Rage, Rage, at the Dying of the Light, and Please Let Me Go Suddenly…

baby cradle

I wonder- sleeping? dead? doll?

There is something just not right, something incomplete and unfair, in an untimely death.

A good friend of ours, who claimed at one point to be an atheist, died Saturday night.  It was not a pretty death (if there is such a thing) nor was it a quick or painless death.  The poor man had dealt with cancer for the past four years- a bout of colon cancer that almost killed him back in 2010, and the stage 4 lung cancer he was diagnosed with back in April that finally spread throughout his body and slowly, painfully and agonizingly did him in.  To greatly summarize the gory story, this guy spent the past month jacked up on every narcotic known to man, and was almost always straight out of his mind due to the cancer spreading to his brain.  Nothing could quiet the unimaginable pain associated with cancer spreading like wildfire, not even the Tramadol and morphine and whatever other heavy duty drugs that the hospice people have at their disposal.   Cancer is a pretty shitty way to die by all accounts.  I don’t say that to trivialize his pain or the pain that his widow is still going through and reliving all those horrors, but words just can’t paint an accurate enough picture.  I pray to God that I don’t die that way, and that I would be spared the awful reality of being a primary caretaker of a loved one dying that way, because I don’t have that kind of courage or strength.

Since everyone has to die, I could only ask to go the way my maternal grandmother did- suddenly, via a massive stroke that took her from walking, talking and being completely normal to being pretty much dead as a doornail in an instant.  It really sucked for the rest of the family, but it actually gives me some peace knowing that she didn’t linger around and suffer for months or years, slowly and painfully deteriorating until she was unrecognizable.

Stephen King said it in his book Pet Sematary: Sometimes dead is better.

pet sematary

I am not in any hurry to take the Dirt Nap- nor am I in any hurry for anyone else I care about to bite the big one either- but I still have a really hard time with suffering, and watching people sort of fade and melt away before my eyes.

Maybe that’s what that whole “mid-life crisis” thing is- understanding that personal mortality is about more than just the Dirt Nap- it’s the little bites of decay and loss and downhill slide of entropy that we endure every day.  Things like the realization that my eyes don’t adjust to close vision when I have my glasses on, or that the people I went to high school with look like my Dad’s friends- and that a good number of my Dad’s friends are dead.

The places are either gone or drastically changed, and that’s not even been from the distant past.  I usually don’t have too many reasons to go downtown- save for the paper nightie appointment once a year- because I go to a different primary care Dr. and his office isn’t downtown.  Yesterday I decided to take my granddaughter to the art museum (which I must recommend, as they have lots of fun stuff for kids) and I was amazed on the way down High St. to take her back home at observing the OSU campus.  At least temporarily, campus has been de-skankified and yuppiefied almost beyond recognition.   I think they’re trying to overcome their reputation of being the Midwest’s #1 school to get robbed and raped.  Good luck with that.  Especially on the night of the Michigan game.  Leave your car- and yourself- at home.  Watch the game, if you must, on TV.

Of course, campus gets a makeover about once every 20 years.  It will take about a year or so for the current renovations to get trashed, and when you think it can’t get any nastier, some builders come in with bulldozers, raze most of it, and start again.

Maybe that’s what’s going on with me.  I could use a renovation.

renovation

Home improvement is nowhere to be found in my box of talents.  Believe that.

I would like to expand my education- not necessarily in a formal way, because, sadly, most so-called institutions of learning are all about the almighty dollar and/or all about filling young people’s heads with socialist/globalist garbage.  Even poor Steve-o had to take two courses that I believed were total politically correct garbage- one course in “cultural sensitivity” and another on “our global economy.”  The first course mostly informed him that as a white male he is/was responsible for all of the evils in the world today, from inequality in the workplace to global warming (both concepts are crocks of crap, IMO.)  The second was supposed to be on economics but it ended up being a formalized diatribe on how industrialized nations are victimizing tribal peoples in third world holes, and how we should bury our cars and wipe with reusable cloths.  That would have been sort of funny, except that his major was automotive science. 

I think I will embark upon a self-directed expansion of knowledge, even though I know that my biases will play into that.  It’s no worse than a tech school requiring my son to take courses in BS to graduate.

Insight From the Empathy-Impaired, and an Ode to Caffeine

dontcare

I have feelings.  Sort of.  When I choose to acknowledge them.

I am not a warm and fuzzy individual. I never was, and probably never will be.  If I live to be my great-grandmother’s age (she was 94 when she passed) I will probably end up like the old battle-ax that lived across the street from my parents’ house who was dead and decomposing for months before the water meter reader had the bad fortune of being downwind.

By that time it was high summer, and the coroner opined that she’d expired some time in February.  Nobody missed her for that long.  Thankfully she hated animals as much as she did humans, otherwise some little ankle biter (I couldn’t imagine this woman as a dog lover at all, but I really can’t imagine her having a real full size dog) would likely have developed a taste for human flesh.

Dogs are not gourmets, nor are they picky. (note: this incident of “dog eats humans” happened in the UK.)  Mom had one dog (of the ankle biter persuasion) who would dine on soiled feminine hygiene items, and another that would eat entire pairs of underwear.  Decomposing, rotten old fossil would probably be a step up from those culinary delights.

Maxi_Pad_Tampon_Costume

I think I just found my next Halloween costume.

Mom’s dog really did eat these things though. Another reason for my disdain of ankle biters.

