One More Fourth Of July

   Fourth Of July, Independence Day. The day Thirteen men pledged …."Our lives, freedom, and sacred honor.." to this idea of a country run not by the inbred insanity of a Monarchy, but to the sanctity of a nation run by free men, and charted to give certain inalienable rights to each man. Where errors made at that time? Certainly, because MEN (not a disrespect toward women at all) put the documents together and attempted to do the right thing by it's people. George Washington, first in war, first in peace, first person in the Colonies to "vaccinate" everyone on his plantations. Vaccinate you say? Why yes. There was an idea that if you scratched a person with a needle dipped in Small pox sores, they'd not catch the disease. I don't remember when they captured the virus from the infected, but not a soul that was vaccinated on his plantation caught the smallpox, while at the time, it was ravaging the New World. Not bad for a maligned person.
 Thomas Jefferson, probably the most maligned of all the Founders, did beneficial things other than bang a slave. You know, like The Louisiana Purchase, and sending Louis and Clark to map the area and explore the Missouri to it's headwaters. Founded the University of Virginia. Passed the Freedom of Religion Bill in Virginia. He was an architect and linguist. Penned the letter that actually uses "Separation of Church and State" (found nowhere in the First Amendment, by the by), and was the Third POTUS. If one is going to use Madison's oft quoted statement on agreeing with the "separation  clause", use the next sentence written as well. As Madison said "….there must be a separation, in order to save religion from the government…" (PS, I may have paraphrased, if so, sue me if you must).

  I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm overjoyed that these 56 men got together and created a chance for us to be under our own control, and not some fucked up Monarch and his overpowering central government. It's a shame to see ours being converted as it is since the 1930's into a huge centrally powered monopoly that feels it must control us from cradle to grave. Shameful and saddening. I'm more than proud to be an American, not only that it's in my blood to be an American. I have my sense of Independence and it comes with a high price. My life at the moment. My own behavior may have helped the cancer along, but mostly it was  my own body. I chose to do what I did when I was a younger and less judicious man. Not the Federal Government, nor a tobacco company, or a distillery. All that was my own choice. People, in my opinion, who think that they were pushed into a particular behavior by a corporation or drug dealer can suck it. Don't want to be addicted to something? Use the noggin and don't use it. Too simple I suppose.

  Anyway, this is one of my favorite holidays, always has been. This year my family went to celebrate with friends. I was too tired and sick to go along. Yes I missed them. Yes I missed my friends. On the other hand, isn't it nice that they got to have to choice to go have a good time?

A Month Flies By Before I Knew It, Go Figure

  That's crazy. It's been a month since my last blog? Good Lord, that's the height of lazy, even by my rapidly easing standards. It's been too long. The days are getting more toward the half day good, half day less or just plain bad. Friday and Saturday were good days all day long, that's this past week, not way back a month ago, while yesterday was a sleep all day kinda thing. Partly because we are trying to get a handle on my increasing and potentially more dangerous than normal sleep walking. I don't remember any dreams in the last two to three months, until Saturday and Sunday night. Those that know me well, know that is really unusual for me. Normal is remembering a dream I can tell you conversation, area, whether or not I can see my hands (not yet, but soon, I hope). Not to remember any is not only surprising to me, it should have set off more alarm bells than 12 alarm fire. I should have noticed, but I believe that even while following the instructions, I was over medicated. Painkiller wise at least. Too many opium derived drugs working together. Fun fun fun and no pain at all, bad bad bad side effects. It also turns out that one of the medications we were using to control my secretions also is bad for you in the long term. Can make you crazy. According to some, that would be hard for me to see a difference.

  So, in this past month, I didn't think much had changed in my progression towards Critical Mass. I had not thought so, but last week certainly showed me wrong. I swell. My face and other parts of my upper body, once confined to above my collar bones. It's moving farther down my body, slowly but surely. It does this because my lymphatic system is compromised with my squamous cell carcinoma. In 2008, it had a spot that my body fixed on it's own, the secondarily slipped into only one lymph gland. This time, same thing, only my body didn't clear up the primary site alone, and it piled into other lymph glands. Even the third time last July 7th, and concluding treatment July 23rd, bailed into more lymph glands. They transport fluid around the body for cleansing in the liver and kidneys, then dispelled or used. I believe these are beginning to fall apart at a higher rate now, and it's showing in the amount of time my lymphedema therapy stays. I did pretty well this past weekend. If not less swelling, it looks like I held my own pretty well. I also believe the next two weeks will tell whether or not I should continue the therapy. It was going to come to an end, I knew this, and almost a year for a fairly aggressive cancer isn't to shabby I don't believe. Me, the Man Up, and my therapist, along with all of you, we've done some damn stellar work in this arena, we all deserve a slap on the back.

