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 |  Zee Journal! |
| My blog. Journal. Documentary. Life. Sometimes. |
| Still sore. Tomorrow morning(or I should say later this morning) will be the two week anniversary of having my gut torn open in three seperate locations. Still can't stand to sit upright, or stand for long periods of time. I have to get my paperwork put in for my temporary disability tomorrow along with picking up my paycheck. I'm going to give my mother the whole thing to repay some of what she has done for me since going into the hospital. Last night at 3:09 in the morning I had to put down my cat Sabrina. She was thirteen years old, and she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Earlier that morning she had began to act incredibly funny. She was dosile, allowing you to carry her. My baby, besides me, wouldn't allow anyone to cradle her. She disappeared for most of the day until I found her crying behind my couch around 4. She was crying because she couldn't move her body, but she was urinating all over herself. I couldn't even pick her up because of my stomach. My mother did it. Soon after she was out the door to the vet. Near 6 in the evening she came back with the her in a bag. Her face was that papercup crushed expression of grief and all she could say was they believed she had a brain tumor and that she should have put her down but she wanted to see what the blood tests would yield. My mother spent 600 dollars on tests on an animal we both knew was nearly gone if not already. The family spent the night in the front room: my mother on the couch, Sabrina's three sisters: Cheyanne, Panther, and Yoda adorning different positions on the couch, my German Shepherd Katie, and myself laying prone on the bed next to our dying baby. I knew that she was gone the moment she was pulled out of the bag. She opened her eyes, her body moved, but her eyes shown hollow. It didn't hit me until we were half-way through the third season of the Shield. I looked over to watch her, as if on repeat, lift her head and look to her left, then look to her right. She did this for nearly fifteen minutes before she quieted back into her seemingly restful slumber. Around two in the morning, after whatever episode we just finished, she began to convulse. She would simply shake, open her mouth, and then lie down just to repeat the process moments later. I told my mom I didn't care the cost, I wanted to take her to be put down. I simply couldn't watch her any longer. She agreed and so I put the only pair of clothes I had that weren't pajames: a pair of dirty blue jeans and my polo shirt I wore when admitted into the hospital. I lifted her from her chair, regardless of pain, and wrapped her into a blanket. Her body, except for the spasms, laid limp. More like a multi-jointed doll than a living creature. Wherever gravity desired her limbs to go, they went. My mom cried the entire trip to the Emergency Clinic. For some reason I just stared out the window watching the lights and taking in the night air. We had to be buzzed into the clinic. They were open 24 hours, but they locked up during the evening. The nurse asked me, the bundle in my arms, what I needed and I simply told her I needed to have her put down. After giving her the run down of the day's vet appointment she took her into the back to have the catheder administered. I took care of everything. My mother sat in the waiting room and cried as I ok'ed the procedure and the price($185). I made the whole process as quick as I could. 1.) Get her in. 2.) Get it paid for. 3.) Have her brought into the room to have it administered. 4.) Leave. I couldn't bring myself to do any longer. The doctor came in and explained the procedure. Informed me of the possibilities. How her bladder and sphincter might release. How she might have a phantom breath as the brain causes the body to take one last sharp intake. She did none of it. Simply faded away with the injections. I'm not exactly sure she was alive when placed on the table. I brushed my fingers across her as I watched the doctor inject first a clear water solution to flush the IV(One of those conveniences for the deceased), the first injection to put her to sleep, and then the third to overdose her into eternal sleep. I couldn't help but to cry and let out snippets of my life with her. Telling the doctor through choked sobs that I had her for thirteen years. How I raised her and her three sisters on bottles. How I wished I could do more. How I loved her. The doctor placed her stethascope to her chest, telling me that she had passed. She asked if I wanted to spend any time with her and I just shook my head, turning to leave for the door. She apologized to me. I told her it wasn't her fault and left. My mother and I cried in the waiting room for a bit before we left, my arms bundled around the hair covered blanket I brought my baby in on. The lights for the room my baby passed turned off as my car door closed. When we came home all of the animals seemed to have disappeared from the front room. As if they knew they had paid their respects and now off in their own areas of the house to grieve as they wished. My mother and I came back and turned the Shield back on, watching them well into the morning hours not really talking with one another until finally somewhere around seven I asked her, "Want to watch another or go to bed?" So now, here I am. I want to write more but I'm afraid my organs won't allow it. Thanks for sticking around. |
