Updates in Order of Importance

My granda down in Georgia had a stroke yesterday, a few days after a small heart attack. He was entirely disabled down one side, but could still speak and recognize people, though he couldn't remember their names. They brought him in for surgery, the options being surgery with a possible worsening to the point of death or some degree of recovery OR no surgery but no likelihood of improvement and a good chance at some decline. He was aware enough of what was going on that he could consent to surgery and make it clear that he would take the risk of dying on the operating table because he could not stand to live the way he now was. So far, after the surgery, it has gone from being able to wiggle his toe to being able to move his legs. What's sad is that up until this point, he needed no medicine, no physicals aids, nothing. He ran every day and played, apparently quite competitively, tennis most days. Often against men half his age. His age being eighty-five. So far that's all we know. My uncle hopes he'll be able to play tennis again. My father and I hope he'll be able to live on his own. If he can't, and it's been his strength that allows him and my grandma to live on their own as my grandma is very frail, I don't believe he'll live much longer. The whole event has triggered the hereditary response to potential death: mild hopeful optimism combined with an almost creepy worry-free resignation to the fact, all mixed with a practical assessment of how best to prevent the inevitable from occurring so soon all with a distant sense of sadness. It's a strange feeling. I'll buy him a card tomorrow. I don't know what else to do. We're not particularly close, thanks at least in part to the literal distance, but neither are we particularly distant and is he is a part of my heritage that I'm proud of and I have a lot of respect for his skills and he's always been a good grandpa to me. I don't know. For now, I'll wait and see, buy a card, get together the list of contacts I have that specialize in new methods of treating and retraining after strokes.

I get my new car this week. A hand-me-down silver mini-van that, nonetheless, gets better gas mileage, has AC, and is not any longer than the car I currently have.

I plan to get contacts soon. I have been practicing gently poking myself in the eye while I shower each morning. Finally, my eyes will look almost normal size and my winking will no longer go unnoticed. Also, I will be nearly unstoppably handsome. Once I get in shape as well, anyhow.

I've been biking almost every day and working on projects almost every other day, with in-between days being either chores, packing, friends, relaxing, or spending time with the little woman.

Today, I bought some shirts at the thrift store. One has sleeves that are too short, but I'll just roll them up. I also found a complete and fairly fancy all-in-one home-casino set for $6.50 and an album by a man who sings in blackface.

I ate at The Bulldog over towards the west end of Washington, near the White Castle. Classy and tasty burger, if edging on small within context for my massive handsomely-ogre-like frame. Terrible fries. Delicious tater-tots. A tad pricey, but very good burgers. Fancy, even.

Taking magnesium before I go to bed appears to be working really well. In addition to getting to sleep faster, I seem to be staying asleep more solidly and getting more rest out of the time spent unconscious. It also seems to have upped the level of detail in my dreams to a degree I normally only enjoy once or twice a week. Falling asleep faster could be placebo effect, but the rest seem to be independent of preconceived notions. I mean, they happen when I'm unconscious. Taking two magneisum supplements may have had only odd effects on my sleep, leaving me solidly two-thirds asleep and hamster-wheeling in my thoughts, but it's an experiment I'll need to test again to be sure.

I don't feel as different as I should. Tomorrow, I'll work on projects if it's not too humid. If it is, I'll just run errands and hope for a dry Thursday.

I half-heartedly want to fight, to impress and consensually engage in coitus multiple females, and generally do active life-affirming stereotype manly things. I guess that's the reaction to mortality. I don't know how to feel that something like this triggers something as crude as this, but I feel it might be a better impulse than depression and sociopathy. The primal male is on, but at least he knows what he wants.

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