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Bob Flanagan
Pain Journal

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June

Fun and frustration with the computer. First, I added some photographs to the January journal, which I just finished transcribing last night. But mostly the computer's given me nothing but trouble today. I was trying to do more scanning and cropping but the damn thing kept bombing and freezing and crashing. There are a few things I can try tomorrow, but I'm not sure what's going on. We're taking it in to the shop anyway to add a couple of gigabits, so maybe Les can fix whatever's wrong. I sound like a real computer geek, I know, but all my projects are on it now. I'd rather be in front of the computer than anywhere else. Something to do with getting my life in order. My command post. A place where I can get a lot done without doing a lot (physically). I get depressed when it starts giving me trouble. The waste of time. The confusion. The disarray. My life, which is all computerized and digitized by now, feels like it's crashing around me when the system dies. A little melodramatic, yeah, but I'm only human.

*

After all the complaining, of course I'm in the hospital again. Headaches, chest aches, phlegm and all the rest of the shit, the boring shit, my mean mantra. Can I get some other kind of pain relievers maybe, like Demerol or morphine? Don't know if I really need something that heavy, the pain's not excruciating, it's just constant and annoying, to say the least. But why shouldn't I be able to zone out a little? Where am I going? What else do I have to do?

*

Vicodin kicking in. Not much of a kick anymore. More like a tap on the shoulder. And when I turn around there ain't nobody there. And then the headache's back. Who's this nurse I've got tonight? Never saw a porta cath before? I hate new nurses that don't know me at night. I want them taking care of me, not me them. What a whiner. Looks like I'll be here till next Monday. Sheree none too happy 'bout that, but that's the way it goes. Maybe I'll actually use the time wisely and do some serious writing while I'm here, now that I've got this new laptop computer. Almost finished transcribing the hand-written part of this year's journal, up to the point where I started using this here lap top with a lip. I call it a lap top with a lip because it has this software that lets it talk back to me. It reads my stuff in this real sad disembodied voice that I find quite compelling. This is nuts, but it reminds me of when I was a kid and used to have puppets with me to keep me company in the hospital. Now instead of making a puppet talk I can make this machine my alter ego. I think my Vicodin wave has passed. I prayed for Demerol, not because I needed it, but because my body keeps flashing on it, how fucking good it felt, for a few minutes anyway. But there's no real justification for it now. I keep looking for one, but no. I'm feeling better and breathing better, but I'm not doing anything but sitting here in bed. I'm remarkably well-adjusted to being here. Sheree wants me home though. She sounded very lonely on the phone. It's harder on her than it is on me. It always will be. I'm the center of attention, even at the worst of it. But for her, she'll always be alone. I just called her back and had the computer say, "I forgot to tell you I love you." And I do.

*

Tonight's notes, before I slip off into my pharmaceutical soup: more aches and pains from the aches and pains department. No Demerol. Some Vicodin. The names of these drugs are capitalized as if they were gods. St. Vicodin. Lord Demerol. Our Lady of Cephtazidime. Let's not forget the great and powerful Zoloft, son of Prosac. And now we're trying Percocet to melt the headaches-which are real, make no mistake about it. I'm not just looking for a cheap buzz. I want relief. The Percocet works a bit I spose, but the "buzz" aspects of Demerol are sorely missed. I was supposed to try this stupid bipap thing again tonight. It's respirator designed for snorers that was supposed to give me relief during the night, and maybe alleviate the headaches and chest pain the next day. But it only made the headaches worse, which is too bad because I was looking forward to incorporating the stupid looking face mask into a leather hood, so at least the humiliation of it all would have a more erotic component, and I wouldn't look so much like a geek wearing a jock strap on his head all night.

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