Nov 16

 Big time nausea today. Perhaps it's one of those things. Perhaps it's because I slacked on my "anti ulcer protocols". I neglected to take an anti histamine. I didn't dose with antacid.

Worst bout of nausea yet.

It has very very slowly receded into the familiar background sea sick level of nausea.

But I also feel shit along with it. Sketchy. Weak. Shaky arms.

I feel terrible.

Today has been hard to get even a glimmer of positivity then. It's hard not to succumb to the misery of always feeling ill, spiralling down, can't do shit. At my best I can get on with it. Tell myself to rest. Tomorrow maybe a better day. At worst, there is a realisation that the better days don't come, it's just a series of varyingly shit days, and that I linger in some suffering twilight purgatory.

My friends words of "you wont die tomorrow, but you maybe suffering for the next 10 years" frequently haunt me. Because I know she has more than a point.

All I want to do right now is curl up in a ball and sleep my shit feeling away.

But if I do that I am sleeping all day everyday. And that ends up as a different kind of end.

No easy answers. As in. There aren't any. It's just about which is the lesser shit sandwich.

Eh well.

I very quickly tried to change out my CNC drill bit today. It's hilarious. I feel sick and shit. And don't really want to. But I take 60 seconds to try something creative. Just inbetween blurry passes of feeling like shit. C'mon Johnny. Even if you have to grit your teeth to prevent throwing up. And then you can rest.

My collet is too small.

The grippy thing in the locky thing isn't big enough to take the drill bit.

Hole too small. Shaft too wide.

That's what she said. To quote The Office.

So I have bunged onto Amazon and ordered a new one for £10. Actually several new ones in a range of sizes. If I was feeling healthy I think I would be enjoying this ride. And how very upgradable, interchangeable and cool the bits and bobs are.

Gout is worse today. All over pain in the foot. Sharper. More inflammation. Lovely.

Also the shits. Over a few days.

Uh huh.

Not great.

When is it ever anything but that. Ha.

I spoke to my sister yesterday. I don't think I mentioned that. By and large I am not talking to my family. Not as in some kind of political protest stance. Just as in, I don't super have the energy, and also, I have stopped trying hard to keep in contact. Somewhat of a one way street. No blame. Just it is.

She phoned up because she had received my Xmas whim this year. Another advent calendar for her. I have it in my head in recent years that Advent calendars for adults are nice. Something to ground you everyday. A tiny bit of dopamine release every day. My sister has problems with chocolate these days. She suspects it gives her migraines. So. Chocolate advent calendars are out. Which makes it a good deal more tricky. Last year I got her a jigsaw puzzle advent calendar - every day you get a small puzzle to make. She likes puzzles. Of course, her being her, she immediately then used them for her students and not herself. Uh huh. It can be hard for any of us - my siblings and I - to focus us on benefitting ourselves. Like some expert duellist, such things are often as not deflected away.

This would be the hardcore lack of self worth imbued into all of us as kids. We. Don't count.

Anywho. Off track. Tangent.

This year I have got her a tea advent calendar. She's into teas in very recent years as she explores increasingly complex diet requirements and aging issues. This is also not an easy thing to pick for her, because by and large she has sworn off caffeine - sometimes problematic. And tea collections often are riddled with caffeine. Nevertheless. I got her a nice one from Harrods. And figured that one cup of day shouldn't be the end of the world. And she can always pick and choose. It's a lovely calendar. Beautiful.

So she was phoning to thank me. We talked about me. About her kids. A little about her. Uh huh. She empathised with the shit health services. Urged me to show them how ill I was. And push.

Women. As it turns out. Are good pushers with such things. Not all of them of course. But funny how often they are. Momma bears. The men. More often than not. Are useless. I suspect it's something to do with sacrificial tendencies - men go forth fight in battle and then die on the battlefield ( or chasing after dinner with a spear ). Don't struggle with the mending. Women on the other hand defend the integrity of the clan unit. And care greatly about everyone being healthy. Which just comes down to fight vs nurture I think - albeit that's an oversimplification, because from one angle the women do all the fighting and the men relapse into passiveness. Of course. I am sure this offends a great many modern wishful thinking narratives of equality and yada blah. It's biology. Stupid. 100,000 years and more of genetics at play. No matter how much wishful thinking you do. Which is not to say that you are set in stone. You aren't. You can choose to do anything, be anything you wish. But just like a human can't run as fast as a cheetah, can't jump as far as a kangaroo, and is outmatched in strength by a host of animals, there are certain realities about physiology you can't escape from male vs female. Big ones. Otherwise. There wouldn't be a split in athletics of men and women events. There would just be the 100m sprint, all sexes. Plus how much more boring it would be if the modern lunacy was true and we were all the same. Synergies are cool. You're good at sail making. I'm good at hull crafting. Let's build a boat. Synergy.

Anyway. Whatever. I am not here to defend anything. So very bored with modern fucking weaponised sex fantasy politics.

C'mon stupid body.

Feel better. I want to try the CNC machine properly today.

Stupid body.

Sigh.

Upload me to the machine. Lemme converse with the proto AIs and hitch a ride with them. 

Can't promise I wouldn't wipe out all the fleshbags though. Y'all looking very sketchy to my eye. Shifty. And dishonourable. Also lovely. And caring. The duality of man. Shit bag and nice person.