What’s Up Doc

“We’re going to have to take your blood pressure again because technically I can’t pass you. Are you under any stress now? Put your ear buds in and take a few deep breaths.”

I nod my head, put on some tunes and a few moments later my BP has dropped significantly.

“Mr. Wilner, that is much better. I am not supposed to say anything, but your doctor may still think that is too high. You should make an appointment soon.”

Eight months later I haven’t been to see the doc yet but I have been told that I have traumatic arthritis in my right index finger.

For some reason every time I say that I want to make like Bill Murray and say I got that going for me, which is nice.

So gunga galunga to me.

One Hell Of a Piece

Sir Paul is singing and I am thinking my body Walt didn’t intend for me to apply the quote above to me.

That is ok, he is dead and I am not so he can’t complain.

Or maybe he can, maybe the ghost of Walt Whitman will come haunt me. That ought to be interesting and good for my attempts at writing poetry.

So if I hear a knocking at the door I’ll Let ‘Em In.

In the interim I am wondering when Major Tom stopped being able to hear me and what that felt like.

If I believe the man with the white hair the good major was/is fearless and responsible for making sure his job was safe.

Got no reason not to believe it so I shall and I do but it doesn’t change certain things.

The hole and deafening silence are ever present and I find myself repeatedly testing them to confirm nothing has changed.

I suppose what is funny is knowing the last line of defense is gone and never coming back. Funny in the sense that I imagine things in very physical terms so that last line of defense has been me for years except I always felt like if I stumbled there was one more person.

Didn’t need perfection, just had to live the as good as I once was…once philosophy.

*****

Certain pieces I have listened to a million times before make more sense than ever before and yet nothing does.

Castles in The Air reach out to me and I see myself walking through the old neighborhood, another seventies kid facing backwards in the family station wagon on another family road trip.

I feel words rustling under the surface of my mind knowing if I dear to set them free I’ll either come up with some awful mess of a post or something that brings tears to your eyes.

The question isn’t can I, but will I and the answer is I don’t know.

Don’t know what to say or do or if I care.

What’s Up Doc

I don’t have a doctor here yet but I have the name of one that I think I might try.

Don’t really want to want to walk in and hear the list of things they suggest I ought to stop doing or the list of things I ought to do.

Don’t want to do more than rely upon a belief in good genetics and an iron will to get me through whatever comes.

That is not a smart way of handling things nor what I advocate others do but when I wake up at 3 AM and walk around the house it feels like I have enough to be concerned about now.

Feels like I can tell life we’re taking a time out regarding my crap so I can focus on helping others.

Someone asked me if I feel like I got a knife in the back and I said yeah.

“They kicked me in the balls so hard they might be in my throat and then for good measure they punched me in the throat.

Under normal circumstances it would make me angry and as soon as I caught my breath I would do my best to return the favor ten fold.

But now, not so much.

Now I kind of feel like sitting in my recliner or lying down on the floor to stare at the ceiling.

The blur doesn’t feel so blurry and the weight is rolling out upon me.

Eventually I’ll shrug my shoulders and make Atlas wonder how I do it, but I am not quite there yet which is why I don’t really feel like seeing the doc.

Doesn’t mean I won’t or that I can’t now, but it does mean I’d like to wait before some white coat decides to shove a camera near my nether regions.

For now I’d prefer that camera see a sign that says never region but that probably won’t happen.

Screw This Club

A few have welcomed me to this club I never wanted to join and whose membership I don’t need.

Some have said I ought to just suck it up and not complain or cry because it is not what men do and I ignore them.

The man who is most responsible for teaching me what men do isn’t here to consult with so all they have is my interpretation of his words.

They go something like “go fuck yourself off or they can go fuck themselves” or a million other versions of such a line.

Hell, the other men on both sides of my line would say the same thing and cheer me on for doing so.

Or so my interpretation of their words go.

But the reality is when it comes to the elders of my line I am it. I am the eldest.

I know I keep saying and writing about it but it feels so strange to me.

I am like Ralph in The Greatest American Hero. I got the suit but no instructions on how to use it so I am trying not to fly into any walls.

Those crashes always hurt, but now the hurt takes longer to fade.

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