Not a bad day...

I had to take a sleep aid last night. This is beginning to concern me. Before, I might take a pill once a year. Now, I can't sleep without one.
Since I did get some rest last night, I decided to take advantage of it. I washed a sink full of dishes and 2 loads of clothes. I vacuumed the house and did some general cleaning and straightening. I put away a big basket of clean clothes. I checked the oil and water in my car. I changed my sheets, washed my dog, took a shower and went to the grocery store.
My cleaning music for today:
"M.U." The Best of Jethro Tull.
Reckoning. REM.
Conductor. The Comas.

Oh, I wrote a new song. This idea just popped in my head, so I picked up my guitar and it just came together. Pretty wacky.

A very tired update.

I'm up and down. Up and down. Mostly down. And "up" isn't very high. When you're in the basement, the first floor is "up."
I have no energy. I feel weak. My insides don't feel as if they can support my outside. I can't sleep. When I do get a little sleep, I slip into delirium.
I planted some squash and watermelon seeds today. And 4 Roma tomato plants. I made myself do it. It was all I could do.
I'm taking a sleep aid tonight. I have to have some rest.

The Only World.

I open the doors and windows in my house. The breeze exorcises some spirits, while ushering in others. I feel spirit-like these days. But not in a cool, groovy kind of way. Just thin and used up. I have more than a foot in the spirit world. Somewhere along the line I'll have to choose. Or more likely, it will be chosen for me. There's only one choice. I guess it's not really a choice at all.
Nothing means anything anymore. What's the point in that? Isn't there supposed to be a point?
Those dogs barking in the night don't seem so poetic and romantic, now. You know, all of that call of the wild crap. They're drier and colder, more like death hounds.
I have to say these things. John Lee's daddy said, "It's in him and it's got to come out." I can't contain it. I have to boogie-woogie, vomiting forth in the midst of vacating the material world. Which, as far as I know, is the only world.
My house is a cave. A tomb. Breeze or no breeze. I want to crawl in my cocoon and fall asleep. Not an uneasy sleep, where I have apocalyptic dreams, but a deep, deep sleep. The big sleep.
I'm so, so tired.

My body's numb and tingly, my mind is hazy and the top of my head is hot.

Other than that...

First, I have to say I'm not as sharp as I once was. Medication? Loss of brain cells? No sleep? I dunno.
Because I haven't slept much over the last few weeks, I took a sleep aid last night. When I woke up this morning, I was quite groggy. At 8:30, my phone rang. It was some woman from some state agency asking me questions concerning my recent attempts at obtaining Medicaid or Medicare or Social Security disability benefits. How do I feel? What procedures have I had? Alcohol or drugs? Depression? Suicidal or homicidal thoughts? Do I watch TV? What kinds of programs? Surf the Internet? Do I take care of my bills? Ever had psycho-therapy? Can I drive? Very odd things to consider first thing in the morning. I answered as best as I could. "Who are you with, again?" I asked. I'm still not sure who she represented.
I made myself get up and take care of some business. I put on some laundry. I payed my sewer and cable bills (I'm old fashioned - I do this in person). I mailed a payment to a collection agency. I stopped by the ATM. It doesn't sound like much, but to me it was a very successful day.
I called the clinic to get my blood-work results. The PA told me, last Friday, to call Tuesday. A woman answered and asked if it was an emergency. No. She said they were closed. What a clinic this is. It's a small, depressing, dirty place with an unprofessional staff. The rooms are painted colors that look like diarrhea and puke. The place often smells like BO combined with some kind of chemicals. The carpet is filthy. When I went in last Friday, the whole staff went outside to see someone's new dog. Including the PA. Meanwhile, I'm sitting all alone in the waiting room. They only worked half a day Friday, had Saturday, Sunday, Monday and (even though they were supposed to be open today) Tuesday off. I wish I could walk in there and straighten that place out. I would be good at that.
My friend Chuck told me the Smithereens have a new one (Album? CD? Recording?) out. He says it's great. That's something to look forward to.

I'm growing very tired of all this.

I've been awake all night. I read an entire book. I developed a dry cough after my last procedure and I still have it. Sometimes I cough so badly that it hurts my chest, makes me lose my breath and causes dizziness.
I don't want to be on the Coumadin. I don't want to bleed to death. I don't want to walk around like an anemic, brain-addled zombie. I don't want necrotic skin and amputations. I don't want to be on Coumadin. I don't want to live the rest of my life (the little that there is) like this. I'd just as soon take my chances. I don't want to be on Coumadin! I DON'T WANT TO BE ON COUMADIN!!