  All of the things I'm doing, or have tried are going to have a diminishing life span. As well as myself. This was an inevitability. Quite frankly, I've made it MUCH farther than I even imagined I would, even though I keep trying like I know better. This stage, though, is quite noticeable to me. I tire exponentially faster than I did even two weeks ago. I had a spot in my upper right leg, the one where the muscle was taken for the first flap put in my left face, that eventually died. It swelled enough for me to find it, on top of the pain that made me limp, which I tried to cover up from my wife. (yeah, that worked). The fact that I've made it farther than I originally thought, and as of today am 23 days from my year of death, is more determination and support than any medical reason. That's all kinds of support, folks. Yours, my hospice nurse, family, if you're a believer The Man Up, if not then just never letting me forget how I prefer to live my life. All of that is why, at this point all medicine did was fuck my face and throat up to the point I can't swallow and I look like I fell into a Mike Tyson right cross and upper cut. No, that's not entirely true. It has given me another 12 months with the family. By God, that's more than just a little time, isn't it. We've had time to get all the stuff most folks are rushing around to get done, funeral, will, argue, more argue, laugh at how dipshit is it to argue, then argue about that. Never anything big to argue about, most at me for procrastinating. I am a master of that at home. Work? No damn way, we do it today, because tomorrow might be a lightning storm, too cold, too hot, way to windy, short handed. We do it today at work, maybe tomorrow is a little slower. Maybe tomorrow is just fucking perfect and you can catch up some of the minor shit that has been shoved back because of major shit going on. But, that was then, this is now. Now is what it is and I'm trying to have fun doing it. So, in having fun Friday and Saturday, I baked 6 loves of bread, 3 large, 3 smaller because that's how I can make my Aunt Marge's bread recipe work out for me.  Who'd thought that I'd find baking as something fun and productive? By The Way!!!! Aunt Marge's Country Style Crust Bread is the absolute  best bread I've ever eaten. I'm diddling around with adding to it, like raisin bread, cinnamon, and Saturday, after I put the loaves in pans, and right before I hit the oven with them, I split the top on the smaller loaf and poured a dark cherry and brown sugar reduction into it. I believe it came out better than I expected.


  Okay, that's it for the day. I've got some things I need to do. Therapy, get Baby's feet balanced, pick up formula from Hospice, nap, so I'm not so shot in the frisking ass at the end of the day. Then talk with Dec out in the two person swing about some driving stuff. No, I am NOT going to teach him how to do 95% of the stuff I practiced and did in HS and after. Sheesh, I'm gonna try and be responsible this time. Although, it served his older sister Sarah quite well a couple of times on the Loop around Midland. Once, a 360 when she avoided having her front end clipped by a guy who missed his turn. Too much brake and turn all at once, got her spinning, then no brake, and turning slightly against the spin so the car didn't take the new direction as a need to spin, and no throttle until she was under control. Pretty proud of that one. Most times, like a blow out, brakes are a strict NO NO! A sharp tap, maybe to begin to slow, find a way out, then drive through.

  Love y'all, be safe, have fun, mostly be yourself, you're better than you think you are

