The Lost Writings of a Walking Contradiction of a Man

I am riffing today.

Off the cuff. Not that I don't have a lot to write about.

My mind has been moving faster miles an hour since the very beginning of 2021. For every post I publish in here I lose five others. I can't write fast enough to keep up with what my mind is seeing.

I have notes on scraps of paper, ideas I have saved in this blog, stuff saved on my phone and ideas in a notebook next to the recliner.

This is always a good sign for me. It means I am alive. Not paralyzed in depression. Not hopelessly lost. I am thinking, creating, crafting. My mind is wide open. Accepting inspiration like radio waves to an antenna.

I feel so alive when this happens to me. I feel my essence palpably, instead of through a blanket of negative interference.

Stats - Posts published by year:

2020 - 153;  2019 - 112;  2018 - 137;  2017 - 157;  2016 - 270. Going back from 2016 to 2012 I published many more posts than 270/year.

2017 was the year Carol began her hellish nightmare of health torture. That is when my brain shut down.

In 2021 I have already published 102 posts. I am back, baby.

And I like my writing right now. The style has changed a bit and I like it more.

Bits & Pieces:

1) I got a handle on this cancer thing. The words high risk cancer knocked me off balance. I was rebounding from that when I started radiation, which is a bizarre reality. I now know the cure rate and 5 year survival rate are very high.

So fuck it. I will not waste my time in fear. BUT my perspective has been sharpened. Covid sharpened it, cancer took it even higher. Got me a different outlook on life.

2) Weight - when last we spoke I gained 3 pounds. Since then I lost those pounds plus 2 more. I did not give up. I doubled down. I used my anger as a weapon and fought back hard. I am relentless. Like the honey badger.

3) Retirement - This is a tough one. My brain recoiled in horror at this reality and it has remained in a corner of my skull ever since. Apparently I will spend more time beating myself up before I finally get around to dealing with it. But deal with it I will. 

4) Time has become a tangible thing to me. I can feel it. I can hold it in my hands. My mind has become a clock relentlessly ticking off the days. I will not go gentle into that good night, baby.

5) Self-control - Last Friday at work I stepped a bit over the line. I essentially have three bosses. Fucking ridiculous, but there you have it. I was minutes away from lunch, I had a miserable morning and a customer walked in. I needed help dealing with him. All three of the bosses were together shooting the shit. I walked up and rudely interrupted their conversation, just cut right in, telling them what I needed. I knew if I politely stood and waited for them to acknowledge me, they would have played the game. I ain't having it.

I got the look from all three. 

So now, today, I am standing on the precipice of 2 and 1/2 days of fucking torturous hell. Again. Armed with the knowledge that I cannot retire.

I am dangerous. Locked and loaded. A grenade with the pin pulled.

Ain't gonna be no ass kissing anytime soon, kids.

Time Is Not On Your Side

 "I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited."

Sylvia Plath

Do The Math

 "A human life span is less than a thousand months long. You need to make some time to think how to live it."

A.C. Grayling

The Chickens Have Come Home To Roost

Carol will be retiring at the end of June. I will not.

Lest you be judgemental let me explain: This was my decision. I made the decision. 

We have been telling people for months now that we would be retiring in June. This was based on an analysis of our anticipated retirement income and a close look at our typical expenses. Plus we recently re-financed the house and paid off a bunch of bills and lowered the mortgage payment as well.

I was never really an accountant but I have always been good with numbers. I was uneasy when we made this decision - I was unconvinced that we could pull this off but I wanted to pull it off, so I let it be.

Rattling my brain was the decision I made in 2016 to "retire" and begin collecting social security. Bad decision. I forfeited a healthy chunk of change in monthly ss payments by retiring "early". But I was desperate to exit the workforce and I also wasn't really high on committing suicide.

Of course all I have done since then is work menial part time jobs that rip my soul apart, in addition to forfeiting a chunk of change. Brilliant, yes?

One morning last week Carol nervously told me she was worried about the decision for us to retire. So I dug into the numbers.

Of course when I put aside delusion, I discovered what I already knew -  we cannot afford for both of us to retire.

I vomited and thought it over. If I retire, Carol has to work five days a week. If she retires I only work 2 and 1/2 days a week. Painful as this is for me, it makes more sense for her to retire.

I am trapped like a rat, as The Three Stooges used to say. Trapped by my own stupidity, bad decsions, indecision and laziness.

Life is a nasty thing. No wonder eternal peace is so popular on gravestones. You cannot just dance your way through life and expect it to end well. Life lies in wait and pounces just when you are most vulnerable.

You gotta plan ahead, you gotta fight back, you gotta kick life in the balls. You are not allowed to just coast.

I should have earned a lot more money in my lifetime. I had the potential to earn a lot more money but I squandered that potential because I never took life seriously. The life I was living was never my own so I made a joke out of it. 

As Harry Hogge said in Days of Thunder "You're a victim of your own goddamn creation." That's me. A victim of my own goddamn creation.

So here I am. The final torture. This is my punishment. This is what happens when you live a life that is untrue to who you are. You half-ass it.

This will not go well. I despise my fucking job. I despise not being able to retire. I am not a guy who can accept working until I die. I am a guy whose job will kill him.

The house is the ultimate way out. We have to get this albatross off from around our necks. This house has tortured me since 2001 when it should have been paid off. I'd rather burn it than sell it but there could be consequences to that. Then again, what is worse - relocating to a prison cell or working when I should be retired? Seems like a toss up.

Fucked at every turn.

All I want is to be left alone. To live a quiet life of the mind never having to come in contact with another human being ever again. Is that too much to ask?

Back To The Graveyard

I have spent a lot of time in graveyards at different moments in my life.

Recently I have circled around to that habit again. I spend chunks of my lunch hours in the Calvary Cemetery in Concord. Interestingly enough I have better conversations there than I do with my co-workers.

Hanging around a cemetery is a somber thing to do. The atmosphere is heavy. This cemetery is large, there are thousands of people buried there. The biggest thing I take away from my visits is perspective.

I have agreed to be cremated. But I would kind of like to be buried. I like the idea of gravestones. Two dates. A beginning and an ending. My name. Maybe a meaningful phrase. A life encapsulated in as brief a way as possible.

But maybe that's all you need when you die.

I would not expect Keith and Craig to visit me there. I'm in their head. That's all that matters. I just like the idea of lying there, surrounded by thousands of others who have lived their lives and now deal with the aftermath. If there is any dealing to be done.

What I would not do, assuming I die first, is put Carol's name on the headstone with a hyphen and no end date. I hate that and there are a lot of those in the cemetery. It feels like an invitation to die for the surviving spouse.

I mostly drive aound looking at gravestones, absorbed in my melancholy, until something reaches out and grabs me. Then I get out and walk around. When the weather gets warmer I am going to eat my lunch while sitting on a bench amongst the dead.

There are many couples buried together and I have noticed the same phrase, give or take a word or two, popping up consistently.

"We lived together in happiness. Now we rest together in peace."

Simple words that pack a punch. The idea of lives lived together in happiness followed by an eternity together in peace sounds like a blueprint for what it should mean to be human.

This past Friday I came across a gravestone with these words on it: "I lived a life, perhaps unlike yours, but a life it was. I dreamed and I loved and I left a print on this earth. Recognized and remembered I sleep in peace. For I was someone."

Beautiful.

My ultimate goal is to come across a gravestone with the name Testa on it. Unlikely in Concord; there are not many Italians buried there. But if I ever do, I will spend time standing in front of it, thinking thoughts. Most likely I will come back to it time and time again.

I imagine seeing my name in that way will sharpen my focus and intensify my pensiveness. Like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. If I react the way Scrooge did the first time I see it, maybe it will inspire explosive, focused, and meaningful change in my life.

If not, then, at the very least, repeated visits will serve as a darkly honest reminder that time is short.

A Perspective

 "i hope i die/warmed/by the life that i tried/to live"

Nikki Giovanni, The Life I Led

The Joy of a Good Moment

Just read an interview with Michael Douglas in AARP magazine.

