We’re four days into 2013 and I don’t like it. Already has a bad feel to it as far as years go.
For one thing it started in a fog. Literally a fog. I’ve got some inner ear thing going, probably related to sinuses mess I’ve experienced for years. I’ve been enjoying periods of vertigo that would make a three bottle Three Buck Chuck bender proud. Wednesday- literally had to crawl to the can in a cold sweat from motion sickness. I’ve had this before, but not like this.
So guess what, I’m not driving at the moment, at least not until this passes somewhat. I’m not sure if there is a worse feeling in the world than having the bed spins, especially when you didn’t do anything to deserve them. Mrs S has suggested a trip to the doctor, but in the new realty of Health Savings Accounts I’m going to wait for April when the accounts recharge. In the meantime meclizine, dayquil and no sudden head turns seem to get me through the day.
But it’s not a great day. Being drunk all the time with out drinking isn’t as neat as sounds.
I’m also literally starving for content to write about. In the past I’ve had a nice inner voice providing me with snippy quotes and fun topics to share with the world at a 5X a week clip, the last couple weeks that voice seems to have gone a hiatus. I attribute this to a couple things, for one concentrating on standing upright does preoccupy ones thoughts, especially in the shower where I tend to get a lot of my ideas. And two, I’ve sort of descended into this weird state of mundainacity. (my word, feel free to use it, it means a state of sublime banal ambivalence.) I haven’t been mad about anything for a couple weeks now. Which means, the fuel to my creative fire is low.
That’s what happens when the kids move out. Nothing to get too excited about.
Friend of my suggested that I try some hormone replacement theropy. Man-hormone. The stuff that gives my mother her thick luxurious Mediterranean cookie duster that frightens the children and makes everyone she talks to uncomfortable. Hard to be polite and not stare. Honestly I’m not all that open to the idea, I sort of feel like testosterone isn’t the latest medical fad. And of the two friends I know who are on it, one has become a nuvo Hercules like stud at 52, the other has come down with testicular cancer at 61. About 40 years after it would be expected. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a connection.
Nut Cancer. I was pretty sure I’d reached that stage in life where I would longer have to worry about the “boys” anymore. No one else does these days. (thank you I’m here all week). Certainly not the doctor, in old age his focus seems to have moved farther back and up a bit, up as far as his Louisville slugger finger can reach, at least if my latest visits are any indication. Hell of a way to make a living if you ask me.
It could just be a good old fashioned case of seasonal gloomies. That’s a real word BTW. When I was strapping young man enjoying college, and of course being too young to realize just how much of an enjoyment it was a the time, youth is wasted on the youth as they say. I had a favorite Prof, Dr. Richard Ek. He taught communications law. Great guy, Dr. Ek used to wear the most hideously colored sweaters you could imagine to class. Bright gawdy yellows and greens. He wore neon before it was popular. Which for you younger black wearing misguided gothic youths, neon was the rage for about 11 months around 1993. Check out a band called “Loverboy” on Youtube for an example, or look google leggings or legwarmers. Fashion archive.
Anyway Dr. Ek would come into class glowing like a bad fishing lure and proclaim that he was “chasing away the gloomies”. I never forgot about that, always made me chuckle. Unfortunately his gloomies got the best of him and died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 2009. Talk about a sucky end to innocent light hearted search. I only found out about it because I was reminiscing and wondering if he was still alive. I haven’t resorted to pursing the obits yet, but I am finding myself reminiscing more that I should be.
BTW, for us older guys who are uh, you know a little to the right of hypochondriac and a little to left of paranoid, when you do print the obituaries of anyone under 108, a brief cause of death would be appreciated. I like to be able to clear the causes of folks mortality from my own growing list of possibilities. I prefer to see guys my age who die from car accidents or self-immolation rather than massive heart attack after straining on the stool. I’m just being honest here. I like to rule things out.
Speaking of Dr. Ek, I didn’t expect to find him living when I looked him up. When he died he was 82. I seriously thought he was 82 in 1984 when I was sitting in his class. That means he was 57 then. Not much older than I’m going to be in a year or so. Assuming I don’t OD on Dramamine or fall off the can as my world makes a sharp left turn as I reach for the TP, only to hit my head on something hard.
Shit, one more thing to worry about. I think I might look into a home helmet. Something stylish and sexy, might as well get fitted for braces and headgear while I’m at it. When I was kid I never complied to the Orthodontists instructions, no matter how “cool” Dr. Bollinger said the latest neck straps for headgear were, he was wrong. Incredibly wrong. Wearing headgear to school did not improve my chances to mate, to the contrary. Shocking I know. But who knows at my age wearing a helmet, braces and headgear at 50, lets just say vertigo and testosterone therapy would be a lot lower on my list of shit to worry about. And, would probably give me more stuff to write about.
Look at that, something to look forward too. The year is looking up already. Nothing else, I got 1000 words.