I never know the difference between a cold and a fever. "starve a cold, feed a fever." Not sure which I have but my guess is a fever because I'm sweating with a bit of chill to my bones. So I'll say fever. I'm sleeping a lot but only 1-2 hours at a time. The heart doctor's office called. Well, not the nurse but a phone-bot called. I'm suppose to go in on Thursday for the annual check up. But I got a "fever" so I should probably not go. Tomorrow I'll call the heart doctor, and in my best phone-bot voice, reschedule for next week.
Fredrick Schroeder (Facebook friend) made this pencil drawing (above) of me from this alien pic I created of myself some years ago. it's creepy how much the drawing looks like my real self . . . except, of course, for the two extra set of eyes. :) I think I've written a few poems about feeling alien on this planet.
Alien Backpackers
Friends
come and go and come and go
and dreams do too but they don't slam doorsand yell and scream and shout about
"How unfair you are, you fuckin’ bastard!"
I sleep well, though, when I sleep.
The sleep of a dead man who hung himself
out to dry during the winter months
and didn’t allow anything, anyone
to get in the way of his self-employed misery.
By degree we all must suffer the dead things
that live inside our tiny but quite tidy heads
and won't allow us (who sport a conscience)
one moment, one single dull moment of peace.
I'm afraid I've lost the choo-choo of thought
I started this poem off with. But does it matter
if words mean nothing, describe nothing,
amount to nothing more than an aging hope
that someday alien backpackers will stop by
and read this poem and say, "Damn,
now that guy, he could write!"
Woodie 11-21-13 (rewrites 11-21-15)
Saturday, January 13, 12:12am
Still, I do sound a bit like a paranoid hypochondriac, don't I? Maybe true. A man I did admire, who I thought would live forever did die last week, Tony Maffucci. He was older than me . . . but still. There are those deaths that are so profound to an individual it is hard not to think of your own death. I may write more after I go to bed and wake up . . . today.
1:47am
Did venture out to Art Walk this evening. Not much going on because it was so cold. Below 30 degrees. Like a frozen wasteland. Only two street musicians out on the sidewalks. Brave souls. We made the rounds to the Main St. Gallery and down to the Stash. But I was getting tired way to fast. Stopped for dinner at one of the local watering holes that had food. Patty melts and pub fries and the Ale Bar. Mmmm, good. But that was it. feeling the sickness creeping on me. David took me home, I got in right at 9pm just in time to watch Blue Bloods.
Sunday, January 14, 10:31pm
I wore my new Chucks for Art Walk. That's them on the left. What do you think? Yeah, I know. Weeeeeeeird! But only one guy noticed them at Art Walk. "Nice shoes," he said as he passed me. My friends on Facebook were a bit more vocal. Brother Timothy typed, "This means you got six pairs of tennis shoes: 1 green pair 1 red pair, 1 green and red pair, 1 red and green pair. Okay, so I don't know how that adds up to six pairs of Chucks . . . but I was never that good at science. Anyway my friend David bought the two pair of Chucks for me. I kept trying to talk him out of it but . . . Oh, and David sent me an IM about Ford reintroducing the Mustang from the movie Bullitt! I was so excited. It was a dream of mine to own a replica of the Bullitt Mustang! Of course, I could never afford it, and to tell the truth the new Bullitt doesn't really LOOK like the original Bullitt. That's a bit of a bummer.
But honestly, do I really want a car that was built in 1968? Hell, yeah!But I would want state of the art air-conditioning and a 21st century sound system so . . . I really don't want an original Bullitt car, do I? Life is full of these ironically ironic moments, and yes, I know it's probably isn't ironic but I couldn't pass up the use of "ironically ironic."
Have a good rest of this day!
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