Happy holiday.

Oh yeah, I guess it's Easter or Eostre or whatever. To anyone celebrating, I hope you had a good day. Me? I sat at home, alone, and watched "Annie Hall," for the 1000th time. I don't feel like doing anything.

Books I've recently read.

One thing about being out of work and sick is that you have time to read.

 

My heart (update).

I had the cardiac ablation procedure and had my ICD changed out (I've got the top of the line model, with all of the latest technology). While they were replacing that, they discovered I have (along with the enlarged heart and Ventricular Tachycardia) Atrial Fibrillation. Now, I'm at risk for stroke.
Hooray for me!
A few days after I came home, my new device gave me an "inappropriate shock." Very traumatic. Now I know what it feels like. Somehow, it mistook the A-Fib as V-Tach. I've been back up to UNC and had them adjust my ICD. They also put me on Coumadin and increased my Metoprolol. Now I'm taking a drug that could turn me blue (Amiodarone) and one that could cause me to bleed to death (Coumadin).
I can't sleep. I feel horrible. I'm afraid to eat anything (and yet I have only lost about 10 lbs). I'm supposed to watch my liquid intake. No leafy green vegetables or Broccoli(!). I may have to have an atrial ablation and/or a DIFFERENT ICD installed.
Up until the last few visits, the doctors have tried to tell me some small, positive thing about my condition - something to hold onto. At my last check-up, someone said, "No matter what we try, your heart just seems to resist."
There comes a point in a person's life when he has to weigh the quantity vs quality. I think I may be there.

"Ch, ch, ch, ch, changes."

Change is gonna come.
"There is nothing permanent except change." Heraclitus.
Some anonymous person texted me a pic of a road sign that said, "CHANGES next exit."
My horoscope said to expect change.
Woody Allen's character in "Husbands and Wives" said, "Change is death." (This has become a little joke between me and my best friend.) His wife in the movie (Mia Farrow), basically told him that that was B.S. She said that change was what life was all about.
Plus ca change plus c'est le meme chose. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Change your mind.
Change underwear.
Change oil.
Change horses in the middle of a stream.
Cheryl Crow said that change will do you good.
I wrote a song that said people couldn't change ("I can't change, you can't change...").
"Be the change you wish to see in the world." Gandhi.
Hey buddy, can you spare some change?
Change is a process, not an event.
You've changed, man...

Ravi Shankar called him, "Jayaraj Hari Son."

I just finished watching the "Concert for George" DVD. If you like the Beatles, if you like George, this is a beautiful thing to experience. He tends to get over shadowed by John and Paul, so sometimes you forget how many great songs he wrote.
I don't know what's wrong with me, these days. I teared up during several portions of the video, and broke down crying when Billy Preston sang, "Isn't It a Pity."

 

Update.

I'm feeling a little better, today. I actually - finally - got a good night's sleep, last night. Rest makes a world of difference.
I have to go back to UNC hospital to have a follow up, next Friday. After that, I have to see the cardiologist in 6 weeks.
I'm glad to be here. I'm thankful to be alive.

In a dream, last night...

...I was riding my bike down to one of the local beaches. I had my dog, Scooter, running along side me on a leash. (This doesn't seem like a very good idea to me, now. He's a tea cup Chihuahua and only weighs about 2 1/2 lbs.) I came to a stop atop this little foot bridge that ran over a fresh water creek(?). I was going to unleash Scooter and hold him the rest of the way. As soon as the leash came off, he jumped into the creek. All of a sudden, I was in a small, dusty, dilapidated structure. I ripped my shirt off. An earring got snagged in the fabric and fell to the floor. I ran out of the building and dove into the water to save Scooter.
I immediately saw my sister's dog in the water, also (in real life, she has a teacup, too). That's why Scooter jumped in. He dove under the surface like an otter. I went after him. He did this thing that he does in real life where he'll jump back when you try to pick him up (it's maddening) - only now he was doing this under water! I was running out of breath. Finally, I was able to grab him.
When I got back to the abandoned building, I actually found my earring, in the cob webs and dust. I remember thinking how lucky that was.
The next thing I know, I'm on the beach and my mom is there. My dad died when I was 15 and my mom got remarried. She died when I was 25. But, in this dream, I felt like I was in my 30s and my mom was alive and unmarried. I told her that the guy she was dating (?) was a worthless drunk and probably a criminal (I had seen him up to some nefarious activities earlier, in a beach bar). My mom looked sad when I said this.
Without a decent segue-way, I'm at some rich guy's house, on the beach. He's throwing an enormous cookout. I remember people, including me, kept walking through his huge kitchen, trying to snag food off of the counters and tables. He would come in and chastise them, shoo them out of the kitchen. "You'll lose your appetite!" he said.
I looked through his kitchen windows toward the beach. A fleet of boats were descending on us. Middle Eastern terrorists! Within a couple of minutes, they were all over the house. They weren't doing anything violent yet, but I knew it was just a matter of time. Everyone was frightened. I was sort of trying to walk casually away before the shooting began. As I walked past the laundry room, I noticed a lot of paper money spread out on top of the washer and dryer. I considered taking it, thinking, if I don't, the terrorists surely will.
I'm not sure what happened after this, but for the moment, Scooter and I were still alive.

