HumidCity

well, two years ago i did my first guest post here…. back when my punctuation and sanity were a little more focused. back before katrina and nagin zapped my optimism, cynicism, and every type of ism that i owned including prism , schism, and jism. unfortunately, my lung condition has worsened. the natteing nabobs of (medical) negativism  are still in denial about the effects of the mold cloud lingering over parts of my city or the long-range effects of liing in my fema trailer.  HOWEVER, they did manage to charge me a $100 missed appointment fee for an appointment missed during the craziness of late aug/ early sept evacuations. bastards! no sharps privileges for them!

mental health, physical health, emotional health… a blur that coincides with the rasp and rattle of my belabored breathing.  like the city i reluctantly love (she’s that ex-girlfriend that will keep doing me wrong BUT the booty calls are oh so good), the disease is back again. four rounds of three different antibiotics can’t shake it. a non-nattering friend in the medical field suspects something fungal. heck, i’ve seen the commercials, i don’t even like that shit livin’ in my toes, more less my lungs.

i guess i’m a simile, a metaphor, a microcosm of this city, this country, this world.  finding it hard to breathe, finding it hard to catch my breath, finding it hard…

BLOG THIS!

ph “freddy” fred (phfred@notthat.com)

so i got this email forwarded to me today about BREAKFAST WITH THE MAYOR.  WTF? was this some sort of joke? our in absentia mayor is making a public appearance and breaking bread with his disgruntled constituents?  is this like breakfast with santa claus? or brunch with the easter bunny? or a light snack with the epiphany weasel?  well, upon reading the fine print, i noticed the epicurean photo-op is for newcomers… not sure what that means.  it’s also the 7th annual, which suggests that the mayor has been in town at least six times in the past six years. can’t prove that by me.  then again i saw james brolin in capricorn one, and i’m leary about the whole moon landing as well.

check out details at www.makeneworleanshome.com

see ii you can figure it out.  will the mayor mccheese of mcnawlins put it on his city credit card? will he order the 99 cent early bird special or the $25 eggs benedict (arnold) with the $15 mimosa and $12 frappe-crappacino? images of california coffee colonics dance in my spleen.  i’m curious. i’m so f’n curious. you can just spank a  monkey and call me george! too bad i’m an oldtimer living 42 of my 44 years in metro new orleans and thus disqualified to meet st. nick for eggs and grits.  but perhaps if i’m a good blogger, nagin claus will put a tax exemption, an evacuation plan, and a new casino underneath my christmas tree, hannakak bush, and kwanza bonzai.  one can only hope that we believe in a miracle on perdido street.

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ph “freddy” fred (phfred@notthat.com)

despite the creative excitement as tunes, musicians, and so-called opportunities wash over me like waves, a dull ache settles in my chest. is it melancholy? is it the demons of past bipolarity? is it just another sign of goin-out-of-business-as-usual? the physical manifestations of unsettled skeletons and misfired synapses haunt me. visions of too many hospital beds and hospitable meds dance spastically like an overweight and over-fermented two-stepper at the maple leaf. though back home, i still feel homeless.

despite irregular scheduled missals of the color blog and IM’s, PM’s, and semi-regular BM’s, i still am not at peace. recent excursions to los angeles (and now to boston) only emphasize the out-of-sorted-ness of life here post-k. a house is not a home. my city is a park. mcnawlins is a burger-short in its disorder. mayor mccheese has been abdicated by the hamburglar. the not-so-happy meal is the daily special. the golden arches have fallen with no support “hos” in sight. shall i paint on a grimace?

i don’t want fries… i want levees… better still i want my life, a life, any sign of life.. i’m tired of the post-apocalyptic feel here… like a bad charlatan heston flick bound never to be issued on DVD (can you say NUMBER ONE?).

my golden arches are almost blue

ph “freddy” fred

www.notthat.com

Some of our readers may well have noticed that once again a new crop of authors are appearing on the blog. You see, HumidCity is an organic community that continually grows and shifts. While I remain the dictatorial overlord the cast of characters goes through a pretty consistent state of flux.

Rooted firmly in the “pass the mic” ethos of the hip-hop scene we try to bring in new voices that we beieve need to be heard. Unlike the well known Metroblogging sites we do not make any money from the effort. As a pro blogger I wholeheartedly support being paid for my words, it is what keeps a roof over my wife’s head. I also believe that there are times when purity of message requires a removal of profit motive. HumidCity exists perpetually in one of those times: post levee failure New Orleans.

