last chance power drive

On Saturday night, I didn’t sleep. By the time I put my phone down and closed my eyes, the coughing had already started and instead of waking Ed up by tossing/turning/coughing/barfing all night, I went left the bed and hung out in the living room to do various internet things. I never did fall asleep, which made for an entertaining Sunday morning – I was exhausted, but couldn’t sit still long enough to drift off. Honestly, I kind of felt drunk. Everything was HILARIOUS, and I kept having great epiphanies that I needed to share with the world like that one time I was high (sorry mom) and totally deduced why Sting was the halftime show at the Superbowl.

At some point during the day, I decided I was going to listen to nothing but different versions of “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen. After an hour or so of this, I began to wonder if anyone ever made a Springsteen-themed porno called “Born to Cum”, because this is a really good idea that apparently no one has ever had – I couldn’t find anything called Born to Cum, but lots of stuff called “Porn in the USA”. Which, okay, I guess that works, but it just seems lazy.

When I was done with the porn, I started wondering if the girl being sung to was the same girl in Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” or Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer”. They’re not – Springsteen sings about Wendy, whereas Bon Jovi is addressing Gina. The small town girl on the midnight train wasn’t identified by name in the song, so she could be anyone. Even you. Shine on, you street light people.

Ed wasn’t as impressed by my findings as I was, but I thought I had done some pretty good science and bemoaned the fact that no one ever appreciates my work. At this rate, I’ll never get a museum named after me. Life sucks.

.. I haven’t caught up on my sleep yet, so I’m still kind of amused by every exchange I had over the weekend. Also, I can’t stop listening to Born to Run. It’s my new favourite 39-year-old song. And out of all the covers I listened to, this one is my favourite but it kind of makes me sad because what a waste.

have some fish!

have some fish!


dancefloor 1942

This ain’t is a song post for about the broken hearted:

I am fighting a fierce battle with fluid, and rapidly losing the war. I’m writing this from the charred aftermath of another violent struggle in which I fought for the right to sleep and was obliterated where I stood. This is the 5th such battle this week with the same tragic result, and morale is at an all-time low. The fight for the right is very real.

I don’t think this makes any sense. I’m very tired, you see.

Several days before my check up, I learned a fun new dance: a terrible tickle in the back of my throat just as I was trying to sleep. It felt like someone was poking the far wall of my throat with the pointy end of a feather – it didn’t hurt, but it had to be stopped. To make the tickle go away, I would clear my throat. Then I would cough. Then I would cough more, and then I would run to the bathroom and throw up a bunch of fluid. If I was really lucky, this would happen once around 2am, and I’d be allowed to sleep until dawn.

The general consensus was that the water pills weren’t watering hard enough, so we upped the dosage to make more pee go. Unfortunately, it hasn’t helped. Over the last week, the dance has become a massive hit and I now perform it 2-3 times a night. The vomiting has become more violent and pronounced – it’s not just fluid I’m barfing up, but everything that might be in my system. In the beginning I’d fall asleep afterward, but now I stay awake and wait for the next attack – as soon as I lay down and close my eyes, the enemy attacks again like some sort of relentless attacking machine. Last night I was up until 6am, just coughing and barfing and wishing for sleep and loathing my full dance card.

I honestly don’t know how I went from a battlefield metaphor to a dance and then MIXED THEM in the same paragraph (a cardinal sin). I just signed up to give a talk on writing/editing at work next week, too. At this rate, the presentation is going to be “read my blog and be the opposite of this”.

As much as this all sucks so fucking much, it’s still better than what was happening pre-hospital. So far, the most extreme symptoms of my catastrophic* heart failure haven’t returned, and I am very glad for that. Still, it’s really hard not to feel scared and sorry for myself: I was feeling so much better for those three weeks between visits, and the thought of returning to my previous don’t dead open inside state is terrifying.

I miss the good old days, when all the weird things just happened in and around my vagina.