| I'm going to try to write this all out, but it is going to be very quick. I can't sit like this for very long. Sorry for those who might have thought I've died. I went in for emergency surgery when I began to experience severe abdominal pain. They thought it might be my Appendix, but when they went in for further study they discovered that I am in the 2% of the population that has a defect in their intestine they develop during their time in the womb. Suffice to say they took my Appendix and roughly a foot of my intestine. I was in the hospital for a week and I'm now recovering in the comfort of my parents house. This is the first time I've been able to actually make it up the stairs, and let me tell you: it's not fun. To rant for a bit, which I want to so bad so if you are reading this you'll have to deal, because I'm not even going to apologize. Because of this problem I wasn't able to see my brother before he left for Iraq. He visited me once in the hospital, but I guess I looked so bad at the time that he couldn't bring himself to spend any more time with me. My father is now gone on military training for 6 months, and I slept through the last couple of hours I would get to see him before he left. I've truly fallen for a girl that wants nothing to do with a relationship, even though she finds these ways to keep me hooked. The night before I went into the hospital we spent the entire day together. We went on a date to a nice restaurant, bought movies, and cuddled on the couch and watched them the entire night. She agreed to go on another date with me but ever since I've been in the hospital it's back to what it used to be: passive and indifferent unless I get too mushy...then she politely tells me to stop. My friend Jinx and I had a tiff the week before I went into the hospital. I was having a horrid week and I snapped at her. I apologized, but in return she turned down the apology and snapped back. I just kept myself away for the rest of the evening, I didn't jump on her. She hasn't talked to me since. Even during the million times I tried to call her while I was in the hospital. I've sent her messages on MySpace, and not even there do I get a reply. For some reason my throat has swollen up during the process of recovery. The doctors say it's probably a reaction to all of the medication, but let me just explain how swollen it is(gross alert): when I tried to pull flem up from my throat my uvula(?) literally rested itself on the back of my tongue and I had to push it back with my finger. It is not fun. The time bed ridden has given me a lot to think about, and I'm thinking I might just cut myself from about 90% of the old parts of my life and spend a year just dealing with myself. Right now I'm just slowly letting my emotions kill me. I'm just miserable to no end, and something has to be done. To be honest guys, besides a "Get better soon" I really don't want any pep talks. If I had a pen and paper I would have just wrote this down, but I can't seem to find either or. |
| Biggest Loser contest has started at work. Tomorrow is the first weigh in of the contest. It goes on for another 2 and a half months. I'm working my ass off to get my weight down. Which is beginning to concern me. I don't feel like I'm doing this whole weight thing for myself. To be honest I feel like I'm doing it out of spite. Like I'm feeding an evil little seed with water every single time I go to the gym, or keep my meal size down to dietary terms. In the past two years I can honestly say a rift has grown in my mind and heart when it comes to women. With their passing my heart has been ripped to shreds nearly every three months. I've made some bad choices when it comes to the people I've shared my heart with, and I know this. Although I've always seen something I guess they themselves don't even see, or maybe I make up. Regardless, it's caused a crack to form. I never really thought it would happen either. A wall that was erected over my heart that kept that little center of trust protected. A wall so thick that for so many years, no matter how many people might have battered it, proudly it held strong and clean. Yet, now it feels like its crumbling under the constant onslaught of the outside world. The strongest of the outside's siege weapons has been my relationship with females. This sounds horribly self-involved, but I don't have a hard time attracting women. Given a good five minutes I tend to normally fall into a girls sphere of friendship. Yet, from that point I rarely make much headway. Most will find me there and say to themselves, and on occasion me, "I wish I could find someone like you" or "You would make a great husband." Some have gone so far as being romantic with me. But then it just fades away. They get what they want and then they are gone. Actually, I would be lucky if they were just gone. Instead, they stay around and continue to take what they need. Every girl that knows me, knows that I care for them. I will eventually tell them, or those that are romantically involved know what that means to me. I have never been romantic with someone I don't care for. Stupid me. And I'm growing angry. I'm not sure why they are so content on taking what they need and ignoring me. I'm not the best looking guy, to which a lot is given. Ugh...roommate attack. Talk to you