING.

We had to line up at a window to get our meds three times a day. And beg for prn meds the rest of the time. Since I have the above mentioned addiction to painkillers, I was at the window a lot. I am allowed to take oxycodone 4 times a day when I need it. So I had to wait a random amount of time after the meds were given to ask for the other painkiller. Because if it was too close to med time, I would be denied since I always received something at 9am and 9pm.

I spent much of the first day sleeping. I got up to see my psychiatrist. I skipped activities times and therapy times though. The nurses didn’t like me because I wouldn’t do group activities. I just wanted to be left alone and slept most of the time.

Since I was a voluntary inpatient, I could only be held for 72 hours unless the psychiatrist felt I needed more treatment. It was kind of a joke, really. All I did was get my meds at a certain time, eat with plastic utensils with the other 20 or so people. The social worker there wanted my mom to come in for a meeting on my second day. The lady pissed my mom off, because she actually listened to what I said. When I was finally getting released, my car had died again. The battery was bad. It was 2 or 3 weeks old and bad. I had to take a cab home. Then my mom got the cab driver to jump start my car. He couldn’t get the hood up, so the front grate thing? My mom had him tear it off. Yeah. He tore part of my car off and threw it in the neighbor’s yard.

You’d think I’d have stronger feelings in regards to my time in the psych unit. I don’t even remember what I told my psychiatrist. Or what I said during group therapy the one night I went (a couple girls there dragged me after my meeting with the social worker.) I remember I was supposed to say something that I was going to work on. I just don’t know what it was.

A few days after I got out, I overdosed again. This time on morphine. All of my other pills were being given to me in 7 day supplies to prevent a repeat of the prior incident. But my pain meds are supplied by a different doctor, and thanks to being in the hospital for most of the month, I had a lot of extra morphine lying around. I’m pretty immune to morphine, so it didn’t affect me at all. Well, I got hot and my heart was racing. Opiates, in the right amount, act like speed for me. It’s always been that way. I loved when I could find that perfect amount of heroin. It would make me sick at first, but after I threw up I would be bouncing around. That’s something they never really tell you about heroin; it makes you throw up as soon as it hits you. Oh, and it, along with all other opiates, make it really really hard to pee. I’m not sure why, but your bladder just stops working. After surgery in October, taking IV dilaudid made me stop being able to pee. It would take hours. Then I’d have to go again. It sucked, a lot. Luckily, when you’re on IV painkillers you also get IV anti-emetics. So you don’t really throw up. At home, I’m not so lucky. I have special pills to help me not be sick, because by default I’m always sick and in pain from my newly diagnosed gastric-paresis. That means my GI system isn’t working. I don’t digest food. Even with treatment, I still have problems. Right after I was in the hospital last (which was last week I think) I started the whole puking thing again. And realized that my stomach was doing even worse with digesting. Food should leave your stomach in about an hour and a half. They estimated that it was taking about 4 hours for it to happen with me. The last time I got sick, though, I hadn’t digested anything in about 12 hours. So it’s getting worse.

My chiropractor gave me some stuff that you mix in a drink to help with digestion. And he told me about a couple of foods – pineapple and papaya – that help digestion. Oh and peppermint. That’s why restaurants have peppermints for after your meal. It’s to help you digest, and help you keep from getting sick from food poisoning and such. The only downside is that I can’t stand things like pineapple, papaya and peppermint. And these packs of digestion-helping powder things? Are nasty. I’m going to have to look for some kind of digestive enzyme pills or something.

So tomorrow my dad is coming back down to Tampa to spend the holidays and help with packing. I haven’t done any packing yet. A big part of me really doesn’t want to leave. Things are not ideal in WV. But, things aren’t ideal right now either. My mom lives on my couch. I don’t even get to watch my own tv anymore. I can’t remember the last time I did. She chain-smokes here, and the smell just won’t go away. She also has decided she can smoke in my car. Nevermind that I can’t breathe when she smokes. Or that I’ve asked her not to do it around me. No, she doesn’t care. She feels entitled to smoke in MY home and in MY car. If I say anything to her, she gets pissed off because I’m being a brat. A brat who prefers to not be surrounded by cigarette smoke.