Obsessions. Kraftwerk.

Kraftwerk are the fathers of electronica. They were so far ahead of their time that most most people still haven't caught up. Although electronic music is often thought of as cold and sterile, Kraftwerk managed to infuse it with melody, warmth and, often, a sense of humor. Artists from many genres have been influenced by them - from rappers to Devo to Coldplay. To this day, I still hear Kraftwerk samples in songs.
I've been obsessed with them since I first heard "Autobahn" in 1974. I was, at that time, a member of the Columbia Record Club. When their next album, "Radio-activity," came out, I ordered it. That may be my all-time favorite.
Long live those Teutonic Man-Machines!

 

My heart (update).

I'm still alive, I'm progressing in little ways, but I don't much feel like sitting in front of the computer, yet. I'll get back to blogging shortly.

I'm alive.

I'm back home. I haven't felt like blogging (I still don't). I just wanted to check in and say it's been rough, but I'm improving. More details as I convalesce.

Mundanities.

I hit the ATM, this morning. God, that thing drives me nuts. It keeps telling me that I don't have enough money, when I know that I do. And it charges me $2 for that "transaction!" Then, if I enter a lesser amount, it charges me an additional $2! Being unemployed, every $2 counts.
I did job searches today, because I'll be in the hospital at the end of the week.
I gassed up the car ($46!). Gas is $3.70 per gallon, now.
I'm doing laundry as I write this - which, at my house, is a whole thing unto itself. Not only do I have very poor water pressure, but because my washer is in the garage, some plastic piece froze and burst, over the winter, and now it leaks everywhere. Weak water pressure + leak = waiting hours for clothes to wash. Also, I have to turn the water off after it fills up for the wash cycle, turn it back on for rinse and then off again for spin. If I ever came into some money, I wouldn't waste it on a mansion and a bunch of sports cars - I'd make sure I had really good water pressure. And a toilet that flushes like a cyclone. Whoooosh! (Also, I'd like a nice mattress.)
I did a sink full of dishes last night, so that's out of the way. I bought a Ralph Lauren tote bag today, at a second hand store, for my trips ($5). I think I'm happy with it. I picked up kitty (doggy) litter and some paper products. I stopped at the post office for a news paper. Now I just have to buzz my hair and I'll be ready for tomorrow.

Tired.

I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping lately. I guess I'm worrying about this weekend. God, I'll be glad when it's over.
I'm sorry about the last post. I know it must seem so negative - but even when I'm down, my black humor often slips out. I'm afraid most people don't recognize it, though. Maybe you just have to know me.
Gallows humor, I believe they used to call it... (See?)

The Rhetoric of a Beaten Man. No response necessary.

Here's something to reckon with: Time marches on. It's unrelenting - a monstrous steam roller whose fuel tank never runs dry, whose cogs and gears never need greasing. There are no pit stops or bathroom breaks. Time doesn't stop for lunch. It certainly doesn't stop for you (me).
Whether pushed or pulled (compliments of Time's steely agency), from the moment of birth, you're on a slow (but gradually accelerating) march toward death. Isn't that a lovely notion?
Is it possible to view this thing called life in a different light? All we can hope for, it seems (in lieu of religiosity), are a few distractions along the way. Silly things.
Laughing.
Loving.
Travel.
Music and art.
Sports.
Sex.
Food.
Remove those from the equation and what are you left with? The initial grim realization - the idea of being pulverized, and subsequently dragged, by an unstoppable force.
Egads! Zounds! God's eyes! Am I a guy you'd want to hang out with, or what?

Richard Russo. "Empire Falls."

