Shit Happens

I used to never be sick except for head colds or an occasional scratch or scrape on my skin. They weren’t much fun at the time, but I guess now they were “the good old days”. I remember I tried to pretend that the colds didn’t exist or that I didn’t have to modify my behavior for them. Even if I used up a ton of Kleenex boxes in the process, I’d just keep going. I’d drop the Kleenexes at my feet or throw them willy-nilly in the back seat of the car and just keep going. I was the Energizer Bunny with a snotty nose. I remember once when I had a cold I gave a ride to a young woman who was unaware of my habits. As we progressed on the errand, she became increasingly conscious of the hundreds of tissues in the car. When she realized how full the back seat floorboard was, she visibly shuddered. I’d never thought of it that way, but I guess she was right. I was repellent. I was embarrassed. While she ran her errand, I cleaned every tissue out of the car so that she wouldn’t have to see them on the return ride. I was a good boy that trip, but I didn’t exactly become a Neat Freak from then on. Years went by before I actually stopped being so nasty. I wasn’t that way all the time, but if I had a cold, I was. If I was sick, I didn’t give a damn.

It’s hard to fight against those old habits even now, but I do. I wash my clothes. I pick up behind myself. However, I don’t sort, stack, or fold too well. My laundry may or may not leave the laundry basket. Medicine bottles and other items are strewn across my dresser top as if they were empty beer bottles. I don’t actually collect such bottles or Coke cans any more, though. I guess I’m afraid of breeding roaches or ants. And, fortunately, cigarette butts don’t follow me every step of my way any more. I quit smoking ten years ago, but now is when I’ve begun to be really sick. I don't know if I'm paying for my sins late in life, but it's possible. It doesn’t make sense, but Life doesn’t have to make sense. Shit happens. That’s the popular phrase. I guess it’s fairly accurate.

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The Way Out

I tried to sidestep or delay it, but then I talked to the medical practitioner and he has little doubt about sending me for gastrointerology tests and doing so however soon it can be done. I don't know if it's good or bad, but it's worrisome. It's more complication, yet maybe it's the way to find out what's wrong. It's too much illness at once, though. I was already worried about not seeing very well. I felt beat down enough just by that. I'm getting tired of thinking of nothing but feeling ill. Maybe the only way out of it is through it--but Christ, there's another damn saying i could live without.

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Known By All

Paul Dirac
"In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite."

Humility

Ted Turner
"If I only had a little humility, I'd be perfect."

Pretending

Sacha Guitry
"You can pretend to be serious; you can't pretend to be witty."

Not Much Clarity

Went to the eye doctor today and he injected some chemical into my eye that's supposed to slowly help. It may be a couple of weeks or more to see an improvement, if then. So I don't know much. I can't see much either. It's on the verge of being depressing. Life's no fun when you never start to see better as the day wears on. Oh, well. I still see, but not with any clarity, far or near. Shitfire.

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Sticking Out My Tongue

Well, it meant something to me, even if it went right past you.

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I. F. Stone

I. F. Stone
"If you live long enough, the venerability factor creeps in; first, you get accused of things you never did, and later, credited for virtues you never had."

Poison Pen Pal

Can’t Tell

There is no more evasive bastard in the universe
Than one’s self, I’m fairly certain of that,
And I expect it to remain so,
More of less, from now until the end,
If time has an end, which maybe it does not,

Can’t tell.

There is no more sticky business
or sneaky maneuver in the universe
Than one’s own, and if that’s all you can hope for
You’re doomed maybe to beat your own trumpet,
Haba whosit, stroke your own woody,
What’s the difference, you may ask
As long as it’s stiff,

Can’t tell that either
To anyone who may ask
Except yourself
And you’re sick of it..

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I Heard From Jill

Jill says she's all right, but that Ft. Lauderdale is like a war zone and everyone's still shell shocked. I can imagine. More and more Americans are starting to know that feeling this year with so many storms! So I don't know any details, but am glad to hear she's not hurt! Now I can go back to worrying about just me!

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