Stuck in the '70s

Monday, March 13, 2006

Birthday, kitchen blues, etc.

It's past my bedtime on a Sunday night, but sometimes I get hyped and just have to "write things down." My friend, Cathy Sondag, and I used to write what we called "stream of consciousness" stuff. We'd have a "slumber party" just the two of us, and write, longhand with a Bic Banana and a piece of notebook paper, just what we were thinking as we thought it. We got to where we could write almost as fast as we were thinking and then we'd read back what we wrote. Great stuff. I think that's where my "style" comes from now.

Anyhoo ... Thank you to those of you who wished me a happy birthday and even gave some insight to my pysche. I appreciate that. Really made me think. I like to think. Right now I'm still in an "I don't know what I want to do with my life" mode, and any different angles are appreciated. It's all good, as the kids say now. My feet are killing me, and I went to the doctor about my left heel in particular this week. All day long, all week long at your home improvement center on concrete is taking its toll. I'm used to sitting on my arse and typing all day, and this is about to do me in. He gave me some medicine, not a painkiller, mind you, but an anti-inflammatory, and it's not doing squat, so I'll probably go back for an Xray next week.

One of you asked about my diary entries and wanted to know what "the story" was when I said, "I watched my story" or "the story." It was "Days of Our Lives," of course. I have watched it as long as I can remember. My earliest memories, other than those of being in the crib and watching/hearing Dad play his sax, were of watching "Days of Our Lives" with Mom. So, I continued to watch it into adulthood and still do when I can. My friend Josh Taylor went from playing Chris Kositchek to playing Roman Brady on there, and Lord knows, I must keep up.

As for the 1980-81 diaries, they have yet to be found. My sweet baboo cleaned out much of the wooden shed this past week before the Oscar party, but I forgot to tell him to be on the look out for the 1976 denim-style suitcase which contains the "lost episodes." I've now informed him, and he's gonna help me search. As far as I'm concerned, that senior year is some of the funniest, most angst-ridden stuff yet. It includes times when my parents left me alone for a week at a time and went down to Arkansas to work on the house and I went to school and carried on at the house on my own.

Another writer alluded to the fact that I "skipped school" a lot. I didn't skip school at all. I was sick. I had thyroid disease. I missed a lot of school due to the complications of that. The only time I really "skipped school" was on my birthday when my mom would take me shopping. The other times, I would really be sick and was wasting away. I've been 5'9" since fifth grade, but during that time, I went down to about 89 pounds because I was so sick. The doctors tried lots of different medications, including radioactive iodine, which was a nightmare to swallow. It depleted the bone marrow and they said I may never be able to have children, but when they got the medicine regulated, I began to gain weight and was soon dubbed "Sasquatch" by the mean boys in junior high. I didn't write any of that stuff in my diary because it hurt so badly and still does when I really think about it. My parents took me to L.A. and Hollywood in the summer of 1976 when I was 13 after I was diagnosed with thyroid disease because the doctors told them I might not make it. I was sick and throwing up the whole time, but gosh, we had fun.

Hope that answers some of your questions about my diary, and I'll go on to other things. I really don't mind answering any of them now. It was just a painful experience at the time that made me a bit of a freak; and my senior year was the most difficult because I had the surgery to remove my thyroid on Groundhog's Day 1981 and missed the entire second semester of my senior year. When I tried to go back to class, I had this tremendous incision on my throat and looked like F*!#in' Frankenstein and everyone gave me hell at school. I wrote about it in my diary up until the moment they wheeled me away for surgery, and then I didn't write again for a month or so until my 18th birthday. I will gladly share it when I find those diaries.

Back to 2006 --- the kitchen renovation proceeds slowly but surely. The baboo is only able to work on it a day or two a week. And it was a bigger undertaking than either of us imagined. I've got a picture of the current situation above. I've also included a picture of the beautiful roses he sent me at work on my birthday last week. What a guy.

Well, it's getting very late. We're gonna watch an episode of "Family Guy," then better turn in to get back to work tomorrow and do more damage to my foot. I've got a job interview coming next week at one newspaper and my resume in at several others, so keep your fingers crossed!



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