Day trip

I didn't post anything yesterday, because I'm lazy and there wasn't much to tell. I did, however, take a trip to my field office yesterday. Something I always enjoy, even if it's a bit sad at the same time.

 Taking the little red roadster out on the highway is always fun. Nothing like ripping down the road with the top down in the predawn hours of the early morning. Even if the ass weeds that are on the road with you are pesky and troublesome. I mean, really, we live in the wide open, dick head, there's no point in tailgating on a 4 lane highway. Actually there's no point in tailgating period, but that's another story in and of itself. Very nice, very cool for West Texas this  time of year. Baby Red was only showing 65 on her temperature gauge. I like that kind of weather. Great for opening up the little devil (showed you pin head, your Chevy truck shuts off at 96 you dumb ass) and airing her out a little. Fast? In the scheme of really fast, she's moderate. In the scheme of your average 4 cylinder car? She smokes. About 130 or so top end, top down. Pretty quick. It's a good thing traffic was really thin or I'd never done anything like that. But it does speed up the trip, as well as fuel consumption. Then once I get to Spraberry corner, it's time to go the speed limit. And as usual, I see deer in four different spots along side the road. Hitting a deer with Baby Red means I'd have it in my lap with me. Now you know why I slow down. The road smells the same. Dust, mesquite, some kind of damn weed that just reeks and makes my eyes water, drip irrigation on cotton. All very familiar, even though I knew they were always there, I notice a bit more now.
 The office is familiar. Although there are several different people there than when I was there working. Hard to believe that's been ten month ago, but it has, and it's also very different there. The drilling program is over, which, if I'd been working, would have opened up more time to review and work on the wells that were already there to see if there's anything being left in the hole. They are doing a program with the pumpers that my boss Dennis and I talked about way back when for a time when "it starts to settle down after we get finished with this drilling package". Nice to see ideas that we had discussed for making the lease better than it was come into play. When I left, if you'd taken out the new drills, we'd upped production on those old wells by about 60 barrel per day without much more than just changing pumps and bottom hole design. Good work, but there was never enough time to really sit down and go over each well with each pumper. They are doing that now, getting more of everyone involved, and increasing the pumpers responsibility. That needed done, but it was just to frantic for a year to do that.
 There are only about half the guys there now as when I had to leave. Promotion, guys quitting, or moving, took a toll on the entire crowd. But those that stayed were the ones I liked best anyway. They were always the most steadfast, and consistent of the lot. They worked harder, tried harder, and never just threw up their hands. They were fun to work with. A couple of them were there and stood by me when I got my tits in a ringer shortly after we took that field over. And having learned not to say "I told ya so", I'm gonna say, I told ya so. You do this like Apache wants it done, and this field will be one to hang onto, not just sell out from under us. I'll be damned, it is one to keep. As we moved forward, and with all the repair we had to do, the cost of getting the oil to surface went up. Patience, I said, it'll come down, I said. And it has. The field operates more efficiently now. And it's because those guys that were there with me from the start did what it took to make it better. And it shows. My boss and I talked about people to promote as we needed spots filled. Those guys were the ones I recommended, with a couple that hired on as we went and grew, and they are all moving up the ladder. Good men, and I'm happy for and proud of them. It's like seeing your kids, or your best friends do well, even when they told you they weren't sure they could do the jobs. Yeah, guys, you can do the job, I always knew you could.
 It's sad, too, to go visit. I miss the work. I'd REALLY like what they are doing now. It's going to take some time, but in the end, all the work they are doing now will pay off in better morale, better production, and ultimately, more fun at work. That doesn't mean some toes are gonna get smashed, or feelings hurt, or tempers flare. That's gonna happen at any work place. Double in the oil field, since we've a reputation as independent people to uphold. Get past all that, and that area out there will be a show case on how to run an older field at the least cost for most production. Those old wells are the shits to pump and produce. They are gassy. They weren't drilled with enough rat hole to pump correctly (the new wells are, though, and it makes it easier to pump). The units are almost always too small. And there is a scale problem, that produces NORM (naturally occurring radioactive material). All those fight for taking production and pump efficiency away from a producing well. There are things that can be done to fight them, but not totally eliminate them. That's where a good pumper is worth ten times his weight in gold. They spot that stuff early, they get it on the well tech's radar, who will work up a plan to fix what's wrong now. He gives the next up the ladder an assessment, and from there, with all the needed information, it goes to the engineering staff. All those working together can make the difference in a stripper well of pulling or just shutting it in. Keeping them online for as long as they produce is key. And it all starts with the pumpers.  That's why it's sad for me to go out. I miss my spot on the loop. Well Tech is an important part of that. Tech's are the liaison between the pumpers, the field foreman, and engineer. Tech's look at the information they gather from the wells and the pumpers, put together a plan for helping the well, and kick that up stream to the rest of the guys. Do your end right, and the well can be pulled and repaired properly. Screw it up often enough, and trust between the field foreman and yourself goes right out the window and it stalls the cycle. I miss that responsibility and respect. Ya can't do that sitting on your ass at home, man, that's hands on stuff. I love it.

 The day before yesterday was spent hacking up crap and suctioning crap that was really blood filled.
YUM!! Yes, I know, kinda gross. But if you've been following this blog a bit, you know that I'm also going to go over the good and the bad all at the same time. This is bad. No idea where it came from, the Hospice nurse said it wasn't from the cancer directly in my mouth that she could see. I'm thinking it's down my throat a way, and some other issues the day before yesterday irritated Baxter and he was exacting some retribution. Did I panic? I did not! It's a bit disconcerting though, and not at all a good time, but not panic worthy. If I had projectile vomited a large volume of that, I'd have been closer to panic, but not yet. Besides, panic can get you killed.

