Written on 09 Mar : 21:52
Now Playing: Half-Light -
Indrid Cold
I shake myself awake, my
head feeling like it is being alternatively driven on each side by alternating
sledge hammers. What a night, and what a trip, biggest damn dog I ever saw.
Must have been hungry too, wanted to take a taste of my hide for sure. Sitting
on the edge of the bed I notice that the light filtering into the room seems
excessively bright, I mean only slivers of light make their way around the
slats in the blinds, yet I feel as if I am staring into the sun. Seems like I
am still a little screwed up from the pain killers the doc made me take last
night. I could swear that I was hearing voices before I finally dropped off to
sleep last night. The trip to the ER was a crazy thing too, with all the man
down talk out over the radio’s and the hubbub with the shots fired, by the time
we made it to the Hospital it was evident they were primed and ready to handle
a sucking chest wound instead of just cleaning up a nasty dog bite and giving
me a shot of concentrated antibiotics to stem any infection. I hope they have
some luck finding that dog today, as I don’t really relish the thought of going
through rabies therapy.
Man it sounds like the world is on fire today, crazy neighbor down the hall must have the volume of his TV up all the way. Son of a @#$!% must be deaf. Looking down, Cameron notices something amiss, his bandages look dry. Curious he unwraps his arm and takes a look at the wound. Man this thing looks like it has almost healed, I thought it would still be open and draining this morning, instead it looks like it has been scabbed over for a week. Doc must have given me some good stuff, amazing what drugs can do these days. Slowly Cameron makes his way around the house and gets cleaned up to go to the office. Even though they told him to take a few days, and his head is splitting, he resigns with a sigh that he has nothing else to do. If I stay around here this morning I’m gonna end up going down the hall and ripping that guys throat out, deaf man watching the “price is right” killed by rogue FBI agent, I can see the headlines now.
Making my way to the office I can't seem to shake this nervous enery, this feeling that I am tetering on the edge. They got me all jacked up on this dope and it is screwing with my senses they feel ultra sensitive one second, I can almost taste the color of the red car in front of me, and cold dead the next. It's a good thing I have my guns strapped in the holsters and my seatbelt across my chest because I would have already dusted 5 guys while in a fit of road rage because they are driving like, well like chicagoan's drive. Gonna call the hospital when i get to work see if they can mellow me out a bit.
As I arrive in the office I find that I am descending down the dark spiral at an ever increasing rapid pace. Almost told one of the doormen to !@#$ off because he asked to see my ID, and angrily barked "what's good about it" to everyone that said good afternoon to me as I made my way to the hole in the back of the room I call an office. My anxiety is at a fever pitch as I sit down in my chair, I feel as if I am trembling all over, not from weakness, not from fear, but out of pure rage. I feel as if every muscle in my body is so bloated with blood that the very core of my limbs seems to pulse with each heartbeat. I have never felt this way before, ever.
Apparently word worked it's way up a couple of floors and before I can get on the phone to the doctor, my supervising agent walks in my door. I explode in a rage, "NICE !@#$ING KNOCK, JERK!" as I feel myself rising out of my chair, obviously on my way to teach him some manners. The sheer shock to my system of my actions is enough to give me pause, pause to regain a modicum of control and at least stem the tide of fury enough to stop my momentum. As he backs towards the door, he timidly asks if I feel OK and suggests, I mean really suggests that I call it a day and see the DOC. As he hurriedly leaves my office he says "in fact take a week." Maybe not so bad of an idea, maybe all of the change lately stacked on top of the dog incident has taken a toll on my system. A little overloaded, I have been feeling the stress of the move, been alone in this new city, my new home. Maybe time to adjust a bit. As I get up to leave, I remind myself that I didn't call the Doc. Well !@#$ him anyways..............
Man it sounds like the world is on fire today, crazy neighbor down the hall must have the volume of his TV up all the way. Son of a @#$!% must be deaf. Looking down, Cameron notices something amiss, his bandages look dry. Curious he unwraps his arm and takes a look at the wound. Man this thing looks like it has almost healed, I thought it would still be open and draining this morning, instead it looks like it has been scabbed over for a week. Doc must have given me some good stuff, amazing what drugs can do these days. Slowly Cameron makes his way around the house and gets cleaned up to go to the office. Even though they told him to take a few days, and his head is splitting, he resigns with a sigh that he has nothing else to do. If I stay around here this morning I’m gonna end up going down the hall and ripping that guys throat out, deaf man watching the “price is right” killed by rogue FBI agent, I can see the headlines now.
Making my way to the office I can't seem to shake this nervous enery, this feeling that I am tetering on the edge. They got me all jacked up on this dope and it is screwing with my senses they feel ultra sensitive one second, I can almost taste the color of the red car in front of me, and cold dead the next. It's a good thing I have my guns strapped in the holsters and my seatbelt across my chest because I would have already dusted 5 guys while in a fit of road rage because they are driving like, well like chicagoan's drive. Gonna call the hospital when i get to work see if they can mellow me out a bit.
As I arrive in the office I find that I am descending down the dark spiral at an ever increasing rapid pace. Almost told one of the doormen to !@#$ off because he asked to see my ID, and angrily barked "what's good about it" to everyone that said good afternoon to me as I made my way to the hole in the back of the room I call an office. My anxiety is at a fever pitch as I sit down in my chair, I feel as if I am trembling all over, not from weakness, not from fear, but out of pure rage. I feel as if every muscle in my body is so bloated with blood that the very core of my limbs seems to pulse with each heartbeat. I have never felt this way before, ever.
Apparently word worked it's way up a couple of floors and before I can get on the phone to the doctor, my supervising agent walks in my door. I explode in a rage, "NICE !@#$ING KNOCK, JERK!" as I feel myself rising out of my chair, obviously on my way to teach him some manners. The sheer shock to my system of my actions is enough to give me pause, pause to regain a modicum of control and at least stem the tide of fury enough to stop my momentum. As he backs towards the door, he timidly asks if I feel OK and suggests, I mean really suggests that I call it a day and see the DOC. As he hurriedly leaves my office he says "in fact take a week." Maybe not so bad of an idea, maybe all of the change lately stacked on top of the dog incident has taken a toll on my system. A little overloaded, I have been feeling the stress of the move, been alone in this new city, my new home. Maybe time to adjust a bit. As I get up to leave, I remind myself that I didn't call the Doc. Well !@#$ him anyways..............
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