Then there’s my brother. You know, the one who is 34 years old, doesn’t work, has everyone else wait on him. The manipulative jerk. Oh, and the one who raped me when I was 9. Yeah, that one. I’ll have the pleasure of living with him again. And, this time around, I get to live in the basement! His old bedroom. Because he took mine. Well, my dad took my bedroom. Then I cleaned and fixed up dad’s old bedroom and slept there last year. After I left, mom encouraged Jeremy to take it. So, I get left sleeping downstairs in the basement. The basement that has been trashed by Jeremy. Literally. He’s actually torn down the drywall on one of the walls.

Rumor has it that he’s going to move to the DC area to be with his girlfriend. Because she’s pregnant. Yeah, genius apparently doesn’t know how to use birth control. And the two of them thought it would be a good idea to have a kid. You know, cause it’s not like they don’t live three hours apart. Or that he doesn’t have a job. And may go to jail because of the child support he refuses to pay for his other kid. The 15 year old who didn’t go to school for six years. That one.

Man, my life is fucked up. No wonder I’m mentally unstable. I really just hope that I can get a settlement from the insurance company, take the spring and summer off then go to school in the fall. Sigh. I want to have things go right in my life for once. I want to not be sad. All these things that go wrong make me want to do stupid things. Like take handfuls of pills. Because it seems like it doesn’t matter; because things don’t work out in the end for me anyway. I miss the days when I was the smart one. The girl who had everything going for her. I miss that. I thought coming to Tampa would be a clean start for me. Even if school didn’t work out, working and living at home didn’t work out, even then…I was able to overcome heroin addiction. I came here. I worked my way up in the world, eventually getting a good job. All that came crashing apart though. And I want to drown my sorrows in a sea of apathy. Hell, I even went in search of heroin once. I was sold something that was so clearly not heroin. I think I may have paid 80 dollars for crushed up Aspirin and Aleve. Seriously.

I wonder sometimes what will keep me from chasing the dragon again when I get back to WV. I can easily buy it there. Well, not there, but in Baltimore I can. I will likely have a lot of money from insurance, just like the last time I moved back home. And I will have a lot of sadness, just like last time. There are so many things that are the same. And I’m a weak, weak person. It’s hard when you know there’s something that will take all the pain away. Something that will make life feel so good. Once it hits you, your entire body feels like an orgasm. How can you deny something like that?

Made cookies. (done)
Decorated cookies. (done)
Am awesome. (more of a “being”; also “always”)

I just got my dad’s flight to come down to see me. Yay. He gets here on Thursday evening. I miss my dad lots. He’s staying until the first week of January, because Jeremy has to be in MO for another court hearing on 1/8/09. And, since my 34 year old brother can’t be trusted to actually go to a specific state, arrive at court and get back home without supervision, my dad will have to go up to drive him there. It’s ridiculous, really.

Then, my dad has to come back down to Tampa to help me finish packing and move. I’ll be staying until the end of my lease (the end of next month) which kind of works out well. The SuperBowl is Feb 1st, and it’s here this year. Dad wants to be around when the tourists come for the game because a LOT of people will be gambling away a LOT of money. Which means the potential to make a lot of money. When big events happen, people flock to casinos and such and consider it vacation fun. For someone who gambles as a primary source of income, this is ideal because vacationers are apt to spend a lot of money on recreational things like casinos. I mean, how many people go to Vegas and blow a few grand without blinking. Because, you know, it’s Vegas and you do those kind of things.

Anyway, that means we’ll be leaving the very first of February I guess. I might be able to work out with my landlord to give me a few days leeway – he’s pretty cool like that and will likely do it since I actually moved in on February 14th last year.

Ugh. It’s Monday. Must remember to claim weeks off work today – I forgot last week. I hope that I don’t miss out on pay for last week. I only just started receiving unemployment…one month later.

