I don’t know how long I can sit up in bed and type before the pain wins out, so I’ll type fast and not think terribly much about what I’m putting down here. I took a couple of pain pills, and maybe those will help. It may sound strange, but I’ve been having pain all day, and five minutes ago was the first time it occurred to me to take some pain pills. I’m not talking about typical extra-strength Tylenol or Advil or Aleve. I’m talking about the kind of stuff that winds up in medical examiners’ reports when people like Heath Ledger include it in their sleep-aid regimens. So I’m careful. I take these as a last resort.

Anyway…geez, I cannot even get the laptop on my lap, because Aremid has maneuvered his way here. I don’t like to displace him. Leaning over him to get to the keyboard is killing me, though.

I don’t think I’ll be covering any new ground if I just write about how much this hurts and impacts my life. I’ll retread over the same ground anyway. Writing might slightly take the edge off this frustration.

I obvious don’t know what is feels like to be seven or eight or nine-months pregnant. I can imagine, though. I carry around two bulky masses of unknown weight near my belly everyday. I feel bloated. I look bloated. I don’t eat particularly well, and I don’t get much, if any exercise, but this is not a beer gut I have. This is my two massive kidneys giving me this grotesque figure. I know ‘grotesque’ may seem extreme. I do not mean to imply that being overweight is grotesque. (And I certainly am not saying that about pregnancy). I am saying that I cannot stand to see myself in the mirror or see a picture of myself or think about how I am appearing to the world.

I’ve wished I could find clothing that I actually fit well given my circumstances. I picked up a T-shirt yesterday, and I insisted that I need an extra-large even though I’m not one you’d find in the big-and-tall department. I can’t have a large-sized T-shirt hugging my not-a-beer-belly. Other types of shirts present problems, too. I curiously donned a sport-coat look several weeks back. It was a step more formal than the most formal one should be in my workplace. I’d have just gone with a dress shirt, but I think I look terrible in a dress shirt.

I’m not retreading old material now. I’d have to be high on painkillers to write about how my gut looks. (Actually, it’s about 15 minutes later, and the painkillers haven’t done jack yet).

There are certainly a ton of things I can’t stand about myself that I could conceivably change. This distended abdomen isn’t something I can do anything about. I suppose a lot of people might say, “Doesn’t do any good to have so much negative thought over something you can’t change”. Well, perhaps so. A lot of admirable people have something about their physical condition that is unfortunate and unchangeable, and yet they’re happy and not spending a great deal of energy lamenting their misfortune. I suppose I am simply confessing that, at this time, I am not one of these people.

“I believe happiness is a choice…”
- Lots of people

I’ve heard that from a lot of people. Unfortunately, I hear that, and that tends to be the last thing I want to hear, since I fundamentally disagree and suspect these people will look upon me with disdain if they attempt to get to know me and realize I am not Mr. Happiness.

Again, I admire people who woke up one day and decided, “Henceforth, I choose to be happy”.

This being said, I would be delighted to get on some path to enlightenment, some way of breaking down my negative, pessimistic belief system. If “Buddhism for Dummies” showed up on my doorstep, I might give it a read.

Where did that come from? I am trying to say that I can see conditions under which I would be able to have a different attitude, but I do not see myself suddenly having a different attitude. Furthermore, I can’t see myself becoming a Buddhist. But I can see myself reading a book or taking a yoga class or learning to meditate.

And I’m sorta thinking aloud at this point. I am completely in the state of private journaling that just so happens to be public.

The painkillers are kicking in. Back to my original topic, I cannot tell you what an amazing difference it makes to have a couple of painkillers working. I suppose I just did. I can actually sit up now and not have it be an excruciating ordeal.

So, again, back to my original topic, these cannonballs in my gut (my polycystic kidneys–I don’t know why shy away from mentioning the PKD directly) are normally quite uncomfortable. But when there’s a cyst rupture or an infection or a stone or just some sudden pressure on other organs (the pain could be from any number of things, and it’s likely it will go away at some point without me knowing what it was), it’s…really #*($*#($ aggravating. My best chance to get over whatever this is will be to drink a lot of water and to get plenty of rest.