Meanwhile, Back at The Ranch

  There are people spread out in my living room, taking up all my couch. Tonight I'm hoping they'll take over my bedroom, since Liz has to work from 2300-0500 tonight. Having the son, his squeeze, and the youngster Wyatt here is a pure joy. I don't get to see them often enough. As with Sarah, they are (especially now) just out of reach of travel. Sarah and Bo moved in with Liz, me, Dec, and Addie in late August. I do love having them here. But I don't get to see enough of Chance and his family, and they are sleeping in the not so comfortable living room on the couch. They are troopers, that's for sure.
 Wyatt is two, and he acts like he's two. Now it's a riot, when I had two year olds of my own, it wasn't nearly so damned funny. He's just being a two year old boy, and sometimes it's hard for Ma and Pa to get the laughs out of him like I do. Sure, sometimes he misbehaves, all kids to that. And yes, sometimes he can be a little frustrating, but all in all he's fun. Just like Bowen is fun. Both of them were wired for sound yesterday, and I'm positive they wore out moms and dads. I sat back and laughed, because everything that was said to the boys to get them to calm down, sounded vaguely familiar. Oh yeah!! Because Liz and I had said the same thing to our two year olds. We've not had a two year old in the house since 2000, the year Dec turned two. So it's been fun.

  I've had issues with a couple of things. One of them is this just dropping off in the middle of things. Even, if like last night, I sleep 4-5 hours straight through. I only woke up twice. Once before 2300, then not again until 0320. That's time for a shower, get drugs and food in, set a spell, then head to SBucks around 0500. Accomplished that part of my day quite well, thank you. So, I'm sitting in SBucks pumping my coffee down the feeding tube, reading the paper, when I drop off. Only for five or six minutes, but geez man, talk about looking like an old fart, catching a nap while having coffee. Good gosh. When I do that at home, it's for fifteen minutes to an hour. That still annoys me, but I guess I'm gonna have to get used to it. With all the napping during the day, and several hours straight at night, I feel like I'm sleeping more than I'm awake.
     The other thing is some pain,  mixed in with a majorly stiff and swollen neck. Lymphedema helps that a lot, but it seems like it's coming back faster than before. Such as this morning I thought I was going to have to get a hammer and pound my trach back in after my shower.  While I shower, it seems like my sinus love to drain like Niagra Falls. That piles up mucus in the back of my throat that I can't suction until I get the trach in so I can force air up through it to suction most of it out. Other wise it feels like I'm choking, because it won't let air past the mucus plug. Liz was trying to give me a hand, and I couldn't explain to her why I needed to get the trach in first. That's frustrating for me and I'm positive it is for her as well. I'm going to keep my note book handy from now on, so I can write out what's going on before hand. We generally communicate pretty well, except when I've got the trach out. Then all I can make out is "phhhhhhhhhttttttt" the sound of air going out the tracheotomy hole rather than across my larynx. And it's too weird to stick my pinky into the hole long enough to say "I ha oo g is in erst". See why it's frustrating for both of us?

 Yesterday I had issues with what I just finished typing, as well as more pain than today. I've got a nerve thing that makes my right arm hurt from the middle of my upper arm, down into my forearm. Bad enough that it damn near shuts down my ability to function even half right. It's something in my neck, trap, and rear delt. All of that is somehow nailing the nerve down and makes it crater the use of my right arm. I can deal with a lot of cramp, pain, tendonitis thing, but this makes my eyes water. It's something I'll get sorted out, and work around it, if I can't go "Hi diddle diddle, straight up the middle" with it, I might slow or stop it going around it. We'll see.
  I took a long time to let my siblings know that I wish them a Happy Thanksgiving. That's terrible on my part. I said, and it's true, that I had some issues I had to take care of first. That was true, but that's still an excuse, and everyone knows about excuses, correct? Shame on me. I should have just toughed it out and sent them a text message right off the bat instead of putting it off. So yes, shame on  me.

 I'm noticing my face, neck, left shoulder, and clear down the left side of my body is holding a lot of fluid. That adds to the pain quotient, because it limits my movement without needing some excessive help getting the arm up and around for my. I'm trying to stretch more to keep the muscles and tendons limber, but at times that's where it feels like the fluid is hiding  out. The PT and I will get it sorted out and maybe she'll give me a hint on where to rub and how. That way I can relay it to Liz and we can get after that stuff is settling in, and get it moving again instead of piling up. It also causes some pain in my neck (insert wise assed remark here) and face. The collection of fluid, or it's a coincidence, that makes my face swell and muscle cramp. When the left side of my face starts to cramp, it pulls the right side of my face in toward it, and makes my right jaw pop. When it tries to dislocate my right jaw, I almost cry. Damn sure makes my eyes both water. I'm not so sure that it's not worse than running a cheese grater up and down the back of one thigh, but it's close

And yes, my Thanksgiving was wonderful. So many people wished me so on FB that I am a bit overwhelmed with all the postings. I hear that I inspire folks, and that they are learning things about living through what I post. I get so much more than that from my friends and family, I get a big dose of humility. Some days I feel like I'm letting myself, my family and my friends down when I get bitchy and whiny. The both are consumers of time, and that's something I'll never have enough of any longer. If I can help one person, my friend Shannon for example, not be afraid to go get the check up they've been putting off, then that's all the thanks I really need. That's the one thing I was really trying to get across with making the blog. So we could all go through this together, face our fears as a group, and get done what we all need to do so we can grow older. I'm stuck, I won't get much older, but all of you who read this, I hope you can. For the record, no, I'm not afraid. I've already died on the operating table once, this time should be a cake walk. I have DNR orders, mostly so some doctor or paramedic doesn't bounce up and down on my chest again. That one time in MD Anderson left some bruises. And made me very sore. I'll pass on that this next time, thank you.

  I'm giving up guessing how long I've got left. Tuesday I'd have sworn today would be it. Make Thanksgiving with the kids, then check out. Today, though, I feel pretty darn spry. And even if that only lasts a little while, I'll take it. So now, when people ask, How Long?, I can say with confidence, any time between right now and 8 months from now. I still make the best out of every day I'm around to pester folks.

 Book of Rock: For God's sake it's Thanksgiving, why go out shopping and have near fist fights over shit you could buy tomorrow? Fights, arrests, and plain rude behavior certainly isn't within the Christian faith or practices. It's a shame adults act like that, then wonder why the young people act like ass hats. Maybe take a look at how you behave on Black Friday.

Happy Thanksgiving!!! Be careful out there, the nuts are out of the asylum

And a Truly Happy Thanksgiving

 As we all know, this blog is about how my cancer is moving from Terminal Velocity to Critical Mass, and how that affects me. Yes, it's all about me. Once, and sometimes twice, a day I post up how I'm feeling, how the cancer is fooling with me, and how I have such great support from family and friends. After all, I realize I can't do this alone, (although, this burns my ass) and how important my friends are to me and therefor to my family as well

 So, this will be pithy today. Nothing fancy and  I'm thrilled I didn't croak off 3 days ago. Talk about throwing a wrench in the Happy Days gearbox. I'm thankful for that, there's no question about that.


  What is it that makes me thankful? I don't know where to start, and what I put down isn't in any order what so ever, it is what it is:

Cancer: Why the hell would anyone be thankful for cancer? It's gonna kill me this time, for Pete Sake
             I am because it's shown me loyalty and friendship. So much so that I'm humbled by the action
             and attitude of my friends. It's making my family stronger for each other, mentally and    
             physically. As bad as it is, it is a character building event

Family: They are much tougher than I am, and when I got shitty while on the steroids, they put up with
             some of that, but not all. Liz taught me a lesson in running off at the head. It nearly killed me
             when I couldn't control my anger and it spilled off into them. I am learning to be careful
              with my feelings, so I don't hurt others

Friends: Next to family the most important thing I've got going with me on this SNAFU run. They
              help keep me honest. They are good folk all the way around. I started the blog for family
              and friends. So that if one of them gets to ride this rocket, they are doing it blind. And
              to maybe give some insight into what it's doing to one person, not just MD Anderson
              or any other cancer centers idea of what's going on with one person, and hopefully
              if they are in this position, they won't be so afraid.

Breathing:  Yeah, I'm thankful I can still draw a breath. There are some days I feel like I'm ready for it
                    all to end, later on, I'm glad I was too stubborn to quit

The list can go on and on just like these few I've done here seem to wax and wane like tides. It's been a real party so far. It's a damn shame it's going to end sooner than I want it to end. Another thirty or forty years seems like a number I'd rather have.

   Have fun today. Hug the family extra tight, Talk with as many friends as you can, eat a ton of food, then sack out on the couch watching football. But mostly, take time to be thankful for all the little things we sometimes overlook

For those of you traveling this morning, Fair Winds and Following Seas                                                                                                                    
         

Holy!! Dammit!! ARRRRRGGG!! Just, Oh Dammit

  While I slept 8 hours yesterday, only two of them were at night, and those two came between 2000 and 2200 hours. I mean, really. I'm kinda trying to get shit straightened back out after the horrible fucking steroid test. Which I knew the outcome and did it anyway kind of stupidity. There isn't much sadder than knowing how something is going to go, and being there when it does go, and not being able to do a damn thing about it because it feels right. And yes, the steroids jacked with me enough being angry seemed like the right thing. That goes into my "Wow, That's Fucked Up" file. So to go along with the let down that comes with being jacked up 24/7 on steroids, my sleep pattern is messed up worse than polio…..again.
 I have no place to go, so it shouldn't bother me that my sleep pattern is messed up, but it does. I'm groggy right now and still have a therapy to go to this morning. I can get some rest there. It's no good, since my non working will still leave me awake all night, sleep all day

