Tag: humor

Day 13…a letter to my body

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Dear body:

We need to come to some kind of an understanding. We can go around and around about who started it but it doesn’t solve anything. You were broken at an early age so I gave up on you. I didn’t ask for a failing body, I didn’t inherit it. I didn’t ask for it. It just happened. So as I ate junk food, boozed and generally abused you I did it out of sheer frustration for being dealt a shit hand.

You have to admit it, eventually, I came to terms with our differences and began to treat you better. I began to feed you better food, less booze and I even exercised you.

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In our 30’s I took great care of you. But you were already broken. When we were 31 we got cancer. We worked together to kick it out for good.

When we were 40 we got a staff infection that almost killed us. If not for a routine bed check on the 6th floor we would be worm food right now. Do you know that I actually left you for 4 minutes? But some yelling doctors got us together again.

In our late 40’s you decided that you needed spare parts in order to continue running, Somehow we got you a new kidney part and you loved it. Sure you tried to reject it a couple of times, that’s normal. But I fed you drugs that made you stop. For a while you worked with me. Then you allowed the original defect to come back in the replacement part. Even after being so nice to you for 4 years you let me down again. Now we are sick again. The Dr said today that the new part only has 30% functionality left.

I am proposing a truce. If I promise to continue to give you good food, plenty of exercise and sleep will you make an effort to make that 30% last as long as possible? You see, there are so many things that I want to do and many important occasions, still unplanned but I hope to see them in my daily planner, at which my presence will be requested.

I don’t like our relationship, but I’ve come to grips with it. As I said I don’t blame you. Please work with me, consider my proposition carefully. I am sincere on my end. All I need is time. Precious time. I can think of a few people that will also be eternally grateful.

Respectfully,

The soul

Happy pills

Does life imitate art or does art imitate life? Or to rephrase the question does TV imitate my life? I jest of course, but sometimes a show really hits home with me. Last night’s episode of Bull was no exception.

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The show, if you have not watched, is about a “Trial expert” who specializes in selecting and reading jurors for lawyers. The cases are usually interesting. Last night’s episode dealt with a case against a Big Pharma company and the practice of drug trials. At stake was the case of an otherwise happy young man who committed suicide shortly after taking an experimental antidepressant as a paid trial. My attention was held hostage to this subject. I have a small history with this.

After the segment in which a witness, another recipient of the trial, testified of experiencing suicidal thoughts (with no previous history) I was in the full throes of a flashback. On the first commercial break, I said to my mother “that happened to me.”

My mom turned, looked at me quizzically and said: “what happened to you?”

“Suicidal thoughts while on an antidepressant”. I embarked on explaining this statement before the commercial break was over.

When I was in my late 30’s my blood pressure became an issue. My kidneys were failing and my marriage was in a shambles and I was a complete stress case. My doctor warned me that if I didn’t find a way to calm down and be selective about what I get aggravated about I was going to die young. She suggested a little helper in the form of a mood stabilizer. I was very resistant, I am very anti-Big Pharma and am of the mindset that a medicated life is not real life. I am sure I will piss someone off here and I am not trying to. Some people need it. I didn’t think I did. But I wanted peace at home and to live past 40 so I agreed to try Lexapro.

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I tried it. At first, I didn’t notice any difference in my demeanor. Then gradually I noticed that people started telling me to smile, to cheer up. They told me I looked mad. Then I noticed that while driving I became fascinated by highway guard rails. In particular, I was fixating on what it would be like to hit one at 70 plus miles per hour. Suicidal thoughts are not me. At all. Something was wrong.

I have been through some shit in my life, more than anyone’s fair share, and I have never ever thought of taking my own life. I push on, I deny reality, I hope for better days but I could never do that to my family. But every single day guard rails were calling my name. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to recognize it as a problem. One afternoon as I was driving past a particularly inviting stretch of guard rails I grabbed the bottle of evil little pills from my briefcase, rolled down my passenger window and fired the bottle out the window.

