The Daily {W}rite November 2019 wk. o4

I know. Where have I been? Well, the first of November, as you already know, I was deep into the chemotherapy. Most days I just felt . . . too depressed, too lethargic to write. However, starting about a week ago I started felt better. Yep! Two weeks now without an over abundance of shortness of breath. And to be honest, I was enjoying (am still enjoying) the feeling that I'm my old self again that I just didn't feel like writing on the blog. I have kept with the poetry, writing pretty much a poem a day (or night). But here I am back on the blog due primarily to David telling me I should get back to it. Let me catch you up:

Two dark nights ago I did battle with a ninja mouse that invaded my apartment. Actually, he was in the bathroom. I walked in on him and he just started running circles around me . . . It scared me . . . In self defense I grabbed a sturdy, plastic mop leaning against the bathroom door and wacked the little fucker with it . . . blood gushed out of him. A lot of blood. I felt awful. I picked the mouse up by its tail and put it and the weapon I killed him with in a plastic back . . . out to the dumpster I crept . . . my evil deed in hand.

Went to see the Korean movie Parasite yesterday. IF you are a lover of great, contemporary film making . . . see this movie. Don't want to say any more than that, which is a good sign.

Julia Roberts was being considered for the role of Harriet Tubman back in 1994. People just found out about it and they are mad. Julia Roberts didn't get the role. In fact, the movie Harriet was just released November o1, 2o19 with Cynthia Erivo playing the title character.

David and I have been getting up and out of our respective Apartments do a little walking for the exercise we both really need. Driving to the mall to walk, we saw this little old man all hunched over, big overcoat surrounding is rather plump body. We went walking and I couldn't get the old man out of my mind. I noticed I was walking a lot like him . . . hunched over, body feeling so fragile I was afraid of taking one step with out my cane for balanced. He, of course, didn't have a cane. But I felt so like an old man for the first time ever, I think. But magically, I regained a lot of my strength do primarily to me taking a stroll every day. I still carry the cane . . . just in case.

It's 3:52 in the afternoon and I'm listening to some New Age music. Very soothing, calming . . . a bit freeing of the imagination. Peter Pan poetry rummaging through my thoughts . . . looking for a way know doubt  . . . finding its way through the cluttered closet maze . . . my fingers pray for their swift journey.

Saturday, November 23, 2o19

Angry! My anger just doesn't pop up out of nowhere  . . . it is ignited by someone putting a match to my already short fuse of a temper. Anger is how I deal with "attacks" on me physical or mental attacks. I really have a hard time telling the difference between the two. But my angry response to what I perceive as hostile, an open aggression towards me always seems at the time to be warranted. But when I do defend myself against the aggression of others, they, the trespassers of my space (again, both physical as well as mental) look at me as if it's ME who is being unreasonable.

Friends of mine, really close, good friends of mine who feel it's necessary that they lecture me on how to act in public. I'm not suppose to say certain things around certain people because . . . well, because my opinion about things like art and politics are so "radical" that I might disturb the well being of others. Wow! I should be happy, I guess. I mean, I must be an extremely powerful person if my "opinion" can change the fucking world of those around me. What a profound, magical, mystical voice I must have that just the sound of it can destroy the world and all the people in it. Damn it. Now I'm angry again. {smiles}

11:09pm

November's Winter Breath
This is me. This is the me that winter carves from my flesh, pulls from my bone marrow . . . this is me the pink, anemic blood that runs like a crippled tortoise through the dry beds of my withering veins. And the rest of the world? This wadded up paper thin world, this pale white world as anemic as I am . . . And the other fleshers, the two legged, furless fleshers. To stone they've turned. Too long they turn away from the truth . . . stone is what you become when you refuse the life within you.

Sunday, November. 24, 2o19

The Story of My Life

a play in one act

by Woodie

Scene: At the order counter of a fancy restaurant.

OD: (Order Taker) Can I help you sir?

Woodie: Yeah, let me have a Rueben without sauerkraut. That comes with fries, right?
OD: I'm sorry sir. We just ran out of fries.
Woodie: (to himself) Fuck.
OD: We do have potato chips for a substitute side.
Woodie: Nah, that's all right.
OD: I'm really sorry, sir . . . About the fries.

Woodie: It's alright, man. We just reenacted the entire story of my life.

END SCENE
Postscript: A fancy restaurant with an order counter? Yeah, I know.

5:22pm

There is nothing to be done. Not at this moment  not in the moments to come. Not in a future world, an altered reality where human beings are kindly, warm, interested in other human beings and their fantasies, their hopes and dreams. Nothing to be said either. No words strong enough to open the minds of those who chose not to think beyond their own well being. The brain has gone on vacation. The mind is closed. Out to lunch. Only the crumbs remain for the few fat rats who are strong enough, ruthless enough to devour all in front of them . . . all of them . . . for a few crumbs.

I forgot yesterday and everything I knew the day before . . . yesterday. No trick to it. However, forgetting the future yesterdays before they're born . . . another discipline all together.