That said  would like to share the current roster of internet reprobates that have agreed to share their wit, wisdom, rants, and perspectives with you.  As always the list of active authors will change as people join and leave. I’m going to try to recap the current culprits monthly (we’ll see how that works out…)

• Bigezbear
• Dirtysouthbureau
• Editor B
• GBitch
• George Ingmire
• Liprap
• Lord David
• Loki, Founder (Me!)
• Louis Maistros
• M Styborski
• Maitri
• NOLARising
• PH Fred
• Kami Patterson
• Rachelle Matherne
• Greg Peters
• Eli Ackerman
• Wet Bank Guy

[EDIT: I am a clod. I completely forgot that the madcap snarking of Adrastos will also be found here on occassion. Omission now rectified. -Loki the clod]

As always, these voices are brought to you free of censorship by HumidCity. Please go check out their blogs, especially if you live outside of the New Orleans area. It will be infuriating and educational, I promise!

-Loki, Founder HumidCity

this generation of refugees and evacuess is an odd lot…. most of whom have never heard of betsy or camille. AND mention of the great flood of 27 or noah or even gilligan gets a few blanco stares.  don’t dare mention nash roberts. should I ask if they know who ike is? or why we even like him? no, he’s not the guy who owns ikea! duh!

tonight i won’t stand on my soapbox too long… too sick to be tired, too tired to be sick - although the katrina crude (or is that gustav guck) is quite busy wreaking havoc on my lungs with a death rattle that could make many a bipartisan elephant go looking for pasture out on highway 61.  but i’m too manic to stay depressed and too depressed to be suicidal… i think i just want peace of mind.

so i will step down and leave you with the words of dwight d. “ike” eisenhower: “though force can protect in emergency, only justice, fairness, consideration and co-operation can finally lead men to the dawn of eternal peace.

peace indeed, my friends…. and remember to BLOG THIS! 

ph “freddy” fred             

it comes as no surpise that the orwellian curfew, redlight cameras, and brave new nagin are espousing stupid rules.. take a look at these louisiana nuggets from stupidlaws.com:

they say that people and elephants know when the end is near… heck, my father use to look in the paper everyday to check the obituaries to see if he had died in his sleep… AND a week before he died, he canceled the paper and proceeded to clean the house and “visit his stuff” one last time. he didn’t need to wait to read it… he just knew.

i feel like i’m reaching the end game… not in a morbid way BUT rather in a way that i sense that i’m sick and i need to finish a few chores before i go… the KREWE DE CAMP benefit CD is turning out well… at last count, STEVE HUNTER, FERNANDO SAUNDERS, THE ROCHES, MICHELLE SHOCKED , DAVE ALVIN, ARLO GUTHRIE, MIKE WATT and possibly with fernando’s help even LOU REED all appear to be on board in some way, shape, and/ or form…. they join the new orleans gang of SUSAN COWSILL, CRANSTON CLEMENTS,  JIMMY MESSA, PAUL SANCHEZ,  JIM McCORMICK, ANDERS OSBORNE, JOHNNY J, etc. over 50 plus artists

but between the manic lack of sleep and the katrina flashbacks caused by the gusatv, ike, and their cousins in the carribean, i’m not sure how much more i can do,,, the lung problems which arose after katrina appear to be back… breathing, talking, singing are all labored. PLUS now the fatigue and the insomnia are a tug of war that is far from a healthy equilibrium.  the elphant walk seems inevitable…

i hope i’m just crying wolf… i hope the sky doesn’t fall…i hope i can see this project to its fruition just want to raise 30k-40k and keep the camp going for a few more years… if all goes well, i can set up a trust fund for the camp.. so it can go on for quite a while

peace, ph fred

well KATRINA III was definitely a disappointment… (rita was KATRINA II for those of you  keeping score) but wait there’s more on the way:

HANNAH the attack of the palindromes!

IKE: dewey winds

JOSEPHINE: the storm that set bones apart!

and KARINA: don’t let the spelling fool you!

coming to a cable station near you… heck the RNC is f’n boring except for the McCain ~ Palin love connection… have you noticed how he leers at her butt while he fiddles with his wedding ring?