   Chemo brain may have me, but I don't recall if I mentioned I had a cup of joe with an old buddy from LK that lives in New Mexico now. We shot the breeze about all kinds of goofy shit we did when we were in HS. Little stuff like smuggling beer into the brand new theater in Liberal KS. So, Clay H, myself, and Tom R. took a twelve pack of Coors into the theater under our winter coats. That's not the problem. I can't even remember the name of the movie, but that's not the problem either. The problem was what to do with the can's. We decided to set them under our seats and be some of the last ones out. Clay bumped one. It fell. It began to roll. You could hear it over the dialogue and back music. All the long way down, from nearly dead center in the back row, all the way down until it hit the wall under the screen. rowrrowrowr, bonk, rrrrowrrrowr,  well, you get the idea. At the time, I was damn near certain that we were gonna get caught and tossed in the jail overnight. Minor in possession, maybe public intoxication. All the worst shit you could think of was running through my head. Until you hear people start to giggle. And the occasional "oops" when it hit a seat leg or something.
  Clay H reminded me that I convinced them to make fun of the movie out loud while we watched. Ahead of Mystery Science Theater we were, by God. That was a hoot. People laughed as well. Fun times in the LK. Who'd have thought that in just 4 or 5 short years from then that LK would be racing to grab the top spot as "Murders Per Capita" city. Man, for a while there it was rough. Clay H was home from college, asked me if I wanted to grab a beer on ladies night at Yosemite Sam's. Of course I did, sheesh. I'm not sure exactly what happened later on, but Clay H got hammered and some how pissed off some of the LK's biggest hard asses. Some drug selling brothers. I did manage to get between him and the brothers and start for the door, sideways kind of, and definitely no BBQ. We managed to get away with out a scratch. All I remember is "asshole', "spilled", and "my coke". Rough crowd there some nights, and spilling their nose candy would just about get you shot. I did watch every damn thing for the next few weeks. Just because you get a little paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't watching you. Yep, we had a good time. Now it will be back to normal, when the baby comes home. So no, it's never "normal" again after a baby comes along.

  I'm so swollen from God knows what, that it's giving me an ear ache. I don't believe it's in fashion, since they only make 8 per year. So, no. For what that arm candy costs, I could get one Clinical Study session (which I wouldn't do anyway) or pay some more off on baby red. Either way would be acceptable use of my life insurance. HA!! Like I have a say? Nope, I had it basically read "Liz Gets It All). And yes, I believe the kids get a tiny chunk as well. That's up to Liz, she's the one that has to keep up with the house and all. I'm so swollen in my neck and throat that it's difficult to get all the range of motion I had two weeks ago. Thank goodness for therapy. Maybe my PT will have an idea how to help hold the swelling down. Cross my fingers, dot my "i".

 Yes, it's frustrating after being on the steroid  "why is it wrong to just break one arm?" wagon. It's frustrating to have lost nearly all my ability to talk even a little. That's just like taking the icing off the the cake. Doesn't sound as good, does it. Honestly, it's pretty good. It's really good crumbled up in about a half glass of milk. So yeah, I'm frustrated still. But this time I'm not going to take it out on Liz or anyone else. This time I've got control over myself. Just a little bit, not much, but every little bit counts.
  While this is pretty difficult for me to go through when I doesn't bother me as much as it does Liz and the family. It's way easier to fade out, than it is to watch a loved one fade out. At least that's my perception. Someone correct me if I'm wrong

 Book Of Rock: Get your ass moving or you'll be late! (literally for me, because I'm running late now)

Be good, get laid

My Work Here Is Done. "Thank You Masked Man"

 Well, since I finally got all the steroids washed out of my system, and since I am working on being less of a little bitch, I feel much better and way more relaxed. The hardest thing will be not being angry over how the general public behaves. That's the real rough thing for me to correct, and one of the things that really bugs my wife about me. I'm not much for letting people slide on being assholes, and in turn I'm sure that's how I come off. I gotta learn to just ignore the pricks and let bygones be bygones. It'll probably make me feel better as well, I just have to work on that.

 Liz said she wanted to learn how to fix some of the stuff around the house. She got the chance. The way they laid out the plumbing for the drains in the house is ridiculous. Not one central line with everything on a 45degree angle to get into the line, but two separate lines dividing the drains in the house by south and north. One half has the kitchen, wet bar, and laundry on one side, the other is both bathrooms. The side with the most trouble is the kitchen side. About once a year, sometimes less sometimes more, that line gets a partial plug. It's done that since we bought the place. Anyway, I go rent us an electric snake with around 80' of line. I have to wait until she gets home in the first place to help unload the darn thing, because with all my surgery, I can't lift Jack Shit any more. Also because she's going to run it instead of myself
  So, out the darn thing comes, and into the side yard we go. It's dripping melted ice off the roof, and besides being really damn cold, it's almost like it's raining. We get all set up and I run over some rudimentary safety stuff. Like "don't grab that, and "If this happens, run", kind of stuff. She gets the plug out of the wall access and starts in. I'm running the foot pedal to spin or stop spinning the cable. It's going okay, but, (this is my fault, I didn't think about what might happen) her jacket sleeve gets caught up in the cable. News for all of you, that little 1/2 HP motor can break a limb like they are twigs if you don't stop. Fortunately, I was about to drop off the drive to begin with. We got that fixed and her jacket sleeves tucked into the cuffs of her gloves. There's something about running one of the rota-rooter type snakes. It's feel. Liz said she felt like it was stopped. Cool, that's the end of the line then.
  Pulled out the snake and I started water in the kitchen sink. Nope, still plugged. So, it's my turn, not because Liz can't do it, but because I want to see what I missed as we went in the first time. It ran in like a champ. There were two marker flags on the the line, both of them were in, plus about 10' after the second went past. I see now, what we missed. I can feel a solid spot, but it has some give to it. I believe it's what Liz felt, and it's also my mistake that we have to run it twice. A little back and forth with the blade rotating and it slipped through. It went about another 6-8' then really stopped. I'd hit the Ell going into the main line. Liz did everything I told her to do, so the last two things are my fault for not giving her enough info to run the machine like she could have. At any rate (4.75% is a rate), she got the drain line cleaned and ready to rock and roll.
  She's concerned about not being able to fix a lot of the stuff around the house. She'll be better at it, because she is patient. I am not, and with some stuff around the house, I get to the point that no one wants to be around me to help. A shame on my part, I should have been showing Liz and Dec how to fix all the simple things around the house that I tinkered with over the years. Not that I'm looking to live long enough for all of them to pop up, I just need to settle in and write down what has somewhat of a schedule, and explain how to fix it so they have a little reference guide to go through. I'm not stupid, and I know there are so many things that can go wrong I can't cover them all, but they deserve a shot at finding and getting them fixed correctly. I'm betting Liz is sore today, especially in the shoulders and upper body.

Yesterday, early in the AM since I'd slept so long the day before, I showered and was getting ready to start my day. Shower, fix the trach with gauze to keep the outside from getting in there. Well, in the course of the shower my sinuses drain. I can feel them backing up in the back of my throat where I can't suction  them very well, but they will eventually cover my epiglottis, which means I can't take in air normally. I've got the trach, but I believe I'm breathing about 50/50 normal/trach tube. If I bend over, it really makes it worse. I'll damn near throw up. I tell people this, just so they know in case something happens.
  Something did. I put the tube in and cinch up the collar, slip in the inner canula, and can't draw a breath. Zero, zip, nada. Okay, big inhale through my mouth (i exhale right before I put the tube in every time to relax), nothing. I gurgled a little, then nothing. Okay, so the trach should be okay now, right? Wrong, nothing there, either. Wow, I got just a little bit of a breath, not much but it helps. I'm closing in on panic. Can't breathe, that's a fight losing problem. Okay, mild panic starts. Had to shut that down, because I try and practice what I preach and I preach "Panic Kills". Panic is avoided. No breathing from anything. Just as the edges start to get black, and I have to sit or fall, I undo the trach collar and yank out the tube. HUGE breath!! Oh man does that feel good!! I get rid of the "almost passed out" black edges. I try and suction again, still no good. Finally, the mucus causes me to gag and try to vomit. I do not vomit, but I do get rid of the huge plug. I check my trach tube and find a solid blood clot blocking it, about half way up into the tube. That explains why I had a hard time taking out the inner canula, it was wedged in. Spooky stuff. All that cleared up and I'm able to start the day. I wish I'd had time to get one of the kids awake, but it was way too early for that. That was a pretty close call. Nearly passing out. I'm not sure that I'd awoken again. If I'd passed out and relaxed, would the plug in my throat cleared itself? I don't know. I do know, however, that if I'm beginning to struggle with my airways like that again, I'm waking a kid up, if I have to light a bomb to get them up. Back in the day I'd had two episodes of hypoglycemia causing me to pass out on both of them. One at home, one on the rig. On the rig was bad, home wasn't so. I sat on the couch, passed out and woke up about 10 minutes later totally refreshed.  I fear that would not be the case with this problem.

  All in all, what with the steroids helping me make really stupid decisions and being angry at the people that matter most, nearly passing out with real possible chances of not recovering, and some of the other stuff that happens on my way outta here, this week has probably been the worst of the lot. Finding out I was terminal isn't as bad as the way I treated the family and Liz while I was on the damn steroids. Something I knew better than to take in the first place. You know, because I'm a dick for taking them anyway. How bright is a person that tells the nurse, who tells the PA, who tells the Dr (who hasn't even seen me) how steroids affect them, then goes ahead and takes them anyway. All the bad side effects with none of the positive that's supposed to happen. It's like hitting your forehead with a hammer. How long to you keep that up if it hurts the first time?
   The chilly/damp weather is playing hell with my legs and joints. I've got a touch of arthritis in both hands and both knees. I suppose after breaking eight of my ten fingers makes me a bit arthritic there, and I've twisted both knees, plus being on my feet 12-14 hours a day for fourteen years didn't help my knees any. I know I'm not as bad off as some of my football friends. When I do finally slip these mortal coils, I'm hoping I don't have that stuff on the next level. And that once there, I can round up a few folks I know, so we can work some shenanigans. Tom Ruch had better be ready.

 Book Of Rock: For God's sake if you  know something is going to affect you adversely, don't fucking take it. It's your life, not some Doc with God envy, who knows what it your body will stand.

