Maybe I should just get stoned

My body hates me but I don’t blame it. My body has good reason to be pissed off. Ever since I brought it back from Mexico I have forced it to live in a climate of sub-freezing temperature. I’ve tried to be nice and keep it indoors where it can find heat but that is not what it wants. It wants to be outside.

I wish it could just accept reality and make the most of it. I wish that it could be grateful for what it has and appreciate this time as a time to relax. Instead it’s being a selfish little prick and deciding to go on strike. That’s fine. It has every right to do that but it’s actually just making the situation worse for everyone.

I just spent two days in bed battling some virus or bacteria that I know my body is capable of handling. It just decided that it didn’t want to deal with it. It refused to eat which I know damn well it loves to do. If I tried to make it eat, it would just reject it in the most foul and disgusting manner. It’s cutting off it’s own energy source and leaving me with no options for productivity.

I guess this has really pissed of the brain part of my body as well because it has started to retaliate. I’m still confused as to the purpose of Fibromyalgia but the best I can figure out is that it some sort of alert system to let me know that something is wrong; as if I wasn’t aware of that already. It’s like an alarm going off to alert you that you have just been in a car accident. Like no fucking kidding! Accept in this case it’s not an alarm but more like dental pain radiating throughout my body.  Okay, I got the message. Now can you just shut up! I’m trying to think.

The only part of me that has been working is my mind but it keeps having to battle with everything else to get anything done. I need my body, my brain and my mind all working together. Seriously, can’t we all just get along?

Advertisements

What’s in an age

I’m 46 years old. Like a 12 year old reading 17 magazine I look at people in their fifties and sixties with envy. Many of them are so cool!

At the same time I love the exuberance of youth. I have many friends in their twenties and I adore them. One of the greatest pieces of wisdom that my years have taught me is that growing old sucks and is a complete waste of time – don’t fucking do it!

I met a guy last night who was celebrating his 33rd birthday and feeling pretty old. He begged me to tell him that it gets better. I could honestly tell him that it most certainly does. I never felt older than I did when I was in my early thirties.

This guy was dealing with some physical deterioration and that is a normal part of aging which can’t be avoided, but can be mitigated. I still deal with some of the complications of an aging body but I’m also in the best shape of my life. I’m the strongest I’ve ever been, my weight, blood pressure, cholesterol and heart rate are perfect. Even my mental health is better than it has been in decades. All of this helps compensate for the fact that I’m not getting any younger.

I recently shaved off all my purple hair to let my natural color and beard grow out. Over the course of two weeks I completely changed my looks. The top of my head is almost completely bald and my hair is fifty to sixty percent gray. I got my first grey hair at twenty-four but that is beside the point.  The point is that for the first time in quite some time I was actually looking my age.

There is nothing wrong with looking your age but it is optional and I certainly don’t mind looking younger. I throw on a hat and a little “Just For Men” hair dye and I look ten years younger. I usually don’t play the “How old do you think I am?” game but it seemed to come up a lot yesterday. Guesses ranged from twenty-seven to thirty-eight (the older the guesser the closer they got).

The truth is I actually feel twenty-four and that is amazing. In my opinion it is the perfect age. It’s that point where you are old enough to know better but young enough not to care. Most people younger than twenty-four want to be older; those older, wish they were younger. I’m perfectly happy with my age but in a way I really am twenty-four. Twenty-four years ago, on Friday the Thirteenth of January, I nearly died. In many ways I started my life over on that day.  This is the year where I feel like I have fully come into my new life. This year has been all about knowing better but not caring and it has served me quite well.

The only thing I don’t understand is why in the hell do I still have acne?!? That just seems totally fucked up!!!

Nights like these

After a very relaxing soak in the hot tub, my muscles finally released from two long days spent crammed into a sedan, I smoked a cigarette, finished my beer and was ready for bed. I slipped into my skull and cross-bone footie pajamas and took my place on the couch. Jules checked in with me to make sure I had everything I needed. I told her that one advantage to having CFS, perhaps the only advantage, is that I have no problem sleeping. It is true, at least for me, at least now. I know many people with CFS also suffer from insomnia and I did in the beginning but now I live everyday to the fullest, push myself to the limit and sleep like a baby.

Last night began no different. Jazz was on the blowup mattress beside me. I asked him what time it was to which he replied, “11:50”. It has now occurred to me that he didn’t take into account the time zone change and that it was actually 10:50 pm but in any case I closed my eyes and was sawing logs by eleven.

Now it was my turn for disrupted sleep. The night before Jazz spent much of the night in agony after eating some bad jalapeno peppers; Venus was tossing and turning all night worrying about her audit. Last night I got a taste of both.

Usually I can get a good six hours of sleep before my bladder sounds the alarm. Last night I only made it til 1 am. I woke up, checked my phone and stumbled to the bathroom. At least Jazz was sound asleep. I returned to the couch and laid down. It took me a little longer to fall asleep this time, but maybe only half an hour, although my head was starting to fill with the thoughts of the day before.

At 2:30 am I awoke again. My stomach gurgling, my intestines in knots and a pressure building upon my sphincter with the force of Niagara Falls. Perhaps it was just a fart but not wanting to take the chance nor risk poisoning my drummer I ran once again to the bathroom. I will spare you the details but let’s just say I made camp on that toilet for the next 20 minutes eliminating the toxins that had built up in my bowels.

I laid back down but quickly realized that I would not be falling asleep anytime soon. I figured I might as well go have a smoke and work through the thoughts in my head. I’ve been really troubled by what Venus is going through with the IRS. It seems like they are asserting that the life of an artist is not a worthy profession, that it’s not a legitimate way of life. This scares the hell out of me as I imagine it does many independent artists. After 14 solid years of battling CFS I know that the only thing I can do is be an artist and philosopher, and the world needs artists and philosophers. Even if I’m not the best artist or philosopher it is still the only thing I have to offer. Sure, I’m a good father, I’m a good friend; but as a career, as a vocation, as a way of live… this is all I have left. So why do I feel guilty? Whose voice is in my head because it sure isn’t mine.

Jazz made a comment last night suggesting that the IRS is coming after Venus because they believe she is trying to write off her vacations as a business expense. “Really?!?” I thought. People consider this a vacation? As insane as this supposition sounds to me, I understand where it is coming from. We do enjoy what we do. But isn’t that suppose to be the goal. Aren’t you suppose to do what you love? Aren’t you suppose to love what you do? When did enjoying your job become a bad thing? And honestly, this is not a vacation. I can’t even remember the last time I took a fucking vacation. At this point I’m not even sure what a vacation is. Sure, what we do may look like fun from the outside, and we do have fun, but I think a more accurate description of what we have is life fulfillment, at least on a good day. The rest of the time all I can say is that we have sustenance, but that’s enough to keep me going.

At 4 am the yawns find their way to my chest and I fall back to sleep. It’s now 7 am and life is beginning to return to the world. I decide to retire the fight, get up, make coffee and start my day. We have another 6 hours in the car before we reach Scottsdale, AZ. That’s where we get to do what we came to do. Tonight however, Venus has a solo show which means that Jazz and I get to kick back and enjoy ourselves. Hopefully I can squeeze in a few more winks during the drive because I do plan on having fun tonight; as much fun as I can muster.

Leaving Albuquerque

Leaving Albuquerque

%d bloggers like this: