Too Far Gone

He carried sadness with him like an anchor.

Along with an acute awareness that he would 

never do anything about it.

He was too far gone. 

There was not enough time and not enough energy

left to make amends.

Life judged and life punished.

He never understood the rules, felt they were arbitrary

and harsh.

Always off balance in his mind, in a crowd,

there was never any peace.

When you throw away a life, when you trash this precious gift,

you have to pay the price, you don't deserve to live.

He hated himself and loathed all others.

The unavoidable by-product was a bonfire of rage.

Anger that seethed below the surface, skewing all perspectives,

robbing him of any chance at redemption.

Courageous from a distance, cowardly up close.

Solutions existed in his mind, but were never acted upon, 

creating frustration that crushed as relentlessly as sadness.

Recognizing no options, no magic bullets, his mind

became empty.

Devoid of hope, devoid of will.

With no one there to save him, he laid down and he died.

When you throw away a life, when you trash this precious gift,

you have to pay the price, you don't deserve to live.

P.J.

 "The C student starts a restaurant. The A student writes restaurant reviews."

The Verdict Is In

Torn meniscus, baby.

Got the news yesterday.

The MRI on my right knee revealed a torn meniscus. It also revealed a piece of the meniscus that has broken off and is floating around my knee.

I thought a meniscus was some sort of tendon. It is not; the meniscus is cartilage.

Surgery looms. They slice a couple of openings around the knee, shove a camera in there to see exactly what is going on, remove the floating cartilage, repair the damaged cartilage.

Apparently I will be on crutches for a short while, so it is best to wait until spring for the surgery.

I have been unable to exercise since mid-January because of the pain and discomfort. If you remember, I said in December that the two biggest failures I carried into 2022 were not finding a therapist and not losing weight. Imagine my despair at not being able to exercise. I have been in a black mood for a while now.

If I have surgery in April I will have gone 2 and 1/2 months without exercising.

Not exercising while dealing with hormone therapy is a disastrous combination. I am so fat now that if I had a medical emergency at home, they would have to cut a hole in the roof and lift me out with a crane.

I am uncomfortably fat. It is a disgusting feeling.  I     fucking     hate     it.

I have to do something between now and the surgery. Take action. Dietary action. Like Christian Bales preparing for his role in "The Machinist". He lost 56 pounds in four months by living on a diet of black coffee, one apple, and one tin of tuna a day. Less than 200 calories a day.

According to health experts "an extreme diet like this will play havoc with your metabolism and cause a lot of stress on the body."

Well trust me, becoming a fat fuck causes a lot of stress on the body - and the mind - too. The irony of the whole thing is that being fat puts more stress on my knees and causes more pain. A vicious circle. No exercise, more fat, more damage to the knee. Jesus fucking Christ.

I am psycho enough that I could do the Bales diet. Except for the threat to my health. Bales has said he would never do something like that again because it is so damaging to the body.

But I am going to have to do something. Another month of weight gain and I will become completely immobile. 

I love peas. I could eat a small can of peas for lunch and another for supper. Small bowl of grapenuts for breakfast. I am just riffing here but whatever I do will have to be drastic and healthy. I'll figure something out.

There has always been a direct connection for me between exercise and state of mind. When I start the day with exercise, I feel good about myself and I am more productive and in a better mood. When I don't exercise I get depressed. The whole day feels like a loss.

I have been feeling dark for 90% of 2022. Not exactly what I had in mind as I barreled into the new year.

I have been hanging on by a thread in my head. This non-exercise/fat guy thing affects everything; I feel empty, unhealthy, unhappy, unmotivated, undisciplined, embarrassed. I just don't give a fuck.

I require magic in March.

I have talked about grit in here. If ever there was a time for grit it is now.

I thought I had 2022 sussed. Thought I was perched on the precipice of success.

Now this.

What's a guy gotta do to catch a break?

P.S. - I haven't found a therapist yet either. Fuck me.

P.J.

 "There is only one basic human right, the right to do as you damn well please. And with it comes the only basic human duty, the duty to take the consequences."

P.J. O'Rourke

The Meditation Shtick

You gotta be careful about the whole meditation shtick.

I bopped around the Insight Timer website looking for meditations on confidence. Found one I like. Kind of. I am going to test it out for a while, see if I start exuding confidence like a used car salesman trying to steamroll you into buying a fucking deathtrap.