 Today, since we are so close to Thanksgiving, take time to look around at the things that you have. They all have a place, but for giggles take a look at how many you really need or can just be kicked to the curb. You'll be surprised what you don't really need after all.
 Just a little something to look at and ponder upon. I know, for myself, that I don't need a whole lot. I have a lot of toys, they are for pleasure, not necessity. But having them makes me happy to an extent, so I'm keeping them all. It's nice to be to the point in my life that I can have those, and still have the open space that I so truly enjoy

 They talk about living on "The Rugged Llano Estacado". I have news for ya, folks who reside in the Basin. Living here isn't any more tough than up north in the Big Open. A short 240 miles north at Amarillo it's much tougher to live than here. It's not only colder, but it's every bit as hot in the summer. We folk that grew up in The Big Open are a hearty breed. I think that's why I fight this so well. From growing up in the High Plains of Kansas to the Big Open around Liberal Ks and the panhandles, it's a tough row.

   If you're breathing, be thankful. If not, may you speed to your next location, and find it in need of a top hand

Well, I'm Glad That's Over

   When I got so angry on the steroids, I had lots of collateral damage as well. It really hurt my wife's feelings. Which, of course, is probably the single most idiotic thing I've done.  I wrote I wanted to be alone to stew. Yeah, did that. To the point my wife just shut down herself. Bad thing, that. And while I got lots of support for spouting off, there's a reason why I don't. Because even when I'm not angry any longer, the effects of the things I do still linger. I made my wife upset, the kids upset, and even the damn dog. Was it worth all that? Fuck no, never is worth that. I used to be a pretty scrappy kind of guy, and in all honesty, you never really win a street brawl completely. Something is always hurt. And in this case, someone is hurt. I don't like being angry, never have. Bad shit goes down when I'm angry.
 In any event, we text, wrote and talked it out. I hope that it doesn't have a lot of "after side effects" stuff to do.  One of the new ones is "Daddy says no, so that's okay".  Anyway, I'm going to try and put this behind me. Oft times easier said than done.

  So, I've had my "told ya so moment" with Hospice, again. Only this time it wasn't just me that got fucked over. The damn steroids brought all kinds of bad things to the surface that weren't hurting anything where they were lying. I'll be more prudent, in the future over what a surgeon should or shouldn't do. So much so because I hate the way Dr.'s tell me this is gonna be good for you, ignore, at least that's how it seems, anything I tell them about side effects with the drug and myself. The Dex didn't really help the swelling, but what it did accomplish,  was to prove to myself again that they make me angry. We'll be fine from here on out, I believe.

 Liz said yesterday that she's trying to learn to fix stuff when I'm not around. That she'd like me to help her with that, if I didn't get angry if she messes up. I don't recall, but that's  not unusual, getting angry with her when she was working. I also told her that "I got lucky, a LOT"!. It's true, so much of the stuff that comes around with the house I just guessed up on, and it came out fixed properly and not just cobbled together. It's a bold move she's made. Asking me for help with anything has got to be a pain in the ass. She'll be good at fixing the minor stuff. Probably better if I'd stay out of her hair.

 I'm having some trouble this morning navigating my way around everything. I'm increasingly sleepy. They upped one of my pain meds a little, and that may have something to do with it. Or it's a fact I stayed up too late with that Bozo, and didn't get more than a three hours of sleep last night after all the ice cream I melted into my tube. At any rate, it's  not the recent steroid binge I don't think. Something I thought about last night  for the first time. I thought I'd been staying awake all night so that one of the younger kids won't find me dead in the recliner. I rationalized that if I'm awake, they can't find me dead. That's sorta goofy. It won't matter if I'm awake at 3 AM or not, or if I want to croak about 5 AM, it won't matter. I'm going to kick the bucket on my bodies own schedule. Not the one I want.

 Almost time to head for therapy. If I need, I'll come back to the blog today and clarify things. Mostly because I'm not going to proof read this, so I'll have a weird idea how the noggin reacts to new drugs and all. So far, outside of Abby. This should proven interesting at the least LOL

Well I'll Be

 This is as long a stretch as I've gone being pissed off. I'm kind of liking it. Since I've been such an asshole the last couple of days, I've been left pretty much alone. I can stew in my own juices and enjoy the lovely aroma. It's relieved me of major decisions outside of when to nap and did I forget to eat or take my meds. The answer is yes, I did forget to eat. I had to run to the store and get something for my upset stomach so I didn't hurl the three cans of Osmolite I slammed in. It's a mistake for me to take three cans in at a time, they tend to make me ill. But today, I was ill feeling before I started. I'm having this wonderful screaming pain in my right ear. It's not infection like, more of a muscle thing that's pulling my inner ear around. I can flex my jaw a little and it will go away for a while, but comes back. I suppose I'll talk with my Hospice Nurse Monday morning and see what he thinks. Being that next week is T Day, I've got to have all my stuff filled and in my hands by Wednesday night. I did get some stronger break out pain medication. That will be nice.

  I drove over to Odessa today, knowing full well that more dip shit Midland drivers would be out and on the highways. I did try one overpass and decided it was way too slippery to trust. That and a gust of wind came up and pushed the Audi across into the other lane of traffic. Yes, it was slippery, and yes, I got off the over passes and drove the service roads. Not as bad, but still had slick spots. I'm quite partial to the douche bags that think your ABS will stop you the same distance on ice as on snow or dry. Um, no, dick head, they won't. I wished I'd got movies of the asshole that tailgated me, rushed past as I slowed down before I touched my brakes, and with his ABS just clenching up at triple time, slid right through a red light on one of the busiest roads out here. I passed him a few minutes after that. He was driving 20. One extreme to the next. God Almighty.
  Went to Odessa to see an old high school buddy who was in town working last night. He gets this bartender gig with some art galleries. Takes care of all the temporary licensing, sets up a door watch, and tends bar. Kind of a cool deal. He's doing what he enjoys, not getting wealthy, but he seems happy, and for the most part, that's more important than being wealthy, I'd think. We had a nice two or so hour talk in the coffee shop, watching people and just kind of breezing. He's not changed a damn bit. Well, a little gray at the edges, maybe a bit more stocky, but over all, not much. I think he's a Jap spy. It's times like that, when I'm with my friends both old and new, that I sometimes wish I'd not done the surgery. I can't speak for shit, and it hurts to do so, and I end up bleeding from the tumors and raw cancer spots. The "I wish" bullshit doesn't last long, because it serves no useful purpose. Actually neither does being angry. I suppose I should find a way to get over being angry. Then again….naw, I need to get over it.

  With all my pain patches and meds, all the self hypnosis and bio feedback I can muster, this cold snap is fucking killing me. Not literally, I don't think, but man I'm aching beyond anything I've felt before. That's not helping the anger factor either. Generally, back when I wasn't Cancer Man! when I got sick or was in pain above the average aches, I'd sleep and make it better. Now with all the drugs thrown in, I can't rest.  I don't get that at all. Leave me alone, let me sleep, I'll eat and drink when I'm hungry. Now, though, all that is such a pain in the ass, and I have to watch how much I eat so I don't throw up, it's hardly worth the effort. So, yeah, I'm kinda fucking miserable a lot of the time. I'm not writing well, and I think that's part of being distracted by the new found places that weren't hurting at all but are now. It mostly just sucks the ass out of a dead hog. To quote my favorite YouTube video "no no no no. Ha ha! Then fuck it". It's a two year old little boy. He must have paid attention when someone was  pissed off. I lost one of my wedding rings. I had one Liz got me 6 years ago. Then after I got Cancer, I never put the weight back on to make it stay, so I put it on my index finger, and got a nice little hammered silver wedding ring for my ring finger. I got home from Odessa, no index finger ring. I knew it was loose, but wasn't aware it would just slide the fuck off. In the morning I'll rifle my portable suction bag.

  So, since being angry is a waste of energy and time, I'll have to get over this somehow. No, it's not all steroid driven. And no, I really don't want some psycho babble nonsense help. I'll have to sort this one out on my own. But, until then, I'm not going to be very cordial or nice to much of anyone. It's why I shut down last evening and haven't started that particular business right back up. Somewhere there's a trigger I'm missing. My first answer to what I just typed is  "duuuh, dickhead".  I've never been certain as to what it is that's going to kick the temper over on it's side and let it run. Can't be much though, because happens over some of the littlest shit on earth. Got me.

 I'm sitting here dozing off and right back on, so I'm certain this means it goes to sleep, it's ten, I should be up at 4…Perfect

I'm Fucking Tired

 There's more shit on the face of the planet that I'm fucking tired of all the way around  and in any direction any of you want to look. I'm plain old mother fucking tired.

 I'm tired of my temper upsetting people. I don't like it any better than anyone else does. And yes, I will fucking work on getting around that.

 I'm tired of having some pain, some place all the fucking time. Way loaded up on meds or not, it makes no difference, I hurt someplace at some level twenty four hours a day.

 I'm really fucking tired of feeling like shit is my mother fucking fault. And there's a lot of shit that happens that the look and all is aimed right at my ass.

I'm tired of being talked around and about when I sitting in the fucking room with people. Either include me, shut the fuck up, or ask me to leave, I don't give a flying fuck which, but fucking pick one

 I'm God Damned tired of the fucking house.

I'm tired of being made feel like I'm helpless. I'm not, if anyone bothers to fucking ask, I'll tell you if I'm able or not, or I'll try and we'll all find out together.

 I'm tired of trying to put a good fucking spin or face on everything so tender feelings aren't hurt, because By God mine sure as fuck are never hurt, fucking ever

I'm tired of accidentally giving a rat's fucking ass

I'm tired of having to suction my fucking mouth all the time. I sleep poorly because I wake up choking in the night four or five fucking times. If I say "I slept through" so people get off my shit about sleep and rest, I'm actually only awoken choking two or three times

I'm tired of poor service, at any level, any fucking place

I'm real close to tired of being asked "How are you?". I'm fucking dying and I'm pissed off about it, that's how I am.
I say real close because people are actually concerned and I truly do appreciate it. Thank you for asking, really

 I'm tired of taking care of the gross shit, although I won't ask anyone because it's my gross shit, not theirs

I'm tired of being treated, at times, like I'm fucking six. Even when  I act like it, I'm fucking tired of it.

