Sometimes I clean up good. Other times I just look like a wet hippie… Today’s a wet hippie day. I have successfully showered, scrubbed, brushed, combed, polished and shaved my carcass, but I don’t really look any better. I’m sure I probably smell better, though.
I’ve not had a cigarette since July 26th. Today I had my first cup of coffee since then. I may have another cup of coffee in a few weeks when the tremors go away… (Caffeine and alcohol are notorious triggers for nicotine addiction – it brings all the pain back for some reason. Easy enough to avoid, for the most part, but I’m a musician and that involves hanging around in seedy bars twenty-plus hours a weekend. Sooner or later I have a beer and start twitching. I really, REALLY hope it goes away! It is much better, though, than it was five months ago!)
How is it that I’m STILL finding songs on my hard drive that I’ve never heard? Believe it or not, I just had an Elvis song I’ve never heard before bounce it’s merry way through my speakers. Elvis. You’d think by this time I’d have heard every Elvis song in the book… Oh well.
I’m ready for the evening’s festivities. I have my cell phone in the upper right shirt pocket. The camera is in the upper left shirt pocket. I’m wearing pants and my socks seem to match. I didn’t actually comb my hair, but I ran my fingers through it twice. I’m ready. My beloved wiking vife is puttering about the house in her nightshirt, making faces into her portable mirror and smearing stuff on her face. The other hand is wrapped around the hair dryer, which she’s waving in the general direction of her head. She has three distinctly different outfits hanging in the doorway, ready for her to choose. I have the feeling that she’s taking this more seriously than I.
Maybe I should go put on a T-shirt that doesn’t have a rock star on the front…?
I went to work most of last week, but the lungs are still hurting. Yesterday I went “shopping” with Dagmar. (It wasn’t really shopping – our microwave started throwing sparks, so we went and got a new one.) After just ten or fifteen minutes of walking in the store I was leaning pretty heavily on the cart. “Are you okay,” asked my beloved. “You look like you’re going to pass out.” I didn’t pass out or anything, but I was happy to get home and sit down. I’m hoping I can make it through the next few days’ festivities without having people look at me and ask if I’m gonna pass out… I’ll be fine, I’m sure.