An Evil Plot

I’m not f’ing stupid.
Just because my body might be all confused as to what it’s supposed to do right now, doesn’t mean that my mind is frazzled.
I know an evil plot when I see it, and this has “Evil” & “Plot” written all over it.
Just a few short months ago, I was all warm and toasty in my misery and silence, wallowing up to my neck in woe-is-me swamp, and quite happy that no one ever called or emailed to ask how I was doing so I could stay there – after all, I must have written at least a line or two somewhere in my blog vaguely mentioning what I am & had been going through, and if you didn’t pick up on it, it’s your fault, not mine — so I had every right to question if there was anyone out there who cared at all, besides my Dr. and maybe one of the very few people I thought I could consider a friend…
But then my Doctor screwed everything up and decided to put me into a respite/hospice care facility in hopes that it would help my health, and then, to screw with my self pity even more, Bobzilla goes and announces that I’m sick, in bad shape & i a care facility. On Facebook no less, the bastard…
Then, the hordes came.
People I hadn’t seen or heard from in years, people that have the nerve to call themselves my friend – and I tried to loathe you, to wonder where you had been when I really needed you, freezing, dirty, falling apart in my motorhome – and I tried, tried to hate you – through your beautiful words of support, your visits, your well wishes, your seemingly sincere caring…
I didn’t have a chance.
You ripped the loathing away and replaced it with love, appreciation, and yes, sometimes tears.
I realized what a fool I had been, what an idiot I was acting like. You see – I hadn’t tried to contact you either.
Perhaps it was my feminine side coming through, and I expected you to read my mind (ducks) but no, I didn;t contact you, so how could you know?
.
I’m not good at saying thank you, though I have said it more times than I can count – to the point where those two words don’t make sense anymore. I’ve written it in big capital letters, in different colors, and in as many ways that I could come up with until I had run out of ways to say it…
…so there is nothing left to do but show you how much I appreciate you all by continuing to live long enough until all of my “pay it forward” debts are taken care of, and at this rate, I’ll need to somehow add another 80 years or so to my life – and I definitely need to get on the road.
See what I mean?
Evil. Plot.
No rest, no finally figuring out what lays behind door number death and satisfying my curiosity, all I can do is keep fighting like hell for my health and do something which at least is much easier than figuring out new ways to say thank you, and get incredibly creative in giving, helping, and all of the things that come so much more naturally to me than saying thank you.
.
To all of you with your support, caring, beautiful words and far too many things to name, you suck… and I love you. Thank you, so very, very much, from the bottom of my heart.
.
From all of this however, I did learn a valuable lesson – a simple one to follow through on.
Call people. Check in with people. People you haven’t heard from in years, or even taking the time to really find out about the people you see every day. Listen. Shut up, and listen to them.
Email them. Call. Send smoke signals, anything. I didn’t, and I ended up getting more and more upset with you for not contacting me – and that’s just straight up bullshit.
I’m tired now, posting this without reading it (as usual) so I hope it has at least some linear flow, and makes the tiniest bit of sense. If not, ask someone else to explain it to you – I have some getting healthy to do.
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Because of you…