Well Dammit All

    Yep, that's it. Dammit All. Damn the Cancer, damn my lack of energy FROM the cancer, damn my lazy ass that hasn't kept up with people. Dammit All.  See, this isn't how this whole damn thing was supposed to go. I wasn't supposed to doubt myself and my abilities to fight the cancer as it got more dedicated to killing me. Every day was supposed to be all cherries and whipped cream. Kiss my ass if it's a damn sight more difficult than that. Some days I doubt myself. Like Saturday. Friday, great day, baby. Lots of energy, did some cookin, baked a pound cake from scratch. Saturday I woke up at 0600, absolutely unable to decide what I should do first. I got started, got the Ativan that holds off panic, then in an hour, I got the anti-depressant in me, a couple of hours after that, I'd not fed, I didn't have anywhere near all my drugs in me, and I STILL couldn't group my shit without help. That, girls and boys, was disconcerting to say the least. So, after getting a large amount of help from the Lovely and our friend Cheri, I managed to sleep close to 21 hours in total. Did I need that much rest? Apparently. I thought I'd be pretty spry Saturday after having a somewhat better than average day on Friday. Was not to be. Sunday, though, that went pretty well. Up at my usual, felt pretty good, took a short nap. Gathered up the ol' walker and went with Liz and Cheri to Stanton, Tx for "Old Sorehead Days". A city wide flea market kind of deal. Some of the outdoor furniture has really improved in the last 20 years or so and Liz got a really decent two seat lawn swing for a more than reasonable price. I got around without completely passing out, a "Whoa Buckaroo, that made ya wobbly!" That was from bending over to pick up my pen, then standing up too fast. Silly boy. My Lymphedema therapist took a week vacation. I'm retaining more fluid in my shoulders, neck, and face than the Titanic forward storage hold. Makes me terribly uncomfortable, as well as drool like a herd of Pavlovian Dogs staring at the supper dish.

  It's been a bit over two weeks since I blogged last. That seems like an incredibly long time to me, when I look at the date. Odd isn't it, how our perception of time gets all muddled up at times? How long did it take to pop Jiffy Pop when we were kids? Three, four minutes? Felt like an hour or so, though, didn't it. For perception on time, I look back at a project my youngest son's incredibly hot Kindergarten teacher did that I thought was one of the most innovative things I've seen a teacher do with kids. She had them write down their favorite food and the recipe to make them. She typed them all up, put them in a little book that looked like a real cook book. It was absolutely fabulous. One of my son's favorites were baked potatoes. This is now our lesson in Perception of Time. The recipe reads thus: "Get 6 big potatoes, my dad eats two. Wash them off and poke holes in them with a fork, be careful not to stab yourself. Put them in plastic bags and put them into the microwave. Cook them for six days. Delicious!" Six days. That is one eviscerated potato. It's nummy goodness completely removed I imagine after hour 6 of 134. That, though, is how it looks to a five-year old that is waiting for his 6 minute potato and Iwantitrightnowdarnitmomitsbeenayear attitude. Time drags when you're a kid and there's something you want to do, play, or eat, or being punished. You could have flayed my youngest with a Cat-O-Nine Tails, and he'd not said a word. On the other hand, put him in a time out for ten minutes and his entire world fell apart. There was wailing, lamentations, rending of cloth. The punishment was blatantly against the US Constitution, was used by the Roman's against Christians. The only thing worse to him was hearing, "Five more minutes if you keep crying".
   I'm very close to that mark myself right now. I've been home so long, slowly getting worse in more than just a few ways. Some I just notice, and when I take stock of myself, hell, that's been going for more than a couple months. It just got to the point it moved onto my radar screen with louder blips. In five and a half months it'll be two years since I started chemo to reduce this fucking tumor enough that I could wait nearly 50 days to have my face carved up like a piece of mold covered cheese. In some cases the time is blasting by, in others, it's dragging a battleship anchor behind a 1963 VW Beetle.

  SIDEBAR: The new show on TNT "Murder in The First", pretty good. One detective's wife dying of         cancer, makes me a bit uneasy.

   I'm noticing something else that I'm starting to lose. Cancer, drugs, lack of use, take your pick, but it makes me a little spooked and more than a little uneasy. It's like this. I could stand still, close my eyes, and retrace my steps almost precisely in my mind like I was watching a movie. I could sort of do that down hole in wells. See the tools work or not work, how far away from X while we were still working on Y to get there. Not as good as my old man, but pretty fair. My dad, though, couldn't find his ass with both hands if he wasn't standing right where he stopped to look for it. That little skill that I have used a LOT is slipping away. I'm not certain why, but it is slippery in there anymore. I've got a couple things working on me I didn't have two years ago. You know, like opiates, a couple of different pain meds that aren't opium based. That may have something to do with my missing some of the fun mental games I used to play in order to try and keep the old noodle from going to soft.  Wow, that was a bad choice of word grouping wasn't it?

