Recent Roadblocks to Blogging

Okay.  I’m back now.  Took a little break from blogging.  But now I’m (hopefully) starting it all up again. 

So… where were we? 

The First Rule of LEGO Conventions…

…is apparently: You do not blog about LEGO conventions. 

And the second rule of LEGO conventions is:  You DO NOT blog about LEGO conventions. 

I don’t know (or really care) what the third through whatever^th rules are.  And those first two rules might not apply to everyone.  But they certainly apply to me.  Because trying to write the post about Bricks Cascade 2022 is what initially derailed this blog. 

The first thing I did when I got home from the con that Sunday night was to turn on the computer and open up a new word processor file to start writing the convention report.  The plan was the upload the post for Wednesday.  But by the time Wednesday rolled around, the blog post wasn’t yet finished.  In fact, it was barely even started. 

So, I moved my ‘deadline’ from that Wednesday to the following Sunday.  And then to the following Wednesday.  And then again to the following Sunday. 

It took two weeks for me to write what amounted to a third of what should have been that post.  The amount of the post that I’d written wasn’t bad or anything, it was just coming out at an incredibly slow drip. 

Looking back on it, I now realize that this is the third time I’ve had a blog come to a screeching halt because of my inability to write a LEGO con report.  Both versions of “Battlegorilla’s LEGO Blog” came to a stop because I returned from a LEGO con with a bad case of Con Crud, but in both cases the reason I never started back up was because the next post was supposed to be the con report, and I just couldn’t get them written.  I can write up reams of text about what goes on leading up to a convention, but apparently nothing about having attended that con. 

 

Which makes absolutely zero sense to me, because back when I was doing zines, I was always writing reports on sci-fi conventions and concerts that I’d been to. 

But I’ve decided to not question this, and just accept it.  If I attend BrickCon in person this October (the chances of which currently look to be about 50/50), don’t expect to hear about what went on there.  Not from me, anyway. 

A Little Bit More Writer’s Block

Every time I moved the Bricks Cascade report to a new date, I had to revise my scheduled list of blog topics.  Moving whatever blog post I had originally intended to write on that date further on down the calendar. 

Most of them were no problem to move, because most of them weren’t specifically placed on my blog schedule for any particular reason.  The post I wanted to write for April 3^rd, however, was reasonably time specific. 

So when it became apparent that the Bricks Cascade post wasn’t getting written before then, I made peace with the fact that I would have to postpone it for a little bit.  (This obviously came before the realization that I’d be abandoning that post altogether.) 

Unfortunately, when I sat down to write what was supposed to be the April 3^rd post… I couldn’t do it either.  I opened a new word processor file, wrote the post title and a bunch of subheadings, started writing the intro to the post… and then nothing.  No actual blog post was occurring when I put my fingers on the keyboard. 

Was this residual dark energy left over from my inability to write the Bricks Cascade post?  Or had I lost the ability to write a simple blog post?  Had I jinxed myself by titling my blog “Writer’s Blo(g/ck)”?  So many questions. 

In the end, I welcomed despair into my brain and quit even trying to blog.  I wanted to give what little writing skills I still have left a rest, and come back to it a little bit later.  (Months later, as it turned out.  Not that I knew that at the time.) 

The Insomnia Continues

Throughout all of this, the insomnia I blogged about back in February continued.  Continued getting worse, in fact.  But I think that’s a story best saved for my next post, as I don’t want to condense it to fit into just a small section of this post. 

So, on to the next roadblock on my path back to blogging…

A Little Bit of Backstory

On Saturday, May 14^th, I opened my front door to see if the mail had come through yet.  (It hadn’t but that’s beside the point.)  What I found instead was a sheet of paper taped to my door.  A notice from the landlord informing me that someone would be out to inspect my apartment on the morning of Wednesday the 18^th. 

I read the notice, and then looked at the state of my apartment.  Read the notice again.  Looked at the state of my apartment again.  Then had myself a minor little freak out. 

My apartment wasn’t an unlivable dump by any means, but it was also certainly not up to snuff for an inspection.  Is ‘cluttered’ an understatement?  Sure.  I mean, I’m not a hoarder or anything, but stuff tends to accumulate here. 

Do I make sure that garbage is taken out each and every week?  (And recycling every other week?)  Not always.  I have to weigh my knee pain against filling the bins and wheeling them out to the road, then walking back again.  (And then realizing that I’ll have to repeat the process with the empty cans the next day.)  So that doesn’t always happen. 

Would my kitchen really startle a clean freak?  Absolutely.  My tendency is to wash whatever dirty dishes I need clean at that moment rather than keeping all dishes clean at all times. 

My life is rarely inspection-worthy, and my apartment follows suit.  So like I said, I had a minor little freak out.  I was NOT up to getting all the work done that needed to be done in the time it needed to be done in.  Fortunately for me, I have a friend named Rachel who will, in an emergency situation (like a rapidly oncoming apartment inspection), come and help clean my apartment for me. 

So, I contacted Rachel and pled for her help.  She told me she’d check her schedule and get back to me, which she did shortly thereafter.  She informed me that she’d be over late in the afternoon on Monday.  (And was bringing a friend along to help.)  Fantastic!