He said, with respect to aging: "I'm just looking for the joy of a good moment."

Many times someone else expresses my feelings perfectly. I hate it when they beat me to it because I am a word guy, but you take inspiration from whence you find it.

I am looking for the joy of a good moment with my family. Individually and together. This is exactly what I want from now on.

Nothing extravagant or organized or planned - I need the simple love and comfort and friendship of my family because they are my family. The most precious relationships you can have.

Carol and I did things our own way when it comes to being parents and I am proud of the results. But one thing I was sometimes uncomfortable with was the ritualized dinners (except THANKSGIVING!). I sometimes felt we were following in the footsteps of my parents - demanding attendance in a ritualized setting of sitting around the dining room table.

Don't get me wrong - I love having my family gathered around me and we have had many spectacular dinners, where conversation and laughter overshadowed the food.

But now I want flexibility - getting together in restaurants, outdoor settings, bars - in intimate groups or large gatherings. In places that by their very nature add an additional element of fun and significance to the gathering.

When I am with my family from now on I want everyone to know - to feel - that this moment is special. You can never be with your family as often as you would like to be. It is important that the love is palpable.

From now on, when I am with my family, I want all of us to be looking for and to recognize the joy of a good moment.

He's A Writer

There's a line from Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses by U2 that goes:

"Well you lied to me 'cause I asked you to." I heard that yesterday and BOOM -  my mind went directly, instantaneously, to the the followng thought/memory:

I have a good friend - Rich G - who when he introduced me to people would say - "This is my friend Joe. He's a writer."

Insane (especially in my case) how the mind works. I could not believe how quickly my brain went there - I have neither seen nor spoken to Rich for years.

He knew writing is my passion and he was a dedicated reader of my blog (I'm sure he has moved on to The National Enquirer by now).

It was a little embarrassing at times because occasionally people would ask "What do you write?" When I replied "Nothing" it would tend to put an end to the conversation.

I appreciated the fact that Rich did that - I liked the way it made me feel. I am a writer in my soul, and it is what I should have done for a living.

When I heard that lyric yesterday I wondered if I put that vibe out there, if I subconsciously influenced him. Lie to me - tell me I'm a writer, even though I have done fuck all with my talent (love British expressions).

Or maybe he was sensitive to my soul and did it to encourage me, or put me on the spot and make me think about what I should have recognized intuitively - that the mark I should leave on this planet is my words - and not just in a blog. Maybe that was his way of recognizing my essence.

Me and Rich have both worked for the NH Liquor Commission, a group of thugs and thieves. I wrote a rant in here (actually many) about them and I used a line that Rich appreciated.

I said they were no different than gangsters during prohibition except for the fact the liquor commission guys wore cheaper suits.

He loved that line. So do I.

I don't know why my mind went there so quickly. Cosmic things have been happening to me for months now and I am thinking my brain is saying "Wake the fuck up - you are a writer. Do something about that because you are also 67 years old and dealing with prostate cancer. The unpredictability of the universe has been revealed to you in the starkest of terms. Look in the mirror. Look at Carol. WAKE UP!"

I have been feeling a push lately. I feel good physically and mentally about what I am doing for myself, and I am thinking if I can do that, I can reach for more.

Stay tuned.

Chilling

I drove to work yesterday on a brilliantly beautiful blue-sky day.

Listening to U2. Sipping from a travel mug of exceptional coffee.

As I pulled into the concrete and steel parking garage, into the dark, into the impersonal - radio reception temporarily cut off - this is what hit me:

This garage is as soulless as a corpse whose essence has long since taken flight.

In Defense of the Aged

 " You think someone who's 80 is hopeless because they can't use an iPhone? Maybe the one who's hopeless is the one who can't stop using it."

Bill Maher, New Rules, 4/23/2021

This Is Why I Read James Clear

This has been a bad month for me.

The lifesaving routine I established for myself has been temporarily shattered. I feel lost. I feel shaky. Many daily blocks that I use to track my progress in my monthly planner are blank in the month of April.