 Now you know a little of what I did at my job. There's more to keeping an oil/gas well pumping that just jamming a spigot in the ground and opening the valve. Wells are almost like people. There are generalities, but each well is different and has to be treated as such. It's what makes it fun to work in the field. I look at it like this. If I were going to be around, I could go back to college and get a degree as a petroleum engineer and know about what the guys over my head know. But, they can't come to the field and know all that I do, and never will. Some of the stuff I've done, well, they don't do it anymore. Not just because technology outran those things, but rules changed. They won't help build specialized fishing tools for one job and one job only like I've done. They'll never tie a drillers knot, or drillers eye in wire rope, because they won't have to, and because most rigs use a poured rope socket now. No need for tying wire rope into knots. And the poured socket is easier on your hands.

 Okay kids, go out and have fun. I get to go with my wife to apply for SSDI, so my Long Term Disability company will continue to pay for me dying. Nothing I like better than dealing with the Federal effing Government. Other than having my eye dug out with a teaspoon, or using a cheese grater on the back of my thigh. Oh the fun

Wheeee!!!

So, I'm getting up and getting ready to go to the gym this morning before I feed so as not to take a chance on making myself throw up. The damn formula act on me just like it does a baby. Shake it up and I go off like a bottle of shaken up Coke. I my morning hack and things look okay. Then I get caught with one of those morning hacks that I know is gonna be a big one and may send me off into a coughing frenzy, which having done several times before, has even caused a low ab muscle pull. Nope, just a big, huge cough, filled with lovely pink stuff. Pink is bad. The next four or so others are pink too. Not shaping up to be a good morning, I fear. So, is it an irritation from vurping? Not sure. Is it part of the beginning of what the doctor told was done the road as Baxter grew? Not sure. At any rate, I blow off the gym...again. I don't think I need to be suctioning out icky stuff on the gym floor. I'm almost certain that wouldn't be good. And if it's irritation, do I want to make that worse? Uh no, actually I don't. I've got some silly stuff at the house. I'll make do here later on and see how that goes. HA!! Now the damn stuff has cleared up. Odd, or maybe not. I feel like I've got more excuses than a proctologist has butt hole when it comes to gym time. I need to stay well until at least November 1. I'd like it to be New Years day, but at the moment I'm beginning to feel that that's a pipe dream. We'll see as time goes along, though. None of this is written in stone.

  Now, if it's Baxter rolling along, then I would assume he's getting worse fast. That means less time for me to see the world. The damnable shame of that is, it's going to be more difficult for me to see the world beyond my little corner here. While there are great things here, it's not the most scenic of places to live. I do need to get back out to my shop, check on the boys and my boss. I'll do that tomorrow I think. Very early, so I can get back home and crash out some. I'm going to McPherson Ks come hell or high water. That's gonna be a trip. I'm hoping my wife can take an extra couple days off. This may be our last trip of consequence together. I'll ask her this morning if she can check. I need to stop and see my sister and brother. May be the last time I get to see them, other than looking down or through the veil of the ethereal realm.
 This is the part of this that I don't enjoy. I know I'm going to croak, no two ways about that and nothing I do will slow that down. Not without making myself far worse off than I am right now. That's not gonna happen. I don't enjoy thinking if finalities. This is the last this, that or the other. It's going to come down to that eventually, and I'm trying to square that away mentally. Physically isn't going to be too tough, I'm gonna get weaker all the time. That's a given. Mentally, though, that's another story. It turns out I'm very happy with what I've done and seen, and yet not 100% satisfied. There are literally thousands of things I'd love to see and do yet. I've got a friend riding the Dragons Tail in North Carolina. If you're not sure what that is, look it up online, it's very cool. It's not so much I'd like to take Fat Girl up and twist through all those turns, it's the stuff to see on the way there and back. If you make it a circle, you never catch the same part twice, until I get closer to home. I've never seen Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, or Glacier National Park. Nice places to take the bike. Better yet if I could get Liz there first, and meet her for a nice day cruise kind of deal. We were getting to the place we could do stuff like that. Rats. The things I'm not going to do. Oh well. That's how it's going to be with Baxter growing up and adding his minions to the mix. So, no use pissing over woulda, coulda, shoulda

 I read a novel last night too. Started at 6 or in the evening, finished about midnight. Right at 400 pages. I liked it so it went fast. I read like a man possessed when I get a book I like. We took 6 novels with us when we went to Houston for the first, and only it turns out, reconstructive surgery. We were gonna be there 4 evenings, and I was going to be out for the better part of one entire day. I read all six, going to, waiting at, and lying in the hospital. I still had a day to go before they cut me loose. Sheesh. Of course, half of those were rereads so the go much faster. Like rereading the Lord Of The Rings trilogy on a long weekend. I've done that twice. Reading is a good past time. It can add to your vocabulary, teach you to look for context in everything, and take you out of your present situation and put you into situations you'd never get yourself into in the first place. A good book is hard to beat. A bad book, well, it's still reading, even if it's painful. I'm not a big guy on what some consider the classics. "The Old Man and The Sea", I pulled for the shark. John Steinbeck makes me wanna open a vein. With the exception of "Cannery Row". Austen, the Brontes, no thanks. And JD Salinger's "Catcher In The Rye", how in heaven's name that influenced and entire generation is beyond me. Bear in mind this is my own reading preferences. What you enjoy reading is a personal thing, I think it's great no matter what you read or why you enjoy the books. Just read. PSA over. I do, however, like "In Cold Blood" and "To Kill A Mocking Bird". Both great works. "Animal Farm", "Atlas Shrugged", "The Fountainhead", "1984". Love those. I never finished McCullough's biography of John Adams, which I was thoroughly enjoying and over half through. Something about September 11, 2001 put that on hold, and it never held the same spot in me afterward. I like Clive Cussler, Robert B. Parker, Lee Child (Jack Reacher is a man's man), Robert Lee Burke. All good authors for different reasons.  My best advise...READ.

