Blood, Backaches & Bones

Got blood where it’s not supposed to be. Wasn’t worried, but now I am. Will give it another month, and if things don’t change, it’s doctor time.

You know, the doctor I can’t possibly afford. The doctor who will sneer at me with disdain for being uninsured. The doctor who will make it clear, albeit not vocalized, that a poor old wretch like me is wasting his valuable time. The doctor I probably won’t even like, but what else can you do?

My back…keeps slipping out of place, mainly because I’m overweight and out of shape. And old…. Happens unpredictably. No real traceable cause, just a sudden muscular landslide, a simmering surge of chronic pain in the lumbar that causes me to move slowly and painfully for a few days.

People think I’m faking it.

And my bones, my crunching, crackling old bones. The knee, always a liability since a high school football game, grinds and pops. It needs to be replaced but, of course, I’m uninsured and couldn’t possibly afford it.


If I’m going to die, I hope I get something published before I go. I’ve got three damn good stories, and one more that’s about 75% complete.

If I could just get a fucking break.

Anyway…America is still insane and deteriorating quickly.

The GOP is infesting “democrat” cities with secret police.

MAGA morons are still being big babies about wearing a stupid mask.

Based on appearances, Trump and the GOP seem to want everybody to contract Covid-19. Lockstep demands to reopen the economy emanate daily from their ranks, but no solutions or proposals to keep people healthy and safe.

Just work. Get back to work. They insist that “People want to work!”

No we don’t, you assholes. We want to live.

Still hoping against hope that my soulmate will just plop into my lap before I kick the bucket. And we’ll sigh with relief, and laugh, and hug, and kiss with our noses. A morning dream, vanished. A beautiful song, forgotten and lost.

In even the best of circumstances, it’s a cruel, cruel world.