Sunday, July 29, 2012

" A Sunday Mosaic: A Confusion Of Errant Thoughts, And Lost Desires "




“ A Sunday Mosaic: A Confusion Of Errant Thoughts, And Lost Desires “





07/29/12





To my very, very dearest friends, and ever-constant, loyal readers,



‘ Present Tense ‘



Just before 5:00 a.m., I was dragged from a deep, black, and dreamless fitful sleep (is this what death is like?), have to get up, and run to the bathroom too late; with every stumbled step, I just peed myself a little more, and guess I will have to start wearing Depends, again, although the plastic makes me feel hot and uncomfortable.



Daisy—of course, much wiser than I—took advantage of the situation by wanting ‘out’ probably eight times, until she was ready to settle down on the carpet, and look at me.



Shoot, thought I, I might as well stay up, even though I still feel tired, and putz-around, making coffee, getting my pills ready for the week in my ‘seven-day’ pill box, and hoped to write a diary entry for today.



Further, I am—again—waiting for the air-conditioning repair person to come out to the house; for although my central A/C unit is probably two years old, or slightly less, and is a ‘Rheem’ ( you might want to remember that name, should ever you have to replace your existing unit ).



This past week, it gradually stopped delivering wonderfully cool air into the house, until the temperature in the house got up to 80 degrees ( I know, not much too many), but at that temperature, both dog and I have trouble breathing, and…we both ROASTED, sweating, and miserable.



The visit, yesterday, cost $304.00 (which I do not really have, and so slapped it on the charge card, oh boy).



Yesterday, the unit’s coils were frozen, and it needed four pounds of Freon, to boot.  Now, dear friends, I could be mistaken, or misled, or both, but I would have thought that an almost brand-new, out-of-the-box, 3-ton, A/C unit would have cruised for maybe five to ten years before evidencing the slightest peep.



Of course, I cannot—now—find the paperwork, nor the warranty, but I would guess—following the nature of ‘shit karma’, that it would be just a shade past the warranty.



When I quizzled the repair person, he told me that while ‘Rheem’ central A.C’s are assembled in the good, old U.S. of A., the parts are made…guess where?  Where very nearly everything else we buy comes from: the ‘Land of the Lotus’, if I am not mistaken.



Funny, but the unit this one replaced purred along for almost fifteen years before the heating element crashed and burned.



And while I can understand, though dislike the concept of ‘planned obsolescence’, this is almost like pre-planned, and arranged obsolescence.  Less than two years of functioning, trouble-free life?  I find it shameful, wasteful, costly, and—in general—a huge pain in the ass.



I am SO thankful, I happened to have an ancient, small, ‘window-shaker’ of an air conditioner, propped up in the window in the ‘study’; I had been retreating there just to cool off.  Plus, I had my cousin buy for me a cheap, box fan I can drag nearly everywhere in the house, or, as I like to refer to it: ‘my, little, slice of heaven.’



After the repairman leaves, and—hopefully—I am once-again in full, surrounded by blissfully, cold air, I think I might just go back to bed, to try to get more rest, of course, but, more, to try to make quiet, and less-anxious, a fitful brain, that—like an overweight hummingbird—sees nectar all around, just none nearby.



And until I am able to somehow ‘settle down’, my mind will rush to a thousand places, both attracted to, and repelled by, any, stray notion it might uncover.



I am hoping for a royally, quiet day, free from turmoil, worry, suspense, pain (bet you thought I had forgotten about that!), and general crumminess.





‘ Future Tense ‘



Even as the ‘future’ is unfolding, now, all around us, in every cell, and every part of Man and Nature, still, I find that I avoid it as much as is humanly possible.



Oh, keep a calendar of my future doctor’s appointments, and further limn there, when my shower days are, and when my cousin might be coming to visit.  I write down the dreaded day I have picked, during which to sit down, and spend the morning paying, and paying, and, paying bills of all sorts; big ones, little ones.  All—frankly irritate me—especially when my income is stretched to it last tensile erg, and beyond.



