Saturday
Have you ever set the DVR to record an event, and then started watching an hour late so that you could skip the commercials? So I did that with the Celtics Friday, only it didn't record because of operator error, and when I tuned it in live, it was in the second quarter and the game was over, Celtics down by 25 and playing like they were beat. That is nothing like my life.
Well, and home at last. I checked out of the hospital yesterday at 10:30, my WBCs rocking the house at 12.7, normal is 4-11, I do love the neupogen shots. So no mask, no neutropenia, walk on out the door. Hallelujah and praise God! It feels like a little miracle, and I hope it keeps feeling this way, dodged not a bullet, but a John-seeking missile!
Tuesday
Don’t know what happened, hit a time skid, been too busy to finish the post. I woke this morning and I am losing my voice and have a sore throat, but no fever, maybe just mucositis or Vfend.
Seen that show ‘Hoarders’ that is airing? My garage looks like that, or did. My kind in-laws and friends moved most of my stuff out of my bachelor pad, and into my garage, a few weeks back. For some reason that I don’t remember, I was not very involved, probably strapped to the bed by Dana. So I am trying to reintegrate some things, and having a general reorganization of things.
Things are a pain in the ass. They clutter our lives, and then break. I wrote this a while back, but it needs something, like an edit.
Things
These things we surround ourselves with,
these cars and boats and bikes,
campers and TVs and RVs and
computers and Cuisinarts and dryers,
they are all anchors, they are barriers.
They weigh us down, hold us in place,
our boat cannot sail, our balloon cannot soar,
we can’t lift off to the heavens.
We are anchored, we fear for our stuff,
we put up walls and signs,
‘Stay Away, don’t touch my stuff.’
We hope for adventure and love,
and hide behind walls, anchored in place,
guarding our stuff,
and then we melt into the earth
and are forgotten.
All we leave behind is a toxic smear,
a twisted blob
of metal and plastic.
Today I will finish up moving stuff around in the garage, and go finish up moving out of the serene place I was in. Spackle. Vacuum. I need a buyer for that big kitchen table I love and for the home gym, or my storage nightmare will be escalated.
All in all, I feel OK healthwise, pretty weak and wobbly, and that Vfend is nasty stuff. I reread the side effects this morning, which included agitation, anxiety and confusion, and I am certainly experiencing some of those effects, especially in talking. I am speaking in dyslexic sort of, but only at times. The damage to my tongue isn’t helping. So, less talk, less bark.
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Two songs your poem made me think of---Broken Things by David Byres. and "Don't touch my stuff" by Zach Gill. Two songs worth looking up on i-tunes or whatever. So i had this thought the other day that when people walk their dogs and pick up poop and tie a knot in their non disposable plastic bag after picking it up--How long is that piece of shit going to be around for? 100's of years while the bag it's in begins to deteriorate? maybe we should just let the poop stay on the gound so it can decompose and not be perserved for years in a little plastic baggy? But then again i guess we'd probably be stepping in shit then. ---sorry rambling--
ReplyDeleteJohn,
ReplyDeleteSo, so glad to hear you’re back home and feeling well enough to keep us updated and you’re alert enough to be complaining.
The clutter in the garage is cluttering your mind. I know the feeling. The stuff we buy begets more stuff, which begets more stuff, which . . .
I’m pretty sure we must suffer from some sickness of compulsive cluttering. This week, I’m at a management meeting in a wonderful resort place called Barnsley Gardens in Adairsville, GA. www.barnsleyresort.com
The “rooms” are actually not-so-small cottages, with old pine floors and cast iron, claw-foot tubs, etc. It’s a design one might call elegant simplicity. There’s a golf course, shooting range, turkey hunting, Orvis bird dog kinda feeling all the way around. But the one thing I notice is the absence of clutter. It’s ironic that you bring it up, as it hit me in the face like a 2X4 when I got here yesterday. It gives me a feeling of unencumbered independence and self control that I otherwise can’t find all too frequently.
Living in Alabama, I must admit to this fact. When tornado watches and warnings hit us, there’s this part of me thinking, “What the hell, if it picks up the house and drops it in the river a half mile away, we’ll find ourselves clutterless and unanchored from all the crap we have that we don’t need. Of course, the key is to get me, TLW and the kitties down in the safe place before the giant sucking sound comes in to pick all that crap up and take it for the big bye-bye ride.
So John, wouldn’t it feel good to just give up all that clutter. Have a $1.00 garage sale. Everything goes for a buck ! ! ! Make three hundred bucks and have a million dollar piece of mind. What a deal !
Hang in there Buddy. I feel a jade fountain coming on very soon. Now that’s not clutter; it’s art.
Mac
john,
ReplyDeletethe question is, is the garage half full, or half empty? i believe this is an opportunity to be creative. do not squander yer opportunities.
the real mickey beach
Those poop bags are supposedly environmentally sound, decomposable in the short term. Let's hope so. We can trust corporations, right? And the poop unfettered, in my 'hood, ends up in the creek, which ends up in the ocean. Lots of poop.
ReplyDeleteMac, you're having too much fun!
The garage is now half full, lots to Goodwill. Sick of yard sales, give it away!
the problem is most people i know don't use the actual "poop" bio-degradable bags--but any bag they can find. I think we are going to leave the next generation poop. figuratively and literally
ReplyDelete