posted
Was just wondering what your thoughts were on my essay, an attempt to help those not on the inside visualize the loss of time when you're sick..This was the thought process when I first came to the realization that lyme disease wasn't just going to go away like the flu...That was 2001..Much better than what is detailed here these days(although still on ketek and right now Bicillan IMs as well), and appreciate every day as a result of this experience. I think its important to maintain perspective through the experience!
"Of the Essence"
Given my current contempt for the very concept
of it, I'm surprised that I possess the presence
of mind to note the time. It's 2 o'clock in the
afternoon, and the year 2001. Every passing
hour, the distant chimes of the clock in the
living room serve as a cynical reminder that
time never stops, as it soldiers on with
complete disregard for all of those forced to
abide by its rules.
Whether it's 2:00 in the afternoon, or 2:00 in
the morning makes no significant difference when
you feel paralyzed by the war waged internally
against the enemy, in this case a strain of
bacteria known as borrelia burgdorferi(Bb). I
have laid in this recliner for close to 36 days
now, drenching the back of the chair, and all
the blankets that cover me, with my own sweat,
fearing that with each drop of moisture
emanating from my body a piece of my soul is
destined to disappear into the cold and desolate
universe with it.
For 36 days I have seen 2 o'clock come
and go, each day hoping that the next will be
better than the last. Each evening brings with
it the hope and promise of a better tomorrow.
Each morning, a tragedy unveils itself as I feel
I am at the mercy of an invisible jester, whose
masterful attacks are beginning to dissipate the
remaining feelings of joy, creating a
discomforting feeling as it attempts to
rise in my throat like an embarrassing belch
when you're on a date with the girl of your
dreams. I lean forward in the recliner, feeling
as though I may vomit at any second, taking some
comfort in knowing I have prepared the trashcan
for such an event. I lean forward thinking to
myself I will not allow this to happen, and how
I despise every stomach virus I've ever
experienced in my life. A steady stream of
sweat runs from my brow to the tip of my nose
the way a river trickles down from the top of a
mountain, taking erratic twists and turns as it
runs through the natural canyons that the
contours of the human face form when it is
grimacing in discomfort. All that can be heard
is the pulsating sound of each droplet hitting
the bottom of the trash can, the sound you're
likely to hear at the completion of a quick
summer rainstorm as the gutter empties its final
contents. Nothing happens, this time anyway.
And although I'm thankful for not ``giving it
up'', my mind contemplates the benefits
of ``getting it done and over with.'' My mind
begins to drift as I dare to wonder what
tomorrow has in store for me. ``It has to be
better than today,'' I think to myself. The
medication is due to kick in at any time, and
will catapult me out of this recliner, and back
into the harsh realities of the everyday life I
took for granted for so many years before. An
image suddenly becomes clear as my sense of
smell is caressed by the faint odor of a
cigarette burning in the hallway of my apartment
building.
It's 2:00 pm, and it's the designated time for
the 15 minute smoke break for me and the rest
of the production crew at Photobition, an
exhibit manufacturer who makes displays for
conventions. Three early morning rush jobs are
complete, and I'm preparing the shop for the
anticipated late day rush jobs that typically
come in from California, as they are three hours
behind. The corporation is attempting to locate
their niche in a competitive market, and
reasonable prices coupled with accommodating
turnaround times seems to be the standard in
most. Our goals were modest. We wanted to
become the second largest portable display
provider in 2001, and our numbers thus far for
2000 were indeed substantiating the claim that
we were to become a force to be reckoned with.
A standard ``booth'' typically measured 8ft across
and 10ft in length. Our aggressive philosophy
often resulted in a 20'x10', manufactured in one
night. The only problem with that was there was
rarely anyone in the shop past 4:00 pm,
especially in the summertime when our industry
was destined to slow down. As a supervisor
with limited power, and after putting together
an impressive string of 60+ hour workweeks, I
decide it is time to address the matter. After
all, I am still held accountable for the jobs
that need to make their way out of the door. I
approach the general manager with the idea to
spread the shifts of the crew. Although Randy
tries to appease me by declaring my objective
makes sense, he denies me the flexibility to do
so, stating concerns over how the time would be
managed on nights when the shifts wouldn't be
quite as demanding. I feel a knot in my
stomach as I begin to anticipate the demands of
the upcoming ``busy season'' that would begin as
soon as the decaying leaves of the fall began to
coat the streets in the dizzying display of
madness my trade represents.
