Hey Buuuuddy

Yesterday a friend I've had for almost 20 years came to visit. He wrote a nice note to my on FB, too.  I get frustrated and pissed at myself that I can't communicate for shit with him, because we have fun talks. We laugh a lot, talk some serious shit, a little work (even if we all swear we won't talk work, we do, admit it), and about life in general. I enjoy those talks. If we talk about work, it's things we learn about our fields, brag a little, but mostly about funny shit that happened when we worked together. There were a lot of those. Jamie just sat, I got frustrated, he sat. I'd write a little on my board, he'd talk about what I'd asked or said, then he sat. He's comfortable just being in my company. That's damned humbling, I tell ya. I feel like we ought to be doing something. Jamie doesn't care if we do or not. He says, "Take a nap, I'm fine". Well, yeah, that's not gonna happen if I can help it. Seems rude to me if someone drives a couple hours or so to see you. I figure they didn't come to watch your mouth drape open and your trach tube whistle while you nap. Jamie doesn't care. It frustrates me that I can't talk, not that I don't enjoy his company. Honestly I'm pretty happy just sitting with friends and not breezing or being on the go all the time myself. But still, geez.
  Jamie wrote some nice things in his short note on FaceBook. Like how I mentored him on how to pump and what to look for in the field. How I was there when he was getting divorced and supportive, and gave good advise. I hope that was all true. I took heat from a wacko freakin boss we had, but I considered that my responsibility since I was senior man in the field at the time. He was nuts, that boss, and he'd twist off and jump ass over nothing. Or make shit up, or intentionally screw you over just to eat your ass out. I'd take his shit, and tell Jamie and the other guys "Just wait, the Karma Police will get his ass". In the long run they did. Like Jamie said, Karma Police, regular cops, and folks at the nut house finally brought him down. It was a damn shame, because if he'd not been such a asshole at work, he had potential to be about half way decent. I didn't see myself doing anything out of the ordinary for Jamie, at least in my mind. I'm glad I was able to help him out, though. It's a good thing to hear you've done something for your friends, especially if your don't realize you're doing it at the time. Thanks for coming by, next time we can work on the Fat Girl, and I won't have to feel like I've been such a drag of a host

  Friends are damn important. Sometimes more important than family. Good friends you can talk to about things that the family doesn't need to hear, because it would upset them, or make them feel bad. As good as your relationship with your family is, there's always something that needs hashed out without them hearing it. Why yes, even I have to do that once in a while. Still. You worry about your family, so you use your friends as sounding boards. Why? Because you worry about them too, and they worry about you, that's why. Good friends will tell you what a dick head you're being, and mean it as a way to help you out, not just as a way to belittle you. Good friends make you mad as all get out, but you can't stay that way with them. Because you know you've done the same thing with them. You can tell each other you're screwing up and not lose faith in each other. Those are good friends. They are important, make certain you tell them they are. I've been pretty fortunate in my good friends. I've got a lot of friends, don't get me wrong, probably hundreds of friends and acquaintances, but really only 7 truly good friends.

    Let me explain that a little bit if I may. This blog, and my Facebook page is the most open I've been about what goes on with me in my entire life. I generally kept things pretty close to the vest, with the exception of Liz. The Lovely knew everything all the time. Because she is my rock and my grounding rod. I figured anything going on with me was really no ones damn business anyway. Yeah, yeah, I know, selfish. Yes it was, because I don't like asking for help, never have. Irks me still to ask for help and I just won't unless I'm out of options. All the folks I've reconnected with, I consider all of you friends. I'll help any of you out in any way I can. I also know that you'll do anything to help me out as well. That's great. It makes me uncomfortable, but it's a wonderful thing to have so many support me as I do. It's a lot humbling, and very encouraging. I thank all of you every day. I started being open with my cancer story really back when I got healed up the first time. I'd go talk to strangers about what they might encounter, who they should talk to, what kind of questions to ask, where to find resources. That kind of stuff. Because I found it lacking when I was being treated. Even a bit of that at MD Anderson, one of the best cancer places in the US has trouble with just speaking plain to patients.  That being said, I only have 7 good friends.