    After all that is said and done, today is a good day. Massage early on, lymphedema therapy, writing the blog, a couple of funny things that happened. The last one was a close call, but I'm chuckling about. I have to change tubes once in a while during the day, just the nature of the beast since I can't swallow. Here's how it played out. You older folks see if you can read this with a Howard Cosell voice rolling around.
  "Here comes Smith. SUCCESSfully cleaning out his tracheostomy tube now searching for the KY Jelly to make insertion a smooth and simple exercise. NO! It can't be he's grabbed the tube of BEN GAY COOL  TREATMENT!! That will be a horrifying and painful misTAKE if he doesn't catch the error. He sees it! Saving himself from what would be the remainder of his life in abject ridicule and self loathing."


  You all have more fun than a box full of mixed chocolates

Boy, I'm Clueless!! What Am I Going to Put On The Page?

  Solo, that's how we are supposed to go through life, board everything from ships to planes, to partners in our life. Hide the bad stuff away, only take it out when the pile needs to be added  to, then watch it all come down around our ears. It feels as if a ton of bricks hath fallen upon your psyche. Hoard the problems if you think you can handle the pressure, that  up the road, keeps bringing to the table. I've got news for you brave souls (I've done the hoarding of problems myself). Don't do it. Life can be hard enough as it is without being worn out before the really tough and frightening problems jump up onto the wagon as well. That'll be a break down moment. That's going to leave the person you're trying to help, back dealing with stuff they probably can't handle. Being Caregiver, you've got to take care of yourself first. If you go down, so does the person you're helping. Without you, they'll suffer more than is needed, and you'll feel guilty about that. Don't change your behavior or look to het help your self, because, the person you're helping look after wants to become a bedridden sloth. End it now, for heaven's  sake. Don't diddle around. either, while you do that your husband, wife, daughter, son, or possibly Grandkids are going to have to come to grips with the fact that they've not been as good at keeping an eye on the sick person, as maybe  they should have. Then again, if the primary caretaker isn't keeping up the communication, the secondary and expanded family caretakers aren't going to have a clue what needs taken care of with the sick person. I implore you, caretakers, share, it will allow you and everyone else a break from the numbing treatment and care that a terminal patient will eventually come to need.

    My pain got to the point not much would shut it down like it did four or five months ago, so I asked them yesterday to bump up my meds. I was thinking just the patches, then something morning and evening, and that I could bear. You know, waking up hurting badly in my neck and face and having a bit of Morphine to slow that down. And do the half dose thing once or more a day. The way it used to work, On 175mg per hour Fentanyl,  40 Mg/ml Morphine, Max on the Lortab, that was the first thing in the morning, because my pain was worse then. Then later in the day it was half dose of Morphine, another half dose in the afternoon the at 1900, I'd take the 2 times a day drugs, and I used it the same way I did the morning meds. Off to dreamland, and up at 0200 to 0230 to start my day again as best I could.
   Now, the Patch is stronger, I'm wearing 200 mg/hr for 72 hrs now. They changed the liquid from Morphine to Oxycodone, and the Lortab stays the same. I'm keeping a drug log for the Hospice Dr and PT. If it hangs in there like this, I'll be using about 2/3 less on Lortab than I have been. The stronger Patches and Oxycodone must be doing their job, as I've not used near as much Lortab for break through pain as I had in the past. They aren't leaving me as lethargic either. I'm keeping a usage log on the Oxy, Lortab, and for myself the Ativan. I've been trying to hold off the Ativan but I don't know if I can stop the feeling of an upcoming anxiety attack like I did yesterday. I'm passed the time I normally took the stuff, and my legs are getting to feeling like I need to run a marathon, I've been sweaty, then not sweaty. Hot,cold, hot, cold, and is about to stick with Hot and sweaty. Bad combo if I can't keep them from happening. The next thirty to forty-five minutes will tell the tale. I have a concern, in that if I can keep one attack off,  the next one happen ahead of you, and you want to try and make it quit again. If I get behind on the medication on the anxiety stuff, I'll be standing in a corner breathing so fast I'm about to hyperventilate, and couldn't find up if there was a map and someone leading me there. I hate those fucking anxiety attacks. Not only are they debilitating, but they suck away any of your control. I used to get them trying to read a new recipe for something I wanted to try, or when I was just standing writing a note. I learned to hold it down a bit by swaying left to right. It sets a rhythm that I can adjust my breathing to that speed and I'm not going to have a run away. Oil Field Example of a real runaway, on dry land. It's a smaller version of a gas engine that's come apart for the same reason, only it stayed where it was supposed to remain. My example went like this. I drive up, something just didn't look or feel right. It wasn't, the fly wheel had gone on a walk about. It's not light, there's nothing it won't run over. Unless it's tall and solid.
So, this is what my example did. This 1600 to 1800 pound fly wheel, while the engine is building into a marvelous runaway, breaks off the two safe guards and just keeps making blinding speed, offerings to the Gods of Speed, as it were. Then, finally a weak link, the shoe that slips over the crank shatters, and the flywheel is now going Eleventy bazillion miles per second and jumps off the crank and begins working on it's ultimate freedom, out of the the boxed in frame that it settled into. Why, shoot, that's only three feet deep, a little over half way out. It hits something that gives is a bounce or two and SHAZAM!!!! that bitch is headed down the road. It made it a half mile across pasture where the wet grass, fertilizer and cow shit do their thing , and it slows down a bit more where it finally stops and behaves itself by lying down for a few minutes until we came along to pick it up and get that back where it belongs and pumping my paycheck into the tanks LOL


