I’m going to go to church later. Why do I go to church? I go to church because it’s where I find out how I am supposed to be me. If I define my self as a child of God, I can’t just leave it at that. Which God? Evan saying the Christian God is not saying enough. Evan I don’t know fully what I mean when I say God.
Who shall know the mind of God? His ways are not our ways. He works in mysterious ways. A New Testament theologian friend of mine says God is other.
It’s about finding the answers through community, an agreed upon way of living. I’ve always said I’m a world-class rationalizer. I can come up with a plausible explanation or reason for anything I might decide to do or believe. I need other people to keep me in check, to check the congruity between how I’m living, how I think I’m living, and how I say I want to live.
If I say I want to follow Christ, and Christ says I’m supposed to die to myself and I’m yelling at my wife because I’m angry she’s not listening to me, something is off. It doesn’t matter if I’m accurate about my assessment of the situation, weather my wife is listening to me or not, that’s beside the point. The question should be, “Am I dying to myself?”
If I wasn’t trying to be a Christian, there may be other questions to ask first, but the claim I make is I am. Given that, I need to look at my life through the right filter. It gets muddy during the week as I go about my business, getting splashed by the rest of the world. I go to church to get some soap and water an elbow grease to keep the filter clean.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Writing
I spent all my summers during high school retaking all my English classes. During the regular year at school I flunked every English class I took for the first three years. I passed with a D- my last year.
Mostly it was my spelling. They had spelling test of what they called core words, thirty-three word each time. I was lucky if I got ten of them right.
Beginning with the third grade, when how things were spelled stopped making sense, I haven’t been able to spell to save my life. All those red checks on the papers can really discourage a guy. Pretty soon, my grammar went the way of my spelling.
I find it quite ironic I like to write just about more than I like to do anything, Thankfully, most of what they were pushing as good English is very superficially related to good writing. Granted, you do have to be able to make your self clear, but you can do that pretty much with spell check and reading out loud and putting periods and commas where the pauses are. You can’t rely on spell check; it doesn’t know the difference between there and their, for instance.
There’s a good little book put out by Random House called The Bad Spellers Dictionary, for those of you like me who don’t spell good enough to use a regular dictionary. You know who you are.
For grammar and how to write in general there’s a short little book – it is short; I promise – called The Elements Of Style by Strunk and White. That’s E.B. White. You might have heard of him. Anyway, it’s kind of the bible of usage among actual writers.
So, if you haven’t been totally ruined my your English teachers, I'm sure there are some good ones somewhere, writing can be a fun thing and its mysteries are not insurmountable.
Mostly it was my spelling. They had spelling test of what they called core words, thirty-three word each time. I was lucky if I got ten of them right.
Beginning with the third grade, when how things were spelled stopped making sense, I haven’t been able to spell to save my life. All those red checks on the papers can really discourage a guy. Pretty soon, my grammar went the way of my spelling.
I find it quite ironic I like to write just about more than I like to do anything, Thankfully, most of what they were pushing as good English is very superficially related to good writing. Granted, you do have to be able to make your self clear, but you can do that pretty much with spell check and reading out loud and putting periods and commas where the pauses are. You can’t rely on spell check; it doesn’t know the difference between there and their, for instance.
There’s a good little book put out by Random House called The Bad Spellers Dictionary, for those of you like me who don’t spell good enough to use a regular dictionary. You know who you are.
For grammar and how to write in general there’s a short little book – it is short; I promise – called The Elements Of Style by Strunk and White. That’s E.B. White. You might have heard of him. Anyway, it’s kind of the bible of usage among actual writers.
So, if you haven’t been totally ruined my your English teachers, I'm sure there are some good ones somewhere, writing can be a fun thing and its mysteries are not insurmountable.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Something Else
I used to call myself a carnivore and say I had a food disorder: things I didn’t eat, most fruits and vegetables, I couldn’t swallow. It was mostly a texture thing, the wrong one eliciting a gag reflex. I think it was a way of claiming my own identity. My childhood was shame based, nothing I did being the right thing. Somewhere back there I figured out my parents would not actually shove things down my throat, and if I gagged I had an excuse for me not eating them. It became the one thing I could control.
Mind you, I didn’t figure this out until I was in my forties and by then the gag reflex was pretty well cemented into the way I lived my life. I didn’t like it, refusing peoples hospitality ad nausea. And then, when I became a Christian there is that command about eating what people put before you.
I started working on my food problem about ten years ago, making little progress, then I got married and I made a little more progress. My wife is a great cook and she has been very helpful and patient with me, but the going was a slow slog.
Then I had the stroke. At first, they wouldn’t let me eat at all. It seems people who have strokes sometime have trouble swallowing and if you do it wrong the stuff will go down to their lungs. After a couple or three days the swallow expert, a friendly, blonde, hottie, said I could eat.
So I got my tray of hospital food. I remember sticking my fork in some vegetable, caulifloweir maybe. I looked at it, looked up at God, and stuck it in my mouth. That’s about how long it took, the time it took you to read it, but I sad a lot. I told God all about my childhood traumas surrounding my food issues. I gave him my fear about what was going on with me and what would happen to me if I didn’t change the way I eat, if I stuck that fork full of what ever it was in my mouth and gagged on it.
God did something and I didn’t gag on it. In fact the gag reflex is gone. I ate whatever hospital food they brought me and since I’ve been home I’ve been eating what ever my wife puts in front of me.
She keeps asking me if I like it. It drives her crazy because sometimes I don’t know; it’s all so new. She gave me some vegetarian thing the other day and I recognized a half dozen things, each one by themselves would have made me gag before. Sometimes there’s too much going on inside my mouth to figure out yet if I like things or not.
All my life people have been telling me I didn’t know what I was missing. They were right. I don’t know what God did or how many things inside me He fixed, but I know now one of the things I have been missing is blue-berries. You got to have them with Cheerios. They’re something else.
Mind you, I didn’t figure this out until I was in my forties and by then the gag reflex was pretty well cemented into the way I lived my life. I didn’t like it, refusing peoples hospitality ad nausea. And then, when I became a Christian there is that command about eating what people put before you.
I started working on my food problem about ten years ago, making little progress, then I got married and I made a little more progress. My wife is a great cook and she has been very helpful and patient with me, but the going was a slow slog.
Then I had the stroke. At first, they wouldn’t let me eat at all. It seems people who have strokes sometime have trouble swallowing and if you do it wrong the stuff will go down to their lungs. After a couple or three days the swallow expert, a friendly, blonde, hottie, said I could eat.
