Wasted Day

Did you ever have one of those days, the kind that when all was said and done you'd wished that you'd have just hit the snooze button instead of getting out of bed? Yes, I know you have, I know we all have. But this is MY blog, so I have the right to be a little whiny once in a while.

So anyway, where were we? Well, when last we talked I was making my mind up to quit Dirty Joe. The afternoon after I wrote that, I gave them a rather stern yelling at. And much to my surprise, they admitted to their faults and agreed to try harder to be on time, be ready to go, to lay off the weed and actually work on things once in a while instead of just jam for thirty minutes, then take a thirty-minute weed break.

So I informed them that we'd be picking up some new material at tonight's practice. But not before I found out that I'd totally forgotten about a doctor's appointment this afternoon. Allow me to explain. Eleven years ago, I'd been diagnosed with a small umbilical hernia which was surgically repaired in September of that year. Well, about five weeks ago I felt a sudden 'pop' and a sharp burning sensation in my lower abdomen, just a little below and to the left (my left) of the small semicircular incision scar below my navel that's courtesy of said surgery. The pain only lasted for about thirty seconds, and then I moved on with my life. And what did I do to deserve this pain? Rolled over to get out of bed, that's all. And it gets worse, or at least more embarrassing. A few days later, it flared up again while I was trying to be........ intimate with Joy. Needless to say, that was a show-stopper. The next morning we called the local Volunteers In Medicine clinic and scheduled an appointment, which we both promptly forgot even though I was still occasionally having little flares of not even pain, just sudden discomfort.

So yesterday, I get a voicemail reminding me of a 5:30pm appointment at the clinic, and practice was at 6pm. So I texted the guys and told them I was going to be a few minutes late. Turns out I probably should've skipped the appointment altogether. The only good news I got was that I was losing weight, down to 229 pounds with only my shoes off. After being poked and prodded by the clinic's doc, she told me that it was quite possible that I had an incisional hernia (where the intestines poke through the scar tissue left from the original hernia repair), but she couldn't find anything. She gave me a form to fill out that would (given my current state of poverty) allow me to be seen by doctors and surgeons at Olympic Medical Center for pretty much nothing. She also told me that she'd look through the hospital's files to see if she could find records of my original surgery. I guess not knowing that something is wrong is better than knowing and not really being able to do anything meaningful about it.

So after leaving the clinic, I get to practice only to find that Roger was still quite busy working on the Amigos' clubhouse - so much so that we didn't actually start playing until almost 7:30pm, and we could only play until 9pm because John had to get back to Carlsborg. And even then, we shut off at 8:30pm when a friend called us and told us that the shithead tourists at the RV park down the road were complaining again. And thus we got another visit from the Sheriff's Department, advising us that we really needed to cut down the volume. Which is something I already know, but when the lead guitar claims that he can't hear himself unless his amp is absolutely screaming inside a not-quite-fully-enclosed garage, you know trouble is only a phone call away. We did manage to start to learn a new song - a song I'd already known for years, and one that John picked up in about fifteen minutes. But Ron and Roger, jeez. It was like pulling teeth. I think we only managed about 20 minutes or so of quality learning time where there should've been three hours. It makes me quite irritated.

Add on getting yelled at by sheriff's deputies, and I was quietly cranky. Then add on being stuck in a road-construction zone for over half an hour trying to get home, and I was in full-on don't-give-a-fuck mode. Thank the deity of your choice that I have a wife who knows how to get me to calm down. But right now the only thing that will make me happy is to shut my eyes and go to sleep. I know I'm depressed right about now - I have been for a long time, I know the signs - but I guess the eternal optimist in me is what keeps me going. But this was a waste of a perfectly good day. I could've gone for a walk instead of this shit. I think I will take a walk on Dirty Joe - and soon. It's fun practicing at Mike and Sunny's garage, and I like playing with these guys. But I don't think they all understand that there's a lot of work that needs to be done to make this band what they want it to be. Or maybe they do know, but they'd rather just party instead.

A band can be a lot of fun, but it's still work. And I don't think they get that. I'd rather go for a walk than waste my time like that.