I am searching for inspiration. Went to James Clear. Stumbled upon an article titled "What I Do When I Feel Like Giving Up."

An excerpt: "Life is a constant balance between giving into the ease of distraction or overcoming the pain of discipline. It is not an exaggeration to say that our lives and our identities are defined in this delicate balance. What is life, if not the sum of a hundred thousand daily battles and tiny decisions to either gut it out or give it up?

This moment when you don't feel like doing the work? This is not a moment to be thrown away. This is not a dress rehearsal. This moment is your life as much as any other moment. Spend it in a way that will make you proud."

Perspective in his words. Nothing in my life has been shattered. I have just been thrown off balance by things interfering with my schedule. I have not been able to accomplish as much as I normally do and I am feeling empty.

I am all about rhythm. My rhythm has been disturbed. I have to tap back into that rhythm. Bring it back up and dance to it.

The message, as I think about it, is not to give up or despair. The message is that what I have been doing is working beautifully and I have to get back to it no matter what.

I have to leave shortly to get zapped. Tomorrow I dive back into 3 days of exquisite torture.

I have to hang on until Saturday. I have to re-establish my life saving routine. I have to make that happen.

I would be an idiot not to.

I have found the key. It can't be ignored.

James Clear. You are a hot shit, man. You gave me exactly what I need exactly when I needed it.

My life saving plan is foolproof and you are a part of my plan.

Thanks.

Saturday

I have widened the gap between my Wed-Thurs-Fri existence and the rest of my week.

I don't even feel like a human on work days - zombie doesn't describe it, dead doesn't describe it - I feel as if I walk around in a thick fog of unreality - a fever dream of appalling suffering.

BUT.................I have noticed that when I get up on Saturday I feel supernaturally fine.

I feel like Jesus' supervisor.

I have done myself a lot of good in 2021. Enormous. My new true self emerges on Saturday morning and everything is exponentially better. The cup of coffee, the book, my love for Maka in my lap - the peaceful solitude I enjoy alone. The contrast between Friday and Saturday is the contrast between a session with the thumbscrew and sublime peace of mind.

It has become a thing. 

At first I would sit in wonderment at how good I felt - such an unnatural state. I wasted time analyzing it, getting used to it. Now I enjoy and appreciate it. I use it as a weapon to attack the day. I know now that this is becoming my natural state.

My days feel longer. I don't hear the clock ticking. I make time to get shit done, I make time to improve myself, I make time to relax.

I look forward to four days of peace every week.

But Saturday is special, baby.

On Saturday the new true me emerges from my shell like a turtle poking his head out of his shell.

Astonishing how good it feels.

Not By A Long Shot

Let's talk about weight.

I lost 10 pounds. I felt fantastic. I was convinced that, contrary to what medical experts insisted on telling me, I was not only not going to gain weight during hormone therapy - I was going to lose weight.

I lost 10 pounds. I stayed at that weight for 4 weeks. On the 5th week - this week - I gained three pounds. Having changed nothing. I was still exercising regularly and dieting religiously.

I was and am fucking furious.

I have a vision of coming out of radiation looking good - thinner and healthier. I want to walk out of radiation and fucking covid into a new world as a new me. This is important to me.

I just got my second hormone shot this week. This will go on every 12 weeks for 2 years. So the challenge is not going away any time soon. Once again I got the lecture about how easy it will be to gain weight and how bad that can be for me.

So I stepped things up. I will not be defeated.

When I first committed to this, I exercised 4 days a week. Now I exercise in one way or another on 7 days a week. I am pushing myself a little more every time I feel up to it, with an aware respect for my age.

When I weighed myself on Tuesday I was depressed. Felt defeated. Felt like maybe I am wasting my time.

Then I got furious.

This fight is not over.

Not by a long shot.

Love

"Humans love with reservation. Animals love without reservation. This is what makes pets holy."

Joseph Testa

Courage

 "If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

Ernest Hemingway, from A Farewell To Arms

Right On, Baby

 From Bono's fan letter to The Rolling Stones:

"That The Rolling Stones exist at all is one of the great encouragements for any teenager who wants to believe they don't have to grow up ALL THE WAY."

