Good news, bad news, odd news

Here's the good news; nothing growing in my throat, and the ENT Doctor almost left me speechless.  The guy listened, never interrupted me, never twisted what I said, or asked a question, then interrupt the answer.  In other words, he was nothing like the others.

I made an effort to have my thoughts together so I could get him up to speed quickly and concisely.  I'm still stunned at how attentively and pleasantly he listened.  Not since the dermatologist, Lopez, have I experienced anyone paying such attention.

It goes back to the less than satisfactory internist, Flores.  Except I have no intention of dealing with him further.  And I agree with this new guy, Dr. Keith Jackson, that it is in the esophagus, and it is muscle spasms.  Not sure the cause.  But in order not to step on toes, he sends it back. Plus, it is what I told them I thought.

Anyway, if you need an ear, nose, and/or throat specialist in San Diego County, Jackson is the person to find.  Besides every room in his 5th floor office, waiting room and exam room included, has  a real great view of city and mountains.

The bad news is that I can't get this guy to take over for hematologists, and internists.  Good news, not throat issue, per se.   This may be fixable; almost certainly is.

Sometimes, often, I post stuff here because I want a record in case I forget, I can check and see where I have been.  It was odd, in my mind, that nothing would be seen, but I had told people, when I called in pain, that it was below my throat, behind sternum, upper sternum.   People with poor problem solving skills in any line of work tend to annoy me.

There is a very good chance I can fix this issue, and that maybe a maintenance does of the poison, eventually, is all I have to worry with, and that I will experience a near miraculous outcome.  Already, much of that has happened.

Next step, I go to TSA to see if they can run imaging to check for esophageal contraband.  If anything in there was missed by Dr Useless, or awakened during the scopy deal,  we'll find out.  Especially if it is shaped like a gun, or like a pop tart shaped like a gun.

I think I won't be a goner for a long time yet.  Maybe I'll get my place cleaned up. That is just about the entire bucket list.

Today was good, and that may be a bad timing if people want to run cameras up your nose.  Nothing to see here, move along.  If I had not seen data that was irrefutable, I would think I made up this entire saga and that I was creating all my own troubles.  Except when some sort of episode is in progress.  Then I don't think so.   But I do believe I will be as close to cured as it gets.  It is obviously headed that way.

Miracle boy. Or destined to never really have it all that tough.  Seriously, it is my fate, and the consistency of this syndrome is what encourages me to even entertain the idea of destiny.  It may take a minute, but this deal is going to work out OK.  It is remarkable how one can consciously influence physical maladies mentally.  I try to remember.  When I do, all is much better and more easily handled.  It won't make things perfect, but it helps.

Some people have things to learn.  It can be entertaining and interesting.



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You'll Know It Was Me

More properly, you'll know it was I.

I will be the one who beats up a local internist for being a smarmy, arrogant, chicken shit, spineless creep.  I got tired of calling him, explaining the pain would have landed me in the emergency room had anyone been here to drive, and having him act like it was all a lie.  "Well we didn't see anything that would cause blablabla.

The problem became a problem immediately following having a camera shoved down my throat.  Fair enough, but don't tell me, "There's no way that could have caused anything."  I am not the suing type.  However, depending upon how this goes, I may consider suing Dr Flores--Sergio---for being an arrogant ass.

He called me up angry because I had his office send records to an ear nose throat guy.  He originally wanted to put it to ENT.  At that time most pain was lower.  Now it is there too.  Got laryngitis and the pain stopped.  Got well from that and had steady pain for over 24 hours.  Some hours worse than others.  I took every boot leg pain killer, valium and muscle relaxer certain friends had in the cabinet.

That was the only way through it and to sleep.  I woke up better.  It has happened a few times before. Like every several days.

The medical world has gone to hell, and is going to go more to hell.  Centralized bureaucracy is evil.  Doesn't matter if it is insurance companies or government.  And being able to sue those who make honest effort is not good.  Someone like Flores, sue his arrogant ignorant ass.  He is smart enough to have the job, but too damned ignorant to know he cannot possible know better than I do how I feel, and what I feel.  He just wanted to avoid all responsibility.  Had no desire whatsoever to solve the problem.

So, how can I believe a guy like that will catch what needs catching from the camera images or video?

I told them all time and time again that the whole trouble centered between that dent where you do a tracheotomy and the diaphragm.

When you have nothing to lose, you do wonder what will stop you from punching a bastard like Dr Flores when he shows his face, or what will stop me from just trashing their bureaucratic wildness and nonsense.  At Scripps you go to all these desks then to the doctor then back to the desks. Then who knows.

If these mofos kill me out of being lily livered ****** etc. , then I plan on beating up a couple on my 3way out.  Would take them out because who wants to see them on the other side?  I'd just punch them in the nose, or maybe sucker punch to the gut.

This is Working Out

The poison pill is doing its job.  The count for the main culprit dropped by almost half.  It is just about in the range of normalcy.  This means I probably take some poison forever, but other things will reappear, like iron, and energy will against visit me.

Next solve the swallowing issue and life is grand.

Played the wounded warrior CD event with Chris Hamilton and band.  It was an interesting time.  There are people from 30 to 70 years old in that band.  It was a little rough from lack of everyone practicing together, but it wasn't bad.  The musicians are all really good.

The number one enemy, until you reach a level beyond my imagining, is the friggin sound system and set up. Why places get it so wrong, I am not sure.  Tonight I think the resonator player and I could hear one another but the room couldn't.  Monitors not in line with the mains.  So, we enjoyed the show more than anyone because we heard everything.

I am thinking that there is a chance of a real bounce-back within a month or two.   The JAK2 gene mutation is unlikely to un-mutate.   As a result of the mutated gene, the off switch in the bone marrow  malfunctions.  Enter the pusher man, saying, "Take a pill!".

The pill kills something which halts much of the cell production.   A makeshift off switch, which one learns to control properly through dosage experimentation and adjustment. Doing so well that we just keep doing what we're doing for another 3 months.  I bet the dosage gets cut in half then.

It is kind of cool, however it seems to me that the whole stem cell situation could be manipulated on a molecular scale,   Un-mutation seems possible to me.

Crazy world.  Some physicians resent it mightily if you dare not have  a primary care doctor.  The think everyone has the time and money to work it out as they see fit.

Summary

I keep writing things, then deciding they are too whatever, so I revert them to "draft" status where they won't see the light of day.

Anyway, I play a cd release party with a guy who has a song on an album by various veterans around the country. I don't know the whole deal. It will be OK.

Then Friday night I play a place with the band. Never known anyone who loved to sing more than Sande.

It is a challenge for me to keep up with what I have to do.  Maybe that is what it takes for me to appreciate things, and make some effort. I think that is the case.  And I'm optimistic, cheerful, and curious.  No telling what is next.

Wow. Are People That Angry?

So, being a nincompoop I was on FB, facebook, el libro de la cara, The Devil, and I noticed something; there are many poster looking posts with things like, "I'm not sad because you are gone, I'm just disappointed to see you for who you really are.  And I mourn for the wasted time I spent with you".

Really.  I made that up, and it is a toned down version of that theme.  The theme being, if you did not stay with me, or I chose to leave, you suck and I am now empowered.

Few will admit the truth.  I will.  I am alone because I am an idiot.  Not because I picked the wrong ones or any of that garbage.  Geez, I'm the "wrong one" that they talk about--"won't make that mistake again.  No more perfect guys for me!!"   I'm sure that's how it goes.

Maybe not.  I may have placed the word "perfect" where another adjective or two  would be better suited.

But why are so many people posting and circulating slogans that are all about how any conflict in life is because everyone but you (whoever is posting) is evil?  Or they are stupid, worthless, shallow, undeserving vermin.

