Y2kk Update: Wait, I have allergies? Do I? Do I really?...

A while back, I had this thing happening with my hands, and I really don't know why. They ballooned to fucking massive sizes (relatively speaking of course, considering my fingers normally are the thickness of goddam toothpicks...), and they fucking itched on the inside like hell. I literally couldn't get to sleep, no matter what kind of skin creams I used, because nothing would fucking work for more than five fucking minutes at a time. If one of my hands would finally calm the fucking down, the other would balloon back up to mammoth proportions and cause me to writhe in fucking agony and itchy as hell pain. WTF?...

At first glance, it definitely seemed like I had allergies (maybe even allergies to the skin creams I was trying to fix the problem with, I don't know...). The thing is though, I didn't touch or eat or do anything with any foreign on that very Friday that these symptoms of mine flared up. I mean, I had chicken and rice and milk and fucking salt. What the fuck could I possibly be allergic to, considering all these things that I had eaten for dinner were far less than the usual spectrum of shit that a Chinese scrub like me tends to absorb? I couldn't possibly be allergic to fucking chicken and milk, could I? Yet almost immediately after that dinner, my hands started to redden and fuck me up. WTF?...

Maybe it was the soap. I did take a shower that day, and the soap there seemed mighty suspicious. I threw that shit out right after, but really, that didn't seem to alleviate the problem. Not immediately for the next few days, at least...

The swollenness was just so damn unbearable, so much to the point where I fucking went to the doctor. Of course, he thought I had allergies, and maybe I did. Who fucking knows? It wasn't my own prognosis though, allergic reactions I mean, considering that time of fall coincided with the usual Edema outbreaks I had heard about (excess fluid build-ups) that a lot of people suffer throughout the seasons. Sure, I had never had Edema before from what I recall, but all the symptoms seemed identical to me, so why the hell couldn't it have been that?...

Either way though, he prescribed to me just simple Benadryl. Did it hit the spot? I really don't know. All I do know, is that a) I still can't fucking swallow tablets or goddam pills, and b) getting drugged and fucked up for the first time in the longest while was kinda actually kinky. I couldn't feel anything in my body, I couldn't stand on my two fucking feet, and I had some of the best sleep in my life. Even if I didn't have allergies, how the fuck could I complain about crazy shit like that?...

Of course, what sucked was that I still went to work that week... while completely drowsy, with now my hands and feet swollen to the point where I could barely fit in my shoes and goddam bloody hell coat pockets. WTF?...

And ah, yes... work...

Now sure, officially my own diagnosis of the situation was Edema. My hands and feet were swollen at the exact time of year when that so-called excess fluid build-up in the extremities usually seems to occur in others. Meanwhile, of course my walk-in doctor didn't give a shit about what I had to say, so it was all about the allergies, the Benjamins, and the Benadryl for him. Not that I'm really complaining, mind you...

But if I had to get a second opinion? You know what I'd actually blame for all my pain and anguish?...

Work. Motherfucking work, that's what...

Now sure, it's not like I work that many hours in a day. While my sister fought and died for her recent promotion, by getting into the office at 8 am and leaving at 8 pm every single goddam day at the very least, I stroll into my pathetic little cubicle-less desk at 9 am and leave at around 6:30 pm on any normal working day. That's not so bad, if I was being compensated properly for it that is (which I'm not, but that's a story for another day...)...

Now sure, I do admit now that in retrospect, obviously my job at the government was boring as hell. And truth be told, I hated the office politics there so damn much, that it really ruined whatever decent work environment I had there from time to time...

But at least there, I felt relaxed and comfortable, leaving at 5 pm every single day and enjoying the rest of my night. Now here, at my current workplace, while I don't quite feel stressed, I just feel that there isn't enough fucking waking hours in the day to satisfy my needs at home. Thanks to commuting, I wake at 7 am and get home at 8 pm every single night (or 9 pm and later, on the days I work extra overtime). And I find that after watching a few sports highlights and surfing the net for a minute or two after I finally do arrive home, I'm forced to go back to bed and wake up to the horrible gutting feeling of goddam work yet again. WTF?...

The thing is, maybe if I didn't have personal websites and fucking other wants and needs in life (wants obviously consisting of sex which I never get, but needs as in the ability to fucking relax...), then I wouldn't mind my entire damn day consisting 90% of goddam work and commute time. But because I would love to spend more time on my noname websites, because I just have such a massive fucking backlog of video games that I wish I had time to play, and since I have so many television shows I wish I had more time to watch? I just get so damn frustrated whenever I got home these dark and damp days that I honestly don't have the time or the effort to bother with any of it at all...

