The Long Dance Good-night

the better to bore you with, my dear


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mur. mur.
wakethefuckup
starplucker


So I got sent for an echo cardiogram late last week, after visiting my doctor to suss out my ideal happypills dosage and her picking up some kind of pipe gurgle when listening to my heart. Turns out I have a mitral valve prolapse, which I highly doubt will ever become more than this thing that's cool to know about my heart. Also: heh heh, prolapse.

Anyway, I was given a month's prescription at 25mg, which I've now been on for well over a week and I think this is the sweet spot. Where up to 20mg was hardly noticeable, and 30mg had me consistently aware of the sensation that I was "on something," 25 seems to be my magical niche. At least for now, until my chemical dependency starts spiraling out of control and eventually I'm choking the stuff down by the handful just to have a few hours when I can pass for a stable human being. Or not.

No work tomorrow for me or anyone else employed by the U. since torrents of flaky white doom are being prophesied. Stood in line for almost an hour at Martin Hardware yesterday for a plastic snow shovel, which I fully expect to disintegrate after 20 minutes of use. But I'm stocked with comfort food and Big Fan is in from Netflix. Things will be good.

For now, I'm stretched out in bed with Beeeatrice (now upgraded to the newest Ubuntu build; so far so good) killing time until my body can no longer sustain my mind's complete disinterest in rest. Might have been asleep a while ago, but finally getting around to listening to Ben Folds's most recent Way to Normal earlier this evening prompted me to turn 90° to the left and start noodling around on the Kurzweil, in a major key for a change. A hooky little riff thing turned into a simple progression, which drew out some stream of consciousness lyrics, which led to a line: "And everyone knows that... nights like this weren't meant to spend alone." I stopped, laughed hysterically at what had just come out of my mouth, and knew I had no choice but to see where this went.

So I now have the beginnings of an experiment in the most saccharine soft-pop I can muster, and a project to keep me sane while homebound by snow. Don't worry: the results will most definitely be exhibited for public ridicule.

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Turns out I have a mitral valve prolapse

Clearly someone aimed too high with their illegal bowel disruptor.

I don't know how it is that I didn't make this connection, but it's shameful. Well done, sir.

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