Sigh. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours now. Guess I should try to sleep some. Stupid body and its stupid insomnia. And stupid psychiatrist who won’t prescribe me any more meds without seeing him. And stupid insurance for running out, preventing me from seeing said psychiatrist until I pay the outrageous COBRA fees. Stupid not having a job. Yeah. Stupid, stupid unemployment.

Tomorrow the race track opens back up. In Tampa, it’s a winter track and is only open for 3ish months. Which is weird for me because I’m used to year-round horse tracks. But because of the weather here, it’s just not optimal for horses to run once it gets hotter and more humid.

I’ve never gone to the horse track in Tampa. I went to one of the dog tracks, but the dogs weren’t running. I don’t really like dog racing as much; just seems like less fun of a sport. Maybe it’s because there are no jockeys, I don’t know. I just really like horse racing. It’s been a fixture in my life since I was wee bitty.

My dad actually owned a race horse two years before I was born. I like to think that I have inherited the ability to handicap horses from him. I do pretty well when I go to the track. For me, it’s not just about numbers – I have to see the horses also. You can tell a lot about an animal by watching the way it acts prior to the race. These creatures live for racing…they absolutely love it. They know when they do well, they are competitive and they want to race one another. I know a lot of people don’t agree with it; I dated a PETA freak at one time even. But I also know that those animals have the best lives and are doing what they love. Keeping a racehorse from racing would be like keeping my parent’s bench beagle from tracking down an animal – it’s against its very nature.

Anyway, I’m excited the track is opening. My dad is coming back down to Tampa soon and I’m sure we’ll take a trip to see the horses. And the dogs. I guess my life is different that most other peoples’; I grew up with a parent who didn’t have a “real” job all the time. He worked for himself and played poker/bet horses to supplement income. No one ever really believes me that he honestly does do well with gambling, but I don’t know how else to explain his ability to keep two households above water. He has his down times, and family stress can affect his play. But it seems like when he is separated from my mom he does really well. For example, this past month he has placed and/or won the majority of poker tournaments he’s been in. I’d say he’s brought in at least 4 or 5 grand from poker alone in the past month. Cash, in his pocket, without waiting for a payday. He just has to go out every night and churn out the money. It’s amazing to have a talent for something like that, something that can be a career.

I should be sleeping. We see the chiropractor tomorrow. My former pro-wrestler chiropractor. How cool is that?

I just got a letter from Florida Unemployment today accepting my claim. Apparently T-Mobile now says that they fired me due to “lack of work”. Odd, I thought it was because they couldn’t approve my leave. That’s what they told me, anyway. Nobody else got fired due to lack of work. Why was I so special? I really need to follow up with someone on that because it so doesn’t jive with me.

It’s also kind of bitter to get a reminder that I was booted from a company that I gave over three years of my life to. The majority of my Florida life was spent with T-Mobile and they totally screwed me.

On the plus side, this means I qualify for economic hardship deferral from my student loan. That should hold me over until I can get back in school. Still, bastards…

My latest ringtone is by Johnny Cash. I am really that awesome. Not only is it Johnny Cash, but it’s Ring of Fire. Seriously. Every time a bill collector, or my dad, or a doctor calls me, Johnny Cash is totally signing Ring of Fire on my Blackberry.

I know. Try to contain yourself.

To cut the awesome, I set a separate ringtone for calls from my mom. You know, when she calls me from the couch and stuff. Or if she takes my car and gets lost. Those fun times. Hers is Merry Xmas (War is Over) by someone who isn’t John Lennon and Yoko Ono. How lame is that? I mean, the song is still pretty awesome but it’s not as awesome as John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Oh well. I still have good old Johnny Cash.

Did you know that Tori Amos sang Ring of Fire at her concert here a few years ago? She had this part of the show in the middle called “Piano Bar” where she played a couple of requests of cover songs, which were made on her forum prior to the show. And she totally sang Ring of Fire – which she said was her first and last time ever performing it. Pretty damn cool.