BLOG THIS!

phfred@notthat.com

as we breathe a sigh a relief… the politicos pat themselves on the back.  was really a good job, brownie! WTF?

w. (our fearless, peerless, and queerless leader) has canceled his republican national convention appearance… mccain is an american (not a republican) … the four horsemen of the incompetence (i.e. gov. jindal, perry, barbour, and riley) will obviously recieve presidential pardons… i mean accomodations like a gaggle of retraded geese)

still this sequel sucks… no apollo creed, no “luke (or leak) i am your father”…. heck, not even a trace of nash roberts. besides you can’t have a disaster film or an epic because the god-ferain’ gun-totin’ zombie- killin ape-loathin’ charlton heston is dead. bob ‘gilligan’ denver died during katrina,  brownie is retired . and general honore is now a consultant for cnn.  

so tell me, my fellow evacuaees, who’s stuck on stupid???

call your pharmacist and get ready for day 4 of the prozacuation!

now… BLOG THIS!

phfred@notthat.com

i’ve been living in a dreamworld since fema took my trailer away… i’ve not wanted to go to sleep in fear that the bad times would start again… my house is now closer to a home … my life is again worth living

i’ve committed myself to a benefit project that has led me to a higher place… locals ranging from susan cowsill and anders osborne to members/ former members of rebirth, cowboy mouth, dash rip rock, the iguanas, the subdudes, evangeline have all come out to play… i’ve even snagged lou reed and alice cooper sideman steve hunter to contribute an acoustic version of “just a closer walk with thee” � my phone rang with the distant sounds of fernando saunders (lou’s go to guy and ian hammer/ jeff beck’s bassman) calling from helsinki offering a hand, a voice, and a song. �michelle shocked and suzzy roche also want to help… �even woody guthrie’s son arlo and grandaughter annie may join in…

all seems right in my world…

DESPITE the crime, the potholes, the government, the stupidity…

DESPITE the war in georgia AND our potentially knee-to-the-groin jerk-of-a-reaction�(believe it or not, someone actually asked bobby hebert if he thought that might affect our game against the falcons)

DESPITE hurricane season, floods, and chances of OBAMANATIONS or an unABEL mcCANE (WTF?)

the music from the streets… the music from afar

as pete seeger once commented….”ah, the power of song”

well, it’s official… my fema trailer is no more… the powers that pretend to be have taken my four-wheeled, doubled axeled katrina castle to formaldahyde heaven… may it rot in peace!

on a positive note… my lungs seem better, the weight and the �wait are off my shoulder and over the hill to grandmother’s house we go…

then again hurricanes are a-brewing and oils spilt in the liver… er, river… so maybe i’ll be a victim… um, patient of gov’t carelessness again (i hope the f’ not)

ON OTHER MORE POSITIVE FRONTS, BACKSIDES, and QUARTER NOTES:�

augusrt 2nd sees the return of weekly brown!,�august 23rd … i’m playing the ogdens’ 5 year anniversary show, august 3oth sees a week’s worth of fred shows in “lost” angeles, sept 6 the official release of blog this: katrina killed my mama (parts of which may have graced this very site), sept 7 i teach the kids how to write music at tip’s musicians workshop, and october sees the fred show in the uk and paris…

did i mention i’m writing for mickey too?

and to think.. the main thing that excites me is the empty parking place where my fema trailer is no more!

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phfred@mcnawlins.com

The not-for-profit organization FRIENDS HELPING KIDS�conducts �Krewe de Camp,� a traditional summer camp experience free of charge for persons with developmental disabilities

This month PH FRED (aka moi) is in FUDGE STUDIOS with producer JACK MIELE�recording a kids CD entitled THE FREDDY FRED SHOW presents RECESS! the proceeds of which will benefit KREWE DE CAMP �and FRIENDS HELPING KIDS

players include

CRANSTON CLEMENTS ~ GUITAR…JIMMY MESSA (subdudes) ~ BASS… MIKE BARRAS (bruce daigrepont/ the cute guys/ joe krown trio) ~ DRUMS… PAUL CLEMENT (twangorama/ cowboy mouth/woodenhead) ~ UPRIGHT …DICKIE ENGLISH (molly ringwalds) ~ PIANO… COREY HENRY (rebirth) ~ TROMBONE… DEREK HUSTON (iguanas/stringbeans) ~ BARITONE SAX…ROUSSELL WHITE ~ TRUMPET/FLUGELHORN… BRANDON FORET ~ SAX…..plus guest vocals by: SUSAN COWSILL,�MARI VIGUEIRA, ROB SAVOY (bluerunners/ cowboy mouth/ stringbean), PAUL SANCHEZ (rolling review/ cowboy mouth), LESLIE SMITH (evangeline), VANESSA NEIMAN, and other surprise guests