  I'm out dancing one night, and cuttin up with the whole Hee Haw Gang. Dancing mostly with this lovely red headed women I'd not seen before, even bought her a few drinks. We're out cuttin the rug on a real "hold me close and tell me naughty things" song when she sayd "Oh fuck, my ex". I ask, she points him out, I shrug. Big deal, he's 20 lbs lighter than me and fat. No worries, or so I say.
"Stay and dance" I say, "We'll get breakfast" I say. Nope, she gives me a "I wish I could stay" smooch and pat on the ass and heads out. I make sure she gets to her car okay and gets out of the lot without any trouble. Back in I go, no sweat. Tubs is still there, not doing much but drinking and I go back to my rat killing and laughing with the gang. Closing time! Oh well, breakfast at the truck stop alone and home to bed. Except, out to my car I go with a herd of folks all around, when I hear "Hey Asshole" close enough that I can't mistake it not being for me. So I turn around all gung ho to knock some dick weed on his ass if I have to do so. Not this time. I can tell you from experience, a little tiny .25 caliber semi auto pistol looks like a Howitzer if it's only a couple inches from the bridge of your nose. "You were dancing with me ex wife, prick", he says with his hand shaking like a vibrator. "Key word there is ex, and yes I was". Not brave, just out of wise ass remarks. Before I could say anything else, this big assed hand flies in, grabs the gun and guys hand all at the same time and takes the gun out. "Go on, dude, we got this". Two other guys are there with Mr Hand. I do not know any of them. "Sure thing, I'm starving". After I got clear of the parking lot, I had the shakes and the sweats. Spooky. All for dancing with the girl.
 No, I do not know what happened with the fat guy and Mr. Hand and his pals. Nor the woman, never saw her again either. Mores the shame, she was built quite well and had a lovely sexy voice. That, however, didn't stop me from dancing with the girls. I never have gotten over wanting to do that. Girls smell good.

 Do the Hokey Pokey and turn yourself around

Feelin All RIght?

I've been putting together music and stuff for the funeral/memorial service. The other day on Facebook I asked if it would be appropriate to play Joe Cocker's "Feelin Alright?" for a song. I got mixed reviews on that one to say the least. Maybe it's the line "Ya feelin alright? I'm not feelin to good myself" that spoils it for people. So, let me ask this. Is a funeral a place to celebrate the life of the dead, or a place to mourn our loss? Probably a little of both. I say we should celebrate. Can you feel sad? Well, yeah, I would think that would be okay, sure. But instead of making it a sad thing with crying, gnashing of teeth and rending of cloth, why not have a good time, if that's how the person lived their life? Why does that seem inappropriate?
  I don't know why that's not the norm. I have fun, so that's how I'd like my funeral/memorial to go. Don't you think that's more appropriate than an hour of dirges and dire speeches about how we should be remembered? I'm a cut up, it comes naturally. That's why I like "Feelin Alright?" for one of the songs. Hell no I'm not feelin to good if you're listening to that at a funeral. It cracks me up thinking about it. I take a lot of things seriously, but I hope I figured out when to be serious and when to crack up. I think people retain more serious information if you give them a second to laugh a bit. I do at least. Nothing put me off more, or let my mind wander more than a lecture that was "Just the facts. ma'am".
I'd like to be remembered as the guy who knew his shit, but could laugh about it as well. As a group of people we've gotten to the point we can't even laugh at ourselves. Anything that's said that's off color or slightly inappropriate we get offended and demand an apology. Boo hoo. Time for us as a society to get the hell over ourselves and learn to laugh a little at our foibles. I laugh at mine, stop being babies and laugh at yours as well. It's surprising how much more fun life gets if you're not wandering around with some damn chip on your shoulder about one thing or another. Life is too effing short to spend it offended by what goes on around you.

 So, I was thinking back on some of the stuff me and my buds did when I was  a young feller. Dennis Folk, a guy my little brother introduced to me, and I got to be good friends. I know this, because we hadn't spoken for years, and I called him up. It was like we just walked across the street and started yapping like it was yesterday. Dennis and I ran around a lot. Didn't get into too much trouble, I don't think. but we laughed a lot. One summer we decided we could save ourselves a butt poke of cash if we cooked and ate at one house. We used his. Probably safer that way. That and because he had a better grill and we could cook out front, drink beer and watch people. Pretty cool. Oddly enough, on Friday or Saturday nights we'd be cooking and Dennis phone would ring. "Nothin, cookin out. Wanna come over? Yeah, bring somethin for the grill and your own beer?" We'd end up with 10 or so people out front cooking, drinking beer and laughing. I'm sure the neighbors were impressed. Actually, though, we never got stupid loud, or out of hand. It was fun, It was one of those things that if we tried to do on purpose would have gotten out of hand because the usual riff raff would have wanted to crash a real live party and caused trouble. Not that on certain occasions along that time I wouldn't have welcomed a little trouble, that was the wrong place and wrong time to do so.
  Dennis and his lovely wife Teri, took a fella named John Bach and I to Wilson Lake one year for some water skiing and (hard to believe) a bit of camping, grilling, and beer drinking. John and I rode in the back of the pick up with the gear. In Great Bend Ks an old Impala convertible full of girls our age pulled up beside us. John and I were goofing around with em, hollerin "jump in!! We need dates for the lake!" and stuff like that. They were laughing, talking back to us. This next piece needs some set up. John was dark headed but one of the more fair skinned people I knew. He'd sun burn like Dracula. So, on the way up he's slathering on Coppertone like there's no tomorrow. So here we go.
The girls are having a hoot at us, asking for beer. No, you can't have any unless you're in the truck with us. That kind of thing. One of the girls whistles, we look and she's got her hooters out in the wind. Nice ones too, I was impressed. John looks at her, then squeezes the bottle of Coppertone as hard and fast as he could. Creamy white Coppertone shoots into the air, is picked up by the wind, and lands on boob girls chest. You couldn't have done that better if you'd planned it and filmed it with a porno camera. I can still see it like it was in slow motion. The laughing girls, suddenly going dead quiet as the Coppertone, in it's innocence flies into the air and begins it's torpedo run. The smiles turning to abject horror as the wind catches it. Fear now, and no where to hide as it makes it's decent. Touch down!!! Screams come now, and scurrying away from hooter girl to opposite sides of the back seat. John and I damn near fell out of truck laughing. "Did you see that shit?" "Oh fuck yeah! You couldn't do that again if you aimed!!!". I'm laughing as I write this. John  was a hoot.
 Once at Kickshickers he was semi polluted, looked at my mom and said "Mrs Smith, may I kiss your luscious ruby red lips?". Mom never batted an eye, "Why of course you may" and smooched him full on. "Thanks, now I can go dance with the girls". What a nut. He was leanin on the hood of his truck one night at closing time, I walked up and asked what was goin on. "I can't remember where I parked". Hmmmm, tell ya what, lets go eat, I'll take you home and we'll come get it in the morning. So we did. Went to eat anyway. He never called the next morning, so I went out about noon and his truck was gone. I'm not sure he remembered how he got home or that he even ate.

