The Check Engine Light Came On

It's 5:30am. Victoria Day. I'm sitting at my computer writing, listening to the birds greeting a new day, the sun is rising. I've always loved this time of day. But today is different. I'm hurting.

I've gone thru some medical issues these past months, Vespecular Neuritis (100% chance I spelled that wrong), Acid Reflux, breathing issues related to my Lobecomy, and for fucks sakes, Hemorrhoids. Yesterday, a weird rash showed up on my leg. I don't know, just a random bad rash. By the way, is it for fucks sake, or fuck sakes? I never really knew.

 My check engine light is on and it's fucking flashing. 

 All this has happened in the past four months, all at once. I'm concerned to say the least, why all this shit all at the same time, besides the fact I'm 57 years old, and falling apart. People can restore a 57 year old car, but a 57 year old man? Interesting. Can I get new parts? Is there a medical mechanic out there that can get the lights to reset? Or is it a matter of putting electrical tape over them. Don't know.

The coyotes are howling.

 Anyway. The rash is taking up half my thigh, it itches, and it showed up out of nowhere today. So that concerns me. Worst case is Shingles, best case, I rubbed against something I shouldn't have. Of course the optimist in me thinks the latter, but what? I haven't done anything lately that would cause a rash. Like 20 years recently. So what the fuck? I need to see a doctor. Or a mechanic. 

 Now the roosters are going at it. It's 5:45am. Why wouldn't they?

 I've been lucky with my health up to this point, but know, know I want my doctor on speed dial. A couple years ago I would have looked at this beautiful sunrise and thought - canoe now! I'd do that. I want to do that now, it's a gorgeous morning and I live in paradise so why no head to the river.  The quick answer is I don't have the energy anymore. I got old. Quickly. So instead of jumping out there, I'm here, writing about how I think I should be heading to the hospital to find out what the fuck is wrong with me now, instead of enjoying the bliss of a beautiful summer morning.

The melancholy of getting older.  

My mind is racing right now with thoughts of medical needs, practical needs, prescriptions, tests, blood work, sitting in a clinic waiting room. I should download some new apps, I'm gonna have time to waste. Fuck. I'd rather have the river. The peace. The birds, the sunrise. But no, I'm heading for a waiting room.

The rash doesn't hurt, but it's there, taunting me, scaring me. It's a holiday today so I have to go to the ER if I choose to waste my entire day sitting with a bunch of other sickies. Nope. I'll go tomorrow. Today, I'm hitting the water, regardless of my health because I don't know how more times I can do this until I get answers. I'm a little scared, but I'm not an old man yet, just gotta get the lights off one by one.

Anyway, cheers, have a great Victoria Day.

Cheers. 

 What I wrote yesterday was pure crap.

I reread that today and almost deleted it. Admittedly I was slightly inebriated at the time, so that's my out. Note to self, don't do that. Well I appreciate the positivity, I also am my own worse critic. I know I can write, I know I have some amount of talent with words, I know I've written some things over the years that have been quite profound. That piece of garbage from yesterday wasn't one of them.

I decided not to delete it for.... reasons. First of which is that maybe it will serve as a reminder that I can always... or... we... can always do better. Secondly, someone told me not to. Okay, you win, that piece of inhebrius rat poop stays.

I started again because I'm in a mood again. I usually only write when I'm in a mood. Last night I was in a mood, with a side of whisky. The world isn't in a good place right now, and hell, if it's gonna burn I may as well wax poetic about things that make me happy. That ended up being the neighbourhood pub. We all need a happy place in this collapsing broken world, mine happens to be out in a little town called McGregor. Unfortunately, the whisky dulled the charm of the place, ironically. Also ironically, I didn't even go there yesterday. 

My intention was to discuss how to keep ourselves sane and happy, I heavily digressed. So let me clarify in a sober state. 

Depending on how you view things, the world is in a strange state right now. Some of you may think things are peachy, in my view, they aren't. Regardless of opinion, we all need to have somewhere or something to ground us. We all have our little piece of paradise that keeps the demons away from us. Mine happens to be a little pub in McGregor. It's not because I like to drink, it's because that's where I found friends, who have become family. It's the place where I can have good conversations, good food, and yeah, good drink. It's a place I feel comfortable in turbulent times. I've found a few of these little places over the years, and it's never about the selection, or the food, or the decor. Believe me, some places have been... questionable.

It's about the people.

And some of those people there have done more to help me than I could have ever imagined. They have become my second family. Forgive me for sounding melancholy and mushy, but that's just truth. The only thing I said in yesterday's post I don't regret is that the world is going to shit. 

If you don't watch news, good. Stay on Netfix and Sportsnet. You'll be safe. If you do, then find a happy place. Find your McGregor. You're gonna need it. You're gonna need to find somewhere you feel like you can talk to someone who understands and not be alone in this really fucked up universe. Somewhere you can turn off the conflict and fear. And if you can't do that, maybe someplace where there is a person who understands your fears, and can empathize. 

That was my point yesterday. But then some guy named Gibson got in the way of a viewpoint. 

Cheers. 

 57.

 I'm 57 fucking years old now. Can I still do this? Should I still do this? Is anyone even reading this? I don't know anymore. And frankly I don't care. I've been writing crap on here randomly for over 20 years. It started as a mid-life crisis kind of thing, but now I'm getting old and I just don't give a shit anymore.

 I'm Gen X, which means I really don't give a crap anymore. I'm just gonna go to work, go to the pub and see my friends, I'm gonna watch some TV and go to bed by 9. Go ahead, judge me. Go ahead, I don't really care.

 At some point I'll not have to do the go to work thing anymore, but the pub, that's a constant. That's where all my old retired friends are, and the daily sign in book. Which, by the way, I never fucking win. I need to bribe Mel a little more. Maybe she'll cook it one day.

The pub is my happy place. Where my weird friends live. My friend bought it last year, and is trying hard to make it prosperous, that's a fight these days. Times are not good to us all, but we persevere, we push forward. We fight. That's what Canadians do. When we are done fighting, we go back to the pub, which we are fighting for, kind of a Canadian roundabout. Either way, we help our friends and our families. 

 57.

Fuck. I didn't think I'd be this old and just working and going to the pub. I thought I'd be rich and living on a Caribbean island somewhere. But nope, I'm still working like a dog and trying to survive like most other people. Like my kids, like my friends, we just survive, and then we go see Mel, and we wax poetic about what could have been, and what might be. Everyone needs a therapist. And therapists are better when they have a bottle of scotch nearby.

But I persevere. I survive. I live. And I occasionally blog. I write to who reads blogs anymore, nobody. Like, really who reads this stuff anymore? I've been doing this for two fucking decades and my readership is minimal. Admittedly, I don't write much, but still, who reads this random shit?

Anyway, life is still worth living, Trump invaded Venezuela, Iran is about to fall, Greenland is in peril, Ukraine is still being attacked, the world is burning. So let's live for our family and friends. Let's live for ourselves. Let's live for those who can't defend themselves. 

This wasn't the best post, but I don't care. It's my space. My rules.  And I'm old now. So the mid-life rules change. Love you all. Peace and happiness, go have a pint at your pub.

Cheers.