March 18th, 2024 - The Time Being
Dear TNY,
Our organic spaceship has revolved a few more times while sailing around its flat, elliptical path around ol’ Sol, bringing us to another Monday where I finished your installment titled “The Time Being”.
I could yammer about this one for a minute, but I’ll try to keep it short. It contains the same bullshit I always get mad at. I’m over New York stories. You’re so fucking full of yourselves. And I’m no fucking Floridian, but I’d be pissed if I read the line where you defame Floridians as “[people] of low character”. While this story is clean, tight, and the narrative moves along swiftly…nothing fucking happens. We don’t find out the secret of life. We don’t find out anything, really. And it’s hard to have empathy/sympathy for a character who accidentally becomes rich. And the motherfucker even says that in the story, that people respond to his accidental fortune with outrage. So, way to once again bring us a character & character arc that the reader will struggle to resonate with. Cool cool cool.
Regarding last week’s letter, the relationship has moved through “tumultuous for weeks” which lead to a very, very, difficult week pre-departure, then blowing up after departure, and finally the letter and apologies and other long, emotional discussions, to a sort of limbo now? Feels like limbo, anyway. Water is moving and we are in innertubes, sans steering. I’ll keep you posted.
Quick note on tubing. I was once tubing with my boys on the Wenatchee and I found a floating dead songbird near me in the river. What do you do with it? Toss it into your youngest son’s tube, of course. Because he’ll have to touch it to get rid of it. Which is exactly what happened. Calm yourselves, you tramps. He was fine. We had a great day. In fact, that young fella had the best rapids action of all of us, on his dinky, donut themed tube. He didn’t even get a sunburn!
Shifting gears.
Yesterday I felt like shit. Actually, two days ago I felt like shit, starting midday. Gut trouble. Big time. And really struggled to drink water or eat because every time I did I’d get into some gut pain. Then yesterday after doing my best with water until about 1300, drinking about a half gallon, I decided to take a bath. That’s when my heart started beating HARD. And the sweats, but more than normal hot bath sweats. Then my fingers started tingling and my hands began cramping on the book I was reading (it’s about that Maine hermit, what an interesting path he chose). So I got out of the bath and was careful to not pass out when standing up. But it was close. Dried off. Laid on the couch. And then proceeded to listen to my heart, now audible outside my body. More sweats. Struggling to breathe. So it was off to the ER. I cried in the lobby after they checked me in. I don’t actually want to die. They did all sorts of tests, but most importantly the EKG seemed okay (for me, which is an abnormal EKG and has been for years) and the ultrasound of my liver, pancreas, and gallbladder seemed fine. No cirrhosis! He thinks maybe gastritis.
The thing that struck me, though, was the hospital bracelet. The date on it was 3/10/24. My brother would have turned 44. Happy B-day, you ghost!
I’m glad I went. I wouldn’t have gone if I was busy. But I had nothing else to do. It was a good experience. They even shaved some patches on my chest! But I was scared for a minute there. Which is good. It’s good that I was able to make myself go. I’m not done here yet, it seems. Still fighting.
I also finished an essay this week that slaps. That’s how I know you won’t be interested in it. Because it’s good.
Anyway, I thought I would have more emotional shit to say today. I was thinking about it last night in the hospital. But I guess I don’t. I feel kind of floaty, really. Like, I have a lot of shit to do with schedules and finances and timeframes and moving bodies around this earth and that’s keeping me real sharp on things instead of my mental anguish. Because I can handle me some logistics, baby! One of the best!
Poopoo peepee, Wunderkinds.
Nick
