I've had a very keen revelation tonight. Maybe I had it a long, long time ago but refused to accept it. That revelation is that the rock & roll night life is not good for me. It has ruined my reputation and in no uncertain terms, made a rebel of me.
Between the years of 1978 and 1990, I rarely played drums. I was a church going man, for all practical purposes. But then the love of drumming lured me back to the nightlife.
It's not that playing music is bad, but I think in my soul, there has always been a question as to whether or not I should be doing it. And as the scripture says, a double minded man is unstable in all his ways.
For the duration of my days upon this earth, I want to be known as a good man, a fair man, a just man; not as a rowdy rebel who demands his way in everything. Because that's what I've done. Selfishness is the root of it, really, plain and simple selfishness.
I must be wise in this transition. There are probably some recording ventures I've been asked to do that might be just fun. But I really intend to make a radical turn from the nightlife henceforth. Many will try to sway me, but deep down, they'll know it's for the best. I have this deep conviction that if I try, and try hard, that I'l be able to restore my reputation and a stable man of character before I leave this world.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Game Changer
It's a strange thing to fear putting up the dishes. My doctor said I'm to be a couch potato. My latest surgery for glaucoma hasn't worked out so well. It was two weeks ago yesterday. I've had severe pain, more then I've ever remember, and I haven't been able to see well out of my right eye. I nearly lost my vision completely in that eye a week ago. The doctor had to do emergency surgery because my eye was leaking fluid.
But today, I was finally seeing better. My wife and I got up in the wee hours of the morning and watched the Royal wedding. I bragged about being able to see better out of my right eye. And the pain seems to have nearly disappeared. This is where stupidity comes into play. I told myself that since I've turned this miraculous corner, I'll take the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away. I was careful not to bend over because my doctor has ordered me not to. She also said I'm not to pick up anything heavier then 10 pounds. I told myself I'd use my brain, not my brawn. I sat in a chair and reached over into the dishwasher, slowly getting one glass at a time, then a bowl, then a plate, until I had emptied the dishwasher. I had no intentions of over straining myself or overdoing it. But human nature, being the productive beast that it is, took over. I started rationalizing. Since it was okay to pick up one plate, why not pick two at a time, then three, then four. I was careful not to bend over, so how could hit hurt to have a hand full of plates. It'd save time. No harm. Piece of cake. All is well.
But then suddenly, without warning, I noticed my right eye is extremely blurry again. Why am I such a fool?
My friends don't understand how precarious my situation is. I look well enough. At least, I think I look good. So, I'm sure I look good to them. They must think I'm lazy. Several musician friends of mine want me to play music with them. I can see that questioning look in their eyes when I tell them my doctor says I'm not supposed to do anything. They think I'm a hypochondriac. A fellow musician came right out and told me so on the phone recently. He confided in me that another musician had called him, inquiring about me and my health problems.
"He's alone at home all day," he told our friend. "He's bored and concentrates on his health more then the rest of us who have a job. It's hard for him not to be a hypochondriac. He's got nothing else to do."
I sat there, holding the phone, listening to a long-time friend tell me that he told another friend I'm a hypochondriac, and I'm thought, "Damn, I don't need this shit." But I didn't say it.
That phone call took place a few weeks before my surgery. But I catch myself thinking about it again today when I realize I've put my eyesight at risk by the mere, small act of putting up a few dishes. I find myself wishing my friend were correct. I wish I was a hypochondriac. But whether I am or not, his conversation was a real game changer. I'll never be the same. I'll never put myself in a position I should not be in again. My life is about to change.
But today, I was finally seeing better. My wife and I got up in the wee hours of the morning and watched the Royal wedding. I bragged about being able to see better out of my right eye. And the pain seems to have nearly disappeared. This is where stupidity comes into play. I told myself that since I've turned this miraculous corner, I'll take the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away. I was careful not to bend over because my doctor has ordered me not to. She also said I'm not to pick up anything heavier then 10 pounds. I told myself I'd use my brain, not my brawn. I sat in a chair and reached over into the dishwasher, slowly getting one glass at a time, then a bowl, then a plate, until I had emptied the dishwasher. I had no intentions of over straining myself or overdoing it. But human nature, being the productive beast that it is, took over. I started rationalizing. Since it was okay to pick up one plate, why not pick two at a time, then three, then four. I was careful not to bend over, so how could hit hurt to have a hand full of plates. It'd save time. No harm. Piece of cake. All is well.
But then suddenly, without warning, I noticed my right eye is extremely blurry again. Why am I such a fool?
My friends don't understand how precarious my situation is. I look well enough. At least, I think I look good. So, I'm sure I look good to them. They must think I'm lazy. Several musician friends of mine want me to play music with them. I can see that questioning look in their eyes when I tell them my doctor says I'm not supposed to do anything. They think I'm a hypochondriac. A fellow musician came right out and told me so on the phone recently. He confided in me that another musician had called him, inquiring about me and my health problems.
"He's alone at home all day," he told our friend. "He's bored and concentrates on his health more then the rest of us who have a job. It's hard for him not to be a hypochondriac. He's got nothing else to do."
I sat there, holding the phone, listening to a long-time friend tell me that he told another friend I'm a hypochondriac, and I'm thought, "Damn, I don't need this shit." But I didn't say it.
That phone call took place a few weeks before my surgery. But I catch myself thinking about it again today when I realize I've put my eyesight at risk by the mere, small act of putting up a few dishes. I find myself wishing my friend were correct. I wish I was a hypochondriac. But whether I am or not, his conversation was a real game changer. I'll never be the same. I'll never put myself in a position I should not be in again. My life is about to change.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Where'd it go?
I seemed to have lost my ability to write? It's very scary. Words used to flow, now I sputter through each and every sentence and nothings sounds right. What happened to my gift? Where'd it go?
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