  That's why I think I want to have a fun funeral/memorial. Not all the sad shit that goes on. We should have a blast. Don't you think?

Fair winds and following seas, today, my friends

Just dammit

I'd better get my ass back into the gym soon. Regardless of what my PT says, I'm getting weaker. I've got to get this slowed down or stopped. Yes, it's going to be a hassle, but I've got to do it, or I won't be worth shooting in 4-6 months. The damn cancer is eventually going to do that for me without my inactivity helping it along. So, finding the motivation is the problem. I've got to get up way earlier than I have been. Which means crashing out way earlier. Which means fixing my sleep patterns. Again. Okay, that's enough of excuses. I've got to get started, and I hate going in this late in the day even on a holiday.

 Lifting and training was a part of my life for a long time. I put it on hold when I got married the first time. Started again when I was in Elkhart. Put that on hold while I was moving to Midland. Got started again and unless I was too sick, or really hurt, or on vacation, I didn't miss any days. I went while I was on Chemo, both times. I went infrequently while I did radiation. This is the longest stretch of time I've been without.  It's disheartening to see how much strength I've lost. It makes it difficult to get wound up and dive in when it seems the harder I try, the more ground I loose. I also know that sounds foolish, since I've got a limited amount of time left. But that's part of why I'm determined to get back in and do something, even if it's with piss poor results. I used to pride myself in being able to out work and out last the guys half my age. Boy, that's turned around a bunch. I can barely walk a quarter mile without being winded or having to suction myself. Pain in the ass. 

  I've had so much surgery that nothing from my neck to my shoulder blades work right. Before I'm headed to the old urn, I'd like to try and fix some of that. Somewhere out there is my way to get that done before things take that southern turn and I can't do diddly shit for myself. Finding that within myself has gotten a bit more difficult the last few months. I'm not sure why, exactly. Yeah, it makes me hurt like nothing I've ever had hurt before. If I'm not careful, it makes my pectoral muscle squeeze down enough to make me dribble in my gym pants. That's not the problem, those are things that everyone who trains runs into from time to time. Nothing unusual there. I don't think I'm depressed. Not enough to just quit, at any rate. I am sure there's probably a bit of that going on, I figure to not believe that is probably like pissing up a rope. Impressive until it starts running back down. So, somewhere I've got to rat out where that bit of determination went. It's there, it's just hiding out for the time being. Or maybe it's tired too. I am. This has been a long haul. It's gonna get longer. Maybe Determination can't do both. That is help me fight the cancer for as long as I can, as well as get me to drag my ass into the gym.  We'll see, starting tomorrow. Now I've got to figure out how to not go at it so fast I really wear myself out.

  I am losing more and more of my ability to speak well. That's going to be a pain in the ass for me. I was getting used to the family being able to understand 90% of what I said. That's sliding. I see it everyday if they don't. The SLP is helping hold it where it is for now. But I'm not sure how much longer I can justify using her time on a losing game. Non communication other than the damn board sucks ass. It's hard to keep up with conversations. I can't write fast enough to keep up with what's going on. Sucks. I've got 10 bazillion wise ass remarks that just lose something on the board, 5 minutes after they should have been tossed in. I may go back and find my old double sided board I carried to work with me before my voice came back from the radiation frying me. One side was "Fuck You", the other was "Kiss My Ass". In the oil field those are two of the most common responses you need to most chatter. It's not quite like being trapped within your own head, because I can still make my thoughts known, but it's still disconcerting. I used to think that nothing would be worse than not being able to walk or something else more obviously physical, but I was wrong. Not being able to communicate is worse than any of that. It leaves you basically at the whim of what ever is going on around you, with no way to input what kind of help you need. And not even help, just simple conversation. I like the quiet, but I also enjoy being able to talk to people. This is the not so fun part. The rest of it is going to come as it will, not talking is the hard one.

