talking shit about a pretty sunset

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The highs and lows...

Another wild weekend in the world of unspecified stomach diseases. One of the most frustating parts of being sick in this way is that every day is a total surprise as to how you may really feel. Friday was great. Kara sprung me from the downtown perch I'm currently roosting in and per the orders of the doctor himself, I liberated my diet and enjoyed chicken and waffles at 900 Grayson. After months of eating food that was devoid of most reasons why people even eat food, it was fucking amazing. Even then I knew I would most likely end up paying for it later, I didn't care. I just wanted to enjoy myself. (Dear Grandma and cousin Lori, it's not that I don't love the soup you make for me, it's just that chicken and waffles from 900 Grayson are next level shit. It's apples and oranges).

After eating, We headed over to "where everybody knows your naaaaaaaaaame...dun dun dun", Eli's. Melissa and Sunshine showed up, Bryan and Topher were already there hard at work on a pitcher. A couple of hours of bad sex jokes and a libation or two, I got dropped back at home and promptly spent some quality time with my old friend, the toilet.

The sickness that night wasn't that bad as far as some of my worst, but it was still there. Even on what was one of the best days I have had in recent memory, I had to take a time out from the day so I could go home and be sick. Sure, bathrooms are private in just about any public place, but sometimes these attacks are so violent and harsh that for the sake of the senses of everyone around me, I go home to deal with it. If it were something as mild as an asthma attack, and manageable with something akin to an inhaler, it would make my life infinitely easier. However, when I get sick, even on an easy day, it's beyond the capability of being dealt with discreetly in public and while I don't take too much pride in myself, and I'd lost most of my dignity long before the age of 30, the few scraps of each that I have, I am trying to keep by having my symptoms at home.

Anyone see Lucero or Holly Golightly at Hardly Strictly this weekend? I'll bet it was awesome. I would have love to have gone, but portapottis seem like they would be my absolute worst nightmare. That's the sort of shit that really gets me. My ability to adapt is shot.

Sunday finally seemed like Fall had arrived, and I felt like I got to spend it in the most ideal way you can spend a fall day. Yeah, that memory is for me. I may tell you all about how I shit day-glo or that I throw up nine times a day, but you don't get everything. Good or bad.

Just got word from UCSF...my endoscopy can't be scheduled until November 15th, and I hear about when my other tests go down tomorrow. November fucking 15th. And you all wonder why it's hard for me to care about these appointments and take these doctors seriously. Oh well, the overall good of the weekend outweighed the bad, and I can't let things out of my hands ruin the good things I know I can make change.

And I leave with this:

"my ribs have parted ways, said we're not going to protect this heart you have..."

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.

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.