Beware! The slings and arrows of men!
No, but wait, they are not calumny or slander, rather they are the razor sharp steel of familial love, dipped before shooting in intimacy, history, and knowing too many embarrassing stories about each other. Quaint and homey in a way, sure, maybe in a, well, Spanish Inquisition sort of way. Btw, today feels kind of like a 7; but now the Franky Scale and the pain scale could coincide, now that I am surrounded with all this love. Not to say I don't enjoy being back home with family, it's just that my family--I hope they forgive me for saying this publicly--have a collective genetic disease whereby the cell phone and/or telephone receiver (deceptively named in English because "receiving" is not at all what hunting season is about, as we all know...) but the telephone receiver never quite developed according to its own DNA plan, independently that is, and instead it fused at some point with the three bones of the ear--stapes, incus, malleus--so that your only hope of looking "normal" in life is not to pretend the thing doesn't exist, no, instead you must love it, touch it, fondle it, dial it, you must call with it--A LOT!; and there's a secondary condition too, short-term memory circuits are in fact short-circuits that think "re-dial"--then forget what they just did--then again "re-dial"--there's even one more call as I write this. (This was our trade-off in the pre-existence to this life: all of my family got this disfiguring phone disease, and I got in the line for cankers, I thought 'Shit, I'd way rather have recurring canker sores than a phone stuck to the side of my head...,' or I at least I thought it was the line for cankers but there some big-ass tall guy in front of me blocking the view and it turns out not have been "cankers" after all but "cancer." My bad.)
And as punishment for ignoring the last ringing on the phone across the room, the phone at my side begins to shake, quiver, and grow in size. With each vibration it swells.... I try to reach it and kill the "ring" option, just to make it stop. It's too late, though. It's growing in size, it's switched from ring to voicemail so there's that 3, or 5, or 10 second pause, and then... ARGHHHHHHHHHH.... more ringing und vibrating to let me know the message has been successfully received. To let me know that hunting season is still on, all's good, "those two aren't just fishing' buddies,".... oops....the only redemption I have now is that I have a medicine cabinet, now, the size of the latest-model Hummer and it has things like antiulcer pills, antiemetic pills, antinausea-from-too-many-call pills, antidiarrhea-from-phonecall pills, antianxiety-from-being-in-Utah pills. Oh yes, there are many alternatives. Now if I can just find my earplugs long enough to get to the pill box....
[of course I love you all, the support is wonderful, we all just seem to get a bit phone happy sometimes where there is a life to live out there. xox]
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THE PLEASURE OF HIS COMPANY
Ever so grateful to have Mr. J home. His mind remains quick witted, intuitive, beautiful. Too beautiful to not remain in this world, for other people to learn from and be enlightened by. He continues to run, to jog-- even with this putrud and insepid disease. Morning coffee time is one of my favorites-- also, being made fun of (lovingly) by M. J and Steph, while Matt looks on, is another. What other 18 year old gets to watch his "adult" family members laughing and giggeling like a bunch of sassy kids, while facing possible death?
He, too, has learned of the pleasure of his company. So, he too will miss him. The familiarity of how Mr. J and Steph have always relentlessly teased me whenever they are together, ( they gang up on me when pointing out my funny quirks) has become a double edged sword. Something that is familiar and that makes me laugh-- will be one of the things that I will miss the most.
I will not let my mind take me there. I will continue to be present and enjoy the "presents" of being present. Enjoying THE PLEASURE OF HIS COMPANY.
I am finding that Mr. J's diagnosis scares some of my
friends. They are distancing themselves from me and my anguish ... Understandable? I guess so-- helpful, absolutely not. Oh well ... I know it is hard -- I struggle to find the right words, too.
To those of you who are remaining constant--- thank you so very much. It helps ease the pain a bit. Makes all of us a little more jovial and more connected--- and not feel so estanged or "strange."
It is another stool day. Another day for Dr. Malfie to do her magic and help me through this. I thank her also.
Here is to a good grumpice, La Crosse victories, bran muffins, loving partners and the anticipation of a journey to a warmer climate. No, not hell : ) but Southern Utah. A place to relax and rejuvinate.
"Beautiful, beautiful boy .. "
All my love-- Slarry
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