#ROW80, #IWSG THURSDAY, BECAUSE I SLEPT THROUGH WEDNESDAY. . .

Poor #ROW80; they probably wonder if I'm still alive. #IWSG is more than likely under the assumption that I'm some mass hallucination. I wonder myself. At least Damyanti of #teamDamyanti is aware that I am a real person; sort of. . .

I honestly meant to be on-the-ball this month; really. But once again, life happened, and as is my wont I tend to be secretive, when I most likely shouldn't be. Blame it on Asperger syndrome, being an only child, hating most of the human race, being shy, having low self-esteem, high self-esteen or knowing that interaction with most of the hoi-polloi ends in tears, regret, shattered dreams and on occasion, spilt blood; not mine, but theirs and one begins to understand why I am rather comfortable with my own company and ill at ease with people I do not know. 

Thanks to Mr. Jesse Libecap and theworld4realz.com and the entire Roo family for my wake-up call today!

So, what does this have to do with missing my #IWSG check in? JC had to be put into the hospital again, and this time it was for his heart. What should have been done months ago, and was ignored by his primary care physician, finally caught up to him. It was discovered by his Gastroenterologist, who flat-out told him that he would not perform and endoscopy on him until his heart issue had cleared up. My railing at JC over the phone whilst in the G.E. doctor's office did nothing, because he is a stubborn man. Alex's hollering did nothing. So, we let him come home. This was February 24, 2014.

We finally got him to the hospital on February 26, 2014, when I refused to speak to him for 2 days. I turned my back. Every other gambit had failed, but this. JC has had little love or interaction in his life, but I knew this was one thing he could not bear. I stopped interacting with him at all. He would walk into a room; I would walk out. It tore me up inside, and yes, it was cruel, but it worked. He gave in and went to the hospital. Alex and I visited him and made him laugh; JC and I are never angry with one another for long; there is too much love and we have cared for one another through so much, but I am not ready to let him go. As I told him, "I'm not through making you miserable in my attempts to make you experience happiness!"

The amazing thing is, the human body is hard to kill. The heart catheterization did not have the desired results, so for now, the doctors are using a combination of medicines to break up the calcified stent and the surrounding plaque. If this does not work, then, they will be forced to do a surgical bypass. Good thing I remembered all of that crap from the good doctors at the University of Michigan hospital, almost 40 years ago. 

JC seems to have weathered it well, better than his princess of a cat, Mama, and myself. Mama, of course looked for him constantly, and with him gone, she was forced by me to remain inside the entire time. No half-ajar doors, where she has the run of in-and-out; it is far too dangerous a neighborhood, with me here by myself to leave any door open. So, for about five days, I chased her around, with a spray bottle and picked up the stuff she knocked down. I didn't sleep well, and wouldn't have anyway, with JC gone. My Parkinsonism, requires lots and lots of sleep, and when I don't get it, I find that the Primodone, while helpful, still leaves me fatigued. The muscles on the right side of my body seem to have been weakened and my right eye-lid starts to droop. A lovely sight, I'm sure. 

Before my 2nd eye surgery, I could sorta do this. If this came in blue, I'd totally own it.

So, after JC was home, and we had settled in, I took off up to our favorite Sweetbay/WinnDixie to get his medicines. In spite of what I said, I am amazingly strong and a good 2-mile walk was what I needed to blow out some of the tension and anxiety. The muggers have learned to leave me alone after their last botched attempt, so I am safe. I grabbed the meds and a few items and stuffed them into my backpack in the front of the store.

Whilst doing so, I knocked over this poor gent's bike with my cane. I felt terrible and hoped I hadn't hurt it. I was trying to pick it up and I heard "Hey! That's my bike! Don't be takin' my stuff!" I whirled around and said, "I'm so sorry mister! I knocked it down! I hope I didn't hurt it!" He saw my cane and pack and bags, and asked "Could you wait here while I get my stuff?" I said "Sure! I'd be happy to!" He went back inside and got his things and came back, saying "Lawdy, lawdy, they put the grapes on the bottom, then the eggs and the canned goods on top!" He got it all arranged, as I was arranging my stuff.

Where I live, the bicycle is the primo method of transportation, unless you're a drug dealer or a pimp. The gent's bike didn't have quite this much stuff, but he had several 6-packs of water, a dozen eggs, grapes and canned goods on his handlebars. I've seen some contraptions in my time, running up and down Nebraska Ave., 33602, 33605, and some really, really fine looking rolling iron that is not owned by the upstanding citizens or V. M. Ybor.

Then he looked at me and said, "Can I help you to your car?" Then, he looked again, at my cane and glasses, and said, "Oh." This isn't the first time I've been asked this. "Nah, I'm taking the bus," I said. "Okay, well have a great day, and thanks!" He started to peddle away, and stopped and started laughing. "I forgot to unlock my bike!" I looked at him. "I have that effect on people. I sow confusion, wherever I go. It's my confuse-a-what™ and I'm really good at it." He said, "I can see that. Goodbye" Off he went.

I just made it to my bus and got home. I showed JC all of the items that he could make for himself that were easily fixed and heart-healthy. I gave him his meds and realized that I was so tired I could hardly move. Alex and I had made egg salad with 35 eggs that the church had provided on Sunday, so I had a sandwich and laid down for a nap at 3:30 pm on Wednesday, March 5, 2014. I woke up, today, at 2:10 pm. Yep, I was tired and that was some nap. JC is comfortable and seems willing to do what the doctors are asking of him; I hope he complies. Only he can do that; I am the most compliant patient on earth. I am non-compliant in every other aspect of my life; and oh yes, I do challenge my doctors. But, being compliant and going along and trusting everyone, got me to this point where I have nothing to retire on; after helping husbands get degrees and all. You hear me, Lithia? I will outlive JC; my health is much better now than it was 25 years ago, but my attitude is much, much worse in regards to "letting things go". I will fight for JC and I will fight for myself, as well.

A reminder! Theme Reveal for the A-to-Z Blogging Challenge is March 21, 2014. The Sign up is here. I am part of #teamDamyanti and our goal is to assist you in choosing a "theme" for your A-to-Z Challenge, 2014!

ROW80 DAY 18 - MANY MOODS OF MARY

I was planning on waxing ecstatic about my new group of victims, er,  friends, that I have joined. Triberr! Yes, I am in a very prestigious tribe, with Head Chief of none other than Andi-roo herself, along with my swell Bonfire mates, Amberr Meadows, DadBlunders, Lottie Nevin and last, but definitely not least, the estimable, Jesse Libecap or "Hubz". In honor of this fine occasion, I hereby  dub Andi-roo "Grand Duchess of Dialog." Well, at least until I think up something less hokey. Anyway, after I admired my new Tribe and read all the cute little comments, I checked in on my own blog. Actually, I read my email.

Disaster! Well, kind of. Or, actually some of my Mary Confuse-a-(fill in the blank) struck a hapless reader. A very kind lady and a fine writer was confused by my timeline or description, or perhaps my life, and for that I apoligize, Michelle G. I kind of picked on all of my readers a few posts ago, indicating that I don't get much feedback from you, so I'm not sure what you all are reading or not reading. If this were in the daily paper, I could inveigh heavily on how this was mighty fine toilet paper, or bird-cage liner, but the culture has changed; we all know that. In my post-analytical, pray to the God of logic and sense, I am at last comfortable with the fact that I sow confusion at least as much as I am confused and am unbothered by it. Some people are bothered by it though and still appreciate some rational behavior. However, most of my readers are familiar with my rather free-wheeling approach after everything went to hell. I have a decent rein on my circumstances; my bills are paid, I have a roof over my head and I'm pretty healthy. Just about all my readers know why I blog now and why I'm no longer in the concert halls or working for IBM or Verizon anymore. Let me recap, quickly.

I became homeless after a lengthy hospitalization. I'm not anymore, but live across the street and over one block. I see lots of the same people. I'm glad that I am here. I can write about these folks and maybe be of some help to them.

This is one of those days when I just can't scrape up the enthusiasm, to be cheerful, insightful and breathtakingly witty. I know it's temporary, but everything seems so bleak. I hate being blind, it fucking sucks. I run into walls, doors. I jump because something the size of a mouse seems the size a car and cars are the size of mice; it's always DefCon5 in my head. I hate having to plan my goddamned day around the St. Vitus' Dance thing. I wonder how long it will be before I have to get rid of things I can't button. How long will it be before someone has to feed me? I haven't been able to drive for several years. I have trouble cooking now and pretty much don't now. I blame it on the heat. This is the down side to the bipolar thing. I'll take the up thing. I'd rather stay up for a month and forget August. I can wake up in September in the hospital again and call it a month.

Jesus, I'm sorry. I have no one to talk to, really. I love JC beyond measure, but we are worlds apart in so many things. He has no concept what I've been through and where I'm going. The only reason I pour this out to you, is because I have been caught at a low point in this instant. And why? Who knows? I don’t feel ill, I don't believe there are any celectial bodies in some kind Szyzygy thing, I took my meds. It's just that every so often... I don't feel right. I don't think we're meant to walk around in some kind of happy haze and I'm not that type anyway. I usually walk around in a froth of righteous anger, ready to punch out the lights of any Simon Legree who dares to cross paths with me. I will hurt you in a heart beat if you take on the weak, defenseless, young, halt, lame and I have.

Well, that must have been just a melancholy instant. I feel better now. Ready to see what is going on out in the world. Ready to figure out this Triberr thing. I think I'm going to be the Critic/Cheerleader of the outfit. I can't write fiction. It's like when I was in music school. We had to actually compose music. I can play music, just don't ever, ever ask me to write the stuff. If something diabolical happened and every piece of sheet music ever written disappeared and everyone who ever remembered a piece of music or played by ear forgot how to do that, it would be unanimous. "Mary is not allowed to put pen to paper."

When I was in Music Composition II in college and struggling, my professor said, "here's a fool-proof method," whereupon he had me map out a bunch of triads, tonic, subdominant, dominant, tonic, something simple. Then he had me circle one of the notes in each triad and draw a line from each note, a musical sort of connect-the-dots, "fool-proof," if you will. I did as he instructed. He played what I had written. He sat there, at the piano for a minute. He said, "God, that's horrible." So, Mary doesn't write music. And Mary will not be writing fiction.