powerless & hoping

It’s early, though not as early as I prefer to wake up these days. The sleeping dreams were just too interesting, so I added an hour to playing inside my subconscious. After all, with our unconscious mind controlling 95% of our bodies – I want to make sure it has fun when I can.

There’s little worse than an unhappy subconscious; I’ve seen it in far too many people. I set the alarm on my phone an extra hour ahead.

Stumble to the kitchen, make my single cup of coffee, eat a small bowl of cereal then take me & my coffee back to bed. On the way I grab a few small treats for Ruby & give them too her. I’d imagine that she gets that morning stickypaste mouth just like humans do – or at least her breath smells like it.

I light a cigarette, take my first gulp/sip of coffee, and attempt to adjust my laptop table-thing so it isn’t resting on or pressed up against my hernia. Using my guts as a support just feels wrong in many ways – only one of them being the physical discomfort.
Looking at the clock a lot this morning – something I don’t like to do normally, but need to today. I have my second consultation for the hernia surgery in a couple of hours, & need to make certain I’m not late.
Walk Rubes, pack my notebooks & laptop in my bag & walk through the human detritus down to the bus stop on Market, armed with a mouthfull of “Fuck OFF’s” for the crack dealers who can’t seem to realize that I’m just someone going somewhere who doesn’t want to be bothered. Each time I consider tying or taping a sign to myself saying “NO, I do NOT want your fucking drugs, and if I DID wan’t drugs, I sure as hell wouldn’t get them from YOU” – but I’m thinking that would be too much – as they would probably only see it if I cut eyeholes in it & taped it to my face, and then I would have to wear it ALL the time, as they would never recognize me without the sign.
But I digress. (Maybe I think about this too much?)

The first meeting with the surgeon, three weeks ago, was filled with him telling me how insanely risky performing this surgery on me would be – IF he agreed to do it. I could die in so many ways it would make a hit-man for the CIA jealous, just for the creativity of it.

The surgeon was kind enough to describe some of them in enough detail for me to understand… but honestly, this falls solidly under “I would rather die trying than not try at all.” – and I despise the fact that it’s not my choice. Though if things go wrong I don’t want him to have to carry the weight of it, I still should be able to sign some sort of Kevorkian waiver saying that it’s entirely my choice & my responsibility if I die.

I think I may have a very, very small glimpse of what women must go through with people trying to control what they do with *their* bodies.

9:15am. Need to leave in an hour.

At the first consultation the surgeon kept saying that he’s not saying he *won’t* perform the surgery, which gave me a glimpse of hope. Thinking that that was the only time I would see him, I gathered up all the courage I had & told him how much it prevented me from living my life – from being *me*. I did my best to explain to him that it’s far from only an inconvenience or 20,000 negative vanity points – that it truly made me feel much less than the me I built. I couldn’t perform, couldn’t help build things, couldn’t this & couldn’t that – and all of those things were who I *was*… and as I was talking to him, I guess all of the repressed crap I’ve held inside came out, and I broke down crying, my words coming out in-between sobs, this 48 year old man blubbering like he was a boy continuously beaten up by the school-yard bully but helpless to do anything about it. That was SO not in the script.

As good as it felt, it was embarrassing, and seeing him on my way out of the ward I apologized for losing it. “That’s okay, it told me a lot.” …and then he proceeded to make another appointment for me a few weeks from then, surprising me – and giving me… hope.

It all comes down to today, I think. I’ve worked hard as hell, taking a ridiculous amount of herbs to ensure that I have as little fluid as possible in my abdomen, sacrificing food for herbs for this exact reason when I needed to choose between the two. I’ll still need to maintain, hitting them hard before & after the surgery – IF it happens… btu I’ve done all I can up to this point. Worrying about it would be a waste of imagination… I just need to get there on time, so I’ll end this now with a simple request – send some good energy my way, if you will. I don’t believe in “luck”, but some positive “Stick kSea’s insides back IN” energy would be well appreciated.

And of course – and always – any help you can offer for the herbs I need to keep up, as I’m completely screwed for herbs & money right now & could really use a LOT of help.
Paypal ksea@culturefluxmagazine.com ~ ~ ~ Thank you!

I’ll let you know how it went when I can – but gotta fucking BOLT right now…

Love you!