I would amend that to say "Any 67 year old who wants to believe they don't have to grow up ALL THE WAY."

I love this because I have never grown up. And I am comfortable with that.

I will always be a man who loves The Blues, rock 'n roll, whiskey, barstools and insanity. Especially insanity. And irreverence.

I hate responsibility. Deadlines and commitments.

A quote that has always stuck with me came from Howard Stern many years ago, and I am paraphrasing - something about the fact that when he met with other parents at his kids' school functions, he felt like they were adults and he was a kid.

I can identify.

I get sucked into adult conversations because I am an adult, but they turn my stomach. When people talk to me about property values, real estate taxes, insurance etc - bile rises up into my mouth.

Are you fucking serious? This is what you want to talk about?

Instead of music, poetry, film, love, empathy, LIFE - give me a break. Sometimes I feel like people raise these topics because they feel they have to. They bore me.

I don't believe this is what they think about in the silent corners of their minds.

Frank Gallagher Is Dead

Carol and I watched the final episode of Shameless last Sunday night. We were bumming.

11 seasons. The show was spectacular.

This was definitely a show that could be described as gritty. If you are sensitive, if you want everything to be pretty, if you want happy endings at every turn - go to Me TV and watch The Andy Griffith Show.

Shameless was about a poor family living on the south side of Chicago just trying to survive. Doing anything at all, whatever it takes - to survive. Running scams, lying, cheating, stealing, fighting, working shitty jobs - living down and dirty. Everyone in this family had balls.

Frank Gallagher was the patriarch of the family and was an absolute scumbag. An alcoholic and drug afficionado who never had a job and who put all of his effort every day into creative ways to conjure up some money. Legal or illegal. A guy who would even screw his own family if it would find him a buck.

And you loved him. He was a philosopher drunk. A smarter guy than you would think.

The real pull of this show is the love the family members had for each other. They all lived under the same roof but had separate lives. They fought a lot and disagreed a lot, but ultimately they all had each others' backs. They had a fierce family loyalty.

This show made you laugh, it made you cry, it made you cringe, it made you think, it offended you, it entertained you.

My favorite scenes by far were the family party scenes. 

This family was struggling, always on the verge of financial ruin - but they would always find a cause to celebrate. Could be a birthday, could be something even simpler and less significant. Whatever it was, they would buy some beer, push the furniture aside, play the music loud and dance and laugh in exquisite relief.

They didn't go out to a bar, rent a hall or doing anything formal - just party in their own home and have an absolute blast doing it.

Complete and total abandon.

The stories were very often over the top insane, the shit that happened sometimes blew your mind - but it all felt grounded in reality.

The reality of poverty and the struggle for survival and dignity. The connection, to me, was the struggle for dignity. You may not be poor, but I am betting you have either redefined your definition of dignity or are still fighting for it.

Frank Gallagher dies in the final episode. I am not giving anything away. If you watch the show you know it is inevitable. He drank oceans of alcohol, did every drug imaginable, abused himself with dedicated ferocity. And frankly, he deserved to die.

But he died alone. His family does not even know he has died. They are all together partying together, celebrating a wedding anniversary when it happens.

A deeply sad and depressing end to a life no matter how it was lived.

Sunday nights will be empty until Carol and I find a replacement. I am lobbying for serial killer documentaries, she wants to binge on HGTV. We'll see how that goes.

If you are curious, take a look at Shameless. On Showtime. It will tweak your perception of life and open up your heart with empathy.

You need that right now, don't you?

One Man's Opinion

The only knives that should be manufactured are butter knives, steak knives, and knives with serrated edges.

Plain old kinves add nothing to society and should be discontinued.

Walk On (and more)

I have adopted Walk On by U2 as my personal cancer anthem. 

The lyrics resonate with me. They give me strength and inspiration.

"and if your glass heart should crack and for a second you turn back, oh no be strong"

"and I know it aches and your heart it breaks and you can only take so much.......walk on"

It is obvious why those lyrics connect with me right now so I won't belabor the point. Let me just say they tap deeply into what I am feeling and bring my emotions up to the surface and into my eyes.

