Twenty-Seven Years

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It's a fact for me now. I have finally accepted that I've been plagued with rheumatoid arthritis since childhood. I just didn't know all my aches and pains came from the same source, literally, until that diagnosis. It has only been a couple of years ago I was officially diagnosed as being possessed by a "mild rheumatoid arthritis". I was confused, at the time, because the painful symptoms I experienced during that singular period were more than I've ever had to endure previously.

In my very unreliable opinion, the extreme pain I was experiencing during the time that brought me to be diagnosed as having RA, was caused by two simultaneous events. I went on the Atkins-type low carbohydrate diet and ate a lot of processed meats that were very hard to digest, and that became the physical basis for the stress I was feeling. About the same time, mentally, in addition to the physical stress, the advent of visiting my ex-wife and children for the first time in twenty-seven years brought on the full-bore attack of arthritis to the fore.

In between the stress of trying to digest all that processed meat and the stress associated with being in the presence of my ex-wife and children, I feel like I had an attack of some kind that brought around the old Johnson family disease of "bone trouble." I don't know whether I will be able to recuperate from it to live a mildly pain-free ex-is-tense or no.

The facticity of arthritis having been a part of my life maybe forever means that I essentially know how to deal with it, and that I'm the only person/pearl on Earth that gnows what it's all about to me. Everybody else has to project their own ideas of themselves upon me as if I were them, and I am is not.

It's not like I know what I am is doing about making the pain go away. Truth being, he is doing everything it can to make it worse. It's about like my going to the drug store last night just before they closed to get something for my stuffy breathing. Shut down. My sinuses were so stopped up I had to breathe through my mouth. It was definitely something I et.

I bought some NiQuil cold medicine because it gets me a little high and I sleep good. By the time I got home with it though, my sinuses had quit acting up and I was breathing through my nose fairly easily. I took a couple of swigs of the NyQuil anyway just to help me sleep mo' bettah.

That's the short version of how this arthritis has acted up in my life. It comes and goes like the stuffy sinus attacks I have that keep me from breathing well. Sometime, if I leave it alone and get busy doing something that entertains me it will go away. At least for the period of relief in which "time flies". Other times the unpleasantness is such that I can't escape to writing in order to ignore it. Bummer.

Prednisone fascinates me. This is a very powerful sacrament that helps me die simultaneously with the relief it offers from mah bones. I've read a little about it online, but not too much. That seems like "looking a gift horse in the mouth". Prednisone is a steroid, but not the same sort of steroid weight lifters use to give them strength and big muscles.

Rainey has attempted to explain the difference to me several times, but I don't have the medical lingo down enough to grok what he's straightforwardly telling me. I kind of get it. He's getting better at explaining himself to non-nerds, but they gotta meet him half-way. I'm rowing as fast as I can.

This somehow relates to the saying, "The only problem with mothers is that they nave never been little boys." Rainy has never been a non-nerd. Aspies like him require patience. I got it in spades, but only because I've never not been a non-nerd.

I'm real interested in the topics and subjects that nerds become obsessed by. I know all about obsession and being obsessed. Just not about numbers. I think numbers are wonderful symbols for the people they introduce the unknowable world to, but I'm glad it ain't me that does it that way.

I like words, but I may be able to explain why if I re-spell the term word with an "i" to the future. Woid. Words are a woe to the id. Women are a woe to the ego as in woe-men. Words and men are woe-to-men. I gotta put a whoa on that thar. Maybe instead of say woe-to-men, I might oughta write, whoa-men. Women say whoa to men or rightfully scream "RAPE!"

Who has say so when it comes to saying "Whoa!" Whoa to this. Whoa to that. I am gnows tens ways to skin a cat (felix). Felix The Cat, that is. "Whenever he gets into a fix, he reaches into his bag of tricks. Felix, the cat... "

The not-felix didn't know how to say, "Whoa!" Much less do it. Mercury in Aries, you gnow? The planet Mercury is closest in to the Sun (God), and what could be a more appropriate location for gnowing the mind of God than right next to it? In classical astrology and in numerous oracle systems whose rudiments are based on the vegetable kingdom (the Christian Garden of Eden), the planet Mercury represents the human mind. It's placement in the natal chart is critical in many ways.

Mercury has the fastest orbit of all the planets, and to have it in Aries can be both a blessing and a curse. The Greek God associated with Mercury is Ares or Mars, the war god. There is nothing quite like having your mind ruled by the war god. At one time I told some crazy whoaman, "If you wanna know what to expect from me, you need to study up on Ares."

It's not so much that I will declare war on yo' ass, but that I'm always alert for an excuse TO declare war on yo' ass. War gods can be hard to get along with. War gods just love war. They'll take either side's argument just to be in the middle of the battle. But, unlike the humans they slay wholesale as just 'something to do', they can get wounded or die knowing full well the ambrosia brought lovingly by it's mother will restore them to full power.
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