 So that's a run away. In people its much the same. "I can't let anyone harm my baby!" "We can make him (or her) stew through that shit until I say it's okay and safe out" (which is never. It's never all safe or all evil).

  My advise? Set rules and consequences that everyone under stands and can follow. It's not that tough. We try and make everything so drawn out that it that it is impossible to follow (ask the indians how that  gets proven). Ponder those things for a bit, and until next time

Let the soft rain grown your plants
A gentle hand lead the way
Let the bad thoughts be kept in a jar……two hundred away from you
On Second thought, give the bad thoughts equally to the people who you stolen them from

Hugs and all that fun almost groping.
Later Agitator                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

I Believe Ahab Had the Proper Wording.

    "To the last I grapple with thee; from Hell's heart I stab at thee; for Hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.." Thanks, Herman Melville, you've summed up how I feel about the cancer that's stalking my very life, and skinning it down a bit at a time. I was reminded of the lines from "Moby Dick" by a friend of mine, Daric Smith, who was talking to another friend of mine, Starla Craig, about my Terminal Velocity. It's interesting, that I should be thinking this same thing around the time Daric told me about the conversation with Star. Was it projecting? Who knows, and in the long run, coincidence or just blind luck, it's pretty cool. It's this way, because both times I've fought the damn cancer I felt exactly like Ahab. I couldn't put my finger on it, but that's it, the precise wording and emotion. I surrender a bit of my humanity to fight this silent, slippery fucking killer. I do so, because I know no other way to fight when it's close to trying to kill me. Even with another human, as has happened once. I gave up every ounce of my humanity and compassion one time taking down a crank addict that had beaten a friend of mine's daughter. I didn't stop, not until I was satisfied he wouldn't hurt me or the people I was with. They thought I did kill him, actually. I held on very close to damn near too long. It's what I do with the cancer. Only this time, we will go out together. Neither one of us have the inclination to quit, neither one of us has the will to stop, both of us are animalistic in our approach to killing each other. The cancer is taking away the things I held dear about myself, in order to lower my morale and resistance. I, on the other hand, have sacrificed those things as well, so I can get another grip, force him back down, and continue the duel for a month, a day, an hour. I'm not certain how long, but it is going to take as long as it's going to take. In the end, I will allow Cancer to take my body, and in doing so, this container that holds "Me" will also kill Cancer. It's the sacrifice that will leave my family and friends without my person, but hopefully still holding onto my spirit. In the end, isn't that all any of us can control? How we are perceived is up to the individual, and like anything else, the individual will determine for themselves if we've lived a worthwhile life. In that, I certainly lay my hope.