 They stood by me when I was being less than what I should have been, and told me so. Those are the 7 guys that after years of not seeing each other, we jump back in like it was yesterday. Damn near like watching the Hung and The Breathless soap opera. In 10 minutes we'd caught up all the time we'd missed out on and never missed a beat. Rare, that is, for certain. Those 7 guys know some things about me that Liz may not even know, and that's okay too. Everyone needs something that not everyone knows about. Keeps life interesting. Not that it's been all peaches and cream with these friends, no sir, no how. I've felt like I had to give a couple some time to sort some of their own business out, and I'm sure they felt that way about me as well.  That's okay. It doesn't mean I don't care about them any less, it means that there's not much I can do to help sort out their own feelings and problems. Doesn't mean we can't and didn't get past that either, just that we needed time. One of my really good friends died a few years back. Tom Ruch. I mess him a little every day. How much that hurt me, well even my good friends didn't know about that, neither did The Lovely. That was something I kept to myself and had to work through on my own. The sad thing on my part is that I let so many years pass between my good friends and myself. I was hell bent on doing shit on my own, without anyone but Liz and I, that I missed some good years. Fucking mistake that, and I apologize to you guys. I shouldn't have done that. Now that it's heading toward the end of this cycle, I can honestly say it won't happen again! HA!


  Back when I was a kid, we lived on a section ranch in Russell county. I know I've mentioned that before. My little brother would run me bat shit with "I wanna go! Let's do this, let's do that", enough to make you open a vein, I swear. I taught him how to ride a bike out there. It was a quarter mile from the county road to the house. We started at one end, which going from the house to the county road was a little up hill, and I got his started. "Pedal!! Pedal you whiny little shit!!" Crash. "Okay, get up on it and go again. I've got shit I want to do and not mess around with your ass trying to ride a bike". Off he'd go. Crash. UP, crash, up, crash. Cry, off to mom, back out, cry. Scratch, cry, crash. At that end of the morning he was riding the bike and I was off on the horse as far away from him as I could get.
 Once when he was tagging along while I did my chores, I left him standing. He grabbed a clod off the wheat stubble and drilled the back of my head. Oh yes, ass whippin on the way. He was pretty speedy and had a good jump on me. I rounded the edge of the house just to hear a huge crash. Glass breaking, I look at the front porch storm door, and all I see are ass and feet. He tripped and went through the glass door. "Well, I'm off to jail now, I've killed the stupid little shit. Chased him until he tripped. His throat's cut or he's got glass clean through his middle". Good or bad, I didn't. I got an ass eatin, but I think in the long run the folks were glad he didn't cut his throat. He did, however, steer clear of me for the next couple of weeks. Probably a good idea.
 That summer, right before school started, the horse and I got in trouble for swimming across the pond. I had on new jeans, jeans jacket, shirt and boots. All new. I bailed on the horse bareback, with just a hackamore to steer with. Usually not a problem, until today. We were out riding the cattle, looking at calves and trying to avoid the bull, who had a short fuse and didn't like me much. Another story for another blog. Anyway, something distracted the horse on the other side. I didn't have enough head control with the hackamore to turn him, he just starts off across the pond. I pull my feet up. Deeper. I stood on his back. Deeper. I sat back down, with my feet up on his neck and my middle getting soaked. And out the other side we came. Boots were dry. Clothes, not so much. Ma was peeved. Fortunately, laundry day in town was coming up before school started, so I had a jacket to wear.
 Fun on the farm

 Today's blog was brought to you by the letter 3 and the number Q.
 Have fun girls and boys. And hug a buddy. They need it too

It could be worse

"It could be worse". I've tried to make that my motto. I'd almost bet that some of the guys I worked with over the years got damn tired of hearing that little adage. Although, in most cases it truly could be worse. There's always something that could have gone farther wrong that it did. Even just a tiny bit worse, is truly worse, it doesn't have to be a catastrophic failure for things to be worse than they are right now. That's part of why whining just pisses me clear off. What's the point of pissing and moaning about a situation you're currently in? After all, it's not always going to be like it is right now, nothing is static. Everything constantly changes. I'm gonna die. So are we all, but I'm headed that way just a little faster than some of us. But, it could be worse. I could be doing this all alone, without support of family and friends. That's a ton worse. I could be in screaming mimi pain all the time, I'm not. So yeah, my dying could be a hell of a lot worse than it is right now. Is my condition going to get worse? Oh hell yeah it is, no two ways around it. But it will never be so bad that it probably couldn't be worse.

