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Thursday, March 02, 2006
My Thanks to some friends who've written messages of love and concern. As for the specific medical / economic situations mentioned in the previous entry... well, the "absolute worst" did not happen and that's what passes for good news. But life continues to batter us physically, financially, emotionally and whatever else you've got.
My Mom is in the hospital now as of last week... will be away a few more weeks. Pneumonia among other things. The catalyst for this was a near-disaster involving the house's oil burner. This was caused by some fuck not correctly doing the routine maintenance he was paid to do several months ago. There was considerable damage done.
My brother had his foot amputated today after a severe diabetes-related infection turned gangrenous. My Mom does not know as yet, and is too delicate to deal. Since he's her main helper... driving, shopping, so forth... this creates a new and troubling situation apart from the already grim news.
None of us have enough money to live on properly as is, and of course this all makes the strain more ominous. Depression haunts us all. Any report I offer on current trials is random; they come so fast and furious that last week's horror gets trumped by this week's. I resist talking about it very much, because I am sick to fucking death of playing the benighted whiner. Nevertheless, the onslaught is surreal in its relentlessness and ever-unpredictable variety.
It achieves the condition of black comedy... like that fake "lost dog" ad listing the pup's numerous ailments and deformities followed by "Answers to the name Lucky." The luck of the fucking Irish, mate. And surely there are some reading this who relish the account of our misfortune, ain't that right, Regan? Well, go ahead. It's the least of my concerns, enemies, flown-the-coop friends et al. I'm more interested in acknowledging those of you who give a shit and reach out with the small, loving note or the breezy phone call despite my own poor recent track record in keeping ties bound.
Between Shelley and me raising our beautiful, joyous, ballbustingly demanding babies with no assistance from baysitters, etc, and running around coping with doctors (and my family members struggling in two different hospitals), it is virtually impossible to respond to individual messages right now, so please understand that you're not being ignored and your support is anything but unappreciated.
My absolute exhaustion makes a world of chores all the rougher, but there is a deeply renewing energy that comes from the affection and faith of friends; it truly helps. There are even occasional words of encouragement for my forlorn musical efforts, and that pulls small success out of crushing failure. That inspires a spirit drenched in hopelessness and worn down by constantly trying to sandbag the levee.
The ocean will take us, of that I have no doubt, but some of you send humor, prayer, appreciation for things like these songs of mine that mean nothing to me anymore. That does mean something to me. And that makes the stupid music somehow valid. And that gives the chores another purpose beside the immediate and concrete: to salvage whatever can be salvaged from life and elevate that... celebrate it.
At the dismal end of wretched 2005, I resolved to make art and music this year... to reconnect with beloved friends, enjoy (what's left of) my wonderful family and keep an eye trained on the higher possibilities. So far it has been tough to do all that, but I remain determined. Financial demands force me to take some horrid job as soon as possible - retail, cleaning, something suitable for an unqualified middle age-er - but creation will somehow resume.
Life is so fucking brutal. Dunno if Pete and brother Bob and Dad and all the others lost are anywhere pulling for us, but I am so glad I knew all of them and know all of you. I answer to the name "Lucky." And the only reason I'm alive is to instill the importance of that in Lily and Miles' sweet, new souls so that they can survive this purgatory. And laugh and sing, somehow, through all that they encounter, human and even worse.
So my love Shelley and I will deal as best we can, and we'll see you soon. I swear.
My Mom is in the hospital now as of last week... will be away a few more weeks. Pneumonia among other things. The catalyst for this was a near-disaster involving the house's oil burner. This was caused by some fuck not correctly doing the routine maintenance he was paid to do several months ago. There was considerable damage done.
My brother had his foot amputated today after a severe diabetes-related infection turned gangrenous. My Mom does not know as yet, and is too delicate to deal. Since he's her main helper... driving, shopping, so forth... this creates a new and troubling situation apart from the already grim news.
None of us have enough money to live on properly as is, and of course this all makes the strain more ominous. Depression haunts us all. Any report I offer on current trials is random; they come so fast and furious that last week's horror gets trumped by this week's. I resist talking about it very much, because I am sick to fucking death of playing the benighted whiner. Nevertheless, the onslaught is surreal in its relentlessness and ever-unpredictable variety.
It achieves the condition of black comedy... like that fake "lost dog" ad listing the pup's numerous ailments and deformities followed by "Answers to the name Lucky." The luck of the fucking Irish, mate. And surely there are some reading this who relish the account of our misfortune, ain't that right, Regan? Well, go ahead. It's the least of my concerns, enemies, flown-the-coop friends et al. I'm more interested in acknowledging those of you who give a shit and reach out with the small, loving note or the breezy phone call despite my own poor recent track record in keeping ties bound.
Between Shelley and me raising our beautiful, joyous, ballbustingly demanding babies with no assistance from baysitters, etc, and running around coping with doctors (and my family members struggling in two different hospitals), it is virtually impossible to respond to individual messages right now, so please understand that you're not being ignored and your support is anything but unappreciated.
My absolute exhaustion makes a world of chores all the rougher, but there is a deeply renewing energy that comes from the affection and faith of friends; it truly helps. There are even occasional words of encouragement for my forlorn musical efforts, and that pulls small success out of crushing failure. That inspires a spirit drenched in hopelessness and worn down by constantly trying to sandbag the levee.
The ocean will take us, of that I have no doubt, but some of you send humor, prayer, appreciation for things like these songs of mine that mean nothing to me anymore. That does mean something to me. And that makes the stupid music somehow valid. And that gives the chores another purpose beside the immediate and concrete: to salvage whatever can be salvaged from life and elevate that... celebrate it.
At the dismal end of wretched 2005, I resolved to make art and music this year... to reconnect with beloved friends, enjoy (what's left of) my wonderful family and keep an eye trained on the higher possibilities. So far it has been tough to do all that, but I remain determined. Financial demands force me to take some horrid job as soon as possible - retail, cleaning, something suitable for an unqualified middle age-er - but creation will somehow resume.
Life is so fucking brutal. Dunno if Pete and brother Bob and Dad and all the others lost are anywhere pulling for us, but I am so glad I knew all of them and know all of you. I answer to the name "Lucky." And the only reason I'm alive is to instill the importance of that in Lily and Miles' sweet, new souls so that they can survive this purgatory. And laugh and sing, somehow, through all that they encounter, human and even worse.
So my love Shelley and I will deal as best we can, and we'll see you soon. I swear.