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Happy Birthday!



I've always considered 13 to be a lucky number for me mostly because I was born at 11:30 p.m. Another thirty minutes and I'd have been an August 14th baby, but that was not to be as my mother had been in labor since the 10th of August. I've heard labor in an agonizing experience and I'm glad I didn't have to go through it. Depositing my seed in the proper recepticle was a lot more fun, even though at the time I was probably imagining it was Robert Redford who was the receiver.


Don't ask me why, but I've always had this thing for Robert Redford. Even today I find him to be an incredibly beautiful man who I wouldn't mind snuggling up to.


So, today I'm 59. I never believed I'd live this long. My father's side of my genes is not known for long-lived men and I've lived longer than all of my known predecessors, which is an accomplishment, I guess.


This past year has not been fun and when you think about it too much, there was probably a long of stress put on my various physiological systems that could lead to an early death, except that's impossible because I've lived longer than I'm going to from here on out.


My mother died. I was not there. I couldn't be there. I couldn't bring myself to be with her after the last seizure knocked her back to 1970 something.


My mother's death led to a near suicide, actually a couple. It''s a good thing I really don't want to go, otherwise I would've. I have this unnatural bright, cheery attitude that makes me believe everything is going to turn out okey-dokey if I don't try too hard to make things right.


After a few months of rather intensive therapy, I was deemed safe to travel America's highways again.


I was diagnosed as being Type II Bipolar, which simply means I'll never end up in the state hospital as being a danger to myself or others. My lows can be horrendous, but I can't quite pull the trigger (there is a reason I don't have a gun in the house). My highs are fun and I laugh a lot at the silliest shit, but I don't try to fly like Superman. Now, with Valproic Acid I'm stable. I still get low, but not too low. I get high, but not too high. It's somewhere in the middle where life is okey-dokey all the time no matter what is going on. In fact, my life could crumble around me and everything would be okey-dokey. Kind of scary if you think about it too much.


And, now, I have a DVT in my calf and I'm taking Warfarin to keep my blood from making too many platets and to keep the ones I have from sticking together. I have to carry a card stating that fact in case I get in an accident and the EMTs and ER docs wonder why I don't stop bleeding. Luckily, the DVT should be gone in 3 to 6 months and I won't have to take Warfarin after that. We've figured out it is the Valproic Acid that is the culprit. I can't take aspirin with it. So, when I go off the Warfarin, I'll have to change mood stabilizers so I can go back on aspirin. (I had been taking at least 2 a day before starting Valproic Acid.)


So, it's been a fun year and I'm hoping next year will be even more funner. If certain things work out like I want, there's a chance that next year could turn out to be the most funnest in a long, long time.


Chapter 15 of The Artists is coming along. It's going slow, though.


Friday I go back to work, so if you're out there on the highways and byways of America watch out for my black truck and wave as you drive on by. With my rig governed at 62 mph, I don't pass anyone except the gray hairs in their motorhomes, grandma on the way to Wal-Mart, and sixteen-year-old girls. (I haven't quite figured that one out, but sixteen-year-old girls seem to be very, very timid when driving and timid drivers do some real scary shit when the big black truck comes up behind them.)


Take care, be safe, and remember to tell someone you love them.


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