A Christmas Confession

Mid-December and Christmas will be here in couple of weeks. I can manage.

It’s been a complicated few months this fall, blurry and tinged with anxiety. I spent much of September traveling, visiting, driving, far away from home. October was memorable for the medical distress and angst of potential diabetes, heart disease, weight, blood tests, medical appointments, chronic neck pain. In November it was Pneumonia or Bronchitis or Whooping Cough or Sinus Infection (no one diagnosed it the same way twice) and I wasted most of the month feeling like shit, drinking codeine cough syrup, waiting for death.

Now, December and I’m feeling cool and looking good (haircut, new glasses), doing my best to evade the holidays. I work out, watch the diet (lots of natural, home cooked, fresh foods); I’m relaxed and have reduced my justified anxiety. I take minimal pain med for the fucked up neck and back, have been watching great videos (Fargo, Ray Donovan), I’m reading Thomas Mann and Alice Munro; you know, digging my life, my wife, my home, my stuff, my world, writing, friends, coffee.

2015 has been an alright year; a couple trips to Italy, Utah, California but the days are passing faster than I can keep up. December frigging ninth? Slow it down, let me enjoy the final hours of the year, of my goddamned life, without the reminder that the end is much nearer this week than last and I’ll never get those days back.

I know that, all right? I’m clear on the concept of mortality, I just hate looking at the calendar and noticing that three days have passed. How the hell did that happen?

I’m a little touchy today. I’ve been drinking water. Too much water? Is that possible? I’m training myself to drink more H2O. They say it’s healthy. They. Yeah, I know, but lots of water is supposed to be good for hydration, energy, digestion, diet, full cognitive functions. They recommend at least five glasses a day. I’ve been chugging it for a week or so and, holy Christ, I admit it, I feel terrific. Body is working like a super-lubed machine and all systems are go, at maximum levels, in the green and bubbling with good will and verve. I may be a little over the top, though, high wired and liquid, ready for anything. Crime, big lies, active participation in the dark side.

I stole a rubber glove at the doctor’s office. I was in for a referral for the on-going neck pain and I stole a rubber glove. I always steal something at the doctor’s; a tongue depressor, an alcohol swab. Once I took some liquid cocaine but that was a long time ago and well planned with an accomplice. Last week, while waiting for the overworked doc, I glanced around the room for something close at hand and unlocked. Saline? Bandages? A blood pressure cuff? I’m trying to cut back on possessions and even though it would feel good to cop a big piece of medical equipment, I have no use for it. It’s not like I’m practicing medicine any more. Now I’m just an aging guy who is waiting in the doctor’s office for the scolding-scary health dialogue to begin. Lose weight, no sugar, join a gym, wear a seat belt.

A box of rubber gloves on the counter so I reached in and plucked one out. Why didn’t I take two? Don’t know, but I snagged one and felt satisfied. A noticeable improvement. As I put it in my pocket, the doctor swung open the door and began reading his list of demands and an alarming litany of threats.

Actually, the rubber glove was not rubber. It was vinyl. A pearly vinyl, off white, ivory, that becomes pinkish when I insert my hand.

The previous day I had been at the dentist’s. I plan all my appointments that have the potential for life changing news or require special seating as close as possible to each other. It’s an old habit. Doctor, Dentist, Ophthalmologist, Haircut. The new dental technician was distant and quiet, perfect, and she cleaned, polished and examined my teeth. During the procedure she wore baby-blue vinyl gloves and when she reached into my mouth, touched my gums, tongue, and chin, her hands slipped over the fleshy surfaces, clean, smooth and soothing.

Am I the first person to admit that I’ve developed a vinyl fetish in my later years?

Well, tough shit, that’s what happened. I didn’t get aroused in the Dentist’s chair, of course, but the vinyl was delightful, a treat. I opened wide. We were polite, well mannered, and bid each other goodbye while maintaining a professional client/practitioner relationship.

I kept thinking about the glove, so when the opportunity presented itself the next day at the doctor's I jumped at it.

I have no idea what I’m going to do with my new glove. It’s in my pocket right now as I sit yattering across the keyboard. I finger it and am reassured.

I’ll probably throw it away. Give it to a homeless person or put it under the Christmas tree at the Chinese restaurant. A Christmas gift, a present.

I might keep it, though.

As gun owners say, when asked, “Why do you need a frigging gun? Why do you think you always need to be armed?”

Their answer is, “Well, you never know.”

Meanwhile, I’m hydrated and energetic, happy and fulfilled and ready for anything. Even Christmas. I like the darkening days, long nights, cold weather, a functional vehicle, plenty of underwear and socks, roasted Brussels sprouts; it’s a decent existence. Nice views, clean water, clear air.

The world situation sucks but it always sucks. I can’t change that. I detach, fantasize, write down my ideas, stories, poems, essays, make lists of names of impossible, unwritten books and characters and wait for opportunities to arise.

I drink lots of water.

And I have a rubber glove in my pocket. 

You never know.