Sunday
Last Thursday went to the heart specialist to get my cordial/vascular test results.
The first thing I noticed when I entered the surgeon's office? There were a LOT of old people there waiting for the same thing as me, AND they liked to watch FOX NEWS as they waited. One old boy was watching The Five on FOX and every time the news pundits mentioned President Obama, the old guy turned to his wife and whispered, "That bastard!" and his wife would nod her head in agreement and pat him gently on the hand. I thought David was going to explode! He's such a hardcore liberal.
Another thing that I noticed . . . a heart surgeon's office is a lot like a McDonald's! You come in for your appointment and you wait at least twenty minutes (or more), and then when it's your turn they rush you in and out as fast as a happy meal on steroids! I don't even think the doctor remembered having met me before. He just stared at my chart and said, "Well, we're going to insert a tube beneath your ribcage and stick your heart with this needle . . . " Whoa! What the hell was he talking about?! I just came in for an evaluation of my heart for my yearly physical. . . you telling me I need heart surgery? He looked a bit surprised that I was surprised. He slowed down a bit and explained what was going on with my heart. I didn't understand a word of it . . . He smiled, gave me a prescription for my rather high cholesterol and off he flew down the hall (papers from his clipboard floating down to the floor!) like Superman in a white lab coat!
All weekend long I've been visited by some old friends. Memories. Not the pleasant ones, you know? The other ones that always cause the biggest mess before you get them out the door. Every bad thing I'd done to myself or others, every bad thing that was done to me decided to have a party inside my head this weekend. And there I was sitting on the couch listening to the shadows retell every sorted little story that I've tried to forget. Every heartbreak, every disappointment . . . any good thing that had happen to me long ago wasn't able to get a word in over the rioting laughter of my nastier, little memories.
The news from the surgeon was the trigger for my depression, I'm sure of it, and I found myself unable to get out of the house, to write, to do anything to rid myself of the weight my mind was forced to carry. It's silly, really, that I let a trip to the doctors drive me into an almost comatose state. I guess, the idea of some kind of "heart surgery" scared me. I never had troubles with my heart before. I was pretty sure that it had survived all my accesses. Guess I was wrong about that.
Tuesday, January 13, 2o15
I'm feeling better today. My minds a bit clearer now. Physically, a little frail, lack of energy. Hell, my body doesn't want to exert the small amount of energy it takes to write on this damn blog. However, my mind is made up. I'll write something.
Sometimes all you have is that something, that driving need to do . . . something, write something, create fuckin' something, anything, everything in one poem, one word or two or shout them out, watch them bang and bounce about, slam against the naked white walls of my apartment. Words scrambled together, nailed together, slapped together, glued together by that itchy need to prove to others and yourself that you do exist . . . if only in words, if only in your own imagination, if only between the hours 1am and 4am in the dark, in the void that argues its own existence within the hollow sound that train whistles make when all is midnight. Deep end of the pool, I am. I'm treading water well enough. Hopefully the sun will arrive, a big, hot sun will arrive and evaporate all this wet surrounding me before I drown myself. Easy enough to give it up, given in, trade it in the will to live for the solid, concrete assurance that all will be well as soon as I close the eyes.
Wednesday, January 14, 2o15
Today is a very lazy day. Different from other days because my laziness is not brought on by being sick. Actually, I feel pretty good today, and my laziness is not forced upon me by illness but by my freewill decision to be lazy! I know, how can I say I'm being lazy while writing this blog? Hmmm, I guess because I'm not feeling forced to write on it. I'm writing these nonsensical sentences, these meaningless words because I fuckin' feel like it. So, get off my cloud about it!{smile}
The weather is starting to warm up. Hee! You know it's been cold in Oklahoma when you start thinking of 40 degrees as "warming up." Actually, there have been colder winters in Norman Town, colder than this one, at least. Maybe because I'm getting older I'm feeling the cold deeper in my bones and lungs this year. Mind you, I'm not complaining about getting old . . .er merely pointing out the fact that my body does feel the winter more these days than years before.
Yes, I'm going to get out on the bike tomorrow if the weather permits. Yes, I said it was going to be warmer, but every Okie knows the weather guys here don't always get it right. Nothing on them, but the weather in OK doesn't always do what the forecasters predict. As Will Rogers said, "If you don't like the weather in Oklahoma, stick around."
