Picking Fights With Your Own Shadow

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What's up with this?

I have a visiting nurse that comes in now. Karin. Very nice woman, all giggles and laughs. She comes in with a half million questions about my health and the pills that I take. She goes to my window sill, where I have all of my meds, nearly 20 bottles, lined up like a marching band so that I can see and take them accordingly. She goes through them all, checking to see if I have any contraindications and telling me what they are all for. I already know what they are for....to keep my organs running and my brain functioning.



We talk. I tell her I'm not normal if I have to take a fist-full of pills just to keep from giving the few people that I still stay in touch with a hard time. Things break down when I don't take my pills. If I stop taking them, I won't even realize that my personality has taken a turn for the worst. I'll just keep bopping around as if nothing is wrong and sooner or later, a loved one is going to have to put a bullet in me to keep me from self-destructing.



She, in reply, says something inter-esting. EVERYBODY is on something to keep them func- tioning. It could be vitamins, sleeping pills, valium, something. Nobody is normal, even if they take painkillers for headaches, that's something that helps them to get normal and stay normal. Well, it sounds a little extreme to me, but the odds are that everyone is on something to keep their heads screwed on tightly. I might not be as broken as I thought at first.



Then again, I'm still not normal. But who cares. I no longer do. I continue to talk to Karin. She stays quite awhile. I tell her how bad my back has gotten lately, and she tells me that its no doubt because I spend hours sitting in a chair. I need to be on my feet more often. Leading a sedentary life is dangerous and deleterious to one's health. Do I walk? Do I get around? I used to, but no more. Last year I could walk for miles, now I can barely get down the fucking block before my legs start to kill me and my back starts throbbing.



I thought something was wrong. Remember, I used to live on the streets, carrying twenty pounds of clothing and computer hardware on my back, and now...now I just sit in a chair and write all day. Emails, blogging, novels, short stories, poems. I just write and write until my wrists hurt and my fingertips get blisters. That's pretty tragic, but I do. What can I say? But it goes further. Even with Karin gone, I'm reading the front page of Yahoo and it has an entire article about how, because of a lack of exercise, muscle mass deteriorates.



I can vouch for that shit. It does feel like I've lost muscle beneath this weakened body. I feel like it's dying underneath my skin. But I am a spiritual mess, so why not be a physical mess. The light has died within me, and my motivation is strictly due to my writing. If I didn't have anything to write, I wonder what the fuck I would do all day? Maybe consider a career in self-bloodletting.  My skin feels brittle, my teeth are loose and are sensitive to hot and cold. My nose no longer can smell the flowers or the coffee, my eyesight has dimmed, washing out the colors of the world into a limbo like whiteness, a bleached landscape that is barely holding onto life as much as I am.



I know a friend that was bewailing his life, and how miserable he was and I tell you, I could not empathize. It's funny. I should be able to. I should be able to say, "I know how you feel," but I can't. I just want to write. I want to get back to my novel, back to my keyboard, back to the wide world that is in my head and take off to places and people unknown. What's wrong with that? I'm so engrossed in it, I find it hard to even blog. I'm blogging like I used to, daily.



Yeah, when I was fully in charge of my day, I blogged all day, and therefore there was a definite backlog of posts that went on and on for weeks. I could stop for a day or two and still be ahead, but what can I say now? I am blogging daily just to stay up with a daily post. It is not distressing, but it is going backwards. That's how much of a pull that this novel has on my life. I can barely do anything else. I have to give the rest of my life little chunks of my time just to get things done. Like now.....



I've been up since 10:00PM on mIRC, the Internet Relay Chat, fucking around with my friends all night until about 3:00am where I had to tell them good night, because they are scattered all over the globe. Our DJ for tonight was even spinning tunes from Tokyo, Japan. We had a million  questions to him about the disaster, but for him, it was late morning, for others it was late at night, but for me, it was getting close to the crack of dawn. Last night, I stayed on till dawn, but not tonight. Tonight I had to answer emails and blog this post and of course work on the study material for my Novel. Right now, it's five in the morning and I should be asleep, but no. I'm going to finish this post and then write more emails. I should conk out at dawn. Dawn always makes me feel tired. Either that or cranky.



I'll have to tell you more about mIRC later, and Ivan. And maybe a little more about Karin, but for now, I have to typeset this post, add photo- graphs, edit and re-read. That's a tall order for one man. Jeez, I wish my mind would fractionate again and the crew come back. I have to tell you, it's a much easier job when all of us pitch in. I think they all are taking a hiatus while I'm putting all of my effort into this Novel. They just don't want any part of it.



Well C'est la vie. They just miss out. No guts, no glory.

I'll do all this shit by myself then.

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