Monday, July 16, 2012


I don't talk about this much and I won't after this post. I'm not a morbid soul and I don't believe that the participant who lives the longest or shuffles off this mortal coil with the most toys is the winner. I also don't think that the one who hits the finish line with all the parts he or she started with is necessarily getting a blue ribbon for that feat either. 

With that in mind, I realized something today that is going to be an unbelievable pain in my ASS here, and is already heading in that direction. According to my Primary Care Physician,  I have early PD, Parkinson's Disease or Parkinsonism, or Parkinson's Syndrome, or maybe Parkinson drove by one day. But something has been diagnosed at some point. About the time I went bonkers, forgot March, with the exception of St. Patrick's Day Weekend (Irony anyone?) and spent it in the Mental ward, after having stayed up all of February; my hands and arms went numb. While the doctors and nurses were all standing around trying to figure out why I had slipped my trolley, they also noted that my hands "trembled." More on the left, than right. Without getting all Lifetime Channel, it's since become much worse on the left, than right, and all the other stuff that goes along with that; balance, walking and some pain.

So, now we're here. I hate even writing this. But today, I realized that I HAVE to write during times when the tremor is less. I tend to write in a lightning-in-a-bottle style. I pretty much just crap out on paper what's in my head. I can still do that. Witness what I just typed. I'm just going to have to plan my lightning sessions. But not too much. I thrive on spontaneity. 

Anyway, all this has served to do is set my little monkey brain to work and scheme at how to accomplish all the shit I did before this nonsense. Hey! I know! Re-arrange my schedule. I'm pretty okay in the morning, or, well, when I get up, usually the crack of noon-ish. 

Here's my current schedule: Get up. Look at email, answer... maybe, if it's nice email, delete if it's not. Ignore the penis ones. Okay! Make a pastrami sandwich; only been up 15 minutes, I'm hungry! Look at LOLCats for an hour. Take psych meds; them bats are getting closer! Eat the sandwich. Rummage in closet for an hour for stuff to put on after shower. I want to look good in front of my computer! 

Take a shower. Inspiration hits! Get out of shower NOW! TYPE FURIOUSLY FOR 50 MINUTES WHILE IRON IS HOT! Dry off. Use hair dryer on keyboard. Finish shower. Eat snack of cashews and pastrami sandwich. Play Runescape for 4 hours. Complain in Clan Chat how monster drops suck now and how it was so much better back during version 1.0.

Proofread my shower-inspired blog. Gah! What a big pile of shit! What was I thinking? Good god almighty. Where in the fuck did I ever get the idea I could ever put pen to paper, or finger to key, or... oh, shut the fuck up, already!

This is my writing schedule as dictated by my PD-itis, or whatever the fuck this shit is. Whatever it is, it feels like a magnitude 10.0 earthquake: Get up writedownabunchofshit wait wait wait wait tremor post blog. Yeah, life-changing. I am not mitigating or making fun of this disease; it has taken a horrific toll on many people I love and admire. I just don't go down quietly or without a laugh. I plan on dealing with this the same way.

So, do I go throught the whole process of creating a post all over again? Or do I take this maimed, malformed thing and try to make something comprehensible out of it? Good question. Depending on the mood and the fortitude I am possessing at any given time, it could be the former or the latter. Gee, thanks for being so unwaveringly wavering. I find this whole writing thing wondrous. A month ago, I would have said, "the hell with it," and tossed this all aside, but I find this process to be like a muscle and the more I write, the more facile I get.

Today, I choose to take the maimed, malformed little creature and try to make it something better, if not something beautiful, at least something that would not cause a body to run screaming off into the night, but would allow one to say, "there, there, little being, there, there," and comfort it.

What pap. I do have fun. Anyway. I sort of "chose" to write about this, because I really don't have a topic per se, but did want to see if I have the chops to write anything with any coherence that will keep anyone's interest. If you lost interest, shame on you. You missed out on the terrific ending.

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