WHY?

Why? Why am I bothering to write a new post? Possibly to convince myself that I still have the ability to convey my thoughts, that I'm still reasonably rational - -

not senile yet, not...quite...dead.

Routine. My present existence is completely routine. Meals, meds, nurses, wound care, bed baths (holy sheeit), meals, meds, meds.

I must be a frickin' addict by now. At least with the pain pills, I'm no longer screaming with pain.

The past few days are muddled. I can't keep things in logical order.

Two days after I was moved to this new room (#609), the two Big Wig social workers ( one male, one female) who run this place, came into my room.

I hate it. They are always messengers of bad news.

Somber and icy, they announced that they're moving me to another room.

ME - always polite and congenial

lost my temper and spewed my disgust.

I flatly refused to be moved.

They looked dower but completely stunned.

Finally, I said "I don't give a crap what you do. Wheel the damn bed outside to the garden."

My exact words.

Several days later.....and I never heard from them again. I regret my outburst, yet I don't care. It's probably not the end.

The biopsy for the "non-cyst" on my arm? So far no results. The head nurses keep calling, and the biopsy place (whatever) keeps stalling.

I'm extremely worried.

Yesterday a nurse changed the bandages on my arm. The "non-cyst" started bleeding hard. My hospital gown, the sheets, and my pillow case were soaked. They had to change everything.

Nurse finished the bandages and left the room.

Ten minutes later, blood was streaming down my arm. The bandage was soaked. I was horrified. Grabbed a towel and put pressure on it, while struggling to press the "Help" buzzer.

Nurse (finally) returned. Had to change the bandages and reinforced the "non-cyst" with stronger bandages. So far no more blood.

Nothing unnerves me anymore. I'm used to be pummeled with crap.

How's Hospice?

They sent several social workers to ask me myriads of questions. I'm very good at answering and feigning the fact that I'm sane.

The problem with Hospice is that their sole goal is to make you comfortable until you croak.

They want you to die.

They are admittedly nice - - one of their nurses sees me twice a week.....and I still have the nurses here at Signature Health Care.

BUT - I no longer having physical therapy here. I guess the insurance no longer covers it.

Hell, I admittedly don't know what exactly is going on. My tired mind can't concieve all the red tape.

I think I have the option to lose Hospice and go home, back to the Quality Home Care nurses. But I desperately need physical therapy (which they provide).

I just hope I can keep my sanity for a little while longer....and hang on....

For several recent nights in a row, I've been having dreams that I can walk again. Joyous dreams!

 .....are they only dreams......?

Jon 🧡  dreaming

Top image

One of my AI creations. I know some of you are tired of it and don't like AI, but I plan to do several future posts about it.

If there is a future.

The fortune teller knows.....

PSEUDO MIDNIGHT COWBOY

First of all, I really appreciate all of you who read my updates and are genuinely concerned  about my health issues and current (miserable) medical adventures. It means a lot.

Right now I don't have any new updates, but I'm sure I will soon.

 I'm forgetting the present and taking you back long ago.....

.....to those reckless, wild, dangerous times when I was haunting the midnight streets of Hollywood.

I recently found an ancient photo in my phone files - - damaged, faded, and nearly forgotten.

On a whim, I decided to try regenerating it on AI .....and got a near-perfect result. The photo is only restored -  - not changed at all. It looks more clear and the color is better. I've resurrected the past!

This is me on Hollywood Boulevard, probably age twenty. The photo was taken by my friend (let's say fleeting companion) John, who was an actor. At that time he working on an important film. It's a famous film which cost 13 million dollars to make, but was a flop at the box office.

Why won't I reveal the title? Because you'd cunningly figure out my age.

John took me on the set while they were filming. He was a fascinating person, but was also a hardcore druggie. That's unfortunately why things didn't work out.

Many years later I happened to see an interview with him on television. It was a weird feeling.

But you don't want to hear my prattle, do you? Long ago secrets.....midnight confessions.

I always look back with astonishment. It was seemingly a different world then - - and I was a different person.

Definitely a drifting midnight cowboy, who haphazardly wandered from one incredible adventure to another......

......never expecting the bitterly wicked future.

Jon, with luv  💚

BTW

I still have that hat, but it's unwearable.