No I'm not dead.

I haven't posted in a few days because I've had stuff going on.

For the last week or so I haven't been sleeping. Sure, I'll lay there and toss and turn for a few hours, but I'm not really sleeping. It could be symptoms from the drugs I'm taking for my upper respiratory infection or it could be a manic period. Seeing as I just came out of a week or so of sleeping for 12 hours at a stretch that seems likely. Of course that period was when I was sick and hoping my cold wouldn't get worse, which it did.

Fuck, I don't know.

By and large I'm a pretty well adjusted guy. I mean, you know, for a cartoonist, but right now I'm crashing and I feel kinda shitty, so here I am, blogging at 7:30 in the morning.

Had fun earlier tonight. A buddy of mine came by with some people that are filming a documentary featuring him and the shot some footage here. I don't want to say too much because I don't know how much they want to be known. Suffice it to say, as soon as I'm told it's alright I'll spill the whole sorted story.

I will say though that there was talk of it going to Sundance.

I did some yard work earlier in the week. As much as I could do, which was cutting half of the lawn with an antique torture-device of a pushmower I found in the garage. Maybe the muscle aches areresponsible for some of my ill feelings right now. Maybe I strained the hernia a bit too much, I don't know, but once again I can't sleep.

I updated TerriblyWrongOnline last night. I tried something new with the art and the file format and I think it looks really good. I'm actually starting to use those other programs Remdog is pushing on me and it's showing.

Speaking of which, work is progressing on my new site, I'll provide a link when it's up.

I think it's just getting to me. The waiting. Waiting to get my life back. I mean, I'm alive, and glad to be that way, but I'm not living. I'm just existing. It's been more than four years now since all my shit started. 52 months waiting to get my shit together. That's 50 more than they told me I'd be sick.

52 months of not knowing if I'm going to be able to get out of bed in the morning, if the last little bit of gut muscle I have left will finally rip wide open and leave me bedridden. Of knowing that each time I try to do anything I'm just as likely to make my physical situation worse as I am to make it any better.

You know, I think I've weathered it pretty well. I've done as good as I can with what I've been dealt and all things considered, I feel pretty good most of the time. The lack of sleep is from the things I've been supressing I think. All the anxieties my waking mind can rationalize and shut out in the waking hours get to play my nerves like a badly tuned violin and I can't block them out.

Don't worry, I'm not suicidal or likely to hurt myself. Quite the opposite in fact. I'm down because I can't get well. I guess the events of tonight reminded me that people are out there living and getting things done while I'm sitting here waiting for others to decide my fate.

And nothing I can do can change that.

Of course the bills are a factor too. I've dealt with them this long, I can do it some more, but I always get a little weird when they're coming due and I'm $300 or so away from being able to cover them. I'll get up in a few hours and use the Jedi Mind Trick on a few creditors and buy some more time.

Oh yeah, it also came to my attention that my brother and Der Fuhrer have decided that thier older boy Billy isn't allowed to spend any length of time at my house. Now I understand that he's adopted and I do have a lot of objectionable material in my house (all of it hidden) and I have a great many sharp weapons hanging on my living room walls and maybe I am a bad influence at this point in my life. I understand all of that, but they didn't bother to talk to me about it. They just told my sister, who was babysitting for them, that he's not allowed to be here.

Worst part is, the company he works for (and she used to work for) trusted me to be a teacher. They don't trust me to be an influence.

I'm good enough to let thier dogs out when they're in a pinch though. I guess I should feel greatful that they value me that much. I mean, I AM the jerk that's refusing to get well. I'm the asshole that's embarrasing them by not sucking it up.

Why do I even care anyway?

Fuck it. I'm gonna go attempt to sleep. Maybe I'll feel better in a few hours. Maybe this manic period isn't over yet and I'll get out and finish the lawn. Then again, maybe my guts will finally spill out and I'll be propper-fucked.

Anyone know how I can make $300 in the next few days?