Got The Beatles 1 blasting my eardrums through the Jlab, heavy duty headphones I bought at Best Buy a few months ago. With my aging hearing mechanisms and the fact I stay up way late (like 4-6 am in the morning), it's really nice to be able to hear music AND the TV set without freaking the neighbors out with Jurassic Park playing at on volume 60! Only bummer? I can't hear someone if they knock on the door . . . which doesn't matter much because no one ever does. The real bummer is that I can't hear either of my phones ring! So, I got the flip cell phone sitting on the laptop next to me, face up so I can see the screen face flash when someone calls.
Been working on this poetry project- which I won't mention because it's a top secret Ninja Poet project- And I try to keep up on the work I need to do on it . . . write and rewrite a poem a month and create a visual to go with it and . . . NO! I've already said too much! I will say that I'm working on a piece called B.B. Siting on a Harley 1967 which is based on the famous Brigitte Bardot poster (in the animation above) that was real popular in Vietnam in '69. Yeah, I had one! And I'm writing a poem about it . . . which brings me to a point I've always wanted to make about my poetry . . . all my poems are based on my experiences in life, in the real world life and my imagined world life. You see, it's impossible for me to separate reality from . . . nonreality. I mean, are we not both a real character and an invented character in this storyline that we all call real life? Think about that for a while . . . I'm going to get coffee.
3:20pm
Back with a half a cup of coffee. I usually only fill my coffee mug half full . . . or half empty. Wonder what that says about my moral character? I would like to think I don't have a moral character only a mortal one. I should write some sort of poem for this page before I leave it for the day:
All hail the lizard tale
he walked before he crawled
he sang before he could talk
he grabs at his fragile life
with hands reptilian but
then again don't we all?
I'm aware of her mostly
at night when the boiling
knuckles of the day
are far enough away
for me to think it'll
never rain again. And
always the day comes
and the rain strolls passed
me as if I weren't even here.
Monday, September, o9, 2o19
Today, I waited all day for the doctor's to call me back. I called them twice (once at noon, once at four) asking them to call me back and give me the message I missed on Friday. I know, it sounds confusing . . . but I'm hoping that it's not to them.
Had a Facebook fight with one of my Facebook friends about politics. I told him over and over if he didn't stop saying the stupid shit he kept repeating over on over, comment after comment that I would unfriend him . . . and he left one last comment o my post . . . "Here, let me do it for you, idiot!" I had to laugh. His unfriending me before I could unfriend him was the equivalence of "You're fired!" "You can't fire me! I quit!" P.S. As I'm reading these post for typos, I notice that spelled quit . . . Q-U-I-E-T.
Still feeling a bit . . . unwell. I like that word better than I'm sick. I don't know. It sounds more . . . more . . . delicate. A delicate touch to the miserableness of feeling dog-ass shitty . . . physically.
So, the plan for tomorrow is to go see a movie at 4:20pm with a wake-up call to David at 1:30pm . . . UNLESS the doctor's call early in the morning and want me to come in tomorrow morning, which if that happens I wake David up an hour before the morning appointment and he drives me to the doctor's. Life is so trying on all of us.
Tuesday, September 1o, 2o19
Finally! I reached a nurse who was very friendly an anxious to help me out. She told me that the doctor was setting me up with a specialist . . . a blood specialist . . . a hematologist . . . which is really good news . . . I thought she was going to say, "A blood specialist. A vampire to be honest." Anyway that was good news . . . at least even if I had to wait a little longer . . . ring! ring! And that was the blood doctor's nurse calling right after I finished talking with the nurse at my regular doctor's. So, tomorrow, 11am, need to get there early to fill out paperwork (of course), and I finally get to see a doctor who can maybe help me live a bit longer. The shortness of breath is getting worse every day. I hope this doc can help.
Saturday, September 14, 2o19
As you can see . . . I skipped a few days. The whole Does-He-Have-Cancer-Or-Something-Else? storyline is getting a bit thick . . . it may go on a while. Hopefully I don't die before I find out if I'm gonna to die . . . The only way I know to deal with this fear that life may well be even shorter than I thought it was gonna be . . . is with a sense of humor. And as serious as it all is . . . it has already started off extremely funny.