 I miss cooking. I can't taste food well enough to feel comfy cooking. I've tried it a few times, and aroma memory helps some, but it's hard to beat tasting as you go along to know what the chow needs. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't a chef by any stretch of the imagination. I did, however, like to tinker. Like putting pineapple and raspberry in stuffed, bacon wrapped, jalapeños. Hot and sweet is always good. Putting cajun sausage and some chopped blackened shrimp in a damn old meatloaf isn't too shabby either. So, what do I do. I OD on the FoodNetwork. I live vicariously through other people's cooking. Shoddy and not as good as the real thing, but it'll have to do. The family won't eat in front of me. Makes em feel guilty. Even when I've said "NO!!! I like how it smells! It's great!". Actually they are getting better. They'll have snacks and stuff. I love the smell of popcorn. That's a good snack. I also don't remember Doritos smelling so strong. They smell strong enough that I can almost taste them. Almost. The smell of ribs on the grill, heavenly. I've not eaten in so long that I can smell the blood on a medium rare steak, it's fabulous. Still, hands on is best. I've tried wooling around a chunk of food so I can taste it, then letting it fall out. That sucks. All the taste, none of the fun. There's a line in there I'm gonna skip. Because I've gotten nicer. 

All right, girls and boys!! Throw a hot dog on the grill (is there any better way for hot dog?) and have a cold beer for me today! 

 Enjoy yourselves, and take a second to relish that taste, smell, and conversation. Losing any one of those is horrid thing.

Hugs bitches

It's all about.....whatever

I've got a whole slew of songs stuck in my head this morning. Not just one. Three or five. It's not like I don't have a lot of room for things to rattle around in. But it's annoying, because it's not the same songs going through the entire song, the repeating. No, oh no, that would be great. This is one line, or on one of the darn things three words and a couple beats of music, THEN repeat. Come on, really? I've got "Jumpin Jack Flash it's a gas, gas, gas" memorized already. Let's move on the the next line please?

My sleep patterns are still jacked up. Maybe that's why the music is stuck. When I am on my regular sleep, though, I still wake up two or three times during the night to clear the trach tube. So it's never really a complete nights sleep, just more hours in a row than I'm getting now. I feel pretty rested, I just have to have a nap. Part and parcel of the cancer getting bigger? Good question, if I find an answer I'll let ya know.

 "What's it all about, Alfie". Like Alfie was a staggering genius. I don't think any one knows what it's all about. It's the act of finding out what pieces of the puzzle are that's the fun part. It we knew what it was all about, the mystery and fun would run out of life, wouldn't it? Back in the 1800's science was just absolutely sure that a human body couldn't stand the force of going Forty MPH for an extended period of time. It would drive the mind insane and cause the body to shut down. Ooops, bad math. There was some of that same thought into the late 30's about the sound barrier and beyond. Once again, bad math apparently. Since I work in the oil field, I suppose you all should know that it's been predicted the earth would run out of oil in 1935. No, 1956. Damn, 1977. Dammit! 1992. Well, you can see that it's not all about running out after all, is it? Like we were supposed to be in an ice age at this point. Then, in the 1980's when that didn't happen, suddenly we are in a warming trend. Unprecedented in world history. Bullshit, at one point Alaska was mostly vast field of tall grass, there were ferns in Colorado. It's been far hotter and far colder in the history of the world, according to science. It seems like they don't know any more of what it's all about than I do. I know, I know, where would we be without science. Pitifully miserable is where. I wouldn't have lived through the first cancer round without it. We wouldn't live as comfortably or eat as well as we do without it either. It's a good thing. Not the end all cure all. But a very good thing none the less.

 So I sit here, without a lot to do, hoping the wrinkles in the gray matter don't smooth over watching the drivel on the tube and wonder what it's all about. How the hell would I know! I'm not a genius! HA!

I think we all wonder that from time to time. I also think each answer is dependent upon the person's experience, beliefs, and general out look on their life. The less pleasant any of those are for them, the more their thought of what it's all about is going to be darkened. The better their experience, the better their thoughts of what it's all about are going to form. 

 I'm so easy to please, What it's all about is pretty simple for me. If you're happy, that's what it's about. The act of getting from Point A to Point B, even if you have to go through Z, M and O first is just part of the adventure. I have an "Oh hell, it could be worse" attitude, because in almost all cases, it could be worse. I'm terminal, no two ways about it, I'm gonna die. But it could be worse. I could have not had the time to get things in the works to be settled for the family. I could have just keeled over in the waiting room. I could have had way more of me carved off. The list goes on and on. For me, What It's All About is easy to find. I like stuff. Almost anything. I'm not afraid to try something new. I'm not fearful of any man on two feet because the worst they can do is kill me. I find a lot of things fun to do. From riding the Fat Girl, to sitting alone in the early morning. I like to work. I enjoyed doing my job, and that made it fulfilling. I can't imagine working someplace that made me a miserable bastard all the time, without finding something or someplace better and quitting. Bitching about a job is about a waste of time and energy. Don't like it, find something and go do that. If you hate your job your making someone else miserable who may find they really like what they are doing. Now you've become a damn drag and no one likes that.

   It's not all about cash or material things either. Oh yeah, I've got some toys, and there aren't any of them I wouldn't sell in a heart beat. I was making pretty good money. We used that to have fun with the family and ourselves, Liz and I. We worked so we could. I used my Anadarko retirement to pay some bills and go to Scotland with the two youngest kids. Some people thought I was crazy. "What will you do when your old and have to retire?".  Oh, work until I can't and not say "Well, fuck, I should have gone to Scotland instead of saving this retirement". I've not been very frugal, but I also don't have a lot of "Dammit!! Why didn't I....." moments either. A day or so ago I'd mentioned I'd never been to a Pro Football game. True, I've not. It'd be neat once, maybe. But not all that neat. I'm not a fan of crowds at all. Never have been. In the long run, I'm not missing much personally. I've never been to a strip club either. Seen one boob you've seen em both. Eventually they just start to look like boobs, and I've seen a lot of boobs. Not to say I wouldn't like to see more. I just hate to pay to see em.  It's pretty rough not to laugh when a baby laughs, isn't it? I've almost choked to death when a well dressed lady was lecturing me on wearing a helmet and yada yada yada, then in the middle of her rant farts. Gotta love that stuff

  

 HA!!! I lied! I DO know "What it's all about". It's about whatever. Whatever makes you happy. That's what it's all about. If being an asshole makes you happy (and I think it does some people) then be one. Don't expect a lot of people to hang around, but by all means be an assshole. If helping others makes you happy, do that. Some folks are only happy when they are bitching about something. Go ahead with that, I don't have to listen to you. Same thing with downer people. You've got to live your life in the manner that best suits you. Just remember, I don't have to put up with anything I don't like. Mostly because I don't wanna. If you're easily offended, don't hang around me. Free speech is just that. I temper mine to suit me and me alone, I won't apologize for anything I say, so don't ask. I don't recall any of us having the right to be free from offending remarks. 

