*This post is exceptionally unsafe for work. Or lunch. If you have any issues with blood or nasty pictures of brain surgery and skull reconstruction, stop right here. Go get a cookie. (Then, give it to me.)
As previously shared here, I was hit by a car in Chiang Mai, Thailand on Sept. 22, 2019. My recent submissions have shown my progress getting back on track, my curious and winding way. Sharing my professional dives and side-quests, I feel I haven’t been fair, flashing chapters in Act II and III, but leaving out how I returned to the Land of the Sentient in the first place.
Here’s how I looked that night, and you get the inside look at my rebuild. (Recently learned: That’s a photograph, not a scan. It’s a silver, kidney-shaped bowl on green cloth with a smaller bowl inside it.) The black stuff is the clot from the hematoma they removed during my brain surgery. The bigger bowl gets to hold my funky brain juice. Below is the docs’ best Tetris game with my skull before it was ‘wired’ together and reattached a few weeks later. (Uh. Damn. Impressive work, boys.)
Disclosure: My memory of this is fuzzy. My brain had to rewire itself to understand the world again, and it’s good it wasn’t preoccupied making new memories. Mr. Brainy-Poo needed his Thinking Crown on to learn how to properly control Mr. Fussy-Body, so my mastermind focused on that rather than on how to stuff new stuff into already stuffed ‘memory boxes.’
The darker edges show the hematoma and the damage under my carriage. For the worst of it, they had to get underneath the shattered skull fragments. That singular triangle being pulled out is the clearest image to help me visualize this all.
Just look at my skull, that beast(!), the very definition of “taking one for the team!” (Yes, I was wearing a helmet.)
The surgeons removed the shards pokin’ ‘round my brain. Those iron-rich skull chips had performed their big number and were done for the night. They needed to get dressed for their metaphysical, existential encore.
There they are, the seven (or so!) orphan chunks, broken and exhausted from their life-saving function. After my craniectomy to remove my skull, surgeons drained the fun black splotch on my brain and removed the scabby chunk of it. They had to wait for my cerebral edema, my brain swelling, to subside before they began my cranioplasty to reattach my skull. (Such fun words!)
Held together with titanium brackets and “micro screws,” here’s their final SkullTris submission:
My first post-op memory was sometime later, after then-girlfriend Kylie had contacted my family, and Mom and my brother came to Thailand to be with me. So I’ve heard, but never asked, Colin wrote a eulogy for me on the flight.
Unaware of this, and pretty much everything else, when I saw them come into the hospital room, I brightened like a toddler seeing Santa coming in on Christmas, mostly because that’s kinda what I thought was actually happening. I don’t remember saying this, but Mom told me I called her Mrs. Santa Claus. (I’m sure I was joking? Who knows.)
I do remember being impressed with the Thai medical staff for finding such good actors to portray my family. I supposed it was to give me a sense of ‘normalcy?’ She looked like Mom. Sounded like her. That thespian looked like my brother. Sounded like him. Damn. These actors thoroughly practiced their craft!
I also remember not believing who they said they were. To get to the bottom of it, I wanted ‘Mom’ out of the room, to not influence anything, and I only ‘interrogated’ my brother. I asked about things actors wouldn’t have had time to learn. Old memories I could still grasp. Birthdays, information about Dad, the games and moments we had as kids, other details that don’t arise from scratch.
I asked him questions I still knew the answers to. Yes, we were gymnasts and played on our adult-sized trampoline in the backyard by the big tree. Yes, we had two dozen VHS tapes of recorded Simpsons episodes we’d watch together. Once sorted, I was comfortable with them and apologized for my uncertainty.
After I’d regained some sense of mental awareness, where I was and who my family was, I still needed to regain control over myself. I ‘developed’ epilepsy from the temporal brain damage I received. I don’t know if I had any seizures during this time, but I did have fiendish tremors in both hands, extending to my elbows and lower shoulders, particularly on my left side, with my brain damage (mostly) on the right.
One benefit of being in the FUBAR Ward? You get the good shit! I don’t know what cocktail they gave me to numb the pain and dull seizure activity, but I don’t recall any skull pain at all. I believe they did regular injections into my scalp near the sutures.
At some point, the docs had me draw a picture of where I hurt, ‘accidentally’ revealing my “persistently chipper” mindset. Look at that smile, up top! For my drawing inability, that lead-off picture is pretty damn good. (Certainly upbeat.)
Let me tell you about another fringe benefit, my medical piss-jug:
I fell in love with this thing. Sincerely, I wanted to take one home with me, but I don’t have a handrail on my bed. (Foiled!) Use while you’re still lying in the hospital bed. Rest it lengthwise under your junk, and let the good times flow. (Sorry, ladies.)
You don’t have to get up. No catheter. (Massive bonus, that.) No real aiming involved. (Vaguely insert & spray!) I suppose I was limited to maybe a liter per bottle, but look at that bend! Lengthwise, it’s designed to let you fill it right up to the lid! (Oh, yes. The handle also holds piss. Genius.) Once you’re done, just hang it back on the handrail. Nurses regularly replace them.