I’m so tired and petulant. I had brunch plans, but I am literally drooling at my laptop because I can’t brain. I clearly shouldn’t leave the house in this state – but I wanted waffles, damnit. Dance War is hell.


*: it’s not really catastrophic. I mean, heart failure will never turn out to be the good guy with a case of the red herrings, but I refer to my condition as “catastrophic heart failure” affectionately/I like big words/because it flows better, like “adorable syphilis” or “inscrutable overdraft”. Adjectives: cathartic!


I was on for less than 10 minutes, and I learned:

  • I wear the wrong colours
  • I wear the wrong clothes
  • I don’t manage my clothes properly
  • Which makes me look “CAF”
  • That “CAF” means “Cheap as Fuck”
  • I dress wrongly for my shape
  • My shape shouldn’t exist
  • Men love unexpected anal play
  • Gripping the testicles firmly and squeezing is a sexy bedroom move
  • I wear the wrong shoes to dance
  • I shouldn’t dance (see point 7)
  • Body positivity is super important, guys
  • Learning to love yourself is gonna be huge in 2015
  • Three words: surprise. anal. play.

Totes gonna bookmark this site. TOTES.


ghost setting

One of my mother’s elderly paramours – the ones she collects at the supermarket like a reverse black widow – died a while back. He’d been on the decline for a number of years, so it wasn’t terribly unexpected that he would pass on – he was placed in a 24/7 care facility after a taking nasty fall, and he never really recovered.

He and my mother had a weird relationship. As far as I know (and this isn’t just what I tell myself so I can sleep at night), there was nothing sordid about it – she was basically his paid companion. Not like that, but like the other thing. She ran errands for him and looked after him and he gave her money for the stuff she bought and helped her out when she needed it: you know, the things a companion would do. It was all very wifely, which was confusing because my dad was still alive, he and my mother were still married, and I was far, far too old to have some strange man try and play stepdad with me.

The whole thing caused a huge ripple of anger throughout my entire family, and is the reason my mother doesn’t exist as far as the rest of dad’s family is concerned. They’re convinced she cheated on dad, and no matter how many times he told them a) nope, b) I prefer it when she’s out of the house nagging someone else for a chance, c) I’m happy, d) this is none of your damn business anyway, they insisted that something gross had to be happening. I never thought it was anything beyond friendship (and not just because holy shit eww), but man did it make people (who weren’t my dad, mom, or me) mad. 

Mom and her gentleman friend were still close, but she didn’t have to be as wifely in a place where he already had people caring for him. She visited often to smuggle him fried chicken, but eventually found herself a NEW elderly gentleman friend in a grocery store, like the world’s oldest, most confused Pokemon trainer.

Really, I’m sad that my mom lost a friend .. but I’m mostly concerned that she’s going to start feeding his ghost at every meal. 

My father died ten years ago, and my mother has a permanent place set for him at the table. At every meal, she prepares a plate of food and sets it out for him. He gets baked goods or eggs in the mornings, fruit and cookies for snacks, toast and tea and cakes at midday, and some of her dinner. Oh, and dessert. Dad loved dessert. He even gets restaurant leftovers, and if we leave food in the fridge, some of it will end up on a plate under my dad’s picture. Totally normal, right?

I know the practice is rooted in tradition, but it’s still weird – for starters, I don’t think tradition dictates a decade’s worth of three square a day. That’s a lot of uneaten spirit food. And what if the spirits don’t like the food? What if they’re actually super offended by the sheer amount of grapes offered up? It’s not like they can send a memo suggesting strawberries might be a nice change, or would it kill you to spring for a nice steak every now and then. I can appreciate the sentiment, but I worry about afterlife gluten allergies.

I can laugh about my mom’s really weird quirks and not really believe in them myself, but I have to admit that I will be really mad if she starts feeding her friend at every meal, too. Only one dead man feeding allowed. Let HIS family feed his spirit in the afterlife – this place setting is taken. 

Totally normal. 