My mother was very taken back by my story. I probably shouldn’t have burdened her with it but I have this new, annoying habit of sharing my thoughts with people.

The bright part of the story is that there are some good shows on television after all. I just wish they would stop hitting so close to home. It affects my mood. I wonder if there is a pill for that?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just people, that’s all

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“I love the Dollar Store.I don’t have to get all dolled up like going to a Wal-Mart”

anonymous internet meme.

I admit it, I am a Wal-Mart shopper. I see no need to pay more than I have to for toilet paper and socks. Yes, Wal-Mart doesn’t pay its employees very well and their lack of benefits may indeed be a burden on our health-care system by forcing workers into state exchanges. I always look at the flip side, they give a lot of people jobs that they might not otherwise be qualified. Yes, some of their employees are not qualified for much else. I said it. I just see people working which makes me happy.

I stopped in Sunday afternoon to use their coin machine. I had an ashtray full of change to cash in. Their machine takes 10% but I don’t care I’m not rolling coins. It occurred to me as I walked in that the holiday shopping season was in full frenzy and I had possibly made a mistake. As I waited for the machine to count my change I scanned the checkout area and it wasn’t too bad. I grabbed my receipt and headed for the line.

As I stood patiently in line, looking out of place I’m sure with no items in my hand, the woman in front of me abruptly spun around and said: “Savers is half off today.” She was clearly hammered, three sheets to the wind drunk.

I politely replied, “then why are you here?” I actually had no idea what “Savers” is.

She went on to explain that it is a store and that she had already been there, and called me “silly”. I looked politely around as she was talking and people were staring at her in righteous disapproval. Judging.

“My name is Janet, Merry Christmas!” she said thrusting her hand towards me. I introduced myself and returned the greeting. Janet motioned to the man behind her, who was dutifully emptying his cart onto the register belt as her husband. She went on to explain how she and Earl have no family and they will be celebrating early this year. Ignoring the opportunity to tell her it looks as if she has already started celebrating I let it go. Instead, I told her that she should be able to celebrate any way she wants to.

They checked out and started to leave and Janet turned and said goodbye to me. Once again everyone looked at this clearly intoxicated woman with disdain. I didn’t. My takeaway was that she was friendly and nice. Who am I to judge her? Unless she is driving of course. I wished her a Merry Christmas again.

Wal-mart is full of people, regular people who for the most part lack pretense. I’ll take that any day.

cheap beer and memories

If nothing else I am a guy that can learn a lesson. I’m open to it and I recognize the value of applying what I’ve learned to do right by virtue of having done it wrong. I’m also burdened with a tremendous memory, in particular for the stupid things that I’ve said and done. I beat myself up mercilessly to this day for things that I did even in my teens. Mostly between the hours of 11 PM and 3 AM.

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My mantra has typically been “I don’t think before I speak, I like to be as surprised as everyone else by what comes out.” I tend to be pleasantly sarcastic so I’m not very offputting. But Sunday I had the opportunity to see a friend do a replay of one of my most regrettable stupid comments. And it was an eye-opener.

A little back-story. When I was 20 my dad and I went to visit one of his co-workers. Another hard working truck driver who had just been diagnosed with Cancer. Dad and I drove 100 miles to see him at his vacation home because that was how Dad was. We arrived at Smitty’s house around noon and we got the tour of the house. Smitty led us to the kitchen and the big man opened the refrigerator and grabbed 3 beers in his enormous hand. As he handed one to me I stupidly said: “Ugh, Miller Lite.” Smitty looked at me and then at Dad. I looked at Dad as well and he was pissed, I just knew.

We eventually said our goodbyes and walked to the truck. His door was barely closed when he turned and looked me in the eyes, serious as a heart attack and said:” when someone offers you a beer I don’t care if it tastes like a warm glass of camel-piss you take it and you say thank you. Do you understand me?” I did, and I felt awful. But it stuck with me. From that day forward I always cheerfully accepted whatever anyone offered me.