for more info “e” mail fred ~ phfred@mcnawlins.com

well the ducks are gone… the pothole is now sequestered off like a crime scene with S&WB barrels warning all onlookers that there’s nothing to see here…

my pothole is going to go away! finally… after 2 1/2 years of gestation and expansion and still birth

you see… a few nights ago one of new orleans’ finest got stuck in lake pothole with his cruisers nose buried headfirst in the sludge of city planning… two towtruckers and all the kings horse and all the kings men later (as well as as some y’at tinged ungrammatical cussing and paperwork, too). me thinks the city may finally “fill” my hole in a new , non-amorous way… what no flowers?

afterall the fema trailer will soon be history… why not end with a smooth street riding into the sunset?

there was no pot in my hole… otherwise, i would have smoked it!

�

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p.h. fred

phfred@mcnawlins.com

well i’m almost completely home…�no working bathroom doors… still a padlock as a lock to my home… BTW the doors don’t fit…

welcome to the REconstruction…. or should i say CARPET BAG? lack of construction? deconstruction.

my so-called contractor spent six months building a porch while i rotted in the formaldahyde laden fema trailer… three weeks spent on a door, a single f$#@~n’ door…. another several weeks on a loft (which six months later is the wrong size for a mattress and lacks his custom or should i say costume built ladder)

when it came to door hanging none, i point out that none of the door openings�

a) fit the surviving cypress doors that were salvaged (originally from our friendly neighborhood project demolition pre-k 1999)

b) fit standard doors

IN FACT a two door closet has two different sized openings

WTF?

today… as a blessing or a curse he quit�as my first post-katrina guest arrives… no working bathroom doors… a padlock on my front door and a tripod for a tub…i think i might let her stay in the fema trailer instead

who the f@#* builds the porch first? well, it is a damn good porch! maybe i should just buy a hammock!

�

BLOG THIS!

phfred@mcnawlins.com

well as i finally “un”settle back into my house, the two and five sixths years of post k goobly goo comes to a a not-so screeching halt. �or does it? the emotional, physical, and mental scars won’t heal. �the burning in my lungs and dull nightmares continue. �the unnatural tingling in certain extremities continues relentlessly. neither the powers that be or those that won’t be can fix that. in fact, it’s kinda hard to call it post-traumatic since the trauma isn’t over as we walk amidst the shadows day by day. �the floods of 08 are just a reminder that mother nature can be a bad mother - hush your mouth… i’m just talkin about getting the shaft(?).�

the “everything’s slow in the south” mentality of new orleans has turned to a comatose “nothing’s moving �or getting done” land of shades reminiscent of aeneas’ visit down below in virgil’s classic epic

the slow life. the slow food. the not-so-fast food nation called McNawlins… do you want levees with that? how ’bout a not-so-happy meal? afterall, you deserve a breech today! well, do we really? i don’t think so!

meanwhile… gas and employment go up WHILE politicians give themselves outrageous raises for a job not yet well or done.

can i see the manager? oh, yeah… mr. jindal… he’s decided to do nothing… a lame duck in less than six months. �maybe he should be v-p. �then again, if he did, he might shoot me in the face… then again his refusal to take a stand was sort of a knife in the back.�

another game of formaldehyde and seek!

�

p.h. fred

www.mcnawlins.com

?

i.

a man in lakeview was shot and killed by nopd after he first threatened fema workers who were �evicting� him from his fema trailer and then brandished a gun at police officers. the police claim he was a mentally ill man who was �off his meds,� but I wonder if that�s any reason to play judge, jury and executioner. mentally ill? who isn�t nowadays? shouldn�t law enforcement be handling (and shooting) the real crooks, you know, the ones in the suits who put the city in formaldehyde�infested fema trailers to begin with?

ii.

meanwhile my trailer eviction notice from the city of new orleans sits unanswered and ignored on my countertop as do my prescriptions. hmmm� go ahead punk�do you feel lucky?

iii.

my pothole is now the home for ducks PIC HERE� well, at least it was for a few hours. does that mean it�s no longer a pothole, but rather a topographical body of water to be registered with rand and mcnally? unfortunately or fortunately, the baby ducks were rescued ala’ evicted by a concerned neighbor who thought a) they might get hit by a car, b) they might be eaten by pigeons, c) they might get shot by the nopd. unfortunately, the mother was thrown into a quacking seizure for the next three hours (situationally induced mental illness) � and the ducklings probably won�t survive the night in unneeded and unrequested human care.