I'm tired of myself

I'm tired of being fucking stoic

I'm damn tired of constantly taking the high road. Right now, at this minute, it's just too fucking hard and I'm too tired

I'm fucking tired of so much shit, that my fucking arm hurts from tapping trying to prioritize the shit I'm fucking tired of having go on

  So, what am I gonna do about it? Well, for a fucking while I'm shutting the fuck down. Completely. Anyone want's anything from me, tough shit. I'm not doing a damn thing for a fucking soul. If I hadn't already committed to seeing a friend in Odessa tomorrow morning, I'd skip that shit too, but I do try to keep my word, since that's about all I've got fucking left.

 I'm liable to get "you're acting just like your father in law". It's true, I probably am. I don't give a fuck tonight if I am or not. I'm fact, tonight my "Give a Fuck" meter is running in negative numbers.  I know this……nope, I don't even give enough of a fuck to put it into thought.

 So, while I'm fucking tired, I'm sure everyone close to me physically is probably tired of my fucking ass as well.

 Everyone knock yourselves out, I'm too fucking tired to give a shit what anyone does, or what they want to do, or any other fucking thing that may or may not happen

Hmmmmm

  Well, we've tried a steroid to help with some swelling. That stops today! I'm having real live, real difficult to control, anger issues. It took about 5 days longer than I thought it would, but boy, are they here today. I'm stiff as an ironing board, and feel like I'm holding back an explosion. That's no good at all. When everything you see starts really making you want to just beat it to death with a dessert spoon, I'd say there is something wrong. When my Hospice nurse and I talked about using the steroid I told him I'd had nothing but bad results, but would give it a shot. It's had that shot, and boy it isn't fun at all. I have sudden flashes of myself jumping some 7' tall monster out there, because I feel 10' tall and bulletproof right now. That's no good. I'm a bit messed up for any kind of shenanigans such as that. Back 5 years ago, about this time actually, they HAD to give me steroids to help with what the 5FU was doing to my system. I was trying to work as well. A gang pusher accused me of stealing his chicken shit aluminum 36" Pipe Wrench. I don't like those, I prefer steel, I've broken aluminum wrenches before. So, instead of saying "No, you left it somewhere, I'll go find it for you", I walked the 40' to my work truck, got my steel wrench out, and threw it at his head. It went the 40' (if I could have done that in the Highland Games with a 28# weight, I'd been excited) and past his head by about a foot. Bad aim on my part. Anyway, I went  right to the office and told my boss I couldn't work anymore and went home on Short Term Dis. Later, Liz wanted to shoot me. I don't like steroids and they do not like me either. I will say, though, that did stick with that gang pusher. I came back to work 4 months later, weighing all of 165 down from 225, and that normally lippy ass wipe was very congenial and soft spoken, at least to me.

 So, fun and games. The damn steroids make it difficult for me to concentrate on somethings, but bore in like a laser on others. It's weird, because I have no idea what in the hell is going to be that which attracts my attention. I mean, on one level that's kind of interesting, while on another it's damn annoying. Anyway, it makes me edgy and I don't like that. It's not like I'm a little aggressive to begin with, I don't need any help being more so. Especially missing a tit and about 40% of what muscle mass I used to carry around. No, steroids bad. It does, however, lend to some really colorful language which I cannot speak, and it loses something from mouth to print on a notebook paper. It also adds to my lack of patience. I wrote what I wanted on a page of notebook paper for my coffee at StarBucks this morning about 0900. There were a couple of people in front of me, no biggy at first. Then they both got to dicking around with their phones. Looking at the menu that hasn't changed in 4 years, back to the phone. Then "I can't decide". So, being ever so patient, I torn out the page with my coffee order, and on the next sheet wrote, "fuck me senseless, would you please shit or get off the fucking pot?". That was not as cordial as I believe the young man was used to getting when notes are passed. He looked sort of blustery. Then stomped off with nothing. Gosh, if he didn't want anything, why did he come in there in the first place? I did go have my coffee on the patio so I could enjoy the very nice 65 degree weather we are having this morning. It was quiet and peaceful, bless my soul.

 I also find that this particular steroid sets me to over salivating, like a Pavlovian dog. That too, is unacceptable. I'm into the suction more now than I was yesterday when I was bleeding enough I had to keep the overflow wiped off my chin. Saliva isn't as noticeable on my chin, but it's just as nasty when it runs out of the corner of my mouth, and into my chin scar, much like a river following a channel. Wipe, suction, wipe, suction,wipe. If that were my ass instead of my mouth, I'd be so chafed I couldn't walk. Then again, why would I suction my ass? There is no telling, since for the next few hours, hopefully not days, I am riding the Steroid Train of Unpredictability. With me, it's almost Heisenbergesque. The honest to goodness Uncertainty Principle. I can't ask anyone to observe me, because even  I am uncertain as to what comes next. Drool seems to be the constant. I appear to be one half of some science project where in the drool is the control group. Only because it's the only thing that seems even remotely consistent. That should, I suppose, run me absolutely crazy, and yet it does not. Which also throws off exactly why some things make me angry and others do not. You'd think, wouldn't you, that drool pouring out of the mouth of someone with my sense of vanity and short fuse combo, would set off a tirade of epic proportions. Not so. It's a bit annoying, but not freak outable. Hmmmm

  A bit more serious, though. I'm way tired today. Not certain why, but something has worn me smooth out. I slept  5 hours solid. Could maybe have gone a bit more, but had to get up and get around. I napped yesterday as well for a bit. I don't believe it's from overexertion, so I'm going to go with the cancer having a field day today. I say that because I really do feel some out of sorts, and it's not all to be blamed on the steroids. Those kind of fire me up. So I don't know exactly why, just taking a guess. If this sticks around for the weekend and into next week, then I've got something going on internally. Which, of course, is the cancer doing it's thing in fits and starts. I know it constantly is changing and growing, but there are times I swear I can feel it quick, then double, then triple timing it along for a bit before it settles in for a while with steady growth. This may be one of those times. And because it's all so fun to have that going on, I'm ready to go dancing. Not

 Overall, I feel pretty decent. Today is the least well I've felt since Sunday. Sunday was such a down day I could be one foot in the grave and one on a banana peel and I'd feel better than I did Sunday. Lesson to Self: When you feel dandy in the AM, get the hell outside and enjoy it, dumb ass. I did that this morning after therapy. My surgical line where my pec tendon or muscle attachment runs up into my neck has been very stiff and hard to move with the last couple of days. Today's therapy loosened that up a lot and I've gotten some better head movement, rotation, and alignment. All that is a good thing. When that happens I have less neck, shoulder and back pain. When that area gets tight, everything else tries to compensate for it, and that tends to make me ache all over from the waist up. Sadly, when it gets like that, there is very little I can do from the house to alleviate the stress and loss of movement. I'm hoping this hangs in there through the weekend. I knew I should have gotten a book on kinesiology, just so when I talk with my therapist, I can write down exactly what's going on. Might make is easier on both of us if we have a good starting point, rather than "around my….".  I've got a little time, I may check on that anyway.

 Once in a while the cancer shit all feels like it's got me pinned down and won't even let me up for a breath. That doesn't happen often, but since I promised I'd be open and honest with everyone, I have to say that, even though it irks me to no end. I don't let it last long, because that kind of mental debate will wear you so fast that you'll swear it was done by the cancer just to gain an edge. Truthfully the cancer is no where near that smart. It's out of control with it's cellular mitosis, so it will continue on, the opportunistic bastard. Stress I know will speed things up, one more reason to drop the steroids today. And hopefully if I can get enough liquid in, flush my system pretty quickly. It took several days to build up to this point, I would assume it will take that or more to get it completely out. I hope that is not the case. Hmmmm, cancer is truly the "divide and conquer" disease. It's cells divide at an uncontrolled rate, and it eventually conquers the body by doing so.

 See how the steroids send me off on the these weird side roads? I don't know that it's wonderful or spooky, but it's something else, that's for certain.

 Okay. So I don't set here and start to wind up again like a thirty day clock, I'm gonna shut this down and try a nap.

Book of Rock: Once in a while stomp in the puddle. It ain't gonna hurt anyone, and it's fun to watch the folks try and dodge the flying water

Good Gravy Gertie

  Frustrating and fun, all in one spot. A bud came and ran my happy ass out to the field yesterday to see the guys and breeze away a little bit. I can make the trip out and back on my own, and not be one iota more tired than if I ride. Liz worries though, and the company is nice to have along. Funny how I really used to cherish my "alone" time. Part of why riding the bike was such a joy. Get on, get some breeze in the hair. Okay, at the time I shaved or buzz cut my hairs, but you know. While riding it was just the road, the bike, and me. Keep your mind in the middle, enjoy the scenery and scents, and just being with yourself. God, I do love that. But, like I say, company is always nice. Besides, we laugh, he got to meet my boss and a couple other people, and I introduced him as "Jamie, my driver". Made me look self important, which in reality I am, by the way. But, I hate to write, and Jamie understands close to half what I say, and is good at filling in what he doesn't catch, so I spoke more. Which means for a bit yesterday, and a lot more this morning, my damn throat is bleeding. I need to attend the funeral of my friend's step son. Not for the son, he's on his first leg of the next journey, and I wish him fair winds and following seas, I'll check on him when I get there myself. No, not for his son. For Eric and Barb, to support them in their hour of need and quiet desperation. I can't fathom the depth of the hurt of that, but it's got to be tremendous. But, if my throat's bleeding continues to get worse I'll be on the suction pump like a rat on cheese. I won't go, have to hack constantly, and suction every minute or two. That distraction they don't need. I've text him and let him know. I also know this is a terribly busy time and I hope he has a chance to get the text. I don't want him to think they both aren't on my mind and in my heart. Sometimes, this cancer shit blows dick for skittles. This is definitely one of those times.

