Pach Like Me

Sorry for the absence; I've been busy being deformed

“Pach” as in pachyderm. Get it?

GET IT???

If you haven’t read this week’s column, do so, as I don’t plan to recap it here.

I said DO SO!

Even though the column says it was “last week” that I Elephant Manned, it was actually two weeks ago (I write all my columns two weeks in advance). Several of you have noticed my absence from Substack, but all seems to be well again, physically at least, so I should be back with greater regularity.

I will say that this week’s Takimag column is a first. In ten years, I’ve never used my column to “work through” something emotionally vexing. You hear writers talk about that kind of shit all the time…“I use my writing to work through my problems, my issues, my grief, my anger, etc. etc.”

Not me. That’s not why I write. It’s never catharsis or therapy. I write ‘cuz I enjoy it. I like slingin’ words. When my mom died ten years ago, I didn’t “work through it” in my column. Ditto when my dad died six years ago. I work through my shit on my own dime, not Taki’s, and on my own time, not yours.

But this column, this is the first time I’ve done the “working through grief” thing. And the odd part is, it’s grief that’s not technically mine. It’s nobody I knew in person. But I just couldn’t deal with the death of that wonderful dog. I couldn’t exorcise the sadness from my mind. So I figured I’d “write through it” to help me cope.

Key’s death just seemed so…wrong. The speed with which he became ill and died. The magnitude of the loss, for so many people around the world but of course most importantly for Key’s family, especially his mom Jodie, who loved that dog so much.

It’ll take a while for me to get used to going to YouTube every morning and not seeing a Key video.

As I said in my column, that’s why I’m never getting another pet. I’ve had dogs and cats my whole life, and I don’t ever wanna see anything die again. Next thing that dies in my life will be me. Hopefully with a head that’s not elephantine.

So speaking of which…

I was THREE MONTHS AWAY from having gone a full decade without needing to go to urgent care. The last time was April 2015 when I got a case of food poisoning so bad, I was so dehydrated from vomiting all night that I had to be rehydrated via IV. That one day forever changed my relationship with sushi. It’s still one of my favorite foods, but I don’t look at it the same, because I know what it can do if it gets pissed off.

Seared ahi. That’s what did it. Granted, from a restaurant where I could kinda tell from the odor that the hygiene wasn’t great. So that’s on me. And it was. And on my floor. And carpet. And sink.

I do miss sushi, but I don’t eat it anymore. There’s no way I’m spending the money to go to a reliable sushi place; pricey food ain’t in my forecast, as that Elephant Man urgent care visit two weeks ago dinged me for a few bucks.

And just for the record, here’s how badly I was dinged:

Urgent care visit: $256 (I think I got off easy on that, actually. Maybe because the urgent care place is affiliated with my GP)

Antibiotics: $30

Advil: $7.99

New pair of Amazon Basics sweatpants to replace the one I blew out with my Amoxicillin diarrhea: $12

$305.99. That’s the cost of spending one week as the Elephant Man in Donald Trump’s America.

Thanks, Biden.

Thanks more importantly to my friend who took me to and from the medical building and pharmacy on a rainy Sunday morning. He’d likely say that I’m being melodramatic with the Elephant Man thing, and that I looked more like a guy with a really bad case of the mumps.

Well, tell that to the Cockneys who were chasing me down the street with torches.

Good thing it was raining!

I’m way behind on correspondences, but I promise I’ll catch up to all your DMs.

And anyone wishing to restore a bit of that $305.99, BUY ME A BEER is open for business! I’m still on a soft food diet, so your generous contributions will keep me in mush.

I remain faithfully yours, not an animal.

But mourning one.