Archive for June 17, 2014

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17 June 2014

“Dennis you’re early. It’s only 8:30. Did you piss the bed or something?”

“Hi, Chuck, I never know whether my bus is going to be early or late. Whether or not I make my transfer connection is another problem. Still no Joy, I guess her legs are bothering her again.

Chuck said, “I used to have a problem holding my urine, even when I was an adult. My doctor prescribed some medication and it solved the problem.

“Did I tell you about when I worked for the real estate developer. He used to rent to a lot of people who were on social assistance or pensions. If they were employed he charged $750 a room, if they had their rent paid through the government it was $850. Some of them had no intention of staying. I’d ask them right up front, “Do you plan to stay for a few months or do you plan to move on right away. We’d split the deposit.  Sometimes I’d rent the same apartment five times in one day.

“That was around the time they were talking about legalizing prostitution. This developer was on city council. He said to me, “If this legislation goes through. I’m going to clean out this building, rent it to prostitutes by the hour. You’ll have a job at the door as timekeeper. How does that sound?’ I said, ‘It sounds great!’ “

I asked, “If you get your enclosed scooter, are you going to have to find a place nearby to park?”

“No, I’ll only use it in winter, to pickup groceries, to take Goldie for her appointments. It’ll be a lot warmer for her, that’s my main concern. It also has larger wheels, so I wont have to worry so much about snow. Every winter that’s a problem for me. In the summer I’ll use this chair just like always.

“I guess I told you about the woman I’m seeing.  We’d agreed to go for lunch on Thursday, but that’s the day I make the most money. I’m going to call her and see if we can reschedule for today. It’s been really slow so far.”

At noon I was surprised to see Yves in a wheel chair. I asked, “What happened. Were you in an accident?”

“No, I’ve got some problems with my blood. There are about seven places where the arteries are constricted. I don’t have blood clots, but I don’t even have the energy to walk a half block. Not enough oxygen is getting to my blood. I’m going to the doctor later for more tests.”

Shakes was next to greet me, “Hi, Dennis, we haven’t seen you for a long time. How’s everything going? Same old, same old?”

“Yeah, that about covers it. How about you? Where are you staying — at Jake’s place?”

“Yeah, I stayed there last night. I brought over two bottles, a gram of pot and some smokes. He was glad to see me, ’cause he had nothing to drink.

“I spent yesterday with my daughter, Betty. We both got drunk together. She gave me the sweetest Father’s Day card. I could hardly read it.”

“Why was that? Do you need glasses?”

“No, I was having trouble seeing through my tears.

I said, “That’s a good way to get her attention.” Shakes laughed.

I sat down beside Wolf. “Dennis,” he said, “did you hear that I graduated?”

“No, what did you graduate from?”

“I took a course on the perils of alcoholism and addictions. I was just there to get my certificate. My lawyer said that if I could show that I was making an effort, the judge may go easier on me when my case came up. There was one part where they asked about triggers. I had to say something. I said, “The first trigger in the morning is opening the fridge and seeing a couple of  beer. I drink that and I’m on my way. Another trigger is having money in my pocket. I’m tempted to go out and get some pot and more beer. A lot of what they said made sense, but it would have been more important for the younger guys. They asked us to itemize what we spent each day. After I buy my beer, pot and cigarettes I’m looking at about forty bucks. That’s not counting pay week where I might go wild and spend my whole check getting wasted. But, like I said, it’s more important for the young guys. Even if I had an extra two hundred a week, what would I spend it on?

“I finished all my books. The last one was a doozy. I’m the furthest thing from a sadist, but this book was gory. The plot of the book was stolen identity. They’d find a street person that nobody knows,  that looks like someone else. They kill him, cut his arms, legs and head off, so there’s nothing left but the torso. Then, with plastic surgery, they make the other person look like the guy they just killed. It’s kind of extreme, but if someone’s running from the mob, it’s worth their while.”

I asked, “Is this one of the books that one of your little old ladies gave you?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think they were into stuff like that.”

Jacques was being very quiet , drinking out of a cup with the message printed on it, ‘If I appear interested in what you’re saying   — I’m not!’

Little Jake was guzzling sherry and choking and coughing as he tried to inhale some pot. Wolf said, “He was the same the other night at my neighbor’s place. The guy said to me, ‘Wolf I’m going to have to ask you to take your friend and leave. He’s too noisy.’ So, I took him to my place.”

It was time for me to leave. I shook hands all around and said, “Depending on the weather, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“See you , Dennis.”

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My last post introduced the subject of fibromyalgia. This post by Mary McAvoy presents the disease from a sufferer’s point of view.

sublime days

The Picture of Health with ME/CFS

A few days ago, I received a newsletter in my email that informed me that today, May 12, is National Fibromyalgia  Awareness Day. Who petitions for or decides on something like that? The federal government? The CDC? A board of physicians (I doubt it)? One physician (maybe)? Hallmark? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

I suppose “awareness day” is quite different than “national holiday” and I wonder how many “awareness” days fill our calendars and to what gain.

**** Pause. When I sat to write this post, I didn’t know the opening would take this tone. So, I’m sitting still thinking, “Yikes, where did THAT come from?” ****

Maybe from here. Ten years ago I woke from a simple 45 minute surgery a changed person (I now presume the anesthesia was the culprit). Over the next four years my life was stripped of :
– sharp cognitive…

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