Sympathy for the Devil

Chip is on the way home from Monticello from Cliff's funeral. I wrote to Steven, Cliff's brother, that I was just unable to go and that while he's gone, Mom is here babysitting me. (She wanted to go to too. She adored Cliff. as noted before, with damned good reason. What a sweet mensch! He's now, as we, oh so reluctantly, say goodbye, he's singing "For Your Love" with a bunch of putti who also love The Yardbirds.)

No, it's not what you're thinking. I am trusted to behave myself. (And I will. Without a doubt.) No one wants me left alone just in case something awful happens and I need help. Like the old lady in that horribly cheap commercial, "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" But she has a groovy device she wears at all times, so she's never really alone. "Only $23.99 in three easy payments!" (Probably not such a bad idea even if the commercial is an embarrassment to humanity.)

Ah, Chip has arrived. He said there was about 500 people at the funeral. I am so glad the world turned out for Cliff. No one deserved it more. What a good soul. What a great soul. Steve and I exchanged emails yesterday. We both agreed we'd very much like to stay in touch. In this way, we can keep Cliff alive. Or as alive as we're able.

These things are never easy to keep up, but it is possible. My friend Suzanne died about thirteen years ago, and Chip and I have become very close to her husband. That friendship has withstood the passage of time and is a friendship in its own right. We love you!

I succumbed. To what??? Actually I succumbed after getting "permission" from Suzanne's widower. He's a microbiologist, so I trust him especially when it comes to things like this. He told me to take the oxycodone. Take the fucking oxycodone!!! I have dozens leftover from when I needed a real cough suppressant. (Who knew? It's the best cough suppressant known to man.) Now I need it for my excruciating back pain. I'm seeing the chiropractor, the best P.T. in NYC, and I exercise. (You try it when you can't breathe.) My buddy told me not to be an idiot and if I need it (and I do), take what medical science has to offer to make you feel better. Aye, aye, sir!

My therapist (head therapist) said today that excruciating pain is not good for my psyche. (Any psyche.) I'm down with that. The awful thing is that one pill cuts the pain, but it sure doesn't eliminate it. (These are the zillion leftover 5 milligram oxycodone pills from when I took them when I desperately needed an effective cough suppressant.) I still hurt, but it's now tolerable-ish. Perhaps I need to see the orthopedist about the correct dosage to take for a back in excruciating pain. I had no addiction issues. I don't think that I ever will. (Big mistake, don't ever say never, i.e.: I'm young and have so long to live.)

I'm enervated. No it's not that. I'm still in pain. Too much pain. I just got off the phone with my cousin who is suffering herself. She told me 5 milligrams isn't going to cut it. Chip is emailing the orthopedist. In the meantime, another 5 milligrams isn't going to hurt anyone. (I swear I'm not the addictive type otherwise that bottle would have gone down my gullet eons ago. And, back to the "offing oneself' nonsense. If I really were going to do it, a nice bottle of pills seems much more preferable than cutting ankles, wrists, and carotid arteries. The latter is a total mess, overly dramatic (one shouldn't emote when committing suicide- that's plain embarrassing) and is just entirely too unpleasant for me. Like in Sympathy for the Devil:

So if you meet me

Have some courtesy

Have some sympathy, and some taste

Use all well-learned politesse

Or I'll lay your soul to waste

Taste and civility count. In all realms of life and death. A lesson that should be taken by all. (And some, more than others.) So you needn't worry, I won't embarrass you. I will be such that the word "cringeworthy" can never be used to describe me. And not to worry, suicide is totally off the table, mein bubbellehs. (That, I think would be completely tasteless, don't you?)