 So there, that's it. Once you decide to live as you want to live, life gets really simple. People of a like mind will become your friends. You'll settle in with a partner that thinks as you do, and that's a wonderful thing to have. Even when you disagree, it's a good thing, you've found someone that thinks.

 Have fun today in whatever it is you're planning. Makes no difference what that is. If it's not fun, find a way to make it fun. (Who hasn't driven a riding mower thinking they were at Indy?)

 

Back on the Chain Gang

Things had been jumping along pretty well up until the bug struck me earlier in the week. Now I'm still fighting with the side effects of that. About half boo boo tummy and an over production of everything mouth. Saliva, mucus.....swear words. All of it. Is it a set back? Yeah, most likely a small one. I'm hoping it's a short lived mucus factory. If not I'll have to take the damn suction with me everywhere, even for short errands. The little nasty vurp yesterday didn't help. All that acid makes my throat raw, which makes more mucus, which I can't swallow or spit, which makes me suction, which makes me have to hack up the gunk, which can make me vurp,  ei ei o. Tis a vicious circle that for a time is inescapable. But this like other things shall pass. I hope

 I'm back on the chain gang. For a bit I had a touch more freedom of getting out and moving around. The damn bug stopped that, and if this mucus thing doesn't settle down, I will have that sliced down some as well. Good taste, courtesy, and just plain being polite, I'm not going to vacuum the crap out of my mouth in a restaurant. That's not only gross, it's uncalled for. Same thing with a movie theater. I'll have to head to the car or the can. It's the only sensible thing to do, but it cuts into my fun time, and that chaps my white Irish ass just a bit. It takes part of my life on my terms out of my hands. That REALLY pisses me off. Having to alter what I do simply because I refuse to choke on something that's out of my control. Strange, you say, that something I can't control chaps my ass. It does, simply because it's my body. The damn thing is revolting (well, yeah, but that's from surgery) and I can't get an upper hand on it yet. I know the cancer is going to keep me from gaining control over things. But snot? Bullshit. I'll find something that works. Part of it is allowing the PA that hasn't so much as taken my BP to dictate what I know works for me. The set back is something of my own creation. I should paddle myself, but that's a bit on the kinky side even for me. But, alas, it is what it is and there's nothing for it but looking for a way to make it better. We are, however, heading closer and closer to cotton cutting. If there's a crop out there that may have something to do with my snotty self. There are a few things that get me good. Mesquite when it's setting pods, cotton when it flowers and when it starts to head, and milo when it heads up. Whew, plugged and snotty head for all three of those, and since I'm not in milo country, it's got to be the cotton. Yeah, that's the ticket, it's the coootttttoon.  Yeah

 Back on the chain gang too, because like all humans, I'm a creature of habit. As abhorrent as that seems to me I find it to be true. Looking back I railed against my habits, but I couldn't help it anymore than I could stop breathing. I'd try to break my routine, but it jacked the way the rest of my day went I just gave up and sighed. Now, like any rule there are exceptions. When I travelled, bike or car, the only habit I kept was the "Let's get up early, lazy", because face it, the best part of the day is before sunrise. There are two places where being up before 0500 is just a labor of Sisyphus for finding anything to do. Metropolitan areas, or small town. I've driven all over the place in Fort Worth at 0430-0530, looking for either coffee or donuts, or both. Well, not all over, but I've been more than a few miles on the scooter. None of my friends knew of any place, because they were never up that early, and I didn't know any locals to ask if there was such a place in existence. It seems coffee and donuts are elusive. The same thing with small towns. The LK has convenience stores, but their coffee sucks. And I don't want to go eat at a 24 hr diner. Even though I'm a pig and can do it, it's better if I don't eat two full breakfasts within three hours of each other.
Part of the reason I have these habits is efficiency. I'd get up, go lift and cardio for an hour to an hour and a half, shower, get into the work duds, go to the coffee shop early to make sure the girls weren't jumped while opening up, have a cup, read the paper, head to work. Once at work it was check well status on the computer program that had all the wells on pump off controllers, so I had an idea where to go look for trouble first. Check production. Make sure it looked reasonable, and try to find why it didn't if it looked jacked up. Check with the pumpers to make sure they had no issues, or to fix the issues they had or find someone that could if I couldn't do what they needed. Build well bore diagrams and pull history for the guys that chase the rigs. Put out new rod/unit designs on the new wells to make sure we got all the good out of both without causing surface or downhole failures. Work on the failure report on wells we had pulled the month before. Hit the field be no later than 0900, do field work until 15-1600. Finish daily reports, hit the highway home buy 17-1800. Dinner and in bed by no later than 2200, up at 0200-0230. Weekends I slept until 0430. Routine, but I got more done on my own than the two guys they hired to fill my spot. I had to, there was only one of me.
 