I no longer drive, nor do I have a car; so, I must throw myself in full upon the kindness of the County Medicare Cab.  They require that I make a reservation two weeks before a doctor’s appointment.  However, that is about all they will do; should you—for example—come away from a doctor’s office with scripts for medication, the County cab will not stop, to allow you to have them filled, which I think is slightly stupid.  Do they think that no one ever leaves without scripts?



To counter that, I happened to find a local Pharmacy who will not only come out to the house to pick up my scripts, but they will also fill them, and deliver them to me, charging me only the standard co-pay for the medications.  Sometimes—though—they get a little slow.  I have been waiting now four days to have a number of my medications delivered to the house. Oh well, come Monday, and I’ll speak to the Pharmacist himself, rather than try to deal with inconstant underlings.  And, quite a few of my medications cannot be just stopped at once, and then re-started, without major upset, and/or the beginnings of a really nasty withdrawal.  See what I mean about, ‘shit karma’.



Well…one does what one can. And then—projected out into space, and into the future is a growing grocery list of more and more things I am now running out of.  And since my rather pitiful SSDI check will not slide into home base until August 3rd,  I am forced to watch and wait, and to—perforce—make up wild concoctions that pass for lunch and supper.  I CAN tell you that there’ll be a LOT of rice cooked, with cans of soup poured over it.  Thanks to Medicaid, my $16.00 a month in Food Stamps hardly pays for the plastic bags to bring the groceries home in.  Dee-ammn.



‘ This Just In ‘





While speaking with a dear friend, yesterday, we BOTH decide that we want Olympic-style ‘gymnast’ bodies; ones that are in top form, and at the top of their game.  They all seem so happy, goofy, and care-free, and why not?  The world is their oyster; they exude charm, and radiant health, and probably have never been in lasting, or debilitating pain.  Or stymied by panic, and anxiety, or agoraphobia.  AND have all their teeth, no wrinkles or grey hair. This is probably the very best shape they will ever be in.  And I—for one—would like to sign up; I’d be glad to step-out of this shell, and leave illnesses, and all that willingly behind.  I think what affects me most is their singular joy to be alive.





‘Past, Perfect Tense’





Often, my very dearest friends, I choose to not look ahead—but rather, turn—to look behind me, into the Past, instead.  And while so many images that lie there, lost in errant memory are flawed, and skewed by time, my goodness!, they’re supposed to be.  All the better able to pick and choose; to dawdle here or there.  To make-up one’s own reality.  Its an escape of course.  But sometimes, wouldn’t we all like to just escape?



Please tell me...if you were so inclined, and could travel back in time to stay, and live, what would it be?



Moi-meme (myself), I think about 1910, now one hundred, two years ago.



Think of it: many of the so-called ‘creature conforts’ were available then.  Electricity.  Electric light.  Cars.  Telephones. Indoor plumbing.  Even air-conditioning, I believe.



Of course, medicine was primitive, and without the plethora of medications we have today. There was aspirin, of course, discovered in 1890, I believe.



I could get used to some Victorian folly of a mansion, and could most easily be convinced to don a ‘morning suit’, with a swallow-tail coat, double-breasted vest, with lapels, pencil-striped pants, and, shoes with spats.



Well. So far, the A/C guy hasn’t shown, and I’m actually a little sleepy.  I think I’ll just go to bed, and deal with all that squak later.



But, before I go, dear friends, I happened to run across a 1918 recorded disk of the Sterling Trio, singing, ‘Everything Is Peaches Down In Georgia.  I really hope that you may like it.






Forgive me, my dear friends, but—somehow—I am very, very sleepy at present, and hope to take full advantage of it with a hoped-for, soothing nap.



As always, I hope that you are ‘cool’ despite this awful heat, and comfortable.  I wish you a day of no, or of lessened pains, with friends and family who love you, and care for you.



And, please know I love you so very dearly!,





‘Zahc’/Charles

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