The way you describe the constant negotiation between gratitude, exhaustion, fear, and obligation is such a specific kind of overwhelm Puma, the kind that comes not from a lack of life, but from too much of it pressing in at once. The schedule alone would be enough to rattle anyone, let alone carrying a body that won’t always cooperate and a mind that won’t stop turning things over.
What you said about meds as a daily reminder of illness -- how there’s no real “off switch” -- echoes through everything else here. Even when the circumstances are different, that same persistence is there: the body tapping you on the shoulder, the calendar filling up, the dog needing play, the poems needing voice. It’s a lot to hold at once, and it makes sense that fear slips in through the cracks.
And the fear you describe isn’t abstract -- it’s lived-in. The kind that accumulates over time, attaches itself to places, to memories, to the body itself. That line -- “Nothing matters, everything counts” -- that’s the paradox, isn’t it? You can feel both at once and not be wrong about either.
I also hear the care in how you’re approaching the week: one event at a time, honoring the doctor’s appointment, letting the rest be negotiable. That’s not failure -- that’s navigation. That’s survival with intention.
For what it’s worth, I relate to the limits too. I only really have the stamina for one event a day -- especially if it involves something like a long, draining bus ride across the city. There’s just a point where the body and mind say, that’s enough input for today, and pushing past it doesn’t make anything better, just blurrier.
Your writing holds all of this without flattening it. The fear, the city, the history, the humor (“Tequila & Terror” is going to stick with me). It doesn’t try to resolve anything too neatly, which is honest. Sometimes just naming the weight of it is the work.
I hope tonight goes gently, whatever that ends up meaning. Even if “gently” just means you get through it on your own terms.
I so like that you write about things we feel but people think.we shouldn't feel. I'm having a very hard time and a friend says'compartmentalize'. Tuck that fear away
The heck with that. I feel better reading your posts. Honesty is the answer.
When I look back over my life, I see that everything was perfectly ordered. There was not a single drop more pain or suffering than was necessary to move me in whatever direction I needed to go. I don’t enjoy being moved around by pain and suffering, but since I’m on a need to know basis, I guess it’s the only way.
I am looking for a new server job and my first fear is I won’t pass the interview because there are too many wrinkles on my face. My second fear is I will get the job and have to learn it and actually do it with my aging mind and body.
I related so much to your story about running around the city with no fear in the 70s as a kid. The city to me was always a giant embrace. It knew I belonged and it treated me like family. I remember one fourth of July, throwing M 80s at each other next to the river at 3 AM. Fear as a young person is much different.
I love this story/poem. I think it’s one of my top 10 favorites of anything I’ve read by you. But then, we are going through the same aging trials and tribulations. And, we had a very similar life experience in the 70s and 80s.
This is almost gross, but I will still say it. I am, once again, standing in that place where I can either fall into despair — spent the last 2 days there — or decide to trust the process. Yuk! There, I said it. Despair is a full-body sucker punch. It’s got me all tuckered out.
You describe some wiggle room with the upcoming shows. I am betting that you accomplish whatever your heart sets out to do. I am not a fan of calling out, but I will when necessary. After a shift, I lie in bed with ice wrapped in dishtowels on my lower back, in between my knees and on my neck. Sometimes, I need an electric blanket to keep me warm.
Too bad I used up my heroin card in my twenties. Addict humor.
When I look back over my life, I see that everything was perfectly ordered. There was not a single drop more pain or suffering than was necessary to move me in whatever direction I needed to go. I don’t enjoy being moved around by pain and suffering, but since I’m on a need to know basis, I guess it’s the only way.
I am looking for a new server job and my first fear is, I won’t pass the interview because there are too many wrinkles on my face. My second fear is I will get the job and have to learn it and actually do it with my aging mind and body.
I related so much to your story about running around the city with no fear in the 70s as a kid. The city to me was always a giant embrace. It knew I belonged and it treated me like family. I remember one fourth of July, throwing M 80s at each other next to the river at 3 AM. Fear as a young person is much different.
I love this story/poem. I think it’s one of my top 10 favorites of anything I’ve read by you. But then, we are going through the same aging trials and tribulations. And, we had a very similar life experience in the 70s and 80s.
The way you describe the constant negotiation between gratitude, exhaustion, fear, and obligation is such a specific kind of overwhelm Puma, the kind that comes not from a lack of life, but from too much of it pressing in at once. The schedule alone would be enough to rattle anyone, let alone carrying a body that won’t always cooperate and a mind that won’t stop turning things over.