Yesterday I was serving a charity breakfast. The Masons do a blood drive every year in our building and I make a full breakfast for all donors. I love to cook and I love to help. I look forward to it every year. In particular, I look forward to seeing my friend Paul. He seldom attends other functions but he always comes to this one to see me in the kitchen. On this day he stayed until the end to help me clean up.

We were joined in the kitchen by Dan, another friend. Paul and I were talking and Dan was scrubbing some pots. Paul asked me if I wanted to stick around and grab a beer with him after. I explained that I had to drive 2 hours home so probably no. It seemed I barely had time to turn around and there he was with three cans of beer, one for each of us. Miller Lite. I gladly accepted and all eyes were on Dan. Dan turns and says:”Miller Lite, that’s what I drink when I can’t drink my own piss!”

I looked at him and before I could stop myself I said: “Dan when someone offers you a beer just take it and say thank you. What’s wrong with you?”

Who said that?

Day 10…a letter to the leader of the Country

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Dear Mr. President:

You are perhaps the most amazing story in political history. Your election shook the world. It was historic on so many levels and the shock waves still ripple across the world one full year after your election.

On election night I watched the results unfold with unbridled glee. Not because I was supporting you, (I did in the same manner as every other election I have voted in, I voted against a candidate, not for one), but because of the sheer excitement of it. I felt vindicated because I predicted your victory when no one in my circle did. I simply knew that the polls were not accurate. That many who were polled either gave no answer or lied. for fear that supporting you would cause them backlash or social condemnation. Therefore the numbers that predicted a Hillary victory were simply not accurate and the “silent majority” would speak with their vote, not their voice. As I sat on the edge of my seat I embraced the tumult that then unfolded.

Of course, I didn’t realize the chaos that would ensue. The reaction from the pundits was hilarious and expected. While required to maintain an “objective” expression they failed miserably, they couldn’t contain their anger at your election. No surprises there for me. But the country itself did surprise me and continues to do so. College students felt violated and clamored tearfully for “safe spaces”. Grown men and women cried in public and called for the immediate disbanding of long-standing election protocols. In short, millions of people lost their fucking minds when their candidate didn’t win. It is a sad state of affairs but it is very telling of the mindset of our country. Our youth is unaccustomed to not getting their way, our adults have lost the ability of reasonable discourse, and our country is hopelessly divided. If you do an absolutely amazing job in the next three years your popularity will never exceed 50%. Fortunately, you don’t care about any of that.

Mr. President, you were elected by a lot of people who didn’t agree with the direction the previous administration was going. They didn’t necessarily vote for you, but for the issues that you stood for and that, let’s face it you were a lesser evil to many. You are not an ideal candidate. You are not Presidential in the way you carry yourself. You are crass, you can be a braggart, you are not well-spoken and you are impulsive in your words and actions. I can only speak for myself, but I thought your competitor was corrupt, while I only find you imperfect. I compromised a lot of my personal convictions to vote for you in hopes that you will grow into the job.

As the country still reels from your win, and as your critics and enemies pull out every stop to destroy you please remember that you hold the most powerful position in the free world. If I love my country I cannot possibly in good conscience want you to fail. That would be commensurate to hoping the pilot of my aircraft will fail. Do what you said you would do, fulfill your promises because that is integrity. Please also remember that with integrity comes the ability to absorb criticism, be civil to your detractors and to act upright at all times. The insolent temper tantrums, name-calling, and dick-measuring need to stop. It is not, whether you care about this or not, representative of your office. Even if I didn’t respect you, you sit in the chair that many great men have before you. Act like it.

The country is not broken, but it is cracking. Everything you do can either help fix or further the damage. I’m counting on you. Put the damn twitter account away and charge forward.

A concerned citizen.

my best thinking

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As part of acclimating to the much slower pace of my new environment, I have set a mental goal of accomplishing something significant, preferably physical, each day. I will not allow myself to be a couch potato watching 12 hours of TV a day and then go to bed mad at myself. A walk, a brief workout, some yard work does the trick. Just an hour of my day and I go to bed feeling accomplished, if only in a small way. It’s part of dealing with chronic illness, keep challenging yourself.

