Screw You Guys, I'm Still Alive

   You should hear Eric Cartman's voice when you read this title, otherwise it's just not funny. But, it's also true. The Doc gave me a year, actually 4-6 months, then through in "Well, nothing is written in stone".  I said, well wrote down "Nice CYA, Doc". He said as well that I more than likely had 6-8 months in reality, because the cancer was so aggressive, and had thrown in so many smaller tumors in just two months, and all of those in areas they'd all ready operated upon. Liz wasn't there for that fun and games explanation, because she was so upset that I didn't feel she needed to hear that part of the wonderful news. There are still things that may happen as well, that I didn't tell her, and won't either unless the symptoms raise their ugly head.  So here I am, a year later, bumping along like I had good sense and nothing much beyond that. Yes, I notice things now that I didn't before. The steps I lose now don't give me the chance to ease into them as much as the ones that popped up earlier. Little shit just exhausts the hell outta me, and even my skin feels like an old shirt, but not as comfortable. So another year, and a battle for the new goals of seeing two new grand babies before I kick that bucket down the road. Time and I shall tell the tale. If I can hold onto the the damn stubborn side of me, be meaner than Baxter (since I'm not as nice as some folk think), and simply hang onto wanting to hold my own kids kid just once each. One time, that's all I need. That and having a baby asleep on my chest one more time, that'd be two tits and a cuppa Joe.

  The new thing is since the lymphedema treatment wasn't helping me to drain the fluid in my tissues as well as before, the therapist and I said "stop. It's not helping any longer". That was true, for certain. That was eight days ago. Four days ago I woke up and could't see. It felt like my right eye was just matted shut. As I felt around though, I knew right away what it was, swelling. Shit, I didn't leave the house just for kicks and go get a into a fight. Did I? No, I didn't. I'd not seen my eyes look like that since a time back in 1983. Even then it wasn't both eyes, just my left one. My buddy John Moye said "Now you look like Jerry Cooney after the Ali fight". That cracked me up, and we went bat shit with that for about 30 minutes. We are two twisted individuals, but laugh more than either one of us probably should. That's two people that help me laugh at things when other people just look at me with pity and near fear.

   Laughter, that's one of the things, and probably in the top three or four things that that help me along. First, of course, is the loving, lovely, and sensual wife. The Rock, The Anchor, friend and lover. She is the main reason I've made it this far. My kids and siblings are great, but my wife, fabulous. Every time I get down, I see her and think that I can't leave yet, I've not had enough time with her. It kills me when I see her down, and I'm helpless because my situation is what is hurting her heart. That's a tough thing to saddle up with daily, but it is also part of the nature of this, or any other terminal disease I'm sure. So, we laugh. I laugh at myself, then I laugh with Liz, because quite honestly what's left? Constant depression? Quitting? No, those two false feelings are no fucking good at all. So we laugh. We laughed all the time when I was in good shape, so why not now. I can't make any sounds, but I'd be laughing so hard the walls blew out if I could. The wife and my best bud, they are so, so concerned, and yet to help me out, they bury that and laugh with me. That's a sacrifice on their part. On my end, I sacrifice so they don't have to sweat so much. What do I sacrifice for them? I'll never tell.

   Sidebar : Liz and I went to Lowe's to pick up a shower head. They had bottled water on sale for $4/32 bottle case. We shopped a bit, looking for things to get for the yards and patio. I was taking the cart back, when a man and wife, with all 3 of their kids walked past. I offered them my cart, they both waved me off, and as I walked back after putting my cart away, they stepped in and grabbed another cart. Talk about fucking humiliation. Before the comments come in with "Maybe they thought they needed a cart after all", I saw them whip out a list that could have been DR. Zhivago as long as it was. Rotten, razzer frackin, flimm flammin, fart biters anyway!!!  I must assume, they are simply ignorant pricks that really aren't my intellectual peer, and more than likely have an unresolved Oedipus Complex and a married woman who has an overwhelming Daddy Issues. Thus ends the rant.

   Tonight (The 25th day of the 7th month, in the year of our Lord Two Thousand Fourteen) we are going to take pictures of Fat Girl with some other stuff going with it. I wanted them so for the memory board at my memorial. The guy doing the pics is very good at what he does, and I want to see if he can do something special for me with one of them. It's kind of my last hurrah with Fats. Short ride to the park we are going to take the pictures. Fats is in pretty good shape, and she has always been a great ride as well. Then tomorrow or Sunday she gets a trip to Grand Prairie where she will be ridden and enjoyed, hopefully as much as when I had her. She's a good girl, and she likes best to run out the highway. Get the schools under your belt, get the license, ride something lighter and shorter first. Don't rush it, Fats will let you know when it's time. Enjoy the shit out of her. She's a bitch getting into neutral, but she runs like a scalded assed ape, that's for sure. Where she thinner, and a bit shorter she'd break that 125 I've tagged her at. Be careful on her, respect the fact that if you get careless with her, she'll kill ya. But mostly, when you get to the point you don't think you can move anymore because your so stressed and you don't want to blow up at the family, putting your ass in the saddle and just cruising, even if it's just bouncing around the neighborhood, will pull that out of you. It did me anyway. So, son, be very careful with her, you've got a new baby coming. Steph, and the kids need you more than you need Fat Girl. I love ya, enjoy the ride, man. If you can have as much fun as I have (with or without a bike to ride) your life is damn full.

 Okay, boys and girls, lets all go enjoy our weekend. Remember too, life is a roller coaster, and the sooner you relax and go with the ups, downs, and circles, the sooner it becomes more than fun.