     Should I have played this out this time? With all the surgeries, chemo, pain, loss of a very dear part of myself, my voice, worry from my loving and caring wife, concerned children. All those things and many more on one side of the scale. It's a heavy load that. On the other side of the scale is (this matters most, in my small mind) Fight it, you lazy shit. You do what you need to do, then extra. Do NOT bend a knee, bow your head, or lie down to simply give in. No, that's not in my nature. It's a hard spot, and a place that puts my family in the same hard spot. That's where the metal hits the meat. In order to make my stand, my close at hand family has to be dragged in right along side me. The siblings, 412 miles north and east, they get dragged in as well. They get the worst of it, too. For that I am truly sorry. I will try to make amends before the entire things chews me up, and I have to let the body die to kill the cancer. The confidence in myself that I've always had runs that raggedy edge of being cocky and an egoist in the first degree. I've prided myself in making tough decisions, and accepting the consequences as the may fall, good or ill. Part of that is what drives me, at the same time part of that is what held me back at my profession. I simply failed to be a diplomat, since that would put a kink in what I believed was the honorable thing to do. You know, don't compromise, constantly point out to the people up the chain from you where they screwed up, usually with a heart felt and terribly loud "Told ya". I still slept well at night. I enjoyed what I was doing, and when questioned as to why I didn't change to get a promotion, I honestly told them "If I'm hugging the well head, I've got a hundred times better chance of having a job the day after the lease sells than you'll have." Very truthful. Also, I've out lasted a few bosses that were complete dick heads and pricks with feet. One I saw around four years ago, he was in our office at Notrees, after Apache bought the lease from Anadarko. I smiled, shook his hand and gave him a pocket knife. "Thanks, Rock, but what's this for?".  "Oh, Liz finally got the last one out of my back that you stabbed in there."  Laughs from a couple of Apache wigs, several other people, and myself. Odd, though, the old prick foreman found no humor in that.  To answer my own question. Ya damn rights I played this out just like I have. It's been the best of times for me, right along with the worst of times for me.  Sadly, it also comes at a price from the family. As with any choice, the price is usually not paid by one person on their own, but is scattered out among several, and not all of those get equal shares of the pain.

    I never realized how much fun it was to be married to a woman who grew with me, and surpassed me at being a force of nature in her own right. She is the cannon that can return my fire with extra zeal and accuracy. She brought the absolute finest in myself. Some of which I'd thought I'd buried years before, but she saw it, and wormed it out of me. I've given her my best and worst, and she has matched me at both, and has run passed me like I was standing still on the best side of the scales. It works out that she still holds me in her hands. She takes my breath away when she comes in the room, can make me cry, laugh, and dance an Irish jig all in a matter of minutes of each other.
   Some time back, in between the fisticuffs I know as cancer, I was having my weekly visit with the Almighty and asked what I did to deserve such a wonderful woman to share my life with. He answered that it cuts both ways on that you dim wit. She asks herself the same question as you asked me. "You mean she asked what she did to deserve a woman like me?" Wrong, Mr Classclown, but you knew that. Maybe she does ask herself that. I've heard her call me her hero, knight in shining armor, and a whole slew of things I just never saw or see myself as being. She sees in me the things I want to be, but never have thought I'd achieved. I am in her debt, for the love she shows, her ability to balance me out. For fighting for me with doctors and insurance. Strong, strong woman. Why in God's good name would anyone want a woman who had to have everything dictated and spelled out for her, is beyond me.  One of the guys that was a Sr when I was a sophomore, Brian, calls our wives "The Gift". More fitting really, than "The Lovely", since Liz has always been lovely as far as I can tell, and she truly is a gift. A gift that keeps on giving of herself, and asks so little of me in return.


All right, I've rambled and blown off time like no tomorrow.  All y'all are loved and in my heart. Now, stay the hell outta my head! I've gotta get more bread LOL

Damn, maybe I'm Not Strong Enough

  When I started this blog, I swore I'd take all of you along with me, bad, good, horrid, indifferent, regardless of what was going on, I'd write about it, so that if any one of you have to face it yourself, or with a loved one, it wouldn't be so scary. You'd have an idea of what was going on, in generalities, because each person is different. That was the intent. Lately, though, I've not kept up with this daily, or even weekly, and I apologize. To do it right, I need to write something, even if it's "I'm too tired" or "I'm hurting to much", so you all at least know that I'm able to communicate and continue on. It's getting terribly difficult to do that. I went to get coffee with the guys three times this week. It's still nice to be around them and some other folks, but it's getting harder to force myself to do that. I do it to prove that it's not beaten  me down yet. The fucking cancer is trying, but I'm just arguing with it all the time to leave me the hell alone. It, like teenage kids, is not listening. I believe it's found a chink in my armor and it whittling away at that, daily. The truth is, I keep out lasting how long I think I would have made it, and it's scooting in on ten months since I got the word. Maybe it's pissed off and it working more steadily. Maybe it's pissed off and is taking some time to gather up some power shots and overly strong kicks. That's really what it feels like. I don't notice much change, then all at once, wow. The last three weeks have been "The Wow" kind of weeks. Things hit really hard the last three weeks. I get adapted to one new set of fun, and another starts up, adapt to those two and and third hit me Saturday. Wow

