Hah! For more than two months I’ve been trying to figure out how in the hell I’m gonna get through President Gag’s inauguration w/o going bonkers.
Since the reality that this holy land elected a carnival barker-slash-greed monkey to be its leader slapped me in the face late that fateful November Tuesday, I’ve been experiencing a hell’s handful of reactions to The Simpson’s erstwhile cartoon joke becoming the most powerful man on this godforsaken planet. To wit:
- Disbelief
- Sadness
- Outrage
- Disgust
- Depression
- An irresistible urge to engage
- An irresistible urge to disengage
- Constipation
- Flatulence
- Etc.
The date, Friday, January 20th, 2017, has loomed in my consciousness as something akin to an appointment with the hangman. I’ve known since the onset I couldn’t be watching television, listening to the radio, reading the papers, or in any other way being connected to sources that might in the slightest way allude to L’il Duce placing his hand on the Bible. Still, as I’d try to live those long, emetic moments outwardly ignorant of what was transpiring, I’d know in my heart these United States’d be fucked.
I’d wring my hands constantly, wondering how to survive the scheduled atrocity. And — mirabile dictu! — I’ve got it!
Yep. Tomorrow morning and into the the early afternoon, I’ll be first sedated and then anesthetized in advance of the surgeon, Dr. Fadi Haddad, yanking out the little metal medical device, brand name Smart Port® Power-Injectable Port, mfd. by AngioDynamics, from my upper right chest. Uh-huh. That’d be the drug port through which the nurses at the IU Health Medical Oncology infusion center flooded my bloodstream several times with poisonous platinum in an effort to destroy My Olive Pit™ and whatever other malignant beads had popped up in my neck last year. The whole ordeal, documented herein at length, was the second most horrible thing to happen to me in the year 2016.
The first, natch, being the election of President Gag.
Me, Tomorrow!
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It’ll be the last act in the dark drama that was my *battle against cancer. Huzzah!
So I get to be doped out, utterly and blissfully unaware of what’ll transpire in Wash. DC tomorrow at noon, EST.
Envy me, suckers!
You, Tomorrow
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[ * I should have put the word battle in quotation marks, inasmuch as I didn’t do anything but sit there while the chemotherapy and radiation pros tore my throat as well as much of the rest of my body to shreds — but you get the idea.]
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Sweet dreams, Mike, hope all goes well tomorrow with your procedure. That said…the nightmare will still be happening when you wake up. I’ll be going to a lot more movies, reading more books, drinking red wine with good bread and Ossau Iraty cheese and joining the resistance.