Alright mother scratchers, let's see if I've got one more in me before the big sleep comes down. First off, congestive heart failure: yes, it IS a chronic condition. Starting some time last July, I started going down hill. Bloated right up, couldn't breathe, couldn't sleep. Being the real man I am, I toughed it out until November when things got so bad, I couldn't even drive any more. Couldn't feel my feet. Couldn't find the brake. Didn't realize my shoe had come off and was stuck under the pedal. Almost wrapped the Hyundai around ... well, another Hyundai as it it happens. It was only owing to my excellent driving (I've seen Mad Max and The Road Warrior like 40 times each) that I grabbed at the emergency brake and skidded to a stop ... on the median. Anyway, I ended up in the emergency room with a cod sack the size of a watermelon. Apparently, it's pretty common for a dude's scrote to swell up with fluid during an illness especially congestive heart failure because edema is basically the cells hanging on to water because the heart isn't working. It took two weeks for my marble bag to return to its normal proportions and even longer before I could spend more than a few minutes out of bed. Long story short (too late) I've had some pretty major changes to my former "swingin'" bachelor lifestyle. I'm diffuse as a mug. My brain, which was never too good to begin with, ain't working at 100 percent. It's hard to concentrate, read, work, clean or write. If that weren't enough, my neuropathy has gotten much worse. That means I can't feel my feet OR my fingers. And that means typing is a major bitch. I can't feel the keys any more and I type at a fraction of the speed of my prime with 400 percent more errors. In short, my flow is fucked. I'm better off writing on paper now when I can muster the energy, which is not often. Luckily, I can just about manager a hard-on in time to prevent serious injury to the Omaha-Council Bluffs metro area. But my libido is shot as well. Psychologically, I'm stranger than ever. Getting a powerful OCD and social anxiety on top of the chronic depression and anxiety. Then last week, a 27 year old friend of mine killed himself for reasons unknown. He had tons of friends. It was the most crowded funeral I've ever been to. It was and is the most God damnedest shame I've seen in some years. On the bright side, I've got air conditioning, which is nice because it has been hot as balls around here lately. Seacrest OUT! | 
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