Been a while since I wrote anything here. For a couple reasons, I suppose. Been in a good mood, for one, which seems antithetical to this blog, or what this blog’s been about thus far. Had about a two-week run where I was corresponding with a friend, a good and treasured friend I’ll call WF. Was kind of like the old days when you’d exchange letters for real, except neither of us had to wait weeks or months at a time–just a day, a measly 24 hours, and sometimes less. The correspondence was much more rapid than anything in those dusty, faraway times, as if ours were playing on fast-forward, which I suppose is the nature of communication in these digital days. And a great conversation this was—at least for me. Subjects ranged from gardening to writing to pets, to literature and what our motivations are, why we write the things we write; along the way I met a couple friends, someone named Cendrars, and some other nefarious fellow by the name of Mister Stiegler. Talking with her is kind of a high, lifts me to another place, and when I’m not there all I want is to be there. I like her, wish she was here with me or me there with her. She lives in another state, far but not that far away, but it might as well be another country and another era because she’s married—to a great man, I’m sure—and I guess there’s not much more to say, that says it all.
I’m probably a tough person to like—a lot of these journal entries attest to that. Prone to self-destruction, to losing my mind. Not angry as much as sad, not wishing to hurt anyone but myself. But I suppose even that is impossible. When there are others who love you, friends, family, who are in your corner rooting for you and want the best for you—do something stupid, when you’re alone and feeling a million miles from the touch of another human being, and you’ll hurt them, too. Inevitable. It’s called collateral damage. Also called love.
I seem to hurt a lot of people by being difficult. I seem to ruin the things I come into contact with. I don’t know why, or even what the difficulty is—how it manifests. For many years I hid myself away, was a gentle, inoffensive snowflake. Was easy to please, the guy who always “went with the flow”. Didn’t put myself out there for others because I didn’t want to feel vulnerable. It’s a little different these days, I think because I write much more than I ever used to. The stories I write always touch on something personal within me, some pain, some wound, and I’m used to it now. Others read these stories of aestheticized pain and I’m used to it, their eyes, their entry into my private world. And on the page now I want to be vulnerable. I want to lay myself completely open and humiliate myself, hurt myself, ridicule myself. That’s why I started this blog. To finally do what for thirty-three years I have never managed to do: be open, be vulnerable, to say what I mean and how I feel.
Later this month, specifically this Friday, the 19th, I was supposed to go to the hospital for a colonoscopy. My second in three years. Somehow, and I don’t know how, but I got the dates mixed up. That colonoscopy is supposed to happen tomorrow, the 16th, at 11 am. The nurses are mad at me. They think I’m a fuck-up. When we spoke over the phone a couple hours ago I could hear it in their voices. We were discussing prep options. This time I’ve been stubborn about not taking Go Lightly. Had a really bad experience with it the last time, the texture—it’s hard to define, but it feels a little like swallowing liquid metal. I remember puking several times, how my face flushed beet red and my throat felt like it was in seizure. So I said no this time. The nurses assured me that was okay, there were other, milder, preps on the market. Something like Miralax. That option is no longer an option now, due to my forgetfulness. So in about an hour I’m going to start my Go Lightly prep. Have to suffer the hours until the half-gallon is swallowed and I’m a cleaner, lighter man.
Just wanted to write this entry before I go. Tomorrow, I’ll be handed a light green gown, some paper slippers, the nurses will introduce themselves as these beautiful, gentle creatures and they’ll flutter around me, taping an IV to my wrist, attending to my concerns. Then shortly before go-time I’ll have a chance to meet the anesthesiologist, to shake his strong hand. Quietly, I’ll hope he doesn’t kill me with a lethal dose. And then, if it’s anything like last time, they’ll wheel me in a bed down a short hall, around the corner, into a drafty room where it seems like the party’s already started. The doctor administering the colonoscopy will be there, surrounded by a couple more nurses whose faces I’ve never seen before and will soon never see again. And then they’ll ask me to count backward from ten. 10 … 9 … 8 … I usually only get to eight before I’m gone.
See you all on the other side (of propofol).
 Web Friend.