Jugsy Wugs will forgive me, but I wanted a divorce. Getting myself to the proper bathroom was a primary goal. Inconveniently, I was pretty well locked into my hospital bed with IV tubes, bags and their corresponding medical machines. Four broken ribs and a partially collapsed lung didn’t help, but with the super-strength medical highballs they had me on, I could manage. Oddly, my ribs were most brutal when I was lying down. (Pro Tip: Never sneeze.)
Before I could use the bathroom, I had to escape my medical incubator. And, uh? Wasn’t as hard as you’d think! Make it easy for nurses to change and adjust on the fly? Well, that also makes it easier for me! More fool-proof! (This fool strongly approves.)
For most of my meds, I had a semi-permanent “IV port” on my inner forearm. A small-ish needle in a vein, with its ‘dock’ taped in place. Nurses could both insert a needle into this and screw in vials to deliver drugs through this instead of pricking me with dozens of separate injection sites. The IV port was like a rail station handling medicinal traffic: Many ‘trains’ on one platform. My fluids-IV was always ‘plugged in,’ the bag hanging from the top of a wheeled “drip stand.”
I watched how the system worked and discovered I could unhook myself and get up on my own. (Pro Tip: Practice when no one’s watching.) The IV tube sealed automatically once removed, so the only real trick was to wait for other meds to be finished. The needle-dock remained. (Be careful, Ev.)
Finding purpose in bedridden boredom, I had to be patient. I figured out how the nurses’ schedules worked and when Patient Evan was left unattended. Given my chance, I unhooked my arm and was able to get my feet onto the floor and walk my way to my private bathroom. I don’t recall this, but I was told I fell down several times trying to make my illicit way there. I also don’t recall being ‘chastised’ for these failed escape attempts. (‘Brain damage’ is a helluva ‘Get Out of Accountability Card.’)
Eventually, I conquered the bathroom and was able to use it at my (relative) convenience. Then, I decided it was important to do something that required some amount of ‘effort,’ not just my body’s (fairly) automatic Waste Disposal System. Brushing my teeth became my next goal, mostly because it was there. (Baby steps are big. Don’t add hurdles to new goals.) This became more important to me as I realized I’d forgotten how to brush properly.
I’d lost the ability to do it, is more accurate. This became a remarkably stressful challenge to overcome. Getting to the bathroom (unobserved) was (mostly) taken care of, but my tremors made it impossible to grip the brush, put toothpaste on it, and then perform the monotonous chore I ‘mastered’ when I was a tyke.
Either I couldn’t stop shaking enough to put the Crest on, I’d squeeze wrong and toothpaste would shoot out, or I’d fail at something else somewhere along the way. When I did get the goo on, I still had to perform the ‘delicate’ bit and actually brush. Invariably, at first, my tremors would interrupt this and I’d end up jabbing the brush into my cheeks or gum line as I shook about. Sharp prods and bleeding were involved. Also profound embarrassment, a deep fear this was how it’d be.
This became a crucial, bio-psychological challenge for me. A simple, kindergarten task was now physically impossible for me, infuriating what was left of my brain. It rattled me, particularly being reminded of when I relearned to walk my first and second times. On an early visit to America in 2012, I had my first hip replacement surgery, after six months of sharp, maniacal pain, and I had no idea how it started. Turns out, avascular necrosis shut off oxygen to my femur and it slowly died, crushing into itself. My other one was replaced in Korea two years later. (Losing both hips in what would’ve been my free agency seasons still does not sit well with me.)
In its own way, this experience eventually helped me play the bionic surgery game. Well, it gave me experience in it, which means learning the painful way. It especially gave me (some) mental prep for what I was about to face. (Pro Tip: Avoid pain.)
Brushing my teeth became a big, (inwardly) crucial mission. Thinking too much about losing basic life skills is an easy way to spiral into darkness, especially when you fail mid-brush. (Over and over again, for at least for a few weeks.) I tried using my finger as a backup, but that was just as difficult. I also considered it cheating. Being able to use a tool was my chief goal. With anguish, I’d resort to mouthwash when I couldn’t manage the brush on an attempt. (Several flavors’ worth.)
Time travel is much less fun when you jump to being older, when abilities and activities you enjoyed yesterday are instantly subtracted from your existence.
At one point or another, the difficulties of escaping my tubes, walking to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and more, they all added up and intersected with an asteroid of overconfidence when I fell and hit my head on the bathtub. This knocked me out and a nurse found me after however long. I don’t remember this or much of my stay in Chiang Mai Ram, honestly. Snippets, really.
(Thankfully, Mr. Brainy-Poo has both wisdom and hustle to him, quickly flipping the Memory Switch off when he doesn’t want to remember. (Wish he did it for that time at Korean karaoke.))
When I was found, I suppose I was somehow reattached to my hospital bed. Happily, I also don’t recall being chastised for this spectacularly failed escape attempt, either. Yet, my white Crest continued to elude me.
But I was back in bed. This additional bump on my noggin certainly didn’t help my recovery, but I don’t think it caused any unique, new damage. I suppose I was more closely watched for a while, or perhaps sedated more, but by the time I was out and brushing my teeth for real, I may have been in bed long enough where I’d regained more control over my body.
