Ben Harper is playing on the radio. He always reminds me of Bob Marley. At first I thought I was to be buoyed by Redemption Song, but then the melody slipped me into a more melancholy gutter with "I'm gonna burn one down." I don't want to burn one down. I don't want marajuana in my body or even alcohol. I have not smoked in decades. I have not had a drink in more than two years. I'd like all drugs out of my system that ruminate inside my abdomen--Levaquin, Tylenol, Naproxen, Gyacin, Ibuprofen. They all make me feel groggy. I was sweating on a crisp fall morning, clearly my body trying to break another low grade fever associated with this raging bacteria which resides inside my skull.
But after the perfect biscuit, herbs and rich with flour, egg scrambled just right, and bacon overflowing, dipped in Texas Pete, and a little more coffee I emerge from the doldrums. It's not class IV rapids, but it's moving swiftly. Less rocks to dodge, more downstream V's. A deep breath, reinforcing that it was a good idea to go home and irrigate for a second time since waking three hours ago. I have a love/hate relationship with the saline rinse, and the netti pot, and the standard clear bottle. They help me in an eco friendly less invasive sort of way. But every time the contents of my nose come streaming down into the shower or the sink I am reminded of how diseased I am. How much ugliness lives inside my sinus passages. I was healthy for a long stretch this Fall. Did I get cocky? Do I not deserve healthy months? I hear people say I haven't been sick in years. How I envy them? I'm downright jealous. Sins--I know and I am dealt a punishment.
I am in a constant war with George. We bicker. I can do better. Stop berating him. He is a little boy. Lots of energy. Described as wonderful and charming by most who know him. I could do better by him. I know he misses his mother and I am no substitute. I don't do things like she does and I feel it.
I am angry with Patrick, the military, our country for how it romanticizes war, this one in Afghanistan. Is Patrick's homecoming such a great event? He took a job and a season of it has come to an end. Why do we drop everything and treat soldiers like gods? They have made choices. Choices to pick up weapons and put themselves and others in harms way.
Note, late 2017. I wrote this original draft in November 2009. It is difficult to read, particularly the last paragraph. I wish I had been more mature at the time, more generous with my brother-in-law Patrick as a soldier, more generous with all who serve. But, I felt the way I felt. War is Hell as Sherman once said. I don't really know that first hand, but I believe the thousands who have agreed with the sentiment.