  Most of the stuff people piss and moan about is within their control. Constantly pissed or hacked about your job? Quit, find something different, or someplace different and quit. Nothing drags down people who actually like where they work and what they do faster than someone who's a constant griper. God almighty, if you don't like it get the fuck out and save the rest of us your down trodden frickin attitude. Then there are the folks that bitch about things that are out of their control. There are things that I don't like that I, nor anyone else alone, can fix. I don't bitch about them because for now that's how it is. The one thing I do bitch about is politics, and I can't change the boneheads in the City clear to Washington DC, so my labors there are those of Sisyphus. It's my one bitch I allow myself. The rest is just pissing up a rope and grouching about wet shoes. Does not complaining mean I like what's going on in a given situation? No, that doesn't mean that at all. What it does is free up myself to work on changing that situation into something tolerable for myself. I figure that's what everyone should do first, although that's not usually the case with most people. It's easier to bitch about a problem, than to do the inner searching to figure out first if you're the problem to begin with. I don't like doing it, but it's better than laying the blame off on fifty other things only to find out I was the catalyst to begin with. It takes a certain amount of personal responsibility. Frightening as that is, it's something a lot of people pass off.

  Aw, you know, it could be worse. While I'm writing this, I'm reading it and finding that it sounds like I'm bitching!! After all, this could be worse, right? It's human nature, I think, to complain about things. I wonder if we do that as a safety valve, so we don't let ourselves be overwhelmed by that which crowds us mentally. As a machine, the human body is a pretty wonderful thing. Animals are usually more efficient in the use of their energy and strength. The difference is how the computer that drives us works. We take for granted that our noggin is full of the same material that took humans from spears and migration with the herds, to the ability to touch other planets. That's pretty heady (wow, no pun intended) material when you get right down to it. Everyone's brain is about the same, it's how they function that makes us who we are. They all build connections differently, and expand on ideas differently. That's what gives us Einstein and Hawking. Same stuff as everyone else,  they make connections differently. I'm no where near as bright as Stephen Hawking, but I can still walk and pretty easily communicate. So, it could be worse for me. I wonder, with all his physical difficulty, if Stephen Hawking doesn't think, "It could be worse, I could have average intelligence"? Crazy, huh.

If complaining is an outlet to keep us from blowing a gasket, why is it some of us don't feel the need to complain much at all? Or all the time for that matter? I don't like to grouch because it's a waste of time. It accomplishes nothing, really, other than maybe getting some stress off our chests. I''ll be the first to admit I've bitched about things, but not for long before I tried to do something about them. That's how it should be, I think.

 Anyway, enough of that. Geez, thinking about complaining makes me wanna open a vein. Yeow

 Back in the day, there was a little beer joint called Yosemite Sam's, in Liberal Kansas. Thirty three years ago it was the happenin spot. Live bands, a few brawls, two shootings. One of which did some serious injury to the owner. I missed that by a couple of days, I was out of town if memory serves me correctly. 

 All kinds of folks went there. From bikers and drug dealers to the people that would become known as yuppies and preppies. (shudder) All in all it was a fun place to be, lots of laughs with friends. Except for a couple of times.

  One of those times I was out with a bud who was home visiting from school. He called, we went out to Sam's to have a few laughs and copious quantities of beer. He got sloppy drunk. Oh geez, a mistake in that place for some folks. I got slipped something in a beer once in there. Found out who did it ten years later, Karma police got that rat bastard. Wasn't so funny when the shit you pulled on people came home to roost, was it? 

 I digress. So my bud gets sloppy drunk. Once in a while the mens room was the place folks would go run a line of coke up their nose. Ya kinda had to be careful when you opened the door or you'd hit someone in the ass and make them spill their nose candy. Bad news. Soooo, what's my buddy do? Boots the door. Hit one of the local dealers in the ass, knocked a medicine  bottle full of cocaine into the sink that had water running in it. Oh shit. I grabbed him by the shirt collar and tucked him in behind me and started backing out. All three of the bad guys are moving in. I've got my bud in my left hand, shoving him backwards toward the front door, all the while the three dudes are hollerin about kicking his ass to death, and me hollerin back they'd have to come through me first, and my buddy yellin "What? What did I do?!?!". Out the door, backing away still, headed south to the far end of the block and another parking area. Yellin back and forth, I'm getting visions of knives, fists, feet and a whole lot of hurt. No cops, no sheriff, nothing is gonna stop this once we hit the dark. Or so I thought. At the end of the street, they just stopped. I didn't quit moving, just the drug dudes did that. I get the door to the car open, shove my buddy in and haul his ass back home. Alls well that ends well. Two weeks later the three drug dealers sort of brace me up at Sam's, telling me how lucky I was they didn't want to fight. Yeah yeah yeah, blah blah blah. I made a big show of "like I was scared", and that was the end of that. I never did figure out why they didn't just rush me and my buddy. Damn strange. 

