“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Saturday, October 23, 2004

So I electrocuted myself today.

I guess that needs some explaination.

I had another sleepless night last night. I think their increasing frequency could be directly related to my dwindling fundage.

It was one of those nights where you aren’t really asleep because you’re watching the clock and you know you’re not asleep, but at the same time part of your brain is dreaming anyway.

I dreamt that Metallica was suing me for Lil' Zombie strip #38, in which I refered to the members of said band as “No-dicked, sell-out, pig-fucking, corporate whores.” Their position was that it was rather unflattering. My position was that it was entirely accurate.

If anyone is interested I won the case.

I also got my $13 back from my purchase of the Load album.

It was then that a new option in my healthcare came to me. See, I’ve been trying to get on Medicaid or Medicare, or Social Security or SOMETHING that will help me get patched up and on with my life. Problem is everyone has some excuse not to help me and they just send me on down the line to the next people. The latest stop on the tour has been Medicaid. They haven't even seen fit to give me an excuse. In fact, they’ve never even sopken to me as they WON’T ANSWER THEIR FUCKING PHONE.

All I get is the message “All our operators are currently busy, please call back later.” And then it fucking hangs up.

Ever think you’d miss being put on hold?

So my options are thus:

#1: Get a job with benefits that doesn’t check your health very well beforehand and then try to get their insurance to pay for it.

#2: Get further injured in some serrious yet non-life-threatening way and sue somebody (preferably a corporate entity) for my hospitalization.

#3: Commit a felony. I figure if people on death row can get kidney transplants I can get a fucking hernia fixed.

But it was shortly after the Metallica dream that it occurred to me that someone had to know how to get results from Medicare. That person just isn’t me. So how do I go about getting someone else to figure this shit out for me?

Get committed!

No, I don’t mean buckle down to the task at hand, I mean admit myself to a mental facility. I think this blog would provide ample enough evidence to get me in. If not, then I could go with Jay’s idea and just walk around the mall naked till someone leads me off into an ambulance.

The key here seems to be placing myself in the custody of the state.

This is the state of mind I was in when tonights adventure took place.

I’ve been trying to assemble a working computer from the heap of discarded hardware I’ve been collecting when one of the wires began smoking.

That’s the subtle method I was using to figure out weather things were plugged into the right place or not.

So, genius that I am (Serriously. It’s documented.) I grab the wire.

My left arm is still tingling and occasionally twitching.

Thank God it wasn’t my right arm.

I’m not a switch-hitter is what I’m saying.

Of course this incident reminds me of the time I discovered that the line running into my phone carried electricity.

Sure, you’re saying, EVERYBODY knows that household phone lines carry electricity. I’m pretty sure I knew it too, but it’s just not something you think about a lot.

It’s like the light in the fridge. You allways knew the light went off when you shut the door, but at some point you kinda marvelled at the mechanics of the deal.

Though you don’t usually shock the piss out of yourself in the process.

I, however, was repairing a phone line, which was in fact plugged in, when I decided to strip the wires with my teeth.

Jesus, I’m manly.

I guess it goes without saying that applying electrical current directly to your incisors is slightly uncomfortable. My teeth were numb for a few days and everything tasted ‘fuzzy’ for a while, but I did learn a valuable lesson.

I’m sure one day I’ll remember what it was exactly.

Anyone think it’ll be hard to convince a doctor that I’m a danger to myself?

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