Blog

I do so love the holidays.

...Or at least, the part where people start to vanish as they go off to random corners of their worlds to visit family and friends. It pulls double duty as both a traffic alleviation as well as a massive population cut at work.

And it's...

Beautiful.

In other news, I've decided that I've gone far too long in avoiding the learning of things like Symfony/Laravel and Bootstrap. Gonna try to use this holiday period of down time to expand my horizons and stop trying to reinvent the damn wheel every time I make a new project.

What a day.

Work was thankfully pretty short yesterday, with the only real major activity being the command potluck. It was shifted to the right a bit to accommodate the announcements of the folks selected for advancement, but even then we were done before noon.

Took the opportunity to cut everyone in the department loose for the day after that and headed home myself.

Got home and took the girls out for a walk, came back and poured myself a drink and tried playing more Assassin's Creed III before the dated graphics and gameplay bothered the shit outta me. Changed it up for a fresh playthrough of Valhalla before going into the garage and finishing the revised laser etching of the transfer plaque for one of the other Chiefs.

As I stood there, I got a text from one of the folks at work. They were asking about a specific tasker to help out the command holiday party, and per my normal "everything is an emergency" protocol, I sprang into action reaching out to those I thought that could help.

Of the ones I hit up, responses were far too sluggish for my taste.

I got anxious.

I got angry.

And then I felt a distinct zap in my brain.

I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts. Another zap.

I was freaking out.

At this point, it was time for another walk with the girls. Got up, put their harnesses on, and we were off.

And per the norm, every goddamn rando we ran into on the walk decided it was their right to try to approach and interact.

Zap.

I quickened my pace, pulling the girls along, until we were safely back at home.

Laser etching had finished. Reattached the parts I'd had to take off for the engraver, and decided I wanted to make potatoes au gratin so I could binge when my mouth wasn't as ragged.

Pulled out the mandolin slicer, grabbed the first potato, and...

Sliced off part of a fingernail and a bit of fingertip.

Zap.

Blood.

Wife came in as it happened and I showed her. I side-stepped her and calmly but quickly walked upstairs with her in tow.

"Don't follow me," I told her, "You'll only make me freak out."

Grabbed a band-aid and some neosporin.

Patched it up.

Went back downstairs and finished slicing the potatoes.

Started making the cheese concoction but got impatient.

Pot boiled over.

Smoke detector went off.

Zap.

Dumped it into the Pyrex dish over the potatoes and put the whole monstrosity in the oven on top of a pizza pan.

An hour and a half later I took it out, thankful it'd only mildly boiled over.

Changed the bandaid out and the blood was still coming. Clutched a wad of tissue tightly and elevated my hand.

Passed out watching YouTube.

Woke up this morning on edge and angry.

Took the girls out for their walk. With each step, a new zap.

Got home, girls decided they didn't want to come inside.

Zap.

Yanked them in, gave them treats.

Looked for car keys. Wife had gone out for karaoke last night and didn't put them back in their place.

Got irrationally angry.

Found the keys.

Started the car.

Shower. Shave. Got dressed, headed out.

Traffic was agony.

And here I am.

Hoping for a short day to launch into an extended weekend.

Procrastination got me in a pretty serious way.

Back in February, I'd noticed a small bump in my mouth. I'd initially dismissed it as a canker sore since I'm prone to chewing the inside of my mouth (anxiety). I've had a lot of them over the years, and though unpleasant, they never lasted long. Around this time I'd also gone delinquent on my dental status and had to book an appointment for an examination.

Before the examination started, they asked me if I'd noticed anything out of the ordinary and figured I'd get a second opinion on it, so I brought up the bump. They looked and "didn't see anything", and dismissed it as possibly just a random mouth sore.

Easy day.

Months passed and the damn thing didn't get any smaller; it actually got a lot bigger, going from an initial pea-sized object to one the size of a bean.

So I scheduled another appointment to have it looked at. The doctors this time were much more thorough and spent an uncomfortable amount of time running their (gloved) finger over it until they decided it was an odontogenic keratocyst, or OKC. More frustratingly, they showed me the X-ray I'd had done back in February and were able to see "a shadowy object" where the cyst was, and compared it to a much larger object for this visit.

They scheduled me for an appointment at the hospital for oral surgery; mentioning that they were going to make an incision and scoop out the material.

Seriously. Scoop?

A couple weeks later (last Thursday), my wife and I went down for the procedure.

Checked in, they hooked me up to various monitors and, after realizing that my astronomical blood pressure wasn't going anywhere, got started.

An hour and a half later, I woke up to them mentioning that they'd gotten some "cheese" out of there, among other things. Looking to the site, I saw a small bin with circulating red liquid.

"Is that my blood?" I asked the nurse.

"Yes. And some other things."

Oh, god.

The doctor brought in a wheelchair and rolled me down to the pickup area where my wife was waiting along with the meds (surprisingly, not just motrin), and we headed home.

When I go home, I was happy to see that they'd included oxycodone in the care package, but that they'd only included twelve pills.

Weekend was more or less agony, though the oxycodone worked like a champ.

...Quickly ran out.

And here I am today.

More tender than anything else, still bruised to high hell, and with serious nerve damage from the surgery. They said it'll go away in a few days to a couple weeks, but until then it'll feel like "a lost leg".

Translation: It feels like they were overzealous with their novocaine.

Meh.

Two days left in the work week and then I can crawl back in my hole.

Hollow.

It's no secret to anyone that remotely knows me that I'm irrationally antisocial.

I manage to fake it enough each day to come across as a decent enough person (I think?), but when folks randomly come up to me and engage in conversation with the purpose of coming off as concerned... and then they aren't actually concerned—or don't come across as such—I'm genuinely miffed.

Even things as simple as a passing "hey, how are you?" and then not giving a damn about the response is infuriating.

I'd rather you just not say anything at all than force me to acknowledge your presence.

Which I think may make me the exception to the rule?

I dunno.

But prolly.

Also: Ragnarök is an amazing game so far. Didn't put anywhere near as much time into it as I'd have liked, but... damn. Solid work by the team at Santa Monica Studio for the astounding job.

And I'm thankful that my dental procedure next week is gonna give me the entire weekend and all of next week to enjoy it.

Finally overcame my depression-induced procrastination.

We'd lost our primary source for farewell gift plaques, and on a whim, I decided to throw money at the problem and procure the stuff I needed to make us our own plaques.

(Not for free, of course.)

That was back in September/October timeframe. Skip ahead to yesterday, and I finally managed to get the motivation to stop drinking and playing video games long enough to make one for someone that leaves this week.

I've decided that I'm going to make a few blank plaques to have on hot standby for our upcoming transfers; that way, I only have to worry about breaking out the laser engraver.

Also, God of War Ragnarök came out this morning.

...My original intent was to forsake sleep and screw over future me.

But old man me stepped in and overrode that particular plan, and I went to bed at 2000.

So old.