After release, I spent maybe six weeks in my apartment in Chiang Mai, flying back to America in late Dec. 2019. However, living in America still didn’t make sense to me. I’d lived in Asia since Dec. ’09, only returning for family visits and hip surgery. Rather quickly, (or not, knowing myself) I’d soon found a new Crest to crest: One in my own apartment back in Korea!
Returning to Korea kinda made sense, I promise. I’d become a ‘real’ adult teaching in Asia. I had friends there, a sincere community, and work I’d gotten good at. It was, in its way, the most gentle, training-wheel way for me to return to ‘normal’ life and work after The Incident, as I’ll always call it. I was returning to a life I knew.
By March 2020, I was already teaching back in Daejeon, South Korea. Other than 2014-’16 in Singapore, Daejeon is the only place I lived that decade. Just like the toothbrush affair, I simply tried to do too much too soon. Within a few months, after returning to the wild, I discovered Mr. Brainy-Poo had again lost control over Mr. Fussy-Bitch. (Mr. Bossy-Boo’s still on that ‘lack of accountability’ kick, eh?)
Auditory hallucinations were a key culprit for my retreat. They’d become rattling, infuriating, and sometimes overwhelming. (No, I never heard voices.) The kids rolling pencils, crumpling paper, engine noise from the traffic outside—the sounds would echo and reverberate around me, looped tapes of combined and over-mixed audio surrounding me. This stress led to seizures and many ER visits I don’t remember. (Kylie does.) Upset and incapable, I withdrew and flew back to Indiana.
This time in America, my body had proper time to gather itself. My neurologist changed my meds and worked to stabilize me. With my semi-realistic goal still in mind, I again returned to Daejeon in March 2021, where I successfully completed my year contract teaching English to Korean grade-schoolers, returning to America ‘for good’ in Summer 2022.
Similar to Operation Toothbrush, my return to America came with a few reality checks. (Running a newspaper by myself, my stab at phlebotomy, and my work in grocery and gas stations, all stories for another time.) But Mr. Brainy-Poo’s had a goal for quite some time, and we’re in a promising position to get our own place Stateside.
Shifting gears, I’ve finally found my first long-term job opportunity in nearly three years. I didn’t know this job even existed, but I eagerly pounced on it because it was there. I just started as an “escrow processor” for a title services company, and the first week has been tremendously positive. Funny enough, in my head, this change is shockingly similar to my 2009 leap into Korea, adapting to an utterly foreign work experience and environment. My decade in Asia was great preparation for this, but I think it’ll be far easier over here. (For one, it’s all in English. Oh! And no children!)
Onward and upward? Always, indeed, Mr. Brainy-Poo.
Scrolling frantically past the gore for now…
I have one on my chest. It’s super helpful. Just yesterday… blood goes out, calcium juice goes in. My veins are practically invisible these days.
Be me.
Zoom in. Fascinating.
But I couldn’t watch a video of an ankle replacement back in 18 when I had mine done. Had to watch the CG animation.
When it’s someone else I can watch it.
You kinda nailed it. See below.
From before: In the future, I’ll have to add this professional attempt ‘burned upon reentry,’ as I was let go yesterday at 3pm. I’m again pleased it was the sort of attempt I prefer to have. Aggressive mistake, as it were. (Well, a *successful* landing would be lovely, but it was a time to shoot ‘high’ and get out of the rut I was in.) Not as wild as the phlebotomy attempt, but much better paid. (Huh.) Professionally, I’d like to find something similar again, but this wasn’t a personal failure. I gave it an honest shot.
I submitted it Friday July 17, my fifth day on the job, published the day after I was let go. That’s rather fitting, frankly, in its own way. It was a very profitable July, frankly! For me. Uh, doubling+ my total account. *thumbs up* I’ll hit up the President who gave me the job and give him a note of appreciation for taking a shot on me. *double thumbs up*
Your commitment to self-sufficiency is admirable. If anybody has a legitimate reason to go on disability, it’s you.
It might be the right move. My ex gal-pal gets 1k a month from it as is allowed to work 35 hours a week. It’s enough to live comfortably. She got it because she has a bunch of psych issues and is on meds including antipsychotics.
Did I stick it in crazy? I prefer to think that she engulfed my still greater craziness.
Disability is fucking crack. I was on it for 13 months – probably a good six more months than I really ought to have let it last, if I had worked some things with my care differently. And they keep paying you even after you return to work. I have been working more than a year full time and SSI payments finally just stopped.
I’m sure I would if I didn’t have a loving and chill family. I’m on Medicaid, or was. Well. I guess I still am now I’m no longer earning my way out of it. I have zero clue how to do the straight $$ part. I’d prefer not to, but I don’t even know why. I’d rather have an actual job, mostly cuz I’d like to be in the female market with something approaching a date-able resume.
It’s also tricksy, cuz I returned to America after a decade away and I came back with a touch of brain damage. I’m really really not sure what I’m up to in this country. Mostly, cuz I never did it before. It’s like Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, returning in ’22, kinda outta place in multiple big ways.
“I prefer to think that she engulfed my still greater craziness.” So, you lost? Well. No shame.
I was out of work and had run out of COBRA when an intestinal emergency struck in 2020.
The hospital cheerfully put me on Medicaid and I didn’t pay a dime. Maybe not all states are so “generous” with the benefits, I don’t know, but after that experience I am very skeptical of all the complaints I hear about the uNiNsUrEd.
Damn, Ev – the fact you’re with us at all is a miracle of modern medicine.
Mazel tov
This. I’m not squeamish so I took in all the gore pics. While we’ve hit a wall in terms of curative treatment for disease, trauma medicine is one of those areas where there’s been remarkable progress over the last few decades.
Yeah, I eventually dealt with the gore fine. Props for the warnings though, it’s probably not for everybody.
I hope not. My docs tell me advances are coming fast and furious. Maybe they’re just yanking my chain, who knows.
Double this. Oddity I would’ve thought, I’m sure you all thought, and I’m sure I thought for a while: No “skull cap.” No flap, insert, nothing. If one touches it, ya can certainly feel the scars and some of the ridges from the brackets’, but my skull ‘feels’ normal living inside it. No extra cleaning or maintenance.
Those brackets and their ability to screw it all in? Damn. Oh. Yeah. I do appreciate them keeping me fully Off for that one. I was put into a coma for the brain surgery, but I don’t think for the reattachment. *shrug* I trust I was on some fentanyl /morphine combo in transcendent ratio. Never felt any pain from my neck up.
Difficult trade, anesthesia. Tip accordingly.
You’ve come a long way, Evan. You can be proud of your recovery. All the things you reconquered along the way says a lot about your determination.
+1
Don’t I know it. My as-yet undiagnosed condition blew a rib open after lots of coughing and sneezing in 2023. Healing now but damn it hurt at the time.
You think that’s impressive? Here in the states we have surgeons that can wake you up from surgery and make you think you became a woman.
“Here in the states we have surgeons that can wake you up from surgery and make you think you became a woman.”
What, I’m not?
Evidence suggests that you may not be.
When did you sneak a peak? I thought that was our thing for later.
Only in the US can a little black boy die an old Asian woman. Michel Jackson had a hell of an arc.
lol
I am in fact impressed that Thailand has that level medical care. I don’t know what I would have expected but the impression I’m getting here is that it’s as good as anything here in the US.
Ditto. No idea how it’d go Stateside, but, uh? Damn good work. They did my surgery but waited maybe three weeks before reattaching my skull. I suppose they had time to Lego my eggo with micro-screws. Seems a new UCS hobby.
Theory: Like being a foreigner in other circumstances, ‘smart’ countries *really* don’t want to fuck up on an American. Real bad look. I had int’l insurance, but I’m sure I got a special team of folk. OOOH! I hope they had to assemble them in the night! Some secret code signal, or something.
“QUICK! To the Ev-Mobile!” *Ghostbuster siren, burns rubber*
The US has a great reputation for treating cancer and other serious illnesses. That’s why so many foreign big wigs come here. It ain’t cheap though.
It’s obvious what the right policies are. The hard part is convincing the politicians and voters to support them.
No kidding. The prices (I don’t pay out of pocket) for some of my meds would shock you.
They have that in Thailand, too. Work acquaintance did an extended vacation there for that.
Brainy the Pooh
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GXMsxgdZx0
With Algore the donkey
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9q1wYR7nLA0
Priya Patel is the guest on Timcast. I have no idea who she is, but she’s a smokeshow.
I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers
Big Internet says:
Yes, yes, she is. Fun truth: Prianka was my first ‘serious’ girlfriend. We eventually lived in Singapore together. That Canuck’d cut you if ya called her Indian. There ya go.
Oh, yeah. Prianka. She’s cool.
You don’t have a home pee jug? What kind of a backwoods state do you live in?
Some prefer the piss drawer.
*hand raised, embarrassed* I do — on my night table. It’s just… a lot easier than opening the door and going to the bathroom three feet away and opening that door and going in like one properly does.
Too many lights, too much movement. Takes longer to get back to sleep! Just get the jug, make deposit, return jug, back to bed.
^^ Not a habit I continued when living with Pri or with Kylie. I’m not a barbarian. (I used an elaborate straw system, instead!)
(Oh. You may have been joking. I… remain confident in my “alleged” piss jug*)
Pee jugs are nice and private. Bedpans… ugh. Eventually the need to go overwhelms any shyness you might feel. It is impressive how quickly you learn to be unashamed in that environment.
“It is impressive how quickly you learn to be unashamed in that environment.” See also: The folk shittin’ on the streets out your window. Mighty fast, how they accustomate themselves, ain’t it?
*fist bump to fellow piss jugger*
See also the stainless steel unpartitioned toilet in jail.
My prostate runs my life. I get up several times a night, with a walker beside my bed, to make the bathroom trek. I have to get up anyway, to change sleeping positions. I start on my right side, with a pillow under my hip and a pillow around my right leg. 2-3 hours later it’s time to make the sprint to the bathroom. Back to bed, this time on my left side, pillow under my hip but now a pillow in between my legs to keep my knees apart to relieve the pressure on my right hip.
