HEY, WAIT! we're on the internet at almost the same time! Don't goooooooooo! I feel so close, so near! I haven't read your email, even, I am so excited that you sent it a mere 10 minutes or so, But... did you hear about the dood who killed 14 people and hurt a bunch more at a theatre where the new batman movie was débuting. [débuting? don't sound right, do it? shore as shit don't look right, neither.] now that is pure batshit.
Howdy-- well, howdy yourself, handsome!
I know it will be hard to believe, but your package is actually rumbling your way, tightly grasped in the talons of the USPS. Should take several days to get there. ah, but the larger question? do i WANT it to get here. am i going to go batshit over it... not in the sense of the batshit shooter in the gas mask. here is a test. i do not know what state this happened in, but i am going out on a limb and guessing either florida (sorry) or texas (because texas is fucked majorly up). oops! it was colorado, and good news, the death toll has gone down. i'm not sure how that happens, but i like it. maybe they can work it down to zero. maybe it's a skill they can transfer to syria, and other places full of weapons going off willy-nilly. a 3-month old was shot. a 3-month old. yep... good morning, grader boob!
back to the package... of course, i want it. i am dreaming dreams you would not believe -- not horrid, or even, really, disturbing... but i continue to dream of dad's watch in almost all of them. he keeps handing it to me. i keep noting that it is not a rolex, that it is silver and that i love silver, that it is clunky, and then, always, i note that time ran out, that i let time run out. yeah, i'm swift that way, realizing the obvious, and doing nothing about it. i also have been thinking a lot about k... the last time i saw her (i think), she and mom and i were at the beach, i was visiting from berkeley, thinking that it mattered to tell "the folks" that i was living with jp, the cheatingest jerk ever to declare love for a girl. the night i got back, before jp even had my luggage in the bedroom, he was telling me about this waitress he had met who liked his poetry... meanwhile, back at the beach? k was the sweetest help to me. she made it almost painless and i don't remember exactly how, but she had us all cracking up. i loved her for it... and even that kind of memory-love doesn't go away. i remember wondering if she had had the chance to live with Mr. Vivacious V, The Soil Scientist, who clearly shared the cheating gene with my jp, The Writer -- maybe she'd not have married El Jerko. She deserved so much better. But then... [ARE YOU STILL THERE? I HAVEN'T HAD ANY COFFEE, AND THAT IN ITSELF IS A STORY!] according to star trek logic, she'd maybe never have met this joe person, who sounds like a neat dood. in fact, do 100 words on dood joe, right after you do a 1000 on ms. k. to my great shame, i've no interest (none, i mean NONE -- what is wrong with me?) in nephew brian... not since i found his MUG SHOT on the internet. it was the middle of the night, i was in my usual middle-of-the-night state, and i simply entered his name. this is what turned up... and about all i can say is that he IS a handsome lad:
Not much going on here--I'm holding "office hours" as I write, but no one seems to want to log on and chat. I think that if I held them in the evening it would work better for them, but I'd then be at the mercy of the home computer, which is currently residing at the Computer Corner undergoing repairs. What a technological world we live in. sadly, i've found it cheaper to get new laptops than to have the messed up ones repaired. of course, you probably don't spill entire cups of coffee on yours... or drop them, repeatedly, on your CRPS-afflicted foot. same foot each time, same spot each time. but maybe you have a desktop? if i spent more time out of bed, i'd go back to desktops. i'd like to see a desktop fly off my desk and onto my foot! ha! is Computer Corner reputable? do you get frequent flyer miles? i would LOVE to have a top of the line, fast, readable (remember, i have the family glaucoma gift, plus cataracts, and the poundage gift from 15 years of steroids... also i don't have much of a chin and my nose is an obvious punk, and who the hell thought giving me rough, curly, uninteresting hair?) 'puter. make it a laptop that does not heat up, weighs less than a pound and doesn't collapse under the stress of piles of cat hair.Speaking of technology, has it figured out a way to handle your new strain of bacteria? Or even the old one? Hope the regimen you're on has some positive results. Do they tinker with the various percentages of the components in the cocktails they give you? the last question is easiest. one of the reasons we practically LIVE at that damned office is so that they can measure the levels of each antibiotic, as well as the many pretty effing serious side effects they cause. so they sometimes tinker with dosages every 7 days. a good joke? in the hospital, i keep fighting with nurses/doctors/janitors that i am NOT allergic to daptomycin, despite it perpetually appearing on my computerized (they're everywhere!) allergy list. last week, dr. b -- whom you would love -- explained to me that yes, i have one of the life-threatening side effects, usually starting in the second week of administration, but that he doesn't care because he thinks i can stand it and it is the drug HE WANTS. okay, so, as for p. acnes, no one has told me whether they've even cultured for it again -- not, i am guessing, since the swabs that grew came from "deep tissue" in my arm. my p. acnes antennna are still going off, based on fever and increasing, instead of decreasing, pain in that former shoulder area. that's the one he is throwing daptomycin at... if i may offer advice to you and anyone of your acquaintance who end up getting weeks of i.v. antibiotics: yogurt, plain, not mixed with fruit, and ridiculously expensive little pills of probiotics.