  Don't get me wrong, that's not the usual happening at Yosemite Sam's, but an example of the far end of the spectrum. Like the guy from Beaver OK that was always humping for a fight there. He bulged up on a biker friend of mine named Tiny. Pulled the old "I hear you wanna kick my ass" shit. He got as far as "I hear you.." when Tiny hit him in the forehead. I swear it sounded like a ball bat on a water melon. The dude from Beaver put up both fists, then just kinda melted onto the floor. Tiny said "kick my ass?" finishing his line for him. That was the last time I saw that guy in there. Funny

 Have a highly uncommon day, all y'all. And remember, what happened in New York on this date. Make is so no one forgets.

 Hugs, kisses and pats on the ass for the ladies. Fellers, you're stuck with a firm handshake

Ahhh, the thrill

I've been sleeping way later than I like, and napping some, which throws my sleep patterns way off. Yesterday I skipped the nap thing, even though it was so close to a losing battle, and managed to fall asleep before 2 AM. I woke up at 0530. Still late for me, but better than it has been. I'll try and pass out earlier tonight, and hopefully get back onto my daily schedule that I like to follow. That's part of the reason I've not been blogging daily. If it's too late in the AM I get forty kinds of distracted and just can't seem to get it done. Remember the blog about more "focus"? Well, yeah, but I focus less on this and more on getting my daily routine done. I don't get up early enough, the blog suffers. That may be the reason why I get grumpy on the days I don't get up early, this being some of my personal therapy.

 The thrill of suddenly having bad stomach acid problems. After all, why should my stomach be exempt from helping me have a wonderful day? Yesterday, I got to feeling pretty good, and was tuned up for The Boy's HS open house/meet the teacher thing last night. Last year, after the one at the Freshman HS, I was thinking "only three more trips, and I'm finished with this open house crap.". Little did I know that a year later I'd really be wanting to get back to the Open House things, right up through his Senior year and seeing him graduate. Damn. So, anyway, I was feeling pumped up. Suddenly, a vurp. Oh man, it's really acidy. And knowing what's coming next I grab the suction and hit it's go button. Sure enough, full blown, out the nose vomit. Oh joy. I get THAT stopped, and the coughing comes next. At least it follows a routine I can keep up with, so none of it's a surprise. The problem lies in that I can't keep from aspirating what ever it is I vomit. So I cough until it clears out up my trachea. And pretty violently as well. That always makes for at least one "cough until you puke" things. Which now, leads to hacking up a nice shot of blood as well. I believe it's either my throat being raw, or Baxter sliding down my esophagus. Either way it's spooky to those who've not had that happen, or seen it happen. Old hat to me now. If it  keeps up, I'll sweat it, if not....meh, big deal.
 We went to The Boy's Open House and met his teachers. I like at least half of them already. The World History instructor is pretty cool, so far. His Chemistry instructor is new, but seems to have a grasp as to what she's do, which is nice. And she's pretty cute. German 2, seems like a fun class. The instructor smiles a lot and is encouraging to the students, and I like her approach to teaching a foreign language. German is tough, almost as tough as Gaelic, which I gave up on as a self directed language course. I r not smart enuff to get Gaelic without help. Literature teacher seems pretty hip, and has him writing some pretty good stuff already. A hidden talent in Coronet Boy (who doubles as Tuba Boy for marching band), I'm impressed. The elective he took is Digital Media and Imaging. I like that instructor as well. This is her first full year teaching after being a sub for a few years. And after being in the corporate world as well. I'd say she has her work cut out for her. She says about half her students had no idea what a mouse was, let along a lap top. I was slightly surprised as she was explaining how many of her students had never worked with a computer at all. Although, I believe having a computer is something we all take for granted. Remember 20 years ago owning a home PC wasn't as widely accepted as it is now. Time flies when you're a slow typer!

   The thrill is what you make of it in any aspect. It was a thrill, not just a "Do I haft?" thing to go to The Boy's open house. A thrill because I'm able to do it, even with having to suction my mouth every now and then. I'm out amongst the folk. That's kind of a thrill. More so if I'm driving. I think some of the people here are looking to win the next Darwin Award by separating themselves from the gene pool. The sad thing is, they usually take someone with  them. So there's a thrill in driving anywhere in Midland "I's from Tekas, I drive's like I see fit" attitude behind the wheel. And before anyone says "Oh, people drive like that everywhere", a reminder that Midland Co. has about 200,000 people tops, and in total has killed 33 people in wrecks this year, so far. Midland itself is about 150K, and 16 deaths within the city limits. They drive for shit here, always have. So, yes, it's a thrill to get out on the streets.
It's a thrill to watch my grandson play. Kids are hip. And yeah, my daughter is doing a good job raising him. He can be a bit lippy, but he's smart, so that's kind of expected. All four of mine could be from time to time. But that wasn't hard to handle. So the big girl is doing what she can, and does it very well I believe.  It's a thrill to get up the AM and get ready to do anything. There's going to come a time when I will wake up and wish I just could stay asleep. The thrill then will be finding the motivation to let you all in on the fun and games of the closer to Critical Mass game. Stand assured, when I do hit Critical Mass, there won't be a blog to follow. Not unless The Lovely or one of our Minions writes it. I may have to make sure that happens, just so the blog comes a complete journey, and not just stuck in one place. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I'll try and get one of the fan to do one final blog, for Critical Mass.
 It's a thrill to go through a day when the neck and back isn't just thumping at me for fun. Most of yesterday was that way, until mid afternoon. I was making plans to go for a very late evening walk. Just to get out after dark and walk a bit so see what's shaking in my hood after dark. Not much, but it's a lot cooler at that time and the heat bothers me now like never before. I wonder if I have some kind of sickness or something that makes me tired a lot and really makes me hate the heat? Probably.
The neck and back pain is getting worse. I'm beginning to wonder, and I need a second opinion since the fam sees me every day, on whether or not my neck is swelling up. I'm thinking it is.  It feels like it, and my mouth seems more full. That could be fluid build up since I haven't been to lymphedema therapy as often as I need to. I'm going to check about getting in for the next month. So as to keep ahead of the fluid retention as long as I can. And it helps relax me some, and that's always a plus
  It's a thrill that my SLP had her baby yesterday. While I am going to miss having her help, the other lady is going to give me treatments. That will be a thrill in itself. It's be like having to start over and first meeting my therapist. That should be fun. Or at least different. Both, I think, will bring different approaches to all that I've got going on and that can't be anything but a help. I hope. It's a thrill because I'm not certain how much longer I can do this. If it gets to the point that none of the SLP therapy is helping, I'll stop. There's no use continuing a losing game where there are people out there who could use my time for a way to get back to as normal a life as they can muster. That and there's no use having the insurance pay for something with no end result. Right now it's a maintain procedure, I'll settle for that. My SLP is wonderful at what she does. It's gratifying for me to see her work. And watch her get as excited when I make headway as I do. Neither one of us shows that excitement very often, but I think we can see it in how our eyes light up. I know hers do, I hope mine do as well. I hope she's resting well with the new baby, and I hope I can catch up with her soon

  Nope, the Thrill Isn't Gone, Baby. It's different than what it was, but not gone. I repeat this a lot, and I figure it is getting old, but tough shit, my blog. It's the little things. The stuff I took for granted that are the most thrilling now. Odd that.

 Go forth and bring happiness to yourself! There isn't another damn soul on earth that's here to ensure you're happy. Ya gotta do that on your own. So, get after it, for shit sake. There's a day brewing up out there. Carpe Jugulum!

Baxter, dammit all anyway.

 Baxter seems to have a timeline that's different than my own. He's scootin along pretty well. The damn thing is making me more tired and in need of more sleep. Even if when I take a nap I can't sleep well the next night. Weird. He's upping the pain a bit too. Now I'm not so certain that the constant ache in my neck and shoulders isn't more Baxter related than mechanics. Mechanics will adjust, if you do it correctly, and get some better. Mine isn't. I'm retaining more fluid in my face and  neck than I was at one time as well. I'm wondering if that's not part of what's shaking with Baxter.