Monday, November 25, 2o19
Haven't been to bed yet. Got to be at the hospital in for hours, wake up David in about three. Oh, well. Extremely sad this morning. Why? Hmm, I'll think about it, write about it later. I got to at least try and sleep a bit.

Tuesday, November 26, 2o19 

Rowdy time at the blood doctor's. An RN that's been on maternity  leave for three months worked on me for the blood test. I didn't know her but she seem to know what she was doing. My blood was okay so I left the oncology office . . . and RN Kelly came running out   . . . "Oh, you need to come back for a blood transfusion today" Oh, sure no problem. David and I went to Stella Nova, got coffee, sat down and my phone rings. "Yeah?" "Robert, this is Nurse Kelly. We need you to come back in as soon as you can for another blood test, okay?" Okay, so gulped the coffee down, went back to the hospital and the same RN that took my blood earlier was taking it again. She apologized for the mess up and gave me a new blood test, I went home for a nap and returned at two for a blood transfusion. During the transfusion, I dozed off several times . . . waking up to see David sleeping in the small chair across from me. Sometimes I forget how good of a friend he is to me.

Wednesday, November 27, 2o19
I refuse to count the many shadows drifting into my apartment from the window. I, however, can feel  them counting MEs as I sit quietly at the computer and try to come up with something witty to say for my readers . . . and most times . . . I know I fail.

Thursday, November 29, 2o19
Having a difficult time tonight writing out my monthly (bi-monthly) bills. I keep wanting to make the date out as: 11-19-19. I don't know why. I'm sure I'll never know why.

Whoever said that people my age can't have new experiences sure didn't eat the pizza I had this afternoon at one of the "new" pizza places in town. The worst pizza I ever had! Way too expensive ($20-$23  a pie!), and it only came in an 18" size! AND it tasted like warmed over crap! Crust so thin it only had one side! (Thank you, I'll be here all week). I ate maybe three or four pieces of it because that's all I could get down. "Do you want the rest in a box to go?" Asked the cute little waitress. Her and the other waitperson fought over who was going to put my pizza in the box. AND the box was way, way BIG . . . the Godzilla of boxes. So, I took my pizza in its box outside, and as soon as I got out of range of the restaurant . . . I shoved it into a trash can, which was a bit of a chore cause the damn box was so BIG!

Saturday, November 30, 2o19 (December on it's way!)

Well, the transfusion they gave me on Monday sucked as bad as the pizza I had on Thursday. Yeah, I ate  . . . four pieces through the rest away . . . too late. I started feeling crappy as hell. Stomach upset, I kept tasting that fuckin' pizza all night . . . sleepy real sleepy. But I woke up Friday and . . . fuck. Dizzy, could barely stand up . . . And Saturday? I was back to feeling lousy from the chemo and the cancer. I could barely stay awake when David and I went to his daughter's for a Day After Thanksgiving Day Thanksgiving Day! Shortness of breath was back . . . big time. The dizziness too. Shit. I thought I was getting better.

The art/poem on the right I created from a lost poem I wrote back in 2o13. I do that a lot. Lose a poem, find it later and do a few rewrites on it. But there are some that never get found. Lost almost all the poems from 2oo5-2o16 when my thumb drive committed suicide. Oh, well. See you in December. {smiles} P.S. The art/poem needs more work.

The Daily {W}rite November 2019 wk. o2

So, went shopping, grocery shopping, and David needed this case of some soda  . . . scene: David tries to get low enough so he could pull a case of soda out. "Wait," I say. I bend down . . . and yeah, real struggle to get it out cause the cases were real heavy and pushed to the back of the shelf. But I got it out, tossed it into the cart and . . . fuck. I can't breath, I can't move. All I can do is lean on the grocery cart and try to catch my breath. Moral of the story: Get one of the grocery clerks to lift heavy shit into the cart.

Saturday, November o9, 2o19
Oh, goodness. Last night after the Smart Saver's Grocery Store Massacre I went to Art Walk . . . murder on me. Man, I just couldn't walk a few steps without stopping to catch my breath. FUCK! So, had David drive me home early. I just laid on the couch. I knew I needed to call the hospital "hotline" but I fell asleep . . . and woke up this morning feeling . . . pretty good. I called the hospital anyway and told the doctor on call what happened. She said if I felt ok then I should just take it easy until my appointment on Monday . . . BUT if I did feel really crashed I should get down to the hospital and get a transfusion.

Sunday, November 1o, 2o19 

"My anger woke me up. Well, no, not exactly. My anger woke itself up, and it could care less if I got up or stayed asleep. Unfortunately, anger doesn't understand the law of human physics. An emotion can't do anything on its own. Emotions MUST have their host's conscious permission before they go on any emotional tirade. So, here I am, wide awake with my anger, with my finger on the red button of the flesh bomb that I and my emotions live in." -Woodie

Yes, I did. Woke up angry about this country and its fucking politics. And I'm made that everybody thinks they know what America is all about, all those Facebook friends want to lecture me on what the USA is ALL about. Folks not Ameircan. I've listened to you rant and rave about America, about my generation, how my generation elected Trump, and how my generation won't do anything about global warming . . . and all of what you say is bullshit. Me and my generation have been actively working to change things in this country. n't feel wellSo, don't go on telling me what you know about this country I live in because you don't know shit. WE got Trump elected? Shit you attitude, your stereotyping me and my generaiton? Shit you sound just like Trump and his fucking mindless minions.

