Two hours till...

...the biggest doctor appointment of my life. I got moved out of The Hive thanks to Jaime, Jon S, my brother and my mom. I am so fucking preoccupied that I have nothing else to really talk about. I am eating toast out of nervousness.

The Stats thus far:

Voming: 1. Right after waking up at 9.

Diarhea: 1. After lunch. Real weird looking.

Gotta go. I'll update later.

Other plans often become the plans...

I swear I was planning on waking up today in a good mood. I was gonna wake up, start moving out of my old house, and eventually get to Eli's and play a bunch of Black Flag and see some friends.

Yeah, well, that got fucked right up.

I got home from djing last night and immediately staggered clumsily into the bathroom and proceeded to throw up everything I attempted to ingest yesterday. Not to be disgusting, but Gatorade, eggs, toast, Coca-Cola, a real potpourri of color and flavor. After getting that all out and brushing/rebrushing my teeth a few times, I slugged back as much electrolyte and nutrient-rich liquid that I could, popped a Valium, put on Billy the Exterminator. Before I knew it, I had watched that methed out F-List looking Bret Michaels wannabe destroy all sorts of critters and bugs, saw that daylight had broke, and decided that I may as well go watch real tv in the den. Oh, did I mention that every time I dozed off, I was woken up because my body had a different amount of liquid to get rid out of both ends of my body. The last thing I remember was Gordon Ramsey and some guido fucker yelling at each other on Kitchen Nightmares.

When I came to at 10:18am, two things were abundantly clear about today. The first was that that there was no way I was in any shape to move furniture today, and that I have hit a new low in my health.

So much for a good mood and a productive day. Now moving everything in one day is going to be a miracle tomorrow.

In so many ways, it feels like I am losing my life as I knew it bit by bit. Sitting in front of an open laptop on iTunes last night banished me to a vomiting fit in the shower for thirty minutes. Fuck, I watched Get Him To The Greek Unrated today and laughed myself into puking. What kind of fucked up, sadistic shit is that? What do I have left when movies and computers set this dumb shit off inside me? Where am I heading? What is my new reality?

The worst part of this by far realizing that I really can't do anything strenuous anymore, emotionally or physically. This obviously sucks beyond all sucking. I am digging as deep as I can, and trying to keep the melodrama to a minimum. But I just figured that the bitter pill is for everyone i know to swallow today. Not just for me. I know that from here on out, I need help. Any help. This fight is too much for me on my own anymore. I'm not waving the white flag by any means, but maybe the yellow? Red? NASCAR fans, give me a hand here.

I know that the doctor's visit to end all doctor's visit is tomorrow, and that this dude is known for diagnosing things far outside the box. I know my friends and family are going to get me out of my old house tomorrow. Wrapping my mind about my own inability to do anything to help myself is today's crushing blow.

I feel like this post may not flow well, but I dare you to rewrite The Sun Also Rises on an iPad while crying your eyes out. Shit is difficult.

Today's numbers, random shit, and a favor to ask...

I don't get out much. I am more or less a slave to television, the internet, and the minimal time I do get out of the house when I feel up to it. This is some of the weird shit I saw today:

While watching Monster Quest on the History Channel, the North American Big Cat episode, I was made aware of the Houston Cougar Location Organization, or some almost equivalent acronym involving Houston, Cougar, and/or Puma.

No less than ten minutes after that, a Lowe's commercial featured Lisa the Carpetmaster (but don't call her the Carpet Captain).

And while waiting for Valium at CVS, I noticed that Pamela Anderson has a perfume. Who wants to smell like Hepatitus C and Tommy Lee's semen?

Today's numbers:

Vomiting: Only when I woke up. I did however sleep most of the afternoon today, so today's sample size of time is smaller than average. Update...make that 2.5. It seems like my body is making up lost time.

Diarhea: Twice. Nothing fun to talk about. They can't all be hits, you know?

Finally, a favor to ask of some of you. Lately I've been pretty down, and some of the posts in this blog have been a total bummer and have been a drag to read. I do think that I have made it clear (and if I haven't yet, listen up douche bag), I am trying to be positive and optimistic. That through all the anxiety and puke that I am trying to be funny and uplifting and I am hoping that this ends well. That being said, reality is reality and this whole circus called my life may go tits up if that's the how the cards are dealt. Lately, I have people close to me say something to the effect of "if you were to pass on, then I'm going too. I can't bare the thought of you dying". Now I get the sentiment. I really do. I love my friends and family and to think of world without any of you is a world I don't want to think about. However, put yourself in my shoes. Every day is a battle with my guts and certain days my guys win. Even when I am at my worst, I try to be cool and cordial and not drag other people into my shit, but making my health responsible for your life isn't making me puke any less. It doesn't make me want to spring out of bed and fight harder. If anything, it makes me feel worse on days I don't feel so good and less comfortable about ever having to talk about the reality of never getting any better. To be honest, it's a shitty thing to hear. Let it be known loud and clear that if any of you die early, I plan on continuing my plan of generally kicking ass, but only harder and fiercer (HEY GIRL HEY) because you won't be there to do it with me. If you honestly love and care about me, I expect you to do the same. Again, I am not trying to ignore the sentiment in the statement, but just pointing out how it sounds to a sick kid trying to hang in there.