 Now, there are some upside to go along with the down sides as well. I mean, for one I'm legally stoned. I can't take the add on pain med until I'm done running around for the day, because I can't hit my ass with both hands, a map, and a compass. But I do rest. Some of the effects of that are a reduction in secretion output. That makes me aspirate less, cough less up the tube, and thank God drool less as well. That helps with the self esteem thing. I can't feel my chin or lips very well since all the surgery, so I can't tell if I'm drooling or not. That leads to some, well not embarrassing, but pain in the ass moments when you realize people aren't staring at your overall condition, but rather the pretty rainbow hanging off your chin. Yummy. So, the drugs kinda ease that off a bit, but I can't drive myself anywhere when I'm on the add on. That also means I don't have to drag my suction around with me to keep from flooding the area I'm standing or sitting in. Nice.
 The dreams have been neat. Not as cool as the screwed up, overly erotic dreams I had taking Chantix. That's part of the reason I had to stop, that and I felt lost and goofy as hell on the stuff the second time I tried to take it. Wooo!! I had no idea my mind worked like that in my subconscious. I wish I coulda remembered all of them and written them down. What smut books those would have made. Neat stuff for certain. No, these dreams are just vivid and very detailed. With some spooky shit thrown in for good measure, I guess. I dreamed that I was lying in bed, when someone or something came in, jumped on my chest, plugged my trach and covered my mouth and nose. Huge fight ensues, I get whoever is after me on the ground, and am breaking an elbow, when I get help holding him/it still. I told him/it, to get out and never come to try that shit again. Broke it's elbow, let it up and it ran off. I woke up. Weird, right? What the hell is THAT shit about? Most of the dreams are pretty mundane. From talking with the Grandparents, to riding Fat Girl, to just sitting enjoying someone's company. Dull as hell stuff. The really nice reward would be the super erotic dreams of Chantix time. There's a bonus for slowly fading away!!
  My focus seems to be a bit better as well. That's a plus. I don't know if it's because there is so little going on that I'm more able to settle on one idea or duty and whip that shit out, or if it's because I'm secretly nesting trying to get things in order so Liz won't have to later on. Either way it's a plus. If I find myself getting a little cluttered or scattered with my thoughts, I can generally scoot those to the sidelines better now. Well, with the exception of rambling on in this blog. I'm even talking with my Hospice nurse about why I'd rather stay ahead of supplies 2-3 weeks, rather than hustling to get them out. The Hospice doesn't like to keep more than a week ahead of anything. Foolish, that's constantly having to order and reorder meds and supplies for the people they care for, rather than spending time finding out what concerns or small things they don't think to mention at a visit. That extra ten minutes per visit may not seem like much, but it can make a difference in easing someone's mind a bit.

 Okay, I'm drugging up to go see a movie. Y'all have fun, and go do something I would.
That oughta leave you plenty of leeway for the day

Uh Oh

Uh Oh. That's one of the SLP phrases that is an exercise as well as a term of speech. Uh Oh. You have to force two short bursts of air through your vocal cords and it requires two different positions of tongue, adams apple, and lips to say. It's also good for screwing with people. If you wait until no one is paying attention, the calmly say "Uh Oh", they'll stop and say, "What?".  It works really well if you have a feed bag hooked up to your PEG tube. "Uh Oh" will bring almost anyone to their knees at that time. And the expressions are priceless. Granted, I've used "Uh Oh" too many times and it was being ignored. So I stopped....I've waited.....things and circumstances have changed. "Uh Oh" may be on  it's way back. It'll be fun again for a couple of weeks. Then I'll rest it for a while.

 At work, "Uh Oh" usually meant something bad. As in you found something you weren't expecting, things that were working are worn out and have to be replaced because you found something else wrong with it, and it wasn't originally the problem. Or, working on something and you screwed up and have to start all over. Or, as is the case a lot of the time, something you did is going to put your ass in a sling. 