later... //Continuation// Roommate came in to try and get the answer for my grumpiness today. How are you to tell a person that they are one of the reasons because you want to be with them, but they want to have nothing more than friendship and the most physical of romantic relationships with you? A girl that will tell me one minute that she is going to end up marrying me, only for the next to be going on about the abs on some guy she is seeing online? A girl who will ask for me to just lie with her one night, and then ignore me the whole next evening because she is talking to 20 guys online? A girl who I've grown so attached to and enjoy spending so much time with, yet who seems to keep me around as one might keep around an automobile. Using it when the need arises but generally keeping it hid away in the garage? Am I so shameful that I cannot even be given the chance to be something more? It eats at me. Causing the wall to crumble at a faster rate. The wall around my trusting heart. A darkness creeps in, slowly corrupting the purity of what lay inside. Where once I wanted only to show love I now wish to show anger, jealousy, and disgust. I want to become that person that can throw them to the side like I often feel they do to me. I want to see their eyes light up with affection when they look at me, only to notice me paying attention to someone else. I desire to see their hopes, their feelings, whither away like a flower under this desert sun. Sometimes I want to cry. To ask why they do it, even though they know the toll upon me. Maybe they think it's a cover. A nice guy visage the wolf wears. It's possible they think I merely do it so I can get what I want and leave. That I'm just the average guy and should be treated as such. What happens when the desire to give in to darkness becomes a welcoming idea? Why in this world so obvious not to change should one spend their entire life swimming upstream? Why finish last when you can cut your way to first? |
| Not really..but it will be a bit long. It's Sunday, and I have finally had a good nights rest in the longest time. I spent Friday and Saturday out paintballing with my coworkers. A lot of fun, even if I have about 13 defined welts that spring to life in shuddering pain whenever I try to sit down. Work has been...well...work. Things are crazy at the office ever since Black Thursday as we like to call it. For those that don't know, my office laid off about half it's Collection's staff. I was spared and so were most of my friends...but not all survived. Somehow my boss saw something in me worth keeping, even if I count myself along side the poor collectors. Branching off this topic is a weirder side. I became friends with an amazing girl at work. Her name is Celina. I've known her since my first day of training at Van Ru, and even though it wasn't really recognized until the week of Black Thursday, she had kind of a thing for me, and to be honest, I had a thing for her. The following weekend we were supposed to help my friend LeRoy move. She was going to bring her truck to help him move with us, and then we were all going to go out and have a beer afterwards. Plans were changed though, and LeRoy was incapable of moving that day do to some problems he was having with his ex-fiance. Celina and I were still going to be going out later, but after work I wasn't able to get ahold of her on her cell. Later that evening I began to get some weird calls. I picked my phone up on a number I've never seen before, thinking that it might have been one of my bosses(who I happened to run into at the bar we were all going to meet at). I picked it up and a Hispanic man's voice came over the phone asking me if I was Shawn. I said yes and at that moment he tells me I'm dead. I just shrug it off and hang up. About two minutes later I receive a message from Celina's phone. I pick it up thinking she is finally returning my call, just to find the same Hispanic calling me. I later learn that this is her ex-husband, who is nuts. Anyways...he spends the rest of the night calling me, giving me death threats, etc. I still have them saved on my phone, but I don't hear from Celina until the following Monday. She comes to work and tells me that her 'ex' hunted her down at her parents house, broke into the house and attacked her. She escaped the house but he took her phone from her before she could leave. Because I was the only person that had sent her a text message that day he assumed that we were together and decide to try and scare me. Celina came to work and she just broke down. I took her outside and talked with her for a bit, and all she could say was that she was scared that he was going to come and hurt me. That he had went to jail before, and that he wasn't scared to return there. I told her I wasn't afraid. There was no way a guy like that was going to be able to hurt me while at work(my friend LeRoy, for one, is an ex-Special Forces Sniper and he's like my brother/father). I told her she needed to report this, and she said she was going to go home because she hadn't slept in the past couple of days. She called me the following morning, Tuesday, and I had to talk her into coming to work. She didn't. She called one of her friends at work and told them to tell me when I came back up from break that she was quitting and that she couldn't stay there because she knew he would eventually come for me. I haven't talked with her in two