I wonder what we can learn from these�random accidents of unkindness?

sic itur ad astra?

BLOG THIS!

phfred@notthat.com

�

well after 2 years in a fema trailer, give or take a few half lives and a couple of missed doses of depakote, i’m finally back in a house. so armed with a contempt for capitalization and punctuation, let me hit the ground punning… as �my head begins to spin into puddles of creativity, i realize the biggest problem with post-k new orleans or post reagan politics isn’t reality, it’s all perception. �my jazz fest experience as a performer made me think that we weren’t in the small print…. all those people opened up for us,,,, �when i recently donated one of my paintings to the grace house for an auction, i didn’t consider myself a starving artist with only 3 pieces sold in my 44 years, rather score now is fred 3, van gogh 1. �

it’s all in the perception… the spin… the lie even.

as i sat recently blurry eyed and pumped with manic endorphins, a piece of “lie” and perception hit me or kicked me or fondled me… it has to do with the reason i’m only recently in a house and may be back in a trailer or a boat or homeless when hurricane season arrives on my freshly unpainted doorstep august or thereabouts:�7400 Leake Ave, New Orleans, LA 70118???? leake ave? �LEAKE? �LEAK? � oh yes, the physical address of the U.S. CORP OF ENGINEERS… c’est levee! �well, as i investigated further the PUBLIC AFFAIRS dept of the corps (or is that corpse????) no longer uses�7400 Leake Ave, New Orleans, LA 70118 as their addy…. they got a P.O. BOX… go figure… you can’t sue ‘em, you can’t find ‘em, BUT YOU CAN STILL BLAME ‘EM. �I suggest they get a new physical addy on TUPPERWARE ST or WATERPROOF RD or ME CULPA DR or better yet on WE ADMIT IT WE F’D UP ROYALLY AND WE PROMISE WE WON”T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN BLVD.

a p.o. box? you gotta be kiddin’ me!

�

BLOG THIS!

p.h. fred (phfred@notthat.com)

?

so it’s as if i’m charlton heston walking down the beach…. DAMN DIRTY APES! DAMN DIRTY BUSH! DAMN DIRTY FEMA! but somehow that post-apocalyptic analogy is missing something… no witty or insightful sequals (thank goodness), no action figures (although the t-shirt biz and faux fleur de crap is still blooming), and no great tie-ins (apologies to brinkly, rose, spike lee, and the cast/ ace bandage of k-ville)

no it’s hard to survive new orleans… you know the day in/ day out life in a trailer or the previously unheard/ unreported/ or downright ignored gunshots, the visits for katrina related illnesses or the lack of understanding and loss of jobs, the strain on relationship, the self doubt, the suicides and countless others contemplated or attempted…hard indeed, but are you really that happy to see me?

new orleans has become a forgotten city perhaps except when luminaries like brad pitt draw the media or criminals too numerous to hold office get elected and re-elected… it’s hard geetting to sleep, it’s hard getting out of bed… and yes, i remembered to take my medicine,

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phfred@notthat.com

CHICKIE WAH WAH 6pm

THE RETURN OF THE SIDESHOW COMEDY BBQ

with P.H. FRED and the HOLY OHs
THE WILD JANUSAS, KENNETH LaFRANCE
MIKE STRECKER and WILD BILL DYKES

featuring MUSIC, STANDUP, and  BBQ “slathered”
BRISQUIT

plus free T-SHIRTS! free POSTERS!
and free copies of Fred’s book KATRINA KILLED MY MOMMA!

nice story about the catharsis of post k new orleans comedy on NPR’s 360 this weekend… unfortunately not avail on the radio locally but available online at studio360.org
It’s a nice piece and features jodi borello, wild bill dykes, the red light district variety show and yours truly, p.h. fred, live from my FEMA trailer. give it a listen…meanwhile BLOG THIS

ph fred
notthat.com

so the saints are in the NFC championship game… but does that fix anything? maybe delays a murder? or makes us forget about the mess for a few hours? football the new opiate of the people? call me crazy but i think the grand distraction is just a distraction, none too grand…

maybe if the FEMA trailer were bigger… maybe if the gov’t had not lost my mom’s body for six weeks… maybe if the insurance companies, police dept, criminal justice system, and other institutions we relied on were more reliable… maybe if i felt like this post katrina new orleans was part of america…. then perhaps then i could get caught up in the hoopla of america’s team…. but would this happen in america? maybe hell has frozen over… check the weather channel and then BLOG THIS!