Three ``rush'' jobs are already lined up for this
afternoon. The sun begins casting long shadows
as it begins to give way to its daily struggle
against infinite darkness, and the warehouse
begins to clear out as expected. I'm lost in a
level of focus I only experience at work. Time
vanishes without regret.
I grab a beer from a secret stash I kept hidden
underneath one of the production tables in the
back. I prepped and maintained the supply early
in the season, anticipating long nights like
this one. A feeling of anxiety has been
cautiously approaching me for the past 2 hours
now, and fatigued, I am beginning to finally
succumb to its strength. I feel a sense of
panic. I must look stressed. I can feel it in
my eyes. I feel something that is increasingly
prevalent in my personality. Anger towards
those who did not stay. Anger at the company
whose aggressive campaign has been executed
without consideration and thought. Anger at
myself for allowing them to take advantage of
me. ``Why not find another job?'' I say to
myself. No other company will pay so well to a
19 year old without a college degree. This
knack for the sense of dramatic appeal has come
to define my perspective on life. Standing on
the loading dock, I decide to take a look at my watch. It's 2:00 am. If only I could have seen what was soon to come in the fall.
TO EDIT: use the PAD & PENCIL icon, click on it, and then you can edit....
As suggested, after every LONG sentence, hit the ENTER button to start a new paragraph then
leave ONE BLANK LINE after EACH paragraph until you get done with your essay ok! We can not begin to comprehend or read as is. Then hit EDIT button when done at the bottom!
Now you have fixed the problem, and please do this on ALL POSTS/REPLIES in the future; we thank you for helping us help you. Bettyg
Michelle M
Frequent Contributor (1K+ posts)
Member # 7200
posted
Hello, Captain Ant.
You write eloquently.
Are you still doing this high stress job? At age 19? While sick with lyme? Sounds like you could have used some 'looking after.' Glad you made it through the worst. What a memoir. Talk about a symptom diary!!
Michelle
Posts: 3193 | From Northern California | Registered: Apr 2005
| IP: Logged |
bettyg
Unregistered
posted
capt. ant, how are you coming on breaking up your entire story into short paragraphs and leavng ONE blank line between each paragraph as 3-4 of us have asked you to do.
I explained the procedure for your editing your TOP post. We'd like to be able to read your story. Thanks CA! Bettyg
IP: Logged |
Ann-OH
Frequent Contributor (5K+ posts)
Member # 2020
posted
I split it up for those of us who have a problem reading solid blocks of print. It needs to be said that this is not the way it should appear on a page, though it could.
First, I am so glad you are doing better and hope your recovery will continue. I hope we will hear more from you here.
Then: It is a very powerful piece of work and I am in awe that you could remember and write this so vividly. As an English teacher, I have to say the title is not worthy of the piece, but that is my only correction.
You have a good mastery of the language and the writing skills of somebody with lots more years.
Give it a new title and submit it as a short story to magazines,(they pay!) or post it on-line at some appropriate well-read site - as you did here. ...and keep writing!
Ann - OH
[quote]
Of the Essence
Given my current contempt for the very concept of it, I'm surprised that I possess the presence of mind to note the time. It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon, and the year 2001.
Every passing hour, the distant chimes of the clock in the living room serve as a cynical reminder that time never stops, as it soldiers on with complete disregard for all of those forced to abide by its rules.
Whether it's 2 in the afternoon, or 2 in the morning makes no significant difference when you feel paralyzed by the war waged internally against the enemy, in this case a strain of bacteria known as borrelia burgdorferi(Bb).
I have lain in this recliner for close to 36 days now, drenching the back of the chair, and all the blankets that cover me, with my own sweat, fearing that with each drop of moisture excreted from my body a piece of my soul is destined to disappear into the cold and desolate universe with it.
For 36 days I have seen 2 o'clock come and go, each day hoping that the next will be better than the last. Each evening brings with it the hope and promise of a better tomorrow.
Each morning, a tragedy unveils itself as I feel I am at the mercy of an invisible jester, whose masterful attacks are beginning to dissipate the remaining feelings of joy, creating a discomforting feeling as it attempts to rise in my throat like an embarrassing belch when you're on a date with the girl of your dreams.
I lean forward in the recliner, feeling as though I may vomit at any second, taking some comfort in knowing I have prepared the trash can for such an event. I lean forward thinking to myself I will not allow this to happen, and how I despise every stomach virus I've ever experienced in my life.
A steady stream of sweat runs from my brow to the tip of my nose the way a river trickles down from the top of a mountain, taking erratic twists and turns as it's forced to overcome the obstacles the contours in my face represent, making every effort to abide by the laws of gravity.
