For the past few days I've been getting ready to take this mantle up again, and I thought I'd jump right into politics before January 20 comes along, but fuck that. Because big picture? That's terrible for everyone, even the unsuspecting MAGAs. Besides, small picture (but fucking huge for me) is what I'm looking at this year.
I can't imagine I'll end 2025 with two feet. Gotta be honest, today I had a bad feeling about The Foot. A lot of drainage came out of it today, and it is super swollen. I could not get my shoe on this morning. I had to go back to the medical shoe with the velcro strips. Often times today I thought maybe I should just go to the ER. But if these are going to be my last days with the foot, I want to get the most out of them. I also want to start planning to fuck over the corporations who are going to swarm me when I no longer have money because my second prediction for the year is I'll be out of a job. First and foremost is jailbreaking my car so the dealer can't brick it from afar. The plan is to also . . . I'm a little crazy right now, so I'll hold off on that.
(I did message my podiatrist. He asked me if there was any redness, and there isn't. He doesn't seem worried, but now I'm thinking about how cold I was on Friday. That is also a sign of infection.)
There are a few things that are probably going to come up this year on my Reasons to Start Drinking Again list, but those two are the big ones. So to top it all off I'm probably going to drink again this year. My life has been a constant downward spiral, but I may be reaching the end. It angers me that I won't get to beat Mom's high score of 53, much less Dad's 59.
I hope this is just the paranoia speaking, but last night I thought about all the things I wanted to do with the new year, about all the life changes I would incrementally make over time. I have a little notebook half-filled with my ideas and how to implement them. But whenever I start making big plans for myself, the universe shoves the Fickle Dick of Fate right up my ass. It's been probing me all day, but I hope it doesn't make me drink during the first full week of the year.
I thought maybe I should go to the ER anyway tonight, but I have a plan of action. I see Wound Care on Thursday, but I have some antibiotics (they accidentally gave me two packs, and I'm not going to just return one) in case I have an infection, and I have tons of ice to kill the swelling. It went down a little today, but maybe by my appointment, I'll have fixed this. Or they'll highly suggest I go to the ER, so I might want to pay a bag on Thursday . . .
The really fucked up part of this is, I started looking forward to losing my foot so I could drink again. That, my fine fuckers, is the very definition of addiction. I killed that horrible thought as soon as I detected it, but I can't deny it was there.
I'm hoping tomorrow's better. And hey, this was mighty depressing. You should check out the new issue of The Cocaine! Bros.
