I returned home, and instead of going immediately to the keyboard to start cranking out material for the blog, I instead sat in my chair and napped. Attending the event had tired me out.
I rested up for a handful of days, and about the time I was ready to sit down at the keyboard and get some blog posts put together . . . I got sick.
As I sit here writing this, I’m still sick. It is currently day 24 of the bronchitis plague. (Yes, bronchitis is now a plague.) My lungs currently contain no air, but many rolls of barbed wire, all manner of flem and flem-like substances, and the fossilized remains of many a bronchitisaurus.
Doctors have stuffed me full of prednisone, azithromyacin, and two different forms of albuterol (using two different delivery devices). Not counting whatever they injected into me at the ER, and the medication that was in the two bottles that I threw away once empty and can’t remember the names of.
I am dying. Sadly, I’m only dying at the same rate that I was before I contracted bronchitis. You know, the “everybody dies” / “we’re all dying from the moment of birth” speed. If I was dying much, much quicker, then this fucking bronchitis would soon be over.
Masturbronchitis (or Bronchitisturbation)
Having bronchitis makes it difficult to perform the usual sexual maintenance on myself. It’s a little weird trying to take matters in hand (so to speak) when the sexual urges hit – because attempts at masturbation tend to send me into a coughing fit. Or make me stop breathing altogether.
Pants and underwear down around my ankles, me on my knees on a bath towel, my cock in my hand . . . and coughing hard for a good minute or so until everything goes black and I fear that I’ll pass out. Yeah, that would be a good position to pass out in, wouldn’t it?
Since I’m obviously not going to go nearly a month without performing the act that can be described using a clever euphemism for masturbation (although I’m currently far too tired to think of a good euphemism for masturbation to use here), I have still been jacking off. But not nearly as often as I would normally be. And when I have been managing it, it’s been in a weird and awkward position with my back against the wall to maximize my limited ability to breathe. It’s almost not worth it.
We’ve got less than a week until the 1st of May. The start of National Masturbation Month. If I don’t get well soon, I may have to postpone my NMM celebration plans. (I planned to jack off all month. How does that differ from most months, you ask? Well, it . . . uh . . . hmm . . . shut up!)
Better, Worse, or the Same?
A couple of days ago I thought that I might actually have been getting better. Stupid, stupid me. There was a day or so where I started feeling better, but that soon reversed itself.
Now I’m coughing just as hard as I was at the height of my misery. Which doesn’t fill me with joy. (Flem, yes. Joy, no.)
I keep getting asked questions like, “Good God, man, aren’t you better yet?” The answer to which is no, no I’m not.
I keep having to stop and explain what the ID (Immune Dysfunction) in CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome) means. Then patiently explain why that means that I’ve been sick for over three weeks, with no end in sight.
I don’t know. I either have less patience when I’m sick, or everybody I know is a moron. (I’m guessing it’s a little of both, to varying degrees depending on the person.)
Where the Fuck is the Internet?
Once or twice a week, I end up calling someone, giving them the password to one of my email accounts, and having them read a few key pieces of email to me over the phone.
Yeah, that’s really not how the internet is supposed to work.
I’ve also gotten one flash-drive’s worth of ‘internet care package’ of site grabs (webcomics, needed wikipedia research runs, a handful of stories off of literotica.com, and other miscellaneous stuff).
But I’m pretty much at the point now where I’m going to explode if I don’t get to sit down at an internet-equipped computer soon and access this stuff on my own.
I’m planning on a trip up to the library tomorrow. (Getting a ride, not walking. I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to walk that far at this point.) That trip should see me putting this post up on my blog. Then checking two of my email accounts (both of which are now threatening to sink to the bottom of the internet due to the weight of the unread e-mails filling their holds), and then hitting the ‘SAVE PAGE AS’ option on a ridiculous number of websites. Oh, and coughing. It’s not part of the plan, but I expect to do lots of coughing while sitting there. I wonder if I’ll get shushed by the librarians?
The Current Pox, Blight, and Stone Around My Neck
I’m a phrase guy. I love dialogue and phraseology. So, I quote things. I mean, why be like everyone else and say, “Dude, that’s not cool” when you can say, “Then you are now my sworn enemy.” Or sleepily slur the words “Good morning” at whoever just woke you up when instead you can defensively scream, “Drugs are good for me!” (which got a huge laugh from my brother the first time I hit him with it.)
Anyway . . .
“He is a pox. A blight. A stone around my neck.” I love this one. I try not to overuse it, so that when I talk about something being the pox, blight, and stone, they know that it’s something that’s really, seriously weighing down upon me. (And strangely enough, it usually refers to an incomplete piece of writing.)
Once I started the Age Play series – and then got stalled for a number of reasons – it was a pox, blight, and stone. In fact, I think I may have even referenced it having been a stone around my neck when I wrote the final installment.
Currently, the KinkFest Report is a pox. A blight. A stone around my neck.
The blog wants it next. (Am I attributing sentience to inanimate objects again? Perhaps.) But my brain wants me to write different things. My brain moved on long ago. I’m writing this post a MONTH after the day before KinkFest. (Hopefully I’ll be posting it a month after the first day of the event.) That’s a long time to expect my brain to focus on one topic.
I’ve considered just skipping it and not doing a KinkFest Report. But there are two reasons why I really can’t do that. The first is the whole Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder thing. I’ve been planning to write a KinkFest Report ever since I decided to attend the event again this year. Being able to blog about the event was one of the elements that factored into my decision to attend. So while my creative brain has already moved past the KinkFest Report, my Obsessive-Compulsive brain won’t let me not write it. (Stupid, stupid brain.)
The other reason why I can’t skip it is because a lot of the blog entries I do want to sit at the keyboard and write will reference things that happened (or specifically didn’t happen) at KinkFest. And it really seems like it would be more effective to tell all my little KinkFest stories during the KinkFest report and just refer back to that than it would to keep having to stop in the middle of a bunch of posts to tell the relevant anecdotes or each basis for revelation.
Dealing With the Pox, Blight, Stone, and Whatnot
The KinkFest Report might be next. But it’s not actually on the schedule as ‘next’, it’s on the schedule as being ‘ASAP’. Right now the schedule is remarkably non-schedule looking.
And with three days worth of event to cover within said report, it may end up being more than a single post. These posts, I warn you now, may not be consecutive.
There are – according to the current list – twenty-six posts that I really want to sit down and write. None of these are the KinkFest Report. So if the KinkFest Report does end up being multiple posts long, I might ‘reward’ myself with completing a chunk of it by writing and posting something else in between installments of the other. .
Anyway, once the KinkFest Report is over and done with (and away from around-my-neck), then the blog should get back to a normal. You’ll notice I said ‘a normal’, not ‘the normal’. I’ve been thinking about a whole new ‘normal’ for the blog. Doing things a little differently.
But that’s a whole other discussion.
Plus, it’s really hard to type with all this coughing.