But...........

"what you got they can't steal it, no, they can't even feel it" and.......

"what you've got they can't deny it, can't sell it or buy it.........walk on"

These lyrics bring out the confidence I've been feeling and feeding lately and encourage me to use that confidence as a weapon against what cancer wants to do to my mind. They encourage me to tap into what is uniquely me to help me face this shit boldly. I am up for that.

I have had 4 radiation sessions. I heard Walk On all 4 days. That is a lucky streak that can't continue but I know the song will rear it's beautiful head whenever I need it the most. 

I heard it on my way into the very first session - how fucking amazing is that? And on my way home Friday night. We have a magical relationship, me and that song - it is holy to me.

I am considering making Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own by U2 the companion cancer piece. 

Because that is what I am doing. Trying to make it on my own. It is my nature to approach things that way.

I am not talking to anyone about this who hasn't been hipped to it. I am choosing to deal with this emotionally in the most bare bones way that I can.

Sometimes that leaves me feeling empty. And alone.

A little more talk might be beneficial but I really don't know what I would say. This is a deeply personal and deeply emotional thing - anybody I talk to would have to have a fucking Phd in empathy. 

Superficiality would fuel my Italian temper to nuclear levels.

I feel a little shaky today. I think I know why.

My closest friend Phil is up from Florida temporarily and we are going to dinner tonight. It will be spectacular.

But first......................................I gotta get zapped.

That dichotomy disturbs me.

But what I have can't be stolen, felt or understood by anybody else. It can't be denied, bought or sold.

I will power my way through the radiation experience, then fly on the wings of an eagle towards an evening of honest, heartfelt conversation spiced with genuine laughter.

Strange Humanity

 "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."

Oscar Wilde

Zap Clarification

Previously, I said the "zapping has become routine."

To clarify - I meant mechanically. Psychologically is a whole different thing.

I walk through the process like the trained robot that I am. I guess the hospital needs it that way. I imagine consistency reduces patient anxiety.

Same thing every single time. Same time slot every day.

I believe my appointment is the last one of the day. 4:15. 

At first I thought I had made a mistake - scheduling was a joint decision between me and the hospital. I could have set up an earlier appointment and screwed work out of more of my time.

But, every time I show up I am the only person in the waiting room. I like that. No human interaction.

When I leave, even the receptionist is gone.

This past Friday, as I visited the men's room on the way out (always the first stop after the zapping), the people who had tended to me were laughing and talking in the hallway. Friday night, baby.

Although my first thought was "Yeah, go ahead and laugh - you are not the one with prostate cancer."

A selfish, unnecessary thought - I quickly re-routed my thought process to appreciating their perspective.

The thing is, with this schedule, I have quiet time to think, as well as the drive to and fro. There is usually a 10 or 15 minute wait (I get there 10 minutes early) or so between the time I check in and the time they come to fetch me.

Time to ponder the weirdness of the situation.

A short time ago I was a humble human making my way through life. Now I have an intimate relationship with an Image Guided Radiation machine that delivers external beam radiation to my evil prostate.

Pretty cool, huh?

Google the machine. Have a look. Nice clean lines.

Encouraging stats to ponder: "Men with localised prostate cancer who are treated with external beam radiation therapy have a cure rate of 95.5% for intermediate-risk prostate cancer and 91.3% for high-risk prostate cancer (me). The five year survival rate using this treatment is 98.8% overall."

So I have nothing to worry about. Right?

I am being sarcastic, but truth be told I am getting somewhat more comfortable with this situation. The odds are very much in my favor. And I am doing everything I can to help myself.

The side effects could be the scariest part. I "wait and see" after every session. Discomforting.

Had a weird reaction last Thursday morning that left me unsettled. After only two radiation sessions. 5:45 am - a specific body function took control of me - I had to deal with it immediately. I did so. It commandeered me again 10 minutes later with the same urgency.

Only this time I broke out in a serious sweat - sweat was literally dripping off my forehead and my shirt was soaked in about 2 minutes.