weeks. He broke her phone. I'm not sure if she's okay or not. I learned that Sunday that my brother would also be going to Iraq. He ships out at the end of June and will be gone for a year. I'm scared to death at him going away. I've spent my whole life protecting my little brother and he is now going to a place I can't even begin to help him. Financially, I've been fuct. I had to break down and borrow money from my parents so that I could cover my bills. Add to this that they just setup direct deposit on my paychecks at work, only to discover that this past check I got on Thursday was direct deposited to an account that wasn't mine. I'm now overdrawn on my account because of that. Man, this turned out to be such a depressing post. Didn't mean for it to turn into that. I'll leave you guys with a joke: "Yo momma is so nasty, she got kicked out of Red Lobster for bringing her own crabs." Cracks me up every time. |
| Cas. I love you, yet hate you, all at the same time. Anyways...I'm going to write more tonight. Getting ready for work right now. |
| Sometimes I wish Writing.com had that option. I can't say that I've ever put a blog down without listening to something while I write. God what a crazy week. I couldn't be happier that it is over. My office has been turned into a giant, festering pot of horrid rumors thanks to everything that has any access to MySpace and April's name. Since the first blog she made, she hasn't commented about me anymore. Be it out of some lost feelings come to light, or her greater hate for Shauna and my boss I'm not quite sure. All I know is I wish she would just stop and consider what she is doing. The girl needs help. I just don't understand people sometimes. Anyways...Shauna is taking me out to sushi. Sushi + sake = Happy Shawn |
| If you are reading this, read the blog post below here so you can get the full view. I swear I say I'm going to bed, and then I get to bed and all I do is stare at my ceiling and think about the things I shouldn't be. Cas(a.k.a. loon) sat and talked with me for a while tonight about all that went on today. It's so funny that all I want to say is, "I don't know" about my feelings, when I all-too-clearly do know. Sometimes I think I might wish I just didn't know, or maybe I would just stop rolling them over in my mind, trying to see them from another light. I have a new roommate. She's temporarily staying here until she gets her own place. Her name is Brandi, and she is a friend of Shauna's. Now that the introduction is out of the way, let's get on with the show. We were all sitting outside on the patio last night and "shooting the breeze" as some might say, when we got on this discussion about substance abuse. Alcohol, weed, ecstasy, meth, coke, and a couple others were all discussed last night. Shauna, before I could even say anything said to Brandi: "For as long as I've known Shawn, he's the only person I know that seems to truly smoke pot just so he can stop thinking." If only those words were true. Smoking pot usually tends to just make me think about how stupid I am for doing this, instead of thinking about how stupid I am for: not being where I want to, not being in the shape I want to be, the horrible things I feel I've done to people, the horrible things I've done to past loves, and the horrible things that past loves have done to me. So, I guess, in one way or another it does help me stop thinking so much. Which leads me to my current hate. I hate that I feel so much. I'm not going to sit here in my blog and say, "I'm a wonderful person! All I ever do are good things for the world and all I get in return is a flaming bag of poo on my doorstep!" To be honest I'm not sure I am a good person. I would like to think so, but I always find a way to make myself think otherwise. Christ! I whine like a bitch with a scraped knee. I do, however, know that I try so very hard to make the lives of all of those around me better. If I knew that giving my arm would allow one of the many people in my life the ability to live a happy life, I most likely would. God knows I've given up a good deal more emotionally. Yet, all I think about lately is how much I wish I could just tear that part away. [//Immense Geek Warning: Reader Contamination Possible. See also: melodrama//] It makes me think of the issue of Spider-Man, recreated faithfully in Spider-Man 2, where Peter Parker decides one day that he just doesn't want to be Spider-Man any longer. He feels that for every good thing he does there is an equal, if not greater, evil brought to the world and so he leaves the costume forelorn(sp?) and discarded in a trash bin. Behind it, you see his silhoutte walking away. I have a tattoo on my back. That tattoo is the symbol from the front of the Spider-Man costume. There are three reasons I chose this tattoo: 1.) I've loved Spider-Man since I was born. 2.) I was in Vegas and had to do something impulsive(even though the tattoo was always a planned item). 