1. Filling out the paperwork. There's a section there that asks if I have some sort of will, which the receptionist tells me with no uncertainty in voice that "You really want to that, Hon." Well, that sort of took a bite out of my fantasy that this meeting with a specialist was just to get a few pills and told to call her in the morning. AND anytime a receptionist at a doctor's office treats you to a soft and down home friendly "Hon" you are probably gonna see her a lot more times . . . a LOT more times than you really want to. Because the more appointments you have with a specialist, the more life threatening your sickness is, and that is never, ever good.
2. So, the doc comes into the examining room, asks me to jump up on the examining table and lift my shirt. I do that and she looks at my gut and says in one of those astounding voices that you never want to hear from a doctor examining you, "Holy COW! You got a hernia! Did you know you had a hernia?!" "No, I didn't know." "Well, you do and it's a big one! See how your belly button is sticking out?!" "Yeah, I noticed that. But I just though that was from being fat." "NOPE! THAT'S FROM A HERNIA!!" I really think she was more intrigued by my hernia than she was interested in the possibility that I might have cancer. To be continued.
3:20pm
All hail the lizard tale
he walked before he crawled
he sang before he could talk
he grabs at his fragile life
with hands reptilian but
then again don't we all?
I'm aware of her mostly
at night when the boiling
knuckles of the day
are far enough away
for me to think it'll
never rain again. And
always the day comes
and the rain strolls passed
me as if I weren't even here.
Monday, September, o9, 2o19
Had a Facebook fight with one of my Facebook friends about politics. I told him over and over if he didn't stop saying the stupid shit he kept repeating over on over, comment after comment that I would unfriend him . . . and he left one last comment o my post . . . "Here, let me do it for you, idiot!" I had to laugh. His unfriending me before I could unfriend him was the equivalence of "You're fired!" "You can't fire me! I quit!" P.S. As I'm reading these post for typos, I notice that spelled quit . . . Q-U-I-E-T.
Still feeling a bit . . . unwell. I like that word better than I'm sick. I don't know. It sounds more . . . more . . . delicate. A delicate touch to the miserableness of feeling dog-ass shitty . . . physically.
So, the plan for tomorrow is to go see a movie at 4:20pm with a wake-up call to David at 1:30pm . . . UNLESS the doctor's call early in the morning and want me to come in tomorrow morning, which if that happens I wake David up an hour before the morning appointment and he drives me to the doctor's. Life is so trying on all of us.
Tuesday, September 1o, 2o19
Saturday, September 14, 2o19
As you can see . . . I skipped a few days. The whole Does-He-Have-Cancer-Or-Something-Else? storyline is getting a bit thick . . . it may go on a while. Hopefully I don't die before I find out if I'm gonna to die . . . The only way I know to deal with this fear that life may well be even shorter than I thought it was gonna be . . . is with a sense of humor. And as serious as it all is . . . it has already started off extremely funny.
1. Filling out the paperwork. There's a section there that asks if I have some sort of will, which the receptionist tells me with no uncertainty in voice that "You really want to that, Hon." Well, that sort of took a bite out of my fantasy that this meeting with a specialist was just to get a few pills and told to call her in the morning. AND anytime a receptionist at a doctor's office treats you to a soft and down home friendly "Hon" you are probably gonna see her a lot more times . . . a LOT more times than you really want to. Because the more appointments you have with a specialist, the more life threatening your sickness is, and that is never, ever good.
2. So, the doc comes into the examining room, asks me to jump up on the examining table and lift my shirt. I do that and she looks at my gut and says in one of those astounding voices that you never want to hear from a doctor examining you, "Holy COW! You got a hernia! Did you know you had a hernia?!" "No, I didn't know." "Well, you do and it's a big one! See how your belly button is sticking out?!" "Yeah, I noticed that. But I just though that was from being fat." "NOPE! THAT'S FROM A HERNIA!!" I really think she was more intrigued by my hernia than she was interested in the possibility that I might have cancer. To be continued.
Love your writing Woodie! Hope you feel better soon.
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