Every time I get up I change positions, switching sides. It could be worse.
You lose a lot of inhibitions in the Army, starting with the first day of basic training. No dividers in the common areas. I’m not sure about today though, my experiences were some time back.
Jeez, 4.
I flip from one side to other during my nightly wake-ups but no trips to the loo thank goodness yet knock on wood.
Sleeping on my side feels like I wrecking my shoulders but sleeping on my back gives me night terrors or at least it did in earlier years. I never got the terrors sort-of sleeping on my back during many recent hospital stays so maybe I don’t have to sleep on my side anymore.
The modern OG piss jug.
https://www.amazon.com/Little-John-Portable-Urinal-Men/dp/B00EZF00UQ/ref=mp_s_a_1_15?adgrpid=156585972381&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.JlL_f2234Pe0crxfM3UVi4p6_RIahHtTs9ogvKyg8kqiRx3mtpuLZG-Cv0kk9SFaBh_TyW8YXY7hLjt78xeA2CYpBH0H7umAELFvnOCQt2aHAU_CI2wSxlNOcdUlyM4lf_YfciJ51rhyIdLsArY_w4rO839Ek4-G0q75sC_Am3D5HT6rjI8bOITbxjGpc5lDNUKshQai2kMW_rv-FXHBrQ.nKuZ8eGgZ3tbx29uEU43aaVtWD6oqd_R0ykNZoA7okc&dib_tag=se&hvadid=693116336817&hvdev=m&hvexpln=68&hvlocphy=9029753&hvnetw=g&hvocijid=7583510723837997345–&hvqmt=b&hvrand=7583510723837997345&hvtargid=kwd-303984711577&hydadcr=6718_13278912&keywords=little+john+portable+urinal&mcid=c1034e1909173973beb0a49956be8dd7&qid=1785898245&sr=8-15
https://briefrelief.com/product/nsp608-brief-relief-liquid-waste-bag/
The toilets at Sand Hilton had stalls, with doors I think. No divider between urinals in the barracks latrines and trough urinals elsewhere. Those barracks were built in the 70’s, not the WWII barracks of Harmony Church.
Speaking of waste disposal, I think the two or three months in 2020 I was on colostomy bags were kind of a low point in my life. With my two kitties just having passed and still trying to find work and all the other shit shows that year…. JFC what a year.
Chamber pots, aka thunder jugs, need to make a comeback.
It’s hanging next to my poop knife.
Holy hell, Evan. Congrats on kicking the grim reaper in the nuts on that one.
So…in Final Destination 13 does the Reaper get Evan or the rest of Glibs first? I think the order of deaths got garbled somewhere in the franchise.
Ooh I still have the latest one on the back burner to watch. Love that series.
Wait, there are 13 “final” destinations, now? Huh. Little joke I’ve had with myself re: the Reaper – I’ve made his job kinda hard. I think I get, not exactly ‘nice’ treatment from him, but I’m just too much work. I get a ‘polite ignoral,’ I think. ‘Don’t cause TOO much a fuss, and I’ll kinda leave you alone.’
Regardless, either I *am* the Reaper in a fun twist, or Evan should lose. Unless I am Evan. *furrows further*
lol No I think the latest is number six. After a break of fourteen years since the last one.
Fourscore is the last one to face down the reaper.
“Don’t look back, something may be gaining on you”
/Satchel Paige
“Fourscore is the last one to face down the reaper.”
4-20 being interviewed by the local press for reaching 110 years of age…
“I’ve seen a lot of wild things in my long life but nothing has permanently ingrained itself into my memory more than the Honey Harvest of 2033…The West Nile/
COVID/ Mad Flying Cow Disease infected bees, the rabid black bears, the invasion of Lonestar Ticks, the Mead, the Magic Mushrooms, the zombie prairie dogs…God, how did we end the night fighting off zombie prairie dogs…(takes a drag from his life’s last cigarette)…it was a bloodbath”.
I already had the rep with my two hip replacements, but this pretty well settles my long-held Evan = Wolverine status. My Blood Cell Corp is on point. Much heal factor.
Seriously though, I’ve known about you going through this for several years now but seeing the pictures really drives the point home. Your life is a miracle. If you believe in such things, I’d wager that if there’s a God, you were spared for a purpose. You’ll find it. Happy hunting.
I’m officially back on the hunt! I’ll take a couple days ‘off,’ to reset. I’m not sure what the next step is. Meijer may invite me back in, to keep myself busy as I think of another plan.
Derp had this idea and I think it’s in some way worth persuading: Some medical, TV, hospital, edu, whatever type of interest in *me* as a story. Will be pitching pieces to places, cuz. Well. I kinda really really do have a unique situation. My psychiatrist was interested in reading this and said ‘they’ are looking for people to write such stories. Or be written about. Kinda really don’t think it’s a crazy idea.
Dream scenario: Elon M and Evan M join forces! “E-LANevon!” I have talked about wanting a rough memoir out to a) be around so my nephews+ can know I had a kinda really interesting life, should I happen to take another bump on the noggin’, b) writing is by far my best skill and I really think that my own story is worth telling.
