.
.
Tired and still sore, again, again. I might be able to sneak into town, later... early to mid evening. I just noticed that my friend called. Not sure why I didn't hear the call though? Oh, but after a quick check, it's because I was still asleep. If I can get to it, I'll let him know I am heading to town. I can't do much. A bit of shopping and maybe the return of a previous purchase.
I don't mind the pain. The feverishness that comes and goes, and headache, at least together, are the greater nuisance, and what does bother me. Bruised all around, though, I am used to that, from more fights than I can, for sure, count... that I know. And I have no blood on my hands or conscience for it. The first dozen or so were "fair fights". My opponents had a chance. Of course, that was when I was a child, and they were older, bigger, more experienced. Even having a 3:2 size advantage, several years or more on me, and more experience, they only had a chance. Most of my fights since then have been brutally one-sided. Even when they outnumbered me. I knew it, even then. But you can't tell a bully you are going to hand him his ass until you learn the language, though not always even then. Less so a group of bullies. I knew I was holding back, even so. I didn't know, or consider, that I had a right to kill or, when being attacked by much bigger or many, I would have killed as young as eight to ten. I did know how, but did not feel... authorized. Actually, I have tried dozens of ways of communicating the threat to various sorts. My tongue, now, is almost as severe as my fists in those situations. Talking nice isn't the way. I can send a would-be attacker into a sort of trauma trance. Foul-tongued devil, I think is what I have been called. Some knew, in spite of my rudeness, that I was doing the aggressor a favor. But I also learned when talk would work, and when it wouldn't. Actually, I don't shout, I whisper the barbs. A whisper that can be heard for a mile, I am told. Perhaps not literally, mind you. Just an expression, probably.
Never mind. The pain is simply so reminiscent of fighting that it causes recall. The last group of would be attackers I sent into a tizzy was the defensive front line of the Iowa Hawkeyes. Some bar in downtown, after a loss. They did gather, to face off, but would not cross the line they thought they might consider at first. Ever looked at a bunch of jocks in shellshock? The cops weren't willing to come in. The bouncer knew what they were doing was wrong, but wasn't willing to back me, or challenge me. Go down? Sure. Just not even close to alone. My tongue saved them much pain. Even then, I am not sure they would have been able to kill me. I would have killed and broken half of them. I guess steroids can't bury fear of all things. I did see the troublemaker, on the streets, a few weeks later. He was bigger, better built, in much better shape. He glared, until I saw him, then caught his eyes. He then lowered his eyes and slipped, or more scampered, away. Not as a group, certainly not in one-on-one. Even a roid-head jock, full of himself, knows when he meets something that is dancing on his grave without even a thought.
I also keep thinking of women. I miss them when homebound. Getting out once in a while, I dance with the ladies, young, old, pretty, ugly, thin, and between. So long as they have the right... attitude. As sisters, daughters, mothers, unrequited loves and lovers, many things these creatures... Interesting creatures. I can tell which could make a good wife, which will always be a problem because they have problems, and such. I also know that how she turns out depends on how the relationship is crafted. If a man does not bring her what belongs to her, and does not keep her whims in check, some combination of those, she will be on her way. What is her due? It's a variable, but it is real. It is a portion, a tribute. Some just for her, some for the relationship. Some of it is money, some of it is time and attention. Oddly, if you give these things rightly, you need to give less. She will even insist that you go on. It isn't the gift, but truly, with a good woman, the thought that counts to a point. Truly odd. The other part is allowing her to be a part of the future. She doesn't, completely, work in details. Let her set some of the parameters, but do not burden her with every detail or the complete path. She will weary of it, and you with it. Some goals, some part. She needs to own some of herself, including her future. With the knowledge that dreams are only that, at times. They are rather strong when they have a base of operation, strong enough to make it through failed dreams, for a time. Longer if the path was as true as it could be made. Interesting creatures. Laudable at their peak, just as deplorable as any man when they fail... perhaps more so within the paradigm of the feminine. The feminine simply isn't as capable or culpable. Is it the battleaxe or the a-bomb you fear most? I suppose it depends on if it is your head or your ass that is targeted with delivery on the way.
Still, I do enjoy women greatly. I seem to receive quite positive reactions from women I find attractive, in the various ways women can be attractive. Whether because I am seen as fatherly, or handsome, tall, strong, or what, I do enjoy my encounters with the fey folk. I would sure enjoy a wife, mostly, troubling as that is. I have limits, though, and things I wouldn't negotiate, can't. Since I can't seem my way through, and into, that, I simply enjoy flirtations, offerings of respect for those that might have potential, and a moment outside of time and space that is shared with the little sisters. I can't wait to get out again. I hear their calling. A simple desire to please and be anointed in return, nothing I can't do in the simple and humble ways of a traveler. As with the return of pains from combat, this time without blood on my hands. Love is as bloody as war.
Another hour or two, and I will shower and try to ship out. Not sure it is going to happen. But that is the goal. Later.
Hey Doomster,
ReplyDeleteBe well with no pain .. mostly..
Completely pain free seems hard to do at times.
@foam --- Instead of wishing for pain-free days I now find myself wishing for days where the pain will ease enough for me to sleep.
ReplyDeletefoam,
ReplyDeleteI will be. The physical sort of pain, as I sort of tried to imply, was a comfort. Besides, it lets me know my organs are back in working order... and brings back fond... sometimes hard to live through but familiar, memories. How could I write without them?
Michael,
Yes, of late, that has been the thing. With my heart beating so slowly at times, I honestly feared sleep. While that wasn't painful, it was... enervating. The edges, not either side of the fence, are what... pique anxiety for me. My pain, usually, is too light or I too immune. But I do have some understanding.
I will send a prayer for divine succor in your regard. If you wish to pray, pray instead of for me, for those who don't understand. That will put what bothers me to ease much more than an easement to any fleshly... or other spiritual angst. Not mine, perhaps, in a way, but very important. Living galaxies unto their own with the hope of Becoming.
@Doom --- prayers for understanding are always a good idea.
ReplyDeleteYou remind me of a friend who has just recently avoided the ordeal of bypass surgery due to the simple fact that his doctors concluded he wouldn't survive the operation. Now they're working to try and come up with some other way to keep his heart beating.
I've known this man for decades and can recall when we were both blithe and whole. Now we're scarred veterans.
Ha! When they realized I was dying, immanently dead, or so they were certain, they tried to get me on board with a heart replacement. I laughed at them, and their sincerity. Some of it harsh, some of the laughter just in a chortle about humans.
ReplyDeleteAfter a year of trying, and failing, to be granted permission, they finally said... "Oh yeah!?! Then fine, we won't give you one because you won't do what we say!". Laughed, oh I laughed. Their maturity level was exposed to be about equal to their medical prognostication, and inverse of their ego. They kept saying that as if it would cause me to change my mind. They continue, years after I continue to live, already beyond the probable life expectancy of a heart transplant, at the lower end.
They actually, sometimes, think I am merely obstinate, mean, or suicidal. Or they want to. My being right would have profound implications, make much of what they do, especially their ego part of it, and hubris, and many outcomes since they honestly should know better, at least later in their practice after the atheist, human hating, death-loving propaganda from med-school has been disproved, grounds for dismissal from heaven.
Some things can be fixed, as with your friend. And I will pray for him as well. I simply cannot be fixed my human hands, if medicine, after great pains and with just as occasional diminishment from it, might... ease some things.
Call me Dr. Cordwainer Bird? Maybe.