...in which Father Mark entertained notions of "resolution" thusly:

"The problem with the contemplative life was there was no end to contemplation, no fixed time limit after which thought had to be transferred into action. Contemplation was like sitting on a committee that seldom made recommendations and was ignored when it did, a committee that lacked even the authority to disband."

I can't sleep.

It's after 3 in the morning. I can't sleep. I'm so worried about things. What's going to happen to me in the hospital? What will happen when my unemployment benefits run out? How will I find a job with my health? If I find one, how can I possibly keep it.
Little things are driving me crazy. What will I do with my dog when I'm in the hospital. No one but me seems to be worried about that. He's so little and the world is so big and cruel. I look at him and my heart breaks, thinking about leaving him here alone while I'm in Chapel Hill. He doesn't understand. What if something happens to him? What if something happens to me?
I've got to go to sleep. I'm exhausted. And horribly depressed.

Hallelujah.

In the last few days I've heard Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" sung by 3 different people: Willie Nelson, Rufus Wainwright and, of course, Leonard.
Leonard is the man. (Kurt Cobain sang, "Give me a Leonard Cohen afterworld / so I can sigh eternally...") If he had never recorded anything other than his first album - the haunting "Songs of Leonard Cohen" - he would still be revered as a songwriter.
Thank you Leonard. You've made the world a better place.

My heart (update).

I had a rough night, last night. My heart was doing something weird. I couldn't sleep. I felt as if something major was about to occur.
I'm feeling a little better today, but I'm weak and wobbly.
That's no way to go through life: Weak and wobbly.
I hope I can make it 'til next weekend, when I'm having the 2 procedures done in Chapel Hill. I need to be extra careful this week.
God, I hope those procedures help.

It's Tricky.

It's tricky. I can do it, but it requires finesse. Ha. Like I have finesse!
The guy next door, singing in the shower, seems to be on track. Or is he? How would I know? He comes in, he goes out. He sings in the shower. Sometimes, he calls his dog. His life keeps chugging along.
I picked up a pile of used books today - from the Goodwill store. I looked for the hundred dollar bill bookmarks that weren't there. Why can't people use hundred dollar bill bookmarks?
I came up with a great idea, then scrapped it the next morning. Who am I to think I have great ideas? What's wrong with me? Hasn't life taught me anything?
The wind won't stop - as if it doesn't know that March is over. Somebody, please relay the message. Does the wind have ears or will it have to be written? (Does the wind have eyes?) Is there something wrong with me? (Don't answer that.)
There are plenty of fish in the ocean, to be sure, but potential soul mates are few and far between. I tend to believe that actual soul mates don't exist. Potentiality is so open-ended.
There's a guy I keep seeing around. I went to school with him, many lifetimes ago. He frequents flea markets. So do I. I want to walk up and call out his name, but he always seems to remove himself, just before I reach him. I think he's doing it on purpose. Maybe he doesn't want to remember the past. I can sympathize. I think that, one day, I'm going to force him to. You know, in a nice way.
My dog's outside, my house is quiet, my errands have been run, I'm contemplating the future. A week is as far as I can allow myself to venture. After that, I'll start again. Is Alvin Toffler still alive? His observations engulfed him as quickly as he wrote them down.

The Epic Minutiae.

I'm here. I don't know where that is, anymore. I don't know what that means, anymore: I'm here.
There's a thread snaking through all of this. A sneaky, snaky thread. Curving and weaving and making a mockery of congruence and pattern. A thread.
My head - did it ever feel different? Alive? Awake? Refreshed? Did I really use to wake up and jump out of bed with a clear, living head?
My thoughts. My thoughts have evolved, de-volved, mutated and transmogrified. My thoughts do the thinking for me now. I often wonder how all of that is going to turn out.
The problem with my heart is two-fold: Physicality and symbolism. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the physical always trumps the symbolic.
The life force owes me one. Not really, but it would be nice. I'd collect with a smile and a nod. I'd extol its virtues, if it came through for me. Just this once.
Tried and true, feigned and solid, in theory and in the hand, pervasive and non-existent, extemporaneous and in the pocket... Stop me when I've gone too far. Stop me, if you can.
I agonize, I obsess, I procrastinate and let it slide. Tomorrow is a good time to perform certain tasks. If life weren't so demanding, maybe I'd accomplish something. Maybe I already have.
I'm there. If I don't know where "here" is, I'm surely fuzzy on the concept of "there." It doesn't matter, anyway. It's all a dream.