So I got my tray of hospital food. I remember sticking my fork in some vegetable, caulifloweir maybe. I looked at it, looked up at God, and stuck it in my mouth. That’s about how long it took, the time it took you to read it, but I sad a lot. I told God all about my childhood traumas surrounding my food issues. I gave him my fear about what was going on with me and what would happen to me if I didn’t change the way I eat, if I stuck that fork full of what ever it was in my mouth and gagged on it.
God did something and I didn’t gag on it. In fact the gag reflex is gone. I ate whatever hospital food they brought me and since I’ve been home I’ve been eating what ever my wife puts in front of me.
She keeps asking me if I like it. It drives her crazy because sometimes I don’t know; it’s all so new. She gave me some vegetarian thing the other day and I recognized a half dozen things, each one by themselves would have made me gag before. Sometimes there’s too much going on inside my mouth to figure out yet if I like things or not.
All my life people have been telling me I didn’t know what I was missing. They were right. I don’t know what God did or how many things inside me He fixed, but I know now one of the things I have been missing is blue-berries. You got to have them with Cheerios. They’re something else.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
A Gilded Cage
My heart goes out to the family of the woman killed by the whale, but my brain has latched on to the idea of a killer whale in captivity. I Think of them in their tanks, sending out their clicks, and getting back the close smooth walls, like a man in a padded cell, calling to anyone, getting back only the echo of his own voice.
I suppose it wouldn't be as bad for the ones born in captivity, knowing only the sterility of their tank, but still, the repetition of the day after day routine, swim in a circle, do their tricks, get fed, swim in more circles, the monotony of the waters sameness.
They'd get used to the sounds. There wouldn't be that many, most coming from above, or the under water speakers, like invisible holes to some other place. And the same old sights day after day, what ever piece of sky there is to see, if there is one at all.
There's the fragile ones who live outside the tank, shuffling along, dragging themselves across the strange unremarkable rock. And the one who feeds, who compels, who touches. What do they make of their trainers?
I feel worse about the ones not born in captivity, who remember the depth and breath of the ocean, the sounds of the living earth, an untold number of astonishing sights. It must be worse for the ones who know they're in a cage, who remember who their captors are, what they look like, who it is wanting them to perform tricks day after day.
Maybe it's not like that? Maybe they're just dumb animals, living large, hand fed, getting their tongues scratched? Maybe they enjoy their gilded cage?
I suppose it wouldn't be as bad for the ones born in captivity, knowing only the sterility of their tank, but still, the repetition of the day after day routine, swim in a circle, do their tricks, get fed, swim in more circles, the monotony of the waters sameness.
They'd get used to the sounds. There wouldn't be that many, most coming from above, or the under water speakers, like invisible holes to some other place. And the same old sights day after day, what ever piece of sky there is to see, if there is one at all.
There's the fragile ones who live outside the tank, shuffling along, dragging themselves across the strange unremarkable rock. And the one who feeds, who compels, who touches. What do they make of their trainers?
I feel worse about the ones not born in captivity, who remember the depth and breath of the ocean, the sounds of the living earth, an untold number of astonishing sights. It must be worse for the ones who know they're in a cage, who remember who their captors are, what they look like, who it is wanting them to perform tricks day after day.
Maybe it's not like that? Maybe they're just dumb animals, living large, hand fed, getting their tongues scratched? Maybe they enjoy their gilded cage?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
What's Your Hurry
8 billion for choo-choo trains is more than we can afford. We have a lot of problems here in America that need at5ending to before we jump on this rush-to-the-future bandwagon. Mr. Obama seems to think, since China is going to spend 300 billion on this fool notion, we have to follow. Since when were we in the business of following behind the red Chinese?
What’s wrong with our rail system anyway? It worked fine when it was built in my grandfather’s day and what’s good enough for him is good enough for me. There’s nothing wrong with good old American ingenuity.
The problem is we’re getting to soft. This country was built on the rough and ready shoulders of men willing to risk being a little uncomfortable and ride out into the wilderness and tame it. Are we going to give up our proud tradition and bow to these namby-pamby riders in their button-down suits crying over a little spilt milk in their Am-Track trains.
I say there is better things to do then put tens of thousands to work on huge a boone-doggle like high-speed rail. We can spend just as much throwing it away fixing the old track.
Are we going to follow China’s high-speed rush into the future? Be cause the have high-speed rail whizzing people around in Europe are we going to go back to following the way of the old country? This is America. We do things are own way, the American way. What do you say to high-speed rail? I say no. What’s your hurry America?
What’s wrong with our rail system anyway? It worked fine when it was built in my grandfather’s day and what’s good enough for him is good enough for me. There’s nothing wrong with good old American ingenuity.
The problem is we’re getting to soft. This country was built on the rough and ready shoulders of men willing to risk being a little uncomfortable and ride out into the wilderness and tame it. Are we going to give up our proud tradition and bow to these namby-pamby riders in their button-down suits crying over a little spilt milk in their Am-Track trains.
I say there is better things to do then put tens of thousands to work on huge a boone-doggle like high-speed rail. We can spend just as much throwing it away fixing the old track.
Are we going to follow China’s high-speed rush into the future? Be cause the have high-speed rail whizzing people around in Europe are we going to go back to following the way of the old country? This is America. We do things are own way, the American way. What do you say to high-speed rail? I say no. What’s your hurry America?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Nuclear Power and The Big Stick
I’m not Stewart Brand or Bill Gates but we have something in common; we are all for nuclear power. Big Gates is extremely rich and Brand is a big time environmentalist, but I’ve got personal experience.
Granted, I know nothing about this fourth generation reactor that’s supposed to be able to burn it’s own waste they’re talking about, but I do know about living right next to an operating nuclear reactor. I’m not talking about in the same town, or evan down the street. I’m talking about right next to. Feet. While I was in the navy, I was stationed aboard a nuclear submarine. The reactor was right down the hall, so to speak.
The first nuclear submarine was the Nautilus, built some time in the fifties. My boat, the Ulysses S Grant, Was commissioned in the sixties, we’ve been doing nuclear power for a while. I don’t know how many nuclear powered naval vessels there are or have been. It’s a lot. We know how to do nuclear reactors and run them safely.
I don’t think all future reactors have to be the same, but I do believe they should be standardized. Here are the models that are approved. Here’s the type of sights they can be built on. Here’s the qualifications a company has to build and operate them. Here are the hoops you have to jump thorough. It seems to me all that can be laid out up front. Agree and you get your permit.
