One Year.

personal

One year ago today, I almost died. I had a big, fancy post all ready to share, complete with pictures, but I accidentaly deleted it through a series of unfortunate events.

Whatever. I’ll take that as the universe saying I don’t need to bore anyone by talking about the crap I went through. It wasn’t pretty, it was downright disgusting, and I survived. I will point out that the problem I lived with for six years is easily fixed by surgery, but I’m one of those people that falls in the “hole” in Obamacare. I make too much money to get a really good subsidy, not enough to afford a three to four hundred dollar a month payment on an insurance plan with a ridiculously high deductible. ($7500-8000, if you’re curious.) So I couldn’t afford the surgery.

Instead, I’ll bore you with something else. Normal people that have near-death experiences report things like bright lights, tunnels, beloved presences, encounters with divinity. I didn’t get any of that. Although I’ll admit I got ferociously dizzy, my vision got dim, and my brain got really stupid.

What did happen is I got pissed off. And I mean really, truly, deeply pissed off. This happened right about the time I saw the emergency room staff moving quickly, and multiply from one to about half a dozen, and it sunk in that they thought I was actually dying right there in front of them.

Weird feeling, by the way.

And while the ER staff was moving quickly, at a speed you never want to see in real life, I was feeling apologetic for troubling them when I didn’t feel half as shitty as I did back in January.

That was when I got pissed.

There I was, literally dying, and I’d been working. Just like always. That’s most of what I do with my life, after all. Work, work, work. And I felt significantly better that day than I did back in January. I was able to take a couple days off back then, but my boss insisted I had to come in to groom some regular customers that no one else could do, so I tried. Even though I knew I wasn’t safe to drive, I drove. And I worked. And I groomed two dogs.

But then I called my boss and told her I don’t care how bad she needs me working, I can’t do this and have to go home. Now, after the fact, I know why I was so dizzy I couldn’t stand or even see straight. The doctors called it acute anemia, said that I could have died.

And a couple weeks later, I was working with blood clots in my leg and my lungs, and more acute anemia. It was so bad I could feel my heart beating super-fast and erratic. I had to keep taking breaks to let the poor thing calm down before it actually exploded. When I finally got to the doctor, she said I could drop dead at any moment.

And I kept working, and working, and working.

Have you figured out why I got pissed yet? It’s because somewhere along the line, I kind of forgot that I swore I’d never work myself to death like my dad did. So I almost dropped dead, more times than I’ve mentioned here, at work. Doing exactly what I swore not to do.

At least I had the brains to call for help before my heart stopped because there wasn’t any blood left to pump. The doctor at the hospital told me I was almost there. The blood count I had was 5, she said hearts stop at around 4-4.5.

Screw that whole working myself to death thing. I’m pissed, and staying pissed, and using that anger and frustration to get my life sorted out so I can drop back to a more normal amount of work. It’ll take a couple years to clean up my situation so I can afford to stop this 50-60+ hour a week bullshit, but I’m going to do it. I will arrange my life so I can work a normal job, have a home of my own instead of a rental, and spend more time living. I am going to do things I enjoy, including getting out on the weekends to go hiking or find a horse to ride or whatever. I’ve done that a few times already, and it’s a vast improvement over working.

In short, I’m going to take the second chance I was given, and do something a hell of a lot better than work.

3D artwork drives me bonkers.

3D

Nothing of substance here, just some whining.

The last couple weeks I’ve been slowly returning to my “real” life, the world of writing and 3D artwork, after my attempt to buy a business got thoroughly flattened.

(Side note: That’s probably a good thing. Had I succeeded in purchasing my van, I’d be utterly screwed right now, and most likely doomed to failure. Because the van is completely incapacitated. It’s been sitting at the mechanic’s place for three days now, unwilling to shift into gear, and they can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. Can we say massive relief? As in, I am massively relieved that I don’t have to pay for that shit. It’s likely to cost my boss thousands of dollars in repair bills, lost revenue, and a bit of vacation pay for yours truly. That would’ve sunk me right off the bat, as I’d planned on starting out with about a $1600 emergency reserve. Not $5K.)

And… I’ve rediscovered something. Poking around in image galleries, getting a feel for what’s going on in the 3D world, paying attention to all the 3D artwork on deviantArt, looking at what my friends have been up to… Yeah. That’s cool, and all, but it’s also about to drive me screaming bonkers.

Because, you see, it’s all about the boobs.

Now, I have nothing against boobs in general. I even have a pair of my own. They’re fine, part of life, an easy identifier of a female body. But I sure do get tired of the boob obsession! Everywhere I look in the 3D world, there they are. Covered, uncovered, the size of watermelons, or maybe even normal size, with lights shining on them or sparkly things to draw your attention to them… Come on, people. There’s more to life than boobs.

What’s that you say? There’s also revealing costumes and highly impractical so-called armor? Argh!

Not to mention women in high heels and sexy dresses doing highly impractical things, and porn thinly disguised as pseudo-art, and all those fetishy images…

Sheesh. Totally makes me want to go render half-naked men in impractical outfits getting rescued by strong women in full armor.

Okay, frustrated ranting over. I just felt the need to blow off a little steam. I love my hobby. I just don’t love all the hobbyists that feel the need to constantly sexualize women and post their inner fantasies for the world to see.