Thursday, March 13, 2014

My Blog, By Any Other Name...

Wouldn't be my blog now would it? I gotta have things spelled out, no hints of innuendo.  I don't like guessing. On the other hand, I do love a good surprise party. Does this make me out of the main stream? For men, I'd say no, but probably odd for women, yes. I figured this out since bring married. Liz would hint until her face turned blue. Damned if I knew what she wanted. Then, one Saturday when I had off, the "Hint Mobile" pulled up to the drive, I missed every hint. "Jesus Christ! Do I have to spell it out for you?" I respond "Yes, you damn sure do" We no longer hint at our house. It makes me smile thinking of that, because there have been times we've yelled at each other for the dumbest fucking shit and then turned around and laughed at each other. Does that make for a perfect marriage? In my case, I believe it did and still does.

   The first cut is the deepest. I've said things that I wish I could take back and learn to shut my mouth over. With in the last three weeks for certain. It wasn't necessary, nor was it truly intentional. I let my mouth over run my good sense. I've bombed feelings, made the woman I love feel small. I'll tell ya, that's the worst damn thing I've ever done, and I've done it twice. The anger at the cancer, and the inability to express myself so people know what I'm saying got to me. So did the fact that folks would do or get the neighbors to do things for the family without asking me if I thought I could or not. There's the rub, aye?  It made me feel small and useless. Stupid of me, yes? Fuck yes it was stupid of me. I knew and know, deep in my heart there are a lot of things I just can't do around the house any longer. Sadly, that list gets longer every day. I just thought I was getting exhausted, nawwww, that was just getting tired. Exhausted is now. I get tired taking a shower and moving around the house. I get exhausted by the end of the day. It runs me down just thinking about it. Be cognizant of what's going on around me and not having the energy to do anything about it. That's not just dying from a disease, that's fucking punishment. It's gotta be. The Karma Police have handed out my punishment for the things I swore to other people I'd never talk about. I told folks I wasn't always so sweet. Me and my Maker know about it, we've talked about it, so on that front I'm squared away.  I hope I've made amends and apologies as the years have rolled along.

   This Cancer, this bane to my life.What's it doing this time? Well, lets say that if a little bleeding was okay, a lot is a whole lot better. I'm not nervous about it, or even scared of the bleeding any longer. Although Sunday night, Early Monday Morning was startling to say the least. I'd coughed. With my compromised esophageal sphincter I some times get stuff up with a cough or burp that should remain hidden until potty time. So, knowing that this could turn in to a heaving the night away, I booked it for the bathroom, got the toilet all set up and me sat down on the edge of the tub, I was ready. Except for looking at my runway from the bed to the bathroom. Blood drops along the floor, all the way into the can where there are 4 or so on the throw rug. Hmmmm. My mouth felt full, and I've learned from experience I can lean over and just let gravity do it's job and end up in less trouble than  if I force things along. I shoulda forced things along. I got all set up like one should, I suppose, then opened my mouth. It was full alright. Of Blood. Looked like a vampire convention had spilled a little. It really was quite a lot, in my mind anyway. So, I decide I need Liz. That way she can help me determine if I need to run up to the hospital, and have her call Hospice. I flushed the pot.  What???? You damn fool. That was what you were going to use as a gauge for Liz. So I wake her up anyway. By now it's all but stopped, and I even warfed up a huge blood clot we named "Giganto". Felt like the size of a quarter, but was more like a dime. HA! Three months ago that would have made me shit my pants. Now it's merely a curiosity. Like how the hell did that get in there and still let me breath. Crazy shit that goes on with the human body.

    What else is it doing? Not much, but I feel and see some reasons I think it's moving along. General Malaise (can not be bought in the condiment section of your local grocery store), mixed in with occasional mild depression. The latter I poo poo'ed because "I've never been depressed a day in my life". Surprise, Dickhead, you never had Terminal Cancer either. Known prior to this, my personal case name of "Terminal Velocity".  So, for today, that's it. The end of today's saga. Which ended (nearly anyway) at 0345 when my wife said my alarm was going off, shortly after it scared the wild shit out of me and I dumped the computer off my lap onto the floor. Thank God it still works.

  My memory isn't what it was in the short term, so if I've told this, be sure and let me know. I don't want people to think I'd run out of good material.

   I'd gotten my right arm out of a sling two weeks before, the after effect of tearing my biceps tendon (including a tiny piece of bone) off my right arm and was working on rehab for it on my own. Things I'd gotten from Ed Cosner. With doing my rehab at home (ahead of when the Dr said) I was healing up very quickly according to my Dr.  I rode Fat Girl to Arlington for the Texas Scottish Festival the first weekend of June. Fuck me it was HOT!. Fat Girl said 122 on the concrete next to the ticket both. I was judging the Master's Division. Something I damn sure didn't want to fuck up since I throw with the guys. I told them, "You guys got my Judge cherry, don't think it's going to bother me if you stop and tell me I've done something wrong".  I was either so lenient or was at least consistent enough that no one said a word.
 Around lunch Bull (the AD) said they had us in the wrong place and to go get the 56, 42, and 28# weights from the far south end of the field. No sweat, another guy and I went. I told him to get the light stuff and haul ass with it since they needed them ASAP and I'd struggle along with the 56#.
As I walk around three people, one of which is drunker than a waltzing piss ant I hear, "Nice legs under the skirt, pussy". Yep, I ignored it. He kept it up, laughing once in a while about how I looked good enough to kiss (It's true, ladies, I did look good enough to kiss) in my skirt. Finally, I stopped, sat the weight down and asked if he ever picked up a first grader and threw him? No, huh? See, that's what that weight I'm carrying weighs. I picked it up, left handed, and held it straight out in front of me, then slowly set it on the ground. "It's a little heavy, but not so heavy some big strong man like you can't do what I just did on a bet. Say, an extra large lemonade from the vendor with the little John Deere motor?" He said if I could hold it out there, so could he. Here goes my judging job if Bull hears about this.
  So, I picked it up and told him to "Fetch the Bitch from me, it's heavy". I was looking down, and when his right foot ended up where the dust pattern for the weight showed, I turned it loose. Wow. He yelled loud. He even had a couple of toes that looked funny, and they didn't even fit his flip flop anymore. "Dammit!!!! I lose!! I'll be right back". I went and bought his lemonade. The vendor was kind of chuckling, so were a couple of other vendors. It was really crowded that year with food and drink people.
 I went ahead and judged. And had a great time doing that. And now, this sees the light of day. Aaron "Bull" Woods, don't hold it against me, brother. I'd had all that peckerwood's gas I could stand.
He did come set in the bleachers, he watched the Master's throw the 42#. Never said a word. He was drinking that lemonade. I waved really big, and got a great big wave back from his two friends (did I mention one of his friends had a HUGE rack?) That's what the Highland Games are all about, making people happy and having a good time.

Be careful out there, and shit                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

1 comment:

  1. Uh, ya see what I grew up with? Funny f'in shit like that? If you were a good person, my brother (family) made sure you were made aware of it. If you were an "ass-munch", my brother (family) came up with some VERY creative ways of conveying that concept to you. Mr. Fuck-Nut got a lttle "foot adjustment" that helped him remember that good manners are their own reward. I've got A LOT of tales of "learned humility" that were delivered by both Charles R. Smith's; another reason why I walk around with a smirk. Hey Rock! I love you!