The day begins. Alexa wakes me up telling me to take my meds. I acknowledge the alarm and groan. My muscles are still tight. The repose and the meds I took last night were only partially effective. I was woken in the middle of the night with spasm and had to change some clothing articles.
I feel as I have ran a race in my sleep. I’m hoping the stretching I do after coffee will loosen things up a bit.
I look through my available music. Prince and Peter Frampton look like a very good mix. I start the playlist with “Set Fire to the Rain” by Adele. I love that woman. Then it’s Prince and Frampton. I have always loved music. Now that love helps put me into a trance. It takes me away from the wretch my body has become. When the music plays, I become that artist on stage. Millions in the croud, waving their lighters as I go into a rail with my guitar or keyboard.
Coming back to reality, the medicine is taken. Coffee is being drunk. My hands scream in pain as I type at the keyboard. I ignore the pain. I know typing is one of the only pleasures I afford myself regularly and damned my hands. My counselor is suggesting that I stop and start focusing on voice recognition. On the surface, it sounds fun. But, I feel like it is one more insult my body has sent me.
I pause to flex my next as Prince is in the final decrescendo of Purple Rain. Face taut, I take another sip of coffee. It is lukewarm now. I’m drinking in a cup with a soldier on it. The phrase is worn and I can’t make it out any longer. There are little chips of white remaining where letters used to make words. It is a phrase that used to make me feel cool and stronger, proud I was a soldier: “Don’t ever think the reason I’m peaceful is because i forgot how to be violent.” I used to love to train, in the rain. “If it’s not raining, we’re not training,” is what my buddies and I used to joke. I seems as every time we would go to the range to qualify or to the field for our “camp outs” Germany would have to provide us a downpour.
Ah, but those were the days.
Now, I sit and sip. And moan. My goal today is to record an impromptu choir concert at my church. The head of schools contacted me last night to do a media blast, apologizing for the last-minute notice. There was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. I was able to get the word out, not to many people, but some will show, I hope. I contacted my step-son, which is leaving in lest than a month for the Air Force. He will be able to drive me around this morning. My plan is to set recorders going and then go to my counseling appointment. I’ll return and shut down the recorders. I’ll produce the audio this evening, I hope. If my body allows.
My counselor is not on my medical insurance, but she is good. I’ve seen her before with my children. She knows me and is amazing. However, between her, my medical co-pays and my enormous amount of medication I take, my budget doesn’t allow for much else. She is helping me deal with the fact that my body has betrayed me. The anger and frustration inside needs to not be shown to the public, like it has. She is helping considerably.
Well, I have to make a pot of coffee for my lovely wife. She should be awake in a few minutes. The coffee I began my day with was some I cooked and put in a thermos yesterday.
Jay C. “Jazzy_J” Theriot