None Of That Matters (2018Jul06)


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Friday, July 06, 2018                                                          3:25 PM

None Of That Matters   (2018Jul06)

I’d say: here’s a list of the music I’ve been listening to, lately—and list all the composers and bands and soloists that I listen to nowadays. I’d say: here’s a list of the books I’ve been reading, lately—and list all the books and authors that I’ve recently read. I’d say: here’s a list of the videos I’ve been posting to YouTube, lately—and list all the baby pictures and baby videos and piano recordings that I’ve recently worked with. I’d say: here’s a list of the music manuscripts I’ve been sight-reading, lately—and list all the books and composers and pieces that I’ve recently played or practiced. I’d say: here’s a list of the essays I’ve been writing, lately—and list all the titles that I’ve recently posted on my blog. But all of that would take forever—and who would want to read lists, anyway?

I’d talk about my vertigo, my intentional tremors, my migraines, my fatigue and shortness of breath, my precipitous weight-loss, my chronic muscle spasms, my intestinal difficulties, my emphysema, my transplant scars, my heart arrhythmia, and my lack of focus or short-term memory. Then I’d list all the anti-depressants, anti-diuretics, stomach-acid suppressors, anti-rejection drugs, OTC analgesics, nicotine patches, and corticosteroid inhalers which I take, to try and make it all bearable each day.

I’d talk about my wonderful family: my lovely Bear, my studious Boo-Boo, my Punkin (and her Hubby and her Princess), my late parents and grandparents, my siblings, my nieces, my nephews, and my in-laws. I’d talk about how lucky I am to have so many people, and so much love, in my life.

I’d even talked about the strange series of circumstances that led to my having more wealth and comfort than I ever dreamed of—in spite of being on disability for half my life. I’d talk about the seven colleges I enjoyed attending but never bothered to earn a degree from. If someone were foolish enough to ask, I’d even wax nostalgic about my old career as a computer coder and systems manager.

I’d talk about the history of the Universe, of our planet, of humanity, of civilization, of science, of art and music, of literature, of Europe, and especially American history—because, up until last election, I was very proud to live in what I considered the greatest country on Earth. I’d talk about the history of human rights, of freedom and democracy.

But none of that matters anymore—because I’ve turned into a sick old man who gripes about the crooks running our government and destroying our values and traditions (and our planet). That’s all I talk about any more. I’d like to change the subject—but I lie awake every night, I stew every day, obsessing over these horrendous traitors who somehow got the reins of a country they don’t deserve to live in, much less govern.

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