  Since November of last year, there hasn't been much routine at all. Other than visit the docs, ride around and stare at people working, or watch the boob tube. After January 22 the only routine was PEG tube feedings and meds. swell, that's not true. I spent time with my wife and kids. She argued for me until they started some PT, which got some gym time back and that greatly improves my attitude. I've also become a Facebook junkie. It's inconvenient  for and a bother for me to get out and around now, so I go walk and do my best to see some sunlight and other people, but really I'm kind of pinned to the house. I do not like this at all, but it is what it is, and I get out when I can for as long as I can every day. Even if it's just a drive across town or to a movie with the family. I've become a dang junkie though, to the things people post on news and other sites. It's addicting to me. I'm amazed, frankly at the lack of knowledge of how local and state governments work. Even more amazed at how much people think they deserve from their respective governments. I for one have never expected anything but a pain in the ass from any of them. I bitch about taxes, it's true. Federal, local, and state. Mostly local, because those boys can piss off more of my hard earned money per capita than the Fed. Shocking. But, I digress, this is about the Chain Gang.
 So yeah, I'm on this cancer chain gang that frankly pisses me off and wears me out more than my 18-20 hr days when I was working. The difference is, this chain gang changes from day to day. Yesterday I felt damn perky, didn't need to suction a lot (which is a God send). This morning it's been nothing but suction, cough until my sides hurt, feed, drug, suction again and in between suction some more. This is eating into my plans to at least get Liz out for a ride with the top down while it was still about half cool out. THAT pisses me off. Maybe I can con her into helping me sort out the brake issue on the bike. I've been putting that off, and I think it's because when I do, I can get her oil changed, checked up, inspected and then sold. Subconsciously I probably don't want to sell Fat Girl. I know I've got to, she's sitting in the garage looking 40 kinds of forlorn. She's supposed to have had at least 7,000 more miles on her this summer and I've let her down. She knows this, it upsets her. So, either I get her fixed, or I sell her to the dealer for less than I can get out of her to someone I know will ride her like she should be ridden.
  Back to family time. Today will be a suck ass  as far as family time goes, I'll take what I can get. Daughter and grandson are here, that's pretty cool. I'll see if he wont read me something. And there's always a chance the coughing and other stuff with calm down shortly and the day is salvageable for part anyway. I can grab Liz and we can head to the Farmer's Market, which around here is like a small craft sale rather than a big market like we were used to in farm country up north. I can taunt the dog with Milk Bones, but that's only good for a minute, HA! I'll suck it up, Buttercup and take the portable suction with us, and go somewhere. As long as it's not an eating establishment, the folks can pogue may hoane as far as it grossing them out. I'm not fond of having to do it either, dick heads. Or perhaps you think I enjoy drooling I can't control or hacking that I can't clear out. Bite me.

 OOOOOOO!!!! I'm already feeling more like the old me, it's already a good day. It's good because Baxter III hasn't beaten me yet. I CAN still get around. I don't HAVE to talk well to make myself understood, that's what middle fingers are for.
 Actually, yeah, I'm still doing things on my terms. I'm looking at the blog now and think it comes off a bit whiny. And if it does, tough shit, whiny was how I was feeling when I started it. I don't feel like that now at all. Now I feel tired! I'm still hacking and all, but it's not as bad as it was and that's a good thing. The family is up, and banging around. That's the best thing. Probably my greatest joy right now is sitting and listening. Really listening, as they go about their morning constitutionals. Right now they are holed up in my bedroom talking to Liz. I can hear their voices, but not what they are saying. My daughter and grandson getting him dressed. Her very familiar voice, his not so familiar but getting more so voice. He's pretty cool. Giving mom a bit of a hard time with school right now, but I understand why and so does she. He made a deal with YaYa Liz last night about school. I think it'll be a turning point.
 Liz is getting to be their "Go To" guy. She always was for me, but it's different having the kids go to her instead of me. It's heartening in the fact that they trust her and more so that she is willing to take on that job of listener and aid de camp. Sure, it bothers me a bit. I was getting used to being the "Go To" guy. I always hoped I didn't foul up too badly. They are good kids and adults. They don't need much from my other than a "yes, that's good" or "have you thought about" from me in the last few years. But every day slides me a bit closer to Critical Mass, and it's damn cool they will be left in strong, wise hands.
 Yes, I'll still be checking on them, make no mistake. And  until then, I'll move along and let them do what they want to do to help me out. They are all going to get see this to the end. I've got to make that part as big a help as I can for them. And, even though it cuts against my grain, I'm giving up a bit of my home independence to allow that. I've done so many things on my own in my life, maybe it's time to share some of the dying part. I'm beginning  to think that is where the true strength lies, knowing when to say, "I need help", not just going until you drop. I did that at work, why should home be any different? (because I never had to ask before, is why)

 Alright, that's enough blathering for one day.
 All y'all pull up your socks and grab......No, that's not appropriate. CARPE OMNIA!! And never turn loose

Back on schedule, kinda

Well, I'm back up at the proper time, now getting all the sleep at the same time would be wonderful. I slept a lot yesterday morning, then when  I went to bed at about 2230 or so, I was wide assed awake at 0145. Hmmmm, I'll try and stay awake longer today and maybe get all my sleep in one fell swoop. Part of it maybe from a damn nightmare. Well, it was either a nightmare or something bad came for me and a guardian angel and I kicked it's ass. I'm voting nightmare for now, unless it continues when I've not take ZQuil to help me sleep. Nyquil used to give me some fouled up dreams, no reason ZQuil wouldn't as well. Depending on what one believes, I won my fight against the bad guys last night. I know I sure woke up ready to knock some one on their ass, but felt like I'd already done it as well.

