Here's the problem: staying up way to late (4-6 in the morning) and getting up way early (7-7:30) on a lot of days. It's not so bad because I'm going to Oncology to get my chemo shots or transfusions. Chemo doesn't take to long. About ten minutes of so. But the transfusions take anywhere from two and a half to three and a half hour ( or longer), but I do get to sleep through the fusion. Which is okay really . . . but then at night . . . I can't sleep.
Thursday, January o9, 2o2o
Evening. Another evening. Dark. A streetlamp on the corner keeps an eye out for ghosts, serial killers, all those creatures that live in the darkness . . . creators of the darkness. The weather-dude on Channel 4, blue suite, white shirt, a skull tight haircut . . . the someone I wore when I was ten years old. "Rain is coming and . . . SNOW! I parts of Oklahoma. Where in OK? Find out at Ten!" He says all this with a fake seriousness to his voice. He should of taken some acting classes.
David has a headlight out on his car. He wanted to go over to Walmart. "But it's dark. You'll get a ticket!" "Nah! I'll just drive with the high-beams on . . ." "But you'll get a ticket and blind a bunch of other drivers with you high-beams on." "Not that many people out this time of night. And I need yogurt." "Can you wait until after chemo tomorrow?" "Well, I guess."
Friday, January 1o, 2o2o
It was stupid. I knew it was going to be cold. David said it would be, the internet weather map said so. I didn't listen. I wore a t-shirt, a thin sweater over it, and my jean jacket, Levy's and jogging shoes with no socks. I thought that would be enough . . . it wasn't. God, was it cold. I finally had David take me home after buying a pizza Sergio's. Got home, ate it and fell asleep for an hour an woke up with a fever . . . took my temp . . . not a fever.
Saturday, January 11, 2o2o
You may have noticed from the entries above that I'm having a difficult time writing about anything of substance. The above is more a descriptive narrative than a thoughtful dissertation on my life. Nothing wrong with it, I guess. And who knows? the above writes might be full of meaningful, heartfelt thoughts. Yeah, who knows. I never can tell people about my poetry, what my poems mean. That's up to the reader to decide, not me the writer.
10:41pm
Some moments when I'm all alone and it is extremely dark enough in my apartment . . . something comes haunting me. What is it? A feeling I suppose, a memory is what I call it. Some sort of mischievous thought that loves nothing more than to flood my consciousness with dreary, sad and frightening stories of me and the boogeyman . . . him chasing me through the old streets of L.A. Sometimes it's me chasing him. Yes, sometimes within my dreams I am the monster that tortures me.
Monday, January 13, 2o2o
1. I'm having a fun time saying and writing/typing out 2o2o. Two twos and two zeroes . . . makes my fingers happy. Don't know why.
2. Have you ever fallen asleep while walking? I have. Didn't realize it until I woke up face down on our front yard's lawn. Early morning, dew wetted grass. Missed work that day.
Tuesday January 14, 2o2o
I'm sorry. This week has been a no-show for my imagination . . . my authorship. But I have been rather prolific when it comes to poetry . . . okay, may be not good poetry but poetry none the less. Sometimes a life, my life doesn't give me enough to write about. I accept that. I just hope my readers will. {smiles}
I'm in an argument with some Facebook science/friends who try to make me believe that I am not either the center of or the entire universe. I keep explaining that I am. Everything I experience in this life, this conscious life revolves around me. And when I die, if I die, all this, all this will die along with me. That last part really gets to them. They all believe THEY are the center of the existence. Silly creatures are humans. {double smiles}
Thursday, January o9, 2o2o
David has a headlight out on his car. He wanted to go over to Walmart. "But it's dark. You'll get a ticket!" "Nah! I'll just drive with the high-beams on . . ." "But you'll get a ticket and blind a bunch of other drivers with you high-beams on." "Not that many people out this time of night. And I need yogurt." "Can you wait until after chemo tomorrow?" "Well, I guess."
Friday, January 1o, 2o2o
Saturday, January 11, 2o2o
You may have noticed from the entries above that I'm having a difficult time writing about anything of substance. The above is more a descriptive narrative than a thoughtful dissertation on my life. Nothing wrong with it, I guess. And who knows? the above writes might be full of meaningful, heartfelt thoughts. Yeah, who knows. I never can tell people about my poetry, what my poems mean. That's up to the reader to decide, not me the writer.
10:41pm
Some moments when I'm all alone and it is extremely dark enough in my apartment . . . something comes haunting me. What is it? A feeling I suppose, a memory is what I call it. Some sort of mischievous thought that loves nothing more than to flood my consciousness with dreary, sad and frightening stories of me and the boogeyman . . . him chasing me through the old streets of L.A. Sometimes it's me chasing him. Yes, sometimes within my dreams I am the monster that tortures me.
Monday, January 13, 2o2o
1. I'm having a fun time saying and writing/typing out 2o2o. Two twos and two zeroes . . . makes my fingers happy. Don't know why.
2. Have you ever fallen asleep while walking? I have. Didn't realize it until I woke up face down on our front yard's lawn. Early morning, dew wetted grass. Missed work that day.
Tuesday January 14, 2o2o
I'm in an argument with some Facebook science/friends who try to make me believe that I am not either the center of or the entire universe. I keep explaining that I am. Everything I experience in this life, this conscious life revolves around me. And when I die, if I die, all this, all this will die along with me. That last part really gets to them. They all believe THEY are the center of the existence. Silly creatures are humans. {double smiles}
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