This would eliminate the much of the cost over runs and delays in building. We know how to build and operate these things in a safe and efficient manner. I think it’s time to get off the stick and get to work, tell all the people were worried about blackmailing us over our dependence on oil they can borrow the stick if they can figure out something to do with it...
Granted, I know nothing about this fourth generation reactor that’s supposed to be able to burn it’s own waste they’re talking about, but I do know about living right next to an operating nuclear reactor. I’m not talking about in the same town, or evan down the street. I’m talking about right next to. Feet. While I was in the navy, I was stationed aboard a nuclear submarine. The reactor was right down the hall, so to speak.
The first nuclear submarine was the Nautilus, built some time in the fifties. My boat, the Ulysses S Grant, Was commissioned in the sixties, we’ve been doing nuclear power for a while. I don’t know how many nuclear powered naval vessels there are or have been. It’s a lot. We know how to do nuclear reactors and run them safely.
I don’t think all future reactors have to be the same, but I do believe they should be standardized. Here are the models that are approved. Here’s the type of sights they can be built on. Here’s the qualifications a company has to build and operate them. Here are the hoops you have to jump thorough. It seems to me all that can be laid out up front. Agree and you get your permit.
This would eliminate the much of the cost over runs and delays in building. We know how to build and operate these things in a safe and efficient manner. I think it’s time to get off the stick and get to work, tell all the people were worried about blackmailing us over our dependence on oil they can borrow the stick if they can figure out something to do with it...
Sunday, February 21, 2010
To The Left and Right
I’ve heard if I’m in an uncharted wilderness and I don’t pay close attention, I’ll wind up walking in a giant circle because my footsteps are not equal in length. If I don’t compensate for my natural gate, I’ll come back to where I started from, only a little worse off than last time I was there. I are told not to go to the right or to the left because it is in my make-up to do so. I get distracted, I lean toward one notion or the other, and I rely on my own thinking about good and bad when I should be thinking about not turning to the right or to the left. I get in trouble by asking myself the wrong question; by thinking I am capable of asking then right ones. I ignore my imperfections; my lopsided stride, and wind up walking in circles.
I used to try and figure out what I was supposed to write. It paralyzed me, stopped me in my tracks. I believe I clearly heard from God, “Write.” I thought it was a logical question to ask what I was supposed to write. “Yeah. I hear. You want me to write, but what?” I spent six months not writing, in direct disobedience, while I waited for God to meet my demand and tell me what to write. Sometimes turning to the left or right seems like a logical thing to do.
I’m not positive about this, but I think if God calls us to something and if the word “but” is anywhere in our response, we’re headed in the wrong direction.
The truth is we are all in the wilderness and most of us are going in circles around something we want to avoid. We try and try again and we keep coming back to the same place, we do what seems right and natural and it keeps messing us up. Isn’t God calling us to move beyond our natures, to a new way of being? It is not natural to move into the fear. We would rather turn to the left or right, try to go around it. But what we are called to is to be creatures of faith, to work out our salvation in fear and trembling.
God is calling us to deep waters and we are afraid we don’t know how to swim. God is good and He is able, and you can trust Him. If He’s calling you, jump in.
I used to try and figure out what I was supposed to write. It paralyzed me, stopped me in my tracks. I believe I clearly heard from God, “Write.” I thought it was a logical question to ask what I was supposed to write. “Yeah. I hear. You want me to write, but what?” I spent six months not writing, in direct disobedience, while I waited for God to meet my demand and tell me what to write. Sometimes turning to the left or right seems like a logical thing to do.
I’m not positive about this, but I think if God calls us to something and if the word “but” is anywhere in our response, we’re headed in the wrong direction.
The truth is we are all in the wilderness and most of us are going in circles around something we want to avoid. We try and try again and we keep coming back to the same place, we do what seems right and natural and it keeps messing us up. Isn’t God calling us to move beyond our natures, to a new way of being? It is not natural to move into the fear. We would rather turn to the left or right, try to go around it. But what we are called to is to be creatures of faith, to work out our salvation in fear and trembling.
God is calling us to deep waters and we are afraid we don’t know how to swim. God is good and He is able, and you can trust Him. If He’s calling you, jump in.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Continuing Adventures
Yesterday went petty good, though I couldn't figure out how to insert a character when I was spell checking so if anything posts misspelled I'm blaming it on that and that will be the official excuse until I get my own laptop back.
I talked to a doc yesterday and he strongly recommended I wait another month and a half until I start driving. He said I'm doing very well in my recovery and that if I took the driving evaluation test I might pass it, however, since it's only been a month and a half since I had the stroke, he would rather I wait. It seems there's a high risk factor the first three months of another stroke, seizures, mini-strokes, and some other things that could prove disadvantageous if they happened while I was driving. So that, in combination with the doc's recommendation and knowing what Jackie's, my wife, feelings would be upon hearing what the doc had to say, I agreed to put off the test until early April.
So that got me to pondering the gravity of the stroke event, and the place I have been knocked down too that I have to climb out of. It was kind of a holy s__t moment with the appropriate amount of sadness and fear attached.
Don't get me wrong. I am not depressed. I am fully aware of the extraordinary speed at which I am recovering, and I am aware, or rather believe that that recovery is directly related to the number of you who are praying for me. But it was a sobering moment. My humanness is up in my face real close. It fragility become very apparent from this view and I'm not quite sure what to make of it yet. What is obvious right away is the finite nature of existence. I may not know what it is, but there is an expiration date, there is an urgency to it all.
What comes up for me then is, I aint done yet. I have things to say and do. The whole looking death in the face thing is proving to be a powerful motivational push, right now manifesting itself in my writing.
It is also kind of freaky because every time I feel something in my head I wonder if I'm having another stroke. I supose it will take a while to get used to having head aches without having the little momentary freak out.
So, like I was saying, I feel I have a lot left to do and I'm not quite ready to cash it in. I mean I'm thinking three or four novels at least, short stories, essays, poetry, not to mention Kilimanjaro and this 80/90 mile hike I want to take on the Continental Divide Trail in south west Colorado, and I've always wanted to see Victoria Falls, and there's this crazy idea I have of airlifting Jackie so we can spend some time in the middle of some wilderness some where. That and I haven't mentioned the Harley Softail I just bought back when I thought I knew what my future income would be.
Anyway, I got a lot left I want to accomplish and I'm not ready, by a long shot, to give up yet so stay tune for the next exciting adventure.