This morning I stepped out onto the deck and surveyed the trees surrounding the yard, Pretty barren. Yup, today I would do the leaves.

I went inside and threw on Jeans, a Henley shirt, and a heavy sweatshirt. I searched for my headphones, grabbed my phone off of the charger and headed outside. It was a cold day but I knew that once I was moving I would be fine. It is sad that I had to even think about that but as my condition has progressed I have grown sensitive to cold. Just another thing to deal with I guess.

As I head to the garage to grab my gear I look back and see Mom in the picture window. She looks happy. Happy that someone is there to help her with the yard since her husband died. Happy that she didn’t have to ask me to do it (she never would) and happy that I motivated myself to go out into the cold. I’ve been moping around the house lately and she knows that I need to snap out of it.

The work went smoothly. Clearing leaves is mindless work. I knew that I wouldn’t get it all done today but I could put a good dent in it. Headphones blasted a Spotify playlist into my ears, quieting the roar of the leaf blower. I barely notice the leaf blower going side to side, as if unaware that I was the one operating it, switching hands periodically to ease the fatigue in my forearms. I became fascinated with small details in front of me, like the random leaf that refused to submit to the onslaught of my blower and clung fiercely to the ground before finally yielding. I began to ease into a familiar Zen-like state where I do my best thinking. It happens a lot during yard work. Usually, my mind races and my thoughts barrage me like locusts on a windshield. In this state, they flowed like lava. As I worked I found my problems were right there with me, waiting to be addressed if I had enough yard to handle them all. I was in the right frame to sort them out. I savor and enjoy such moments, they are so very rare.

I have been in a funk lately on the heels of some disappointing medical news. While not normally prone to depression, this news came from so far out of left field that it shook me a bit. And for the first time in a while, I was thinking as if ole Superman had finally gotten himself in deep. I was in my own head thinking about my expiration date. I was feeling bad for myself. But the zest in the crisp Autumn air reminded me of the days when I had unshakeable faith that things would work out. As I worked in my father’s yard I thought of his eternal positivity and envisioned sitting on the wall and talking, like we used to. I thought of my children and how there were so many things I wanted to tell them. I focused on things that I wanted to do, see in my family and milestones to witness. I thought more about life in my years and not of years in my life. I canceled the pity party and committed to change my attitude.

All this from a fall day and a leaf blower? It’s hard to explain. It’s the act of working, which I miss so much. It’s being outside, where I have always been most comfortable. It’s 3 hours of yard work and a significant dent in a huge task. It’s the ache in my muscles. It’s the sense of accomplishment. All of these things showed me glimpses of the kid who stayed outside in the yard, long after everyone else went in. He would stand in the yard arms back, neck back, chest out and let the autumn winds flow all around him. That kid loved life, saw God in everything and knew how to be happy. He would want me to do that again.

Day 8 of the 30 day challenge…a letter to a product/company

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Dear Candy industry:

Please don’t think that I don’t know what you are up to.

You are not doing it for health reasons.

You are not doing it to address the National Obesity and Diabetes epidemic.

You are not fooling anyone.

You are shrinking your product’s serving sizes and you need to stop. The “share size” peanuts M & M’s is what fat fucks like me call ONE serving. And there is absolutely nothing fun about excitedly opening a Snicker’s “Fun Size” and seeing a serving the size of a squirrel turd. What’s next, will we open the package and I’ll get a whiff of chocolate smelling air?

Please, for the love of God remember who made you. Fat kids who wanted to eat their problems away. I will monitor my own blood sugar thank you very much.

I thank you for your consideration in this matter,

 

A longtime fan

Day 7…a letter to a celebrity to despise

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Dear Kathy Griffin:

I just want you to know that you are a despicable celebrity. It annoys me to no end that there might be a person somewhere  that is influenced by you. Your spotlight is undeserved, your celebrity is unearned and your influence is as toxic as it is unexplained.

