Anyway, when I get depressed, I don’t eat; I also don’t eat when I get frustrated, angry, anxious, disturbed, irritated, worried, perturbed, vexed, flummoxed, or just don't feel like it. Hey, I was anorexic for 13 years; so if in doubt ‘don’t eat!’ But see this time it was DIFFERENT. No, I wasn’t JUST self destructive, I wanted to see if I could destabilize my blood pressure and heartbeat if I stopped taken sodium and fluids; because that is primary symptom of MSA. Okay, in retrospect this ‘test’ seems as logical as dropping rocks on my head to see if they still hurt. But I think there was a bigger plan, something about killing off all my organs in a week or something useful like that.
Anyway, did it work? Fucking A. I felt and looked like something a seagull pukes up. I was on oxygen. Here are some readings; all taken in the two hours after I was woken from my nap from the extreme heartbeat actually shaking me awake. Anytime, without exertion I can record all three readings (systolic BP, diastolic BP and heartbeat) over 100 I call it “the jackpot.” – by the way at 180 systolic and over 110-120 diastolic you are risking permanent organ damage (as for the heart, who knows what is takes to kill mine off, God, I’ve tried hard enough): First we have: BP systolic/diastolic: 156/129 heartrate: 106 then 10 minutes later: 98/81 HR: 136 (gee, wonder why I was feeling crap?). Then in the next hour: 148/128 HR: 87; 185/165 HR: 147; 145/125 HR: 142 then an error because my systolic and diastolic were within 10 of each other and finishing with over 25% erratic heartbeats.
At this point my tests were stopped because my home care was there and suddenly there was the sound much like a person holding a blowtorch just outside the window. The home care worker checked and said, “Oh, it is one of those heaters people have but there are flames coming out of it and it is right below us!” WHAT! People in wheelchairs on third floor of apartment buildings with dodgy elevators don’t like hearing about “flames” and “right below us.” I wheeled to the window and there was a giant ball of flame roaring out of a stand at the corner. “Whew,” I said to the home care worker, “It’s the other side of the street, that’s fine, let them burn.” (see how loving I am?)
I noticed that there was a guy in orange vest supervising it and realize that for some reason, on my small residential corner, someone WANTED in the dark of 7:00 p.m. to create a giant fireball. Linda had just arrived home so I suggested we go take a picture (because for me; giant fireball beats out lighting up town Xmas tree ANY day). So home care worker, Linda and I in the chair went outside and Linda and the worker took pictures and I wheeled over to the two guys right by the flame
(you can see in the picture the flame compared to the size of the van - click on the pic to make it full screen). One was talking to someone further up the gas line and the other leaned over to talk to me (or yell as the sound was like talking behind a jet engine).
“Do you get paid to do this?” I asked.
He thought about that, and then smiled and said, “Yup.”
“You have a GREAT job!” I told him
He smiled and said, “Some days.” Which indicated that maybe he didn’t get to just go around creating giant vortex-like fireballs every day. It seems they had a gas leak further up and were pushing all the gas out of the line at the junction which JUST happened to be at our corner. Anyway, just as we were talking, they cut it off and it died to nothing.
“That was great!” I told them, “Can you come back at Luminaria?” That made them laugh.
Then we went inside and traded stories and it turned out my home care woman was just as much a pyro as I was and had her eyebrows and fringe singed “a hundred times already” because we both like to make the fires when people go camping and then stick our head INTO the fire to blow at the base of it –which works great if you make sure you don’t run out of air, because then….backblast! And the smell of burnt hair and your fringe is gone and maybe parts of your eyebrows.
So went inside and Linda convinced me to end the experiment and rejoin the goals of the human race, which according to her, is to try and live instead of starve or cause your heart to explode. So I did my experiment AND got to see a fireball AND had TLC time with Linda. Which was okay, because now I have to go to an appointment and another one tonight and then this optometrist one tomorrow. It is also odd because earlier that day I had asked the video store owner how much I would have to pay to have them burn the place down. I offered $25,000. They said, “A million.” I countered with $27,000. They said, “A million.” So I must not be a very good negotiator, but I got to see my fireball anyway so they don’t have to burn it down.
My feeling about the optometrist? Isn't the saying, “a fireball a day is good for the spirit?”