Like most people, I have a long list of favourites. I will go to great lengths for my favourites, especially when they are grouped together – anyone can have a chocolate ice cream cone, but if it comes with kittens and orgasms and pleasingly symmetrical button placement? SO MUCH BETTER. As you can probably guess, these serendipical mashups don’t happen often because a) I’m into weird stuff that doesn’t come up often or go together in any sort of commercial way, b) the planets rarely align in my favour, and c) I suppose these happy accidents would be less special if they happened regularly.

Still, I hate to admit defeat and face reality. I was pretty excited about this, too: last year I learned that my favourite artist would be performing in my favourite city in May 2015. I do a lot of things without thinking the logistics through (which is ironic, as figuring out logistics is another favourite of mine), so I immediately bought a ticket to the show in London. I figured I’d have plenty of time to figure out how to make it work – and frankly, I’ve done sillier things than fly halfway around the world to see someone I’ve seen live a dozen times before. Adventure, right? It keeps life interesting!

Unfortunately, the first few months of 2015 have kind of kicked my ass, and with that ass kicking comes the cold, hard realization that I am not able to jet off to London in May. Later this year, sure – but sadly, not in time for the show. I would have dearly loved to be able to claim that I flew to London just to see a concert – in my head, I’m fabulous and wealthy and can do this sort of thing regularly – but that particular level of ridiculous is just going to have to wait for a more opportune time*. And that SUCKS. I hate being patient and sensible.

For once, it’s not the lack of money keeping me from my outlandish whims. I’m surprisingly busy in May, and I’ve run out of time to squeeze a vacation in amongst all the exciting things going on: a weekend in Seattle for a concert (slightly easier to get to than London), the wedding of two of my favourite people, a conference in Portland (I’m kind of giddy about this; I’ve been trying to attend this conference for YEARS and work is sending me, hooray!), and a follow-up ultrasound to see if my hearts are better yet. The echocardiogram is a good thing – long ago, I had planned to go to London in April of this year but pushed it out by several months because I wasn’t sure I’d still be alive, let alone well enough to wander a distant city all by my lonesome. If all goes according to plan, by the time I’m able to plan this trip proper, I’ll be better (or else).

I will be patient and sensible and do the logical thing here, but I’m still gonna be all stompy about it when I feel the need to be melodramatic. I know it’s dumb – it’s not like I don’t get to take a trip at all, it’s just that I can’t go in May – but there’s nothing more appealing than a petulant, middle-aged woman with minimal obligations and no dependants throwing a tantrum because of a few incredibly minor responsibilities.

Seriously, I should be a reality show on a crappy TV channel.

*: Anyone in planning on being in London on May 27th? I have one ticket to see Astronautalis at Club 100 on Oxford Street that is yours free of charge (in exchange for a very small favour). Hit me up on Twitter @kimli, or email me at kimli @ this domain dot com.




health update: three fifths vs two thirds

Tomorrow will mark four weeks since the night I dragged my two-thirds dead ass into the ER and learned that I wasn’t crazy; something new and different was really wrong with me. I had my first official checkup with Doctor Awesome yesterday, to see how I was taking to the medication and if I was feeling better.

I’m pleased to report that I am definitely feeling better – I’d be truly terrified if I wasn’t, because holy crap you guys I felt so fucking awful before the hospital. Things were so better almost immediately afterwards that I was partially convinced the whole thing was psychosomatic. The medication made a huge difference, and the bloodwork I had done last week showed that things weren’t getting worse (which is awesome). It also showed that my kidneys are super great (I hadn’t really followed up on how my kidneys recovered from the infection of ’12, so I was glad to hear they were back to superstar status), I don’t have diabeetus, and I am definitely not pregnant. All good things!

A lot of the really horrible symptoms I was having have gone away, too. I no longer sound like I’m dying in my sleep, to Ed’s eternal relief. The utterly insane sweating while sleeping, sitting, standing perfectly still, thinking, etc has dramatically lessened, and I mostly don’t feel drained to the point of tears after standing up or getting dressed. I still get swooningly tired much more easily than I should, but I can move around and do things and go for short walks so that’s nice. My chest no longer rattles! I don’t sound like Darth Vader eating Pop Rocks at night! HOORAY!

