SUNDAY A.M., 04:00ish, QUIET & COFFEE

I wake up early, most days. Like, 04:00 early. The birds aren't even making any noise outside when I get up, wash my face and hands, clear the slate of naughty or weird dreams and their characters. Last night's dream life was no exception. 12 frames of Weird. All the usual suspects: A couple of dead Friends made cameo's, there was a naked Redhead that was completely out of Left Field (Why the Hell was she naked? Not that it was an unappreciated image.) There was some Futuristic Scene going on and people wandered in and out of the "Train Station" looking environment. I was trying like mad to get the Redhead to come lay down with me, as I was in a bed and nobody else was. She was naked, right? Only she and I were: "dressed for bed." She wandered in and out of the dream, held hands with me once and gave me a wonderful kiss.

Freud would have a fucking party in my dreams. Unless he was peering out of the drawn curtains waiting for the Space Police to show up. You've seen people that get paranoid on cocaine, right? It's quite annoying. My weirdest dreams happen when I wake up in the middle of the night and my back hurts. I take 5mg's of Codeine and go back to sleep. The dreams are just a by-product of the narcotic. As far as I am aware, everybody has pleasant, strange, dreams while under the influence of narcotics. I don't experience any particular "high" while fully conscious but, dreams are a whole 'nuther ball game.

Now it's 07:00. The Other Denizens of this here building will be stirring soon. Thank Gawd for good headphones and Pete Townshend, solo. I'm listening to "Scoop," which is a wonderful recording. I think that what I like the most about Pete's Solo Works is that he gets full Artistic License on the projects. The guitar and vocal work are "out front" and nearly flawless. There's some good piano work as well.

Stage 21 of Le Tour de France racing today. The "Flat Stage." Greipel and Cavendish favored to win the whole show. I used to like to go really fast on expensive bicycles, until I had a wreck that broke 30+ bones on my left side. I have a slight limp and my neck and back hurt ALL THE FUCKING TIME because of that wreck. Hit my head so hard, I couldn't feel my left leg for 6 months. Lots of fun broken bones and torn ligaments, muscles, etc.. I'm lucky I didn't puncture a lung. I did, however, completely fracture my left scapula. Something in the left ankle got tangled up in the frame as well. The older I get, the worse it is. It took "forever" for my left collar bone to knit. There's a nice "egg" of bone fusion in there and it's 3cm shorter than my right collar bone, which fucks with my neck. That wreck also ended my Backpacking Career. I can't carry much weight on my left side. My hand/arm/shoulder go numb, quickly. So, scratch two favorite activities. I'm going to rebuild my 70's Peugeot Touring/Road Bike and sell it to a good home. It's a Classic. Not the bike I wrecked though. That was a 1990's Bridgestone MB-3. Like this:

I was doing about 25-30mph when I hit a city "road patch" that was unmarked in Salt Lake City, Utah. Just trying to get home before dark. Peddling fast and didn't "see" the road patch, I "felt" it. My front wheel slid out, I tried to "self-correct" and when I hit real pavement again, the front rim folded in half. Ass over tea kettle onto a curb and the bike, which I couldn't let go of in time, came down on my left collar bone. Left Scapula hit the top corner of the curb, completely fracturing it and I hit my head REALLY hard on the sidewalk. I didn't get to "feel" my left leg for almost six months. I don't remember much else except "waking up" and wondering if my bike was O.K.. It wasn't. I flagged down a pickup full of Mormon Kids and asked them if they'd drive me home after stopping at a State Store (liquor store) for some "medicinal use alcohol." They were accomodating. I called my friend that had pain med's for her back pain and asked if she'd bring me some. She did. Just Prescription strength Naproxen. Probably not the best thing to be mixing with alcohol and a concussion but, what the Hell? I was already as fucked up as it gets and didn't really care "what" put me to sleep. Two days later I'm at some walk-in clinic and there's a diminutively sized East Indian Doctor waving my film at me and saying: "Oh, Mister Doc, I am not to be believing that you are up, walking around and cracking with the jokes. I'm sending you to L.D.S. Hospital, right now, to see a Specialist." Believe me, I was laughing and "cracking with the jokes" to keep from crying and shitting myself from pain. More X-Rays and a 'script for Hydrocodone, 30 of 'em, with refills (2). I actually "slept" without pissing myself from rolling over onto the injuries for the first time in three nights. I was taking a 5mg pill every 4-6 hours and chasing them with a couple shots of Bourbon. Also not particularly bright, looking back on it and knowing what I know now about pain meds and alcohol. Not that I was going "all in" on the combo but, it's still a Bad Idea.    
Surgery is a Crap-Shoot and have been told as much by a couple of really good Orthopedic Surgeons. One, an Admiral's Doctor/Flagship Surgeon that was, at the time, retired Navy. He gave up Private Practice and re-upped as a Commander for a sizeable re-enlistment/re-activation bonus and promotion from Lt. Commander. That's about as far as a guy's going to get in rank if he's a Surgeon. Unless you're Dr. C. Edward Koop or something. (Former Surgeon General, for you Noobs)

