Still Ill

Will I ever get better?  My body ached, my vision was blurred.  I coughed up phlegm from my lungs.  A sick sweat enveloped me.  But I had to paint the wall of new siding.  I stopped and bought the paint--$80/gallon.  I was off balance, not thinking well, so when I opened the paint bucket, it spilled out over the deck.  

"Fuck me!  Fuck me!"

I tried wiping it up, but it smeared and still showed.  I got the roller and the brush.  I set up a ladder on the uneven ground,  Nope.  I got a board to prop up one of the legs.  I rolled the paint.  I think I should have cut in the parts I couldn't reach with the roller first, but I'm no pro.  Some parts were very difficult because of electrical boxes, conduits, etc.  I got paint on those nether regions, but not so very well.  It didn't matter, I told myself.  It would all need a second coat.  I'd fix everything then.  Ninety-two degrees. 90% humidity.  The wall was painted.  I was soaked in sweat.  I was sick and failing.  I was done.  

Weak, achey.  I stripped to take a shower, my first in a couple of days.  Sick sweat covered me.  I washed my hair.  I scrubbed myself well.  The hot water felt good.  I didn't want to get out.  

Unguents and lotions.  

"You look much better than you feel," I thought.  

I had to get back to my mother.  She was to have a brain MRI.  

Getting her to the car, out of the car, into the office--it was all a struggle.  My mother is helpless now.  She cannot take care of herself.  If no one helped her, she would simply sit until she died.  It is a terrible thing.  She can't hear.  She moans and says she's in pain.  

"What do you want me to do, mom?  I sure wish the doctor would give you something for pain."

She has, of course, but my mother won't take it.  She keeps eating Excedrin.  She can't lie down.  She sleeps sitting up.  

I have to do everything for her now.  24/7.  

What do you think such a thing does to a person?  I'm no saint.  She tells me what she prays for.  

How's that working out?  

I will have to leave her for a bit again today.  I have to be at my house at eight to meet the water heater installers.  I have to pick up my own meds at a distant drugstore.  Then I'll rush back to my mother's.  I am still sick, so I will probably sleep.  

But we eat well.  I made another large pot of soup yesterday, this time cabbage and ham.  Carrots and celery.  Potatoes and garbanzo beans. Onions and garlic.  One entire head of garlic.  We ate that for dinner.  Good God it was delicious.  I look forward to having it again for lunch.  I dreamed about it.  I believe I will only eat soups from now on.  It is positively medieval.  

Next will be a fish stew.  

I never drink enough water.  I do now.  No liquor, of course.  It would do me in.  Pedialyte.  That's the stuff.  It's like water only better.  I drink bottles of it.  And Fuji water.  At night, I make cups and cups of healthy teas.  That is problematic as I have to get up in the night to pee.  But maybe being hydrated is why I think I look better than I feel.  If I remain on this regimen when (if?) I finally get well, I'll be a new man.  

I've talked to no one in days.  The carpenter still hasn't shown up.  I have been too sick to watch t.v. let alone read.  This morning, though, it seems that my skin is no longer on fire.  Perhaps I'm on some slow road to recovery.  

That picture at the top--I made it from this Otto Dix painting.  I thought I'd try the process in reverse just to see.

Look, don't be a hater.  I have no way to go out and make new photos right now.  This is the best I can do.  Just sit back and enjoy it.  It's fun.  Or funny.  

It is what I have.

My Apple Music playlist has been unbelievably good all week, however.  It is like a gift from the cosmos.  It is keeping me sane. 

O.K.  Relatively.  

I'm trying, kids.  I'm underwater at the moment.  I'm trying to swim with a hundred pounds of chain.  

I may need a therapist, but what could they tell me?  I think a pet dog might be a much better thing.