Strange week

This week has been on the quiet side, but also a little bit weird. In general, nothing's very different: I start my new job as a graphic designer in the advertising department of the local paper on Monday, June 11. It's looking pretty damn good: 40 hours a week, 8:30 to 5:30 (with an hour lunch) Monday through Friday, decent hourly rate plus monthly bonuses (it is advertising, so profit is an issue) and a dress code that basically reads "clothes must be clean, not distressed, cover a significant portion of your body and not prominently display T-shirts of the 'Ass, Gas or Grass―No-One Rides for Free' variety." For the time being, I'm keeping my crappy retail job on a very limited, extremely part-time basis; primarily because I do actually buy stuff from the store where I work—which makes the employee discount pretty attractive—and because the $20 a month cell-phone plan simply can't be beat. Hopefully, this will include shifts at the location here in Aiken, not the location in Martinez where I'm currently driving 80 miles round-trip to make not a whole lot of dough. In any case, if the job gets to be too much of a pain in the ass, I'll quit. Easy.

So…there's the quiet part. Here's the strange part: last Sunday, while attempting to pay for an unsweet iced tea at a local Waffle House, I suddenly lost consciousness, collapsing and conking my head a good one on those patented "we can hose any substance off this surface at any time" Waffle House floors.

Now, this didn't come out of the absolute blue: I'd played D&D in the garage all day with my friends and, over the course of five-or-so hours, consumed about a six-pack of beer. I'd also eaten, all told, possibly three mini-crullers along with one cup of regular coffee and half-a-pot of decaf. Obviously, this is not the most healthy diet available. In my defense, I'd stopped drinking at least two hours before I set foot in the Waffle House and, ironically, was there specifically because I knew I had to eat something soon. I was feeling fine right up until the moment I sat down in the Waffle House booth, when I suddenly felt like my ears were being stuffed with cotton while my fairly ravenous appetite fled in a rush of queasiness and cold sweat. I ordered the iced tea, took two sips off it and felt my vision begin to dim as if the Waffle House had, suddenly and incongruously, installed mood lighting. At that point I told Jason (who was driving) that I wasn't feeling well and needed to leave immediately. I went up to the register, apologized to the server for cutting out without buying anything remotely tip-worthy and handed her my card. Next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the floor looking at the ceiling while an incredibly intense and competent gentleman took my pulse and asked me if I knew where and who I was.

Needless to say—and against my wishes, if not my good judgment—EMTs were called and—after determining that I was slightly dehydrated but had normal blood sugar, slightly low blood pressure and an elevated heart rate ("Your pulse is very high," they kept saying; "Well, I'm a little bit freaked out!" I kept replying)—I was, reluctantly, transported to the local hospital where, accompanied by my battle-cry of "I have absolutely no medical insurance and am entirely unable to pay for any of this!" I was x-rayed and CT-scanned and, after being told by a competent and breezy M.D. that I had "swooned," finally released. After I lurched out to his car and made a few jokes about feeling like some heroine from a Victorian melodrama ("Oh! Ralston! I feel faint! Whatever shall I do?"), Jason kindly took me home, where Kate kindly made me some soup. Both of them mentioned, kindly but sternly, that perhaps multiple beers on an empty stomach in an un―air-conditioned garage was a bad idea. I sheepishly concurred.

Now, just to reassure everyone out there in Internet-land, everything is perfectly and absolutely okay. With the exception of the approximately 15 seconds that I was supine and wall-eyed on the Waffle House floor, I was completely cogent, responsive and articulate. I maintain a clear memory of everything that happened up to and following my "swoon." In fact, my favorite two memories take the form of dialogue:

1. EMT 1 (a very determined woman, disinclined to suffer fools gladly): Listen, John, we're not doctors; we can't say whether you're okay or not. But you have to make a decision now: are we taking you in or not?
   
   Me: But…if I'm okay then I can go home, get some rest and have someone drive me to a clinic in the morning. That way I don't have to pay $600 for a glorified taxi ride!
   
   EMT 1 (looking over and grinning at her partner before looking down at me, stone-faced): But if you're not okay….
   
   (ominous silence; bystanders begin to mutter, both to me and amongst themselves)
   
   Me (practically under my breath, utterly defeated): Shit…. Okay, take me in. Let's take a ride.


2. EMT 2 (a quiet, gently chastising guy): Did his head bounce when he hit the floor?
   
   Random Bystander: Oh, hell yes!