After running the Peru Tribune and legit wanting to (dream job) write for a living, it seems mighty foolish to ignore the story that’s been given to me. Like. I’m sitting on a bunch of it. And medical shit is popular on a few fronts. If sexy nurses are involved, I’d *love* to be intimately studied. (For the good of us all, of course.)
Return in ’22 w TBI: Tribune –> Phleb. –> Walmart (’25) –> Meijer –> Title. Gotta say. Not too sure what else I should or could do. Hrm. *thoughtful noggin’ scratchin’*
Barista.
Be the only straight guy behind the counter at Starbucks.
OnlyFans? (I keed…)
One thing you might consider is bank teller. That’s a good foot-in-the-door gig for growth in the bank. I know a guy who started as a teller and now he’s a wealth manager for “high net worth individuals” at Wells Fargo. Not sure how much he’s making but it’s enough for a vacation home in Park City.
Tax prep is a pretty good seasonal gig. I’m thinking about seeing if I can pick up a contract this year. Intuit Academy has completely free courses, at the culmination of which you run through preparing 14 mock 1040s of varying complexity. Once you pass that you can connect with a recruiter. Your first year or two will probably just be part time and seasonal from October through April. From what I’ve been able to glean from reddit and job boards, pay is typically in the low to mid 20s per hour with a 20-25 hour a week commitment.
Omni Interactions also hires for TurboTax support seasonally. Pays less, the training is unpaid, and you have to bid for hours, which is really competitive until the group size dwindles when people get pissed off and quit. I was part timing that when I ended up taking my current job damn near 3 years. This job paid less, but was full time with benefits.
Yikes no offense but that sounds more painful than my current software engineer gig.
Doing taxes is not fun and I am not sure getting paid for it is going to make it any better. 😫
I’m really, really, really shit with anything resembling math. I got $16.30 at Meijer and I’m sure they’ll spot me some hours if I need ’em. But I don’t for now. Something $20-$22 would be perfect. Title was at $22.
Bus drivers make good money around here, I think around $25 an hour – can you do something like that?
Seems you initially spend most of your time just providing phone or chat assistance to people stuck on a step in TurboTax. Which is probably less fun than actually preparing taxes. Depends on one’s disposition though. For me it was an easy “credential” to snag, along with their bookkeeping cert to interview for QuickBooks roles, since I covered all that shit 20 years ago getting my worthless sheepskin.
Tax prep, bookkeeping, and even most of accounting requires little outside of addition, subtraction, division, and multiplication. Tax prep in particular is mostly just addition and subtraction, with occasional multiplication for percentages. It’s more about remembering a bunch of retarded, convoluted rules (or at least knowing where to reference them quickly), and applying them correctly based on context.
I’m fine with math. It’s the retardidity of all the rules I can’t wrap my brain around.
The only thing worse than the annual tax dance is the annual job review.
Heh, I just finished my bi-annual “self-appraisal” for our upcoming fall performance reviews. November will mark my 3 year anniversary here, and they move to an annual review schedule after that. My last 2 raises have been disappointing, so I’ll be curious to see how this one pans out since I’ll be stuck with it for a full year. That’s actually why I picked up the tax and bookkeeping certs to open up some options while I take on some additional training for something that might actually interest me.
I’d have to check the details again, but apparently I can do some truck driving things, but I’m not sure how wise that is.
I would say the same about my last seven or eight raises. I’m not willingly climbing the ladder anymore because that way lies “management” which I want nothing to do with, so the 2% I get every year will have to do as long as it doesn’t put me in the poor house.
Yeah, about that: “Tax prep in particular is mostly just addition and subtraction, with occasional multiplication for percentages. It’s more about remembering a bunch of retarded, convoluted rules (or at least knowing where to reference them quickly), and applying them correctly based on context.”
Those convoluted rules and where to reference them and correctly apply them on context *are precisely* what my escrow processing job required, and I imagine what I was doing is far easier than the ‘same’ complicated system for taxes.
Somewhere in the webbed conspiracy-map is where my brain kinda got fogged up. I’m still not exactly sure where in the process I’d get ‘confused,’ but something was certainly blocking the correct flow of info in my head.
Strange. I may try to narrow down what part was the trickiest. Something about it just never clicked. I think I could explain the whole thing but then get lost along the way? But it seems so easy. (That’s a frustrating road to think down.)
One fun bit will be my full paycheck on Friday, my first with them. That will be a very satisfying reward.
That’s kind of the boat I’m in. My bosses love me, and they’re interested in moving me up, but the next step from here would be Supervisor. That’s a job that doesn’t really interest me, and isn’t likely to have any spots opening up any time soon anyway. This company also isn’t going to exist in any recognizable form within the next 5 years or so. AI is already doing about 50% of our workload (although our AI agents are absolute trash). Not the kind of place I’d ever hang my hat long-term – I was planning on spending about a year here, but they kept giving me promotions that just barely make it worth it. We’re a subsidiary of a huge corporate overlord, so there may be opportunities to move over there, but I don’t really love Big Corporate culture (good thing I got that business management degree… fucking idiot).