There seems to be a real effort to cultivate anger.  As if all the righteous indignation over manufactured dramas elevates one into some elite category of intelligentsia.   But what we have is dimwittery.  Ever popular, and to some a form of consolation.  I'm sorry people find such things cool, reasonable and worth sharing.

People, overall, tend to treat me well enough.  There are those who warrant avoidance.

To me, it looks like a way for people, who find dumb drama and anger a hobby,  to beat others to the "screw you and I don't care" punch.

Anger is so overrated as a passtime and as a way to earn respect.

Yea, Right!!

Much of my life and the episodes therein, fall into the if-you-didn't-see-it-for-yourself-you-would't-believe-it category.  That leaves me with a challenge; how do I keep the story interesting, yet tone it down so as not to stretch credulity.   De-dramatizing the truth can often make it more believable.

Cremated

If they do kill me, I want to be cremated, and tossed out in the Caribbean.   If that can't be arranged, then scatter me over the best looking, and nicest unmarried women I know.  You'll have to make that up as you go.

Ace in the Hole

All of the preceding is true, and I am displeased with this stuff, but I can't forget one important fact;  I'm the miracle boy.

Matters not if you are atheist or whatever, there is more to life than meets the eye.  I'd think just a cursory brush with quantum physics would demonstrate that.  And I have been far more fortunate than many when it comes to some out of nowhere rescue when I am hanging by my nails over a cliff.

I won't elaborate, but I know.  It doesn't mean that this time biology and Newtonian physics won't finally send me packing, but I would be ungrateful for past favors if I discount the possibility that this can get better.  I say "favors" because that is how it felt when I thought I was doomed and boom, I escaped.

I'm one who believes in multidimensional states of being, which could imply parallel universes and all that. I don't go that far, but I do believe there could be a lot going on we just don't see.  We know some aspects of matter and being, but not enough to even make sense of existence.

Like, just now, an item I searched for time and time again over the last two days suddenly appeared out of nowhere in plain view.  I choose to believe it slid into another dimension and finally slid back.

So, I have to believe improvement is possible.  Matters not if anyone thinks otherwise.  Always gets me when self styled science types pretend to know what is absolutely impossible.  That is rote science.  For parrots.  It is not how the real scientists create so many great things.

Alright. Maybe there is hope.  I cannot ever let myself get too mopey, regardless of all.  Not again,.  Mopey and depressed are not my friends.  So, adios you crazy things.

Not Working Out

Remind me never to fall apart in a way that compels me to seek medical help, ever again!!  Whatever they broke inside when they shoved a camera down my throat is not getting better like I hoped that it would.

The worst part is when you feel like you are arguing with a goddam doctor who is either afraid to be wrong, afraid to be caught without an answer, or afraid to be sued.  I find it hard to believe they can be that flat out stupid.  But you never know.

This day I could not go anywhere.  If I moved that thing would get weird, making it hard to even swallow water.  I think some crazy stomach activity puts a little back pressure on the system, and that upper hiatal hernia pushes through enough that the nerves hit aren't sure if things are going down or back up.  So muscles react spasmodically and it traps that pushed through part.  The result feels like a brain freeze but somewhere just below the throat.  But it doesn't easily vanish.

Pretty sure they biopsied something there and that little nip was all it needed to make it worse.  It is bleeding from somewhere.  That comes and goes, but I think it is worse during these episodes.  Episodes lasting 12 or 18 hours are not good.  I just do not want to call the guy up again, defend myself as if I am inventing the issue, listen to him try to push me off on an ear, nose, throat specialist, and deal with the bureaucracy of the medical office.

Oh, and I have to deal with the fast talking valley speak girls.  They will ask a question as if the entire sentence were one word.  There may be some intonation cluing me that it is a question.  Not always.  Ask what it was she just said and she'll say exactly the same way, unintelligibly.  I have to tell the lass I cannot understand even one word and maybe saying it another way would help.