When I was in the government, you know what I enjoyed the most? Even though I technically also had part time fucking university at the same damn time, I was so not mentally taxed at fucking work all day, that I was primed and ready to just write my heart out on my websites as soon as I got home. There was no need to relax in my couch for an hour first after that fucking horrible commute ride, because I had already relaxed for God knows how many hours at my goddam work already. And because of that, even if my website writing was still shit, I enjoyed conjuring quite a few of those noname updates of mine back then. I honestly can't say the same for anything I write now, since everything I do jot down is now in such a fucking frantic hurry that it's goddam ridiculous. WTF?...

So how does this relate to my fucking outbreak of Edema or Adama or AIDs or whatever sort of fucking crap?...

This past Friday (yes, on a fucking goddam Friday), I didn't leave the office until 8 pm thanks to fucking goddam deadlines, and couldn't arrive home until well after nine. But you know what was most startling? Sure, it may have been because the fucking evil Diet Pepsi can I was holding was freezing over my digits in the cold, but after I had left work at eight fucking PM at night? I looked down at my hands, noticed how fucking swollen they were, and fucking felt that fucking allergic itch of mine return. That fucking goddam internal itch of a bitch, of goddam psychotic-inducing bloody hell proportions. WTF?...

So really, what does this all mean?...

Well, obviously I'm goddam allergic to work. That much is obvious, but besides that?...

Who the fuck knows?...

All I do know, is that I hate my fucking work. Perhaps now, more than ever...

But you know what I really loathe even more?...

... sigh...

... not just the notion that I'm beginning to get used to this fucking goddam schedule of mine...

... but the fact that I'm also starting to enjoy it as well, that's what...

Y2kk Update: You know, I could've sworn there was a point in my life where I didn't have a goddam temper...

... obviously, to some extent, things have changed...

The other week, I blew up at my VCR when the fucking thing blew up in my face first. I mean quite literally, the goddam thing after chewing up yet another one of my old VHS tapes, literally sparked and spanked and coursed its fucking goddam electricity through my bloody hell veins. In retaliation, I overreacted and slammed the motherfucking box of death against the ground. I mean honestly, with my hair standing up from the goddam surge of electricity, it was like time was standing still for me. It was just between me and the machine, and I lost my temper. I simply blew up, end of story...

... and lost to goddam Skynet...

Now, obviously it's hard to blame me for my actions when I was motherfucking attacked by my goddam home electronic. But still, I used to have so much more patience, so much more goddam virtue. What exactly has happened over the past few years?...

Over recent days, I've been thinking back to all those times in the past when I actually did give a shit about things, about the times when I did have a temper or did care about something so damn much that it ended up hurting me in the end. I've written about them all before on this download site of mine, but I just thought on this eve before Hallow's Grand Eve that I might as well reminisce amongst these memories all over again...

I still recall the way I felt the very first day I had failed a Calculus midterm. It was way back in first year, pretty much five goddam years ago if my memory doth serve me right. I was shaking my head in disbelief at the time, wondering to myself just how the fuck I would ever explain a horrible, miserable failure in Calculus to my parents. Sure, already in university by that point, I had flunked out on quizzes and small tests, but never a goddam midterm. Sure, in retrospect, it was just the first of goddam so many, but at the time? As I was wallowing away my head in shame, I really did feel like it was the end of the world...

I was slowly walking up the steps at Toronto Union Station at the time, so damn discouraged and so damn fearful of the fact that my life of ease and success would just never be the same. I was concentrating so damn much on my own goddam self-pity at the damn time and shit like that, that I didn't even notice when my foot began to slip...

Short story short, I twisted my ankle on a stair and starting falling the fuck down. I fell flat on my face, took more than a good lickin' on the chin, started rolling down the steps, bowled over a couple of people behind me in the process, and rammed my ass straight into the concrete floor to finish things off...

... nice...

And as I was staring up at the ceiling of the goddam subway station with my back absolutely killing me by taking the fall? I still remember the exact goddam words I had thought to myself then and there, at that very damn moment frozen in time...

"Wow... university marks really do hurt..."

And then I realized, why the fuck should I care about how I did on the midterm? It was just a damn number, and not some measure of my worth or any sort of crap. I had spent so much damn effort in high school to try to stay at the top of my class, or at least I did until the end of Grade 12. My marks dipped enough in my final year of high school simply because even back then, I had begun to realize just how pointless and fruitless and futile it was to devote my entire damn existence to goddam academics, when they're really just goddam numbers in the end...

But it wasn't until university, it wasn't until that goddam failure of a Calculus test, and it wasn't until I slammed my way through two damn innocents behind me on the stairs at Union Station, that it finally did hit me... after I hit them, of course...

... that caring about this stupid ass shit just didn't matter in the end...

