Today

Dream numero uno: An old friend of mine had remarried. He, his new wife and their young daughter had moved into a San Francisco Victorian. It was beautiful but needed a lot of work. They were excited about all the creative rehabbing possibilities and I was enjoying listening to their ideas.

Next up: I, for some odd, inexplicable reason, met Ivanka Trump (I know EWWWWWW). Incredibly, she was in vapidly nice mode. Perhaps she thought I was some important foreign official who could grant her coffin and cremation urn trademarks? Nepotism Barbie, in this dream, had changed her name to Demahigan (I know—she’d have to change a fuckton more than her name to rid herself of the stench from her and her family’s despicable cruelty and wickedly greedheaded corruption). Demahigan, by the by, is the Abenaki word for tomahawk. I asked her WHY the fuck she’d changed her name to this. Because it sounds pretty, she says. And there, with this idiot spouting idiocies, the dream ended.

 What do these nocturnal vignettes mean? //shrugs// Dream one? I’ve been thinking of my friend and wishing him happy, imaginative fun. Dream two? I really need to not read HuffPost before bed.

~~~

Yesterday was my big proton prep day at MGH. Not knowing what to expect, (will the mold they make for my radiation cover my face? If so claustrophobia PANIC), I took a calm-me-down pill 15 minutes before the appointment’s kick off. Good thing too.

Yes, the mask covers my face BUT because the targeted tumor(s) are on the thoracic portion of my spine (versus higher on the spine or in my bean) I got a reprieve. I warned the techs of my raging claustrophobia and they were able to make an opening for my eyes and nose. Phew!

Yes I was near tears until the mold was finished, placed and the proton  simulation commenced. Once it did though, I realized that I was comfortable (NOT comfy but not at all panicky) and free to let my mind wander.

• Gee, those marks (on this machine I’m being rolled through) look like Pac Man. I wonder what they really are.
• This mask makes it impossible for me to speak—I wonder if that’s the intent.
• Is it possible to get the mask in a nice, deep, shimmery amethyst—I think that’d go better with my hair and skin tone and shit.

~~~

The other night I discovered that my friend and ex-studio mate, Holly Sears had left this good green world in late January of 2021. She was just a year younger than The Amazing Bob. Sadly, due to TAB’s health, my own struggles and hers, we’d fallen out of touch. Life got in the way of fun with art friends. Our last contact (on Shoutyface) was, probably, about five or six years ago—just before TAB took that last train for the coast.

Compound sadness/grief is what I’m feeling today.

Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before,
Advanced a stage or two upon that road
Which you must travel in the steps they trod.
~ Aristophanes

The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.
~ Irving Berlin