If you have read this far you are probably knee-jerking your way to dismissing me as a Trump-supporter. You know, the white-supremacist Nazi redneck hillbilly inbred gun-toting bible-clutching toothless moron label that you have attributed to about 61 million people that didn’t vote for your candidate. If you came to that conclusion then you are wrong. I am just a middle-of-the-road American citizen. I don’t fit into any molds, I don’t have an agenda. I just care about right and wrong. And I think that everything about the way you make a living is wrong.

I am a lover of comedy, all kinds. The ability to laugh offsets much of the sadness in the world for many. Those that know how to create laughter have a special gift. You possess no such gift. Your “comedy” consists of mean-spirited barbs and attacks. You viciously attack anyone whose name is recognizable to draw attention to yourself. But once we are looking at you there is nothing to look at. You lack substance, empathy, discretion and sensibility.

It is not all your fault, I partially blame anyone who thinks that you are entertaining enough to dedicate time to. There is no accounting for taste.

I have earnestly hoped that Natural Selection, Nature’s way of eliminating the weak and impure, would have taken you away by now but that was not to be. Instead of falling through the chain of Hollywood, finally being spit out of the bottom of the porn industry like you deserve you again rose to National attention by sporting a likeness of the President of the United States’ bloody head. Yea that’s funny. Regardless of political party, a civilized person cannot find that acceptable or funny.

That was wrong. And you were called out for it. You received tremendous backlash and you begrudgingly gave a bullshit apology that no one believed. But at least you did. I was resentful that people knew your name again but happy you did kind of the right thing.

Until you later retracted your apology, realizing that your fans had no more of a moral compass than you. And for that I will always hate you. It was bad enough that you are talentless and unfunny but you are now a liar who spit in the faces of the people that never deserved your unwanted attentions in the first place.

Please crawl back into the pool of primordial ooze that you and your bad dye-job climbed out of. And please, for the sake of all of us just shut the fuck up.

with disgust,

A decent citizen

Crossroads…

cropped-cropped-lonely-man-by-the-bed1.jpgThe reason I named this blog as I did is that through my life I have been known to push through obstacles, illness and otherwise, and trudge on. My friends and family nicknamed me Superman because I seemed invincible despite everything that was thrown at me. It wasn’t always a compliment, in fact, it was sometimes a snarky shot meaning that I didn’t listen to common sense advice and other earthly notions. That I felt bulletproof. To be fair, they weren’t wrong. But that’s how I deal with things. It runs in my family. It is a good and a bad thing.

Putting on a good face presents well. I may have been sad and sick on the inside but I’m always going to tell you that I’m fine. My doctors gave me hell, told me that I wasn’t taking my illness seriously. I told them to leave me alone, I’m taking my meds and following your orders. You’re just asking me to act sick and I won’t do that. Right up to my transplant I pushed my luck, fought through the symptoms and feigned good health. I like to think that I spared my children from worry. Youth is hard enough without a sick father to worry about.

The downside of putting on a good face is that when the hammer falls it is more of a surprise to those close to you. Something that has been at the back of my mind all along is suddenly at the forefront of theirs. Word spread and the unthinkable happened, people starting feeling bad for me. The exact reason I didn’t make a big deal out of my illness. I hated how the first question people always asked is “how are you feeling?”

I suppose that I always thought there would be a cure. I woke each day hoping that something good was happening in some lab somewhere that was going to keep me off of dialysis. This strategy, regardless of how well it worked for me, was classic denial. I called it thinking positive.

What is so bad about positive thinking? It worked wonders for me. When I visited my Dr’s office I saw a lot of sick people. They didn’t see that when they saw me. I was working out, I was strong, my weight was under control and I walked with my characteristic “rooster strut” (courtesy of my wife, once again not a compliment). I refused to act like a sick person. I was actually told that I was an “inspiration” by a fellow patient. This mentality sustained me until the big day.

