Monday, September 29, 2014


I'm feeling horrible.

I swam today after 3 days off because the weather got cold (and the swim before that was cut short by a fire alarm).  It was a grueling 1:45 in the pool, today.

I have been losing any semblance of composure in comment section conversations.  I think I am mostly in the right in these arguments, but the odds are I am a brittle mess creating the drama myself.  Why?  Cause I'm me and everyone else is an idiot, which can't be true all the time.

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This post, however, is to document a funny.

Funny to me, anyways.

It should be plain that The Scream of the Butterfly is my attempt at being clever, using Jim Morrison's lyric to stand for the madness induced rantings of an individual (me) enduring a metamorphosis.

Not terribly clever, I admit, but it could be getting clever(er?).

Though I am miserable and exhausted, the progress in my upper back, building muscles which are aiding in significant adjustments, which I shall try to express somewhat below, have been the result of swimming, wait for it Barney Stinson style, . . . the Butterfly stroke.

Ah, my own literary double meaning.  How I love them.  It's why I am so engulfed by GRRM's A Song of Ice and Fire series.  Should this rambling mad man ever get well, and then write the memoir of this clusterfuck of an experience, such a literary turn will no doubt aid the structure of my prose.

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A work of fiction would be hard pressed to match the literary turns of my life.

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An attempt at describing the latest adjustments:

- the right lung deflates, but must rise, allowing an unfolding behind my right shoulder.
- the left lung inflates and does the opposite, seemingly pulling the left breast up and over the shoulder by the neck.
- all the while, the hips must tilt and twist as well, allowing a segment of hip to extend to my right side and up into the ribs, where I hope it shall eventually find connection on up to the muscles building by the Butterfly stroke.

Okay.  I'm tired and sore and lonely and angry and sad and am wallowing in a pity party over my painful existence.

On the bright side, a short heat wave is expected over the course of the next week, so I'll have a break from the pity party and my dread of the coming winter. 

I may even get some more progress before I see my Rheumatologist later this week.  Could it finally be the week my doctor thinks outside the box,  and thereby witnesses and understands what I am going through and how to help?!?!?!?!  (yeah, don't bet on that repetitious day dream)

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And doesn't it figure, the House Stark words from my favorite novels, "Winter Is Coming" is as ominous in my own life as it is for the poor Northerners of Westeros.  I really don't want to go through another winter, not after this difficult of a summer.

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