Zippidy Do Dah

I shall not lose my mind. I shall do my best to grit what are left of my teeth and carry on. I shall accept that text messaging is here to stay. Even though that alone is enough to cause me to throw myself to the floor and crash into a runaway electric wheelchair. I will restrain myself from pummeling the skinny Christine to her bloody demise. Is any other American woman still sporting that loathsome Kate Goslin hairdo? I will listen to her mother's lies and remain silent. AND I shall not lose my mind.

I will continue to try to sleep within the ridiculous performance each night designed to keep Anna from tearing her tracheotomy  tube from her chest I will ignore the creepy man who lurks in a dining room chair at the side of the room. He texts and plays telephone games; keeping the lights on and the TV volume much more than mumbling.  And I will  not lose my mind.

I found some cheery colorful pictures that I successfully copied and pasted; but cannot figure out how to copy and paste them to here. I will attempt again later.  I am enjoying searching for obscure items on Pinterest.  The New Yorker puzzle is a gas and actually solvable.

AND I will not lose my mind.

Long Lost Self

Many changes.

  Autocorrect is new. It seems to be more a hindrance than a help. And now I type with a snazzy pencil which has its own tiny battery. Both seem to cramp my style. Perhaps both will be blessings in the long run.     

I think about the long run a lot lately.

I am what is called politely "bed bound".  My legs stopped working in an explosion of excruciating pain. After many poking and pushing and sticking tests; and many head shaking specialists I arrived here. Crippled Old Folk Land.

In my adolescence I thought the coolest possible job would be to be able to stay in bed all day reading and munching on cold red delicious apples. I was wrong.

The apple and reading parts are cool; but there are other elements that really, REALLY suck. More about that another time.

This post is to let my loyal readers know that I am not quite dead.




 

God Hates Me

Time for this deity to get called out!

I'm sure my tribulations don't measure up to the crapulence going on in the outside world, but I have had enough.  End time I tells yeah.  But what is all this crap with "child of god" and "eyes on the sparrow" shit?  Sorry,  I am off the train.

Here is why:  Regular readers are at least marginally aware of my pain and agony battles.  Screaming, crying, begging, are everyday strategies of mine.  Also I do a great deal of praying.  I do my best to submit myself to suffering and try (so mother fucking) hard to understand and accept whatever this lesson is supposed to be.

After more than six months of weekly phone calls.  Waiting on electronic prompt cues.  Responses that never come.  Redefining and clarifying and repeating answers and questions.  And then doing it all another jillion times  THE INSURANCE COMPANY TELLS ME THEY HAVE NO RECORD OF MY REQUESTS EVER BEING MADE!!!!!!!

NOTHING!!!!!

nothing?

really?

nothing?

how is this possible?

"your primary care physician needs to submit these authorizations."

yeah.  i know.  six months ago i was told this stuff had been taken care of and everything was in the works."

we have no record.

ok.  bye.

Well, that is certainly a medical fuck job I didn't see coming.  So much for that teeny sliver of hope.

Frankly, I am out of ideas.  But I know I will NOT last another six months.

Play It Loud

23 Days Ago

Suicide Below The Waist

Pain trumps everything.

Prayers go like this:  Take it away! Take it away! Give it to someone else! Anyone else!  If this is a lesson I don't want it!  I don't get it!  I will never get it!

Pleas go like this:  Kill me now!  I swear!  I'm ready! Kill me now!  Just cut the damn thing off!  I don't need it anymore.  Please, please, please.  End this!

Wounds look like this:  Cigarette burns.  Ringed and surrounded by deep red flesh.  Moist.  Hardened blisters.  Serrated scrapes tearing away what remains of the surface.  Fire.  Pulling, ripping with every movement.

What time is it?  What did I want to accomplish today?  What did I do?  Was that an accomplishment?  When the tears come and continue what is the cause?  Will it ever end?

I will never get better.

Tending Their Old People

Viewing the parking lot across the street from Elder House allows me to observe the myriad methods  used when visiting the elderly residents.

Some exit their cars after many, many minutes.  Stalk along the asphalt, empty handed, cell phones planted to cheek.  Most times these types do not stay very long.  Timed out probably just enough to elevator to the upper floors and I imagine stand with hands in pockets.  Quick exits.

Others arrive with flimsy plastic shopping bags.  Groceries and cleaning supplies.  Lots and lots of plastic bottles of water.  These folks show up alone.  No kids and never any teenagers.  These folks never take the old ones out for lunch.  On weekends a trip to church might be in ordered.  On holidays they come with balloons or teeny Christmas trees.

And there are very few who pull their vehicles into the driveway near the maintenance door.  This is where ambulances, garbage trucks, and moving vans park.  But sometimes people come and bring loads and loads of stuff.  One woman dropped off half a cut up cow for an uncle.  Two men came on a rainy day and delivered a wet bar and two garden hoses.  One very argumentative family spend more than three hours shrieking at each other as they packed up what seemed like millions of black garbage bags.

Nobody smiles.

Birdsong Does Not Enchant Me

1:30, 3:15, and 4:47 every single night.
Overwhelming noise of invisible birds.
Relentless, repetitive, beyond the definition of noisy.
No melody.
No triumphant crescendos.
No accompaniment.
No relief.
Annoying as car alarms.
Not quite as annoying as fingernails screeched on a blackboard.
If there is beauty there I have never heard it.
If there is communication there I cannot identify it.
And like road kill it is unavoidable.
I'm sure the assault will occur again tomorrow morning and I will be forced to listen.
I will have no choice.

But Not For Me

Baseball

Football

Hockey

Auto Racing

Horse Racing

Basketball

Soccer

Tennis

Wrestling

Golf

Lacrosse

Myriad Others

 

I listen to one radio talk show.  In a three hour stretch most of the time is devoted to sports.  The rest is filled with serious discussions of conspiracy theories about everything or how Waukegan is the answer to everyone's prayers for anything.  The entertainment factor is wearing thin.  The political talk is ridiculous and humorous; but the sports stuff is mind numbingly dull.  The sports alone are almost criminal.  However the real insanity is that EVERYTHING is made related to sports!

Professionals/Amateurs

Big League/Minor League

Jumbotrons

"Signage"

Injuries

Historic Landmark Status

Airline Schedules

Urinals

Spotlights

Hats

Immigration Status

Education

Terrorism

Unions

Trains

Hot Dogs/Nachos/Cumberland Sauce

Well, no.  I add in the cumberland sauce reference in an attempt to relieve the boredom.  Time for a station change I reckon.

My Happy Day

This is MY family

and

They are EVERTYHING PRECIOUS!