Even considering my fear and loathing of most social interaction, for some bizarre reason, I end up being everyone’s twisted Ann Landers.  Perhaps my carefully crafted outer façade is too good.  I’m trying to blend in and navigate through the sea of humanity with all its complex nuances and petty flourishes, but I’m not asking to get pulled into the fray.  Most of the time I just want to be left the hell alone.

natures gift skillet

An iron skillet is a multipurpose tool.

I considered the collection of iron skillets in the kitchen for a brief moment last night.  Yes, they are excellent for making fried chicken and/or cornbread (ironically, two foods I no longer indulge in) but I have to admit I was not amused by Jerry’s drunken forays into my room at 9:30 and again at 11:00.

I’m generally out by 8:30 or 9PM.  I don’t do late nights very well, especially when it’s a Tuesday night and I have to work the next day.  I have no idea how he can party like a rock star during the week and not fall asleep (or worse) at work.  I know I’m a long, long way from the days when I could party all night and go all day long too.  44 is a long way from 17- but 56 is even longer.  I don’t know how he can remain vertical the next day, especially after both swilling Natty Lites and staying up until all hours of the night.  I can’t do it even with coffee and Monster.

monster-energy-drink

I figure if I were going to die from caffeine overload, it would have happened back in the day.

Ah, the good old days- when “nutrition” for me meant the Four Food Groups: nicotine, caffeine, sugar and grease.  I gave up the cigs and generally avoid both sugar and grease whenever possible, but I don’t see me giving up the caffeine entirely.  I’m one of those people who likes coffee “thick,” and I’m not referring to loading it up with extraneous crap.  I like my coffee black and thick, almost like espresso.  I like espresso too, come to think of it, with nothing in it but coffee.

Espresso

No liquor.  No sugar. No cream.  Just coffee.  Concentrated.  Mmmmmm.

I could use a double shot right about now, come to think of it.   I like iced coffee too, as long as the coffee is super strong and there’s nothing in it other than ice and coffee, unless I don’t have anywhere to go, then I don’t mind adding a couple of shots of Bailey’s.  I don’t drink often, but I actually like the taste of Bailey’s and coffee- iced or hot.

baileys

A shot or two of this in some iced coffee would be a beautiful thing right now.

Better Living Through Technology and Chemistry, and Disturbing Thoughts

marlboromancomparisonNo one is more anti-smoking than an ex-smoker.

Even though back in the day I smoked the cowboy killers, (yes, I chain smoked the cowboy killers) today I find few of other people’s habits more annoying.  The exception to that would be Jerry’s uncanny ability to spot either puke or shit combined with his complete unwillingness to actually clean up said puke, shit or other noxious mess.

On one hand, since cigarettes are legal and the government makes money on them, people should be allowed to smoke up- anywhere and everywhere- should they so desire.  On the other, I am not a fan of having my airspace polluted by some jackwagon’s cig smoke.

electronic-cigarette_vs_regular-cigaretteI know it’s too complicated for Jerry.  But there may be hope for others.

The above illustration doesn’t mention the damned cellophanes, but then again most smokers don’t just toss the foil and cellophane on the floor to clog up the vacuum cleaner, either.  No matter how you scour the floor for cellophanes, there’s at least one that avoids detection and ends up clogging the vacuum cleaner, which begs one question and one statement.

1.  What’s the bloody point of having a vacuum cleaner if you have to pick up half the shit on the floor before you vacuum so it doesn’t clog the machine?

2. Jerry was raised by wolves, which is why there is unauthorized detritus on the floor that shouldn’t be there to begin with.  I should be grateful he knows how to wipe his ass.

hizzy

I think some of the really weird Victorian artwork actually is drug-inspired. I mean, this dude was even impaired in his fashion choices.  Elton John wouldn’t even wear this ensemble.  When alcohol, opium and God only knows what else were readily available in just about every patent medicine in existence, I’m sure there were plenty of guys who wore bad clothes and thought they were riding around on (stoned) giant white pigeons.

postmortem guess whos deadI’m thinking duct tape would have kept this poor dead kid’s head up for the pic.

I’m assuming the little girl in the very front of this pic is dead by the vacuous stare and the way her head is flopped over.  However, her mother is hanging on to her hair in a manner that would make an old-time Catholic mother proud.  The expression on the mother’s face seems to be one of those “You will sit still dammit,” expressions rather than a mournful pose.  Perhaps the two boys in the background were getting on her nerves, or maybe she was peeved because the dead one kept on flopping over.  Maybe she grabbed the dead kid by the hair just to keep her steady in one place.

I have to wonder how many child deaths buried in the overwhelmingly high infant mortality rate of the Victorian era were actually inflicted by the mothers?

It would be easy enough to cover up one’s crime.  Lots of kids died, and died suddenly from everything from typhoid to a good old fashioned case of the runs.  An autopsy of that time – should anyone insist one be conducted- probably wouldn’t reveal poisoning or suffocation.

arsenicJust put it in their drink.

emetic:

adjective

1.causing vomiting, as a medicinal substance.

noun
2.an emetic medicine or agent.

I can think of a lot of things that have emetic qualities:
OBAMA EGYPTObama.  Just thinking about him and his illegal squatting in the White House makes me want to puke.
plumber buttExposed hairy butt cracks.  Wrong on many levels, and tacky on either male or female.
throw_upI don’t throw up easily, which in this world is probably a good thing.