  Went to get coffee, knew I was bleeding a bit, and sometimes (oddly enough) the heat from the coffee will slow or stop the bleeding. I have to push that first syringe full in really fast though, so it over comes gravity and esophagus to hit the back of my throat where it's bleeding. Today, however, that did not work. Nor did the hard push of ice water that damn near gave me a brain freeze. Haven't had one of those in a long time. I gotta be careful, though, on how fast I push. I experiment with things like that. I don't wanna throw up up, so I practice at home going faster and faster until I did throw up. That was months ago. It is now an art. As stated several times, when I vomit it's a complete cluster coitus. I have hell stopping, and once, at home alone because Addison had gone with friends (something I encourage, she doesn't need to be watching my ass all the time), I threw up so many times I passed out. Fucking sucked because I wasn't even drunk. I'll tell ya, it's bad enough to puke, worse to pass out doing it, and damn hard to clean up the entire mess before anyone gets home to see it. I ruled that part like a boss. Slept almost 12 hours though. Wore me out.
 Anyway, I'm having coffee, occasionally wiping a little blood off my chin, hopefully before anyone notices, when on of the guys says "You're leaking". Shit, I wipe my chin because it's numb from nerve damage. "No, your tube". Christ. Ten months and I forget to clamp my damn feeding tube when I pulled the syringe. Fortunately, most of it got caught by my cough towel, but I got some on my pants and on the floor. Yes, clean up in aisle one. So, now I'm doubly concerned. I'm bleeding, and it's getting worse, and I can't remember the simple shit like clamping the feeding tube. I shoulda stayed in bed. On that end, I fell asleep at 2100. Didn't wake up until 0300. Not once. Six hours straight is damn good for me, and I felt pretty good when I woke up, and still feel fairly perky.
 
  Side bar. After dropping son off at school this morning (I miss getting to see him get his license, dammit) and heading for home, I get tailgated. Nothing new for this asshole driver's town. But, dickhead, if I'm driving under twenty in a school zone, because kids are jumping in and out of the street, you look like an asshole. Therefore, don't get fucking angry because I hold a printed note up at my window that says "Nice tailgating , you asshole" Front and back of a page, big letters.  I assume they saw it, because they flipped me off and were cussing. Busted being an asshole, don't be offended, fix your ass. Douche mongrel.

 So, yes, I'm struggling here with the right thing to do. Neither option is even a portion of the right thing to do. I've text my friend, he's text me back. He understands. I knew he would. He's a good man. I don't like the option to miss. I'm not going to become a distraction at all. Fuck I hate this. I hate it because I bucked the odds yesterday, knowing full well that my speaking may make my throat bleed. Damn, my fault this time, all the way around. I'm more pissed off at myself than the cancer, even. So that's pretty damn pissed. We are texting back and forth. He is a good man. He's one of the folks that earns and deserves my respect, and he's making allowances for me on a day like today. He's a very good man indeed. I tried on all my dress slacks that fit last year. I'm thirty pounds lighter, and all the pants are too tight. Seems like when I quit all the core work I was doing even after the PEG line went in, I am getting pot bellied. Had to quit. Not only did it hurt like hell, it made the stoma bleed more than it should. Bad when you look down and notice a dark patch on a dark blue tee shirt, and realize it's blood from your PEG line stoma because you've irritated it beyond just angry clear up to "fuck you, take that asshole".  So, if I am able to attend, it will be black kilt, nice shirt and sweater. No tie, seems the trach gets in the way of  a tie and I can't breath well.
 Dig that shit. My friend has a step son suddenly die, his family is upended, and I'm pissed at my lack of dress clothing. Christ almighty. What an egoist. Gotta work on getting a bit more over myself.
We went to the viewing and time for his family, but only for a few minutes. Liz was uncomfortable. I don't blame her, so was I. She was, because that's where I'm going to end up. It's not too far fetched that she's gonna have a gut full of the funeral home in a few months. I don't blame her for being uncomfortable. I was because I have no words of comfort for the family. Nothing. I can hug, express my sorrow with them, but there are no words that can assuage the anguish they feel. I hope that they understand that they truly are in my thoughts today, and into the future as well. I don't think you ever get totally over it, but I believe you come to terms with it. Either way, it's a very tough row to hoe.

  Tomorrow I'm going to do something I've never done before in my life. I'm gonna ask the impossible. I'm asking for all the strength I had in June 2008, a ball bat, and twelve hours. I'm so fucking tired of the way people drive here, including the police, that every time I see some dick endangering others, I'm gonna use the ball bat on them. Perhaps if a sixty or eighty ass holes get dented a little, people will pay attention. You stupid bastards have killed thirty-eight people in the county with your shit headed driving, including fourteen people in town. In TOWN. You simpleton, dumb assed, self centered cock bites. Dallas has ten times the people here, so they'd have to have 380 traffic deaths to equal this county's per capita highway death rate. Don't you morons understand just how shit headed you are?  No, because Midland County has always thought of itself as better than anywhere else on God's green earth. For all the good things here, that attitude damn near trumps everything else. Stop being dicks.

 Wow, the driving thing has me wound up this morning. Probably because a kid died in his sleep before he had a real chance to taste the best part of living, and the way people drive here proves they have no regard for anything or anyone but themselves. That's not living, that's getting in the way of people who are trying to live. That pisses me off. We don't deserve a good life, we do deserve the chance to have it. The way people drive here puts that at risk, all because they can't get their ass around soon enough in the day to get where they are going without driving like dick heads. Man, I had thirty nine miles to go if I got called out when working at Notrees. In town, speed limit, obey all the signs and lights. Open highway, as fast as that truck would run safely. Generally around ninety or so, since Chevy kills the engine at ninety six. I went that fast because I don't like to have salt water or oil on the ground. It's bad.

 I'm on a tear, because I'm worn smooth out with people and their ass wipe attitudes. That goes for people in government that think their asses are so wonderful they know what's best for me. You don't, you're play acting at being over privileged, Democrats and Republicans both. Stay the fuck out of the way, and watch your country become what it should be, and already is, the greatest place on earth to live. Especially without  you nitwits playing like you're genius. Sure, we need some rules and regulations because there are always some ass hole's that aren't going to do what's right from the get go. We wouldn't need the EPA if the Ohio River hadn't caught fire twice. Stupid bastards were too cheap to do proper procedures to prevent that. But really, there is no way any government can take care of every body in every direction. The burden will collapse us all. Get a damn clue.

 And you nice, whatever this group of twenty something's call themselves, don't deserve jack shit other than a shot at being something. You don't deserve my respect, a living, health insurance, a retirement, a secure job, the perfect house, high wages. None of that. Earn that shit and quit pissing and moaning how fucking unfair life is. No shit, it's true, life ain't fair, and just because you went to college doesn't mean you should get the fast track promotions, get higher wages, or anything else for that matter simply because you went out and got a job in the first place. Someone should have kicked your parents asses for not saying "NO" more often. Lots of you do work at earning that kind of respect and accolades. But it's time to grab your vocal contemporaries and bitch slap them senseless. I listened to a guy I worked with want a full time, not relief pumping job after he'd worked at relief pumping for six months. Never worked in the patch before that at all. He got it when I moved up on my recommendation. The rat bastard spent the next six months bitching about how much work it was, and wanting my Tech job because he thought he'd earned it. I guess telling him to kiss my ass, that he was making me look like a douche bag because all he did was bitch after I went to bat for him, probably wasn't the best way to handle that, but I was tired of it then, damn sure am now.

 We don't even have Thanksgiving any longer. Halloween ends, Christmas shit hits the stores.  I'm beginning to loathe Christmas. Not the holiday, but the way people behave this time of year. Even if you're not a believer, JC's message is a good one. Be nice. Basically that's all it is, Be Nice. Too many people turn asshole. Including Ma and Pa stores, not just the big corporations. There's something innately wrong with the entire idea that gifts are what it's about. Wrong, and again, believer or not, it should be about celebrating the life of a man and philosopher that carried a message of brotherhood and hope. The life has been sucked out of that message for certain. I get a nice surprise or two every Christmas, because someone gets me a gift other than what I asked for. Other than Socks and Underwear. It's all I need, socks and underwear. I get all the material shit I want all year long. What we need is a bit more inner soul searching and a lot less "I want".

 A little white lie ain't gonna kill ya. When I'm having a coughing fit in public, and it happens. I get "Are you okay?", genuine concern 99.9%  of the time, I can see it in their face through my watery eyes. No, I'm not really okay, I'm fighting not throwing up, I'm having hell catching a breath. But I will tell you every time "Yes, I'm fine" by nodding my head. You have taken the time to check on me, I appreciate it. And while there is nothing that can be done but letting it run it's course, I'm no way going to burden your genuine concern by adding worry to the list. I will be fine, but may not be right there at that moment. Sometimes, people need a moment of relief, not a moment of "oh fuck, what do I do?". You've, done plenty just by asking. Don't ever stop doing that. Someday, someone will say "No, I need help", just be ready to do that as well.

 I'm a skeptical and a bit cynical. I see people begging a lot. And those without mental issues, that's a result of the choices you make along the way. I'm sure I'm going to get "But! They can't find work!". And why is that? Can't keep your nose outta the bottle? Won't do menial tasks? What? And yes, I've heard and seen that some people can't find a job because of education making them over qualified to flip burgers. In one sense I get that, you'll split the instant a job you're trained and educated for pops up. There's no incentive for you to stay. And some managers of some of those places are intimidated by you, so yeah, I get that. But, when I'm at a light, and you're begging in your scruffy assed clothes. Have the courtesy to wait until the people to whom you are throwing your woe is me pitch are far enough away that they can't see you walk across the road and get into a restored Datsun 240Z. You've just become an asshole the instant I saw that. Especially when you combed out your hair and beard, took off that nasty jacket, and looked more presentable. Yes, asshole, I watched you do that from a convenience store parking lot while I was getting a soda last year. You're still begging. You're still an ass hole.