There have been people over the years that have called me courageous.
Quite honestly however, I don’t see that. I live my live the way I choose, and simply do whatever it takes in order to.
I would be lying if I said that at times I wasn’t terrified, that I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing.
I would be lying if I said that often I wonder if I will ever get better, & I lay in this hospital bed afraid that I’ll never get out on the road again.
The Road.
It screams my name, it calls me. It’s my imagination, I know – only my imagination, but there is little that is more powerful.
In the secret places of my heart terror & love fight a  war. I’m afraid, but I won’t stop fighting. I can’t.
I can’t. Ever.
There is a world out there that I need to see – a world as large as my heart, a world that will bring even more to it. It swells with strength because you are in it.
All of you.
It was only a couple of months ago while sitting in my motorhome that I felt I could die and no one would notice – but then this happened. The sickness that I had been dealing with in silence, almost alone for just under three years, fighting like hell in the motorhome was made public, and people came out of nowhere – some that I hadn;t seen or spoken to in years.
Truth be told, at first I was pissed off. This is MY suffering, my misery, and you all have your own lives to deal with. Your own lives that I didn’t want to interupt – but you came, in words and in body, in beauty, and quite honestly, I can;t figure out what I have done to deserve all of you – but here you are.
Here you are, and I will never be able to thank any of you enough – though perhaps pass your love along to someone else who needs it… once I get the hell out of here.
Right now the only thing that gives me a slight bit of comfort, the only thing that helps, is soaking in scalding epsom salt baths to draw the fluid out that would otherwise soak through the clothes I have in a few short minutes. Western medicine can’t figure out what’s wrong, and as much as I love my Doctors the only thing they hanve been doing is throwing drugs at the symptoms as they can’t find the cause… throwing drugs at the symptoms and missing. As a matter of fact the epsom salt baths go completely against what the dermatologists told me to do – but they couldn’t see past the flesh to the root of it all. It was a desperate decision one morning at 3am to try, and the only thing that has brought comfort…
Soon I will be getting acupuncture treatments from an old friendwho has made it extremely affordable for me, and that I am thrilled about.
All I want to do is get back on the road – not feel so drugged out all the time anymore, and be able to not need scalding baths – because it’s damn difficult to find a bathtub large enough, and I ain’t got one in my motorhome.
All I want is to see the world – take roads that are barely ther anymore, and find places to look out over everything and know what I’ve been fighting for.
Perhaps with a dog – and perhaps with a partner as well.
I’ve already started looking at other motorhomes, ones not necessarily larger but with a better floor plan for a dog, and ther are some good deals out there, but I would need to save up for one and then sell Alice, or put my things in storage while I hope for a good deal to come along. I’m working on a plan… kinda – but I will need to feel confident enough to leave this place first…
I need to get better. I need to get out on the road, and continue to travel the beautiful, aimless journey that fills my heart.
In other news – does anyone have a Kindle, and what do you think? I’m seriously thinking about saving up to get a Kindle 3G to save on space in the motorhome, and being able to get books wherever I am… the ones I ordered when I first got here are almost done… I’ve been nursing them, but now the turn of each page on the last book sounds like the tick of a time-bomb to me. In here they are the only worlds I have, and onceit’s read, once the final word passes by, all the worlds will implode…
This has turned into a babblefest. Time to see if I can’t sleep a bit before I need to go to the American Steel building & move my motorhome to a different part… praying for no rain…
and now, due to a sleepless night due to discomfort, going to try to get an hour or two…

day in, day out…


Time & reality are thin for me here, in bed most the day and night to the point that they get blurred together; time is recorded by meals, and when they come daily to take my vital signs. The outside world becomes hazy, the days follow days follow… I forget that there are things that need to be done, things I want to do. Awake at night, sleep during the day – or something like that, right?

Does it matter? Not here. Most people have spent much more time than me in these walls, going around and around, living, and yes- dying. Natasha died here a few weeks ago, and nothing changed except the room was empty again. I still wish her well when I turn off the light, because I don’t think anyone else does. She was only here for three weeks – or somewhere around there.

Time.

I busy myself when I have the energy to be busy by reading, by taking silly shots of me with my camera… by trying to think of something to write. I have a notebook scattered with thoughts, pretty beginnings that will never find an end to their stories, so they will forever sit and wait to become something… maybe someday, maybe someday… but these days it seems like such an effort to write, at least until I start.

I mean hell, the laptop is at least two feet away, and I need to sit up, and… sheesh.

Admittedly, I have been watching much more television than I like to, but what else is there to do? By far my favorite station is the Food Network, and you better believe that I’m going to be cookin’ soon – somehow, someway, and yeah, you’re invited to eat – because who knows, it may be your kitchen. And a little of your money for the food.

One thing that has re-emerged in watching the shows is my insatiable lust, my uncontrollable desire, my desperate need for raw oysters, to the point of looking up the menu & prices on the Hog Island website. (((sigh)))

Okay, pretty much any good food (it’s fine for what it is here, & they do a good job most of the time – but by no means is it “great”. My eyes have, however, tasted the amazing things on the television in my mind – & that’s what I want.

Like a big ol’ spoiled brat, I WANT!

Maybe if I dress up in my busker outfit & head out to Union Square… “Scuse me, lady? Spare $60 for some oysters?”

It is, after all, the holidays, & I always did well at Union Square – while freezing my friggin ASS off, & the ass underneath that… at least this way I’ll be able to move around, and besides, I ordered a nice new cane (for pretty cheap – less than a good dinner) off of eBay – I mean hell, what’s the point in being a gimp if ya can’t use it to accessorize?

I really shouldn’t watch the Food Network.

 

Lunch time. Must be 12:30

and sadly, this was somewhat tiring… but perhaps I’m just out of practice.

 

And Now, Picture Time.