My last raise was around 6%, but that was coming from very entry level wages, and not even close to commensurate with the heap of new responsibilities I was undertaking at the time. I’ve since completed the training process for my current role, taken on another heap of responsibilities, and I’m now mentoring someone else for the same job. But pay rates are set by the aforementioned corporate overlord, so I’m not optimistic.
Sucks, but totally understandable, especially given everything you’ve been through. If you did want to try to tease out the whys and wherefores of your mental processing, those free tax courses may be useful as an exercise if nothing else – there’s no penalty or obligation to finish them. Then again, rule-based games would probably work just as well. You like poker?
The middle management track seems like the fastest track to unemployment to me. No thanks.
That may be interesting. It seemed the docs and necessary escrow shit would click, and I still think it would’ve, given more time to practice. I will need something full-time, all the time, tho. Like I said, it really felt like it was the sort of work I could dive into. You may very much be onto something. I really don’t care *what* I do. Work is what ya do to afford play.
Main goal: Stable and $table enough to be comfortable in my own place for a couple of years, at least. Before I moved on to another job, or get struck by a lightning sex bug, etc.
Wow. I don’t Evan know what to say.
*narrows gaze* on Swissy’s behalf.
*standing ovation*
@ThreeDoor “But I couldn’t watch a video of an ankle replacement back in 18 when I had mine done. Had to watch the CG animation. When it’s someone else I can watch it.”
Oooh: I’m the owner of a profoundly meta reality. I’ve pretty much gotten over it, but it’s really fucking ‘weird’ to — through your own eyes, brain and more — look at your own brain. Uh. It’s. Hrm. More bewilderment, nothing negative. Just *strange.*
I’m struggling to think of how rare that is. And to still be currently cognizant of shit ’round me kinda pretty much like it was on Sept 20-FIRST in 2019. Um. Hrm. I am not NOT special. It’s rather interesting, methinks.
You looking through the meat suit that contains the actual you is pretty damn meta.
Dont collect any more titanium Evan.
Let the rest of us catch up.
How did they keep the skull hunks alive while the brain swelling took time to go down? Incredible work and I’m impressed that you made it.
Have the seizures diminished over time as your brain has rewired?
Be been around a couple guys with TBI. None had the skull damage you experienced, most were in vehicles hit with IEDs, blast overpressure and knock on the head injuries that didn’t require reconstruction or very little surgical intervention. Until you’ve been around it it’s easy to not grasp the fact that it’s real.
Glad you’re among the living man.
No idea about the skull chunks. Uh. HowTF did they keep my hair? I have the scars, some they sawed off, but my hair’s just fine. *shrug* Swelling took at least two weeks to go down, maybe three? Don’t recall that part, thankfully.
Seizures? Honestly, I think I only get them when I drink. Or *almost* only. Not only. Mostly. So when I had a lot of seizures, like Take 1 back in Korea, that was mostly booze, methinks. Last seizure was about a year ago, no booze, tho.
So not bad on the seizures. That’s good to hear.
Were you on a motorcycle?
I was just getting into bicycling just before and to some extent during my recent medical journey here in small-town America, after decades in NYC where there is no way I will bicycle. Now I don’t trust myself on two wheels – oh well. I would gladly ride a tricycle if I could find room to store one.
Well, I was on a scooter. I made myself relearn to ride a bike. Not really relearn, but “force myself to do so I wouldn’t freak out over it.” That wasn’t fun, but not dreadful. I ran a few errands on the bike, but out of necessity. (Booze.) I think I’ve ridden a bit with the nephews, but I mostly stay away from ’em. Kinda not fun anymore. Or, just. Unwise, perhaps.
These days I’m terrified of taking a tumble just walking around. I really don’t want to break a bone. I had a couple spills in the last year that injured my right hand both times – still smarting from the last one. That was three or four months ago and I’m still wary but not so much afraid of tripping again. Still more careful that use to need to be.
Jiminy. Makes my surgeries look like child’s play.
Go EV.
You can have all the First enlargements you want. You’ll still never match my natural talent.
Titty Tuesday After Dark for Ev.
https://archive.is/wX2HK
NSFW.
6 bears a passing resemblance to a girl I was seeing a while back. 7 looks frightened, but still hot. I wonder what that says about me. 21 isn’t my customary “type,” but captivates me for some reason. 40 is my customary type and also captivates me for obvious reasons.
4 looks shockingly similar to my biggest regret. Sigh. We were so close, 18yos. And I blew the wide open opportunity out of silly self-doubt and fear. Yuck. *slaps young me really, really, really hard*
Damn, Evan.
Bro, I think I found your match in Boise this morning. https://ibb.co/yFnd0YwC
I can neither confirm nor deny anything.
I was just listening to the interview Shilo Hendrick’s lawyer gave post-trial. He was in a frenzy in general.
