I was alway taught that when you publicly blow it big-time…posted by Bill Arnett @ 9:47 AM Permalink …that the apology for the transgression should be equally public and as sincere as possible.
A short time back, the military mis-prescribed several medications, including the dozen or so I take already, to include morphine sulfates, at a level eight to sixteen times the levels I should have been taking them. Enough I'm told to render a horse comatose.
After a day or so I was positively giddy, for the endless pain in which I live was greatly reduced for the first time in fifteen years. something else broke within my mind. Reading back I cannot believe the unintentional spelling errors (at which I used to be a whiz, spelling checker? Bah! Humbug, I carried my own accessible at the speed of light) and grammatical errors (which though never my strong suite I could hold a thought long enough to get it down on paper and expressed in a manner that could be understood). But that's the minor, unimportant stuff.
I look back on these posts and, although I catch glimpses of myself dancing, sometimes, slithering at other times through other worlds, through the inner recesses of my mind, laid so bare even I am perplexed about from whence some of these thought originated. Now that I almost am recovered from dying (literally) I am searching with ever greater diligence for that region of my mind I fear may have disappeared entirely, as have so many other blocks of my mind. Alas! I fear it may be gone forever, along with the other blocks comprising the picture puzzle that was formerly me, cohesive clarity, and a mosaic comprising a picture of the typical failing human being, surrounded by holy-rollers, bankers, rich, old bigoted white men that run this country and would rather destroy it that save it if it means 'them colored' will be in charge, and whom still have wet dreams of dropping nukes on someone to anxiously prove we are still the baddest boys on the block, knowing all along the era of America, and the dreams which they have for world domination are dead as they ever were ever, and will if not for decades, It will take several generations, and an awfully long to restore America to a mere shadow of its former self, and they will know they did it, but will blame it on 'those colored folk.'
I used to be a fantastic compartmentalizer, awakening slowly in the morning opening each drawer of a great, hugh, chest that was ever present in my mind, reaching it pulling out the problem I had stored there, examining it from every angle right down to its subatomic structure, decide what I could do to resolve that problem and, if after this careful determination I decided there was nothing I could do that day, I would place it carefully back into it's drawer to await review again. If, by chance, I found there was something I could do that day then I mentally shifted it onto my to do list while retaining it in its proper drawer, for even resolved problems had value; experience.
I was able to do this up until the day I was told I had cancer and would be dead with the year. Warrior Woman, my beloved, moved around in front of me, gently took my face between her hands, leaned over until we were practically eye to eye and gently said (with the doctor in the room), "You can't die yet because I'm not done with you." I need not say who won.
Now, through a mixture of joy tempered by sadness, my Warrior Woman and my inevitable battle with death, I'm putting my money on my beloved Warrior Woman, Milagros (Spanish for 'miracles'), four feet ten, 98 pounds of indescribable strength, a spine of steel, a steel trap of a mind, and a loving, tender touch that cuts through everything but my permanent pain.
This has become much more that the apology I owe our readers for my outrageous conduct while taking eight to sixteen times what would be needed to kill a horse. And it was once again my Warrior Woman that dragged me to the doctors and again saved my life as I surely could not have continued as I was for long, even enjoying the respite from constant agony; she some how knew that, stiffened her spine, raised herself to twelve feet tall and commanded that I do as she said or face certain death (from the medicines or her? I still haven't figured that out, I just know I was within her reach).
I do so dearly love writing here. My son faithfully reads and learns more about me all the time; he brags about my writing and has his friends read it.
I'm truly fortunateto have wonderful writing partners here, whom I am loath to disappoint, and to each and every one of them i extend heartfelt apologies, and, if you'll have me I shall start writing again as our country collapses and the foreign governments that could buy and sell America ten times over. start sending for people like me to 'kindly accept a vacation at a re-education camp. You guy as the best, bar non, and the only real genius I know that would give a nobody like me write for you. Even as my mind self-destructs, as it is, I would be proud to remain on your staff if you'll have me, until the destruction is complete and I can no longer remember what this grey box is with the beautiful picture of a very shiny-eyed, clearly happy and ready to play with the green tug toy in his mouth Boston Terrier, which if they aren't THE kindest, sweetest, most fun dogs that ever, they are surely number two. I know, I have five of them.
And last, not least, I apology for my human frailties and will endeavor to provide you with posts worth reading; still irreverent perhaps, but that's just me occasionally breaking through my pain and drug induced stupor to actually say something useful, semi-intelligent, or amusing, leaving a written history of me for my son.
So, to all I apologize, for my human weakness, and my temporary inability to control it. I'm better than that, and you and each of you deserve the best.
Ciao from back somewhere inside this universe. Bill
NOTE: I have modified this slightly to more accurately say what I wished to convey. I wish I could individually say I'm sorry to everyone, as at the rate my mind seems to be disintegrating may make writing impossible sooner than even I had imagined.