I talked to a doc yesterday and he strongly recommended I wait another month and a half until I start driving. He said I'm doing very well in my recovery and that if I took the driving evaluation test I might pass it, however, since it's only been a month and a half since I had the stroke, he would rather I wait. It seems there's a high risk factor the first three months of another stroke, seizures, mini-strokes, and some other things that could prove disadvantageous if they happened while I was driving. So that, in combination with the doc's recommendation and knowing what Jackie's, my wife, feelings would be upon hearing what the doc had to say, I agreed to put off the test until early April.
So that got me to pondering the gravity of the stroke event, and the place I have been knocked down too that I have to climb out of. It was kind of a holy s__t moment with the appropriate amount of sadness and fear attached.
Don't get me wrong. I am not depressed. I am fully aware of the extraordinary speed at which I am recovering, and I am aware, or rather believe that that recovery is directly related to the number of you who are praying for me. But it was a sobering moment. My humanness is up in my face real close. It fragility become very apparent from this view and I'm not quite sure what to make of it yet. What is obvious right away is the finite nature of existence. I may not know what it is, but there is an expiration date, there is an urgency to it all.
What comes up for me then is, I aint done yet. I have things to say and do. The whole looking death in the face thing is proving to be a powerful motivational push, right now manifesting itself in my writing.
It is also kind of freaky because every time I feel something in my head I wonder if I'm having another stroke. I supose it will take a while to get used to having head aches without having the little momentary freak out.
So, like I was saying, I feel I have a lot left to do and I'm not quite ready to cash it in. I mean I'm thinking three or four novels at least, short stories, essays, poetry, not to mention Kilimanjaro and this 80/90 mile hike I want to take on the Continental Divide Trail in south west Colorado, and I've always wanted to see Victoria Falls, and there's this crazy idea I have of airlifting Jackie so we can spend some time in the middle of some wilderness some where. That and I haven't mentioned the Harley Softail I just bought back when I thought I knew what my future income would be.
Anyway, I got a lot left I want to accomplish and I'm not ready, by a long shot, to give up yet so stay tune for the next exciting adventure.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
We'll see how this goes. The laptop I'm writing on like to encounter a problem every fifteen minutes or so and need to close Th her laptop, along with all the wok I've done is in the hands of Bill Schmidt, a computer wiz friend. The prognosis at the moment is unknown but favorable in the even if the other is trashed, my files are most likely recoverable. So I'm sitting on my hands here waiting for this computer to boot me off. I have been thus entertained for two days and in that time, this is the longest thing I've written, being unsure if when then computer tells me it's got to close, will I have enough time to save it.
I saved the above. I guess that's what I'll have to do; write a little and save. It could be worse. My hand could still be curled up into a useless ball. Things can always be worse. When I first went into the hospital things got progressively worse for three days. At my worst my right arm and right ankle would not work at all. I spent several days staring at my big toe willing it to move. I was very excited the first time it twitched. I. needed help to stand and got no support from my right leg. It was very disconcerting, I seemed to get better during the day, but the next morning I'd wake up worse than I started the day before It turn out nit took time for the stroke to manifest itself what with swelling in the brain and all that.
I'm doing remarkably well for the stroke I had. That's the semi-official language, and I am doing quite well. They expected me to go home in a wheel chair and I walked out with a cane. I get around the house mostly without it now. My leg is coming back very well. It fairly good for walking, not all that much support if I kneel on it. My arm and hand is giving me more problems. The two complications are I'm right handed, which is more of an irritant, and then other is a previous rotator cuff injury. With the stroke it caused it to freeze up a bit so there is a lot of pain when I try to move it beyond a certain point. I can lift my arm parallel to the ground, and then the pain kicks in. With help, some body else moving it,, it will go higher if it's moved very slow, it is not intolerable. This is too the side. I can crawl it up a wall straight in front of me.
So Monday I get a shot of cortisone in my shoulder. It's been painful mostly at night for over a year. The shot is supposed to take care of the pain and help with the inflammation causing it. Then we're hoping I get back the full rang of motion and I can start strengthening it. Right now In have very little strength in my right arm, and the former muscle of my bicep has slipped Dow to flop like jello.
I saved the above. I guess that's what I'll have to do; write a little and save. It could be worse. My hand could still be curled up into a useless ball. Things can always be worse. When I first went into the hospital things got progressively worse for three days. At my worst my right arm and right ankle would not work at all. I spent several days staring at my big toe willing it to move. I was very excited the first time it twitched. I. needed help to stand and got no support from my right leg. It was very disconcerting, I seemed to get better during the day, but the next morning I'd wake up worse than I started the day before It turn out nit took time for the stroke to manifest itself what with swelling in the brain and all that.
I'm doing remarkably well for the stroke I had. That's the semi-official language, and I am doing quite well. They expected me to go home in a wheel chair and I walked out with a cane. I get around the house mostly without it now. My leg is coming back very well. It fairly good for walking, not all that much support if I kneel on it. My arm and hand is giving me more problems. The two complications are I'm right handed, which is more of an irritant, and then other is a previous rotator cuff injury. With the stroke it caused it to freeze up a bit so there is a lot of pain when I try to move it beyond a certain point. I can lift my arm parallel to the ground, and then the pain kicks in. With help, some body else moving it,, it will go higher if it's moved very slow, it is not intolerable. This is too the side. I can crawl it up a wall straight in front of me.
So Monday I get a shot of cortisone in my shoulder. It's been painful mostly at night for over a year. The shot is supposed to take care of the pain and help with the inflammation causing it. Then we're hoping I get back the full rang of motion and I can start strengthening it. Right now In have very little strength in my right arm, and the former muscle of my bicep has slipped Dow to flop like jello.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Bleed
I very happy with how the novel is coming together. A few days ago I didn't know where it starts. I had a bunch of chapters not necessarily in order an now their in order. I'm confidant I can get a rough draft done in three week/a month.
I've been telling myself for a while now all I needed was the time to write and I could finish it. I've been telling myself that for years and now it turns out that I have the time and I was telling myself the truth. If anything I was overestimating the time I would need. I don't think I've fully realized that I actually going to finish it. It's coming together remarkably well and if I write the kind of novel I;m trying to write it going to be really good, really something.
This is all astonishing to me. I've got a bunch of stories that only need tweaking. I've never felt this confidant about my writing before and I feel like I'm on the edge of something huge. I can't believe I've got all this time and I can't believe how productive I'm being. I can't believe I get to write. It is such a huge gift.
Maybe that's what I'm most excited about, that I think this is a God thing, that other people who know me and my writing affirm this is a God thing, that I am engaged in calling. This is also very humbling. If I'm doing what I'm doing because I'm called to do it, I have to take on the responsibilities that go with it. Fortunately those responsibilities are the same thin you have to take on to produce art.
This brings up what I thin is one of the most truthful answers to the question, "How do you write?" The answerer is by some famous writer that you would know if you are at all literary, except I can't remember who said it. The quote is, "It's easy to write. All you have to do is sit in front of your type writer and bleed."
I've been telling myself for a while now all I needed was the time to write and I could finish it. I've been telling myself that for years and now it turns out that I have the time and I was telling myself the truth. If anything I was overestimating the time I would need. I don't think I've fully realized that I actually going to finish it. It's coming together remarkably well and if I write the kind of novel I;m trying to write it going to be really good, really something.
This is all astonishing to me. I've got a bunch of stories that only need tweaking. I've never felt this confidant about my writing before and I feel like I'm on the edge of something huge. I can't believe I've got all this time and I can't believe how productive I'm being. I can't believe I get to write. It is such a huge gift.
Maybe that's what I'm most excited about, that I think this is a God thing, that other people who know me and my writing affirm this is a God thing, that I am engaged in calling. This is also very humbling. If I'm doing what I'm doing because I'm called to do it, I have to take on the responsibilities that go with it. Fortunately those responsibilities are the same thin you have to take on to produce art.
This brings up what I thin is one of the most truthful answers to the question, "How do you write?" The answerer is by some famous writer that you would know if you are at all literary, except I can't remember who said it. The quote is, "It's easy to write. All you have to do is sit in front of your type writer and bleed."
Monday, February 15, 2010
Alterior motives
I'm planing on starting to work out this week. I go to Bally's. I'm allowed to use the machines I can sit down on, other wise I might fall over. My left isn't bad. It's weak from doing nothing but carry me around since the beginning of January. My right, on the other hand? It's like only that side of my body had the stroke. My left is weak because my right has been dragging it down. So my body is kind of schizophrenic right now.
The gauge I'm using to judge my strength right now is a gallon of milk in that I can't pick one up off the counter. That's a strength issue. I don't think I could pick up a half gallon. Maybe, maybe not. My right leg is stronger than my arm. It was less affected by the stroke. I' don't have a strength gauge for it yet. When I go to the club I can sit in one of those weight machines and see how much it pick up. Right now, all I can say is the other day I kneeled down on it, or rather tried to kneel down on it and I fell over. I'm fine. I just kind of rolled over. The point is it wouldn't hold me up.
There is also the range of motion issue. I seem to have full range in my leg, but I can't lift my right foot all the way. I have a hinge foot brace that helps keep my toes from dragging. It not too bad. It has a tendency to get worse when I get tired. All my symptoms do that. I also have good and bad days and things are a little harder on the bad days. My arm does not have full range of motion. I can lift it a little more than parallel to the ground. That's were the old rotator cuff injury comes in. We're, Julie my occupational therapist and me, aren't sure if it's the pain from that keeping me from raising my arm more. Next week Monday, a week from today, I get a shot of cortisone in my shoulder, which should clear up the pain. Then we're hoping I can make significant progress with lifting my arm.
This does nothing, however to address the strength issue. You do understand that until January fourth I was a construction worker. As much as I would like to admit I am totally secure in my manhood, the fact that I can't lift a half gallon of milk from my counter top is quite disconcerting and, to put it bluntly, I don't like it at all. The weakness of my body is a constant awareness I carry around with me. I know intellectually I am getting stronger by the day just walking around and doing every day thing but it pisses me off that I have to struggle to lift a full glass of water. I'll get my strength back. I know that, but I'll let you know right not it's not going to come back any where near fast enough for me.
And, did I mention the driving test I have to take?
So, have I made you all sympathetic. Good. Somebody cough up an elliptical machine.
The gauge I'm using to judge my strength right now is a gallon of milk in that I can't pick one up off the counter. That's a strength issue. I don't think I could pick up a half gallon. Maybe, maybe not. My right leg is stronger than my arm. It was less affected by the stroke. I' don't have a strength gauge for it yet. When I go to the club I can sit in one of those weight machines and see how much it pick up. Right now, all I can say is the other day I kneeled down on it, or rather tried to kneel down on it and I fell over. I'm fine. I just kind of rolled over. The point is it wouldn't hold me up.
There is also the range of motion issue. I seem to have full range in my leg, but I can't lift my right foot all the way. I have a hinge foot brace that helps keep my toes from dragging. It not too bad. It has a tendency to get worse when I get tired. All my symptoms do that. I also have good and bad days and things are a little harder on the bad days. My arm does not have full range of motion. I can lift it a little more than parallel to the ground. That's were the old rotator cuff injury comes in. We're, Julie my occupational therapist and me, aren't sure if it's the pain from that keeping me from raising my arm more. Next week Monday, a week from today, I get a shot of cortisone in my shoulder, which should clear up the pain. Then we're hoping I can make significant progress with lifting my arm.
This does nothing, however to address the strength issue. You do understand that until January fourth I was a construction worker. As much as I would like to admit I am totally secure in my manhood, the fact that I can't lift a half gallon of milk from my counter top is quite disconcerting and, to put it bluntly, I don't like it at all. The weakness of my body is a constant awareness I carry around with me. I know intellectually I am getting stronger by the day just walking around and doing every day thing but it pisses me off that I have to struggle to lift a full glass of water. I'll get my strength back. I know that, but I'll let you know right not it's not going to come back any where near fast enough for me.
And, did I mention the driving test I have to take?
So, have I made you all sympathetic. Good. Somebody cough up an elliptical machine.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
No Deposit, No Return
Jackie, please keep being my valentine? I know I'm no prise, but an ornery old , broken down cuss, especially now that I had a stroke, no guarantee for the future at least in this life, with a foot that flops, and the stroke playing with my emotions, so I'm liable to fly off the handle even more than before, spinning who knows where. I know it's got to be hard on you living with someone with quirks on top of quirks. It would be hard without MS, and feet that let you have a full nights sleep.
I'm sorry I don't know the answers to all your questions, even the simple ones like how are you. I've never been good at answering that, considering all the unknown variables. I don't know how I'll be the next minute let alone the next day or year. I take time to make up my mind about every thing, When you ask me how I like thing I consider the question, I pause and look and see what's there. Sometimes there is an answer. Most times more questions. My brain starts chasing them down whatever rabbit trail their running on.