The meditation is a cross between hypnosis and meditation. I don't think hypnosis will work on me because my mind is already numb from the horror of the life I live.

But you never know.

It's a 20 minute deal, the guy talks in a soothing voice. The goal is to get you into a trancelike state so that the words and statements he repeats can eventually become a part of your psyche.

I accept the premise because I believe the mind has unlimited potential, especially when it has not been challenged in decades.

Some of the things this guy says taste pretty good - "you can do anything you set your mind to; you deserve to be happy; positive thoughts are like rocket fuel (I'm paraphrasing); you already have everything you need inside of you." Especially the last one - I know that to be true. 

If I could directly access my essence I would rule the world. But getting to my essence is problematic; it is buried under layers of sludge.

He also says "you are perfect; the universe is perfect; life supports you in every possible way; you are one with the universe and the universe is everything."

This is why brainless conservatives hate liberals - we give them so much ammunition. These words make me cringe.

I am not perfect - this is why I seek the comfort of meditation. Life does not support you - it fucks you every time you take your eye off the ball. I won't even get into the "one with the universe" bullshit.

What I need from meditation is inspiration, words I can work with, concepts that change the way I think. 

What I don't need is platitudes. Especially of the milquetoast variety.

As I write these words it occurs to me that this meditation will not take root in my brain. There is too much mamby pamby stuff for me to deal with; it will overwhelm the helpful words. I'll get into a trancelike state and feel peace, then all of a sudden "one with the universe" will pop up and shatter my calm.

But that is the beauty of meditation - there are 650 million reflections to choose from.

I'll keep trying.

P.J.

 "There are a number of mechanical devices which increase sexual arousal, particularly in women. Chief among these is the Mercedes-Benz 380SL convertible."

P.J. O' Rourke

A Piece of Meat

When you engage with the medical community here in the United States you get swallowed up in a cold world of indifference.

I had an MRI this morning on my right knee.

I have been having problems this year that I avoided talking about so far lest you respond: "Jesus Christ, Joe - you said you would not whine anymore."

In that spirit I will only divulge certain facts - all will be revealed when I know exactly what the fuck I am dealing with.

Mid-January the knee became problematic - I could not ride the exercise bike, going up and down stairs (especially down) was a major issue - pain-wise and mobility-wise.

I saw the orthopaedic dude a couple of weeks ago - he did what he always does - (I have had pain in that knee for many years). X-rays, cortisone shot.

I told him things are different this time - my knee feels like it is swollen even though it is not - but it is preventing me from doing everyday fucking things. "I'll give you the shot - if it doesn't help I'll schedule an MRI."

So, here I am.

There are certain things you do for health reasons that the medical community deems patient-uncomfortable, so they take a General Patton approach, assuming that if they bark commands at you it will overcome your trepidations.

MRI's are a prime example.

Had to take off my belt, empty my pockets, take off my shoes, take off my glasses, take off my knee wrap, take off my sweatshirt. She barked all these commands at me like I was a fucking piece of meat. No empathy at all.

The MRI lasted 20 minutes.

Afterwards, as I put myself back together, the two attendants talked with each other like I wasn't even there. Totally fucking ignored me. Even though they were 3 feet away.

I had to do errands when I left. Of course. You can never leave the house without doing fucking errands. Buying bottled water, boneless pork spareribs, cold cuts, Corona Light.

Driving to the errands, doing the errands, driving home - I noticed I felt like I was in a dreamworld. There but not really there.

The aftershock of a mind that traveled from reality to the bogus medical world and back to reality again.

It is a stange thing to walk out of "reality" into a situation where you are treated like hanging meat in Rocky I, guided to and situated on an MRI table, inserted into a bizarro MRI machine that makes a lot more noise than it should, left alone with your mind, putting yourself back together, then walking into Market Basket.

The mind can only take so much.

The earliest I will have a read on what's going on is tomorrow. That's because Dr. Feelgood is only in the office on Wednesdays and Fridays. Lazy, shiftless, fuck.

In a related story: I had bloodwork done in January before my last hormone shot. That's the drill. I was waiting outside the lab for the 374 people ahead of me to get their blood sucked when I heard click.......click......click. I knew what it was, but knowing made it no less foreboding.

Eventually a guy came into view and beyond, leaning on his walker. Every time he moved it forward and it hit the ground, it clicked. He was traveling about .000007 miles per hour.

Every time I go to the hospital I get these warning signs signalling what is ahead in my life-deterioration.

I fucking hate it.