Days of Heaven

One of the reasons I haven’t been around this place lately is a certain malady I’ve had for a while and which I’m having taken care of tomorrow. It’s nothing life-threatening, but it’s definitely a drag, and even worse it was an entirely avoidable drag, one I wouldn’t be subjected to if I’d taken even a modicum of care for myself in the last several years. I had such a huge stress attack over it last Thursday that I wound up going to Kaiser and getting some tranquilizers, then took them home and set ’em down on my coffee table without taking a one of them. (Though I kept eyeing the as-yet unopened bottles while watching Dead Ringers last night, and boy was that a lousy idea.) This morning I’ve been sitting here doing the paperwork for short-term disability since boss and company both are urging me to take two weeks off and file for SDI bennies because that’ll pay me the most. Needless to say I’ll be glad as all hell to have that much time off—my stress-level is off the fucking chart, plus I’ve got a big writing project that could use some undivided attention, if that can be mustered—but the reason why keeps breaking up the merriment. The last few nights my brain has amused itself with a variety of apocalyptic fantasias, including falls from a great height, being mugged by gangsters and—last night—getting caught in a nuclear blast on a white Jamaican beach in an unused scene from Dr. No. (Seriously.) My attempt to duck and cover was still proving surprisingly effective at the moment I mentally slapped my silly ass awake again…

Frankly, I just wish it was a week from now; at that point if I feel halfway okay I’m just going to grab a car and take a road trip somewhere. This place is climbing up my you-know-what—I can tell you that much.