Thursday, September 12, 2013

Hey Buuuuddy

Yesterday a friend I've had for almost 20 years came to visit. He wrote a nice note to my on FB, too.  I get frustrated and pissed at myself that I can't communicate for shit with him, because we have fun talks. We laugh a lot, talk some serious shit, a little work (even if we all swear we won't talk work, we do, admit it), and about life in general. I enjoy those talks. If we talk about work, it's things we learn about our fields, brag a little, but mostly about funny shit that happened when we worked together. There were a lot of those. Jamie just sat, I got frustrated, he sat. I'd write a little on my board, he'd talk about what I'd asked or said, then he sat. He's comfortable just being in my company. That's damned humbling, I tell ya. I feel like we ought to be doing something. Jamie doesn't care if we do or not. He says, "Take a nap, I'm fine". Well, yeah, that's not gonna happen if I can help it. Seems rude to me if someone drives a couple hours or so to see you. I figure they didn't come to watch your mouth drape open and your trach tube whistle while you nap. Jamie doesn't care. It frustrates me that I can't talk, not that I don't enjoy his company. Honestly I'm pretty happy just sitting with friends and not breezing or being on the go all the time myself. But still, geez.
  Jamie wrote some nice things in his short note on FaceBook. Like how I mentored him on how to pump and what to look for in the field. How I was there when he was getting divorced and supportive, and gave good advise. I hope that was all true. I took heat from a wacko freakin boss we had, but I considered that my responsibility since I was senior man in the field at the time. He was nuts, that boss, and he'd twist off and jump ass over nothing. Or make shit up, or intentionally screw you over just to eat your ass out. I'd take his shit, and tell Jamie and the other guys "Just wait, the Karma Police will get his ass". In the long run they did. Like Jamie said, Karma Police, regular cops, and folks at the nut house finally brought him down. It was a damn shame, because if he'd not been such a asshole at work, he had potential to be about half way decent. I didn't see myself doing anything out of the ordinary for Jamie, at least in my mind. I'm glad I was able to help him out, though. It's a good thing to hear you've done something for your friends, especially if your don't realize you're doing it at the time. Thanks for coming by, next time we can work on the Fat Girl, and I won't have to feel like I've been such a drag of a host

  Friends are damn important. Sometimes more important than family. Good friends you can talk to about things that the family doesn't need to hear, because it would upset them, or make them feel bad. As good as your relationship with your family is, there's always something that needs hashed out without them hearing it. Why yes, even I have to do that once in a while. Still. You worry about your family, so you use your friends as sounding boards. Why? Because you worry about them too, and they worry about you, that's why. Good friends will tell you what a dick head you're being, and mean it as a way to help you out, not just as a way to belittle you. Good friends make you mad as all get out, but you can't stay that way with them. Because you know you've done the same thing with them. You can tell each other you're screwing up and not lose faith in each other. Those are good friends. They are important, make certain you tell them they are. I've been pretty fortunate in my good friends. I've got a lot of friends, don't get me wrong, probably hundreds of friends and acquaintances, but really only 7 truly good friends.

    Let me explain that a little bit if I may. This blog, and my Facebook page is the most open I've been about what goes on with me in my entire life. I generally kept things pretty close to the vest, with the exception of Liz. The Lovely knew everything all the time. Because she is my rock and my grounding rod. I figured anything going on with me was really no ones damn business anyway. Yeah, yeah, I know, selfish. Yes it was, because I don't like asking for help, never have. Irks me still to ask for help and I just won't unless I'm out of options. All the folks I've reconnected with, I consider all of you friends. I'll help any of you out in any way I can. I also know that you'll do anything to help me out as well. That's great. It makes me uncomfortable, but it's a wonderful thing to have so many support me as I do. It's a lot humbling, and very encouraging. I thank all of you every day. I started being open with my cancer story really back when I got healed up the first time. I'd go talk to strangers about what they might encounter, who they should talk to, what kind of questions to ask, where to find resources. That kind of stuff. Because I found it lacking when I was being treated. Even a bit of that at MD Anderson, one of the best cancer places in the US has trouble with just speaking plain to patients.  That being said, I only have 7 good friends.

 They stood by me when I was being less than what I should have been, and told me so. Those are the 7 guys that after years of not seeing each other, we jump back in like it was yesterday. Damn near like watching the Hung and The Breathless soap opera. In 10 minutes we'd caught up all the time we'd missed out on and never missed a beat. Rare, that is, for certain. Those 7 guys know some things about me that Liz may not even know, and that's okay too. Everyone needs something that not everyone knows about. Keeps life interesting. Not that it's been all peaches and cream with these friends, no sir, no how. I've felt like I had to give a couple some time to sort some of their own business out, and I'm sure they felt that way about me as well.  That's okay. It doesn't mean I don't care about them any less, it means that there's not much I can do to help sort out their own feelings and problems. Doesn't mean we can't and didn't get past that either, just that we needed time. One of my really good friends died a few years back. Tom Ruch. I mess him a little every day. How much that hurt me, well even my good friends didn't know about that, neither did The Lovely. That was something I kept to myself and had to work through on my own. The sad thing on my part is that I let so many years pass between my good friends and myself. I was hell bent on doing shit on my own, without anyone but Liz and I, that I missed some good years. Fucking mistake that, and I apologize to you guys. I shouldn't have done that. Now that it's heading toward the end of this cycle, I can honestly say it won't happen again! HA!

  Back when I was a kid, we lived on a section ranch in Russell county. I know I've mentioned that before. My little brother would run me bat shit with "I wanna go! Let's do this, let's do that", enough to make you open a vein, I swear. I taught him how to ride a bike out there. It was a quarter mile from the county road to the house. We started at one end, which going from the house to the county road was a little up hill, and I got his started. "Pedal!! Pedal you whiny little shit!!" Crash. "Okay, get up on it and go again. I've got shit I want to do and not mess around with your ass trying to ride a bike". Off he'd go. Crash. UP, crash, up, crash. Cry, off to mom, back out, cry. Scratch, cry, crash. At that end of the morning he was riding the bike and I was off on the horse as far away from him as I could get.
 Once when he was tagging along while I did my chores, I left him standing. He grabbed a clod off the wheat stubble and drilled the back of my head. Oh yes, ass whippin on the way. He was pretty speedy and had a good jump on me. I rounded the edge of the house just to hear a huge crash. Glass breaking, I look at the front porch storm door, and all I see are ass and feet. He tripped and went through the glass door. "Well, I'm off to jail now, I've killed the stupid little shit. Chased him until he tripped. His throat's cut or he's got glass clean through his middle". Good or bad, I didn't. I got an ass eatin, but I think in the long run the folks were glad he didn't cut his throat. He did, however, steer clear of me for the next couple of weeks. Probably a good idea.
 That summer, right before school started, the horse and I got in trouble for swimming across the pond. I had on new jeans, jeans jacket, shirt and boots. All new. I bailed on the horse bareback, with just a hackamore to steer with. Usually not a problem, until today. We were out riding the cattle, looking at calves and trying to avoid the bull, who had a short fuse and didn't like me much. Another story for another blog. Anyway, something distracted the horse on the other side. I didn't have enough head control with the hackamore to turn him, he just starts off across the pond. I pull my feet up. Deeper. I stood on his back. Deeper. I sat back down, with my feet up on his neck and my middle getting soaked. And out the other side we came. Boots were dry. Clothes, not so much. Ma was peeved. Fortunately, laundry day in town was coming up before school started, so I had a jacket to wear.
 Fun on the farm

 Today's blog was brought to you by the letter 3 and the number Q.
 Have fun girls and boys. And hug a buddy. They need it too

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