December 20, 2014

How ya doing? How the hell are ya? How the hell are ya doing? Ya doing all right? Ya hanging in there all right, old boy?

I'm doing fine, really -- a bit wobbly on the old pins is the worst of it. Combined with chronic fatigue which can be more or less bone deep, it can make going up the steps a bit more work than it needs to be. But seriously, I'm doing surprisingly well for a man in my situation. I'm a bit of a soft talker which can render the telephone a particularly tricky task as I have a tendency to speed up, but most people on the receiving end are quite patient and just ask me to repeat. With a bit of concentrated effort, I'm able to make myself understood. My wife says she can read the cards I've started writing her again every Friday. I believe her. I would win no penmanship contests, but again, with a bit of concentrated effort I can wield a pen legibly.

This right here is the best of it, really. I can write this goddamned diary on the old iPad and I'm in like Flynn. Oh, on a fairly regular basis I reckon I've completely run out of things to say, but then I'll get one brainstorm or another -- like this: just write in the voice of someone relieving the curiosity of a not-so-nosy neighbor -- and voila! I've got my 500 words or so, gone from point A to B to C to D to E, and my work is done here.

Like today, I figure my work is letting you know that if I don't exactly not have Parkinson's, it's not like the goddamned fucking disease has completely knocked me on my ass and rendered me incapable of cursing or anything. Someday, if you're lucky, you'll see: you will get the soft form of some dread disease, and you will have married well, and you'll live in some pile of bricks that constitutes an absolute palace when seen through the lens of your adolescent dreams, and if you're lucky beyond your wildest imaginings, you will have three great boys and a terrific dog and the ability to look back on a wonderful, productive career of good work done reasonably well and the desire to look forward to many more years of walking the dog, maybe heading down to Starbucks or the library, and if you are very, very lucky, you will see how completely and thoroughly blessed you are to have all these things and not only will you not give two shits about having your dread fucking disease any more, but you will actually be able to say -- and mean it! -- that it's just about the best thing that ever happened to you, not least because it leads you to moments such as these when you understand, and I mean really get in a way you weren't capable of before you got whatever ails you, that this moment, this one right now, is the only moment that matters, and as I say, if you're lucky, then you'll see. That's right, if you're lucky.

So how'm I doing? I'm doing fine. Really.