David's son, Michael (I call him Khoo), is working as a filmmaker these days. His first film (or second, actually) will be on Oklahoma poets, ANNND, looks like me and David and some others are going to be in it. I'm excited. And just a bit scared. See, they are gonna film us reading some of our poetry, and that scares me a bit. What, me and stage fright? Hmmm, seems to be so. I think I've always been a bit self-conscious about performing on stage or on TV or in a movie . . . just never let it get to me as much as now. Why? Well, I'm not sure I know why. Maybe that's something I can think on.
Last Thursday went to the heart specialist to get my cordial/vascular test results.
Another thing that I noticed . . . a heart surgeon's office is a lot like a McDonald's! You come in for your appointment and you wait at least twenty minutes (or more), and then when it's your turn they rush you in and out as fast as a happy meal on steroids! I don't even think the doctor remembered having met me before. He just stared at my chart and said, "Well, we're going to insert a tube beneath your ribcage and stick your heart with this needle . . . " Whoa! What the hell was he talking about?! I just came in for an evaluation of my heart for my yearly physical. . . you telling me I need heart surgery? He looked a bit surprised that I was surprised. He slowed down a bit and explained what was going on with my heart. I didn't understand a word of it . . . He smiled, gave me a prescription for my rather high cholesterol and off he flew down the hall (papers from his clipboard floating down to the floor!) like Superman in a white lab coat!
All weekend long I've been visited by some old friends. Memories. Not the pleasant ones, you know? The other ones that always cause the biggest mess before you get them out the door. Every bad thing I'd done to myself or others, every bad thing that was done to me decided to have a party inside my head this weekend. And there I was sitting on the couch listening to the shadows retell every sorted little story that I've tried to forget. Every heartbreak, every disappointment . . . any good thing that had happen to me long ago wasn't able to get a word in over the rioting laughter of my nastier, little memories.
The news from the surgeon was the trigger for my depression, I'm sure of it, and I found myself unable to get out of the house, to write, to do anything to rid myself of the weight my mind was forced to carry. It's silly, really, that I let a trip to the doctors drive me into an almost comatose state. I guess, the idea of some kind of "heart surgery" scared me. I never had troubles with my heart before. I was pretty sure that it had survived all my accesses. Guess I was wrong about that.
Tuesday, January 13, 2o15
Sometimes all you have is that something, that driving need to do . . . something, write something, create fuckin' something, anything, everything in one poem, one word or two or shout them out, watch them bang and bounce about, slam against the naked white walls of my apartment. Words scrambled together, nailed together, slapped together, glued together by that itchy need to prove to others and yourself that you do exist . . . if only in words, if only in your own imagination, if only between the hours 1am and 4am in the dark, in the void that argues its own existence within the hollow sound that train whistles make when all is midnight. Deep end of the pool, I am. I'm treading water well enough. Hopefully the sun will arrive, a big, hot sun will arrive and evaporate all this wet surrounding me before I drown myself. Easy enough to give it up, given in, trade it in the will to live for the solid, concrete assurance that all will be well as soon as I close the eyes.
Wednesday, January 14, 2o15
The weather is starting to warm up. Hee! You know it's been cold in Oklahoma when you start thinking of 40 degrees as "warming up." Actually, there have been colder winters in Norman Town, colder than this one, at least. Maybe because I'm getting older I'm feeling the cold deeper in my bones and lungs this year. Mind you, I'm not complaining about getting old . . .er merely pointing out the fact that my body does feel the winter more these days than years before.
Yes, I'm going to get out on the bike tomorrow if the weather permits. Yes, I said it was going to be warmer, but every Okie knows the weather guys here don't always get it right. Nothing on them, but the weather in OK doesn't always do what the forecasters predict. As Will Rogers said, "If you don't like the weather in Oklahoma, stick around."
David's son, Michael (I call him Khoo), is working as a filmmaker these days. His first film (or second, actually) will be on Oklahoma poets, ANNND, looks like me and David and some others are going to be in it. I'm excited. And just a bit scared. See, they are gonna film us reading some of our poetry, and that scares me a bit. What, me and stage fright? Hmmm, seems to be so. I think I've always been a bit self-conscious about performing on stage or on TV or in a movie . . . just never let it get to me as much as now. Why? Well, I'm not sure I know why. Maybe that's something I can think on.
Like this very much! :)
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