I got the weird sensation that I am no longer in control of my body. That my body is reacting to what is being done to it, and it will react in whatever way it wants to whenever it wants to.

It happened again last night - at 3:30 am. Minus the sweat, but still........................

For Christ sake, if my body is going to rebel it would be nice if it kept reasonable hours.

I am dealing with this. I am adapting to a new reality. My thought process is evolving and anxiety is lessening.

The weight loss thing is pissing me off, though. I lost 10 pounds. I have been at that weight now for 4 weeks. Nothing has changed - still dieting, still exercising - even exercising a little more. But I am stuck.

I weigh myself every Tuesday. If my weight remains the same on this coming Tuesday I am going to jump out the fucking window.

There is a message here. This is a tough deal. No easy answers.

Fortunately I am in a fighting mood.

I refuse to give up on myself.

Ponder This

 "When you consider something like death, after which (there being no news flash to the contrary) we may well go out like a candle flame, then it probably doesn't matter if we try too hard, are awkward sometimes, care for one another too deeply, are excessively curious about nature, are too open to experience, enjoy a nonstop expense of the senses in an effort to know life intimately and lovingly."

Diane Ackerman

Curse of Creativity

 "If he drank too much from the thermos of cold vodka by his elbow, his sin was a forgiveable one, the alcoholic flush on his face a mask for the pain that only a poet felt."

From Bitterroot, by James Lee Burke

Hatred Grows

Prostate cancer and its attendant worries, and radiation treatment have intensified my hatred for my job.

Strange existence these days. 

I go to work and wallow in its insignificance, then I leave, drive to the hospital and get zapped.

The zapping has become a routine. I have been issued a membership card. Walk in, greet the receptionist, scan the card under the card reading machine, it beeps - announcing to the world that Joe has arrived.

I wait ten minutes. Someone comes out to get me. They vary, but I think I know them all by now, even after only 4 sessions. Good people.

Hand my membership card to my chaperone, walk down the same corridor, another person scans the card, I walk into The Room.

Someone stands in front of me holding a sheet, I drop my pants, I drop my underwear, and climb onto the table covered by the sheet. Very dignified.

They line me up using the tattoos they previously marked me with; they leave the room. The machine begins to rotate around me.

A weird experience. Thankfully, all told, it takes 15 minutes.

But I digress.

Bossman at work is the type of guy who thinks volume equals authority. He talks loudly about work related things and he will gladly cut you off to maintain his superiority.

He also talks differently to different people.

This is a trait I despise in people.

He talks to the chief building inspector with respect, he talks to me like a servant.

Of course I don't respond well to his lack of respect. I let him know when I am angry, and I address him with a lot of sarcasm (in that underhanded way that intelligent people use).

Two compliments I have received in life that always stuck with me.

1) A close friend of mine once told me that I taught him how to hug. He was not a huggy guy until he met me. Now he is and he enjoys it. I love that.

2) I worked for a book distributor years ago. I interacted with warehouse people and administrative people. On my last day, a guy from the warehouse told me he respected me because I talked to warehouse people and vice presidents in the same way.

I was touched by that.

Bossman at work doesn't do that. I think he is incapable of it because he is obviously petty.

I hope he crashes and burns in a sex scandal involving twisted photos of tangled body parts covered in mud, alongside Marquis de Sade-like implements of destruction.

Fuck him.

Gotta Fight

 "I rebel against death, yet I know that it is how I respond to death's inevitability that is going to make me less or more fully alive."

Madeleine L'Engle

Alone

I have spent many tortured hours alone since 2017.

Friday of Labor Day weekend 2017 - Carol's mastectomy. They told me it would take 3 hours. It took 5 and 1/2.

November 2, 2017 - Carol's brain surgery. 7 and 1/2 hours.

February 2020 - Carol's facial surgery. 20 hours over two days. 

Now I am facing radiation therapy alone.

For the record - it would be ridiculous for Carol to accompany me to the zappings. I don't expect her to, I don't want her to. The actual procedure takes 15 minutes.

