Monday, February 11, 2019


Oh. . . reconciliation, amelioration, etc.  Sunday was better than Saturday, but I am fighting off a grunge in my belly.  My skin and muscles hurt, too.  There are times, for real, when only opioids will do.  I know that from a long stay in the hospital that I hardly remember.  True.  Ili told me I had a catheter.  I can't recall that at all.  She said I kept complaining about it and pulling it out.  But there are far more things that the old Morphine kept me from remembering, all to the good.  If I had Morphine last night, I'd be tip-top today.

But we live in fear.

People ask me jokingly if I am going to get another Vespa.  I think about it.  It was the most fun I had.  People are flabbergasted when I say so.  But what is the point of living in fear?  Bad things happen.  I could have gotten hit on my bicycle just as easily.  I miss jumping on the Vespa and taking a ride.

It is only when I try to move that I question that decision.  Movement is not fun for me now.  But I keep working at it.  I am no defeatist.  Not all the time.  A moment here and there, but who doesn't have that?

More than anything, I want to be able to travel.  Q asked me yesterday if I wanted to take a road trip.  Sure I do.  What he doesn't understand since he doesn't see me is that going to work is as much as I can stand.  I want to get into the car and drive around the country.  I want to get on a plane.

It will be awhile.

I got this grunge from taking care of my mother, by the way.  She was keeping her house very warm.  It felt like she was growing funguses in there.  I tried not to breathe the air or touch the surfaces.  You can only do that for a minute, and I wouldn't not take care of my good old mom.

I will try to find a story to tell, I swear.  I can't tell the one I just lived through, but maybe something will pop up today.  I will try to take a photo or two as well.  I have goals.

Don't we all?

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