Not all questions are like that. Some I know the answer to without thinking, like do I like pasta, if I know where God calling me am I willing to go, do I love to write, is my life better with you than without you. These thing I don't have to think about. These things I know.
I'm sorry I don't know the answers to all your questions, even the simple ones like how are you. I've never been good at answering that, considering all the unknown variables. I don't know how I'll be the next minute let alone the next day or year. I take time to make up my mind about every thing, When you ask me how I like thing I consider the question, I pause and look and see what's there. Sometimes there is an answer. Most times more questions. My brain starts chasing them down whatever rabbit trail their running on.
Not all questions are like that. Some I know the answer to without thinking, like do I like pasta, if I know where God calling me am I willing to go, do I love to write, is my life better with you than without you. These thing I don't have to think about. These things I know.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
chapter names
Naming chapters has suggested an ark. These are the chapters in tentative order. Meeting Fleetwood, Last Night Of Liberty, In Transit, Going Under-First Pass, Flooding In The Snakepit,
Battle Stations Missile, How Danny Paridise Started Smoking, How Cosgrove Got His Nickname, Playing Poker, Gods And Bombs, The Hand That Feeds You, The hand Of God, Confession And Repentance.
There are other chapters in between these but that all I have named so far. It enough to t6ell me the story has taken a definite turn. It's going to be a good novel. Heck with it. It's going to be a great novel. There. I said it. I'm going to feel really stupid if it sucks. What's that phrase I used to hear a lot on the boat. There is no gravity. The world sucks. The navy was not my best time, hence, great material. That's the danger of knowing writers. Everything is material, grist for the mill as they say. I promise to let a significant amount of time pass, get your permission, or give you a really good disguise before I put you on the page, unless you piss me off.
Never piss off a writer, we are devious by nature, and patient, we can bide our time, plot our next. move. sneak up with a subtlety you won't see us coming. Not that I would do anything like that. I'm just saying.
Battle Stations Missile, How Danny Paridise Started Smoking, How Cosgrove Got His Nickname, Playing Poker, Gods And Bombs, The Hand That Feeds You, The hand Of God, Confession And Repentance.
There are other chapters in between these but that all I have named so far. It enough to t6ell me the story has taken a definite turn. It's going to be a good novel. Heck with it. It's going to be a great novel. There. I said it. I'm going to feel really stupid if it sucks. What's that phrase I used to hear a lot on the boat. There is no gravity. The world sucks. The navy was not my best time, hence, great material. That's the danger of knowing writers. Everything is material, grist for the mill as they say. I promise to let a significant amount of time pass, get your permission, or give you a really good disguise before I put you on the page, unless you piss me off.
Never piss off a writer, we are devious by nature, and patient, we can bide our time, plot our next. move. sneak up with a subtlety you won't see us coming. Not that I would do anything like that. I'm just saying.
Friday, February 12, 2010
I can always dream
Okay, just start writing, that's the key. No need to decided what to write, just push the keys and if that doesn't work, push some more and eventually you'll start making sense, because, I mean, you do know words and how to put one after another and you keep doing that and they begin to say something even if it doesn't make much sense, it is writing and it counts as being creative because you are creating, putting some thing where there used to be nothing so that kind of makes you a functioning adult and your not wasting your time. You are stroking the muse, tickling her funny bone, pleading, if you will or if you won't, then humbly putting the sacrifice of words before her, hoping she won't laugh in your face, send you away with your tail between your legs. No you will stand before her. You will proclaim your writeitude, your place besides the pantheon, maybe not very hi up, not yet, but you can dream and Johnny Carson may not be around but Charley Rose is, isn't he? You can be on his show, slowly take a sip of your water and say, "Yes, Charley. It is humbling." You talk haltingly, struggling to find the right words, thinking to yourself how much easier it is on the page and you smile to yourself knowing the audience is wondering, who is this dolt. He wrote that? And you tell Charley, "You know I flunked English on a regular basis in high school." and you hope that bastard who flunked you twice is watching, squirming in his chair, because you know he can't admit he flunked you. Twice. He can't admit it because it wold prove what little depth he had. And you look at Charley and say that all you can say is it's really great and an honor to be there and you don't even have to mention your beautiful wife that all those jock and cool people from school have seen in the papers and on the news and sitting with you when you won you Oscar for best original screenplay and now it's up on a shelf in the closet with the others and you look at Charley and tell him all in all, you can't complain. It been a good life. And you sit back in you chair and Charley looks at the camera and says its time to take a break but stay tuned because he knows you'll want to hear more from our celebrated author who's come all the way from his villa on the Isle of Capri to be on are show.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Starting now
I've committed to writ ting four hours to day and, by a week from now to be writing five hours a day, and in two weeks, six hours a day. I'm aiming at a work day of eight hours. Six hours writing and two research and Internet stuff. I also have to start working on the novel today, which probably needs to take up half to three quarters of my writing time. The goal is to finish the novel (finish is a loose term) by the end of April so I have some form of completed manuscript to put in Dave Carlson's hands. You can hold he too that, Dave.
That goal and the smaller goals before it, are scary. Right now, I'm not sure if physically, I capable of writing four hours. The right arm is still very week with a significant amount of pain due to the rotatter cuff complication. The cortisone shot on Feb 22 ought to take care of that. There is no pain, thank you Jesus, associated with the stroke.
It scary because this is the shot I have to find out if I can make a go of writing for a significant part of my living. I'm probably not going to get another big block of time I can devote to writing unless I make a go of it now.
It scary because I don't just want to be a competent writer. I do but, I want to be a great writer. I want what I write to knock your socks off. I want it to knock my socks off. I want it to be obvious to at least some of you that the only way to account for what's going to come out of this stroke is say God did it. I want what I write to be so far beyond me the only explanation is God is the coauthor. So I'm shooting for something big and the scary part is if I fail, I'll have a long way to fall.
So, four hours a day today.
This counts.
That goal and the smaller goals before it, are scary. Right now, I'm not sure if physically, I capable of writing four hours. The right arm is still very week with a significant amount of pain due to the rotatter cuff complication. The cortisone shot on Feb 22 ought to take care of that. There is no pain, thank you Jesus, associated with the stroke.
It scary because this is the shot I have to find out if I can make a go of writing for a significant part of my living. I'm probably not going to get another big block of time I can devote to writing unless I make a go of it now.
