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What Dreams May Come and Emergency Room nightmares
muddywatersss
1Y67_PAUL_4_16_Lifestyle_2

Going Deeper into that Life and addendum of the Emergency Room just for Kicks and Giggles I Flew on a Plane. I advanced in Life Experience and Such things the moved me towards that adulthood from which I long for, and we moved deeper into each others lives, from when that first time I went to Canada that summer that seems like a long time ago, in another life almost, but this man right here is afraid of commitment and thinking he's still that Lone Wolf and Cub and not thinking outside of his delusions, but that all seems but a beautiful dream right now, as I sit on the bed in the midst of the throws, and drugged demons of anxiety and fear, for I was laid low, so low I didn't think I can get up anymore, and I went to the EMERGENCY ROOM for the first time since I was a child with asthma because not being able to breath and still not knowing what the fuck is wrong with me, and just laying low and swinging low, going to work and seeing things on the news that just lays me even more low in that depression and anxiety that has its pox upon me and then some. But lets talk about what happened before all this went down, lets talk about going on that plane in sweltering summer of madness and disgust, but really was beautiful, and it was so hot up there in Canada where it's not supposed to be, like a Heat wave or something, as I stayed at my girlfriends house, as we moving deeper but at the same time moving further away through the space time continuum, whatever that means, both treading water so to speak trying to find our way through this maze in life, trying to find that contentment, as she is still staying with her parents from that Island Nation, of calypso rhythms, and garden beauty of flowers in your mind, and darkness from another continent, but anyways they didn't have air conditioning at her parents house, because you know it doesn't really get that hot up there that much, but of course when I go up there thinking its going to be grand, it get so hot I'm sweating my damn ass off, about to die, and they are like I thought it was hot where you are from, but I was like we got AC every place we go down there in our cars and in our parking lots, as her mother that aging older woman who I talk with through sign language and laughter and food, as she calls me “My Son” mainly because I eat anything that comes near my face, like Conch, and Fish and Plantains those wonderful Island things, that my girlfriend shuns hating on her “Momma's” food, for the more staid Canadian fare but that's how she is, as that Mother dotes on me as we laugh at each other and try to communicate but only pointing and laughing as she shows me things on the internet from where she's from, and she sings to herself songs from that Island Nation, and her slow moving ways as we wait on her as she drives us around, and my girlfriend of the distance and space continuum of planes and such, gets mad as she talks to her mom in another language as I just sit there looking out the window, not knowing what there talking about really, as her Moms hums something, a rhythm and a beat from somewhere else, somewhere of flowers and birds, and darkness, from somewhere not in the Snow, but actually it's kind of like that now, in this Heat, and her Garden that she tends to with the blooms of flowers in their Queens like neighborhood of immigrant Italians and Arabs and Island Folk, and as I tried to cook some barbecue for them from where I'm from don't you know, but then the little barbecue they had didn't get hot enough really, and then we argued me and her, and then that Mother had to knock it over because I was burning the sausages that my girlfriend wanted because she didn't want to eat that food from that Island Nation, but all that was on the first day, because I was there and it was her “Momma's” birthday and they were having a surprise birthday party for her, and almost like a reunion with her cousins coming and her Mother friends were going to be there, and it was going to be “meet the Folks” time for me, at a nice restaurant downtown, with her Family all dressed up nice like going to Church but maybe a Communion or something, but her Mother thinking it was just going to be her Sister and us, kind of not really thinking anything of it, in her normal gown of flowers, as he were having trouble finding the place, but she was just strolling, in her Island way, through this city, as her Sister couldn't find her keys, and we were arguing about where the nice Hotel was, where the nice restaurant was, as her Mother from that Island Nation in this Big Canadian city just strolled like she was somewhere else, saying to me “My Son” as he laughed some more, and she was talking to some couple on the street, asking where it was, as the daughters raced past her, busy trying to find the place as the Mother just strolled from a different tune, to a Island Beat all her own. But we got there, with one of her cousins sneaking around so that she wouldn't see her, and then everybody said surprise or something like that, as I had to do a round of kisses on cheeks, to everybody around the table, although some my Texian folks do kiss a lot on my Dads side, but not like this round of kisses, for everybody and everyone, as these folks of different complexions and different hues, and they were grilling my girlfriend, for not telling them about me, in her secret ways, because she is a lone wolf and cub such as myself, but it was interesting meeting the Folks, although the language was an inhibitor for further talking, because an older gentleman who was the father of one of her Bubbly cousins, a wild child in her tight dress and makeup, living that city life, and that young generation of smart phones, and facebook, but he doesn't speak English, so it was very quiet at our table, but with her Mother siting at the end of the table like a great Matriarch, getting love from all her family members and her old Friends