So, I'm getting up and getting ready to go to the gym this morning before I feed so as not to take a chance on making myself throw up. The damn formula act on me just like it does a baby. Shake it up and I go off like a bottle of shaken up Coke. I my morning hack and things look okay. Then I get caught with one of those morning hacks that I know is gonna be a big one and may send me off into a coughing frenzy, which having done several times before, has even caused a low ab muscle pull. Nope, just a big, huge cough, filled with lovely pink stuff. Pink is bad. The next four or so others are pink too. Not shaping up to be a good morning, I fear. So, is it an irritation from vurping? Not sure. Is it part of the beginning of what the doctor told was done the road as Baxter grew? Not sure. At any rate, I blow off the gym...again. I don't think I need to be suctioning out icky stuff on the gym floor. I'm almost certain that wouldn't be good. And if it's irritation, do I want to make that worse? Uh no, actually I don't. I've got some silly stuff at the house. I'll make do here later on and see how that goes. HA!! Now the damn stuff has cleared up. Odd, or maybe not. I feel like I've got more excuses than a proctologist has butt hole when it comes to gym time. I need to stay well until at least November 1. I'd like it to be New Years day, but at the moment I'm beginning to feel that that's a pipe dream. We'll see as time goes along, though. None of this is written in stone.
Now, if it's Baxter rolling along, then I would assume he's getting worse fast. That means less time for me to see the world. The damnable shame of that is, it's going to be more difficult for me to see the world beyond my little corner here. While there are great things here, it's not the most scenic of places to live. I do need to get back out to my shop, check on the boys and my boss. I'll do that tomorrow I think. Very early, so I can get back home and crash out some. I'm going to McPherson Ks come hell or high water. That's gonna be a trip. I'm hoping my wife can take an extra couple days off. This may be our last trip of consequence together. I'll ask her this morning if she can check. I need to stop and see my sister and brother. May be the last time I get to see them, other than looking down or through the veil of the ethereal realm.
This is the part of this that I don't enjoy. I know I'm going to croak, no two ways about that and nothing I do will slow that down. Not without making myself far worse off than I am right now. That's not gonna happen. I don't enjoy thinking if finalities. This is the last this, that or the other. It's going to come down to that eventually, and I'm trying to square that away mentally. Physically isn't going to be too tough, I'm gonna get weaker all the time. That's a given. Mentally, though, that's another story. It turns out I'm very happy with what I've done and seen, and yet not 100% satisfied. There are literally thousands of things I'd love to see and do yet. I've got a friend riding the Dragons Tail in North Carolina. If you're not sure what that is, look it up online, it's very cool. It's not so much I'd like to take Fat Girl up and twist through all those turns, it's the stuff to see on the way there and back. If you make it a circle, you never catch the same part twice, until I get closer to home. I've never seen Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, or Glacier National Park. Nice places to take the bike. Better yet if I could get Liz there first, and meet her for a nice day cruise kind of deal. We were getting to the place we could do stuff like that. Rats. The things I'm not going to do. Oh well. That's how it's going to be with Baxter growing up and adding his minions to the mix. So, no use pissing over woulda, coulda, shoulda
I read a novel last night too. Started at 6 or in the evening, finished about midnight. Right at 400 pages. I liked it so it went fast. I read like a man possessed when I get a book I like. We took 6 novels with us when we went to Houston for the first, and only it turns out, reconstructive surgery. We were gonna be there 4 evenings, and I was going to be out for the better part of one entire day. I read all six, going to, waiting at, and lying in the hospital. I still had a day to go before they cut me loose. Sheesh. Of course, half of those were rereads so the go much faster. Like rereading the Lord Of The Rings trilogy on a long weekend. I've done that twice. Reading is a good past time. It can add to your vocabulary, teach you to look for context in everything, and take you out of your present situation and put you into situations you'd never get yourself into in the first place. A good book is hard to beat. A bad book, well, it's still reading, even if it's painful. I'm not a big guy on what some consider the classics. "The Old Man and The Sea", I pulled for the shark. John Steinbeck makes me wanna open a vein. With the exception of "Cannery Row". Austen, the Brontes, no thanks. And JD Salinger's "Catcher In The Rye", how in heaven's name that influenced and entire generation is beyond me. Bear in mind this is my own reading preferences. What you enjoy reading is a personal thing, I think it's great no matter what you read or why you enjoy the books. Just read. PSA over. I do, however, like "In Cold Blood" and "To Kill A Mocking Bird". Both great works. "Animal Farm", "Atlas Shrugged", "The Fountainhead", "1984". Love those. I never finished McCullough's biography of John Adams, which I was thoroughly enjoying and over half through. Something about September 11, 2001 put that on hold, and it never held the same spot in me afterward. I like Clive Cussler, Robert B. Parker, Lee Child (Jack Reacher is a man's man), Robert Lee Burke. All good authors for different reasons. My best advise...READ.
I'm out dancing one night, and cuttin up with the whole Hee Haw Gang. Dancing mostly with this lovely red headed women I'd not seen before, even bought her a few drinks. We're out cuttin the rug on a real "hold me close and tell me naughty things" song when she sayd "Oh fuck, my ex". I ask, she points him out, I shrug. Big deal, he's 20 lbs lighter than me and fat. No worries, or so I say.
"Stay and dance" I say, "We'll get breakfast" I say. Nope, she gives me a "I wish I could stay" smooch and pat on the ass and heads out. I make sure she gets to her car okay and gets out of the lot without any trouble. Back in I go, no sweat. Tubs is still there, not doing much but drinking and I go back to my rat killing and laughing with the gang. Closing time! Oh well, breakfast at the truck stop alone and home to bed. Except, out to my car I go with a herd of folks all around, when I hear "Hey Asshole" close enough that I can't mistake it not being for me. So I turn around all gung ho to knock some dick weed on his ass if I have to do so. Not this time. I can tell you from experience, a little tiny .25 caliber semi auto pistol looks like a Howitzer if it's only a couple inches from the bridge of your nose. "You were dancing with me ex wife, prick", he says with his hand shaking like a vibrator. "Key word there is ex, and yes I was". Not brave, just out of wise ass remarks. Before I could say anything else, this big assed hand flies in, grabs the gun and guys hand all at the same time and takes the gun out. "Go on, dude, we got this". Two other guys are there with Mr Hand. I do not know any of them. "Sure thing, I'm starving". After I got clear of the parking lot, I had the shakes and the sweats. Spooky. All for dancing with the girl.
No, I do not know what happened with the fat guy and Mr. Hand and his pals. Nor the woman, never saw her again either. Mores the shame, she was built quite well and had a lovely sexy voice. That, however, didn't stop me from dancing with the girls. I never have gotten over wanting to do that. Girls smell good.
Do the Hokey Pokey and turn yourself around