3.) Its there so I can't forget the things I've done. I know that I've discussed my strong love and admiration for the phrase "With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility" to you all. Every time I turn my back on responsibility, it has always bit me so hard in the ass that I never forget about it. The initial pain of the tattoo was nothing in comparison to the scars that adorn my heart and my mind. To get back on track with all of this, Peter Parker, as any person who has any knowledge of comics knows, returned to being Spider-Man after deciding that a city without is by no means going to grow to be better. I know I'm no superhero. The fact that I can get winded by walking a decent flight of stairs will prove that. If I had a humongous brain and the ability to teleport shit, that might be okay, but I'm no Charles Xavier, and for being in a wheel chair that good old boy is solid. But being a child raised by comics, I tend to have this mentallity that I am in my own right. I just don't wear a mask or climb up walls. Cas told me tonight, "You need to do something for yourself," and I feel that I must agree with her. (Sorry, I have the violinist for another thirty minutes, need to get my monies worth. -thanks, the author!) My problem is, I'm not the type that can just jump off a springboard and say, "It's Shawn Time!" Even when it is "Shawn Time" it's usually "Shawn doing something for someone else" time. I dunno...it's getting late, and I think I'm going to try and get some sleep now. It is 12:08 and I need to be up at 6:00 to go to work. I do have to say: blogging helps a lot. About a tenth of the way through my mind cleared, and I think that is why I went a bit off course every so often. Talk to you all later. Hope your Wednesday goes splendidly. |
| I started my old job again today. It was pretty heart warming gong back there. I can't even count the number of people that came up to me and were genuinely happy to see me back. People I didn't even think knew me were coming up to welcome me back. But as they say, all good things come to an end. During my second hour back Shauna brings to my attention a blog written by April, which another coworker brought to her attention. I will let April say it in her own, articulate words: "You know I think Van Ru hates me because I am gay......Well you know what FUCK VAN RU THEY ARE DIRTY COMPANY TO WORK FOR NO ONE GO THERE THEY WILL FUCK YOU OVER.......THEY SUCK BIG FUCKING MONKEY DICK AND BALLS.....On to other things....I guess my ex Shawn went back to Van Ru......Thats awsome I wonder how much dick Shauna had to suck to get him his job...Oh wait they were going to fire me because he cried to Ron and yeah I am gay is another reason.....But I got to quit before they had the chance fucking idiots....Oh well I will move on to better and bigger things" This was brought to my boss' attention, which led to a meeting between Shauna, Ron(the boss), Tony(another boss), and myself. I have never been so hurt, or angered, by any single person in all of my life. At least, not this quick. I've just been so angry all day, and hurt. Deeply hurt. I don't even know why I'm so hurt, I just am. It's like it has pushed me to a point where I just don't care anymore, yet at the same time I just want to break down. Ugh. |
| Tonight has turned out to be pretty awesome. Shortly after I wrote my first blog post of the evening my friend Mario came online. We began to talk, and I think I've recruited him to help me with that comic I'm doing for my father. Mario, suffice to say, is nuggin' futs when it comes to art. We used to talk about making a comic together, and I think this is going to be our first solid work with one another. Previously, we were both getting out of High School and just never focused enough to keep ontop of ourselves and our work. Tonight was filled with hope filled talk of getting some stuff done and possibly working on a larger project. Fuck. Yeah. On the next note is Kingdom Hearts 2. I was playing that after I got done talking with him. It's finally at the moment of ultimate jubilation, yet annihilating depression. I'm at the end of the game. I've chose to stave off the final fight, and the true end of the game, until I have went through the rest of it and unlocked every single little tid-bit. Kingdom Hearts is cool like that, because they practically give you the, "Next one's gonna be the biggun'" and you have a chance to go through and beat the rest of it so you can get the Super Secret Ultra Ending. I've pretty much beat everything in the time since I stopped talking with Mario up till now, when I've finally put the damn game down at 2:30 in the AM. When I get home from work tomorrow I'm going to break Sephiroth like a twig over my god damned knee. He may be the One-Winged Angel, but when I get done with him I'm going to make a head dress out of it. Ultima Weapon + Fenrir Keyblade = pwnage on last boss. Sleep soundly tonight Seph, because tomorrow you meet your fate! ~Evil cackles~ |
| I was talking with loon about this recently, and it is something that has generally kept me a bit creeped out. I've pretty much woke up every morning without remembering a single dream I've had from the night before. She asked me if that is a good thing, and I suppose it is. Any night I'm not waking up from being chased by zombies has to be a bonus, right? It is, however, weird because the past couple of years my dreams have been like a constant companion. To go about two weeks without a remembered dream is like losing a friend you've grown accustomed too. Oh well. Kingdom Hearts 2 is a must have if you are an RPG fan, and also happen to like Disney. Even if you don't like Disney, give it a try. It has been worth every penny, and sadly, I am almost finished with the story. Winnie the Pooh, don't be sad. I'll return. |
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