who she gossips with, and saying things that I don't know what their talking about, but she is loving every minute of this, being the center of attention, seeing her Family together because that's all that matters. That Family of Island Folk dressed in their finest, these professional people, her cousins, a flight attendant taking selfies with all her boos, and the regal Sister and the kids and the professional cousin my girlfriend doesn't get along with, her kids running around chasing each other, but she is a professional and her Engineer Husband in their mini van in Canada, as we all gathered around for pictures with the photographer they had hired, but finally at our table we started talking and the young dude across from me starting speaking English and we talked about the World Cup and he used to do some boxing, and the father of that Facebook girl next to me smiled and a said something about the food, and he laughed not knowing what I said, in his tight Euro Pants and glasses at this nice restaurant with the Buffet, and it seemed like a dream especially now in my bed, like I'm dead to this world and the next, seems like a bright sort of life, those sweet and beautiful things in this life, that spread out like Carpe Diem before you, like some Robin Williams movie of your youth, living that life to the fullest, and you wondering where it all went to, like what dreams my come that are lost, in the movement, like that moment you and your girl went to the Beach at the State Park they got up in Canada, like on a Lake, but really the River, reminding you of the Lakes they got here where we use to go for Birthday parties and such, but not like that, more majestic in its view, not some damned Georgia Creek, as you drove out in those Canadian suburbs, along the highway, and buying a swimsuits for each other, and on the Beach, one of those things in life you want to live over and over again if you could like out of one of those Movies from the Youth, as you ate Veggie Sticks and she was afraid to show her legs, and your hairy chest and belly with your Farmers Tan in that surprisingly warm waters of Canada, as she did some tanning and you swam, with the college suburban Canadians throwing footballs, and the mix of immigrant folks enjoying themselves, and you drove to a secluded spot and took some pics on your smart phones, and some older people were there giving you dirty looks just like you were back down South, but it felt good that day, that seems like it was ten years ago, as you drove back along that Canadian highway spread out, of pharmaceutical warehouses and box stores, and you went back and the Island Mother was gone, and you took off her bathing suit, and the bed was creaking, and you fucked for a little bit, and laughed with your awkwardness, with each other even though you know each other, but that was a day in the Summer of Dreams, and the breeze wafts back towards your romanticism and your deathly Post Mortem on your bed, trying to be positive, and over reacting maybe because your getting older and trying to understand some death and aging because of that Grandmother maybe but just trying to appreciate those things while they're her and trying to say you'll do things different now, trying to change your ways, and appreciate those things for the fullest like some Carpe Diem, while you got them, in the sunshine of those Canadian State Parks and a gathering of an Island Family, with all the hues, but all those things just gone in that sun of that Canadian State Park, into those sick lights of Hospital, in the damned EMERGENCY ROOM, that damned brand new hospital, in this damned bumpkin county trying to be something it ain't, with their new airports and city halls built in the middle of the woods to nowhere and nobody, but excuse my negativity, at my present condition and such, where the sleepy girls checked you in, in their non chalant manner in the middle of the night, as you waited with your Dad who drove you up there, and it all comes back to you from when you were a kid, putting the clip on your finger, and the needle in your arm, and it was dark and it seemed deserted as you waited and maybe a shrunken faced girl put her head on her boyfriends shoulder as they waited, and maybe your basketball coach came in the sliding doors as you waited and you and your Dad shook his hand, but then that was all, and you felt bad, because you didn't say something to him, like “How you doing Coach or something like that.” but you just didn't feel up to snuff that night when you were in the Brand new Emergency Room, and his son had the same condition you had, or the same symptoms, and they even put him in the same room next to his, but it was just a hand shake between you and Coach, because the past his flitted away, just like that old Hospital they had that was next to the small town that was on the edge of this city of highways and distance with all those ramifications of not knowing anybody, with all those different kinds of people from everywhere else, with the good and the bad (as sometimes I wish they would just keep building, and building and destroying and changing, like something crazy, some New York city skyline built upon these old woods, but its not going to happen, and then I get all nostalgic about how it was back in the day, of those old high school years, those small town years that drifted away, when it was smaller and maybe people knew each other more, but I don't know if it ever really was like that really, but I would say I don't know anybody around here anymore, but maybe that's because your older and you move away and you come back, or maybe its because those people have moved away to be replaced by more people from somewhere else, but I'm not really sure) just like the clinic I go to from when I was a kid, maybe it was always like this, and maybe I just didn't notice, but it seems different, like they have Russian ladies taking blood, and Spanish women leading me to my room, and Lackadaisical Californian nurse practitioners talking to me about what allergy medication