Day: May 12, 2017

Not Writing

It’s a bummer of a day.

You don’t need to read this. I just need to write it out. Therapy.

I’m sick, and it’s encouraging depression.

It’s mostly a chest cold. Nothing major. I can sometimes hear my breathing in my chest, particularly on my left side. Other symptoms are arising in my head and joints.

Bummer. I wrestled a long time about not going out to walk and write. I wrestled for a long time about whether I should wash up. A compromise was reached that I would shower. Then the question was, hot or cold? I haven’t taken a hot shower since March 20. I really didn’t want to break that streak just because I’m under the weather.

Another compromise was extended and accepted that I would take a short warm shower.  Then, scorning myself, I took the cold shower. It was probably a stupid decision. It felt freezing. Then, though, no shaving.

What about deodorant? Debating that for a few minutes helped convince me not to go write. I didn’t understand what the debate was about. Why was it a question?

I’d lost my boxer shorts somewhere between the master bedroom and the attached master bath. I knew I’d gotten some out of the drawer; where the hell did they go? Well, I must have put them somewhere strange. No kidding. They certainly didn’t develop legs and walk out on their own, did they, as Mom would ask.

The missing boxers were found after a few minutes, hiding in plain sight on the bench at the foot of the bed. After dressing and enduring a coughing fit, I agreed with myself, don’t go out.

Then came the guilt.

Why is it that I feel guilty about being sick? Why do I feel like I’m a malingerer?

I guess it’s something about being told to work hard and be disciplined. That’s the mantra drilled into me. “Work hard. Be disciplined.” I also feel resentment because women like to mock men when they get sick. Oh, men don’t know what it’s like to suffer or experience pain. “Poor man, he has a cold. Aw.” It’s one of their standard jokes, as regular as men mocking women for getting lost or being consumed with shopping and buying shoes and clothes. So now, I’m like, validating their joke of a stereotype. Bah.

I’m also angry about being sick. I feel like I’ve betrayed myself. I feel like I’m betraying myself by accepting that I’m sick and indulging in not going out, writing and doing the things I normally do. I had plans, damn it.

Well, screw all of that. I want to go to bed.

Maybe some tea and toast first. Maybe some hot soup.

My head feels like the large granite rock in my front yard. My neck is tired of holding it up. Why the hell must I have such a large, heavy head?

Maybe just bed.

5

Catap

Catap (definition): 1. the scratching, tapping or knocking sound a cat makes when he or she wants your attention, entry or release; 2. a cat’s act of scratching, tapping or knocking.

According to catalogists, felines develop unique catap signatures. You and the cats often know one another from their catap. In my household of four beasts, the cataps are distinctive.

  • Tucker primarily uses the pull method as his first effort. This creates a heavy thud. Being a big cat who employs brute strength for most endeavors, his knock, when it comes, is loud and heavy. He usually vocalizes a broad, upset, “Mrrerow,” when his request is ignored.
  • Quinn, being small and light, exhibits a fast signature. Scratching is his first choice and will be done in a fast series of scratches with both front paws that last about forty seconds. If that doesn’t work, he takes to tapping. His taps are likewise fast, uses both front paws, and go on for about twenty seconds. He also vocalizes if ignored, issuing a soft, “Mew, mew.”
  • Boo is a large cat. Preferring to stand on his back legs, his cataps are higher on the door. He deploys a hybrid method of scratching without extending his claws. His cataps are a short bongo solo.
  • Being a pretty smart little cat, Meep uses a simple catap of three to four knocks. Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap, tap, tap. He taps with one paw, but his claws are out.

Watching the cats react to one another’s catap is interesting. All fear Tucker; when he cataps, the others sit up and go on alert. The rest of the cataps generally draw casual interest. Quinn, who cataps more than the rest, and who is the smallest, lightest, and least-combative, generally draws little interest at the door.

It helps me to know what name for me to yell from my sleep for them to stop if I don’t want to get up. Of course, that works as well as peeing into the wind.

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Today’s Theme Music

I’m surprised that it’s been twenty-five years since ‘Baby Got Back’ came out, but time and its accumulated movements often surprise me. I’m still surprised that when we’re talking about the century, it’s the twenty-first.

Sir Mix-a-Lot wasn’t part of my normal streaming music. ‘Baby Got Back’, was one that crossed the standard radio airplay lines back then. Its lyrics and beat make it the butt of many light night and sitcom jokes. I used to sing it around the office. What can I say? I had fun at work.

His song that really fascinated me, though, was ‘Iron Man’. Black Sabbath’s original ‘Iron Man’ was a listening staple in my teen years, a song that usually elicited Mom’s irritation. She always wanted to know what I was listening to, and told me to turn it down. With backing by Metal Church, Sir Mix-a-Lot included elements of the Black Sabbath song in his hiphop take.

That was nineteen eighty-eight. I lived in Waldorf, just outside Frankfurt. I remember listening to this song while awaiting my friends; we were headed to the Paul McCartney concert in Frankfurt. I enjoyed that juxtaposition of time and music.

It was a good night, walking to the train station and taking the U-Bahn and S-Bahn to reach Frankfurt’s Festhalle. Sir McCartney put on a good show for us aging boomers. I was thirty-two. I though I knew what aging meant, but I was wrong.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CGO5imNLPc

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