My Mom swears that I am held together by stitches and staples. "If they ever hit the main stitch, you'll simply unravel." She's fond of saying that. The humor is becoming lost upon my constant pain as I get older. I'll be 61 years old in a couple weeks. Allot of people lost money on my attainment of such an age. I "should have been dead" many times over. Various circumstances. I wore my nose under my left eye when I was about 11 years old, playing "beat the door and run." I forgot about the boat trailer in the neighbors' yard. Caught my right foot on electrical wiring and my nose came down solidly on the angle iron on the frame's other side. I woke up with a pool of nice, crimson, blood bigger than my head under me. I was a Porky Little Kid and had allot of inertia going for me when I hit that wiring.

I have swamped canoes in the middle of Puget Sound, braved the Gulf of Alaska and Bering Sea in 40' swells, climbed 300' trees, fell off of a mountain or three, almost drowned a couple of times, been brushed by a Bull Shark, shattered both heels, almost cut off one of my ear lobes, had my "bell rung" more than most people, broken so many ribs I've lost track of the count, been sewed up more than your average Rag Doll, etc., etc.. You starting to get a picture of this Old Body, yet? It all: "hurt so good." "Pain is just the sensation of fear leaving your body." (Old USMC adage that works pretty well, when you're young)

My Stepfather passed out when he saw the nose injury. He was kind of a Pussy when it came to blood and such. My Mom calmly went and got ice and a clean t-shirt and told me to go sit in the car, ice on nose with my head back. 20 minutes later we were at Balboa Naval Hospital. A Corpsman rushed me into the Operating Theater when he saw the extent of my injury. I got to "watch them" sew my nose back on, which was pretty interesting from underneath the surgical drape. As I age, my nose is migrating toward my left ear. I have a weird sense of "interesting." Blood doesn't bother me. I have "sewn myself up" after cutting my right heel to the bone on some razor sharp glass at a farm. The hospital was 50 miles away and I would have made it "part of the way" had I drove there. I have "welded my shoe to the floor" with electricity. "Splitting power at a buss bar." Screw driver slipped and "Blammo!" I woke up about 15' away, hair smoking. Leather soled shoe "welded" to the concrete. Wore nothing but Chuck Taylor's after that and used a rubber mat while at power boxes.

I have had to be the Amateur Veterinary Surgeon a couple of times. One of my cats on The Farm had a claw grow into his "palm" and I had to remove it. (It smelled awful) "Nuke," the cat, was eternally grateful. The Hydrogen Peroxide freaked him out. He still crapped in my favorite pair of tennis shoes if I left them laying around. He got the: "Face in shit and hissing toss into the Mill Pond" more than a few times. He knew where he was going next, after the face plant in His Own. I still Loved Him. It became a "game" and he eventually got his own pair of tennis shoes to poop into. I could go on for a half hour with these stories. What the cat shitting in my shoes has to do with my own injuries, I don't know.

Sunday means "Actual Breakfast" around here. Cottage Fries and eggs w/cheese, Sourdough toast with Marion Berry jam. Good coffee. That usually happens about 10:00.

Pete:

Butthead was right. About: "everything."
-Doc