January 5th, 2007 by PH Fred
today i went on a retreat… a day of reflection… hard to imagine , eh?
yet on the drive there the gunshots of my city rang in my ears… i was awakened from my zombie phase (been a while since i posted or wanted to or could). it’s been 6 weeks of trying to get to see a doctor re. my alleged PTSD (btw my doc had to go to court yesterday so i’ve been rescheduled til feb 7th…hope i make it…WELL it is nice to know that doctors are going to court, just not the convicted felons who seem to be out committing most of these crimes)
back to the retreat… the theme, benedictine patience. as i left hours later and turned my radio back on and another gunshot rang… it hit me… not a bullet… an epiphony…. “new orleans: patience… have it or be one”… unfortunately i’m leaning more and more to the latter… now BLOG THIS!
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December 6th, 2006 by PH Fred
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!
Posted in Not Yet Sorted | 5 Comments »
