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I'm up to my eyeballs in morphine, valium and bactine. I just came back from the hospital and look like a mummy with all the bandages. I have bangle bracelets of hospital name tags and my arm throbs from the tetanus shot I was required to take. Why? Because that's what you can expect when you BREAK YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LEG!!!



Yes, that's right kiddies, I broke my goddamned leg today and I am so angry with myself I could... break my other leg! How did it happen? Glad you asked, Chris and I went to the mountain biking jumps this morning so i could video him riding. All was fine, until I decided to just do a pump track (a series of moguls that a rider uses their weight and momentum to traverse the course -- in other words, no pedaling). Somehow, I reflexively threw out my left leg to catch myself when the bike slipped from under me and still crashed hard. I felt the snap and immediately knew that it was a break. The hard part was getting from the middle of the woods and to the car. Needless to say, I was growling, cursing and crying all day.



Now I am home with Chris, who is beating himself up over this to the point where he may not even ride! And I feel terrible about that. It was my fault, not his... Riding is his life (beyond me, of course). *sigh* Maybe I will just sleep off all the pain meds they gave me in the hospital. I am hungry, but nauseated; thirsty, but nauseated and wish I didn't ruin my next couple of weekends nor find myself using up time off from work. I can't move my leg or I scream scary loud -- luckily, having broken bones before, known that this too, shall pass...

One of the worst things in my life are panic attacks. Of course, the attack itself is totally fucked -- I spasm, can't focus my train of thought, get absorbed in the "panic" and as my chest caves in, I can't breathe worth a damn. That's not too bad -- not when you (and I do) wake up into a panic attack, hence, "attack"! That was me this morning.



I haven't had an attack in months. So, this threw me for a loop and then some. I forgot how I used to battle through an attack to keep functioning. Instead, I was a whimpering mess and by the time all was over (mine last for hours, thank you very much...) I had vomited, wracked every muscle in my body and totally drained myself. I took off from work -- and felt horrid about it since I took off on Monday, as well, because of my crappy spine. All before I make my promotional move on Thursday. This is not a good way to be remembered.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck!! Nothing ever runs smoothly -- does this happen to you, too, reader?!



High note: Got my promotion. Received accolades from major higher-ups in my company and I have back to back three day weekends.



Low note: Landlord just told us he is selling the townhouse I live in. FUCK!! That means, first and last month + broker's fee all over again, the possibility of not being in my same neighborhood (everyone on my block knows one another and we're all very friendly, plus, I have a driveway for my car...) This little deal throws my whole life off axis, entirely! *grabs boxing wraps* ranting about it in here is not going to help. I need to go hit the bag for a while.

Reasons for laughter keep dying around me -- R.I.P Bernie Mack and Isaac Hayes. Both gone too soon and I feel like I've lost friends in my family.



Yet another reminder of mortality. I made sure I hugged both my parents and called my grandmother today. I feel sad. I want a hug.

My head feels like it is wedged in a spiked vice. I my temples are throbbing and it hurts to focus on the screen. However, my weekends are so damn precious, I dare not waste them entirely on sleep. Once I lay my head down, tomorrow will be Sunday and with that, all the preparations for the week that add a sense of foreboding rather than relaxation come crashing down on my scene. I am starting to loathe Sundays more than Mondays because they feel like such a tease.



I interview Monday morning and had to take one of the company's mandatory tests after finding out the same morning. I had two hours to study and then took a test that was twenty pages of written q&a. I am glad to say, I have survived. I hope... I was given an open invitation to work all the overtime I wanted since the new position did not permit for any.



At least, i get moment to breathe.

Can't sleep -- insomnia week. This happens every few months and I go totally ape shit. I'm tired and hyper -- a living, breathing oxymoron (heavy on the moron).



Nights like this I want to do something destructive. Not too long ago, I probably would have. Instead, I've got my cat laying across my knee and my keyboard purring contentedly and wondering my I am still conscious.



If I wasn't certain I could be trusted, I would take the bike out with my iPod and ride until I was drained entirely. Hmm, that led to the accident of '07... bad idea.



I'm thinking of heading to the garage to box, but it is hotter than the devil's crotch and I'll probably have all the liquid in me evaporate before I can grab a bottle of water. There'll be a pile of dust next to the punching bag and my wraps. Sheesh, Im delirious.



(Tangent) People suck. They both frustrate and annoy the holy mess out of me and I wish I was uninhibited to the extent of exercising my damn 1st Amendment and verbally assaulting various entities until nothing but weeping piles of snot and fecal matter remained. I would also like cars to be built strong -- like decades ago; so that I could run bad drivers off the road. It could be considered a public service. The life I save may be someone else's... *grabs Pepsi and chugs*



Insomnia is an evil bitch of a mistress. Still, I make myself proud that I don't rely on meds to recover, anymore. I just tough it out. Like every other aspect of my fascinatingly complex life.

Another 12+ hour day of work. Another long bloody day of running around like a chicken without a head for ignorant clients. Another day of coming up with enough witty remarks to keep said clients happy, impressed and returning. I am so drained.



I just snapped at my poor fiance -- I try to tell a story and every two seconds he is interjecting something. Normally, this is how we communicate -- we finish one another's sentences, thoughts, etc. all the time, but when I spend my whole day bending and scraping for others, I just don't have much fuel left in the patience department. I feel guilty, but am too tired to express my guilt.



I'd like to spend time here, too. However, the screen is blurry and I feel like little monkeys are slapping my brain about. Is money worth this? Six-figures or not... I'm leaning well toward the "fuckitall" department.



*looks down hall toward kitchen* Okay, last I remember, it's one foot in front of the other... I am going to cook a nice dinner and then hang myself in the closet with licorice.