 That's oil field, it's fixable for the most part. Unless you send oil down the natural gas sales line at a production facility. That's not fixable. The gas company gets to keep that and sell it. Uh Oh. Ass eatin time. And lesson to be learned time. Places I'm not sure you ever want to hear "Uh Oh": An Operating Room. Bad place to hear "Uh Oh". Mission Control in Houston for NASA. Another bad place for an "Uh Oh". A Military Operation. I can't imagine "Uh Oh" is a good thing to hear during a fire fight at all. Waking up to "Uh Oh" and the sound of squealing brakes and tires on pavement. Also a bad time to hear that. Hearing it come out of my own mouth when they said "The biopsy came back positive", not such a good time. I thought "Uh Oh" back in December after meeting with my Surgeon, when he said, "Going over your records and all the other treatment, if it should come back, there isn't anything left to do. This will be the last attempt at getting rid of it. The odds are really strong that this surgery will get rid of it for good.". Uh Oh, that didn't happen

 

 I also hear it from myself when those defeatist thoughts come hooking it in. And they do, and those are losers. "What if" sucks. There's no real answer to "What if".  When science uses that, they are looking for an outcome. When it comes to personal experience, "What if" is generally used to see what you'd have done differently. You can't tell, there's no way to test something from the past to make it fix today. You can look at it as an lesson. As in "If that situation arises again, I'll do it this way, not that". That's hip, that alters your future, not your past. So, when that starts I tell myself "Uh Oh, don't even start". It's sometimes easier said than done, to tell yourself not to start in with the downer thoughts. They creep in, sorta sneaky like. Stopping them isn't always easy. You have to realize that that having the depressed thoughts suck your energy away. They make you feel hopeless, and that's worse than the cancer that's killing me. Uh Oh! But you're going to die, Rock! How can you have hope?

 That's easy enough. I'm in high hopes that I'll be able to go look at some books today, or an estate sale (strictly for research purposes for Liz, of course). Every day has the outlook for a new hope of some kind. I hope we can get to the Farmers Market (bless Midland, it's oil country and the farmers market here is kinda week). I hope that my neck and back give me a break today, but if it doesn't, I hope the pain meds do their thing. Which they have, BTW. Legally Stoned, how cool is that shit, right?

  "Uh Oh" has reared it's ugly head once in a while when I was out partying with friends and or family.

A couple of years ago, I put on my kilt and Liz and I head out to a local "Meat Market" bar for drinks, dancing, and pool with our friends. We are having a blast. They are all so much younger than me, it's like being the "bad" Uncle that your parents love but really wish you wouldn't hang out with. But we have fun.  So, the "Uh Oh" moment doesn't happen right away this night, it's a build up, and I can see it coming. So douche nozzle is pointing at me and then yappin at his buddies. Great. Next, he goes to the can, and intentionally bumps into me. Hurray for you, pencil neck. Does it again on the way back. I'm not huge, but I was more solid than he expected, and I anticipated what was gonna happen, so I leaned toward his that time. He bounced off. Please take the hint. Nope, here he comes, on fist doubled up. "Uh Oh". "What kind of pussy wears a skirt to a bar?" Uh oh. "What kind of dick asks?" I can't resist. I'm hoping that he figures I'm not intimidated, he'll say something almost tough, think he's won, and go back to his buds and leave me the hell alone. One of my buds bows up and starts in at the kid. I say "Let it go, he's an asshole who doesn't know better". He knew he was looking for a fight. Even though we are on the second floor of the bar, with really, really steep steps going down. He invites me outside. Uh oh. "Okay, big man, lead the way". Tactical error on his part, he does lead the way. His friends are still sitting, that's even better. He gets that first step under his foot, and is about to take the second, I push. Really hard. Down he goes. About halfway down I think "Uh oh, he could break his neck". He's still breathing when he hits the bottom, because he's moaning really loud, and moving. Good. I waited. Then waited some more. He didn't come back upstairs. I'd gone down stairs, and didn't see him.

"Hey! Where's our friend?" No "Uh Oh" this time. "He went downstairs", which was true, just not like he thought he would.

 I was back playing pool, my friends, one at a time over probably 20 minutes came up and asked what happened to the guy picking the fight. "I pushed his ass down the stairs.". Much "bullshit, no you didn't", or "Are you sure he's alive?". Yes I did, yes he's okay, mostly. I waited a couple of days to see if the little snake had gone to the police. Apparently not. I guess having a guy in a kilt shove you down a flight of stairs wasn't his idea of losing a macho fight. I wonder if he's out telling his own "Uh Oh" story over that lapse in judgement?

 Qui Peditum?

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