Seriously, I not only knew my name, but I managed to provide my brother's address; my brand new, barely memorized phone number and could, when pressed by a doctor, assume that I had been taken to Aiken Regional Medical Centers. That last may seem like a given to you but, trust me, when you're strapped to a board and trussed into a neck-brace that is specifically designed so you can't turn your head, while being transported in a windowless ambulance at night, you don't have a lot of details available to allow you to know precisely where you are.

So, in short, I'm fine; this isn't a hospital visit of the same caliber as my lung collapse last August, it's a fluke. In engineering parlance, I had a bad day.

Okay, that said, I want to let you know that the following changes to my life are in effect as of Sunday, June 3, 2007:

• I won't be going to the Whiskey Road Waffle House on Aiken's Southside for a very long time. No, not because they did anything wrong or had anything to do with me passing out; hell, they didn't even make me pay for my iced tea. Just suffice it to say that I'd feel awkward as hell going back in there. Can you blame me? So, yeah, if anybody wants to go with me to Waffle House, it has to be the one over on Richland Avenue.


• I don't drink any more. Yeah, I know: I've voiced concerns, both drunk and sober, about my drinking in the past. And I've even stated that I've stopped drinking before, as well. Those times were temporary stopgaps, brought on by financial or psychological needs. Once I felt safe and secure again, I felt safe enough to start up again. This time my motivations are different. This time I have quit drinking for good, for the exact same reason that, two-and-a-half years ago, I consciously quit flirting and dating: I am surprisingly bad at it; it wrecks my judgment; it ultimately makes me feel worse about myself; and I'm tired of all the head-games and bullshit that accompany it. Now, whereas I do believe that dating is a positive activity which I will again pursue, I cannot say the same thing about drinking. So, with the possible exception of a toast at my own wedding (yeah, right), I'm done with it. That's not to say that I've become a self-righteous prick, so don't walk on eggshells around me. Anybody reading this is more than welcome to do whatever they like, I honestly don't care. Hell, I'll drive y'all wherever you need to be. And I've got a sense of humor about my own teetotaling as well: call me a pussy, a light-weight, what have you—it's all in good fun. But, if you've got a serious problem with my decision to stop drinking—if you think I'm doing the wrong thing or that my own long-term sobriety is a bad idea or that you won't be able to have fun with me if I stay sober or that it would be funny to try to pressure me to start drinking again—you can fuck right off and out of my life. I've got too much self-respect to put up with that kind of Charlie Brown bullshit, 'kay?


• When I feel the slightest bit hungry, I'm going to fucking eat something. Just so you know. Who knows, maybe I'll hit my target weight.


• As of this post, I'm still having dizzy spells. Leave it to me to save the weirdest bit for last, eh? But…yeah, five days after I hit that floor I still get dizzy when I turn my head quickly or stand up. Sometimes I lurch to the left a bit. Now, while I have it on good authority that this sort of thing is not unusual following minor head injuries, I also know that, should this stuff continue, I need to get myself checked by a doctor. Let me start this new job and see when my benefits kick in. If they start within the first month or so, I'm going to play "wait and see" until they do. If they don't, I'll take the afternoon off and head to a clinic. I'm poor and in debt for medical problems already, but I'm also not a fool: I'll do what needs to be done.

So, fun, huh? Sort of a vaguely wacky, somewhat stand-offish self-intervention, all typed out and bullet-pointed for easy reading. Ain't the Internet grand?

Seriously, though, everybody who reads this regularly (all, like, four of you), I appreciate you bothering to get this far down the page, and I'd be interested to know your thoughts. If you don't feel like putting them in a public forum like the "Comments" section, feel free to e-mail me. If you don't really have any thoughts, that's cool, too.

And, if you're my family members, especially those I've spoken to since last Sunday and haven't told this story (which is all of you I've spoken to), please don't be upset with me withholding this information from you. There's a reason I didn't immediately call everybody and tell them what happened and that reason is that this is no big deal. Too much good stuff is happening in my life for me to call y'all up and make you worry about something as minor as this. If this had happened at home, I'd've simply lain down in bed and it wouldn't've been an issue, okay? I'm doing great here. I am surrounded by wonderful friends. I am pursuing my true interests both professionally and casually. I feel better about myself than I have in years. Rest assured, if this had been serious, I would've called all of you immediately, the way I did last August.

In short, I love you, and if there's no real, compelling reason for me to call y'all up and cause you unnecessary concern, then I'm not going to. I hope you guys understand, and know that I'm doing well.