All that can be heard is the pulsating sound of each droplet hitting the bottom of the trash can, the sound you're likely to hear at the completion of a quick summer rain storm as the gutter empties its final contents.
Nothing happens, this time anyway. And although I'm thankful for not ``giving it up'', my mind contemplates the benefits of ``getting it done and over with''.
My mind begins to drift as I dare to wonder what tomorrow has in store for me.``It has to be better than today'', I think to myself. The medication is due to kick in at any time, and will catapult me out of this recliner, and back into the harsh realities of the everyday life I took for granted for so many years before.
An image suddenly becomes clear as my sense of smell is caressed by the faint smell of a cigarette burning in the hallway of my apartment building.
It's 2:00 pm, and it's the designated time for the 15 minute smoke break for me and the rest of the production crew at Photobition, an exhibit manufacturer who makes displays for conventions.
Three early morning rush jobs are complete, and I'm preparing the shop for the anticipated late day rush jobs that typically come in from California, as they are 3 hours behind.
The corporation is attempting to locate their niche in a competitive market, and reasonable prices coupled with accommodating turnaround times seems to be the standard in most.
Our goals were modest. We wanted to become the second largest portable display provider in 2001, and our numbers thus far for 2000 were indeed substantiating the claim that we were to become a force to be reckoned with.
A standard ``booth'' typically measured 8ft across and 10ft in length. Our aggressive philosophy often resulted in a 20'x10', manufactured in one night. The only problem with that was there was rarely anyone in the shop past 4pm, especially in the summertime when our industry was destined to slow down.
As a supervisor with limited power, and after putting together an impressive string of 60+ hour workweeks, I decide it is time to address the matter. Afterall, I am still held accountable for the jobs that needed to make their way out of the door. I approach the general manager with the idea to spread the shifts of the crew.
Although Randy tries to appease me by declaring my objective makes sense, he denies me the flexibility to do so, stating concerns over how the time would be managed on nights when the shifts wouldn't be quite as demanding.
I felt a knot in my stomach as I began to anticipate the demands of the upcoming ``busy season'' that would begin as soon as the decaying leaves of the fall began to coat the streets in the dizzying display of madness my trade represents. Three ``rush'' jobs are already lined up for this afternoon.
The sun begins casting long shadows as it begins to give way to its daily struggle against infinite darkness, and the warehouse begins to clear out as expected. I'm lost in a level of focus I only experience at work. Time vanishes without regret.
I grab a beer from a secret stash I kept hidden underneath one of the production tables in the back. I prepped and maintained the supply early in the season, anticipating long nights like this one.
A feeling of anxiety has been cautiously approaching me for the past 2 hours now, and fatigued, I am beginning to finally succumb to its strength. I feel a sense of panic.
I must look stressed. I can feel it in my eyes. I feel something that is increasingly prevalent in my personality. Anger towards those who did not stay. Anger at the company whose aggressive campaign has been executed without consideration and thought. Anger at myself for allowing them to take advantage of me.
``Why not find another job?'' I say to myself. Nothing else will pay a 19 year old without a college degree as they do here. This knack for the sense of dramatic appeal has come to define my perspective on life.
Standing on the loading dock, I decide to take a look at my watch. It's 2 am. If only I could have seen what was soon to come in the fall.
My eyes begin to focus, the annual process of ``coming to'', as I awake unrefreshed and as uneasy as I was previously before the so called nap .
It feels hot despite the fact that I have turned down the air conditioning to 65 degrees. I have barely eaten anything this past week, resulting from the all too familiar feeling of the lyme disease and antibiotics attacking my gastrointestinal tract.I decide something light such as a Hot Pocket is in order.
As I lift my head, the room spins in an awkward fashion I've never experienced before, not even when suffering the undesirable effects of alcohol abuse. The television I have left on to provide a comforting backdrop, the feeling that someone other than me is home, is suddenly loud.
I peel the blankets that have covered me for 12 consecutive hours off in a delicate fashion, as though I am removing a band-aid. My legs feel weak as they nearly succumb to the 175 pounds they are expected to support, despite the condition of the remainder of my body.
A slight movement of air hits my face as I stand, reminding me of that evening on the loading dock. What a petty life of ridiculous stressors and concerns!
The truth of the matter is I would give anything to be standing there again, at 2 in the morning , with a warm beer in my hand, perhaps this time, feeling a sense of accomplishment that I had single handedly produced 3 jobs, manufacturing over $56,000 worth of exhibit material by myself that night.
