I'm sorry to report that not only did my wife disrespect the Witch of November, but today, when we remember the loss of the EDMUND FITZGERALD, she made fun of the repetitive nature of Gordon Lightfoot's song while I was communing with the infinite in the kitchen while washing dishes.
This shall not stand. I have replaced her 0600 wake up call tomorrow with a replay of this song.
I pray we will recover as a couple from this
So you'd think a gastroenterologist who cranks through colonoscopies has heard every nervous butt joke there is. Being a sailor and a somewhat articulate person, I pride myself on being a bit of an artist with foul and off-color humor. So it was with great pride that I got a laugh out of the doctor, the nurse-anesthetist and the nurse when I got knocked out to take a spin on the Black Stallion yesterday.
They gave me propofol and something else I think, something to induce amnesia, as not only did I not feel anything, I don't rememeber feeling asleep or waking up, and was fully lucid on my lights being turned on as well.
My first words on waking were 'Is it already done?' When I was told it was all done, I said "Wow, I don't remember anything at all. Reminds me of sleepovers at Michael Jackson's house when I was a kid."
I got a good laugh out of that one. I hope, and believe, that it was genuine. Hopefully it was a novel enough riff on an old theme.
Anyhow, that was hurdle one here on my week off. Apparently I have the ass of a champion, as my bung was pristine, requiring no sanding and spackling to keep it silky smooth. Sure my eyes are going, my joints ache, hair is falling out and I have tits now, but my Windward Passage is in its prime.
Today was a more serious appointment, and to be continued. More testing required. Still, I'm glad that's done. Bloodwork is next on Monday and back to work on Tuesday. At some point I'll sit down for more than 30 minutes and actually have a nice time, but it's been butts to nuts with appointments and obligations thus far.
Well, I'm home for a few days. Woke up in my bed and everything.
The homecoming was not what it could have been. In about 3 hours I have a colonoscopy scheduled, so yesterday, along with a serious lack of sleep (more on that) I also had to fast, and get home as well.
For some reason, although I had been standing a 1730-0530 watch for the past week, I never adjusted to the sleep schedule, and have been getting 5-6 hours sleep a day at best. So last night after getting home I got to take the pre-colonoscopy laxative and that whole uncomfortable process having been awake for somewhere around 36 hours. My sense of humor did not survive intact.
Anyways, I'm up this morning still gurgling but oddly not very hungry, as I've been fasting for about 30 hours now. I'm glad I got my appointment scheduled for this morning. As I'm only home for 6 days, it's a bit of a bummer (no pun intended) that I have medical bs to handle for 2 of them. I've got other appointments tomorrow.
There's so much going on behind the scenes, things not relevant here, that tensions are high. In all that, it was so nice to just sit on the couch with my wife in between jogging trips to the can last night.
The state of the hole formerly known as The Hole, at my house in Brazil, is not what it could be. That's a big stressor, a cherry on top of a bullshit sundae. The Hole is now a poured column under the foundation to the annex at my house, now about a year behind on construction and about 100% over budget. So that's happening.
Normally, when life stops using its' inside voice, going to work for me has been a chance to compartmentalize, to let me set aside those problems and get on with the business of sailoring... mariner...ing . and carry on.
I've been bitching here for a bit that my job is not what it was. That there is little enjoyment to it and no work-life balance in between... which is a tough complaint to parse, as... I mean, it's a job, it's not supposed to be fun and games, I'm there to do a task and generate value... but to do so sustainably in a way that allows for peak productivity, a paycheck isn't enough- I can make the same money ashore being unhappy, and have a shorter commute and the ability to actually hug my family on the daily. So why the fuck, in the name of St. Steven's blessed bunghole, am I there?
These are the things I am thinking about when I am constantly on the verge of shitting myself. The turbo laxative is still doing it's thing I guess, though I seem to be about empty finally.
So, yeah, work is not a refuge. If it wasn't for my close friendship with B and Big E, I'd be moving on I believe.
I feel as though something's either about to give or about to change. I don't know how or why yet. I cashed the last check for the side gig I did down here too, which was bittersweet. I thoroughly enjoyed being a paid scientist again, but sadly there isn't work for me to continue, the job being done. That's something to think about too I suppose.
Well, let me get on the far side of today and regroup, let my ass rest. Literally. 6 hours sleep after a week of slowly accumulating sleep debt isn't nearly enough I think.
Last watch tonight. I head home in a few hours.
I was gratified to see Trump won. When one side offers nothing but stupid and insane ideas, they're going to eat shit eventually.
I got the news first from Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife who was absolutely giddy. So much so thst she sent me a 3am picture of her with no makeup and a t-shirt on, of all things. She is not a t-shirt girl.
The picture was a not-so-subtle F-you to certain relatives who called her at 3am four years ago, waking her up to tell her that their guy won the election and who will now be getting this photo texted to them 10 times by accident, to ensure they're all up and sad.
I'll be home in about 16 hours to listen to who she was petty to. Looking forward to it.
