Getting Better

I've got to admit it's getting better
(Better)
A little better all the time
(It couldn't get no worse)
I have to admit it's getting better
(Better)
It's getting better since you've been mine
Getting so much better all the time
Getting Better—The Beatles

Yezzz, things are indeed getting better. The Amazing Bob’s appetite’s returning as is his hair. Right now he’s rockin’ the baby chick fluff somethin’ fancy but his beauteous long locks will return. TAB’s skin’s looking better too—less sallow. His energy level is still pretty damn low but Thursday’s vampire action (blood transfusion) ought to help with that.

Things are getting better.

And now I want a mondo vaca. A holiday about which epic poems will be written. An extended fiesta that will inspire the ghosts of rock gods past to immortal musical sestinas a la Traffic’s Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys and Hendrix on Voodoo Chile.

poor Bix!

Oh yes, I need something to trigger the release and evaporation of all the stress, anxiety and crazy fear that's been living inside me for the past seven or so months.

I'm frayed at the edges and leaking.

• The other night I left the water running in the kitchen sink—I was filling a big pot with soapy water. The water ran ALL night. 
• Yesterday, after running errands, I neglected to turn off the car. Bix idled in the driveway for at least a couple hours before a neighbor noticed, turned off the car and brought me the keys. 
• I lose one of my three pairs of glasses once a day—minimum. 
• I forget the laundry in the dryer for days—until I run out of underdrawers. 
• I’ve not painted in days and have half finished or just begun pieces all over our wee cottage. 
• Today is my little sister’s wedding anniversary and, though it’s on my calendar, I totes forgot to buy and send a card.

***MEGA DOH***

I’ve spoken of my coping methods already—triking, movie going, reading in bed (with Rocco by my side) and looking at new, fun art and just plain sitting on the seawall, staring at the tide as it dosey does in and out. I’m not a yoga person. I could never get into meditation.

I think I’ve got to get myself in gear—into major stress relief action before I space and spaz my way into something nasty (trike rolls, car accidents, flooding the house, getting run over by a bus, missing a work deadline…you know, scary, expensive to fix shit). I believe I’ll go see Inside Out. Yeah, it’s a kid’s movie, there won’t be any scary monsters or spaceships BUT it’s animated! Maybe tomorrow afternoon I’ll hit the Fuller Craft Museum—LOVE that place and haven’t been there in ages. And, in Trike World, I’m just about in fine enough shape to be able to ride over to Wollaston Beach and back (about 12 miles round trip).  Yeah, for someone like my buddy Hillel, that’s nothing but for me it’s a break point. It takes my dreamed of rides around the Isle of Skye and the Outer Hebrides into real, this-is-DEF-gonna-happen view.

Stress doesn't, generally, vamoose on its own—needs a push. I can do this.