So, I have no faith they'll fix this. Besides this whole other thing, for which I take a poison pill, is enough trouble.  Really.  At this rate I'll be dead by fall.  And in this condition I can't do anything that requires much.

It better go away.  I have to play twice this weekend.  The wounded warrior guy wants me to practice friday.  I have to see that stuff gets done at work.

I am screwed.  Maybe it will get better and I'll have some more of those days, characterized by lack of debilitating symptoms.  Those are days when I think I am fine and maybe I can just cancel further medical experiences in the near future.   Maybe I will do just that.  I have grown to hate the direction that all authority, corporate culture, and government tainted enterprises have taken. It is mass insanity.

At any rate I get so fed up I just want to be away from it.  These people were checking for internal bleeding, caused a bigger problem as they pulled the rig out, and then say "Oh, we didn't see anything that would cause the problem".  What?  Of course not. You did it on the way out.

Who can blame them?  I would not be able to work as a doctor under the system as it has evolved.  It is nuts and has been getting nuttier for many years.  Insurance companies changed.  They brought us lots of weirdness like HMOs.  Many of which are unbelievably incompetent and not helpful. And they brought us this latest debacle that people think is an effort to provide everyone with access to healing technology and treatment.

Such fools to believe that the motive for such government/insurance (or any business) partnerships has anything to do with helping people, looking out for the little guy--whoever that is--and all the other talk that implies institutions are God.

Dangle something "free" out there, throw in a little class hatred, and people will sucker for anything.

If I die before this place gets cleaned up and I get most things out of here and out of the landlord's way, let them know I am sorry about it.  I am sorry to have made myself sick.  No one said I did.  I just feel like it is my fault, and I am no good, etc.  Pretty sure I'd tell another guy in my shoes that he's an idiot and not powerful enough to make his own gene mutate, etc.

I told them from the start where things center.  They keep thinking it is a case of concurrent but not directly related conditions.  I think they are wrong.  And this is becoming more than a person living alone can really take.  I don't know what to do next.
This will probably fade some more and I'll feel better.  I hope so.  I am more than angry at the hematologist who says, "that's for the internal guy, I deal with your blood issues", and the internal guy who says, "It was only a small hernia and I didn't see anything that would cause that. Maybe it is for the ear nose throat guy."  Come on!!  These are guys with big reputations.  I guess they just sweep the troubling cases under the rug, they die, and no one is any the wiser.

I somewhat pity the next doctor I visit and the next valley girl talking staff person who crosses my path.  I'll look like a total ass and lunatic, but it will be highly uncomfortable for them, too, being stuck there while I go into a hopeless rage.  Next blood test is maybe on the 21st, and the hemo guy on the 23rd. Can't cancel that. It is the only thread I have.  And that bone marrow problem deserves the tests to know what is left of any use flowing through my veins.  Ice water, for sure.  Also to see what influence the poison pill has.

But those symptoms are only the constant fatigue, some confusion, occasional skin itch attacks and like that.  The esophageal thing is what totally incapacitates me.  And no way I can let them stick any more probes down there to look. Not unless they are surgically correcting it.  This sucks.  I think I am not going to weather all this like I had hoped.

Too much going on that they ignored because it was inconvenient or didn't have a good specific typical label for insurance. Or government or whoever is being robbed to pay for most of this madness.

I can't do this anymore. But I will try.  Maybe in awhile I will feel better.  Otherwise it is nearly impossible to do anything that involves getting up and moving.

[EXPLETIVE OF YOUR CHOICE HERE]!!!!!!! over and over again, screamed loudly
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Just so I Have It Down

How long since the last attack of the phantom esophagus monster?  No way to sleep but I think I have it all figured out, but not totally on how to avoid the flare up.
That is neither here nor there.
This is highly unacceptable.  It makes it tough to even think.  All remedies being employed, but too little, too late to prevent troubles.  So now it is still a ride it out sort of deal.
It has been a couple of days since this happened. At least. So peace is possible. We have none of that at this moment.
If I happen to doze off, it goes away until it wakes me up,.

