Loud Noises!

Pretty regularly before I sit down to write, I'll go back and re-read whatever it was I wrote last week. Partly that's to refresh my memory as to where I might have left off thematically and partly it's because, man, I'm just such a huge fan. Yeah, his early stuff was better, but he never sold out. There's a tremendous amount of integrity in doing something that the market doesn't want.

Last week I kind of left it on a cliffhanger as it was just before the Kamala Harris convention speech at the DNC in Chicago. The responsible thing to do as a writer would be to install the other half of the heavily implied bookend here, but I'll say it went pretty much as I'd hoped. Anything radical would have been a mistake given the almost delirious vibration of positivity and shouted release of relief that characterized all four days of the event, which is saying something as it included a whole-ass Bill Clinton speech.

Instead of a deep dive into the week of political insanity since then, or looking ahead to the joint Harris-Walz interview on CNN tonight, I want to talk about something more important, arguably the most important thing depending on whom you ask, provided one of the people you ask is me. I want to talk about me.

I realize this is a crucial period in American history and the implications for this and future generations are already bunching up their hindquarters in preparation for a full pounce, like a house cat on a different house cat, but sometimes your head gets so full of stuff, you can't sit there and contemplate the big things, like electoral politics or things that cats do.

But this is what the "online creator space" is for, really: by narrowing the field of view, the otherwise overwhelming maelstrom of atomized media spinning in the infotainment sphere like neutrinos, but less weighty, becomes knowable through the focusing lens of one person's curated expression. You thought you were just getting vacation photos or a makeup tutorial, but no, you were getting a little comestible blob of comprehension along with that affiliate link and/or creator code.

The good news about my online narcissism is that it takes me forever to actually get to any point, so you don't get bogged down with too much dedicated whining. The bad news is that my online narcissism take me forever to get to any point, so it's six paragraphs of unfocused mild snarkiness and we're still nowhere. I can only apologize, but by now, if you're still reading, this is on you.

A few weeks ago, I finally got in to see a general practitioner after about three months of insurance-related shenanigans. I am... well, "proud" isn't the right word, but have a notable lack of shame in saying I am an Anxious-American and have been my whole life. Shout out out to my friends who are Depressive-Americans, that's a harder road, in my view. Anxiety isn't necessarily easier to deal with, but at least the incessant pacing gets your steps in.

The new patient visit was fine. Mild prodding, the occasional limb manipulation... I had a nerve complaint, but a low-grade one, and not much else. At the end, she sat at the computer and made her notes and said, fairly casually, that when listening to my heart sounds, she could hear a murmur. I took my cues from her tone and didn't think much of it. She said they're common, not much to worry about in the absence of any other symptoms, but she'd refer me to a cardiologist to get a baseline. Even if it came to procedures to treat it, those are practically out-patient levels of invasiveness anymore. OK! Practically skipped out of there, just happy to be seen after like two-plus months of basically not having any access to care despite being ostensibly covered.

I felt fine the rest of the day, but after falling asleep, I woke up ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN I was seconds away from dying. This, for the uninitiated, is one of the ways an anxiety attack can feel. I never have them while I'm awake and walking around, but when I sleep and my guard is down, apparently that's the signal for my psyche run around the place banging all the pots and pans and throwing the fire alarm despite no evidence of smoke.

I eventually got some sleep (not my first run-in with nighttime anxiety attacks, let me tell you), but for the first time, the feeling followed me into the waking world, like the time they got that actor to do a Hugo Weaving impression and do a fight with Keanu Reeves in the The Matrix sequel everyone agreed we hated. Imagine your life was actually being stuck in The Matrix Reloaded. I don't feel like I have to say a lot more.

Breathing exercises were a Band-Aid on a machete wound. I made a therapy appointment, which finally came to pass right before I started typing here, two weeks on. In the end (about three days ago, we learned) it turned out I wasn't actually dying, I had indigestion. It was related to the anxiety, as the anxiety ramped up the likelihood of GERD, which in turn caused symptoms (chest discomfort, sleep disruption) that ramped up the anxiety. It has been a long two weeks of sleeplessness and discomfort that I eventually solved with progressive muscle relaxation exercises and a shot of pre-bedtime Pepto Bismol.

That's how fast things can go, people. You never know what the trigger is going to be either. One minute you're totally fine, cruising along, you've won all the primaries and you're on your way to the general to contest for re-election, the next you've been shoved aside for your more able-bodied Number Two and you have to watch the whole world be visibly excited about it. This started out being a metaphor, but I guess I wanted to say: I get you, Joe Biden. I get you. I'm not sure what your metaphorical Pepto Bismol is, but I sincerely hope you find it.