The guy who recorded the video had a Go Fund Me for himself where he apparently raised quite a large sum of money. His name wasn’t disclosed to them until a few days before. Guy had no problem talking on the video we see. They provided him an interpreter (he has apparently fled to Somalia after all this). He had no problem talking to the police. No problem talking to the prosecution when they were asking questions. Yet when the defense asked anything he would look to the terp and basically claim he wasn’t understanding. Judge wouldn’t let defense disclose his Go Fund Me to the jury on their own and when asked he lied about it.
Mockery of justice.
He complained mightily about the judge. Said she was openly hostile to it.
Or maybe I misunderstood who had the terp. It was someone named Jamal? Don’t know. Didn’t follow the details.
https://www.facebook.com/reel/1004445675736108
But yea I don’t know if I ever saw a defense attorney go scorched Earth to this degree.
That’s stupid.
Never should have been charged much less made it to trial.
Strategic lack of understanding from a guy with a sub 80 IQ who just happened to be hanging out in a playground. At least the shitbag self-deported and good riddance if true.
The only safe choice is to use your street smarts to avoid any possibility of being placed in such a situation.
America, fuck yeah!
I would rather die than live like this anymore.
I hope I can use my little bit of free time tomorrow to catch up . 🍻 I am physically not well and Y B refuses to take me to the doctor. Just as well. Sooner ask the neighbor,
Sorry, EFE.
To gentil Monsieur Oy the other day: je peux pas maintenant. Je regrette.
Never will be up to fixing this situation; not even up to fixing myself right now.
My undxed ailment, with signs (!) at least twice as severe as Bob’s, is a mere inconvenience to the solipsistic. Just rent and beat and starve another mule?
🖕
/sober enough to drive
hourly: dumb cunt, fuck you, I should drop you off a bridge, etc.
Gotta find charger, sorry.
And throw some more beer and fries and paper plates at me before you die, Mr. Not Short on Self Belief.
Forgive me for being blunt…Bitch, bail. Stop whining about the Hell your living in and just bail. Fuck your supposed obligations,fuck your guilt, fuck your “I’m trapped here” excuses and just fucking bail. People with far less to gain and more to lose have done it and came out the better in the long run. Go for broke now and gain a future or die in long-term abject misery.
I know, no fond sentiment left. Just logistically can’t right now.
No local help, only sabotage. Old friends have moved or died.
Family (tiny and remote) doesn’t care. It’s how I got to this situation to begin with.
Sorry to barf and run so often lately.
Fucking termite, brood parasite. What makes you think you’re something special when you smile? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4vbJQ-MrKo
If he thinks he is up to caring for my mother and her house, he can keep trying, but is already failing overall. I am sorry he is in pain himself. What, I caused it? 🙄
Better conserve battery, mine and ipad.
He acts like an overseer, just to me and not my mother (unctuous) and that’s why I wish I were dead. Not living this life anyway. Lincoln freed the slaves, you narcissistic paranoid scum!
Annnd he was indiscreet about a secret about two or three people here. 🫖
I don’t care if he does shoot me with one of the guns my friendly Okie handshaking uncle sold him.
You’re not entitled your own facts and certainly not your own laws!
Hard to pack when woozy, which is too often lately. Sleeping With the Enemy except E is an ashy trash-dropping slob.
I can’t believe my naïveté.
Nooooo charge left.
Especially from this fucking site! NAP!
GAHHHH
(Not @ you all; that I should have met him here.)
He says he sticks to X (where he hates everyone brown) and doesn’t come here anymore, and never did try to catch up with old posts anyway. Hence my ralphing. 🤮
I want this.
I don’t need this.
https://www.craigslist.org/view/d/eagle-antique-cigar-store-indian-statue/8KbgsXmBMpBpnsH1omnrVf
LOL look at the photo accompanying this article:
State provides cybersecurity grants to municipalities
Come on, Ted, didn’t you know that’s what “dark mode” looks like on your computer?
Hey, I happen to work for the local Comission of Public Starship Works and that funding’s needed. You don’t want the warp drives getting hacked do you? Move to Romulus if you don’t like it.
OFFS
Morning, Glibs.
Night.
Going to get a couple hours of shit eye.
I don’t think you want to get shit in your eyes.
That does sound bad.
My vacation calm is already gone, beaten and binned.
*sigh*
⏰‼️😟
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCwEBz3ego8
🎶🎶
I’m sorry to hear that. A calm state of mind is always nice.
Better than a clam state of mind.
Good morning, Sean, U, and Ted’S., and good night 3d!
Morning, GT.
How are you today, U?
The store was out of Diet Dew, and Diet Coke. My choices were Diet Pepsi (🤢) or one of the zeroes (🤮). I made the wrong choice.
Coffee.
No, Ted, coffee is always the wrong choice for me.
Ugh! Sounds as if you need a better store!
That would require getting a different house. Within reasonable reach of my commute I have the choice of the ghetto store and the ghettoer store.
suh’ fam
whats goody
Last day before Area 8.
Weather looks like the suck, so maybe that’s another silver lining in the “you aren’t shooting bub.” I did see the stages, look way too underchallenging for an Area match, but would be really good for me who can be fast if I don’t need to actually make difficult shots, so that kind of sucks.
*slams coffee mug on table*
WHERE MY LINKS?!
Right there.
They’ve been there for a few minutes.