OK, it's not even noontime, but it isn't what you think. No alcohol, no drugs - actually that's the probably, the lack of drugs. My nuerologist and my primary care physcian are in the middle of a pissing match about one of my meds, and while they duke it out, I get to go without. Yippee. The trouble is that now that my system is washing this shit out, all the fun stuff my brain tumor does is reeking havoc on me. Basically there are little nueronic (is that a word? Should be) explosions going off in my head - sort of a brief spark of an anxiety attack, but they don't amount to shit. Actually, it feels pretty fucking neat - but it wouldn't be good if I drive a car right now. I'm a little off balance. SO until they stop and I get back on the meds, I'm pretty much going to be in this weird -whats the word?- paradox of pleasure and anxiety. Could be a couple of days - who the fuck knows. Brain tumors are fun!
OK, I still have my regualr seizure stuff in my system, so that's good. No fun convulsing on the floor while chewing your tongue up. No fun at all .Believe me. But I'm really messed up. I'm surprised I can type this. That is if I am typing this. Could be I;m just hitting the keys and posting something illegible.
[Deleted text] I want to listen to Pink Floyd or watch Parker's The Wall. Maybe The Doors - awesome movie. See, she wants to do all these errands, but I'm not gong to be much help this adfternoon, because of the thing here. Well, too fucking bad, nothing I can do. I di have a while bag of Buffalo wing falvored chips for breakfast.
So, what else is fun and exciting. Thank god no one reads this friggin' thing, I'm not even sure anyone reads anything I write. Delusions of publishing grandeur (is that spelledriight?). Should be working on thebok, but that;s sort of been on the back burner right now. I have it in a gray binder looking at me right now - constant reminder that I'm a loser because I'm not doing shit about it.j
As much as I need the meds, I wish I didn't need any of them. They certyain cost a lot and I have to have them on me at all times, cause you never know when the seizure fairy is coming to visit. And surgery is not a real option becuase of where it is - left porital cortex, or something - do you know what;s in the area of the left porital cortex? The comunication section of the brain. One slip and oops, I'm trapped within my own mind with no way of connecting the the outsdie world. Of course ont he bright side, no one would be exposed to anymore writing. Should have gone to law school - but imagine me in the current state while arguing a case in court - disbarment! Christ, I can't even be a pretend lawyer without this thing fucking thngs up.
I should try a story. I wonder what it would be like? SOmething fucked and weird and incomprehensible. I'm sure there's some literary jourtnal out there thta would love that. How many words should it be? 5000, or go fuc king bat shit and write somethign like 15,000 + of illegible "post-modern" literary fiction. Start witha Limerick:
There once was a man named Steve,
Who couldn't write with his brain on leave,
words he teased and lured,
but they ened up being turds,
and now he's in a state of grieve.
How about 15000+ word limerick, like over and over - but a different limerick that will tell a whole story. There has to be a MFA jerkoff who'd think that was a good idea (I mean besides myself) And it's nice to have the piece of paper, what doesn't mean I'm good at this shit. Is there a Master's degree program for limericks? OK, MFA waste of money, or waste of time? Gerry form Illinois!
G:"Well, Steve, you seemed to make a lot of neat friends.
S:You;re right about that. I love them all and I really wish they were closer
G:You were exposed to some great teachers
S:Roland and Jim, Dennis Lehane and Joyce Maynard. That's true
G:I'm thinking worth it.
S:Yes, but the admin of the program sucks ass. I mean really
G: They don't care about the students or alumni. Unless you're up their ass, or at least I should say up the director's ass. Clueless and incompetant to say the least.
S: Good point, Gerry. Are you sure you;re not me in disguise?
G:You got me, buddy
S:Where did I come up with Gerry with a G? Is that part of my MFA pretension?
G: I think it is
S:OK. Talk to you soon, Ger
G:Anytime, any place. I'm in your head after all. More room in here without the extra meds.
What time is it anyway?
Gonna watch something on DVD or something. Or something really fucked up and trippy, like Fox News. Too bad O'Reilly and Hannity aren't on durint the day. I need a good laugh. Maybe download their books from itunes - sort of like watching Reefer Madness - funny in an ironic kinda way.
OK, not that anyone has gotten this far in this post, but I gotta go and do something. Don;t know what yet, but something. Bye bye. Talk to you again when I'm sober - or drugged up - or whatever it is I'll be.
8 comments:
how did i not know about this goddamn tumor?
big hug, steve.
I'm pulling for you, man. Hang in there.
I'm with Anne and JT. See, we do read your blog and all that you write. It's my blog no one reads!
*Grin* Aw, gee, shucks. But I do ramble on pretty good. You should see me when I've had a few (dozen) pints of Guiness in me. That'll get ya some pretty good limericks, let me tell ya.
I didn't know about the tumor either... you'd alluded to problems before, but not of that nature. Holy cow. I wonder if there is a support group you and your wife could attend? Sounds like she needs an ear that can understand the whole gamut of what she's feeling.
Meantime, you should think about retitling this (but include the word "Manifesto") and sending it to the Washington Post. ;)
Youch, mate!
I like the 15,000 word limerick idea. Now there's a challenge!
Steve, as you can see, there are quite a few of us that do read your stuff, and do enjoy it. Keep writing, I say, and enjoy those delusions of grandeur.
I hope this clears up for you soon.
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