Monday, November 11, 2o19
Not writing much tonight. Lots to think about before I put my thoughts into the computer blog. Had a meeting with the doctor and I asked her the question I should have asked on the first day: "So, will I beat the cancer with this treatment?" She looked a bit shocked. "No." She said it with great authority. "You'll be taking this therapy for the rest of your life." "Oh." "I did tell you that there was only one cure for the type of cancer you have . . . " "Bone marrow transplant. "Yes, which at your age . . . " "I wouldn't survive the cure." "Yes."

Tuesday, November 12, 2o19

Lost . . . Reward

3:21 in the morning/and my caffeine haunted/mind cant help but/calculate just how/many 3:21s in the/morning my eyes/have left, how many/beats my heart has left?/My consciousness/will wander off someday,/will run off someday/chasing its shadow like/a dog chases a cat . . ./there will be a time/when I call after him, and/he doesn't come back.

Thursday, November 14, 2o19
Oh, boy. I barely feel like writing this disclaimer for not writing more. I don't feel well. Although some good, good news for David . . . I think. Well, will try to write about it tomorrow. This week? This is all you get.

The Daily {W}rite November 2019 wk. o1

A fall, a prat fall, a slow burn, a giant crash into November. I feel like November today. Breathing is  labored. The gasp for air . . . like the gold fish taken from its home. Its mouth wide open searching for that healthy taste of bowl water. Not another appointment until Monday. I think I can last that long. But should I? That is the ?

I don't miss being in love. I really don't. I don't really even miss someone liking me enough to call me on the phone, "What are you doing?" There are those few who seem to have an interest in me . . . well, that may be too boisterous. There are those select few who are curious about me. Yes, a bit of a curiosity . . . that's me. I'm a thick foggy day with grey wet skin. You're hands reach out . . . a simple cold touch on your finger tips . . . and you pull away.

Sunday, November 3, 2o19
The world warms up a tit-tat. 66 degrees outside. All week mother nature changes her demeanor . . . from scolding cold . . . to a chilly breeze. Nice to know that we have a few more days of autumn before winter comes rolling down the street, through the boughs of the elm trees, crawling through the cracks in the floor and walls of my apartment. Pic at right from November 29th, 2o17.

Tuesday, November o5, 2o19

The Not Paying Attention to My NRS' Instruction Blues.

So, Friday night it hit me. Went with Brendon to see the new Terminator movie (it was good!), I went to the restroom after the movie started and . . . fuck. Out of breath by the time I climbed the grade to the theatre exit. FUCK! And Saturday and Sunday even worse! Got to the hospital for my regular "cancer appointment" and told the RN who's been working with me from day one what happened and she nicely jumps on me, "No, no, no, no, no! When you crash like that you gotta phone us.

PHONE US! You got the emergency number . . night or day you phone us when you are in trouble." I also asked her about wearing the surgical mask . . . "All the time when you are around people. On the street, here in the hospital, and wherever there's a group of people who could infect you with there germs! Remember, your immune system is compromised, it's flu season!"  And let me say that written this out, it looks like she was mad at me and was reading me the riot act . . . no. She's concerned for me and I felt ashamed that I wasn't doing everything to please her AND save myself. Fuck. I gotta take this seriously.

Wednesday, November o6, 2o19
I was going to go have coffee at Starbucks on the Corner, but couldn't get David up. I could've gone by myself, take my bills down to the OU Student Union  . . . but a bit worried that it would rain on me, and after last weeks health scare I decided not to chance it. So, sat on the porch and waiting for the mailman to come by, and he did. . . he went right by me as I waved my two letters in my hand! Fortunately, he stopped two houses down, and I ran

(ran pretty good too) to catch up with him before he left the block. Got there fast enough that he hadn't even gotten out of his mail truck. He opened the door and froze when he saw this masked being standing in front of him. Then he smiled and apologized for not stopping to see if there were outgoing mail.

It was actually nice out. Had my sweats on, a long sleeves shirt and my jean jacket on . . . AND . . . a surgical mask! Like I said . . . not taking anymore chances. Oh! and I brought my camera out to the porch. Got a few good autumn shots . . . a nice day.

Thursday, November o7, 2o19
Not more to write today. Still feeling good and hoping that I can make it to my next lab without crashing. Did go out today with my sister to have dinner. Put the mask on and went. No one seemed to notice . . . except one little girl (maybe 4 or 5 years old) who keep staring at me as her mother dragged by the hand to another part of the restaurant. {smiles}