Guess I am capable of deleting partial entries, like there is a line where crap just isn’t going to get another chance to be digested. I’ve had a shitty month for no particular reason, nothing I can point to and say “There! That right there! Shit! And it’s tainted everything around it!” I’ve been poor at articulating the lack of a raft of shit to point to or at or near. This morning it was those fake ass panic attacks, or real panic attacks without teeth. I fell out of bed a few days ago, hit the end table and a dense metal fan, vornado, I think, one of those powerful little fuckers that are supposed to … do something more than bigger fuckers with duller names.
I’m not pointing at those things and calling them shit, though, they qualify. They are more the tainted circumference of shittiness, the symptoms that ripple outwards. A week ago I had a neuro-ophthalmologist and her team giving me a headache with lights and stuff and the day before that an EMG doc, she kept shocking me. Again, shit, but not shit zero, not the root of all feces.
Shit and shittiness are not very descriptive, or in this case they aren’t. I can’t point at a literal pile of shit at all because literal shit and I have maintained the same relationship for months. I shit (as a verb) the shit (as a noun), once it settles, just sits where I shat it, and I pull the plunger and it swirls down the drain with the water. In theory, I mean I’ve had to do some plunging, irrelevant to anything but full disclosure. Figurative shit and shitiness covers a broad range in common American usage often to denote extra negativizes and not a more precise way of calling something out its name.
And negative is part and parcel of the shittiness. Huh. Word hates that word, so I’m guessing at the spelling. Word wants an F, and, whereas F and I get along just fine, it turns shit to shift and shittiness to shiftlessness. Haunted by shit is close to accurate, in this case shit means ‘stuff’ vague but quantifiable. Often when shit is quantifiable it’s considered vulgar. It’s haunted that’s more disturbing, it connotes something supernatural, even when obviously used to mean ‘shit is dogging my heels’ or ‘everywhere I turn; there’s shit’.
I don’t know. I just wrote four paragraphs on my not knowing. They are a finer breed of paragraph than the ones I shit-canned. I either quit feeling obligated to post daily or am so far in arrears the weight of trying to catch is impossible enough to warrant not trying. I think I might write daily though. That may not be the shit I could point to but it sure has been weighing heavy. I’m not convinced I’m a reliable narrator. Hmmm, that could be misconstrued. I’ve had reason to doubt the shit I remember and, more importantly, the shit I don’t remember. This is very difficult to tell people. They want to give you solutions. Because, of course, I managed to live to the dark end of my fifties without any practical skills or powers of deduction that might have given me insight into memory glitches. I didn’t return to Michigan to watch my father suffer increasingly alarming dementia until his death or witness the same, very recently, in my brother-in-law. Um, I hadn’t really considered dementia until offered the helpful solution that dementia could be a point-worthy shit.
Huh. That either came out way to snarky or not snarky enough. The hell docs are filming my brain on Father’s Day to rule out a brain tumor. That seems awfully snarky but it’s the most concise and direct way of saying that. It’s also not related to shit, well, maybe a second cousin once removed, it’s more like white dog shit you discover after the last thaw of winter. I put off having the test for a year, so it’s removed from the current circle of shit by three seasons.
We had joy
We got bit
We had seasons full of shit — Janis Ian, paraphrased (to the best of my recollection)
A brain tumor would suck. I think everybody would be shocked if it actually was a brain tumor, especially the doctors. How to justify the next several expensive and pointless diagnostic tests if it’s a brain tumor? Headaches, mostly just ocular, again, predating the current circle of shit. It happening on a Sunday, Father’s Day, on what’s to be the hottest day (so far) of the year, that’s the sort of circle of shit happenstance that I’m talking about. Don’t reckon a bumper sticker that says Shit Happenstance would sell well. It’s derivative of, you know, Fuck Stance.
I’m going to post this nonsense, otherwise I might read it and have a change of mind, such as it is, or a change of shit, unlikely but a happy thought. My shit needs change.