Fuzzy Blurry

I hate hospitals. Not that St. Mary's doesn't ply the healing trade well, but, whereas our ancestors knew the stench of death to be that of rotting flesh, we modern apes know it to be the smell of antiseptics. The past few days are a blur. Fuzzy memories of Mel lying in bed, a waiting room with empty cups strewn everywhere, and periodic walks out to the parking ramp for cancer-inducing stress relief. Mel and Dogger's families were here over the weekend and a few remain still. Mel's mom refuses to sleep anywhere but at the hospital and doesn't leave until Thursday.

Mel herself has improved dramatically since Thursday despite the inability of these latter-day Hippocrates to actually figure out what caused the stroke. (The current theory is that a bit of that cartoid artery, the name of which I can't remember, ripped and caused blockage.) Neither CAT scan nor MRI could determine exactly what constricted the flow of blood.

Her brain swelling has receded and she was allowed to eat a couple days ago. She amazed the physical therapist yesterday when she moved her leg and arm on her left side which was the side affected. Pete, Dogger, Marv, and I had her laughing Sunday night as we proceeded to goof around in her room. It was 10 at night and we were surprised that the nurses didn't kick us out. We laughed ourselves out to the parking lot for a smoke which prompted a nurse whose shift had ended to comment that people aren't usually in laughing mode there. Hey, when there's a funny story about eating goat meat to be told, no stroke is gonna stand in our way. Yesterday Mel was again very lucid and her speech was noticeably less slurred. She was fired up to watch the Packer game at dinner though she slept through it. My heart strings were tugged hard last night as Miss Regan slept on Mel's chest. Mother and daughter sleeping, though one with tubes connected. There's just something very beautiful in the most basic sense about the scene of a mother and child like that. It strikes that chord that is hard-wired inside each one of us.

As we were all readying to leave, Dogger asked if I wanted to head back to his place for a beer. Although I was keen on going to bed, I went as this meant that Dogger needed company. This was a good sign. So I drove over while Marv went with Heidi, a friend of Mel's who was in town from Milwaukee. We grabbed cocktails and sat out on the deck and chatted until 1. Luckily I had catered dinner that night because my gin & tonic was a stiffy. Since Mel is Polish, I made a bunch of pierogi and grilled some kielbasa. While I don't want to go off on a rant of Milleresque proportions, I do need to express just how much it pisses me off that it's nearly impossible to find fresh Polish sausage in this town. I think Woodman's occasionally has some Usinger's but that is a rarity. So rare, in fact, I've never seen it and only know of it through others. Euro Foods in Middleton closed so I'm stuck going to either Milwaukee or Chicago for the stuff. Pre-cooked doesn't cut it. And what the fuck is wrong with people - Cajun bratwurst? What the fuck is that heinous Frankstein of the culinary world? Make andouille or don't. But please refrain from such atrocities. Methinks we Slavs are an oppressed minority here.

OK - got that out of my system. What's next? Today. I must send out some resumes. And that video about The Crusades awaits me at the library. The Dulcinea emailed me her little recollection of our rendezvous last week and asked if her account matched mine. I replied as the Pope is reputed to have: it is as it was.

As we both got comfortable in the awkward position, I reached my hand back and found his cock. I love to have him in my hand or in my mouth, it is so fun to feel him respond to my touch, to hear him. I pulled and stroked him and he licked, hands grabbing my ass, HARD. I came after what had to have been only a few minutes, it was big and came on in wave after wave. I like those kinds...

I remember that quite vividly but it seems like ages ago. I've not gotten laid in 5 days - outrageous!

I watched the new Exorcist flick and The Day After Tomorrow - horrible movies each. While it was cool to see Los Angeles and New York destroyed, the plot of TDAT was so hackneyed that I stopped paying attention and just tuned in when something was going to be destroyed. The Exorcist was just typical horror fare. I am looking forward to see Paul Schrader's version because Renny Harlin's is crap. Stellan Skarsgård rocks but it's all sudden loud noises and precious little character development. How the hell did Vittorio Storaro get stuck with it? You've got the DP of The Conformist paired with the director of Cliffhanger - what gives? Still, it looks awesome.

Alright, I've got enough caffeine in my veins now to go and do stuff without hurting anyone.