Circuit Breaker

I am burnt. Shattered. Toasted.
It's been a long week. Too many problems all at once.
It all caught up to me when I called my grandmother late last week. She is in a 100-day convalescent program to determine if she will be able to return home or if she will need assisted living.
No one except my granny thinks she can complete the rehabilitative therapies.
When I talked to her, she could barely speak; I don't know if it she was drugged or not, all she could do was cough. Into the phone.
LOUDLY.
Then she would gasp and cough again.
"A...A..Allan? * HACK* "is that y..*HACK!..*gasp*..."
I tried to keep talking about the nice weather and the pie my neighbors gave me; about how my car runs better now ( omitting the fact I spent my vacation money on it), but I couldn't maintain my composure.
Her coughing was causing me physical pain and her palpable suffering was shutting me down emotionally.

Here comes the panic. Every problem, real or imagined, was being encoded into my grandmother's tortured breath and passed along the telephone wires until it reached the bullhorn I was staring into on the other end.

I can't breathe either, I want to tell her, but I can't speak. I can't think. Panic.
Forgive me, but I'm having a freakscene attack and I can't talk.
I love you. Goodbye.
I had to take two Ambien before I could sleep that night.

Saturday, I took my panic pills in the morning. I almost never do that but I felt twigged even before I showered.
I did two loads of laundry; swept the apartment; did the dishes; bought groceries and made a nice green chile, rice and cilantro dish; scrubbed the litterbox closet and started organizing my comic collection. I kept getting distracted by reading them so I didn't get far with that.

I did everything except what I was supposed to do, which was to drive north and sit by my grandmother's side.

The guilt from this dereliction kept me awake all night and I had to do my early morning radio show with barely any sleep. Now I'm too exhausted to make the six-hour round-trip, so I'll take my guilt to bed with me again tonight. Maybe I will visit on the Fourth.

Anyway, I did manage to do my show:

Soweto Gospel Choir- Many Rivers to Cross
I do not think that one must necessarily believe in God in order to draw strength from spiritual music. This song just sounds good to me.

Talking Heads- Take Me To The Water
More river music.

Peter Tosh- You Can't Fool Me Again
Perhaps you can't, but someone very much like you can. And has. And will.Again.

Damien Dempsey- Celtic Tiger
"I am your Goddess Greed, you shall have no God but me"

Fairport Convention- The Way I Feel
I don't recall what I was dreaming about, but in it, this song was playing. Who says dreams never come true?

Clarence Fountain & 5 Blind Boys- Lift Me Up
All the way to Olympus.

Loreena McKinnett- Gates of Istanbul
It's almost as if you were there.

Kinks- Waterloo Sunset
I believe that this is one of the most beautiful pop songs of all time.

Clash- Hate and War
Lest we get too complacent, let's remember what's really happening in the world.

Emmylou Harris- Here I am
At the end, the songs picks up a percolating, electronically-assisted groove as Emmylou announces her presence. Sweet production , sweet voice.

Camon Friel- Yanks
"If ya wanna make money, ya gotta sing like one"

Grace Slick/Paul Kantner- Walkin'
Wandering through the wasteland.

10 CC- Sand In My Face
Dynamic Tension!

Gary Numan- M.E.
Why should I care? Why should I try?
Oh no. Oh no.
I turn off the pain like I turned off you all
Now there's only M.E.
Gary Numan sure has some cheery lyrics.

Fiona Joyce- The Juggler
This is a current release from a St. Clair Records promo compilation. I don't like a lot of the stuff in their catalog, but Joyce is wonderful.

Graham Central Station- Can't Stand The Rain
It's warm and sunny and I can't stand feeling this tired on such a nice day. I'll pretend it's raining and try not to feel guilty about not visiting my grandmother.

Savoy Brown- Poor Girl
This song is for Moon Pie. Moon Pie was a girl I used to live with whose head and ass were both pale, nearly-perfect spheres; reminding me of twin Moons. I never did explain this term of endearment to her.

Pretty Things- Bitter End
Phil May feels your pain. What a great, underated band the Pretties were.

Atomic Rooster- Don't Know What Went Wrong
Story of my life. Same old song, don't know what went wrong, etc etc...

Lou Reed- Leave Me Alone
Really. I have maximum straws on my back.

Eleni Mandell- I Love Paris
I wish her records were easier to find. Perhaps in Paris?

Steeleye Span- Lowlands of Holland
After your husband drowns at sea, it's laments , homesickness and sorrow from there on out.

Maire Brennan- Beating Hearts
Yesterday I was outside, using a broom to beat the cat hair and dust out of my throw rugs. It's amazing how much crap is in those things. It reminded me of this song's title.

Marianne Faithfull- Broken English
I dedicated this song to "my good buddy in the UK, Tony B. Naming you envoy to the Middle East makes as much sense as making Pete Rose commissioner of baseball." I wonder if anyone knew what I was talking about?
What are we fighting for? It's not my security!
No shit.

Flaming Groovies - She's Falling Apart
She's my foundation.She keeps me standing. Now she's falling apart.
Dude. Eggs in one basket...tsk.