It scary because I don't just want to be a competent writer. I do but, I want to be a great writer. I want what I write to knock your socks off. I want it to knock my socks off. I want it to be obvious to at least some of you that the only way to account for what's going to come out of this stroke is say God did it. I want what I write to be so far beyond me the only explanation is God is the coauthor. So I'm shooting for something big and the scary part is if I fail, I'll have a long way to fall.
So, four hours a day today.
This counts.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Orinigal Snot Nosed Kid
I have no idea what to write this morning, just pushing keys for now. Seeing what comes out if I just try and not stop the process of making words appear as if my magic on the screen in front of me , not stopping, keep pushing the keys , keep the pen on the page so to speak, since it would be difficult to do with my stroke spastic hand, It's a bitch that my stroke affected my right side, me being right handed an all, but what are you going to do, life happens, keeps rollling on, the clock doesn't stop.
That was rather intense, But now I have snot dripping from my nose so I have to get up to attend to that..
If that is too much information for you I advise you stop reading now because snot dripping from my nose is nothing knew. I was borne with a sever deviated septum. As I understand it, in a normal one the cartilage is bent over to one side, in mine the bone was bent. Anyway, I have often refereed to myself as "The original snot nosed kid." My nose has been running ever since I can remember. Not that it runs 24/7, but it runs a lot, especially in the winter, freezing on my lip on my way home from school. Ask my sister, Jo. Coming home from Saint John's she'd tell me to blow my nose and I'd blow It on her dress, sibling rivalry and all that, you know. When I got older and was in the Navy I got this head ache that lasted three years. Turns out the turns out the bent bone started pressing on the bone on the side of my nose and they hand to go in and break it. They gave me a couple of reds and stuffed my nose with gauze soaked in pharmaceutical coke and used a little stainless steel hammer and chisel.
That was rather intense, But now I have snot dripping from my nose so I have to get up to attend to that..
If that is too much information for you I advise you stop reading now because snot dripping from my nose is nothing knew. I was borne with a sever deviated septum. As I understand it, in a normal one the cartilage is bent over to one side, in mine the bone was bent. Anyway, I have often refereed to myself as "The original snot nosed kid." My nose has been running ever since I can remember. Not that it runs 24/7, but it runs a lot, especially in the winter, freezing on my lip on my way home from school. Ask my sister, Jo. Coming home from Saint John's she'd tell me to blow my nose and I'd blow It on her dress, sibling rivalry and all that, you know. When I got older and was in the Navy I got this head ache that lasted three years. Turns out the turns out the bent bone started pressing on the bone on the side of my nose and they hand to go in and break it. They gave me a couple of reds and stuffed my nose with gauze soaked in pharmaceutical coke and used a little stainless steel hammer and chisel.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Saints vs The Who: Saints Win
I am happy the Saints won. It has nothing to do with football. I didn't even watch the game, though I wouldn't have minded, but we don't have TV and getting around is a bit of a hassle these days. So I've got nothing against football, at least nothing I'm going to go into here because this blog is not about football. It's about New Orleans, and maybe a little about the Who, who make a good opposing view.
First, what happened to New Orleans was not a surprise, nor will it be a surprise when the Mississippi changes course again and flushes that chemical corridor right through down town. Some things are not if, there whens.
That said, due to the short attention span of our culture, a reminder is always a good thing. Though that we need to be reminded of a disaster of biblical proportions boggles the mind. As far as the Who goes and the trying to be generous review I read, some things should not try and rise from the ashes. If I were to boil the review down to it's essence it seemed to be saying for there age they did a good job and nobody really expected them to sound like The Who. The who was a great band. It would not be a stretch to say the wrote more than one anthem for their generation, but I think I saw their farewell concert tour some time in the eighties.
First, what happened to New Orleans was not a surprise, nor will it be a surprise when the Mississippi changes course again and flushes that chemical corridor right through down town. Some things are not if, there whens.
That said, due to the short attention span of our culture, a reminder is always a good thing. Though that we need to be reminded of a disaster of biblical proportions boggles the mind. As far as the Who goes and the trying to be generous review I read, some things should not try and rise from the ashes. If I were to boil the review down to it's essence it seemed to be saying for there age they did a good job and nobody really expected them to sound like The Who. The who was a great band. It would not be a stretch to say the wrote more than one anthem for their generation, but I think I saw their farewell concert tour some time in the eighties.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
What to write for money.
I've been looking over the Writer's Market on line, now that I'm desperate to make a living from behind my laptop since, having a stroke, that's the only place I'll be able to work from for the foreseeable future, and it seems to be I should go for primarily the non-fiction markets: I'm thinking personal essay or just essays. I'll send in short stories and I'll keep working on the novel, but I'm thinking I can crank out some essays. i can be funny and I definitely have a unique voice that I'm not afraid of sharing on the page.
So, how about I start out trying to write something topical every day. Maybe I can check out the news and look for things of interest to me and write about them. I'm pretty sure the hardest part will be picking the subject, I'll try that and see how it goes.
So, how about I start out trying to write something topical every day. Maybe I can check out the news and look for things of interest to me and write about them. I'm pretty sure the hardest part will be picking the subject, I'll try that and see how it goes.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Friday. Been home a week and a day. Still subject to bits of instability. I loose my balance at the drop of a hat. The eating thing is a trip. I eat whatever Jackie puts in front of me. It's got to be a God thing that's taken away my gag reflex with the things I'm no used to eating. In the hospital, when the started feeding me, a couple/three or four days after I got in, I remember stabbing some vegie with my fork and raising my eyes to God. There was a lot in that gesture. There was who I've been with food. I thought of myself as having an eating disorder stemming from childhood.. I pretty much gagged on things I normally didn't eat. I had mad some progress with Jackie's help but it was minimal. Looking up I was acknowledging the circumstance before God and my inability to overcome it. There was also the knowledge that God can do what He likes and He is good. Kierkegaard says there are two steps in a leap of faith. The first is acknowledgement what you want to happen is imposable. The second is moving ahead on what he calls "the strength of the absurd," the foolish notion that through God, anything is possible. I did not make a bargain with God. I acknowledged the circumstances as I stood before God, put the vegie in my mouth and started chewing in an attitude of submission toward God doing whatever he was going to do.
I don't have an eating disorder, It's gone. The only answerer I have is God took it away.
