The Daily {W}rite October 2019 wk. o4

"You a**hole son'ama'bit**!! That'as me soft screaming at the jerk who just tried to cut me and David off when David was making a left turn onto Trout Ave. David smiles at me. "What?!" "You're really feeling better today." "Yeah, I am! How'd you know that?" "Because you're yelling at traffic." We both laugh at that. It's true. When I feel semi-healthy I start vocalizing my "hate" for all the political bullsh** that explodes out of my TV! Trump! That piece of overripe banana peel! And people! People! ON Facebook trolling every word I say! And people. People! Standing in my way when I'm trying to get to the Talenti Dairy-Free Roman Raspberry Sorbetto . . . I pint. Lady, don't you DARE touch that last pint of the Roman Raspberry! Yep. I'm feeling damn good. Which is also the problem. When I'm in the middle of chemotherapy and the cancer I'm getting the chemo for I'm too physically and mentally fragile to complain, rant about all the bullsh** well people have to put up with. I'm a nicer person when I have a life threatening disease.  Not from choice so much as from just being to weak to be mad about anything. So, the dilemma facing me is how can I stay a nice person and a healthy person. Seriously, this cancer stuff is not funny . . . this is a real life problem for me.

10:28pm 
Oh, before I forget . . . Remember I was worried about wearing the surgical mask in public because someone would think I had a disease that would infect them if I breathed on them? But really, the mask is worn to protect my damaged immune system (from the chemotherapy) from their coughs and spit and germy things that people carry around on them. Anyway, I though that what I could do is cover the surgical mask with another mask that would appear friendly, not threatening . . . and if you look at the picture of your friendly neighborhood Chemo-Man (up, left side of the blog). See? Isn't that sweet?

Wednesday, October 23, 2o19
I think we're going to dinner tonight. Haven't been to dinner in a bit. I need to force myself to just get out. Stop being a ghost haunting my own apartment. I feel better, I do. Oh, this feeling better not only got me to work on this blog. I've started back to writing A Poem Every Night . . . or . . . A-Poem-Every-Early-Morning-A-Day . . . if you're not into all that brevity thing. I mean, why write anything short when you can write on it for a long time. {smiles}

11:26pm

Moon Dreams

She never smiles when she's awake.
though I've caught her lips curving
into a crescent shape on those nights
when she falls away toward a dream
And I am still wide-eyed sipping at
a coffee and watching her sleep.

She caught me once. My shadow
drifting between her and the moonlight
bouncing through the torn curtains
in our small, one room apartment.

"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Watching you sleep." "you
know how creepy that is?"

Before I could say "yes" she
snored herself off into
whatever dream I so rudely
shook her out of.

Thursday, October 24, 2o19

There are days that go out of their way to make me smile. Yes, smile. Out of nowhere  . . . like the sun popping out from behind a hedgerow of clouds . . . not for long but just long enough to tickle a grin out of you. Or maybe there's a woman walking by . . . beautiful enough to at least force you into a pleasant memory about that Girl-Of-My-Dreams  . . . which actually existed once or is a total fabrication of an old man's lonely thoughts. Some times, it gets tricky trying to separate the imagined from the real.

Today was Halloween looking day! Went to Party Town that just reopened in a new building on the westside of Norman and . . . MAN! A gigantic space filled with PT's entire inventory! Yep! So huge  this new building that it can literally say, "What you see is what you get" cause it's all right there! AND checkout the Purge masks we found. AND only $3.99. Probably the best buy I've ever made (pic by David Slemmons).

Friday, October 25, 2o19
Wet universe out there this day, this Friday. And bone rattling cold.45 degrees at almost 5:00pm? Sorry. No outdoor activities for me. Not today. this cable music station I have with Cox Cable . . . Soundscape. Lots of head oriented music. Lots of pixies playing pianos. Some of the compositions are just Earth sounds put togather . . . wind, crickets, birds. My favorite is the sound of a woodpecker tapping at a tree along with a acoustic guitar solo. Dreamy music. Blog writing music.