And in answer to your question, Mom is, indeed, staying at the beach house. It's the place that has the most meaning for her, and it has ties back to Mimi. good for her, god bless her. does she need help, have help? since the fix-it folks attended the memorial, i am guessing she's got that covered. oh, god bless her. waking up to the sound of surf. walking the beach. god bless her. does she think often of mimi? all i remember were mimi's final years, so full of alzheimer's confusion. were you there the day we found her in the closet? i *believe* she wanted to leave, and had decided to get her coat, and that's about as far as she got. i used to love going to mimi's on afternoons i was supposed to then go on to st. paul's united methodist church choir practice or confirmation classes. i often did not end up at st. pauls... but at the library, or walking the mean streets of downtown g'boro. but mimi would watch her "stories," catch me up on the plots, smoke and cough, tell me funny stories. but she was not my mom, and i didn't have to watch her mind decline. staying at the beach house! yay! gin rummy. boiled shrimp served on newspaper. happy hour. stupid question, but please be honest: does she need anything (beyond the obvious)?
If you want to start the conversation, his email is x. um, holy shit, batman. why would he want to talk to me, and why would he want to swap howdies with me NOW? but, okay, i will send a pro forma. well, i will AFTER you tell me what he is like. i'm serious. all i remember is that he had red hair -- probably no longer, eh? -- and that mom once called his wife a whore.That's all from here. Hope you're doing well--worry about you. i am not doing well and i am worried, too. scared. and feeling very alone, no matter that someone is around. i think the best i can hope for is dobby's sweet, loving face cheering me on when i die. right now, though, he is sitting like a very old guy, comfy in a well-worn [imaginary] la-z-boy, scratching his [imaginary] nuts, looking up now and then to smile at me like a little cat maniac.
Love to all, feline and human, at Marlinspike Hall. and all our love back...Grader Boob Profderien
August 10, 2012
Just a short note for ya. Sitting in the office at XXX trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing--which is a full-time job all on its own.
Haven't heard from you, so I do hope that the medicos are helping and not hurting you.
I'll keep a good thought for you, no matter what your situation is--that's just the kind of guy I am.
Pass along a howdy to Fred and the felines.
PS. I'm attaching the photo I scanned for Jim R. I've got others that I've yet to get around to. This has Granddad reaching up and grabbing a tree limb. Shot from behind, it's always been one of my faves, so much so that I keep it in my office.
|my brother-units, the photographers|
granddad, who was, at this point, blind
August 10, 2012 (17 minutes later)
dearest grader boob: a 17-minute response time, gotta be a record of some sort!
let's just say i'm having a hard time, and that i should learn to shut up and get in the "having a hard time" line. too much pain for me to handle with anything approaching dignity.
funniest anecdote of recent days: fred and i had two appts to make this week, the most important being making first contact with the hip surgeon, "world famous, one of the finest," via a meeting with his physician's assistant, one susan s. i should have been more aware of the probability for a screw-up, given the obvious seussian etymology of her name. we allow 45 minutes of driving time for all appts on the famed beechtree street, yes, the very street that orris du-MAH road up and down, selling milk by horse-drawn cart. we got caught behind a wreck, and arrived 10 minutes late.
i should qualify that we arrived 10 minutes late to "the beechtree office" that i have used for the past 7 years. after another 15 minutes of sitting in the waiting room, a breathless clerk told us we were at the wrong office, that there was another beechtree office, two buildings down. we rush over there, me cursing the mindless clods in wheelchairs that were moseying along well below 3.5 mph, as i wove in, i wove out, approaching that maximum limit of 5 mph. we arrive, check in (again), are welcomed nicely and told to take a seat. a bit later, i hear my name, close my stephen king masterpiece, and roll in the direction of the beckoning noise. "profderien, you were late for your appointment and the PA decided she will not see you. your appt has been cancelled."
mwa ha ha!
the next funniest anecdote? yesterday, meeting with the gorgeous jacqueline j, PA to my world famous infectious disease doc. i explain why i don't have the testing her boss wanted all set up by the new hip doctor, seeing as how i had my appt cancelled due to tardiness. jacqueline has no sense of... well, i want to say ANYTHING, but i guess it would be more accurate to say... no sense of what we normal folk go through. so she says, "but, profderien, didn't you explain that you really needed that appointment, that it was important?" a beautiful woman, except when she has her brows furrowed as she faces yet another idiot patient. [they think my right hip prosthesis is infected. mwa ha ha!]
moving right along, i love all the job offers you got, but want to scream out: trust no one!
is mom alone at the cottage? personally, i would want to be, but probably not after just losing my husband... i hope she finds comfort there, and packs on a few pounds from the milkshakes.
