That, girls and boys is a damn good question. I've been being a fabulous human being one minute, and the next being an asshole such as the world would not waste the twenty-five cents for a .22 round to end my life. Why has this been the case? Fucked if I know. I do know that if I EVER let myself slip into that sack of shit, self pitying, complete and inexcusable asshole that I was behaving like, I'll give the round to end it all right then and there. No, terminally ill is no fucking excuse. We let people get by with that because they are terminal, they are under undo amounts of stress that none of us short of soldiers in a fire fight ever even experience. True or not, that does not give us leave to be hurtful to people trying their best to help us. Those people, who have to watch us die, their loved ones. The person the longed for, who they wanted to see the sunset of their lives together is breaking that vow far to early. We, the terminal, have no fucking right to be hurtful. None. We are dying. These people who have dedicated their lives to us are the only thing we have no fucking right to be hurtful. We can be angry and mean to every other one of the over six billion people on this planet, but NEVER to the ones who are watching us waste away. Hoping beyond hope that some how, the doctors were all wrong, it's be a terrible mistake and in a short time we will be up and around doing things just like we had prior. That ain't gonna happen. Be kind to these people, if we are not, we deserve a lot worse after life than even hell can provide. Why? you ask. Because they truly are sent by God to help us along this last step.
This past week had a lot of good hours with it, and one full day that was shittin near perfect. I dicked the next day up like you would not believe. The Love of My Life and I made a fantastic breakfast. Pretty damn involved from start to finish. It came of perfect. To me it smelled just a little like heaven. To the family it tasted great!!!! Not much better than that, right? Shouldn't have been. She offered to clean the kitchen, I offered to help, she said no, you did nearly all the cooking, I'll clean. Seemed like a fair trade, right? I thought so when I sat down into the recliner, and I dozed off. When I woke up, I jumped her for absolutely not fucking reason. Pitched a fit worthy or a five year old, stomped, yelled when the voice would allow it. Steamed. Burned. Blew Gaskets. For what? I fell asleep and hadn't reminded her that I wanted to go see the new Indian Motorcycles at Odessa. I made her cry. I made her feel like something, was her fault. Nothing was her fault, there was no call for me to act that way, none at all. We went. The bikes are nice, although they need to make the farings look a hell of a less cheap. My God what a good sounding motorcycle. In fact, Liz said she liked the Indian Chief Classic. The one that looks closest to the last year Indian produced.
What we did later, when we got home (you know, once a feeling is wounded it never completely heals, I knew that, and yet I proceeded earlier in the day to do just that) we took some time to write out the things that we loved about each other, and the things that we didn't love about each other. The times we'd let one another down, without really knowing we'd done that. Thankfully, it wasn't very often for either one of us, and we got that worked out. But, I'm here to tell you, those things leave scar tissue and you never lose it. EVER. Sure, the scars soften, and they fade, but they are there, and they are there forever. You young men, mind your shit. If you truly love the woman you're with, as much or more than I do my own heart and soul, don't hurt them, please. Not only do they feel bad, they feel worse, then as you look at her, you'll feel worse. It's worth none of that. Ever.
So, Sunday rolls along. I take my baby girl to breakfast at IHOP, I'm not the best company because for a change I'm actually tired, and I doze on and off and watched her draw people while she noshed away at her breakfast. She amazes me with her talent, and that something I need to tell her more often.
Anyway, we get home and I'm so stoked that I think "Ya know, I'm gonna skip my anxiety drug this morning, and just see how long it goes until I think I need it". We have now entered the "Can You Possibly Be Anymore Stupid" realm of life. It turned out yes, I could get possibly more stupid. Not only did I wait way to fucking long. I didn't take into account that the leg soreness and restlessness could more than likely be the walking around the new bikes, the cleaning of some of the junk from my garage, and moving stuff around the house. Oh no, it's because I was having an anxiety attack. No, I drove myself into that state and managed to drive at an even higher rate to "Oh fuck, I really think I'm dying". This Men and Women, was the second or third time I've ever been really and honestly frightened. Liz called the Hospice and they sent the very attractive, kind, weekend nurse. Who, by the time Liz called her, became worried as well. I'd had some time with coughing, vomiting, hyperventilation (also a first) and whether I needed to go off to Hospice House in Odessa until we sorted out what the hell. I looked at the woman I love, and have loved for what has become the greatest part of my life. Her face was wracked with worry and fear, she had done all she knew to do for and with me (we'd waited so long to try the valium it didn't work well until way after we got to Hospice House and another drug was applied. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I took the evening drugs, discovered my BP was crazy high, but everything was beginning to iron out. I slept a good long while. Took in 1800 ML about 60 ounces of nice cool water at 3 AM before I needed to use the restroom. I waited, watched the boob took. Took in more water. In the time between 3 AM and 6AM I had a lot of time to go over what was important to me. Liz, first and foremost is important to me. Sorry my lovely children, you are all a close second. Home. But it's not a home without Liz and the children. They are the reasons that I've done what I've done in the past. I've tried to make my decisions based on what would be best for them. So I decided to come home. We've made some changes in sleeping arrangements. Some with hanging out in the living room.
In the last bit of time I've got left, I've have the chance to possibly make up to Liz the times I've made her feel less of herself than she ever will be.
My Warning: Mind Your P's and Q's fuckers. The Woman you may be taking for granted, may be the best thing that's ever happened to your. Do it right, every time, every chance you get.
Elizabeth Ann Cook: The woman who makes me a better man, every day. Found in the least likely place under some stupid assed conditions. Oh yeah, there truly is Karma, and I'm more than pleased they were on my side that day
Love all of you.
The Friends I've made leave me in awe