  Back to doing shit my way. I took this mucus thinning crap the PA and Dr with Hospice wanted me to take to make sure my gunk would cough up okay. After my protestations that I wasn't having any trouble keeping my throat and trach clear. I knew better, because I'd had bad experiences with Mucinex in the past. As in, yes, it thinned my mucus, but I can't swallow so what it did was make it hard to hack up to suction out. So I threw it up instead. Oh the joy of a good barf when there's nothing to keep it from going out your nose. Happened this morning at 0315. The best part of waking up is not throwing up, believe me. Soooooo, when the nurse comes to visit today I'm going to ask if she wants the rest of my OTC mucus thinner, because I'm not using it any more. I'll be back on the Sudafed/Benadryl bandwagon. Works best for me, and if I don't barf using it, all is well in my Kingdom. I'm sure there will be protests about that. Then again I'm dying, they aren't. If it becomes their turn to need Hospice, and I hope they don't have to use them ever, then they can decide what's best for them. Until then, if they get too snotty, I've got "Pogue" next to and "X" on my right but cheek. "Pogue" is kiss in Gaelic, "X" of course marks the spot.

  I get asked about how I'm feeling. That's kind of hard to pin down for me, actually. I ache a lot, but that was nothing new before I had cancer. I have broken bone issues, and I abused my body (damn near put abused myself, what a horrid mistake that would of been with this crowd) working like I did in the field. Some days are worse than others, but mostly with the pain patch and a dab here and there of Lortab, it's no big deal. Mentally? That's different as well. Hospice keeps asking me if I sleep at night, or during the day, or at all. Well yes I do. I know they are looking for signs of depression, and I'd bet my last buck that I probably am depressed to some extent, but not to the point that depression is what's keeping me from getting a full night's sleep. That's from waking up to hack my trach clear so I can breathe all that much better. I can breathe through my mouth and nose, but it's getting more difficult. Partly, I think, because of the time of the year. Partly because that's some of where Baxter is building his condo. My voice is getting gravely, so I know he's getting a but bigger. The positive side of that is I'm not sweating swallowing like I did before Chemo last December. That was a bitch to have to fight to get chow down. Now, of course, as long as the tube is clear, I get to eat. So yeah, I probably am depressed on some level. More frustrated that depressed, I believe. I was watching the Texans a bit last night and it dawned on me I've never been to a pro football game. OMG!!! Not that important, but ya know, I was in Houston when they played last fall. Coulda gone to a game. Didn't think I'd half to sweat it, figured "oh shit, next fall I'll arrange a check up and catch a home game the day before". Oops, miscalculation. On the other hand, I save myself a chunk of money not going! So, yeah, coulda been worse.
  The physical thing is what gets me, a lot. I know I can't do as much as I could. I don't have the muscle mechanics to over ride what's been moved around. I find too, if I flex my pecs, the one in my mouth flexes some as well. Funny, that's a pec in my mouth, no wonder it wants to tighten up. Bad thing is, when it does, it pulls on what's left of my jaw. A couple of times it's cramped hard enough to pop my jaw out for a second, then releases and snaps back in. That'll put the curds in your cottage cheese by gosh. What's happened as well is that it's tightened my neck up to the point it pulls my entire head forward. Makes my back and shoulders scream and me after a while and tell me I'm an ass and to get them some support before they make my pee pee in my pants just a little. Definitely not a positive side to that side effect at all. Now, on the plus end just a bit, they did release that some, so my posture improved almost immediately. It also made a series of muscles and tendons that hadn't worked since late January rediscover they have a job to do, and THEY get all angry with me if I'm not careful. Overall, though, that last surgery helped. And it's the last I'll ever have to do. When it came to a list of surgeries, my Dr at MDA said "That's enough, we're not sure you can stand another, because we can't fix the cancer. No use in putting you through more pain for zero gain". I like that attitude. I can continue to do what I can to help all this out, but I don't have to be sawn upon any more. I'm tellin ya that's a huge relief. I had a feeling something wasn't right, and while I like my plastic surgeon and his assistant, I didn't like being operated on, even if it was to help fix my face and neck. I always felt like I lost ground somehow. It just took a huge toll on me that I didn't let on about. Everyone was pleased, myself included, by the results. And when he came in, sat on the edge of my bed and said "Mr Smith, we found a spot and biopsied it. It looks cancerous". And even though I looked at him and said "Well, maybe it's a localized spot and that was all of it", I knew better.  Hearing that, though, a week later was a stunner for certain.

 Today I'm going to take some of the medical supply stuff I don't need anymore. I'm taking it to Gifts of Hope, Hope House. They provide a place for out of town cancer patients to stay free of charge. Eight private rooms, a kitchen, each room with a private shower. Gifts of Hope also helps those without or who are underinsured, monetarily or with direct purchase of some chemo drugs. I'm sure they can use some of the basic essentials for drain care and the like. They are a good bunch. I have been able to do much for them this year, darn it. I like the operation and the people that run it.

 What I've come to the conclusion at the end of this particular edition is this: "It coulda been worse". I say that a lot, whether I'm  healthy, sick, wealthy or broke. Because in all honesty it COULD have been worse. No matter what you're going through, it coulda been worse than it is. Hell's bells, I coulda dropped dead with they said "Palliative Care".  That also means I'd be missing out on some really cool time released addictive drugs.
 SIDETRACK!!!  Why on God's little green earth do they bother to tell a terminal cancer patient they might get addicted to their pain meds? Is it gonna matter? HA!! I think not! My Grandfather Green got entirely pissed off because they DID give my Grandmother Green Laudanum for her pain. "Why that stuff is opium and that's addictive!". Yes, Dell, it is and it is. On the other hand, ole Ruthie had a lot more good days than bad taking the stuff, and she was for certain going to die. Maybe they say that so the family members can blurt that out, then come to the realization that it's not going to matter in the long run. I don't think I'll be Jonesin' for a fix while I'm on the slab. Maybe it is for the family to come to that point where they can't deny what the inevitable is going to be. Which I suppose is better than just blurting out "Well, Rock, your ass is basically done for! Let's get stoned and enjoy it, whadya say?!"
 Wow, I'm harsh LOL!!
 Take care all you fine and amazing people. Watch yourselves, and for each other too, hear?