Life became easier after that for me. Much easier, even though there certainly were times where I still managed to freak out like hell (namely when I failed my first year Dynamics course, thinking that I had failed all of first year as a result as well). But I still can't seem to forgive nor forget that one goddam incident in fourth year of university, at a time when I thought I didn't give a damn about marks or any of that goddam shit any longer...

I was in my Multimedia course lab at the time, and already in that class I was feeling the ill advised effects of keeping up with the Jones'. I was at the bottom of all the grades, barely passing a course that everyone else was claiming was goddam easy as shit ass pie. Nothing came simple for me though in Multimedia, as I struggled even on the labs that were supposed to be dirty and quick...

On that very night, I was still stuck frantically trying to finish up my assignment as everyone else in the lab had pretty much already left. And as I was panicking over just how the fuck to finish the damn work and get the fuck out of the TA's iron sights, I started feeling a certain feeling in my lower gut. I thought it was fear at the time, or fucking goddam panic really...

I thought I was having a panic attack, and I really don't know why. And whenever I'm nervous? I tend to fidget. I was already scraping and strafing back and forth, back and forth in my bloody hell chair by that point. I couldn't sit still, but it only got worse and worse as that sinking feeling in my gut got stronger and stronger. WTF?...

I suddenly got that urge to get up and go to the bathroom. But with only ten or so minutes left to finish my lab, I just couldn't be bothered. I just had to finish my goddam work already, not for the marks I kept telling myself, but for the simple pride in knowing that maybe, just maybe, I'm not the fucking dumbest kid on the goddam university campus...

But as I grew more and more nervous, as I swallowed my pride and swayed back and forth in my chair harder and even harder, the feeling in my lower extremities just kept growing stronger and stronger and fucking goddam stronger, until I swear to God, I couldn't hold it in any longer...

I got up and rushed to the washroom, only to find that I didn't goddam make it on time. Halfway there, my fucking dick exploded. I thought I had fucking pissed in my goddam pants from panic...

Until I realized that...

... it felt...

... good?...

WTF?...

No, wait...

... WTF?...

I hadn't pissed in my pants. I had actually instead fucking orgasmed in my fucking underwear. WTF?...

... and man, did it ever feel good...

Now, sure it was fucking embarrassing as hell to basically make the entire trek of a hour and a half back home with soggy wet underwear filled with goddam semen. I had tried to wash my pants out, and in retrospect, it probably would've been better if I had just bought some new fucking underwear from a goddam dollar store downtown or some shit like that at the time...

But the thing is, my orgasm from sheer goddam panic and nervousness (or actually, more likely from my dick rubbing against the soft chair in the lab over and over again as I was fidgeting at the computer) actually helped me out in the end, in more ways than I ever thought possible at the time...

Because simply from my assignment, I wasn't thinking clearly. I mean seriously, why does it matter whether I get a zero on the lab or a hundred percent in the end? What does it really get me but a goddam number and a false sense of pride? Why should I fucking care?...

I still remember exactly how I felt and exactly what I said to myself as I just stood there blankly as my pants exploded in the university hallway...

"Uggh... mmm.... mmm?... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"...

... or, umm, yeah... something to that effect...

And finally, I could think clearly. Immediately after washing out my pants, I just shrugged the whole thing off, handed in my assignment, got a measly mark of 50%, and went home actually content for once in my goddam life. I had learned my life's lesson all over again, although this time it didn't require a goddam flight of stairs, a broken back, and two fucking busted as hell knees to do so. The only victim in the end was my goddam bruised ego and pride, along with bloody hell underwear I'd never wear again in my life, but that was a given...

You know what has been weird over the past couple of years though? I can't even remember the last time I've actually had a wet dream from an actual scene dealing with goddam sex (although there was this one time I was doing it with my sister on her back, but, umm... that's a story for another day...). The only times I ever do wake up with underwear wet with goddam semen anymore is when I'm fucking terrified in my dreamstate, either from death or murder or even from a goddam pissed off professor. WTF?...

And maybe that's why I've been having such a temper as of late?...

... I just ain't getting some...

... but when have I ever?...

Either way, my stupid goddam temper tantrums showed up again on the weekend. As my latest Tweakui update will attest, my AMD-64 of a PC blew up in my face on Saturday, even after I had bought goddam new RAM for it (which I can no longer goddam return, might I add). So I started swearing and kicking the shit out the machine, trying to be all powerful and macho, not like it made me feel better even for a single goddam split second...

... until I just stopped, took a deep breath, and quickly asked myself in a lowly whisper of a whimper...

... "What is the point?"...

What is the point of ever getting angry? I used to have so much patience. Where has it all gone?...

You know, I could've sworn there was a point in my life where I didn't have a goddam temper...

... now sure, some things have certainly changed over the course of the past few years...

But really? I'm just getting frustrated...

... frustrated and castrated with life, honestly...

Seriously. What is the goddam point?

I just need to get fucking laid.