17 March 2013

I'm Awake. That's a good thing, I think.

It's been a whirlwind few days and I wasn't expecting this one to start so early due to the exhaustion both Cameron and I felt when we retired last night. Yet, I was rudely awakened by a rerun of Lizard Lick Towing at the end of my first four-hour sleep cycle, and instead of grabbing the remote and clicking "off," I idiotically reduced the volume and changed the channel to TCM thinking I'd find something familiar by which I could doze back sleep.

I knew better. Really, I did. But, after punching the right channel buttons, I found myself watching what was left of The Graduate. It had only been on for a few minutes. I. Can't. Not. Watch. After the credits, station identification showed the first of the next three films to air: Kramer vs. Kramer. I thought to myself, "I've seen this." I'll be able to go back to sleep now.


I became intrigued by a short film "The Big Sur," narrated by Richard Burton, promoting MGM's 1965 release, The Sandpiper, starring he and Elizabeth Taylor.

Still awake.

Kramer vs. Kramer.


Maybe I'll get up for a glass of water. I might even have a cigarette.

Let's see. Four hours' sleep. I know that's not enough, but I honestly don't feel tired. And, now, that I have a cup of coffee sitting in front of me, I suspect it's going to be a while before I rest again. Maybe I'll take a nap this afternoon.

I feel like I should be exhausted. I should be sleeping. In fact, after a fun but frustrating day bowling in singles and doubles events during St. Patrick's Invitational Tournament yesterday, (at which I stunk: 98 pins under my 1,164 scratch average for six games), Cameron, Cleo and I kicked off warm weather dinner season with homemade baked beans, potato salad and barbecued chicken with homemade barbecue sauce. It was a fine way to wind down and he and I both commented to each other that we were both pooped after Cleo hit the road. We went to bed at least two hours earlier than typical.

Bowling six games on any given Saturday isn't usually exhausting for me, but perhaps the preceding two days added, somewhat, to my fatigue.

I woke up Thursday morning nearly unable to close my inexplicably painful, swollen, itchy, red hands and had a rash covering just about everything "but the junk," as my doctor said, who squeezed me in for a visit that afternoon without an appointment.

"Did you have a rubella shot as a kid?"
"Yes, I'm sure I did."

"It looks like German Measles. Do you have a sore throat? Forgive me, I'm running through all of the possibilities with these symptoms. The patterns on your hands and feet look like an allergic reaction to something. What's happening on your torso looks like hives."

After further discussion, a swab test for strep, and another painful stick in the arm for two vials of blood, I've been instructed to throw out the bathroom cleaner I used on Wednesday, avoid latex gloves and stay away from the new Clif Bar flavor I ate that day.

Until we get the results from the allergy panel he's running, I'm on my third day of a Medrol dose pack, Xyzal for allergies and Zantac to ward off any stomach upset caused by the steroids. Cortisone cream makes it bearable to bend my hands and it looks like this plague is subsiding.

"Do you still have Chlorpromazine on hand in case the steroids give you hiccups?"

Ugh. Please don't bring hiccups into this conversation.

The prescriptions didn't have enough time to affect the swelling in my hands before the Friday night no-tap "fun bowl" celebrating twenty years for our tournament. I could barely get my fingertips and thumb in the ball. Add to that the fact that we were bowling with black lights, blaring music and a 4-screen video wall flashing images of the Notre Dame vs. Louisville game on two screens and music videos on the other two above the lanes, I could rarely see my mark.

Nicki Minaj. I try. I do. But, how can someone look so sexy and fun at moments (like in the latter half of "Starships"), but then annoy the crap out of me with ghetto attitude otherwise?

I managed to bowl over 200 the first game, followed by an unceremonious 59-pins-below-average game for the second: a dismal 135. By the end of the third game I was only interested in saying goodbyes, packing up my gear and heading home -- I don't even remember what I bowled for that one.

Really? I didn't even bowl my average during a 9-pin no-tap game where I'm given a free strike for every nine I bowl?! This didn't bode well for regular tournament play.

Coincidentally, I had PLENTY of nines (that should have been strikes) yesterday for singles and doubles. I hope to do my team proud during team event today. While the goal is always 300 on the lanes, I have to hit 226 for every game today to bring me back to my average for the weekend -- just for pride's sake -- 'cause average during a tournament rarely places or pays.

It's nice to have a goal, though. I'm awake. It's now 7:15AM and time for another "cup of ambition" while I "yawn and stretch and try to come to life." I hope my fingers fit the ball more comfortably today.

No matter where or what you decide to put your fingers in today, I hope your Sunday fits like a glove. Good morning, y'all!

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