I get lost inside the many storage compartments of my consciousness. Lots of things in there. Some very old memories. So, old some of them that I'm not even sure they are my memories. Maybe someone at sometime told me a really powerful story about his/her life, a story so profound it actually changed my life, and my life not always the brightest star in heaven may have thought . . . "I'll borrow that memory. I'll give a nice home here in Woodie's memory storage house . . . and a memory that was never mine . . . became mine.

 Sunday October 27, 2o19

Sunday afternoon after a steady paced walk around the block and back into the warmth of my small apartment. Interesting that my apartment is easy to get warm and more difficult to cool down during the summer months.

Ships passing in the night. I always liked that phrase. But I think of it more like I'm a ship and the rest of the human race is the shorline. And some shorelines are unclutterd, beckoning the lone ship to come and drop the anchor for awhile. Other areas of shoreline are less hospitable. No trespassing signs everywhere, rocky walls forbidding any frail boat-craft to even try and land. Alone. For the most part alone we all are. Always searching for that friendly bit of shore line where we can remember what it was once to walk upon earth.

Monday, October 28, 2o19

 

The Disneyland Syndrome Massacre

Scene: 7:45am. David picks Woodie up for his 8am chemotherapy appointment.

David: You doing alright?
Woodie: I didn't get much sleep last night. Disneyland Syndrome?
Davie: What?
Woodie: When I was a kid . . . well, even after I grew up . . . Disneyland was my favorite place to go on vacation. We'd go there, the family, maybe once every other year, I would get so excited that the night before we'd leave for Disneyland that I couldn't sleep.
David: Wait . . .  Are you saying that having chemotherapy at eight in the morning on the coldest f***ing day we've had this year is equivalent to a trip to Disneyland.
Woodie: Well . . . it sounds different when you use a lot of words . . .
David: Man, you're weird.

Thankfully, David's heater works better than his car's air-conditioning because it was super cold out. I dressed in three layers and stil the morning chill got through it all and attacked my skinny-ass arms. So, the warmth of the car heater was a wonderful surprise.

10:23pm
The stuff about me not getting much sleep the night before I went back for another blood test and maybe another chemo session or blood transfusion . . . very true. I try not to be too worried about having cancer (or on the borderline of having cancer) most days cause I know it doesn't help me get better and may well help in making me sicker. But the night before I go back into treatment . . . I can't help but be a bit nervous about it. And that uneasiness won't let me go to sleep.

Tuesday, October 29, 2o19

Damn cold out there . . . and rainy! You know my friend David, right? He loves this shit weather. Me? Too hot, too cold NOT all right by me. Spring and the beginning of fall . . . just right for me. I suffer from a acute case of the Goldilocks Syndrome when it comes to weather.

Got my first bills from the cancer therapy. Actually, not too bad. Medicare seems (so far) to be taking care of a large amount of it. Thanks, Medicare. But there are more bills to come . . . a lot more and the price tag will probably be extremely high . . . but better than not being here anymore. You Can't Take It with You. No you can't because it will all be gone when you pass on, spent trying to keep yourself alive. A good chunk of our existence is spent trying to get as much mileage as we can out of life.

Wednesday, October 30, 2o19
My soul is cold. Not all the layering, t-shirt, plus a sweat-shirt, topped with my magic hoodie can warm up that which has been touch by a single drop of winter sadness.

Forsaken

the abandoned the old chair
at the curb. Just left her there.
How many good years did that
beat up piece of furniture give
to those who just now threw
her away with a single thought?
I would've rescued her
If it hadn't started raining, raining,
raining so hard it drove the legs
of that old easy chair into the muddy
grass so deep that when I tried
to pick her up . . . she wouldn't budge.
So, I left her there in the rain, rain, rain.

At the computer, I glance out
the window . . . she's still there
waiting for someone to save her.

Savior. Hands full of bloody regrets. Cold, dangling six feet above the ground. Lighter than gravity. As grave as the grave. Pulling the shadow from his flesh, the pocket-pickers sing the song there mothers sang:

When I sing the wind sings too
When I weep the broom stops sweeping
And when I sleep death comes calling
I will never ever sleep again

Thursday, October 31, 2o19
YES! It's Halloween! Woo-hahaha! I'm not gonna write much today because it is Halloween! In fact, I'm not going to even proof read this week's entry. I know. Bad writer. But it's Halloween and I leave you and October with this: