Been awhile since I've posted. An update on the "problem" seems due, although very few will see it, but it feels good to write in the ten minutes before any talent I may still have goes out the window for the next 11 hours.
I have had both the tests done, and the good news is there is no new damage to my back from last year. The bad news is the scar tissue causing the problems is not going away unless I have surgery. Now it is up to the neurosurgeons to decide if they want to risk causing more scar tissue by cutting out the existing stuff. I am referred for a consult and will find out soon.
To combat the effect the scar tissue is having on my nerves, I am now of time release morphine, with my original pain meds for breakthrough pain, and amotriptyline in order to sleep. Amotriptyline was first marketed as an anti-depressant, but they found it actually has a physical soothing effect on painful nerves. Coupled with the drowsiness effect, it seems to be helping me sleep. One side-effect however, is lucid dreaming. Lucid dreams are dreams where the dreamer is aware that it is a dream, and, in some ways, cam orchestrate the dream sequences. Also, the memory of the dream remains. It is weird, unsettling, and leaves one tired if the dream is particularly animated. 
The morphine makes me a bit drowsy, and a little shaky, but mixed with the other stuff, out there. Also, while it deadens the pain some, there is always a nagging soreness that increases toward the end of the cycle-like a bad head-ache except in my lower back and legs. It also has the uneeded side-effect of making me stupid. My vocabularyu gets shot to hell and I find myself searching for words that I commonly used prior to the onset of this problem. Makes for crappy writing, and I've mostly stopped trying. For those of you who have stopped hearing from me as often-it's really not you, it's me.

Okay, time to go take my medecine. I hope to become more active on this thing, but I hoped to be off the meds for good and we've sen how well that has turned out. Merry Holidays to everyone.

 

Current Location: down the rabbit hole
Current Mood: sore
Current Music: I hear voices and I am possessed

 

Okay. I give up. I am convinced that a conspiracy exists designed to rob me of what little time I have left on this earth. "A bit melodramatic'" you may be saying to yourself, but I have proof, my friends.

First, I get home early this morning-around 4:30 a.m.-looking forward to a nice, couple hour nap before the boys wake up. Instead, I help Nesha get loaded up and out the door to school, then I go to the computer to wind down. After learning I have been cheated out of some comic books on e-bay by a mere fifty cents, I am too annoyed to go to sleep right away, so I listen to the radio until I drift off around 6:30. A few minutes later, Camden comes in wanting some breakfast.

"No prob, kiddo," I tell him and, not surprisingly, he says he wants to do it himself. Cool, now I can go back to sleep as he is quite adept at getting some cereal and flipping on the cartoons. Not today, however, as I hear the not so pretty sound of a bowl crashing to the floor. "I slipped," he explains as we sweep up the Cinnamon Toast Crunch that the dogs are too lazy to wake up and eat. ""S'ok," I tell him.

Later, Camden and I take a trip to the doctor's office to pick up his monthly prescription. It is a normal monthly occurence that has gone off without a hitch since it began. I pick up the envelope and drive the fifteen miles back to the pharmacy only to find that one of the prescriptions is missing. I ask the pharmacist if I can have the Dr. fax it over, but due to the nature of the drug, it must have a written prescription accompanying or it cannot be filled. Even the drug laws have been designed to shorten the productive years of my life!

So, Cam and I drive back to the Dr and are told we can get the RX, but that the Dr is with a patient and we will have to wait until he is free to write it. I sit there calculating how much of my day I'm losing-an hour as it turned out-while Camden asks me questions about Star Wars that only George Lucas or one of his writing lackeys could possibly answer, but he is so earnest in is questioning that I make up some stuff that sounds convincing enough for a six year old-although I suspect we'll be watching a movie or two tonight so he can verify my information. More time lost.

Now that an hour's errand is going on two, with no end in sight, I return to the pharmacy and drop off the second scrip. I ask about the first, but the Pharmacist saaid he was waiting for the second one so he could just fill them at the same time, in order to work on other people's scrips. I can almost understand this logic, except he had no idea whether or not I would actually be able to retrieve the second scrip so I think I was being bullshitted just a touch. "OK, I replied, I'll be back after Camden's haircut in about an hour." "No problem, they'll be done." he tells me. By now we are on 21/2 hours errand time.

The one place I was dreading, Supercuts, which always seems to be one barber shy of a functioning crew, is empty and they take Camden almost right away. The hitch is the U.P.S. guy who seems to have a near God-like power to keep everyone's attention with his line of bullshit while customers sit and wait for the grace of his presence to be over. Still, he has a route to complete so it is only a five-minute visit and Camden is done in under an hour. Back to the Pharmacy we go!

But, as I said, we were done in under an hour. I told the Pharmacist we would be back in an hour and he was determined to keep me at my word. What solace I can take from the wait is the obvious annoyance I can see on his face as I let Camden run wild on his blood pressure machine.

By now it is after 1:00. None of us, including Tommy at home, has had lunch, with breakfast being a fleeting memory. I remember the McDonalds gift card in my wallet so I head there. In and out, I'm thinking as the boys rarely vary from their set menu of Chicken McNugget Mighty Kids Meal, with Sprite. Nope. We attempt to pull into the parking lot but the drive through customers are out to the street. I have to wait in the drive-through line to even get a parking spot in order to go inside. Then the line inside is nearly as long as out. Camden shakes things up (pun intended) by insisting on a chocolate shake with his meal. This completely flusters the elderly woman taking my order. She gets the manager to help her and I pay, then go fill up my pop.

I am called to the counter to pick up my order only to find my sandwich, two chocolate shakes and one kids meal. I calmly ask, "Where's the other kid's meal?" I get that vacant fast-food stare we receive when no one wants to admit fault. "I ordered two, to go, with two chocolate shakes." The elderly woman looks me straight in the eye and replies, "I only charged you for one," like it solves all of my problems. "I needed two," I toss back. The manager comes over and tries to solve the dilemma, but only makes it worse by mucking up the card swiping machine. She tells me, "You'll have to wait two minutes before you can pay." I give her  a look, then reply, "I'm not swiping my card again, I already did and it said 'Transaction Processing'." She makes the appropriate but she doesn't know why decision to just give me the second kids meal free. Near temper detonation averted, I head to the Durango. Camden, eager to eat, pushes past me and slips between the front and back seats. Now, when I finish typing this, I'll go wash out the chocolate shake he had to have off of the floor of the car.

The Universe hates me and I hate it back.

Current Location: Hell
Current Mood: apathetic
Current Music: Big Country

So, I discovered last weekend-let me rephrase that-I once again proved last weekend, that I am no longer a good drinker. Not that I was ever a pro, mind you, but I used to be able to drink for days on end without a thought to how I would feel or what I might say. Now, after setting those days aside and saving my drunks for special occasions, I am unhappy to report that I am a lightweight blathering idiot who can't seem to hold his liquor. Nesha verified this for me by bringing up a conversation which occurred shortly before I went to bed. I have no memory of this conversation. This is a new development as I have always, for better or worse (usually worse) remembered what I have said and done when exceptionally drunk.

The answer is restraint. I am able to stay away from booze entirely, with only the occasional urge to grab a beer. Not drinking isn't a problem, it is really the norm these days. However, when I am drinking, I lose any restraint I may possess. I am driven to seek the bottom of the bottle or the end of the 12 pack. It becomes a holy crusade to rid the bar, or my basement, of the infidels with the shiny labels and foreign sounding names. Vodka, rum, bourbon, ale, porter, stout, all are to be vanquished and consumed. I can't be stopped, until I pass out or get cut off. Restraint. But the buzz feels so damn good. If there was a way to convince me that slowing down and enjoying the buzz with the occasional maintenance drink to keep it going, that would be great. But at some point I lose that control and it becomes a booze melee, with me in the role of booze berserker, clearing the battlefield of all comers. I have been offered sage words of drinking wisdom from all types of drinkers-the weekend boozer, the functional alcoholics, and the just when partying drinkers, but at some point I become deaf to their advice.

Nesha is amazingly patient with my outings. It is probably because they are few and far between. God help our marriage if any of my drinking buddies move to Portland. She makes sure everyone quiets down so we don't wake the kids and that we all have places to crash when the night is over. She no longer laughs at my hangovers like she did when we were younger, and gently offers to get water and aspirin, or cooks a greasy breakfast to help calm the stomach. The kids aren't as helpful, nor should they be. About the time they feel it is necessary to avoid Dad because of booze, I will empty the house of all alcohol and never drink again.    And that would suck.

Current Mood: amused

The wife and kids decided that I would never make the appointment myself, so today I was surprised with my Father's Day gift-Lasiks surgery. I have worn glasses since the fifth grade. I could never bring myself to try contact lenses because, a: I hate anything coming near my eyes, and b: I would have lost them. I have been talking about getting lasiks for years, but nothing has come of it. Today, Nesha picked me up and drove me to the consultation. I passed with flying colors, a superior lasiks candidate. Next Thursday I go in and have it done. I can't wait!

Current Location: where else?
Current Mood: excited
Current Music: Silversun Pickups

   When I was a kid and would get sick, my mom would go to the store for seven-up and soda crackers. My level of anticipation would rapidly escalate, not from the expectation of savory soda-crackers and stale seven-up rather, I always received a handful of the latest comic books, along with my favorite library book of all time, "Bring on the Bad Guys" a hardback compendium of the origins of all the major Marvel Comics villains. I would forget all about  feeling cruddy on a rubber couch cover designed to keep dinner from staining the upholstery. Mom would leave me alone for a couple of hours so I could escape to Spiderman's New York, Batman's Gotham, and the battlefields of France with Sgt. Rock. I would shudder with horror in The House of Mystery, dream of space travel with Mysteries in Space, and quietly fall asleep knowing The Joker was safely tucked away at Arkham Asylum for another month.
   I have collected comic books since I was five years old. I can recall, 34 years later, the storylines of many of my favorites just by looking at the cover. This skill would have been helpful if my college had offered a modern comics as literature course, but alas. Besides, then comics would have become a chore rather than the wooer of many a Saturday afternoon. I still drop by the shop for my monthly fix, and often get lost in conversation with the owner who, although he loses money each and every month he is open, refuses to call it quits and uses the shop as a tax shelter. He is an engineer in his real life, but a comic lover for good. I once asked him how many comics he had in his collection and he smiled and said, "Look around!" That led to an hours long conversation about why we collect. We agreed to disagree about the relative merit of comic ownership, as he prefers to read them and let them go, I, however refuse to sell even a single issue although I have been known to make a gift of some to someone who truly appreciates the genres.
   So, I am suffering the May Flowers syndrome. For me, April showers brings uncontrollable fits of coughing, sneezing, and ultimately, sinus infections. Today has been worse than the others and I have a pile of comics that my schedule has not allowed me to read. I need to know if Wolverine will defeat his son in Berlin. I need to know if Daredevil can reconcile his daily lawyering and nightly heroeing with married life and all that entails. I have to know if Catwoman will get the snowglobe from Luthorcorp so Holly's identity can be erased from the Gotham City crime files. These are important matters for a Saturday afternoon. I am going next door to the guest bedroom, laying down sans the rubber sheet, and taking my mind off what ails me. The only thing that could make this better is my mom bringing me some crackers and seven-up. Happy Mother's day, Mom, I love you.

Current Location: now I'm laying down
Current Mood: sick
Current Music: the soundtrack to a superhero movie of your choice

   Interesting, this afternoon turned out to be. Ouch, a Yoda sentence for an opening good is not. God, stop I can't. Kill me will somebody.  Ok.
   Tommy called me from school for the second day in a row. Yesterday, the school nurse sent him home because he was feeling nauseous. In my day, you actually had to be puking before they would call your parents, but I digress. Anyway, I brought him home only to have him running around feeling just fine within an hour. I thought today would be more of the same. I was wrong.
   Another bit of backstory; On Saturday, we all went to the dog park. Everyone loves the place for different reasons. Nesha and Jones like to parade in his purebred pomp and enjoy the adulation of other snobbish dog owners. She likes the fact that our purebred St. Bernard can fit most of the other dogs at the park in his mouth. I guess that parts kinda cool.
   Tommy loves to see how many different breeds he can pick out, and marvelling strangers with his animal knowledge. Camden loves climbing the tree, and Strummer and I love throwing the ball the length of the fenceline, meandering in our mutt status, with the other average blokes.
   While we were there, Tommy and Camden enjoyed chasing each other until a top-short left Tommy on the ground with a hurt ankle. We took him home and iced it, He was back to playing within a couple of hours so we thought no more about it.
Today, Tommy calls me and tells me he has fallen and reinjured his ankle. My first reaction was that he was playing me for another day off from Karate class. Then I noticed it was three-a half hour before school ends. I finished getting dressed, and went up to the school and picked him up. I noticed a limp, but it wasn't sever and he didn't want help to the dodge. On the way home, I told him he was going to karate class, and could sit out the leg movements. When we got inside, I took a look at his ankle. From there plans changed.
   Tommy's ankle was puffing out and the brown and greenish/purple bruise got me on the phone with Nesha. Typical to us is the fact that almost nothing ever happens until one of us is out of town. Nesha is in Spokane for a three day conference. As she is the resident injury expert, I wanted her input. She was on her third wine tour of the day (gotta love those professional gatherings) but sobered right up when I described the scene. So, I was on my way to Urgency Care.
   Thanks to my wonderful Aunt Jan, Camden was dropped off instead of causing heart attacks and injuries at the clinic. Urgency Care for Kaiser Permanente is a lot of hurry up and wait. They don't officially start seeing patients until 6 pm, but insist you be there by 5 to get seen before 8. We went in and they immediately rushed Tommy to X-Ray. Once finished, we returned to the UC mod and sat there until 6:15 when we were called back.  Once we moved to the Exam room, it was another 40 minutes before a P.A. arrived to look at him. Then, after the exam took place, we waited 30 more minutes to get him bandaged for a severe sprain-no fracture, thank God. We raced to pick up Cam and make it to the pharmacy to get crutches. Then we swung by his Kung Fu studio to turn in his homework and tell them not to expect us for at least one week. It was after 8 by the time we made it home.
   I'm tired, but I think the whole situation could not have been handled better by my mother. I'm starting to feel like an good, if not spectacular father.

Current Location: my office
Current Mood: pleased
Current Music: Wish You Were Here-Pink Floyd

My favorite poem is a grand, sweeping epic made up of heroic couplets in the genre of those middle age English bards with "Sir" before their names. The author is quite well known in his circles, but not for his poetry. He is known to his fans as Waterson, and published in numerous newspapers across the country.  Here it is:

Eighty Million years ago,
Back in the late cretaceous,
Lived the great Tyrannosaur,
A fearsome and predacious
Monster of enormous size!
He weighed six tons or more!
He epitomized the concept of
The killer carnivore!

His jaws had teeth like railroad spikes
With fore and aft serrations!
This dental hardware was designed
For quick eviscerations!
With thrashing bites and awful roars
The T-Rex would attack!
He was, it's clear, a savage
Mesozoic Maniac!

Imagine then, the panic caused,
The horror and the mayhem,
When this monster came to town
And ate some folks, this A.M.!
It was a sight few will forget!
He lunged into the crowd!
The multitude, became unglued!
Their screams were long and loud!

People pushed to get away!
The elderly and small,
Were trampled underfoot by the
Advancing human wall!
Little Tim was on an errand
With his brother Howard.
They dawdled by the candy shop
And both boys were devoured.

A camera crew from Channel Three
Arrived in town to give
A live report. At this they failed,
Because they didn't live.
At last the menace ate his fill.
The big Tyrannosaur
Stomped away to parts unknown
Where he had lived before.

Tyrannosaurs, though rarely seen,
Are certainly still around.
And no one knows just where or when
The next one will be found.

                                                ...Except me.

Current Location: my office
Current Mood: amused
Current Music: Big Country Just a Shadow extended remix

    There is absolutely nothing more wonderful than a well prepared hamburger. This afternoon I marinated some fresh ground beef with some Kansas City sauce, added a little salt, pepper and onion powder, and scraped my well-seasoned grill. The weather cooperated today and a nice warm patch of sun hit me in the back while I flipped the burgers and threw a ball for Strummer. 
    A brief altercation with Cam, the youngest, over a miss-thrown horseshoe did nothing to alter my mood. He managed, somehow, to completely miss the place he was aiming for, and nailed me square in my surgery site. I probably hollered a little louder than necessary, but he caught me off guard and by god, it hurt. I promised to play ball with him tomorrow if the weather holds out, and I may even teach him how to throw a horseshoe so it doesn't hit his father, or anyone else, in the back.
    So, the sun was out and the deck felt warm, so I doffed my shirt and shoes in preparation for those summer months where the day can go by with little getting done, but the evening is a flurry of activities, with the lull centered around my grill. My grill is a very important part of family life here. We gather around it for parties and family get-togethers. The boys always manage to talk me into bouncing them in the trampoline in the minutes between flipping the steaks, or they take turns grilling the chicken breasts so carefully seasoned the night before. In these moments, I have their complete attention and can impart a bit of what I have learned through the camaraderie of the Barbecue.
    Inside, Nesha prepared the fixin's and the french fries. She helped soothe the resentment building up between myself and Camden, and helped me to realize that he did not mean to hurt anyone and to cut him a break. Truth be told, I was never that angry and the moment was too perfect to waste on hard feelings. I couldn't jump in the trampoline as fresh burgers means little flare-ups and the meat must be tended to carefully to avoid that crisp outer crust that takes away from the seasoned beef below. I had to man the grill like a sea captain mans the helm through a mighty Atlantic storm. Then there is that moment just before the patties are done when it is time to add the bacon strips. This is a timing issue that can be taught only to those with the dedication to fine grilling. 
    There is that moment between when the juices turn from pink to clear where a river of blood drifts on top of the clear grease which indicates the meat is cooked. It is right then that the bacon must be added and the lid held shut for a few minutes to allow the bacon grease to liquefy and melt into the burger. Once this is done, the lid opens once more and the gorgeous scent of beef and bacon fills the air. The crescendo of grilling, it's that instant of cooking transcendence. There can't be a person alive who's stomach doesn't roar when the nose is assaulted with such primal smells.
    Finally, a slice of Tillamook cheddar tops the patty. I turn off the grill so the cheese doesn't melt too fast and just drip off of the meat. This is the anxious time for the grill master. The joy in all of this is not in the eating, it is the time spent mastering flame and smoke, beef and bacon. There is a sense of satisfaction when you need no one to tell you how good the burger tastes. Tommy refuse the cheese when it is offered and often takes the meat off the bun, savoring alone, the flavor of the meat. The veteran griller often eats alone after serving his guests. There is no post victory celebration for grillers, only the fulfillment of well-cooked food and full stomachs. The grill is covered and protected from the unpredictable spring. The sun begins to set leaving cool, shadowy places. More mundane tasks are carried out in preparation for the work week to come.

This September, my youngest boy is starting Kindergarten. After a busy couple of years, I find I'll have the house to myself each morning, five days per week. I made it clear to everyone (that being myself and my wife) that I am going to spend two hours daily behind the keyboard working on my various writing projects. I will discard some garbage written in haste, and explore some ideas I have not had the time to review. If I only write a paragraph in that two hours-if I only write a grocery list in that two hours-I will be making some progress.
I now have a quandry. I have been playing Mr. Dad for three years, working only a part-time graveyard shift job for medical benefits and part-time at our business doing administrative work while the youngest is at preschool. I realize that, except for the news, I haven't had much interaction with the world the last three years. I have become less social, less comfortable talking to people, and more anxious about the world in general. My recent experiences have not been life-altering nor have they left any lasting impressions worthy of a haiku let alone a short story. A novel, at this point, seems, well, pointless. I am a good researcher however, and my imagination is structurally intact. 
So, I ask myself and anyone else who may read this, do I start writing and let the experiences come with the increase in freedom, or do I take advantage of the newly freed up schedule and experience the real world for awhile, by getting out and meeting new people? Do I absorb the auras of passing strangers incorporating my encounters into new works, or create new characters from the image I have of the public in general? Most of all, how does one regain the expansive vocabulary of the literate, when the past three years have been spent getting the boy to appreciate the basics?
Two hours per day doesn't seem like much, but this little blurb has taken all of 15 minutes and I'm on my fourth paragraph! It seems like a good start and I'm going to enjoy this journal for the practice sessions it affords. More to come later as I sort myself out.

Current Location: The Basement
Current Mood: contemplative
Current Music: Happy Mondays

I set up my altar and chanted a mantra for your wellness. I also burnt an offering and blew smoke to help a spirit of wellness find its way to you. It was fun. I haven't practiced this art in quite a few years. I'm a little rusty so if you are feeling lousy but your neighbor is quite chipper today, sorry, I missed.

Current Mood: chipper
Current Music: Chameleons UK, Up the Down Escalator