Even now I don’t have much to say, but at least I feel like writing a bit, and not having much to say lends itself to little but bits. Here are a few:
Except for the lingering phlegm – and we all know how phlegm can linger – I’m on the verge of finally kicking this damned cold that has toyed with me for five or six weeks now with it’s coming and going and changing tactics every time I thought I had one whipped. Good thing too, I’m all out of tissues.
If my writing seems even less coherent than usual, it’s because I’m on drugs today, the hard kind. Checked in this morning for a “routine” colonoscopy and the stuff they shot into my IV had a nice and peaceful feel to it. The last time I had one of these procedures, the nurse told me it was something called “twilight.” When I mentioned that term today she said some people call it that, but she preferred to call it a conscious sedative or something similar to that. I can’t remember because I was on drugs today – remember?
I any event, it is dreamy stuff, but allows the medical team to talk to you and give you instructions that all pretty much relate to the idea that you need to roll over on your left side so they can stick the camera on the tube up your rear end. The only bad thing was the fact that the preparation involves a discontinuation of eating solid foods 36 hours before the procedure and a promise to consume only clear liquids and food during that time. I passed on those in favor of the two liter jug of lemon flavored liquid designed to clean you out and there is no question that it did its job.
So with the cold and colonoscopy (it came out fine) out of the way, it should be clear sailing from here right? Not exactly. First thing tomorrow morning I will meet my new dentist – the old one retired – for the purpose of doing restoration work on the crown that was destroyed last week in the process of a root canal that required three visits to the oral surgeon.
While April has not been a great month for me, it has worked out for the wild Tom turkeys I would otherwise have been chasing around the ranch this month. My loss, their gain I suppose.
April has not been without a few bright spots. One of them was the arrival of a couple books ordered from Amazon – both involving one of my favorite writers and poets, Richard Brautigan who killed himself in 1984 at the age of 49. The first, Richard Brautigan – The Edna Webster Collection of Undiscovered Writings consists of poems written between the age of 16 and 21 when he packed up and left Eugene, Oregon for San Francisco. The 124 page book, like most of his work, was quick and easy reading and an amusing treat for any Brautigan fan.
The second volume, is a biography by his longtime friend and fellow writer William Hjortsberg. At 854 large pages and the most intricate detail I have ever read (I did not need to know the four types of fly larvae found in the corpse that was not found until weeks after he shot himself) is neither quick or easy reading, or to this point amusing. Whether it will be a treat for this fan who “discovered” Brautigan in 1966, remains to be seen.
On the other hand it is an extraordinarily documented and highly voyeuristic look into the often tortured life of an often whimsical personality and writer who many list as one of the most important and influential writers of the latter half of the 20th century.