While I’ve been trying to comment as much as I can on folks’ writing that matter a lot to me, I’ve not been writing — so much so that I have little, to NO $tat$! That’s okay with me though, cuz I don’t write here for the money. I do it because I wanna engage with other folk, as well as share shit. This short post is about the latter
On March 12, I had a seizure. Who knew??!! I surely damned didn’t (not for the first time, I was bamboozled, by the not knowing — let me tell you!). And while that shit was, and still is fuck*n with my damned head, I am SO, SO eternally grateful for the man with whom I chose to share my life for the last, 42 years.
He plays golf every Thursday in a golf league, created with a bunch of old, retired guys just like himself (bless their hearts, they’ve made little signs, shirts and hats with their league name and logo on them and everthing!) — most of them, Mexican born and bred in San Antonio, share the real, Cesar-Chavez history of the city. He, in turn, respectfully and joyfully shares that knowledge with us — like what high schools were the shit in sports when they grew up, or what used to be there, but’s no longer (gentrification and gerrymandering’s everywhere, Fam). But I think what’s brought them the closest, isn’t only their prior military shit, it’s become the fact that one of his owns’ daughter was the partner of Brian Sicknick, an officer killed in the January 6th storming of the Capitol.
So every Thursday, he writes me a beautiful note on a section of a Bounty paper towel next to the Keurig he sets up with a cup and Cafe Bustelo loaded. I’ve saved them all (Keep an eye out for the “Paper Towel Diaries”©).
And on the first Thursday after my seizure, this is what he wrote:
We fell in love 42 years ago, to Minnie’s “Lovin’’ You,” — it’s been the soundtrack of our lives for all of our lives. After the damned seizure, we were trying to figure out how our old asses could just keep livin’ life — on our own terms. I promised to take the anti-seizure medicine as prescribed (cuz he knows how much I fuck*n hate pills, until I do enough research along with my neuro f/u consult on that shit to really understand what the hell’s going on), and that Mofo bought some cameras — one aimed at my seat at the laptop in the dining room, and the other aimed at the bed cuz he knows I sleep late, so he can keep doing his golf shit (gets on my damned nerves sometimes when I’m sleepin’ late and hear his ass yellin’ at me at the top of his lungs, “Hey, you hear me??!” Yeah, Mofo, I do — I’m still fuck*n’ SLEEPIN’!!
Wake-up calls really are a thing, Fam — we ain’t runnin’ SHIT!!
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