Getting Good Help

It is surprisingly difficult to find people to assist me in the cushy part time job.  And I hang in circles where people need money and often can use the work.  No matter.  They'd rather just not, in many cases.

My situation is such that I need someone to do the stuff I want to do but pretty much can't at this time.  So, I need someone who will do good work, has some awareness of the place and job, and who isn't a psychopath trying to take my job.  Even this little outfit has good guys, bad guys, and drama.

So, I run into a drummer who had been up the coast for several months.  He has skills that will work fine.  I may have to discourage overdoing the perfectionism.  The main thing is that this will allow me to fulfill my obligations to the workplace and not let my personal issues put me at the mercy of evil doers who would steal my job.  The old manager knew that I am irreplaceable, just because.

I'm not so sure the new manager knows this.  Hard to say.   At this point, maybe not.

The drummer, D1, got the tour today and helped me do a few things.  He'll make more than I will overall, but things will get done that I find difficult.  Playing is easier.  People know I may have to lay out at any moment but it is different.  Plus, I think I play better than I do labor.  I've done plenty of each.

Here's some stuff.


http://www.reverbnation.com/enterthebluesky

I Told Them The Epicenter Was Right Here

It may take hours I do not have to just down a bowl of oatmeal.  This is the annoying thing about doctors.  They ignore the truth when it comes from the subject(patient).  In their mind you are a subject, there to pay them and let them pronounce easy labels for your ills, despite loose ends that leaves.

I told them this is not really as much a case concurrent, unrelated conditions as it seems.  I said the center of all this is right here, pointing to sternum-diaphram region.

If only I knew for sure what sets it off.  I know that all night long and still into today, it is hard to even get water to go down. It just sits there on top of what feels like a brain freeze, except in the middle of my chest.  It is no good at all. It sits there and I have to spit it out and try agin. Eventually it goes down.  But the feeling of something stuck there, like maybe a flap of something they hooked with the endoscopy rig got pulled inside out in that region.

If I die from this, at least it is here.  I told the guy weeks ago there was a problem. I called on two occasions.  I was so pissed that his reaction was, "well we did not see anything", that I gave up at that time.  Now this is interfering with me performing simple house sitting for friends who depend on me.

Stupid twit, if you ripped things up while removing the cam, I doubt you saw it. What insulting bastards. It is all a CYA thing.  I am not looking for a lawsuit, just relief.  He seems to think I don't know how I feel.  His nurse had the look of knowing this is real.

People do not get how I am operating.  It takes me at least a day or two of easy rest to go perform for two hours somewhere.  And I might be feeling great, but I pay later for some reason.  Fatigue or this damned lump below my throat feeling debilitates me.  It is painful, nauseating, and no good.

Such a hassle to deal with the bureaucratic doctor mess that I try to avoid it.  Plus it is far away.  I do not know how I am going to get this week worked out, or our future obligations to play music.

All I want is to get my house made right. Get rid of clutter so the landlord won't be burdened further with it in the shed, and then I will be OK.  All has to be cleaned sanitized made holy.

Then I can be OK.  I do not think this is a situation which will improve, long term.  The problem is more here than in the bone marrow, even it that is screwed too.  I'm out of warranty.  I have to never again agree to do favors when I have doubts, even if it seems like I am being a jerk. Now we are all in a lurch.

The Weird, The Good, and The Other

Everything at work is always changing.  I'm not too sure the new manager sees my value, but then that makes two of us, many times.

I could be wrong.  Neglecting to tell me when people are leaving and other schedule changes is a little like your parents moving while you are at school, without leaving a forwarding address.

In other news, the Marine wants me to record more in the studio on Monday.  I will try to make it.

Sande wants to record tomorrow morning.  It is a home rig, and I don't know the details.  If I am not running it or don't own it, I leave it to others.  Whenever home recording is done, if you aren't careful everyone wants to be in charge and have their input.  Play your part and let the engineer handle the rest.  Don't get involved until the very last, and only then if you have to.   That works best for me.

Tomorrow morning, Diego, the guy from Mockingbird, is bringing his equipment to Sande's and he's engineering the session.  It is his equipment, and he has volunteered this.  I definitely trust this guy's judgement and artistry.  I am so surprised he is doing this.  Huge compliment in my book.

Next week, house sitting, with Max, the Great Pyrenees. He is about my size, but stronger and has better temper control.  He gets his feelings hurt or he just stubbornly won't move sometimes.  That is about as vicious as he gets.  Pouting and stubbornness.  Mostly he is just nice.  But this is a huge challenge for me because I have to worry about leaving him every time I go away.  He's not alone for 12 hours at a shot, so I have to work to avoid super long times away.

If only I could rest all that time.  But I can't.  Maybe the killer pill is doing its job and I will be feeling better with more energy.  That can happen I think.

For some reason the playing is useful, but I realize I get embarrassed around my non-musician friends.  I feel stupid like an old show biz sort who never did anything.  All I do is play for no discernible reason, and some people like it well enough that they either ask me to join their projects or they come listen. It happens.  But last night I was embarrassed at end of night.

My friends and I took Uber from Pt Loma.  They made me play for the driver. Then they wanted me to play an be recorded when we got to their house.  I decided to quit saying no to them or arguing so I just did as asked.  But then I felt stupid.  I know that was no one's intent. But it is not quite who I am or want to be.  Maybe it is who I am and that freaks me out and makes me deeply sad.

I have no time for sadness.  Besides now is no time for that.  If I can keep a level of joy or positive attitude going, I believe my system has a better chance of stabilizing and not killing me quick.

There is work to be done on the job, too.  And I know I am still up against Uriah Heap and his mom, and the rest of their crew at work.  So strange how people will turn and betray for the most petty of rewards or goals.  It is pitiful.  I would hate to be like that.

Maybe I will end up making money another way. Or not.  I cannot get any worse or work will for sure be out the window.  This way it is only a maybe.  And maybe not.

I thought the studio engineer and producer hated me because they said nothing to me between takes, only to the lead guitar who was laying down tracks simultaneously with me.  Turns out the silence was due to the fact that they liked what I was doing but wanted something different out of the guitar.  So, it was opposite to what I thought.  I have to watch that. I am of that kind of easily hurt feelings when nothing of the sort is intended.  I try not to let that happen too much.

So, it is all complimentary and lucky for me.  But it is hard to meet commitments.  All this last minute stuff.  I have to do the house and Max.  It is the least I can do for people who have been so kind and loyal and supportive.  Max and I will have a little retreat and get in touch with our inner selves and the soul of the universe.  We'll be doing yoga and tai chi, and maybe some salsa dancing.

I hope he doesn't start barking at birds or cats.  At least his bark sounds like an innocent, possibly slow witted predator, rather than a vicious one.  But he is smart in that he knows what you are talking about so it makes conversation easier.  He knows all.  Except he's a little superstitious.

My Nightly Roll of the Die

It was a stroke of luck that my daily dose of poison occurs at night.  They say take it about the same time every day.  Why they do not advise taking it at night is a puzzle.  No time of day is specified.

I got the idea because a hematologist in Iowa came to my acquaintance through my ex boss, the house manager who hired me way back.  Her brother in law has reviewed my stuff and gave the proper Dx long ago.

He is quite the guy.  He actually cares and pays attention, and thinks to himself, "How can I make this process easier for my patients to take?"  It is obvious. He doesn't say it.  Not like politicians who claim such compassion in areas of life where they do not belong.  But he found that evening hours for certain things made life much less unpleasant for his clients.  The man is a saint.  And he really helped guide me, and indirectly some of the medical people here.

Anyway, I found out that he goes in at night to administer chemo and such to his ailing cancer patients.  He did it at night because they are more likely to do OK and to sleep through the worst.