 I like a lot of people. I'll argue with all of them. If you're a friend of mine, at one time or another I'll piss you off, and you'll piss me off. That's the burden of being a friend of mine. I don't stay angry with you, ever, won't happen. Let someone else crawl your back, I'll be there with a big stick and my KBar. But, we, we can fight all we want. That won't change my opinion of you one iota. There's more to you if you're a friend of mine, than being in agreement with me all the time. And damn sure more than me being in agreement with you all the time. I'm a pretty loyal buddy. Even if we don't often correspond, after decades of not seeing each other. You're still my friend, our lives are just not meshing like they once did. If you've become a thief, chronic liar, wife or child beater, we're quits. No explanation, nothing, we're done. If you've had a rough time, things haven't gone as you'd liked, or even imagined, that's okay, some of my life hasn't either. We're still buds.

  I'm more critical of myself than anyone of you will ever be. It's my nature. I work hard at making myself better. At times that includes setting lofty personal goals that may or may not be attainable. I do that so as to be a better man, husband, father and friend. What you see as a minor flaw, I see as almost mountainous. Don't let this knowledge dissuade you from being critical. I can handle it, and if it's something that's legitimate and I want to correct, I welcome the input. No, I will not stop fucking cussing. I'm good at it, it's an art with me. I will not change.

  Who are the most attractive women on earth, besides my wife? Easy. You're the women with the fire in your eyes. You're smart, compassionate, passionate, kind, and yet hard as nails. You like yourself first and don't live for the next mani/pedi day with your fake tits and nails clan. Yes, I know women with fake boobs who are in the Most Attractive column. The tits didn't make you, you were already made, the fake boobs are like sprinkles on the ice cream. You'll stand up for yourself, without sounding bitchy or whiny. You don't suffer fools, but are diplomatic enough to tell them off and have them believing it's a compliment.  It doesn't matter how you're built, that's what makes you attractive. If the men around you can't see that, they are far too stupid to be in your company. Do not let them drag you down.

 If for some unGodly reason, I had to have a fist fight (I walked away from 99% of the bull shit that got thrown when I was young), it didn't last long. It was over in two minutes or less with me walking away. Much longer than that and I was in deep shit. I don't like to fight. I will, I was fair at it, because in a fist fight no one wins. One or both of us were too stupid to find a way just to walk off until shit cooled down. That's a fact. So, when it came to the fine nut cuttin, I don't wait, I don't push, I don't yell. If it's what you really wanna do, I'm gonna fuck you up fast enough I don't get very hurt. If it comes down to the point you've beaten me, you'll wish to God you hadn't tried. More than a few fights, some defending other people, some because what I thought was funny got me popped instead, never the same person twice. It was unpleasant for both of us. I do not like it, I avoid it as often as I can. Not hard now, I can't be so bold as I once was. I'm too fucked up physically to jump in even if I had to. No, that's not right, I see a woman or a kid being harmed in anyway, I'll still step in. I hope I have one shot to kick your knee out, or have something heavy enough to knock you out now. It didn't used to matter

 I've gotten a bit more patient. Nope, sorry, that's total bullshit. Moving on

 I've ranted my ass off today. I figure it's because today I feel less in control than most days. I can't control what the cancer is doing to me on a physical level. My friend's family is suffering, and I'm afraid of being a distraction, so I'm not in control of my bleeding. Calculated risk yesterday and I flubbed it for today. Unsound move on my part. I assume this is a good assessment as to why I ranted. Anyone with any other reasons why, I'm open to hear those.

 Book Of Rock:  When I'm coughing, I know it's nasty and sounds terrible. But I swear to God Almighty, if you give me stink eye when I can see what you're eating, I'm gonna rub my snot all over your head, you pig.

Hugs

The Days Of My Life

  Before I get started on my rant n rave, I wanna give some props out to my PT and Lymphedema Therapists Susan and Barb. While I don't do PT any longer, they give me little tips on things to do that won't irritate my neck and shoulders. The Lymphedema Therapy certainly gives me much better quality of life. I can tell, believe me, when I lose ground on the moving fluid from my head and neck out. I hurt, I get extra slobbery, I can't move well, and my balance is hinky. Through them I have a better quality of life. Something I will take every day over quantity. Much of the reason I didn't do the damn clinical study. Live a few weeks extra, be sick for months. In the immortal words of Rock: "Fuck that shit, Chief".

Okay, here we go. I get asked a lot, and it's an acceptable question, "How ya feel in?". Fact is, it's acceptable because it can change hour to hour. Yesterday, I felt pretty decent until about noon. Then I couldn't keep ahead of drainage or saliva, and in the end threw up several times. And continued to struggle with that the rest of the day. To the point I was chicken to even add a feeding in. Didn't get near the fluid or feed I needed yesterday, but the fear of throwing up overcame my knowledge I needed water and food. That's the shits with me throwing up now. It's not only a mess and embarrassing. It's an intimidating, damn near frightening thing to happen. It fills my sinuses, flies out of my mouth and nose. All of which compounds each other's already existing problems and, if I can't mentally get a grip on it, will continue until I pass out. That's happened once when I was alone. Before Hospice. Before I was told there was nothing they could do with my cancer's return. I didn't tell anyone. No use in causing extra worry when it didn't need to be added in. I've got to the point I can limit the times I puke, so that's a plus and I'll let it go at that.

 That's how fast my days can change. It's not always for the worst. Sometimes it's for the better. Some days are bad one minute, and the next I'm shittin in tall cotton. None of that I understand. I've never in my life had such rapid and wide angled physical swings. Well, unless I hurt myself, but that can't be counted because that was the effect of my own actions. Not just watching the damn boob tube and start throwing up, for shit sake.
  Most days are pretty average and on a routine that's as flexible as I want it. Boring out the ass, mostly. Wake, do drugs, watch the tube, feed, take Boy to school, twice a week go to therapy, feed, watch the tube, feed, drugs feed. Watching the tube in between. Not much there, really. That's an average day. Little or no swelling, that means little or no pain. On the average days I can do anything I want. Okay, not what I want, but what I'm able to do. Anything. I've cooked. Cleaned. Read. Walked. All that stuff plus. Not bad for an average day. They don't change much, it makes me a little restless. But, here's the kicker on an average day. It makes me restless, but doesn't give me he energy to do something about it. That's a shame. With just a little get up an go I might feel more normal on an average day. Something to sort out for myself. My average days now are about what I would have called a moderately bad day just a year ago. Funny how that changes.
  Some days are particularly bad. I wake up hurt. It's a struggle to get my meds and that first feeding in. When I am having therapy on those days it's about all I can do to drive myself there. And although I come away feeling better than when I went in, it's still a struggle to get home and get in the chair. You know, so I can struggle with getting feed and water in. As well as extra pain med if I need it. Bad days I don't care if I get anything accomplished. I'm a damn drag, so some of the days I don't blog anything I'm having a bad day. No two ways about that. Now that I've brought it up, people will worry, but don't. It's not so bad for anyone to worry, but it's bad enough I don't want to drag people down with me to my level of blah. Not that I'm depressed, far from it, but I'm a downer. One word answers, to start. I'm achy or have real pain, so I get short with people. Focus is about out the window except for focusing on not feeling sick or in so much pain (yes, even with drugs) that I can't keep up with a conversation as well. Nothing personal to anyone. Just that some days I can't deal with my own shit, let alone someone else's as well. Those are the days I really have to look after myself, and me alone.

 Now, the good days. They come a bit fewer and farther between, but they are wonderful when they do, and they still outweigh the bad days by say, four to one. So that to me is a win. While I may go a week or so without a good day, and only have one bad day, generally the next week I have several good days in a row. Those are the days when the planets all aline correctly and my pain is at a minimum all day. No need for break through pain meds. That's a plus. Those are the days I like to get outside and walk. And even though it wears me out, and makes me ache a lot, the pain goes on its own with in an hour or so. I cough less. Make less saliva. Everything is less. Except for how restless I get. Only now, I have the energy and the get up and go to get up and get. I enjoy going out. On the days that I have good days AND therapy, my pain level may be a three, and by the time we finish it's a zero. That's a true PLUS. That makes me want to go look at stuff. Just to see how much the town is changing in the months I've been down. My God it's amazing the stuff I miss by not being out and about every single day like I was before. Most of it is wonderful and positive. And the citizens of Midland should quit bitching, relearn how to drive, and enjoy the nicest oil field city I've ever lived in. They don't realize that this is one of the best areas to work the oil field I can think of at the moment. So much here. Travel access from interstate and airport. SAM'S in town. A symphony, 20 miles southwest a Shakespeare Theater in the Round. So much. When you look at it, most places are not this well equipped for having oil as their main driving force. Most are very small towns with a 60 plus mile drive to the nearest city with a decent grocery store. Yeah, Kansas is like that. So are most other places.
 Good days are a joy. I feel like sharing my time with others. I want to hear about how their days went. I wanna know how their lives are going. In part because I live vicariously through that, and also because it's nice to be part of something larger again. I think everyone needs that once in a while.

