Yesterday was a stressful fuck. First a dental cleaning – not a big deal in the scheme of things but I hate it none the less. After the cleaning, I was told that I needed a crown.
Three hours later I am having my right tit smushed in between two plates. Apparently, the mammogram I had the week prior has a spot they wanted to revisit.
So 3 more squishes then I am sent off to the ultrasound tech – 10 minutes of imaging the ill offending tit – then 20 minutes to see if the doc approves or needs more – another 10 minutes of goopy awkward massage – another 15 min wait then I am released.
Cancer, not cancer – nothing – something. Don’t know yet. But the intrusive thoughts are all over me today.
Yep, 45 is a nice age to die at. I can still say the majority of my life was fun and interesting. I am not 99 lying in a bug-infested urine caked bed – alone – waiting to die.
He is miserable – he would be better off. He doesn’t need me. He has a better time when I am away.
I would be doing him a favor – he could go be with someone or someones that make him happy. I don’t.
Life is unfair and you didn’t win the lotto but you know a good thing and you know when that good thing is over.
This is the kind of fucked up shit that ebbs and flows in my brain. All day every day. Sometimes I am able to shush them. I am able to count to 4 all day and drown out the noise. The thoughts. There are some that have clever names for their thoughts. You’ve seen the movies — the one who is only there for the anti-hero to see.
Mr. Brooks had Marshall
Elwood had Harvey
Dexter has his Dark Passenger
and of course, Dr. Jekyl had Mr. Hyde
*for another post – HOLLYWOOD: why do men with these problems get made into quaint men that you can have a drink or a laugh with – where are the women??
I have no cutesy name for my thoughts. I don’t see a person in a rearview mirror talking me into a bad decision or out of a good one. I am not sure if I should make an effort to see these thoughts as someone else. A bully, a fucking bully with the key to my brain.
Moments when I embrace the thoughts – then discard them because they are shitty ideas I feel powerful.
Moments when the best I can do is to continually count to 4 to talk OVER that shit well – those moments are just my life.
Moments when I sit and nod and think yeah it is time. I’ve caused enough pain to people I love and myself. I need to go … that is when I should write.