I don't have an eating disorder, It's gone. The only answerer I have is God took it away.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Morning. Previously about now I would be heading out to my truck with tools to drive into work, Now I can't carry the tools. Now I'm sitting here in front of the fire with coffee in my sweats with the morning before me, sitting in front of this word processor with all the time I want to write, like I've been dreaming of and praying for that some day I'd get. So hear it is. It wasn't quite the way I had in mind. I guess I really didn't have any way in mind, just dreaming and praying of some vague and mysterious time when I could write and my novel would be finished, rough and final draft I suddenly I wold be an author and published and living on a chuck of land outside of Chattanooga working in my Norm Abrams wood shop and summering with Jackie on the Isle of Capri and agreeing with Dickens that the Almaffie Coast is one of the most beautiful places on earth.
However it's morning and I'm not in Capri or Chattanooga, and I have a lot of work to do to finish the novel and I here writing in my blog so I can get used to Writing anything again, get used to banging the keys to see what will come out, to see if I haven't lost my chops, to shake the rust out of the old noggin, to, now that I've had a stroke, to get over it and get on with the rest of my life.
However it's morning and I'm not in Capri or Chattanooga, and I have a lot of work to do to finish the novel and I here writing in my blog so I can get used to Writing anything again, get used to banging the keys to see what will come out, to see if I haven't lost my chops, to shake the rust out of the old noggin, to, now that I've had a stroke, to get over it and get on with the rest of my life.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Well well well, It's Wednesday. It's been a month. Seems a lot longer.
It's hard to starting after so long a hiatus. It's been years. I almost don't remember what it feels like. It would be different if I was going to write something small, but it's the write for the next six month, or from now on that I find daunting. That's a lot of writing, a lot to say. Maybe I'll try one of my old writing exercises.
Soap castle nitroglycerin aim toothpaste whiplash, soldier fan;tan blemish saddle clock backslide needle focsul camera filter slip float pierce camshaft fleece anchor Watusi cloak libertine antsy majorette flimsy lubricate humus sojourn click liquor fox bed sight list tingle plod airport fizzle lambaste action hint speed flap lantern military hum fickle bliss bobber silkscreen ampule tick slot baggage industry hammer antidote
Well, I got a nice image of a fishing bobber going down, that quick little jerk sending out ripples. It was two bites, one right after the other, the second set of ripples riding over the other. If I back track follow the line out of the water and back to the pole, I come to the hand holding it I go up the arm and the fisherman n is turning to the other person it the boat. "I'm getting a bite." he says. Then the bobber really goes down and he jerks the pole and says this time, "I got 'im," and he begins to work the real. keeping a strain on the hook. Then the tip of the rod gives way and he knows he lost the fish. "Shit, Through me another beer,"
It's hard to starting after so long a hiatus. It's been years. I almost don't remember what it feels like. It would be different if I was going to write something small, but it's the write for the next six month, or from now on that I find daunting. That's a lot of writing, a lot to say. Maybe I'll try one of my old writing exercises.
Soap castle nitroglycerin aim toothpaste whiplash, soldier fan;tan blemish saddle clock backslide needle focsul camera filter slip float pierce camshaft fleece anchor Watusi cloak libertine antsy majorette flimsy lubricate humus sojourn click liquor fox bed sight list tingle plod airport fizzle lambaste action hint speed flap lantern military hum fickle bliss bobber silkscreen ampule tick slot baggage industry hammer antidote
Well, I got a nice image of a fishing bobber going down, that quick little jerk sending out ripples. It was two bites, one right after the other, the second set of ripples riding over the other. If I back track follow the line out of the water and back to the pole, I come to the hand holding it I go up the arm and the fisherman n is turning to the other person it the boat. "I'm getting a bite." he says. Then the bobber really goes down and he jerks the pole and says this time, "I got 'im," and he begins to work the real. keeping a strain on the hook. Then the tip of the rod gives way and he knows he lost the fish. "Shit, Through me another beer,"
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Why I'm back
So I'm back. Ha!
I plan on using this to get the writing juices flowing, prime the pump, so you're liable to get anything here, from the profound to the absurd. Oh and I starting my campaign for the prez now, too. Same platform, No BS, Or at least the bs will be obvious so you know what is is up front. Sort of like campaign rhetoric. Say I promise to put a Harley in every driveway. You pretty much can know I'm only talking about my drive way. On the ot6her hand I will be serious too.
I hope that will be self evident too. Like if I say thank God I've got a good attitude having had a stroke, I'm being serious. I think I'd be pretty miserable without Him. I'll occasionally comment on currant events, like a news paper columnist. I have a secret urge to be Mike Royko, not that I want to be mugged or dead or anything; I just think there's a lot of shit going on that I like to comment on. There's also this stroke thing. I'll be using this too figure out who I am now, I mean I know I'm still me, but I'm a different me now. Me plus stroke. I'm in the middle of it, or actually I haven't Reached the middle of it. I'm Kind of excited to see how I'll be on the other side of it, say a tear from now?
I plan on using this to get the writing juices flowing, prime the pump, so you're liable to get anything here, from the profound to the absurd. Oh and I starting my campaign for the prez now, too. Same platform, No BS, Or at least the bs will be obvious so you know what is is up front. Sort of like campaign rhetoric. Say I promise to put a Harley in every driveway. You pretty much can know I'm only talking about my drive way. On the ot6her hand I will be serious too.
I hope that will be self evident too. Like if I say thank God I've got a good attitude having had a stroke, I'm being serious. I think I'd be pretty miserable without Him. I'll occasionally comment on currant events, like a news paper columnist. I have a secret urge to be Mike Royko, not that I want to be mugged or dead or anything; I just think there's a lot of shit going on that I like to comment on. There's also this stroke thing. I'll be using this too figure out who I am now, I mean I know I'm still me, but I'm a different me now. Me plus stroke. I'm in the middle of it, or actually I haven't Reached the middle of it. I'm Kind of excited to see how I'll be on the other side of it, say a tear from now?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Stroke me, stroke me, add guitar riff here
I had a stroke. I may be wobbly but I have time to do a blog again I try not to make any typos but my fingers are a little spastic. That and I have to pay attention or I fall over. I'm also on a new diet. Pre-stroke I was what is known as a finicky eater, more precisely, a carnivore. Now I intend to eat healthy, rather my wife intends that I eat healthy and I've agreed to go along.
Apparently, I'm doing a lot of other new things, making new connections, bypassing the dead part of my brain where the old connections were.
Apparently, I'm doing a lot of other new things, making new connections, bypassing the dead part of my brain where the old connections were.
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