What you said about meds as a daily reminder of illness -- how there’s no real “off switch” -- echoes through everything else here. Even when the circumstances are different, that same persistence is there: the body tapping you on the shoulder, the calendar filling up, the dog needing play, the poems needing voice. It’s a lot to hold at once, and it makes sense that fear slips in through the cracks.
And the fear you describe isn’t abstract -- it’s lived-in. The kind that accumulates over time, attaches itself to places, to memories, to the body itself. That line -- “Nothing matters, everything counts” -- that’s the paradox, isn’t it? You can feel both at once and not be wrong about either.
I also hear the care in how you’re approaching the week: one event at a time, honoring the doctor’s appointment, letting the rest be negotiable. That’s not failure -- that’s navigation. That’s survival with intention.
For what it’s worth, I relate to the limits too. I only really have the stamina for one event a day -- especially if it involves something like a long, draining bus ride across the city. There’s just a point where the body and mind say, that’s enough input for today, and pushing past it doesn’t make anything better, just blurrier.
Your writing holds all of this without flattening it. The fear, the city, the history, the humor (“Tequila & Terror” is going to stick with me). It doesn’t try to resolve anything too neatly, which is honest. Sometimes just naming the weight of it is the work.
I hope tonight goes gently, whatever that ends up meaning. Even if “gently” just means you get through it on your own terms.
Thanks, Richard.
I so like that you write about things we feel but people think.we shouldn't feel. I'm having a very hard time and a friend says'compartmentalize'. Tuck that fear away
The heck with that. I feel better reading your posts. Honesty is the answer.
oh god with that shit. They can shove it up their asses along with "oh, you'll be all right."
When I look back over my life, I see that everything was perfectly ordered. There was not a single drop more pain or suffering than was necessary to move me in whatever direction I needed to go. I don’t enjoy being moved around by pain and suffering, but since I’m on a need to know basis, I guess it’s the only way.
I am looking for a new server job and my first fear is I won’t pass the interview because there are too many wrinkles on my face. My second fear is I will get the job and have to learn it and actually do it with my aging mind and body.
I related so much to your story about running around the city with no fear in the 70s as a kid. The city to me was always a giant embrace. It knew I belonged and it treated me like family. I remember one fourth of July, throwing M 80s at each other next to the river at 3 AM. Fear as a young person is much different.
I love this story/poem. I think it’s one of my top 10 favorites of anything I’ve read by you. But then, we are going through the same aging trials and tribulations. And, we had a very similar life experience in the 70s and 80s.
Can’t wait to read your next piece!🖤
Thank you. Honestly, all this pain right now - I don't see the necessity. I'd do much more without it.
This is almost gross, but I will still say it. I am, once again, standing in that place where I can either fall into despair — spent the last 2 days there — or decide to trust the process. Yuk! There, I said it. Despair is a full-body sucker punch. It’s got me all tuckered out.
You describe some wiggle room with the upcoming shows. I am betting that you accomplish whatever your heart sets out to do. I am not a fan of calling out, but I will when necessary. After a shift, I lie in bed with ice wrapped in dishtowels on my lower back, in between my knees and on my neck. Sometimes, I need an electric blanket to keep me warm.
Too bad I used up my heroin card in my twenties. Addict humor.
Heroin would never have caused the internal bleeding all those anti-inflammatories did! It gets a bad rap!
Killing it Puma. Go get em.
Thanks, Paul.
I'll be at 11th st. Love. As always.
It would be nice to see you.
When I look back over my life, I see that everything was perfectly ordered. There was not a single drop more pain or suffering than was necessary to move me in whatever direction I needed to go. I don’t enjoy being moved around by pain and suffering, but since I’m on a need to know basis, I guess it’s the only way.
I am looking for a new server job and my first fear is, I won’t pass the interview because there are too many wrinkles on my face. My second fear is I will get the job and have to learn it and actually do it with my aging mind and body.
I related so much to your story about running around the city with no fear in the 70s as a kid. The city to me was always a giant embrace. It knew I belonged and it treated me like family. I remember one fourth of July, throwing M 80s at each other next to the river at 3 AM. Fear as a young person is much different.
I love this story/poem. I think it’s one of my top 10 favorites of anything I’ve read by you. But then, we are going through the same aging trials and tribulations. And, we had a very similar life experience in the 70s and 80s.
Can’t wait to read your next piece!🖤