p.h. fred
notthat.com

a day after the election and two days after the only “midcity” mardi gras event of the season, i have an epiphany or rather a suspicion. no, make that a diagnosis. we are no longer connected. i’m not just talking about utilities. i’m not just talking about the islands of repopulation across the metropolis. i’m not talking about the fact that people elsewhere don’t get it. i’m talking about a deeper disconnection. the fact that ms. carter’s comments in spike lee’s film contributed to bill jefferson’s re-election, the fact that harry lee (an asian) still believes in racial profiling and mudslinging, the fact that most of the world thinks we’re okay and that the new orleans saints are “america’s team” du jour (remember the patriots won the superbowl post 911)– ALL these facts prove that we have lost touch. period.

what is really important this holiday season (post K II)? another fleur de lis? a set of spinners for my FEMA trailer? hopefully not things because there’s no room to put gifts in the doublewide. how about something not in a store? how ’bout human interaction? how about re-connection? or is that too scary? in this feared, frightened, and fearful city, we have lost touch with other human beings. it’s rough (even dangerous) to get out…the joy of living here has melted into short-tempered outbursts gilded in sadness (can’t be covered in copper… someone keeps stealing all that). even after this year’s winner of the nobel prize names poverty as the biggest problem in the world, new orleans’ recovery is really about… well, poverty. it’s about money. it’s about priorities and the lack thereof. if the state and the insurance companies hold onto the money, their coffers get more interest. the longer the insurance companies hold out, the more desperate we become and more likely to accept a smaller settlement. is this fair? is this america? is this why we fight and die and vote? (you can change the order of those if you’d like.) i’m not asking anyone to agree with me, i’m not asking to be elected or assassinated. i am only asking for a dialogue to begin, a braintrust to be assembled, a connection to be made. (nice asyndeton, eh?)

as i wandered like a zombie at that mardi gras party last friday, i felt unconnected. i was numb. i had sensory underload, something one never got in new orleans before, no matter how “hurricaned” you were. i talked. i sang. i performed. at least i vaguely remember doing so. i was so hoping someone there would get it. i so hoped someone there might give me a wink and a nod. maybe they did, but i missed it. afterall, this zombie gig is a new one for me, and i’m not quite comfortable with the role yet.

life is good here in the bloggerspace. but we still must put pen to paper, still turn talk to walk… and,whether we stay or go, we must fight with our last dying breaths…

this is not a movie. this not a t.s. eliot poem… this is my life… our lives… BLOG THIS!

the last week has been a blur of emotions but obviously an effective one at that. phone calls unsolicited from friends and strangers, emails unrequited with tea and sympathy, fan mail doused in fight and encouragement (unparallel structure anyone?). as the grammar subsides, I hear battle cries that the show must, might, may go on… (first weekend of jazz fest… in the kid’s tent , HA!) it’s as if the justice league has been reconvened, the avengers have have been reunited, and the stooges have been reconstituted (screw iggy, I just hope shemp is there). but what about the mcnola tie-in? what about the action figure? where’s the merchandising? what’s the backend on my emotional investment?

at times tears, at times laughter, but mostly frustrated anger mixed with a twist of betrayal (an odd cocktail for even odder times). drink up, just don’t spill it. libation good! spillage bad! a day in the ER. a night at the shrink. marx brothers, anyone? job offers in L.A. lunch offers in NJ. but such random offers just add to the mania. Such offers make me question myself more. should I stay, go, quote clash lyrics? not again!

the chest pains, the shortness of breath, another day spent in triage. the so-called lights in the tunnel are scarier than the dark. it’s the old devil you know theory. the scariest part is/ was the diagnosis. the bronchitis part I can handle (there’s a black mold in the air), but the PTSD? It’s hard to have and even harder to accept a post-traumatic syndrome when you’re still in the midst of the trauma. somebody consult a latin teacher . oh, that’s me. touche’ amice. Et tu prozac and call me in the morning. In the meantime, BLOG THIS!