I am beyond restless, hungry for a different environment. Anxious and thirsty for some kind of change. Edgy and agitated. Anxious to abandon my predictable daily routines for a while. Maybe longer. I do not know the source of my sense of unsettled nervousness. I know, though, that it seems to be getting stronger and more urgent. Yet self-imposed obligations temper the urgency. Or, rather, they try to temper it. Instead, they tend to make me angry with myself for accepting commitments that constrain my freedom—freedom to respond favorably to sudden nomadic urges. If I could ignore my feeling that I have an unshakable obligation to fulfill commitments, once I make them, I might suddenly find myself accompanying the wind. Changing directions in an instant. Moving at dizzying speed and then suddenly coming to a stop, becoming absolutely still; as invisible as the wind itself. But I have willingly crafted thick links of chain—joined them together and affixed them to a band of hardened steel wrapped around my ankle. I did not grasp that my blacksmithing was connecting us to immovable anchors. But now I do. Breaking the bonds is possible, but regret and guilt would bubble forth from those links of chain as if they were tubes through which flows a perpetual stream of remorse. What, exactly, is freedom? It must be a state in which one’s efforts to build his own self-restricting prison are stymied. Life goes on, though. Restrictions, like webs surrounding one’s limbs, permit one to breathe but severely limit one’s movement.
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So. Situations change. Circumstances adapt and adjust to influences. The planned meeting yesterday with Lorri and John did not take place for good but regrettable reasons. The decision to forego the meeting arose, largely, from the fact that advancing age takes its toll on one’s energy and eyesight. I can while away the hours with shopping/sightseeing and I can drive at night; neither, though, are as enjoyable as they once were. And both tend to sap my dwindling supply of youthful energy. The seven to nine hour delay between my doctor’s appointment and our planned meet-up seemed to me to be too much. So, I deferred our meeting until another time. Perhaps another road trip will take us to New England, where we can mold our respective schedules around a more relaxed and relaxing timeframe. So it goes.
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The original reason for the drive to Little Rock yesterday was to visit with the rheumatologist. She informed me that the MRI of my neck revealed no abnormalities. But the results for the right shoulder was another story. Significant age-related osteoarthritic degradation of the acromioclavicular joint is the culprit that has caused so much pain. And, unfortunately, it probably will only get worse over time. The only options to reduce or minimize the pain are drugs—meloxicam and/or acetaminophen—or surgery. The latter would be an option only if the former do not reduce pain to tolerable levels. The former, over time and depending on frequency and dosage, can cause a variety of side-effects ranging from mild to severe. While the diagnosis was not precisely what I had hoped for (an easy, permanent cure), it was far better than it could have been. My blood work revealed no evidence that I have or am in danger of having rheumatoid arthritis. No lupus. No mumps. No measles. No chronic, explosive diarrhea. No signs that I could suddenly become a vampire with an insatiable appetite for human blood. None of those deeply unpleasant things. Just a common condition in which bodily decay is accompanied by excruciating, but somewhat treatable, manageable pain. Hallelujah!
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To celebrate the absence of a more disturbing diagnosis, I bought another jacket and another semi-custom shirt. The first semi-custom shirt was not quite right, so it will be altered to be a better fit. And the semi-custom shirt I bought yesterday will be more precisely tailored to fit better. The sleeves of the jacket will be shortened; otherwise, it fits nicely. Though yesterday I spent far more than I ever thought I would on clothes, I am not hyperventilating. Once I force myself to buy one or two pair of slacks to go with the jackets, I will be in a position to dress in a way that will adequately conceal my natural bodily homeliness. Though the expense is obscenely exorbitant, it is cheaper than whole-body reconstructive plastic surgery.
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On the drive home, a stop at Costco further reduced the size of my bank account. While I was tempted to buy several whole Wagyu beef ribeye roasts, I controlled myself, opting instead to limit myself to pork ribs, which I will cook in my recently-acquired electric smoker. The smoker replaces an identical one I used until its demise. I plan to use the smoker with some regularity, preparing foods that can be frozen and subsequently thawed to provide quick and easy meals.
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My creativity is taking a breather. My mind seems to prefer a stultified atmosphere in which creative thought replaces oxygen.
