I saw Dr. Jo yesterday afternoon to discuss the bruising and pain in my side. I was pretty confident it was something muscular causing the problem, but Dr. Jo agreed with my commenters and said there were multiple possibilities, including fluid retention, and she said these could pose serious health risks. She sent me for an ultrasound of my innards, and I’ll be back to see her again this afternoon.
I finished the doctor’s appointment at 2:30 and decided there was no point in returning home only to return to town an hour later. So, I decided to take a stroll down Baloy Beach and visit the floating bar even though it wasn’t beer o’clock yet.
As I’ve mentioned before, I enjoy the ambiance of floating on the bay and taking in the views. Yesterday’s experience was less satisfying than normal. My regular waitress wasn’t there, and despite there being at least a dozen GROs aboard, none of them deemed me worthy of a chat. That’s okay; it saved me money on lady drinks, but there was a different vibe about it. I was also disappointed that the floater still doesn’t have San Mig Zero available. SML is fine, just higher alcohol content (3% versus 5%), and since I was drinking an hour earlier than usual, I had to pace myself accordingly. When I finished my third beer, I paid up and headed for shore.
It had been a long time since my last visit to McCoy’s, so I strolled up the beach and popped in for a beer. They also only had SML. They’ve remodeled, and there were no longer any bar stools, so I sat at a table.
No one was singing when I arrived, but a few sips into my beer, a younger Filipino fired up the machine and did the worst rendition of “Hotel California” I’ve ever suffered through. When I finished my beer, I had heard and seen enough, so I took off down the road and made The Snackbar my next stop. It was pretty quiet customer-wise, but my two favorites–Jenn and Roseanne–were ready and waiting. And thirsty. Still, we had a nice catch-up chat, and they laughed at my jokes, so the lady drink commissions were well-earned. My ex popped in for a quick hello, hugged me, and then disappeared. Just like old times.
My watch told me it was “only” six o’clock, but my body said to get my ass home where I belong. And so my beer binge ended and I grabbed a trike. Swan was waiting when I arrived and she fixed me a quick dinner of hamburger patties with cheese. I was feeling tired and went to bed shortly after I finished eating.
And then it happened again. I woke from a dream, and then my racing brain refused to let me go back to sleep. I looked at my watch and said, “Fuck. It’s only nine o’clock.” I fooled around on the internet for a bit, then moved into the living room to continue watching “Shameless.” And I binge-watched the remaining eight episodes of Season 1, finishing around 4:00 a.m. Now that I’m familiar with the characters and the plotlines around living at the poverty line in Chicago, I’ve gotten to enjoy the series more. But with ten more seasons to go, it’s going to be a challenge to see them all, especially if I figure out a cure for insomnia. Oh well. As of now, my plan is to complete the journey I have begun–or die trying.
Here’s the preview clip from Season 1 that gives you the flavor of the show:
What the clip doesn’t show is that some of the scenes are on the racy side, if you consider tits and ass racy.
Needless to say, the lack of sleep has made for feeling miserable so far today. I got back from Olongapo, where I had my belly organs scanned via ultrasound. Now I’m fixin’ to head back to Dr. Jo’s office so she can review the results. I share that outcome tomorrow. I’m hoping to have something to be Thankful for.
Here’s your daily dose of humor:
Today’s song is one of my old favorites. I hope I feel lucky after talking with Doc Jo.
I’ll be curious to hear what Dr. Jo has to say about the ultrasound. I’ll also be curious to find out whether your disparate symptoms all end up being connected somehow: the coughing, the lethargy, the trouble breathing, the side pain, the insomnia, etc. An interconnected complex of symptoms is called a “syndrome.” Here’s hoping you don’t have that.
re: Riker meme
Surely, I’ve mentioned that I once encountered Jonathan Frakes’s dad. James Frakes was, when I saw him, an English prof at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania. I say “encountered” and “saw” because I didn’t actually meet him. I was waiting for my buddy Steve to finish something in the English Department’s main office when the old prof walked in with an elfin grin on his face and an impish demeanor about him. He smilingly spoke with some young lady who was behind the counter; he and I never greeted each other, and Steve later told he who he was, which allowed me to realize that there was indeed a resemblance between the old prof and Commander Riker: the swept-back hair, the uniquely shaped nose.
Frakes struck me as one of those hoary pedagogues who was technically too old to teach but loved the classroom too much to quit—the kind of geezer who cheerfully gives all of his students “A”s because he doesn’t give a fuck anymore, expect when it comes to making people happy.
I had a prof like that in grad school: a Father Sloyan. At the time, he was well into his eighties, but quite spry. His office was on the fourth floor of the Religious Studies building, and he always went up the stairs, two steps at a time, never once taking the creaky old elevator. Sloyan, in his younger days, was central in the putting-together of the New American Bible, a Bible specifically for Catholics. He had an amazing intellect that included a mastery of several ancient biblical languages ranging from the standard Hebrew, Greek, and Church Latin to languages like Aramaic and Syriac. I guess when sex is no longer on the agenda, you devote your creative energies to other things, right? Sloyan was a Gospel of John expert; I took his class on the subject and read his book (well, one of his books). Of course, I got an “A,” as did everyone else. Gotta love the old profs who don’t care.
I imagine Sloyan is long gone by now. He was in his 80s back in 2002. Professor Frakes died in 2001, so my memory of seeing him goes back a couple decades. All the old figures from my past are dying or dead. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop for Clint Eastwood.
Sorry for the free-associating comment, triggered by the image of Jonathan Frakes as Riker. Anyway, I’m well within the “six degrees of separation” sphere when it comes to the Frakes family.
Looking forward, with morbid curiosity, to what Dr. Jo has to say. Hopefully, there’ll be some good news hidden among the bad news.
expect when it comes to making people happy
One of my signature typos: “expect” instead of “except.”
Other signature typos:
“experiement” instead of “experiment”
“parapgraph” instead of “paragraph”
etc.
Two words: sleeping pills. I mean, at this point, why wouldn’t you? Use them to get you through this temporary health hump then cease and desist when your Zzzzs return to normal.
I just spread Godfather 2 over three nights on Netflix. They have the massive 3.5 hour cut with nothing left out. Thoroughly brilliant. Then there’s that doc about the well to do southern family whose paterfamilias offed his wife and son, can’t remember it’s title. You’re welcome.
Thanks, Dan. I’ve never taken a sleeping pill in my life, but if this trend of sleepless nights continues I’ll consider it. Maybe increasing my beer intake would work the same way.
One thing about spending sleep time in front of the TV is the opportunity to explore the vast Netflix offerings. I’ll consider re-watching the Godfather 2 film again.
Kev, I’ll post about the ultrasound results today, but the short version is all those bad possibilities were not in evidence.
Interesting remembrances regarding Frakes and Father Sloyan. Thanks for sharing!