Post-transplant I thrived. I virtually ran out of that hospital determined to get my strength back and to make the most of the 15-20 years of good health my new kidney would give me if I took care of it. I bought a mountain bike, I went hiking, I hit the gym and I spent a lot of time outside with the kids to make up for the times that I sat on the sofa watching them play because I was too fatigued to join them. I had proved them all wrong, it was possible to positively think your way to good health. Even my doctors agreed that my way of dealing with it kept me strong enough to breeze through a difficult surgery and complex recovery like a warm knife through butter. I had vanquished the haters.

Then I rejected 4 1/2 years later. Almost overnight I went from feeling like Atlas to a 95-pound weakling. My bubble had burst. What I hadn’t been told is that the disease that had destroyed my original kidneys had could come back. And it did. I was mad as hell, how could they have not told me of this possibility?

Last week I went to see my nephrologist. My overall function is now 30%. In 2 years I have lost about 75% of my kidney function. I had absolutely no idea it was progressing that fast. I’m pissed, concerned and full of doubts right now of what my future holds, in particular, how long will I have what I consider “quality of life”?

I need to find that positivity again. Fast. Maybe even a little of that Superman. I liked it much better when everyone but me knew that I was sick.

an attempt at satire

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Imagine the country is a woman who belongs to a country club. And she receives a letter informing her that she is banned. Feedback welcome

Dear Madame Blue:

It is with great sorrow that I inform you that the party is almost over, that you are no longer the “it girl”.

When you first burst upon the scene, all of the old folks in the room took notice. The way in which you achieved your social status captured the attention of all of us. You were admired for your bravery, tenacity, individuality and of course your independence.

We all wanted to get to know you, to learn your secrets. Not everyone could do what you did. Some of us, admittedly approached you for their own benefit. It happens when you are on top. But you were gracious, you admitted that you were young and that you would make mistakes. You went so far as to put in on paper how committed you were to your beliefs. You even allowed for it to be amended. What an original concept!

You were interesting, exciting and full of new possibilities. We all wanted something from you. You obliged most of us, but insisted that you would help if your best interests were considered. Most of us found that to be fair. Those that didn’t kept quiet about it.

For a decent amount of time you did a good job of keeping your own house in order. We were all impressed at what you could do at such a young age. You kept an eye on what others in the room were doing but largely minded your own business. You were peaceful but strong.

Then the fighting started. Your house became divided and after much terrible fighting you almost split  in two. We watched to see how you would handle it. Your house stood after all, but it wasn’t the same. Bitterness and divisiveness prevailed.

When all of us got into a major ordeal, you picked the side you most agreed with and got involved. Your resources were a major part in ending a major dispute. It ended badly. Unable to reconcile, we got into another huge ordeal a mere 21 years later. Once again you picked the side you most agreed with and pitched in. Your resolve was amazing and appreciated. Most of us thanked you, the losers licked their wounds privately.

Then you changed. You began to meddle in the business of others. You were less discriminate in who you did business with and picked some fights that really weren’t yours. You meant well but didn’t think your actions through and you suffered some real embarressments and losses. And your family was torn by them. We began to resent you. The infighting in your family continues to this day yet you continue to focus on everyone in this room.

Madame Blue, there was a time when a single word from you would turn our heads and silence the room. Now, you have become a cautionary tale. Your family is struggling and needs you and you are not paying attention. You are not rewarding those that have worked hard and inviting the wrong people into your home. You are not listening to the ones that love you. You don’t even know that when you are not looking we are poking fun at you. Sure, some of us are nice to your face because we want something from you. But we used to look to you for leadership, for the better way to do things. Now you are a reality show. And your ratings are plummeting.

You once had so much potential, your accomplishments admirable and your endorsement invaluable. Please don’t squander what influence you have left by destroying your own house. Lead by example, take care of your family and be the beacon we all thought you to be. Be as good of a citizen as you are a warrior. There is still time and we need you in our club. The old you. You used to be great and can be again.

But until that time, we’d rather you stay away for a while. At least until your house in order.

With regrets,

The Rest of the World