I do not think the people handling my case are even close to that considerate.  I'm beginning to think they hate most of their patients--bunch of whiney creeps, dying of cancer.  They exist for the benefit of the doctor's ego and that is it!

And you think Obama and Pelosi's system helps this?  Keep drinking that koolaid. They didn't even know what was in the bill, and still don't. Neither do we, really.  Contrary to the tone of the discussion, Obama no more wrote that bill or even served as general architect of the thing than I wrote A Midsummer Night's Dream.   People are greedy and stupid in large voting blocks. How cool is that? That means anything is possible.

What the heck.  things were screwy anyway, so why not buy votes buy screwing it up more in the name of the little guy or whoever.

This is not chemo, but it is designed to shut off a lot of stuff.  Kind of a killer thing and toxic. All the talk of people using gloves and shooting anyone who touches the stuff bare handed who is not taking it.  Medicine. When did it take the wrong turn into lala land?  Maybe thousands of years ago.

I am not set up for anything as drastic as that, and no need, so all is well.  I think now that it all may improve. Every time I feel good for twenty minutes I decide that it is going to be OK. And I feel it deep down.

So, I think at night is the ticket to hope to sleep through the worst.  Often it knocks me right out. Sometimes, not.  So, before I take it, I hope and beg for a good night and morning.  Mostly I do OK.
And from now on I am fighting the fatigue just to prove to any bastard who needs come uppance that I am not putting up with this nonsense.

I'll use my anger at those who fancy themselves superior to show them who is superior.  And the rest is all love. Even if you are a hopeless dimwit. As long as you are not mean.

Where was I?  Right. One ice cream sandwich and one hydroxyblablabla.

What if this wounded warrior guy gets tour gigs?  I think he might get some opening slots, and I'mn their harp player. Can I do it?  We'll see.  I have to do everything.

Hard Rock Cafe tomorrow with new viola, substitute bass and drummer with bone issues of the hand.  What a band of weirdos.  But we are pretty good.  Hell the viola played the symphony. And yet she thinks I am worthy. She maybe thinks I am the Mac Daddy of back up and solo musicians.  Clearly she made a friend for life out of me!!  Married. Geez.  Figures.  Not that I feel confident bringing anyone in to my iffy life.

No Good. I'm Still Angry. Drat!!!

Anger will not do.  I cannot afford, nor do I want to spend the time and energy on that wasted condition.  Sure, a little anger now and then is helpful. It could get you out of the path of the speeding bus just in time.

But cultivating it, or letting it run where it does no good--now this is the stupid thing to do.

The subject of family came up and I realized I am mad about certain reactions and behaviors.  But these were the exact behaviors that existed in certain others when I was one or two, and from then on.

Older siblings know instinctively that they can have a hope of destroying you if they demonstrate no respect for you no matter what.  That is different from being nice, but not a lot different.  So, I am pissed that I valued such opinions and that they still sting.

I never should have sand bagged because people more pitiful than myself wanted so badly to win at any cost, and seemed so crushed if I won.  Screw them. I should have done better.   I could not fight everyone.  Especially because I was too young to know everything I needed to know to survive these people any better than I did.

But I cannot set myself up for that feeling again.  I will make some claim about scattering me in the gulf stream or Shasta lake or something.  Gulf Stream. Caribbean. That's the real ticket.  Just to annoy them.  But before that, who cares?

I have to get past the anger to the point that if I am confronted by this old childhood insecure jerky behavior, I can view it with something other than anger.  At this point anger is all I got.

It is sad.  If I were bleeding in a ditch far away from home or friends.  Family would be way the hell down on the list of those I'd call for help, if on it at all.  I would probably rather die than see that look or hear one word.  Why now?  I do not want to feel this.  But I see no changing.  Changing is always left to me.  I'm defective and everyone else is productive and , oh geez the I word, intelligent.  On that last, the degree of superiority or any evidence of superiority, if it comes down to it, is dubious, or non existent.