 As I was telling my therapist Barb, and a couple of other people, as of late it seems like I get a handle on one problem and two more step up. Not in huge ways, more of a "When the hell did that shit start?" kind of moment of recognition. I assume that's going to be the way it is for a while. Probably until I hit Critical Mass and the body lies down that one last time. I don't dwell on it because that give it life and strength. In my mind it does, at least. But it's there. I'd have said "Hell No!" if I'd known that dying was such hard work. Talk about wearing you out. Trying to keep ahead of the little shit is a lot more work than swinging a twenty pound sledge hammer all day. No where near as fun, either. I know why, too. It's a pride thing. I used to take a lot of pride in working some of the late twenty, early thirty age boys into the ground. They get the last laugh now, the dogs. I can't work my way out from under a wet paper towel. Sometimes I'm not sure why I rage against the dying of the light. But I feel driven to do so. Something about that being an old school guy, I guess. I kind of enjoy being the defiant ass that keeps pestering the killer as long as I can. I try and prove that while he is slowly stealing my life, the rat cock sucker hasn't stolen much of me. When he thinks he might have, that's when I like to kick his nuts once or twice. Keeps us both on our toes.
 I'm almost sure, as well, that on the good days when I expend a lot of energy enjoying my day, that in the long run I empower the cancer just a touch. I have to recover. I don't just have a bit, catch a second wind and go on. I get exhausted at the end of the day, and for the next three or so days, I'm terribly tired. That gives the cancer a chance to run around unimpeded for a bit. That's okay. Quality over Quantity every time. This is the only life I was given. I never liked sitting on the sidelines watching. Let's all play ball or I'll find something else to do with my time. I truly enjoyed work. Even when I wasn't enjoying THE job, I always enjoyed the WORK. Difference there can be the leadership at the JOB. The WORK didn't change. It required my head out of my ass, and an ability to diagnose and fix problems in several different areas of the fields I worked in. In the one at Notrees, it wasn't just the average daily mechanical problems that's can go on, it was poison gas up to 66,000 parts per million in the air. I didn't gauge tanks. If there was a problem with anything on or near a tank, especially water, that was grab some help and put on the air pack to go check. Loved the work, not always the job.

  I'm thinking also about how I was, and how that's changed. My basic self hasn't changed. I like the same things, if I could talk, I'd talk shit with you until we both couldn't breath from laughing. A lot of that hasn't changed. I also think it's somewhat defeatist to compare, but I also see how that's human nature, and even I can't keep from doing it from time to time. So let's run a review, just for shits and giggles.

  I wrestled a bit, got hurt in Eighth grade and only wrestled once competitively after that in college. Won three out of four matches. Took second over all in my weight class. Not bad for a kid that hadn't been on a mat in three years.  I played city league basketball in Great Bend Ks in sixth grade, and in Elkhart Ks in l991 and 1992, and a couple of times in 1993. 93 I had an excuse not to play. I was just married to Liz and was trying to prove to her that I wasn't a mistake. I played pick up football and the like until 1987. My ex wanted me home on Sunday afternoon since I worked 6 days a week on a well servicing rig and had a new baby. That was okay with me. I was still hitting the gym 5 days a week for a couple hours a night after the kid went down. After Liz and I got married I laid off the gym and stuff for a couple of years. Worked hard at my job, so I stayed in pretty decent shape. Then after Dec was born, I had to hit the gym again. I was turning into a fat old man. Couldn't let that happen. I got strong, probably stronger than anytime in my life. I know it was in June, July, and August of 2008. Once a month I benched, squatted and dead lifted 400 lbs. Piss poor squat, but I hated leg work. My oldest daughter loves leg work. She's gonna be the athlete. All the while, in between and the like. I played a little soft ball with Liz radiology team at the hospital. At the time it was hard for them to field an entire softball team, so the hospital let others in. I'm glad they did, I had fun. But, I had to really watch myself. I'm such a piss poor loser, that I can make a fun time go right down the shitter. I pulled myself from that. I could see it starting to happen. Everyone else is laughing and having fun, I'd be in my own head thinking "We are fucking losing!!!! Get your mind right!!!!". They did have their minds right, they were enjoying one another and the company. My problem, not theirs.
 Up until this season I threw Highland Games. Heavy Athletes. Without a doubt, the absolutely most challenging, frustrating, exhilarating athletic events I've ever done in my life. Hard, hard work. The guys I know that are the most successful work at it, a lot. I didn't. The reason being, and this is fucked up, when I start training for something and start seeing results that I like, I'm not satisfied. I push, I get angry with myself. Not at the other athletes, this isn't their fault, it's mine. My timing is off. I feel weak, I this, I that, until it becomes such a burden to even make the attempt, I simply have to stop or risk losing my family and friends. You laugh, it's no shit. Liz will back me up on that.
 So, what I did was this. I'd work a little on technique so I didn't just go out blind and stupid on the field. I'd throw my best, I'd laugh, I'd have fun. I hope the guys throwing with me had fun when I was around. I stood in awe of the superior athletes, cheered the guys who made PR's and advanced. That's what I did for myself, and I hope that helped some of the folks I threw with. I made damn good friends on those fields. Left a little bit of me on every one of the fields. Blood, sweat, cheers. All of it. I miss it....a lot. Since I've been ill, the folks in the games have managed to make my eyes wet more often than much of anything else. Most times I don't let my eyes get wet, I can't help it with those folks. I'll miss them.
 The same thing with the guys I work with at SAU. I miss them now. They got to see me at my absolute best. When I was truly at the top of my game. From 1993 to 97, the guys at Notrees got a glimpse of that, but I didn't have the opportunity to prove my own hype like I did at SAU. I relish and truly loved the chance to show people I honestly knew what the fuck I was talking about, and it wasn't all just bull shit.


  All in all, my days are no where near what they were, but fuck, I'm dying. I've had big chunks of me cut out and thrown away, and other big chunks of me that are trying to kill my ass as I type this. That's all okay. Because these are MY days. They aren't cancer days. They are not dying days. They are MINE. Good, bad, average, these are me. That means in a sense, they are all good days. I'm still here. Yeah, it's difficult, and it's hard on the the family, rough on my friends, and I wish I could fix that, but I can't. But, all that being said, it's still me.

 I wasn't always the open book that I am now. I carried myself awfully close to the vest. Wasn't anyone's business what I was doing or why. that was part of me at that time. I was always honest with folks, but I didn't often tell them everything. If it wasn't pertinent I didn't open my mouth.
That's changed. Everything is pertinent now. If not for alleviating some fear someone may have about finding their own Terminal Velocity, and eventual Critical Mass, then helping folks understand the gamut of things that go on, so they can help others if they need to, or themselves if that time comes.

 I told a buddy here in town the other day that I'm kind of glad it's me that's going through this. He looked at me like I was fucking crazy. "No," I said, "listen. I know I can do this. I can fight this as hard and long as my body lets m. Somewhere there is someone who can't, who'd truly suffer. Mentally and physically. They'd be afraid, they'd make the people around them afraid, too. I'll do it for those folks. But just this one time, dammit, I didn't take them to fucking raise." We both laughed

 Book of Rock: I'll help you, but I ain't your fucking mommy. Quite frankly, most of the people I meet I could care less if they succeed or fail. Friends, all I wanna see is them succeed and be more than they thought they could be and achieve the most of everything they want. The rest of the refuse and whiners? Suck it, you aren't worth my time

Boy, that sounded harsh. I've got dozens of friends, more than I realized, but on the scale with the number of people I meet, they are a small fraction. It looks like a lie, but I don't friend up easily. Most of these folks I've known over thirty years. In some cases we've met again down the line, and wondered why the hell we didn't hang out more in the past. Those are fun. But truly, there are far more horse's asses than horses, and I could care less how well you do with your life, if your approach in private life is anything like your approach to the public. You're assholes, get over yourself.

Let's do it right, kids, we've only got one shot at it, and my time is getting thin

So, Anyway

  So anyway, I watched some great college ball yesterday. Some close calls and some amazing finished. Which kinda made me go back to Blue Bonnet Park in Liberal, KS on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. We didn't watch football. We'd play pick up two below touch for hours. Say from 1300 to 1700, then hit the Pizza Hut for a quick bite, home to shower, then hangin with the buds. This went on for YEARS. I remember playing pick up ball after my first daughter was born 27 years ago. I was the old man then, because I was 26. And I never went back for seconds, if I had played on Saturday. No way I could have played that hard two days in a row. And the shits now is, I can't remember a soul I played with, other than some of the guys I went to school with, not a soul. Later, when it just got too cold, there was pick up volleyball at the Friends church. That was sort of an invite thing, one of the guys that played football was either the youth minister or buds with the youth minister (God, bad memory today) and let him and enough people to make up two teams. That one was co-eg, unlike the two below, which in retrospect was a lot more physical than two below was meant to be, Im sure. Like, when you blocked, you actually blocked. None of that "push, but don't use your hands" kind of crap that the city leagues put in. No sir, you shoved, pounded, blind sided, and everyone went deep. Elm Trees on one side of the field were out of bounds. Some smaller trees on the other were the out of bounds for the north side of the field. Wasn't as wide as a football field, but it was real close in length. Probably 80 or so yards long. We had a "3 Mississippi" rush count, since everyone went deep. Count using Mississippi for seconds, then rush. At least one person stayed back to block. I can't tell you how many successful passes were broken up by the big assed elm tree that marked on side line. Including myself, problem four billion people ran into that tree just seconds after catchin the ball. As in turn around to BAM!!! run. Ow. Fun, man it was fun. We have two nice parks close to my neighbor hood, either one would make a great pick up game site. Sadly, not a soul out any time playing. I've only seen tow games on the park closest to me in twenty years. Sad, really, that the young guys won't even go play a pick up game. Not everyone that like the game, puts on the pads and helmet. It's kind of telling when no one wants to buddy up any more.

  So anyway, now that that's over with, I think I have fucking thrush. I got it at least twice during chemo, both times. Too much saliva, it's frothy and tastes just terrible. Like I could use another plague coming. Sometimes it's enough of a pain that I get exhausted by just waiting for something else to pop up.  They gave me Keflex to clear up a rattle in one lung. I finished the prescription when I was supposed to finish it. Just seems like a an awful coincidence that I get thrush now. I have Atropine drops to help dry my mouth out, but even those won't touch the shit I've got going on in my mouth. Yes, yes, beside washing it the fuck out with soup. I've been told, if you believe it, that I cuss too much. Well, fuck, I may at that, how should I know. I mean I can understand what I say, because I hear my voice before it comes out of my mouth. Tough shit if other people don't!! No, I'm kidding. I like it better when  I can speak well. If I'd known yesterday I was getting it, and I suspected, I'd have kissed that woman that dissed me full on the mouth. That woulda teached her!!

