I guess I’ve been whining like an old guy.It’s not that hard to forget that this little fishing line of a journal only put’s out one chunk of bait at a time, and the poor fishes don’t understand that someone knelt in the wet grass waiting for the flash of worm skin skimming through the dark loam, plucked the blind toothless critter from it’s element and put him in a coffee can with his fellows.
I didn’t have an MRI to diagnosis some horrible new condition; I had it because the new docs requested. Now, seriously, I was expecting this two years ago and as a standard medical thing-a-ma-gig. This one was almost punitive. I mean the new intern is a lost little lamby and most likely will be slathered in mint Jelly before his tour is done, but the attending … He’s my fathers old primary, the one who’s answer to any of my questions was “That’s not what’s going to kill him”. I think there is bad blood between us.
Again, a new MRI is sound enough, especially since for the first year I was here I was getting fairly strong medications for what was listed as “Allergies”. I haven’t had a picture of my ruptured Disc or general deterioration in almost a decade. What bugs me about Mr. That’s-Not-Whats-Gonna-Kill-Him is that he reduced my medication before running any diagnostic tests. He suspects me, I’m sure, of drug seeking and/or given all the questions about employment, perhaps, selling my prescriptions.
I just didn’t want to suggest I’m going through any terrible medical problems; just doctor problems. It sounds paranoid and I don’t really believe it, but getting a full dose of the live flu vaccine seemed punitive too. Not saying I should get the little kid and old guy shot because I am a rare and delicate flower, but rather because until last year I never got the shot or the flu. I did it last year to convince my dad that it didn’t hurt (he gets them every year, but was very demented by then). So, I got the old guy shot.
Romantically speak I am deeply, madly, with deep and abiding passion and without reservation, mitigation or caution, wildly and truly in none of your business. But I’ve got none of your business bad. I realize this is not half a worm my little fishies, this is a hand tied fly wrapped under the influence of aged fine Kentucky Bourbon.
I did mention the Anarchist showed back up a few weeks ago, yes? Perhaps that we went on an indian burial ground hunt that bore no fruit was very cool just the same? Last night a friend of his band was playing at some place with an old friend of mine playing bass. I was a little to frazzled and a little to comfy in my jammies to wander out in the bitter cold, but it was a cool invite all the same.
He loaned me a book of poetry. I really don’t have the focus for reading poetry these days, but I’ve been poking through a few minutes at a time. There’s a curious thing going on in it and if a student had brought it too mean my critique would have been one sided, but this guy is doing something very much on purpose. All content aside, because content is like fishing for water (you’re always going to catch some) the oddly numbered cantos aren’t for the ear, I mean consistently, often for the eye, but not consistently. It looks like an accident, but I’ve read enough to realize the author is too sharp for that.
If you read this book outloud you stumble, if you read it to yourself you miss some of the lyricism of the language but you catch the theme of sight. That’s pretty cool. I’m not saying it works well or that I’d like to read more, just saying it’s a cool experiment, and whereas I’m thinking it’s not wholly successful I would hardly call it a failure.
I’ve forgotten how to write in a journal, in keeping with my analogy, it’s not that I’ve forgotten how to fish, just how to fish in this particular and singular crick. And I’m spent.
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