I thought for a time I might be the second person to die of swine flu in Montana, and as the fever mounted and aches and pains flared, I thought dying wouldn't be so bad. According to my doctor, I didn't have swine flu, "just" a stomach virus. "Just" a stomach virus. Holy shit. If something worse comes along, I'm going into isolation to avoid it.
I asked my doctor when I became a sick old man. It doesn't seem that long ago, I was just a normal person. She told me not to be silly. She said I was flexible and strong for my age. If that is true, there's a lot of sick folks out there.
My apologies for not reporting events, as I usally do. I'll try to get back in the swing of things. Total Fest arrives at the Badlander and Palace this week, and next week will see Roots Fest in full swing. Someone will have to cut off my legs to keep me away from those events. Maybe I better not give anybody ideas.
Most of the time, I just turned my phone off to suffer without interruption, but I goofed and a charity call came through. Paralyzed Veterans is one of those charities I often feel guilty about being too poor to donate to regularly. I usually apologize for being unable to help and hang up. This time something else popped out of my mouth. I blame it on the fever. My end of the conversation went something like this:
Why are you calling me? I don't have any money. Why don't you call those assholes who lied us into the Iraq War in order to make themselves richer? Better yet, why don't you round those fuckers up, drag them into court and examine their finances to find out exactly how much they profited from the war? Then you could take those ill-gotten gains away from them and use them to heal the veterans wounded due to their greed. They made a ton of money from their war, and there might even be enough to help heal the nation.
Hello...hello... I'm talking to a dead line.