For the record - Keith and Craig and Amanda drove to Boston to visit Carol and me during the facial surgery. I was grateful for that. We were grateful for that.

Truthfully, I didn't mind being alone for those hard hours. 33 all told. In fact I prefer it. And I don't mind making 44 trips alone to the hospital to get zapped.

My point is that it is hard. All of it.

Hard on the mind. And the heart. And the soul.

I read, ate and slept during Carol's surgeries. Thinking was the hard part. Thinking and worrying.

I had plenty of time to think.

I will be alone with my thoughts, coming and going, for 44 days. I imagine there will be some dark moments.

I will stick to the plan I outlined months ago - U2 on the radio - LOUD - for the drives. Hopefully I will be inspired enough to sing. I usually am. If so, my soul will have a fighting chance.

My mind is stronger and more positive than it was during Carol's tortures, and I handled her moments pretty well. Or well enough.

Plenty of tears, though.

If my thoughts get dark enough, I imagine there will be some tears during these rides.

That's OK.

Tears are honest.

And On The Fourth Day......................

I was motoring home last Friday night thinking typical Friday night thoughts.

It is a luxury to have a 4 day weekend every week, and I especially enjoy it now because I am putting each weekend to good use. 

I was thinking about the four days to come with an inner smile when suddenly it hit me - on the fourth day - Tuesday (tomorrow) - I begin 44 consecutive week days of radiation cancer treatment.

It hit me like a Biblical quote - "And on the fourth day he began radiation therapy."

Pretty much wiped the smile out of my innards.

Ironically, as I was writing this I got a call from the hospital reminding me of the appointment.

No avoiding it, baby. Reality intrudes.

I am trying to take a tough guy approach (defined as no worry) but it is a bit weird to think about my body being zapped. Burn baby, burn. Cancer, for Christ sake. The mind naturally wanders down twisted paths. 

As usual the side effects thing looms large. Last week they gave me a list - a long list - of potential side effects, ranging from the most common, least worrisome, to some shit that sounds apocalyptic.

The hormone therapy thing has not gone badly, and I am coming at this hard - eating healthy, eating less, losing weight, exercising my ass off - so I am hoping the side effects are minimal.

Of course I am worried about being able to keep up that pace. The number one side effect that everyone agrees on is fatigue. That word covers a wide range. Will I be tired or will I be narcoleptic?

Sleepy Joe.

I am at another one of those tipping points - the Day Before Day One.

I am nervous. Nervous about radiation, and freaked out a bit about how weird my life is gonna be for a while.

I start on April 6 and end on June 7. That sounds like a long stretch. It is a long stretch. Starting in phony New England spring, ending in real New England spring.

The only bonus is that I get out of work 1/2 an hour early every day between now and then.

The best approach is to be fatalistic. The Tony Soprano "what are you gonna do" approach. I can't ignore the cancer - they have made it very clear that it is High Risk. Ignoring it sounds like a death sentence.

So I gotta do this. So just do it.

Whatever else this is, it sure as hell is a character builder.

Please.............no

The following quote is from a book called Matterhorn, a fictional book about the Vietnam war.

The book was written by Karl Marlantes, a guy who served in Vietnam and was much decorated. I just finished the book - it is intense and powerful. Read it, if it's your kind of thing.

Anyway all that is a set up for the quote, which references war but is absolutely applicable to life in general.

It gave me chills.

"War was breaking life apart and splintering it, so there were no second chances and all the first chances were wasted."

A Firm Declaration

Today is Easter.

This is the last fucking holiday that Carol and I spend without our family.

Period.

Bring On The Funk, Baby

I was driving to work - innocently -  litsening to Adam Clayton's Funk playlist.

James Brown, Sly & The Family Stone, Rick James, Wild Cherry, Average White Band, Prince, Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield and on and on and on.

Are you kidding me?

That shit makes you move, baby. Makes you feel so good.

I was so filled up with funk that even my shitty little job could not destroy me. Had so much funk in me that even after 8 hours of stupidity chipping away at me, my nose was still above water.

Barely, but still.

The important thing is that just below water level..............I was smiling.