waggling vessels and ventricles

The past two days, I have had a headache unlike anything I can remember.  It was ferocious and unremitting, and kept me placid and couch bound most of those days. People have told me before about how terrible their headaches were, with wrinkled noses and eyebrows that reached for each other’s support. I never believed them, oh I comforted as best I could, people in discomfort draw it out of me (I’m sure that’s true for most people) but I couldn’t help but inwardly scoff and think they were making too big a deal out of something so slight.

I don’t know what brought it on my own brain pain, but I was secretly sure that it was a sign of tumors peppering the inside of my skull.  Those fears dissolved with the pain when I woke up this morning, in almost a state of ecstasy. I live with two great friends at the moment; they have put me up in their house, and refuse rent payment until I find my long quested after job. Last night I told them “I wouldn’t have a headache tomorrow. I just wouldn’t let it happen”, and I didn’t. I opened my eyes for the first time early in the morning, and the first thing remotely like a conscious thought was the realization of freedom from pain. It sounds absurd but after I dozed back off shortly after that I’m sure I wore a massive smile on my face in my sleep.  I rolled contentedly back and forth in my blankets dreaming of racing here to there in my own personal free energy rocket ship.

Feeling like I had, I had neglected to do what had been necessary. The continued search for work, and the procurement of monies with witch I could extend my poverty and my joblessness if that becomes necessary. (I hope that it doesn’t!) I now have some 500 dollars from the sale of my vehicle (which I may have drove twice, while I owned it) but at the moment I can’t access that. Which all in all is good. The moment I thought I had that money at my disposal, my immediate impulse was to get something good to eat, and a cup of strong black coffee and sit in a coffee shop all day. Which may be a very enjoyable way to spend a day, but certainly that kind of behavior isn’t something I can afford at the moment.

            I haven’t had coffee in days, and it occurred to me during my strange two day infirmity, that a strong chemical imbalance, stemming from my abstinence in regards to caffeine and tobacco, might just be to blame. Even though I was feeling world better, It was with coffee in mind that I left the house. I neatly stowed away a book, and a letter I had received, and went to sell my body.

            Upon leaving the house, my friend had woken up and came down stairs, his wife had already left for the day, she always got up much earlier than either of us, and I immediately started jabbering something about selling my blood on the street corner, and waggling my vessels and ventricles at any passing pharmaceutical company that happened to be passing by. It struck me that that might be more true than any thought process I have ever had about selling plasma. It really isn’t that different from prostitution, and actually, prostitution might rate higher in my moral scale. After all, sex (at it’s best) makes people happy, but medications provided by pharmaceutical companies steal the coins from your pocket, and don’t necessarily provide relief just life extension. The whole thing begs to be described in far reaching sudo-mystical metaphors, it’s crooked, I can never quite place my finger on what I find the most dastardly and nefarious, just a smell of malignant mystery covered over by the antiseptics they use.   

            Nonetheless, I got on the buss. It was a present weekend bus trip. I didn’t have to worry about increased fares or overcrowding. A nice old fella tried to buy my hat off my head. After I declined politely, we got to talking about the neighborhood, when I reached my destination we said goodbye and I went to sell my body. In Canada, they don’t allow it. You can’t sell your blood or your plasma or any part of you, they just don’t allow that morally ambiguous ground, but they also don’t like or sell biscuits, no place is perfect.

            The process is relatively painless, and while it’s not my favorite thing in the world it does force me to sit and calmly read a book for a while, something I would like to be doing more often, and there really is something to it! The ancients believed in bloodletting, god knows why, it really is madness if you want to make a weak person stronger, but I have to admit, it can be really refreshing to have your old blood taken out to make room for some new stuff. My blood had gotten thick and sluggish, that can’t be denied, and thinning it out may have been just what I needed. Oh and I got my coffee too. It’s good to be a whore.