Not everything is perfect, but I’m slowly getting there. My heart is still broken (wahhhh) and hovering around 20% functionality, so fluid remains an issue. I may need to increase my medication dosage, which is doable because I’m apparently on a crazy low dose of medicine and obviously responding well. A bump in making me pee more isn’t going to hurt – in fact, it’ll probably help. I’ve had a couple barf-up-fluid incidents over the last week, so my next step is to take a double dose of diuretics and spend my days in the bathroom. Good times.

I’m really glad I’ve got permission to work from home when necessary, because all toilets on the floor I work will be out of commission tomorrow and the next day. I am NOT going to increase my pee pills and then work where there are no bathrooms. That is madness.

Missing toilets aside, work has been great about all of this. They know I can do my job from pretty much anywhere, so I have permission to take care of myself and work where I need to. That’s super helpful as I’m so much more productive at home anyway – and not having to feel my misplaced guilt over not physically being in the nest is a big relief. I stress out over the stupidest things, and that’s one of them.

I’ve got an ultrasound scheduled for the end of May, by which point Doc Awesome says I should be only 1/3 dead instead of 2/3. If not, I get more meds. In the meantime, I’m supposed to go see him as soon as I have any weird or worrying symptoms or if I want to go to a really, really crazy nice office staffed with catalogue-handsome people. This is excellent advice, and for once, I will listen to it.

Oh, and I have a medic alert bracelet now. I am clumsy and I wander off a lot, so I thought it best that I have some sort of notification that I’m broken hearted and allergic to penicillin. I am getting really good at common sense! I should write a book.

.. after I get lunch. I’m still not very good at eating, but I’m trying.

the king of wishful thinking


While we’re all masturbating furiously at the thought of Valve announcing Half Life 3 tomorrow (background: Valve is making a “big announcement” at GDC15 on 3/3 at 3pm – I personally think they’re going to screw us and announce DOTA3 or L4D3, MAYBE Portal 3 if we’ve been very, very good), I started thinking about my video game wishlist: titles I want to see sequels for, or older games made available on new technology. Some people daydream about winning the lottery – I dream about playing The World Ends With You on iOS8. #dreambig

  • HD Port of Jet Set Radio Future: They did this for Jet Set Radio, so now it’s time to do it for the sequel. C’mon, SEGA. I’ve been very patient.
  • Jet Set Radio Future 2: The Futuring
  • Beyond Good and Evil 2: Goddamnit, Ubisoft. Stop churning out Assassin’s Creed sequels and give me more Jade.
  • TWEWY iOS8 Support: don’t be dicks, Squeenix.
  • Portal 3 because Portal is awesome and more Portal would be More Awesome. JK Simmons isn’t doing anything these days, right? We need more wisdom from Cave Johnson.
  • The return of Cate Archer. This one is depressing, because No One Lives Forever is in limbo and looking very much like it won’t be made available, ever. There are three games in the series, and while I can’t speak for Contract J.A.C.K., NOLF/NOLF2 were so much fun to play (CJ came out in 2003 when my entire life was casting and sleeping and not much else). I and so many others would love to see them made available to play again, but.
  • The return of browser-based Quake Live. When it was released on Steam, it went Windows only, and that sucks – it was fun and easy to fire up a game at work, but now it takes some serious planning because who the hell has Windows machines? My work environments have been Mac-only for the last 4 years. I don’t think I could find a Windows machine in this office if I tried.
  • A new game from Tiger Style, makers of Spider: The Secret of Bryce Manor and Waking Mars. They’re currently working on Spider: Rite of the Shrouded Moon, but I want it nooooow. I need a good game to sink my teeth into.

There are probably more, but I have work to do. What about you? What games would you love to see/see again?


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