Maybe enjoying the warm summer breeze as it blows in with it the sound we identify as silence from a now vacant parking lot, once buzzing with cars and trucks 12 hours before.
If only I could have seen what was soon to come in the fall. My vision is now clear, and I glance at the clock in an attempt to make out the time. It's 2 o' clock in the morning...
5dana8
Frequent Contributor (1K+ posts)
Member # 7935
posted
Thanks Ann & Blessings for breaking this up.
Have to run but will read later
-------------------- 5dana8 Posts: 4432 | From some where over the rainbow | Registered: Sep 2005
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bettyg
Unregistered
posted
CA, WOW, you did an outstanding job on your writing here! You have a real future writing! It grabs you and pulls you into your story line.
I agree with Ann; you need a new title worthy of what your story is about.
Several suggestions I have are:
1. go back up to your ORIGINAL post above and show at the top.
Below your introductory paragraph, block/delete the rest of what you wrote.
then copy/paste Ann's EDITED version up to your original post. This way it saves people time knowing someone broke this up for easier reading/comprehension vs. trying to skim the replies to see if another reader broke this up for you.
2. The only minor changes I saw as a secretary with those dealing with numbers:
2pm and measurements 8ft should be shown as: 2 pm and 8 ft.
Again, this was very beautifully, heartfelt writing at its best, and punctuation, etc. was wonderful from a secretary's standpoint.
God bless you Ann for breaking it up for those of us who can't read long continuous blocks of text. I corrected my mistakes on how to edit for him. Sorry, CA, for messing up my instructions to you! Bettyg
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Ann-OH
Frequent Contributor (5K+ posts)
Member # 2020
posted
A new title came to mind: "Sweat Equity" or maybe not....
posted
Reposted it at the top!! My apologies for not posting it appropriately the first time..Hope this helps..Also note some minor changes I made to the story itself.. Thanks so much for taking the time to read it.. I wrote this hoping to effectively communicate my psychological state as I struggled with the fact that lyme was going to be a problem for a longer period of time than expected. Hope everyone on here is receiving the support they need and deserve!
Posts: 13 | From Monmouth Junction,N.J | Registered: Apr 2003
| IP: Logged |
posted
also please note the description of my former job is meant to be a flashback..If anyone has a suggestion as to how I can make this clear, it would be greatly appreciated..I actually wrote this a few weeks ago..I would have never been able to communicate this during that time period.. Something I've wanted to write, not just for me but for others..
Posts: 13 | From Monmouth Junction,N.J | Registered: Apr 2003
| IP: Logged |
bettyg
Unregistered
posted
captain, you PMd me wanting to advise you'd changed your story line, etc.
The way it was edited this time and posted at the top for me is as bad as the long blocks of text; it's hard for MY neuro lyme mind to comprehend things this chopped up.
Captain, the way Ann broke up your story was perfect since you write in long sentences.
May I suggest you copy Ann's version to your word processor and then ADD your new details, and delete your 2nd attempt at the top, and PASTE your 3rd attempt of your additions & Ann's revisions.
Captain, I have not meant to hurt your feelings; just want to clarify things from MY neuro lyme mind. Majority of those who post regularly are like me, chronic for many decades!
If you do that, then I'll go back.
Where specifically did you add things so I do NOT have to reread everything ?
My LLMD has restricted me to 2 hrs. of intenet daily!! Thanks for helping me to keep my time limit down there. Bettyg
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Ann-OH
Frequent Contributor (5K+ posts)
Member # 2020
posted
The easiest way to indicate a switch to a flash-back is a space and a row of .................. across the page.
That is repeated at the end of the flash-back.
Double-spacing IS something that should be done on a manuscript. But you still need to have good use of paragraphing. The way you have it is very run-on.
Splitting it up gives it more "punch," and lets the mind concentrate on matters at hand without trying to figure out where the whole story is going.
However, double-spacing doesn't help anyone here to be able to read it more easily.
I will pm you some good info on preparing a manuscript and places you can submit it for publishing as a short story.
One other thing... You say Borrelia burgdorferi early in the story, without mentioning Lyme disease. Later you mention Lyme disease, but the reader doesn't know that the organism Borrelia burgdorferi is the cause of Lyme disease.
"Borrelia burgdorferi" in italicized print is the proper way to write it.
You could clear that up by adding "Lyme disease" in your first reference. I hope that is clear.
Maybe somehow you could mention a tick as the sabateur of your former life. - Maybe in the line at the end of your flashback.....?
posted
Ann good point, and for the UNEDUCATED, after lyme (tick) disease since so many folks ask me all the time; what is LYME disease! Bettyg
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