Wednesday, August 09, 2006

8.09.06, Walking for Coffee

Yes, there is a poem called "Walking to Work" and it's great. It's also true that on my way to get coffee this morning, between packing for SLC taking pills cleaning my place a bit and generally futzing, I wished I were Frank O'Hara or rather that I could write a poem as quickly and with "so little" material. The number of really good poems he wrote on a walk, at a newsstand, during a party at a friend's house is remarkable.

Me, I'm going to Salt Lake. I take lots of vitamins and the usuals, like our old friend Protonix and the "horsepill" sucralfate, but today is the FIFTH day with no chemo drugs and I'm thrilled by that fact. (OK, I may not jump up and down, but.) Genuinely feels much better, more appetite, real hunger sometimes, a craving will return, easier to hydrate, and this is all good, though it simultaneously can add to the tension deep inside somewhere about what it means to "let my body rest" for too long. To go for too long without chemo and the anti-cancer drugs. Ever nagging, no matter how much hunger I feel.

A little while ago one of my sister's sent me a link to the Salt Lake Tribune where there was an artilce about a former poet laureate of Utah's (! I had no idea Utah was so cultured — seriously) who just died of pancreatic cancer. Sounds like his whole stretch from diagnosis to death was about a year, not an uncommon number at all. Quite the contrary. But that's not why I'm saying this. What was curious was a comment he made about fear — all of us cancer bloggers talk about fear, it seems — and he noted that he was often afraid of going to sleep for fear he might not wake up. I'd like to add ". . . wake up!" the exclamation point. We all have our fears, they must all be legit for us personally, but I cannot grasp his fear at all. Isn't dying in one's sleep just about the mode of choice? If we could choose. So strange that I'm never, not even remotely, thinking about dying in my sleep, let alone being afraid of it.

No conclusion here, just made me think. To fear what happens in one's sleep, what are the waking ours like? What does it say about how we relate to control, lack of control, to lack, our desires unfulfilled, to the news that simply reaches us, comes to us, arrives, is simply there somehow when we open our pained eyes, about how we relate to someone simply telling you this will happen? And whether it even will, 100 percent of the time for 100 percent of the people, is only one piece of the how. Well, bring on sweet sleep, I don't mind a good nap or sound 8 hours — whatever that's like.


While in Salt Lake I can't predict posting patterns, but maybe I can think up some polymorphously perverse method for posting, like a guest/travel three-way covert something blog from Zion. (Unrelated point: the closer you are to the Holy of Holies, the better sin gets.)


Franky Scale: 7. Not bad after a few morning hours.


Mr. Jones said...

test comment, complaints having been made by technophobes....

Slarry said...

Wednesday August 8, 2006
late evening


Hey, Hey, Hey:
My boys are here-- Franky, of the franky scale and Sir Spot aka Mr. Jones, the
Obe Wan-- the omnipotent one, the owner of this blog:
How stinking happy am I ????

They look and smell marvelous. : )

We have enjoyed some Gatorade, plums, suizas-- ( dzd ) and Nade’s
( the mother of all living and of Spot ) grand bran muffins.

Anticipating the best time---
A big “Hi” and hello to The Data Center-- faithful followers of my brother’s blog.

You are probably all waving to him now. Wait until you meet the Frank. A hunk, a hunk of a man. As is Mr. J, though that sounds odd coming from his sister. : )
Appropriate and still in fashion for Utah, perhaps.
I will ask Brother Hatch.
Thanks to all who helped Steph and I get ready for this on going voyage and journey of discovery--- spending some quality time with my brother, with the extra dose of Franky,
makes it just completely perfect.

Cancer does suck--- but hanging with Mr. Jones and Mr. Farella, (TOGETHER) sure helps settle the blues a bit.

I’m so happy I’ll probably wet my pants. Oh who is kidding--
I already have. : )

Keep the comments coming. There will be a special treat for the bravest blog.

Currently, we are engaged in a discussion of
Mr. Jones's third nipple. Fascinating.

Love and the Easter Bunny--


david said...


I dunno, but from the sounds of it, ubless Poet Laureate of Utah has something perversely conunter intuituve and surreal about it in the first place and therefore the comments about dying in one's sleep do fit, might it not be the case I wonder that the said poet said (!) what he said only to a) either seem cool with it or b) try to cool his/her friends? I.e., He/she might have been saying don't worry, all this stuff going on in my head which you see on my face in my worries is really nothing compared to the one big worry I've got, which (most of) you can't check out since you aren't there when I'm alseep. I dunno. Just a perverse if whimsical notion.

But what upbeat, today's blog from orf there in the state of the laureate, no less! Physical, get physical! Yay!
me closing my eyes trying to type..

[disenchanted princess] said...

random comment about making comments:

the program is somewhat finicky, so as mr. j suggested, copy the text somewhere else and keep submitting (hitting the Login and Publish button) until you see a green texted message at the top of your comment pop-out window that says something to the effect of "your comment has been submitted and blah blah blah after approved by moderator."

if you don't see the confirmation, the blog has eaten your comment.

34DD said...

I'd like to give a shout out to my boyz in the big U today!! Hope the temp isn't too steamy out there. It's lovely here, a yummy 77.

Sheri - all those sweet comments about Fra may give him a big head...oops too late! ; )

Love you guys - I know you're in good hands out there. Have a lot 'o fun and bring me back something Mormon, like a virgin or something.