Golden Palominos - Pure
She has never felt so pure...
This song is so groovy and sexy that it almost always gets a call :"who is that? This is cool etc".
I love it when people call and ask what they just heard.

Velvet Underground- Train Goin' Round The Bend
I honestly don't know how I made it through the week, but I did.
Now it's over and it's time to rest. Maybe I'll scrub the bathtub...

A Bad Way to Start the Day

Yesterday was a really enjoyable day. After work I ran into an old friend at the market and it was a genuinely good moment- like a mutual :" wow! not only can I not believe that you are still alive, but you actually look healthy!"

It was reassuring to see someone else who lived through the 'party years 'and came out more or less intact- it really was. I went home feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, which is a fairly new and unfamiliar mindset for me, but one that I enjoy a lot and could really get used to.

I wrote to friend about how happy I was - and I wasn't even high.

I must be pretty well-adjusted, I congratulated myself.

That was a jinx.

This morning I couldn't find my wallet or my work IDs. They are always in the same place, so I never look for them until it's time for the bus.

They were not there.
I missed the bus.
I looked everywhere- nowhere to be found.
I missed the next bus.

Owww...my stomach starts hurting. No fair!
My guts are on fire. I feel sick.

I know it's just stress, but knowing that doesn't untie the knots in my bowels, it just makes me angry at myself for letting the stress bother me so much, which makes the knots constrict, which makes me angrier at myself...so I distract myself with nightmare scenarios about what is happening with my wallet and ID , which I was certain had fallen into the wrong hands.

Called my bank. No activity on my account. Good.

But one of my passkeys is for the Federal Reserve Building. What if some psycho uses it to get inside and does some crazy shit that I get blamed for? I know it's pretty damned unlikely that such a thing would occur , just like I knew that my heart probably wasn't going to stop beating in the next ten seconds- but it didn't stop me from feeling these fears.

I was going into panic mode without knowing it- and I really should know better.

Then the phone rang.

I should have known better to answer it, but I thought it was work and I needed to call in anyway.

It was a collection agency. From a medical visit in November that should have been workman's comp. It was all straightened out by my former employer- they asked me for the bills and told me they'd cover it, since it was on-the-job. I had all the paperwork saved- I had mailed it months ago, but kept copies just in case.
I told the agency that I'd fax that stuff directly to them and they said fine, no problem.

Well, damn. I can't find that paperwork anywhere. It must be with my wallet, which I can't find either.
I'm shaking and sweating. The panic is here.
I've let it get to me.
All the crap I've been through and a little thing like a lost wallet is going to break me?
That sucks.

I take a pill and walk around the block. I feel the chemical comfort , just as warm as the sunshine on my face. I smile at a jogger and he smiles back.

I pet someone else's cat.

I look at a bucket of spilled paint on an otherwise pristine and newly renovated porch. There are sneaker prints, yellow on gray, in a sort of tip-toe circle around the spill. What a mess.
Bummer for them, but it cheers me up for some reason.

When I return home, I feel almost human. I call my old employer- they say :"don't worry, just have them send us the bills, we'll get it fixed- it's only $65, we'll cover, no sweat".

Hey! That's pretty cool! I still can't find my wallet though.

And it's too late for me to go to work. I'm out a day's wages and I'm too tranquilized to be very productive.

The phone rings again. I answer without thinking, that's how mellow I am.

It's a Focus Group company that I have done a number of Focus Groups for. At a FG, a group of demographically correct persons are presented with products and asked to evaluate them.

One time I tasted unmarked sodas and told them I disliked them all, which was true. I got $50 and a box lunch for those opinions.

Another group was comprised entirely of male whiskey drinkers.

( note: if a FG company calls you, tell them that you use whatever product/service they are asking about, even if you don't. If you are not a potential customer , they won't select you)

We were presented with a great number of experimental bottle and label designs and asked to rate them on a scale of 1 to ten and give a short explanation as to why we did or did not like them.
Our group were all expecting to be sampling the products , not looking at labels, but we set about doing as we were asked. They were paying $100, after all.

One of the bottles - I forget the brand, Old Overcoat, I think it was- was a 'novelty' design, shaped just like an American football with a spout at one tip and a small square base at the other. It was full of brown liquid and really did look like a football standing upright on a kicking tee.
About five seconds after the instructor left the room, one of my groupmates started making little feint passes with the football bottle- we knew we were being observed, but I am sure we'd have started tossing that thing around if we weren't under adult supervision...anyway, when the instructor came back and asked for our ratings, we all started laughing.

One gentleman raised his hand.

"Y'all need to make that football bottle outta plastic. That glass is gonna bust upside somebody's head."

"Upside some...?", asked the instructor.

"Yeah. Like when you're playin' catch.", I chimed in.

A younger kid bipped himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand to illustrate what we meant.

"So...you feel safety may be an issue."

"Liability too, " said the man who wanted the plastic bottle.


Anyway, I just found out that next week I will get paid $75 to spend an additional $75 on stuff I get to keep at a well-known Big Box store with a local HQ. This company recently laid off most of it's best salespeople and replaced them with scrubs. It was in the news.