Show you a good time

I swear I haven't always been a negative bitch about everything. For the most part, I am pretty easy going and dare I say relatively optimistic most of the time. After last night's uplifting rant, I've decided to talk about some of the things that are actually going pretty well for me even though I spend a lot of time on or at least near the crapper.

First and foremost, without the family I have, I would be fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked right now. I'm talking living on the Mandela Parkway median high as balls on crack, shitting myself while pushing a shopping cart fucked. My grandparents have graciously let me take over their guest room, eat their food, ruin their bathroom (my grandpa's bathroom at least, no one goes in my grandma's bathroom but her. That place is cleaner than Singapore.), taken me to ensure various doctors' around Oakland's Beemers stay paid for, dealt with my less than positive outlook on life/mood, let me drive their cars, and generally been beyond supportive when really, no one has had to be. My parents don't live super close to me, but have been there for both difficult and hilariously uplifting conversations. My mom accompanied me to a particular doctor's office for a visit she insisted would be informative yet difficult for me (I just wanted to clip the guy in the teeth). My dad has been a source of calm and inspiration throughout all this. Some of you may read that and go "So?", but those of you who ever saw my dad at a Blue Nova show or during Concours week or just generally understand the "Zen of Pressman" understand how important that is to me (love you dad). My brother Andrew and Raina, his lady, have blown through the Bay on tour a few times this summer and have entertained me with their folk scene antics and weirdo tour mates. Andrew has also adopted the care-free, Austin, Texas easy-going attitude which has helped cool me out more than a few times this summer. My cousin Lori keeps me full of killer chicken soup when she's not jetting off to Argentina or Turkey for the week. Cousins Jon and Tony risked life and limb to have a beer at Eli's while I was djing in August.

Friends. There are a shit load of you and you all do various things to help me get by. Jav, Chase, Boo Boo, Sunny, Greg, Markley, Tara, Paisley, Lauryn, Jaime, Bryan, Danielle, Marcus, Cang, Anna Marie, Jasons H and R, Jose, Matt W, Jon and Erica, Alex, Jimmy Jazz, Adrian, Kyle, Jon S, Leah...yeah I probably left someone off. Doesn't mean I love you any less. Without you all, I would have given up a while ago.

So yeah...shit is grim right now. Grimmer than Kyle Bourne's iPod. Sometimes it colors my world dark as fuck. But even at it's worst, when the pain is excruciating, the vomit is extra sour, the fever rages, and the feces feel like liquid hot magma, I really don't lose sight of how good I do have it.

The kid's not all right

It was recently brought to my attention that the way in which I discuss my current health issues is very uncensored and open, and that it may lead some to excessive worry and/or concern.

Newsflash motherfuckers: I am sick.

Not sick like the flu. Not sick like a cold. Not sick like I drink too much or do blow or pop pills too much. Sick like for the last three months I have been vomiting and having diarhea unexplainably,suffering through abdominal pain, and having no regular or real appetite. I have lost about 25 lbs rapidly and with no explanation (dieting, working out, stomach stapling, speed usage). It has left me without energy and extremely dehydrated at times. For every good day I have, there are two so-so days and two days of utter horror and misery. You can ask my grandparents, close friends, and bandmates for eyewitness accounts and details of what the last 90 days of life have been like for me.

Since my health started to go, I have cut almost all difficult food out of my diet. My recreational drinkinrg and stimulant use has been minimal. I haven't worked since August 3rd. I have stepped down from actively playing live music. My only sources of extra activity are my dj gigs, which even take their toll on me. Even in a situation where my life is designed to be easy on the body, my symptoms continue to worsen.

I have received an endoscopy, a flexible seimoscopy, a colonoscopy, a ct scan, and a bunch of stool and blood tests ran on me. Thus far, doctors have only been able to rule out major things like colon/gi cancer, krohn's disease, colitis, ulcers, celiac, food allergies, and bacterial infection. As of now, the medical world is stumped with what is causing all of this.

What's the point? I am sick, no one can tell me why, and it isn't getting better on its own.

Since July, I have had my life come to a grinding halt. I watch the rest of the world do what it does while I sit uncomfortably on the sidelines, dealing with my puke, shit, and subsequent anxiety and depression that comes from going through your body quitting on you at 30 with no explanation. Those of you who know me well know that I am not the greatest at just sitting back and taking it on the chin. I make comments on Facebook and in this blog, both in humorous tones as well as in brutal honesty because, as sad as it is to type, this is all i can do right now. If I could write and perform a record about this, I would. If I could be dealing with this is any other way that wasn't so out in the open, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, this is all I got. This is my way of keeping myself from staying up all right worrying, harming myself out of stress and/or depression, or...even worse.

Morose and pathetic, I know. No one knows more than me. However, it helps. A bad butt hole joke does make the pain of shitting 15 times in 24 hours easier to bare. Sometimes i need to tell my stomach to fuck itself in a public forum to not go crazy over expensive nausea meds not doing their job. I understand that it can be a drag to read, and it casts a dark shadow over my daily life. I get that it causes worry and makes people uncomfortable. It may make you want to respond or ask questions. It may make me seem unapproachable or too caught up in my own shit to hear about yours. You may not want to bother me with asking, so you ask those who are close to me, which only makes them worry more. I know what reactions my post causes...

...and I'm not sorry for it. I'm not stopping. I'm not censoring myself. This is my reality. This is my life. If you want to ask me how I feel, ask me. If you don't want to hear about me, don't read my posts or delete me from your Facebook. No hard feelings. Honestly, I am not posting these things looking for any response from anyone. If you read these and pass along to the next thing, good for you. Be happy you have it better than I do. I know that I plan on living up every day I have left once I feel better.

If you want to know how I'm doing message me on Facebook or e-mail me at imalwaystiredallthetime@gmail.com. I will take all questions unanswered here, and most definitely all well wishes.

Wow. Kinda heavy. I really wish I could lighten this bitch up with a shart story, but I am the Tim Linceceum of taking sketchy dumps and I won't be shitting myself anytime soon. I love you all, but not enough to shit my pants on purpose just to make you laugh.

Fucking Mondays

What the fuck is with this heat Oakland? It's fucking September 27th. I want fog and doom and gloom. If I wanted this bullshit hot weather, I'd still live in Orange County.

Since my last post, I wish I could say something really awesome and exciting happened. You know, like my band got signed to Relapse or Kim Kardashian offered to blow me while juggling chainsaws. Sadly, that shit stopped happening when I was 24. Although cut rate f-list Persian girls with nice asses aren't offering to fellate me (with any regularity at least), there have been some minor highlights since last night. Check this shit out:

First and foremost, I recently became Facebook friends with T-Mike Kliebert, who is one of the Cajun gator hunters on Swamp People. For those of you who don't know, or haven't heard me constantly babble about it, Swamp People is the greatest show to ever happen to television (Attention Dexter fans, eat a bag of dicks, that show blows). Swamp People is a documentary on modern day Cajun people living off the land in southern Louisiana. Since I'm the kind of fan that obsesses over the dumb shit I love, I sent T-Mike a message telling him about how I respected what he and his family do and that his show is one of the very few highlights of my week. Within eight hours, he personally wrote me back thanking me for my support, offered his, and even traded phone numbers with me and told me to reach out whenever I needed to. It's awesome when people you watch on TV and admire are even cooler on a personal level. Big ups to you, T-Mike Watch Swamp People or be a douche.

Oh yeah. I also got an appointment at UCSF Thursday. They are supposed to fix me. I don't have much faith in our healthcare system. I'm trying to be excited, but it's tough. Let's see how it goes.

Today's stats:

Vomiting: 2. Once at 11am-ish, the other at 2:30pm. Nothing exciting, mostly just foul tasting acid and bile.
Diarhea: 3. No fun colors.

So Uh....what's up

Hey everyone. If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm sick. I spend most mornings throwing up stomach acid and bile, and rest of my day trying to live a normal life between fits of shitting brown, swampy water out of my ass and even more throwing up. I know, you couldn't be more jealous of me. Throughout the summer, I have cut all fun food and beverage out of my diet, spent two days in the emergency room, had cameras up my ass and down my throat, been put on tons of meds, been forced to sit out most activities, put my job on hold, and tested the love and patience of my family and friends. To say that it's been a bummer summer would be an understatement.

Seeing as how The Real Housewives of New Jersey has ended for the season, and Swamp People is only on once a week, I have decided to bore you all with a blog. In addition to giving myself a platform to blabber on about the stupid shit that makes up my daily existence, I am using it to log all the instances of vomiting and diarrhea I have throughout the day. Talk about bearing my soul for all to see, right?

Now why do this? Why count how often I puke and shit in a public forum? While the 6 year old in me always laughs at bathroom humor, I am relatively certain that I am suffering from Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome. I know, it sounds like an awesome Carcass b-side from the Reek of Putirification lp, but alas it is a disease with all of the symptoms I currently have and is only diagnosed by ruling out major intestinal diseases and examining medical history. As anyone who knows me can attest to, over the last few years, I've gone to the doctor next to never and pride myself on treating my body like a doormat. So here's my attempt at keeping my own medical history. Couldn't hurt any more than the other poor life decision I've made over the years, right?

My older little brother Greg is giving me his ex lady's iPhone. Once that happens, I'll add pics. Probably not of vomit or poo, but I wouldn't rule anything out. So without any further fanfare, here are today's stats.

Vomiting: two fits. One at 2am, the other at 3:30pm, shortly after I woke up. This seems to be the most consistent time I throw up. You will read this in the oncoming days.

Diarhea: too many to keep track of. 15? 20? Not the best day to be my butt hole. That's for sure.

Thanks for reading. See you tomorrow.