 I'm a little achy and weird feeling today. Not sure why, really groggy and out of sorts. No more pain that usual, in fact it's not a factor today at all. Just not on my game, I guess. The feeding tube spot is tender this morning, too. I've looked, not infected, and not bleeding. So that's a good thing. The Trach, however, is providing some new and fascinating problems of it's own. As my cancer spreads (theory here, feel free to dispute  it if you can) it's making my neck swell especially on one side. The left. It's making my appearance more strained, and causing the tendons and stuff from the pec transplant widen out, and therefor make the tracheotomy hole go deeper into my neck. Not a lot, but a fraction of an inch is causing the outter edges of the tube found me raw in  a couple of spots. Not just tender, but actually rubbing holes into my skin. Bandaids help, but I've got to see if Hospice has any ideas. If not, I'll get a snot sucker to check out my problem, or go see my ENT again. Maybe she can get this skin problem sorted out. I's be nice. I've got so many bandaids on upped body it looks like I fell down in a pile of brambles and had t fight my way y to find my way lost in there. Here's to hoping I can get this shit figured out. Not only is it a pain in the ass, but it takes a way from my natural beauty as well. I can't have that.

   I'm enjoying the fact I've let my hair grow out. Yep, it's thin as all get out on top, and I don't give a shit. I used to love my long hair. Been over twenty years since I had it. For about ten years I kept it shaved, or at least knocked down to a buzz cut. It's kinda of nice, I think. Sure, it looks like I could burn the top of my head if I went outside too long. But I don't give a shit about that either. While I'm sitting here dying, I'm doing one of the things that I couldn't, and still look semi professional, while working for an oil company. So, yeah, until I croak, I'm letting the hair grow out. It's mine, dammit, and I wanna see it long for a change. HA!

Short blog today. As I've said before, my day is pretty well set up in a regiment of medication and feeding formula. And trying to get the hours I take those into an available time frame for a movie or something along those lines. Dull, duller, dullest. But, I'm up on two feet, sorta.

Time to take grandson outside and find out what happened to YaYa. She's out there messing around with something, I'm sure.

 Book Of Rock:  In case you wondered, the sun doesn't revolve around your happy ass, any more than it does mine. You aren't the only person on the face of the planet. Get the fuck over yourself and be at least courteous. Other wise you're just another peckerwood sucking up my oxygen. Stop it

Steroids, More Trouble Than They Are Worth?

  So they have me on a steroid to help with the swelling in my face and neck, as well as with the bleeding in my tongue and from wherever else the blood is coming. I explained to my Hospice nurse, that in the past I've had trouble with anger issues on any steroid they've put me on for chemo or radiation. I didn't notice the first time through, but boy the family did, and I still feel badly about my behavior at that time, because I know enough about steroids to look for anger issues. I think I may be headed that way again. The circumstances this morning while leaving the coffee shop may have made me as mad just as fast, but I'm having trouble calming down from the short incident.
  Once again, Midlanders are showing me they are know it all pretentious pricks and bitches. Before I start, if I intentionally treated anyone with a handicap poorly on purpose, now is the time to slap the shit out of me. I don't believe I did, but I'm not sure. I know I read a lot of notes given out by people, but none of them were written on the fly, if they were looking for money. Every one of them was printed and some damn sob story preceded them. I'm about 50% on catching those folks doing exactly what the printed card said they couldn't. And I'm sure there are some legitimate people out there who need some help, but the rest of the lazy bastards have just about ruined that for them, and that's a shame.
  So, the entire mid morning shift just didn't show up at Starbucks's this morning. That leaves them way short handed. They hung a sign up as I was leaving stating as such. That the cafe would close, but the drive through would still be open. As I was leaving, two lovely you women were walking toward the door, and trying to save them some steps, I wrote "The Cafe is Closed" and held it up. One of the nice bitches, bumped my shoulder and said "No Thank", like I was selling her something. If I were a forgiving person,  I'd chalk that up to too many people hitting her up. But I'm standing next to my 300, with the driver's door open, not really what a beggar would drive, I don't think. Her friend said "asshole". Hmmmm, so the ultra observant bitches grab the handle to the door, with a BIG sign right next to it saying the the cafe was closed, and gave a big assed yank. They looked shocked. Now I'm fucking steaming over the asshole remark. So I croak out "Fuck you, Cunt, that's what I was telling you". They understand that perfectly well. Apparently having an asshole call her a cunt wasn't in the mix for her daily conversation. And hence why I believe some of my immediate irritation came from the steroids. I would never use that term, no matter how angry I got, never. And I have to add in here, for that pretentious bitch, if she's one of the readers of this blog that I don't know, and there are a lot. If you are going to call me an asshole, make sure you're four door pickup doesn't have that asinine stick fucking figure family on one side of the back window, and the Sign of The Fish on the other side. Not only are you a rude assed bitch, but a hypocrite as well. And people wonder why I gave up on organized religion. I found it more full of ass hats like that, than not.  And when an unwashed, oil field trash heathen such as myself generally has a more Christian attitude than those to smarmy bitches put together, something is wrong with their church, or themselves, for not even making the attempt to be civil. And yes, I know I get short with people, but I also don't flash my beliefs out there like a banner of of righteousness for all the world to see.
  Yeah, I'm still smoked a little over it. Which means I either am getting really thin skinned, or the steroids are helping along my bad attitude. If it's the steroids, I'll drop them like a hot potato. If it's not, I'm going to get my big boy undies refit. I don't like having them in a wad over a couple of inconsiderate, shit headed women. I'd been having a damn good morning right up to that point. A couple of people had asked, and quite to their embarrassment, I believe, if I can tasted the coffee going in my feeding tube. And yeah, I realized quite early on that it must look odd as anything to see some yahoo shoving coffee into a feeding tube. Complete with a little cream and sugar.  Turns out since my esophageal sphincter only works at 80-85% effective, if I push anything in too fast I can taste it. That goes with that nasty smelling Osmolite 1.5. Smells like shit, some I'm going to assume that's the flavor it leaves if I run a bag in too quickly. So, fair question, and a bit of a laugh. The first time my grandson shoved the plunger on a syringe full of lemonade I had, it ran a bit out my mouth, so fast and strong was his shove on the syringe plunger. Cracked me up. Next time we had a lesson on about how fast to push.
  There was a sad note, one that is still with me.  One of my friends twenty something year old son was found dead in his room. I can't even fathom that. And when I look at it, that could very well happen to me. I'm hoping it's not one of the children who find me. I can't imagine the loss. I've friends who've lost a child to SID's. At the time, being half stupid as I was, and not hearing about it for almost a year after the fact, I didn't contact them to express my sorrow. My heart broke for them, and at times it still does. That's my shame, I didn't know what to say, especially a year out, so I said nothing. And that's a real shame and a personal failure on my part. I hope before I am gone, I can wrangle the nerve to let them know, at the very least, they were in my thoughts often. Kind of weak, but 100% true. When compared, my smarmy bitches don't have a handle on hurting my feelings. Life has dragged out far worse things than two ignorant women out shopping. On the front that when I lose my temper like that, something generally comes around to teach me a lesson in anger control. Today's lesson is this: When you yell, and forcibly loudly enough for a couple of inattentive bitches to clearly understand, my throat is going to bleed a little and be really sore. Hard to figure, huh? Forcing my barely above a whisper voice into something loud hurts like who thought about it. Yep, that's true, mouth and throat both. Apparently Baxter likes it quiet in my neck and head. He's an asshole, I choose to ignore his laws and live by a few simple rules that lets me get away with a lot more than one would think. This cancer card is pretty cool. It's a shame I didn't try and pull that back in 08-09. I skipped the feeding tube and handicapped placard both.

  Something else has changed. I think something has made the left side of my neck swell up some extra. My chest area right around the tracheotomy is raw and chafed from being wet. Secretions and sweat I'm sure, but the skin is very raw, and now I'm trying to let it dry out and work on a different gauze design to make it work without allowing so much moisture onto my already super thin and tender flesh around that area. It was really bad before the stitches wouldn't hold the tube in any longer. They pulled out because my skin got so paper like in that area. It would tear and chafe at the drop of a hat. I'm not getting the thin as paper warning again, but it is close. Very tender right now. In fact, I've got the collar off and tube out as I type this, in hopes that the raw spot with get over the burning sensation it's giving me now. Cancer!!! The Gift that keeps on Giving!!! Gotta love it.....just not a lot. Okay, not at all.

  I'm finding while this dries out, that I have to really watch coughing. I don't have anything to help expel it. The hole flexes open too wide and I have no force to push out the lung oysters. Damn mess is what it is becoming. I'm gonna have to find some way to make it work out. To begin with, I believe some antibiotic ointment is going to be in order to start. I'd hate for this to get infected as well as be raw and chafed and a bit weepy. Not my eyes silly people, the raw spot. But I'll bet you knew that already.


 Recap the important lessons from today. Never, I mean never, skip over offering condolences on someone's loss, even if it is a bit down the road. I'm almost positive that the words "I'm so very sorry for your loss" may bring back some bad memories, but I truly believe that knowing someone hasn't forgotten, or has just found out, helps sort out some of those feelings.

 Book Of Rock:  Pay attention to your surroundings! It you can't see a 11  X 14 piece of paper, how in Heaven's name do you expect to see the guy wanting to rob you just 3 cars away in the mall parking lot.
   BTW, Brainiac, putting those stick figures on your back windows of your SUV or Pickup just let a thief know how many are in your family. Or didn't that cross your genius filled mind. Pay attention to your surroundings!!!  The second you don't see most of what's going on around you is the most dangerous time of the day. And the holiday weird season is almost upon us. Please be careful out there amongst the too stupid to be around, you're the only one looking out for you.

Hang tough. One of us have to, and today may not be my day.

PS: Booklet of Rock. Take a minute and be aware of your surroundings. Not just today, every day. The holiday season is chock full of accounts of people being robbed in mall parking lots. Those assholes just don't materialize from beneath the asphalt. They are opportunity hunters, don't let yourself become prey

 Pogue Mah Hoane, a proper answer to many of life's bothersome and irritating moments.

PPS: I fell asleep typing this. I had have a page of nothing but "SSSS". A sign of the times, or just not enough sleep at night?