   
  It's been tough. Not only on me, but family and friends as well. I thought, well I still think, that I was strong enough to carry this load and help everyone else as well. Some days I doubt that I am that strong. I also think I'm letting a lot of folks down. There's no basis for that, I don't believe, but I feel that way. Mostly family. I feel like I didn't do enough for all of them. That my guidance to my siblings was weak and so flawed. Yes, I felt responsible for being a guide for them as well as my own. I know I've not shown that enough lately, that's my shortcoming and I don't think I can fix that with the time I've got left. That should have been done for the last thirty years, not thirty months. I made some decisions that were very hard for me, and maybe they weren't the right decisions, but they are made, the consequences have come and done their thing and now it's time to look ahead a bit. I hope that those people who feel I let them down, shorted them in some way, or made them feel badly about themselves can find the room in their hearts to forgive me, as I ask them to, and have asked in the past.
 
  Maybe I'm not as strong as I thought I was when this all started. Maybe that's been me fooling myself. Could be, I hope as this goes along I am as strong as I thought and projected. I've always told people, "If I'm  not smiling or laughing when I tell you I'll do something, it'll get done." I always tried to live up to my own hype. I'd say I've made it about 90% of the time. That's pretty bold, 90% success rate. I'll leave that up to some of my buds. I know that in the last 10 or 12 years, I've been asked and gladly helped, cover people's backs when they expected trouble.  I've helped several people move up the ladder ahead of myself. For two reasons, really.They were young men, smart, gung-ho, and tried to do things right the first time. Much to my pride and pleasure they moved right along and moved up with the companies I've worked for, which makes me very happy for them. Now, the question is, why didn't I bust in for myself and take those jobs? The only job I ever wanted, other than pumping, was well tech. I had no interest in being a foreman, or anything higher. I liked helping to train the new guys on how to work safely, what to do in certain situations, and to think ahead just a little. Bragging on myself I think I was a pretty decent instructor, or I hope I was at least. But Well Tech, to me, was the best job I could have for myself. Lots of hands on work, still, a bit of leadership, and enough responsibility that I enjoyed the gig from the first day I worked it until I couldn't any longer.  I should have been doing that eight or ten years sooner, but I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. It turns out that was my best advise to anyone. Stay shut up, work along, offer ideas and don't get butt hurt if they aren't used. Most importantly don't say "I told you so" if the bosses idea falls on it's ass, they know it did and don't need to hear it from a flunky. That works in any workplace.


  Geez Louise, I've rambled and gone over stuff I've already talked about ad nauseam.

  Truly and honestly? I don't know where I'll find the strength to leave this plane and head toward the great unknown without worry. Not about myself, I'm going, that's written in stone. It's more about family, friends, and acquaintances that I've made over 53 years. Have I given of myself enough to help them? Did they find something in themselves they didn't see, but I tried to show them? Man, I hope so. I'll leave a bit more comfortably if that's the case.


I'd love to ramble on, but I'm tired, sore, and worn out from being both. Love y'all. Be good, hear?

