Today 125 people looked in on this writer's blog. Thank you for taking an interest. Cheer up poets and fiction writers, essayists and writers and philosophers of all sorts. E.O. Wilson writes, "If our species can be said to have a soul, it lives in the humanities."
The Meaning of Human Existence — p.185
I have done no rewriting for two days. Yesterday, I spent a good part of the afternoon in Kaiser-Permanente's urgent care on Mill Plain Blvd. I was pissing pure blood and pus and clots of blood. There was so much thick matter in my bladder that several times I had to push quite hard to get a flow started. I won't know until tomorrow, after a culture grows, if the cause of the bleeding is a bladder infection or the type of bleeding that can follow irradiation of the prostate because of a thinning bladder wall. For safety sake the PA put me on a strong antibiotic. Today I was too tired to write effectively. I didn't sleep last night for fear I wouldn't be able to pee in the morning when I got up. The threat of visit to an emergency room and a catheter was hanging over my head. Wanted to keep the flow going all night long. Drank quarts of blueberry/cranberry juice. Today, the urine is clear again. Whew. No catheter!
I'm tired right now and am bringing this entry to a close so I can go sit in my lounge chair again and luxuriate in the feelings of an invalid.Tomorrow the Zags play South Carolina in the NCAA tournament.
Today I rewrote two chapters of Ghoul World. Wish I could do that each day. Rewrite would be done in no time, and I had my bladder probed via my urethra today. Found two stones. It's a wonder I could do anything after that. All my writing is not fiction and poetry. Sometimes I write LTEs like the following:
People from the Silent Generation are uniquely positioned to comment on
American Greatness. I was born in 1937 and turned 8 when WWII ended. I turned
13 in 1950 as American greatness was in full roar. I deeply experienced American
greatness and was rightfully proud of America. The only word that comes to mind when I consider
America’s greatest days is SACRIFICE. The lives of our young men were spilled on foreign soil to help those less fortunate than us. Then
during the Marshall Plan we gave of our treasure to lift up nations and peoples
who were in dire need. We even delayed cutting our war times taxes until the
Marshall Plan was fulfilled. Those were our greatest days. Where is the call
today for the SACRIFICE that would make us great again?
Tonight the Zags play West Virginia in the NCAA tournament, their toughest test do date.
Another rainy day in the Greater Portland Area, i.e. Vancouver, Washington. Monday noon and I'm sitting in an extremely loud and very busy Starbucks on 162nd Avenue in Southeast Vancouver, wishing I wanted to want to get back to work on the umpteenth rewrite of my novel Ghoul World and happily anticipating the February appearance of the 40th Portland International Film Festival. I'm absolutely certain my psyche has been rearranged by my 8 month cancer journey; that and the burden of a lifetime of hoping for financial success of some kind, that is a job as poet in residence or a best selling novel that is turned into a movie. The bucket gets ever closer; the list remains the single wish to find someone other than myself to publish a novel of mine. My state of mind wasn't helped much last night when wife and I were watching the movie Solace.
In that movie Anthony Hopkins as a psychic says something like this
about cancer, "Eighty percent of the time cancer returns, then it's a bugger
to deal with."
Weekly I work the NYTimes crossword [takes all week a little at a time] and the Saturday Sudoku that requires much concentration to do correctly. Took five tries to come out right on Saturday evening. You know? I had great fun writing my scifi movie last year and felt I was better working with dialogue than writing descriptive passages. That may be my next project—another movie script. I think that's enough for this entry. Now what picture ought to accompany it? I know—a photo of self in the loud Starbucks with my Gonzaga Bulldog hat on. Wow! 15-0.
I can't imagine this entry will run long. It's Sunday, the Seahawks are playing, and they're behind by 4 points, and, even though the Zags and Blazers won last night, I just do not feel any sort of cleverness coming on that would pad this account of my progress in sports viewing, excuse me, writing. Must keep my priorities prioritized. In the Manning novel, I'm just completing a lengthy scene in which much is revealed to the reader about many of the incidents throughout the novel. Seriously, I'm not very far from the end. Maybe three more chapters or scenes. Only a couple more things to get into the book and it'll be finished.
In the Vancouver library downtown, 4th floor, in winter gear, eyes on Portland in the distance. Mertie started her new job today, and my thoughts are with her. They've got a 6 months trial period. The job will carry a load of responsibility and human contact. She likes working with people. She'll get lots of that. I'm hoping she relishes the work and is happy there.
The Manning novel continues apace. The conclusion is not that far ahead. Yesterday, I was unexplainably joyous, even though the Seahawks lost. What happened to all their brag about a dynasty? Meanwhile, the real American team, the Patriots, continues to chalk up wins and perform well season after season and, also, so do the Gonzaga Bulldogs who play SMU tonight at 8pm. Whoever decided the Dallas Cowboys was America's team when it's, obviously, the Patriots?
