I swear that I can't get what I want to write about lined up and finished. I've headed off in 5 bazillion directions with this blog. It's nothing unusual even. It was going to be something we all could relate to on a daily basis, but even those have fallen through. That just frustrates the pee pee out of me. There are a couple of things that I think all of us get from time to time, that are beginning to get to be a larger issue with me. I think I've got 30 to 60 days of driving left, then I will have to gather up a driver to take me all the fun places I like to go. I have no idea how I'm going to get to coffee. If my vision is so bad that I can't drive, and it's a struggle to walk much of any distance, I'm not so sure I could make the three mile round trip. Here's the rub. Have any of you had to flat tell the parent/s that they couldn't drive any longer and you were taking their keys? I'm propped up here all lipping off about how I'll just shut it down myself and not grouch about it later? That kind of made me laugh a bit as well. Yeah, the no driving thing is libel to make me a really mean assed old bastard before this is all said and done with.
Further more, I've got it in the back of my mind that I might not be able to bath myself, coming up. Yes, yes I know that's part of the business, but for Pete's sake. really? I've been bathing myself for as long as I remember. Even with full casts on my arms and a couple (four to be honest) on my ankles, and I could STILL bath myself. It's going to boil down to upper body strength and balance. I can tell you right now, I'm losing upper body strength every day, and the damn cancer is banging around my inner ear. They ring far more loudly and are noticeable to me any time I wake. Even for a quick piss in the middle of the night. So, looking at this like I probably should, I'm gonna need someone to help stay clean. This is the part of cancer, and any number other diseases out there, that probably hurts the worst. It strips away your independence and dignity. It's not enough for it to kill you, it's got to drag your way into the next level of existence (yes, life after death) by stripping even more of what you are or could have been. Break time. I've gotta med up, change tubes, and drive myself in my little hoopty to get that cup of joe and read some of the paper. Back before you can memorize and replay word for word "King Lear".
Okay, I'm back from my fun and games. The great thing: I spent some nice hours with Liz eating (I watched) and shopping with her for dark colored sheets and blankets, in case I bleed out at night, or am bleeding so bad she can't stop it. The dark sheets and blanket will at least mask some of the problem. (I also Torpedo Ran some unsuspecting shoppers at Kohl's. The expressions? Priceless). Suddenly, as is its want, I ran out of steam. No warning, no slow down, nope, none of that. Just an utter and all at once loss of any get up and go. In an hour and a 1/4 I get to eat again. Boy, that sounds almost exciting!!! Almost is right. Which leads right into the other "rub". Seldom is it a complete day for me any longer on "Good" versus "Bad" Days. What I'm settling for are "Mostly Good Days", or "Mostly Bad Days". Damn near "The Princess Bride" line "No, see? He was only MOOSTLY dead". Boy, that does fit my situation some days. It's partly funny and partly maddening that the speed at which the change for good to bad occurs. Sometimes it's hours to make the change, and like today, it was only a matter of minutes. I'm walkin along paying attention to just me and the next thing I know I'm starting to feel wrung out and need a nap. Or a sleep for the rest of the day. It's all together frustrating. Then it's like I shoulda just shut my dick in the dresser drawer, because it couldn't make me feel any worse.
It's the days like that that make doing the blog more difficult. They start out great, and I don't want to sit down and blog away and not use those hours for something that is good for me mentally. So I wait, and if I still feel pretty decent before I go to bed, I'll write a bit. If not, I'll hold off a bit. The blog is supposed to help all of us out. Me, therapeutically, and other's in the manner that it works best. Remaining calm, holding your head up, how to make each day more valuable, those kind of things. I hope that I'm hitting the mark with all that. Then, when I feel really poorly and try to write anything it comes off as being a whiney little bitch, and as a rule I'm not. At least I don't think I am. I do have honest enough friends that when I get whiney they say so in no uncertain terms. Those are the type friends everyone needs, to be honest. They may piss you off, but they only do it because they love you enough to know you need your shit straightened out. Good bunch of folks they are. Those are the kind of friends everyone should have. They not only keep me lined out, the buddies that live here are like gold. They do more than their share, they are helping Liz, which in the long run helps me, I don't have to worry about Liz. She's going to have more people looking after her than The President of the United States. I feel a bit better now, knowing that the family is going to have plenty of support.
For God's sake I've restarted, rewritten, and changed topic 6 to 8 times. Insane, man. But, the problem lies within myself and my day to day ability to balance my good days and times against my not so good, all the way down to plain fucking bad days. There's a huge difference in "not so good" and "fucking bad". Not so good is defined by myself as plain old lethargy. Fucking Bad is pain regardless of what I'm taking, covered up with the inability to clear my trach tube of my own secretions.
So this is honestly the end of this blog. Three days in the making, three days of looking for the right combination of words and times. I've gone over why they differ. I think that's pretty well covered the topic of "Why Is Rocky Always So Damned Inconsistent With Running His Blog".
Fair warning. I've a feeling it's gonna be a long time between LOL