If I Sleep Most of The Day, I'm Awake All Night. Go Figure

  Man, I'd been getting a realistic amount of sleep at night, and it was good. Saturday night I bomb out about ten, late for me, actually, and don't wake up until 0730. Long sleep. I get my drugs fixed and in, have my morning formula, got the paper, dug out the funnies and went right back out about 0900. Slept until about 1030, had my second feeding of the day, and all this time I'm adding copious amounts of water and liquid in since I'd felt a bit dehydrated when I woke up. That's the way it went all day. I'll bet dollars to donuts I wasn't awake for more than a 45 minute stretch all day long. Throw in hour and a half to three hour naps, and I slept far more than I was awake. So, it's 0230 Monday, and I've been awake since 1800 Sunday. I will burn out about 0800, I can catch a nap right after I feed, then it's Therapy and home by 1100. I'll be bushed. The good thing is, I'll be able to get back on track for my regular sleep pattern on Monday night. Still, it dicks me up, I get irritable for a couple of days after, since I'm not doing anything that would interrupt my normal daily behavior. Hard to tell why I get this way. Cancer? It's currently catching all the shit for things that go wrong with me, whether that's the problem or not. The handiest scapegoat, as it were, may not be the real problem. It could be several things either alone or combined with other things like…..you guessed! cancer. Or hell, maybe I'm getting to be whiney in my old age.  What ever the reason, honest or just made up, it's a pain in my ass. Oh well, piss, it's really not a big deal unless my evening cavorting around doesn't let my loving and beautiful wife get the sleep she earns and needs. I would hope that she would tell me. But, there's always the chance that I get bored with the same old routine and this is how I break that up, subconsciously. Far greater minds than mine will have to decipher that shit. It's easier for me to just sit around and dream up shit for other people to think about. I'm the idea man, for sure and for certain.

   One thing I'm missing when I sleep is remembering my dreams. I've always had such vivid dreams, and have been able to remember nearly the entire thing. People who study dreams and dreaming also say you can't pick up a dream again if you wake up. I, in my case at least, call bull shit. I've always been able to pick up a dream right where I left it when I fall back asleep. Sometimes they seem to last a long time, other times it's just to put an ending on the dream. Now, is that weird or what? Personally I think it's just pretty neat. I also have been able to, if the dream seemed crucial to me on some level, to see my hands and feet. I've been able to do that for as long as I remember, and several years ago I read an article in National Geographic, I believe, that stated that was a way to control your dreams. If that is the case, I've done that more than just a couple of times. Controlled the direction the dream took, so as to keep it from going willy nilly. How sad would that be, having your dreams run amok? I've had a couple of dreams lately that were on one hand somewhat distressing, and on another were kind of rays of hope. Not that I would wake up completely cured and ready to go back to work. No "Who Shot JR?" dream BS, or like the cheated way that "St. Elsewhere" ended. But, they made me very thoughtful and sorta forced me to look a bit deeper within myself. There's nothing wrong with that at all, but I'm going to talk with the one person who helps me interpret what I dream, and has for a long time. She's fairly spot on with them, and I want to run past her what these mean, or if it's putting pictures to my hopes and desires. Very possible it's that exactly.
   I used to dream in both color and black and white. Is that odd, or something normal? I've never really thought about it until lately. It's not worrisome, it just seems sort of strange. I'm curious if anyone else dreams in black and white. I don't know if that's odd, or just really creative. I figure we would all dream in color all the  time, since that is how we see the world. Not so for those who are blind or nearly so, or anyone that has a medical condition that precludes seeing colors. But I figure that the majority of us see in color and dream that way. One of the things I'll be looking into when I get to the other side of things. I'll also be hunting for a way to communicate with folks on this side. I'm sure there's a phone booth somewhere with the prefix for the living

BREAK TIME!!! DRUGS, FEED, AND A NICE WARM SHOWER!! I SHALL RETURN!!!

   I am back. Boy, that was a long break. Then again, the longer I am up and around, enjoying myself just hanging around, the more quickly I wear out. One would say "Holy shit!!! I get that way as well,  you bozo!" Then we'd all have a laugh, with me laughing the loudest. Or at least I hope so. being able to laugh is about the only thing that keeps me together during all the crap that goes along with waiting around for the old shades to be drawn one last time.  I truly am tired. That part gets worse all the time. Or better, I suppose, depending upon ones ability to get over being tired. (originally, that wasn't a problem, now it seems to be.)  Good grief, I'm almost as far into this as I can stand. I'm oscillating between sleep, nearly asleep, and out cold that's an old dead trick to pull on a fella.

  Okay, that's it. I've fallen asleep enough times and with one of them I had two and half pages of "ssssssssssssssssss………". So no, I'm finished for the day. My wide awake has gone out for the evening. Until tomorrow, or possible the next. Or in a few at the worst, goof night America, and all the ships at sea (yep, plagiarized) sorry Edward R. Murrow, but that's too good of a line to let go.