And when late afternoon Monday arrived, so did Rachel and Max.  And in just a couple of hours they had my place unrecognizable from its state when they had arrived. 

Garbage and recycling were all either out in the bins or bagged and prepped to go into the bins after the garbage trucks rolled through Tuesday morning.  (Including months and months worth of empty Amazon boxes.)  All the miscellaneous clutter was gathered into boxes for me to sort through and put “where it goes”.  Dishes were all done, kitchen was clean. 

Even the bathroom was clean.  Nearly spotless, in fact.  [These previous two sentences are what’s known as foreshadowing, and should fill you with an uneasy sense of foreboding.]

Having done their excellent and well-appreciated work, Rachel and Max left.  And I found myself thinking to myself, “Okay.  Things aren’t too bad now.” 

That’s when I felt the earthquake.  Don’t remember an earthquake in May?  You wouldn’t, as it was centered entirely in the pit of my stomach.  My brain interpreted the results of my personal seismology, and sent me this message: 

“Get to the bathroom!  NOW!”

Flupocalypse 2022

By some miracle, I did manage to get my pants down and my butt firmly planted on the toilet seat before my digestive system turned into a firehose.  (But just barely.) 

And there I sat, suddenly sick as the proverbial dog.  That firehose I mentioned was apparently trying to douse an inferno.  I remember thinking, “What the Hell is going on here?  Sure, I’ve got digestive issues, but rarely ever like this?  What the Hell?”

That’s about when the aftershocks hit my stomach.  I opened my mouth and proceeded to projectile vomit all over what had moments previously been my nice clean bathroom. 

Looking back on it now, I realize that there is no way that my body could possibly have contained everything that it expelled that night.  As near as I can figure, a rift to another dimension had opened up inside me, funneling some very nasty stuff through me and into our world. 

Finally, my body sensed a reprieve that allowed me time to clean myself up, wipe most of my vomit off of the bathroom surfaces (ruining a bath towel in the process), and to grab a red plastic bowl from the kitchen that had only just recently been washed.  (This bowl, which I dubbed ‘the portable vomitorium’ was about to become my constant companion for the foreseeable future.) 

 

There were several more horrible, horrible trips to the bathroom that night, but I eventually crawled into my sleeping chair at a later than usual bedtime. 

When I woke the next morning I felt sicker than I’d been in recent memory.  This wasn’t my normal chronically ill body exhibiting a few digestive issues.  This was definitely the flu. 

When the knock on my door came Wednesday morning, I answered it wearing a mask.  And I could clearly see the entire faces of both of the apartment inspectors that were standing there.  I asked them if they had masks with them, and they looked almost confused, like they hadn’t been living in a global pandemic for several years.  “No,” they informed me. 

I sighed, and informed them that I had the flu.  I had a little speech prepared in my head, about how not only did I have the flu, but was also chronically ill and immunocompromised, and that it would probably be for the best if all parties went into this situation masked up.  But I only got as far as saying ‘the flu’ when they simultaneously took a step backwards, put their hands up in front of them, and said, “Oh, we’ll reschedule this then.” 

[To this day, that inspection has still not taken place.  No rescheduling has occurred.  And the only recent communication I’ve had with the landlord was a letter informing me that my rent was being raised.  Again.]

Influenza Everlasting

I frequently refer to my immune system as a screen door with a large hole in it.  (I mentioned that to my sister-in-law last weekend during a family gathering at my sister’s house, and she told me that she understood, because her mother’s immune system was “made of wishes and tissue paper”.  I really liked that line, and felt I had to share it with you, my readers.) 

Immune system dysfunction is one of the more common components of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which I’ve had since 1988.  As a result of this, I’ve spent over half my life with the reality that if I’m exposed to something, chances are I’m going to get it.  And if I get it, I’m likely to have it far longer than a healthy person would. 

Ten or fifteen years ago, I had the flu for nearly seven weeks.  It was a miserable period of my life, and a personal illness-longevity record that I hoped would stand for the rest of my life.  But, to quote the Rolling Stones, “You can’t always get what you want.”

I fell into the following pattern:  A day of vomiting.  Followed by a day of eating ‘post-vomiting food’.  (Primarily things like popsicles, bananas, crackers, and toast.)  Then a couple of days of eating regular food.  At which point, the cycle would begin anew with another day of vomiting. 

I felt sick.  I had horrible stomachaches.  More pain than usual in general.  Wide variance in personal temperature.  More mucus in my head than usual.  Quite a bit of scatterbrainedness.  (My spellchecker didn’t like that last word.)  Other miscellaneous symptoms.  Strangely, no cough. 

This went on.  And on.  And on.  I would periodically update my days-with-flu count on Facebook and Twitter.  On day 42 I posited the question, “Is this the meaning of life that Douglas Adams was talking about?  How many days I’ve had the flu?” 

But just as all good things must come to an end, fortunately so does the flu.  I might have been technically sick a few more days than my official count, but my last day of vomiting was day number 58.  Just a couple of days short of a full two months. 

Setting a new personal record for illness-longevity.  Something I hope to never, ever do again. 

Wow, did this post go long.  Anyway, these are the reasons that I haven’t been blogging for the past five months.  Hopefully I’ll be back on my regular Sunday and Wednesday posting schedule now.