jim r never answered me... i may have said something "wrong," but i don't know what.
lovely photo, grader boob. thanks for sending it.
to be honest, i am fighting off suicidal tendencies. i think they are neurologically based, as asinine as that sounds. whenever a "spell" of crps dystonia/spasms begins, the first 15-20 minutes, all i can think of is suicide, literally. it's like it occurs in the part of my brain responsible for making-all-this-shit-worthwhile. after 20 minutes, i am okay again. i tell medicos, because i find it rather scary, but get The Stare in return. some of them talk about the limbic system, which is integrally connected, some think, to crps. i am more on the side, though, of the vast majority that believe there is no limbic system at all, so... there you go!
should i write jim r. again?
tell brute i love her. how goes the restaurant venture? (cannot recall if it was a restaurant or catering or bakery... help!)
i'd say tell mom i love her, too, but i think she'd just be insulted. thanks so much for letting me know how she and "they" are doing.
oh... yeah... and YOU... how you doin'? smooches and love,
August 11, 2012
Hang in there.
I do have to compliment you on one thing--the lack of cursing and swearing in your anecdote. I supplied those as I was reading. (I've noticed that my swearing is always a union of two themes--sex and intellect; hence, as I was reading your email, my recurring epithet was a variation of "Motherfucking Nitwits" or "Cocksucking Morons". It's never race or gender with me--just sex and intellect.)
As for the darker tendencies, fight through them by imagining that you've killed the medical personnel instead. (No, that would be wrong.)
As for Jim, I'd not read anything into the silence. He seemed genuinely interested when we talked, so unless you told him off, I'd just wait it out. The ball's in his court then.
K and J's venture is called "X," a tasty xxxxxxxxxx concoction, and their target market seems to be the hoity toi or the local rednecks. They seem to be picking up a bit when last I spoke with her about them.
And Mom was planning to send you a thank you note. I think she's not gotten around to them yet. But like I said before, your card and boxwoods were so very sweet and considerate.
What a way with words you have--you have no idea. And I'll not tell you because I can't figure out what to write down!
Well, I think I'll leave this office and waste the day. Why work when you can just fret about it?
Love to those in Tête de Hergé. And don't forget that there's to be a Ryan on the Romney ticket--woo hoo. Jesus.
August 17, 2012
so where do you stand with classes -- none, some, an overabundance? feel ready?
how's this for a wordsmith such as i? i'm pooped.
fred got a ukulele! it's real cute and don't you dare ever tell him i said that. his workroom is now making musical space for three guitars, a keyboard, one drum thingy, and the itty bitty uke.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX? hell, i've got a new swear phrase right there. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!
no, i didn't tell jim off, you ninny. i don't know what i did. given the way things have been going, i just hope he's okay...
i think it might kill me if mom were to write me a thank you note. may the earth swallow me up.
is she safe there, alone? is their dog the protective type, you know, one look, and and an evil-doer takes off in the opposite direction? should i get her a taser for xmas?
god, this must be hard for her.
do you know what i've been watching on the telly, sometimes 4-5 episodes at a time? LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE. help!
this here is dobby as i find him every morning after i've fetched my coffee. it's dobby's spa time -- 10 minutes of belly rubs (hence the pose) and combing/brushing. if you don't do it, he starts knocking stuff onto the floor. not kidding.
okay, marmy has not forgiven me for administering her eye "goop" when she had an infection. it's been about 2 months, and she'll have nothing to do with me. this is usually what i see:
buddy, our massive and soon to be massiver maine coon? it's almost impossible to get between his ears. so this is what he looks like. all i know about what he might be thinking is that it likely involves food.
i loves ya.
fred is plucking away on his uke... but he'd wave or something if he knew i was writing...
August 26, 2010 (just prior to the RNC convention, held in Grader Boob's village)
okay, isaac is in place, what's next?
i just wanted to drop a line to say "good job" on the category 2 hurricane, but do you think that will be enough? we don't want any deaths, like they had in haiti -- maybe the catering to the convention could be disrupted by old egg salad and the delegates/candidates forced to munch on matzot and lime-flavored bottled water.
or magick cause the microphone to function only when ron paul speaks.
so keep at it...
but stay dry and safe, too.
all my love,
September 3, 2012
just give me a simple "howdy, i'm busy, will write when i can.... but i am basically okay."
or "things suck majorly, send in the troops."
September 4, 2012
Sorry for not responding, but I'm tired of sitting at the computer and seeing no end in sight or a solution to the "fine mess, Ollie" that I've put myself in.
Am wrangling with 3 plagiarists as well, two from a XXX semester that's in its first week. What the hell are these people thinking? The time that these will take up is time I don't have.
Will write once mood improves! (Good luck figuring out that nonexistent date!)
Plus, all I want to do is sleep.
If I thought I'd be around more, I'd buy me a dog.
Well love to all in Ukuleleville.
PS. Sorry for the grumpiness. I have to make a concerted effort not to carry this into class.
October 6, 2012