Ouch

And other insults

• Got a little story for you.

• So let’s say I’ve got this medicine I take for [condition Wilfred Brimley is famous for]. It’s simple and works fine. Old school. I used to take a second one in addition, but after several years I had a reaction to it - we think, because it’s rare and weird - so the second one got tossed, I stuck with old Wilfred Brimley, and life was good. I’ve had the best numbers of this whole experience with just Wilfred, my bike, and some moderation.

• Then I had a lazy last six months. Not a lot of exercise, overindulging, stress, etc. I guess Wilfred couldn’t hold up his end quite as well, but I was telling him, “Just wait until the snow melts and we get back on the bike! I’ll turn this corner!”

• My doctor didn’t agree. The numbers looked off. Not majorly off, but off enough. So he asked if I’d try a new med, kind of like the one that caused the previous reaction. No fucking way was not my exact answer, but it was in my eyes. He searched his database, found something else that wasn’t supposed to work the same way, and said “Let’s try this.”

• Sure, fine. He’s the doctor. Why not?

• So it was time to introduce Wilfred Brimley to….oh, who’s awful? Say…Machine Gun Kelly? Yeah, MGK once a day with food. And for a week, Wilfred and MGK warily circled each other before, BOOM! Collided like fucking steroid bros at a gym wanting the same machine on leg day.

• Meaning they kicked the shit out of my body. I can’t remember ever feeling that bad before (and that includes having a heart attack. I actually was able to walk into the ER and say “Hi. I’m having a heart attack.” But not this time).

• The funny thing is, I knew immediately what was going on. I knew it was this fucking MGK drug. I knew it. But because it’s rare and the doctors and nurses at the hospital have real lives and never spent hours looking up this crap like I had the past five years, they were stumped. “Sepsis? Is it sepsis? Can we call it sepsis?” We just kept patiently telling each new shift “It’s Machine Gun Kelly, that fucking douche, he’s the reason for it.”

• Anyway, I stayed in the hospital for two nights, they pumped me full of antibiotics and anti-nausea meds. All my numbers went back to normal, and I slept my ass off, Wilfred grumbling, “Why’d ya let that asshole inside the gate? Idiot.” Then on Tuesday morning, one of three doctors I saw came in and said, “Good news - the numbers are awesome! Bad news - we have no fucking idea what happened to you.” So I told her again, “MGK.” And she said, “You’re probably right. His music sucks, he can’t act, and Wilfred Brimley hates him.”

• It screwed up finals week, it screwed up some Revolution John stuff I was trying to do as we close down for May, it screwed up a trip we’d planned to go see family down South, it screwed up my arm because of a shitty IV line that hurt like hell, and I came home to rest…on the very days we had a couple guys here installing a new furnace. I found out that doesn’t mean they bring a new furnace into your house and plop it down and plug it in. Nope. It means they bring an empty tin box into your house with a million pieces and noisily build a furnace like a Lego set except with drills and stinking chemicals.

• BUT I’m pretty much back to normal, I’d say about 92% back. Haven’t been out on the bike yet. Haven’t gone out to drive anywhere yet. Haven’t gotten around to grades yet. Just sleeping, reading (finished Jim Ruland’s Corporate Rock Sucks after, like, three weeks), taking one last round of antibiotics, and watching “Scary Urban Explorer” and “Most Frightening Cave Experience” videos on YouTube. That all ends today - back to the groove.

• Also, I got a new hat from the mighty fine folks (well, Adam. It’s one awesome guy, Adam) at Cowboy Jamboree Press, who published The Ticks Will Eat You Whole and a bunch of my other stories in the magazine and their anthos. Here’s me convalescing in it.

• Anyway, other than that, the super secret project Steven Fain has worked his ass off on is closer than ever to being ready. I’m closer than ever to getting back to work on Shitkicker. And if you like rustic folk-blues, Italian cafe string bands, or Cajun/New Mexico hybrids, check out Jalopy Records on Bandcamp and toss some money at Kiki Cavazos, Vaiano’s Paisanos, and Lone Pinon, all with new work out right now. I’m on an instrumental music kick, as I tend to get most summers - Hermanos Gutierrez, Arc de Soleil, Glass Beams, etc. But Kiki sings like a rusty saw, and that’s a good thing.

• Some other big news, after taking a well-deserved break, the Boss at Fahrenheit Press is back at it with a new book, the last in Tony Cox’s Simon Jardine series! Go check it out! And it’s a 20% off EVERYTHING weekend if you’ve been thinking about the Pocket Noir Lafittes or Ghost Dance. Or any of the Fahrenheiters. We’re all good shit.

• Maybe next week I’ll have more writing/Lafitte/Slow Bear stuff for you, or I might just piss and moan about the state of my crumbling tower of flesh again. You’ll all stick around for that, I’m sure.