Sitting down on the seventy-seventh day since last I regaled to multiverse with the wisdom and effervescence that is this blog, I find the need to apologize. For what I need to apologize is escaping me right at this moment but, knowing me as I do, I must have pissed someone off by being absent, or stupid, or venal while neglecting the Cyberverse. So, here it goes…I am sorry.
Self-regarding as I have been, I will report that there have been matters which required my full attention. I have an unusual schedule for a schoolteacher this year. At times, the hooligans in my charge have to attend school when others are on academic break. When that occurs, I am the teacher who must fill in and teach them all subjects as well as those assigned me. I am teaching Sociology this semester and have had to learn it ahead of the little scamps for which I must provide grades. Last semester was Psychology, and just saying it still gives me gastrointestinal hindrances. I have found that in my now advanced age, I am a one trick pony. I can teach, or I can write. Spring break is this coming week and I was able to plan ahead for this event. I have a little time to write and it is feeling better with each word.
Another restraint in my pursuit of all that is literary has been the infirmities that I endure which are called legion. An old friend has called this a pity blog (Thanks JD!) because I seem to talk about everything wrong in my life. Well, I am reminded of an old Twilight Zone episode where a painter was having difficulty selling his paintings due to the nature of his subject matter. He drew horrendous creature with large claws and razor like teeth. When asked why his drawing were always so gruesome, his answer was that he simply drew what he saw. The last scene of the show was in his apartment and the closet door in his bedroom opening to reveal the creatures from his paintings walking into the room as if arriving from some different dimension or reality. Right now my infirmities are those creatures from another world.
I am facing two and possibly several more surgeries in the next year rife with physical realities (physical therapy, etc.) that are of a most uncomfortable nature. I am in negotiation with a surgeon in a city 100 miles away to perform a gastric bypass to alleviate the issues I have with being super obese. I have learned that my advanced rotundity has, thanks to the wonder of science and research, always been something that I truly had no control over. There used to be a term used with fat people, “Oh they have problems with their glands, which is why they are so big.” Well, apparently there is a hormone secreted in the stomach that dictates the body’s response to hunger, and I am one of those who have an excess level of secretion of this crap. The gland thing was true and nobody knew it. The doctor told me that I have a disease that is only curable through surgery. I had a form of this procedure in 1994 and the weight has come back plus some.
I took this news and did what I am used to doing. I became enraged. I think back of all the kids that made fun of me, and the jobs I couldn’t get, and the annoying habit that people have of speaking a little louder and slower to me because they think that due to my size, I am not quite as bright as they are. I think of the looks I have received when people discover that in most conversations the dim one is the fool I am talking to. I can think of a thousand more things that I could enlighten the world with where it comes to obesity. Do not worry, I am finished bitching about it…with no apologies to the obtuse masses of the world.
I need a hip replacement, probably two. I, even in the midst of constant unremitting pain, do not have too much of a psychological, intellectual, spiritual, emotional, conceptual or perceptual predicament with this ailment. I know that I am to blame for this distress. One night back in my misspent youth I apprised several gentlemen in a House of Spirits that they were, in fact, one of the obtuse masses I spoke of earlier. Being the imperceptive inebriants I was wont to associate with at the time, they proceeded to escort me…physically…to the parking lot behind said establishment of spirits and clarify for me that it was not polite to tell people in front of their girlfriends that they were, in fact, obtuse. We reap what we sow.
So where does this fall in the timeline of my life and the sloth I have exhibited with the gift of transcribing the wisdom of the ages to those both the obtuse and astute. Who knows? I needed to write and I needed to let somebody know what is happening in my life and you chose to hit the link in the email I sent you. Thank you.