to use, and they seem so busy and rushing around, and taking forever for you to get in and see the doctor before they usher you out and you forgot to ask a question and your off to the pharmacy to get drugs in the 24 hour pharmacy that never sleeps next to the honky tonk bar from yesteryear, and liquor store, and the chicken wing place that has been there forever, but maybe its just me getting old, and feeling the effects, and feeling the change, and trying to pick things out of the current that never stops, just like that 24 hour pharmacy, plucking them out, as they go on past on that highway, like that newly built hospital in what used to be woods, for acres and acres, and piles of dirt with signs for sale, and acquired properties ready for development, but back to that night, where they were friendly in that old County way, back to the old Hospital, an older man who actually reminded me of a dude I went to school with who is actually a Surgeon now, in Oklahoma or somewhere, or that is what Facebook has told me, but he had that same puffy red face, and affable manner, as he joked with my dad sitting there in his relaxed why while I'm a about to pass out from stress a get from my Mother who carries the same personality trait, “Just relax your arm. I'm really good at this, believe me I get a lot of practice.” as more people come into the room, the registration people, and blood test people, and another nurse who cracks jokes with the puffy faced man, “But she's the real pro. She doesn't like how I do it.” as the shorter lady with short hair and a pointy nose in her lab coat in her 50's maybe, turns to him and laughs, “He likes to do it the easy way. But you don't want me to do it.” as I tell them I really don't like needles, as my Dad keeps on talking to them and saying something like, “She's the real masochist. She really enjoys it.” in my Dads outspoken weird humor, as he sits and read his archeology books because he is about to graduate from College, the old student learning a new trade because his trade has been banished to technology that replaced it, as I turn on the TV, and just listen to the hum of it, and another Lady comes in, an older Lady short and squat with a limp and a red misshapen face maybe as she pushes those wheelchairs around, the X-ray Lady, from that old Hospital, to wheel me past, all the whirring shining new equipment, and the shiny new floors, (but quiet compared to the second time I went to the Emergency Room again, in the middle of the day, when the place was crowded with people going everywhere, and car crash victims getting another check on with bruised bodies, and older patients with relapses, and a young man in a wheel chair, with his head sunken down, an immigrant kid and his father talking to the doctor about the seriousness of his condition, and taxi drivers picking up people, “Did somebody just call a Taxi?' as they wheel an older country white Lady into the Taxi driven by that African dude looking for somebody, and the nurses were different as they rushed in and out, and we had to wait forever and that Black Girl Doctor with her small dreads and forceful voice like something out of a TV Show, because you could tell she was used to handling trauma cases and maybe from a bigger city somewhere else, telling me “Just looking at what you told me. I don't think that's what's going on. But were going to look at the tests and see. OK.” as she goes out of the room to the next patient as they crowd the rooms now, with the assortment of human ailments, and things that are happening out there in this county and in this world, out there somewhere, in this new hospital and new place along that highway stretching out) but it was all quiet now as that older Lady pushed me down the now silent rows of whirring medical equipment that wasn't whirring no more, just shining in the emptiness of it all, “You know what, my Husband and I eat whatever we want to and were as healthy as anybody?” as we had been doing some small talk about pushing people around, and about how nice the hospital is, as she wheeled me down to do the X-rays, “I tell people it just about who you are. It don't matter about what you eat. It's just that everybody is different. Some people can eat whatever they want to and some people can't.” as I told her I had high cholesterol, and I wish I was like that, but I just couldn't do it anymore. “Now wasn't that fun. I told you it was going to be fun didn't I. I hope you get better.” as she wheeled me back to my room, where my Dad still had his nose in his archeology book, and I just laid there like a zombie in the dark listening to the sound of the Television, that came out of the remote control, but now I'm sitting her and still feeling it, still feeling the mysterious nature of the body and of life, and of getting older, and you just never know, you never know how much time you got in this world, as the current keeps on fluttering, like the fluttering of the heart before it stops, and it keeps on changing this world and you can't do nothing about it, just the way it is, and for some people it just keeps going and for some it just stops, but there's those beautiful moments up in Canadian State Parks and singing Island Mothers humming to themselves in her garden of Summer Blossoms and not Summer Violence, before the deluge, before the sick lights of those hospital wards in the middle of the night, those lasting and fleeting moments in this floating world on a string, of movements and courses that change, but you got to gather them while you can, those petals fluttering through it all, catch them while you can. In this summer of violence. In this summer of change. Catch them while you can.

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those lasting and fleeting moments in this floating world on a string

enjoy this piece of writing-hope all is well with you-peace

Re: those lasting and fleeting moments in this floating world on a string

thanks Johnny. I always appreciate your words.

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