But I do not have the long term career, bank account, offspring , etc. to prove it, therefore I am inferior and not to be allowed admittance into the halls of the self appointed elite in life.

Seriously, this is not healthy but I cannot think of how to fix it.  I do not want to be resenting anyone. We are lucky to have life. It is an amazing condition. Everything is. Existence itself is mind blowing. We don't even know what it is.

Dilemmas May Emerge

It sure is difficult trying to get a few people to show up and not make trouble when playing music.  Now the bass player's ver part time job has called, and he can't make Thursday at Hard Rock Cafe. We only play from 5 to 7.  A nice, early supper time thing.

So, we know a guy who does play some bass and he is willing to take the time to listen to mp3 versions of the material and show up.  I was pretty sure he would not refuse.  He is also one of the best sound men around.  He's run sound at a few events, like the Dia de Los Muertos festival in Old Town.  It was good.

This guys is the quintessential geeky nerd guy.  You would probably see him at trekkie conventions comic-con. I don't even know how to write the last one.  Never heard of it before living here.  A big huge deal with people dressing up oddly and Hollywood celebs hanging out and comic book nonsense is the star.

It always sounded like people were saying "commie con".  For the first year or two I thought it was a democratic party event.

It has nothing to do with commies, but the con, I suspect, is quite robust.  "Public servants", the kind who make laws for us but are dumb enough to think Guam or Okinawa might capsize from too many marines, like to say that word, "robust".  It is less obviously hip, but still almost as hip as variations of sustainability, sustainable, etc.

Yes, yes, yaz, quite a robust and sustainable piece of legislation.  That is their speak for, people will be sacrificed for our view of the common good.  Must break some eggs if we want an omelet.

Where was I?  and why am I here now?

Bass player. Check.

The drummer has something wrong with his hand and is going to have to find a way to take time out. Not easy to replace him at all.  I am not sure if he hasn't pushed that hand too far. I told him. Dang it.

And then there is no telling the sort of time bomb I have become.  Boom, you're outta here.  Mostly the annoying attacks are manageable, but not always.  This esophagus issue is not good.  I may be seriously afflicted with an exotic ailment which may all be my imagination.  I always tell myself that.

And the Marine who brought me in to record on his project wants me with him from now on.  It could present a conflict.  He knows I play with Sande, but if he ends up with a little tour in the works, I cannot say no, I don't think.  I believe he has at least one or two songs that will do well on the country charts if no one screws it all up.

Temperamental people, like performers, do screw things up.  The ego and view of reality become very confusing.  

Anyway, I am trying to play where it suits me while I can. That could change at any moment.  If I kick on stage at a stadium or something that would be fine.  Otherwise maybe not.  I may have to go back and tell the internist I have an issue and quit arguing. I hate stubborn doctors. Does he think I made it up?  He didn't see it because when he was removing his device he messed up something in there. By then he was out so of course he didn't see it.

It is such a f'ing bureaucracy to navigate just to see these people. Hardly worth it.  The model of dealing with patients is similar to the corporate, and even small business, way of hiring.  Anything to avoid actual face to face contact.  Anything to avoid admitting that you are human or they are human.  How can we manage to never meet?  Somehow I blame the state.  But it is too tedious to back that up.

So, how is it going to end?  How will I ever get this mess sorted out so I am not worried about it?  It was good about a year and a half ago.  Year and three months, anyway.

Hunger does not show up like it did.  Now all my fatso clothes, that I bought when I thought I'd be a heavy non smoker forever, are becoming dangerously loose.  Time to gain some weight back.
I'm almost back down so that the skinny clothes are not even tight.

I decided the playing makes me feel better for minutes and hours at a time.  I can't do much else that I would like so this is the last maneuver into some sort of swan song scenario, or just exit in a moment of enjoyment.  I do not think this life can continue all that long as is.  But as long as I get everything organized, then I am OK. That is my only worry.