As a result, service sucks and sales are down. Who could have guessed?

My mission is to "mystery shop" and report back on my experience for a total of $150 in cash and prizes- so I'll make up the money I missed at work today- and I never would have gotten the call if I'd gone to work. So at least that worked out. Whew!

Fuck. I might as well get my birth certificate and SS papers and head down to DMV and get a new driver's license- then I can go to the bank and cancel my debit card and withdraw a few bucks until I get a new card.

So I walk out to my car- which I see I have left unlocked- and there they are.

My wallet and IDs, on the passenger seat where I left them last night.

Diagnosis

We can't escape our pasts, we can only survive them.

I survived twenty-odd years heavy drinking. Just barely, but I did.

Now I have to survive the smoking. Mine and that of others.

I have never smoked cigarettes, but I used to work in some of the smokiest bars on the planet. As a child, I used to get sick when the adults would fill the car with smoke. This was attributed to "road -sickness", but I knew better.
And of course there's the weed. Apparently, it's not quite as harmless as I'd fooled myself into believing.

My X-rays show that I have Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or COPD. Until further tests are done, I won't know the severity of my disease, but I do know it's incurable and irreversible.
With luck, I'm in the early stages (0 0r 1 ) and with the help of medicines, I can lead a fairly normal life. No oxygen tanks or surgery needed, just a bit of lifestyle change. There are yoga-based breathing techniques that can help as well. Or so I am told.

I was told that even twenty years of pot smoking alone was unlikely to have been enough to cause this, nor would have the years of second-hand smoke- but together it was almost inevitable.
Then again, some people never smoke at all, second -hand or not- and get COPD anyway. This is 10-20% of the cases. It may be hereditary.
That is not reassuring.

I had to leave work when I found out. I called my Grandmother. We talked for a long time. I told her how scared I was, how I just cannot get the images of my mother's slow death from lung cancer out of my mind.
Even at the age of 40, I still need my Granny to tell me everything is going to be OK.

But she needed something from me too.

She was tip-toeing around it, so I answered her unasked question for her:

No, I am not going to start drinking. There is a good chance that I will live for another twenty years or even longer, but if I drink, I won't last a month.

And, by Godzilla, if I only have a short time, I don't want to waste it drinking.

I don't know what to do , but I need to be sober, I know that much. No more pot, of course.

So I'm trying to get a plan together. I need to clean my mental house and decide what is most important - what needs doing and what doesn't. What I can and can't do.

I have been told to just relax and take it easy until a full battery of tests can be done this weekend.
This is good advice, but I'm finding it impossible to follow.

I Dream of Jinx

Yesterday I got a series of phone calls from London and that was cool. An old friend was listening to me play records that I used to play when we were housemates long ago.
Nice cycle, that.

Then I got a phone call from southern France, which was odd- who do I know in France?

Well, I'll be damned.
I thought you wuz in Australia!
Haven't seen you in ages- you found me on the internet?
Hahah! I guess it helps that my phone number hasn't changed in ten years.
I thought you were dead- you've been reading my blog and you haven't said anything till now ? You ass!
Last time we spoke, I was still drinking...oh.
That's why you stopped calling.
...I said that?
Sorry, mate, I really am.
The booze...
Yep, 17 months sober! You have been reading...how've you been?
Oh man.
That's bloody awful.
No?
You mean it's all sorted in your favor? Kids too?
Well bloody good job! Ha hah, I'm already talking like you!

Here, since you are paying for the call , let me spend 20 minutes telling you about how much better my life is right now - of course, I'm bloody sober, let me finish- a lot of good things have happened, even the bad stuff is damned funny in hindsight...

la la lala la la la la life is good and I go to bed feeling like Monday might not suck.

I step into the shower and notice the shampoo runs right through my fingers.
Shampoo?
I shave my head almost every day. I don't own shampoo.
I look down and my hands are skeletal, the shampoo runs across my bony knuckles and drips onto a mass of wet brown hair at my feet...holy crap, that's my hair!
Now there's blood.
What's going on?

When I wake up I'm covered in sweat even though the covers are on the floor.
Someone has placed one of those Roadrunner cartoon Acme anvils ("16 tons") on my chest and it's making it hard to breathe.
Just because I can't see this anvil doesn't mean it isn't there. The sun is rising and slowly the weight lightens enough for me to make it downstairs and gobble a couple of panic pills. I haven't needed them for a couple weeks, but I am glad I have them.

I need to piss , shave , shower and get ready for work but that dream was too vivid- I'm not ready to enter my bathroom yet.
That bathroom is where I started dying and sometimes I think I should move just to get away from it.

I sit downstairs in silence and pretend to read an old Superman comic; eventually my breath returns to normal and I call into work. My boss knows that I have days like this and agrees that it's better that I not come in after taking my emergency meds.

By noon the drugs are working and I'm fine, just tired ... I see that I have received an email from a beloved High School friend- I want to tell her about all the great new things that I'm feeling, because overall things really are good, but I'm afraid I'll jinx myself if I share too much good news.

Pretty strange sentiment coming from someone who disdains superstition.