Later That Day

It's when I hold my head in a certain way that caused the pain to flair up in my neck again. I took the prednisone early, around eight o'clock maybe. The pain in my neck took until around three o'clock to ease off noticeably. I'm thinking, this is cool man. My neck was locked up like you might get a muscle cramp in yo' leg. For days on end it just locked down tighter. The discomfort in my neck was the thermometer I used to decide when to take the steroids. It was also the chief indicator that the steroids were working.

I don't really have a head ache. It's the muscles surrounding or involved with the vertebrae in my neck. There seems to be a lot of inflamed tissue there. I don't know whether it's the muscles or the bones themselves or both. I would swear that my brain aches. Literally. But, it doesn't hurt like a head ache. For a while, I had both.

The pain or tension there moves. Something is definitely going on. I have scary thoughts that the x-rays and blood work show that I'm eat up with a brain tumor and they've concluded it's too late to help. I'm a walking dead person. Well, I do. I consider everything. Why would I not?

It would be just my luck to achieve immortality now, and live forever and a day in extreme pain. Maybe I can convince some of those Greek gods to cough up some of that nectar they drink that heals all that ails you.

I may not know any Greek gods. I've met some very interesting Greeks. Every Greek that I've met swears they don't actually believe in the old Greek gods anymore. They love Jesus instead. Well, except for the ones who become Turkistans and decided to love Mohammed instead.

That was shocking to me. Almost as shocking as finding out that the Huns lived in Hungary. I had a brief, but unsuccessful love affair with this really bright woman of Greek descent. Her father was from the old country and grew up on one of the more populated Greek islands. Her mother was a first-generation Greek. Both her parents were born and raised in Greece. It was an arranged marriage between an old man and a young woman. She went along to get along. I met her. I read her palm. She had a long head line with a perfectly formed star on the upper end of it.

She told me stories that came down through her family about what life was like in the Greek islands. Very tough. This woman was a virtual Sheherazade. She told believable stories. She could have made them up on her own. She could have researched them academically. She could have learned the stories sitting at her parent's knee. One day her father told her to stop crying. She was a baby. When she didn't stop crying, he picked up by her little legs and threw her into a hot frying pan on the stove. She showed me the scar.

Everything else but the scar looked enticing. This woman was in my mid-forties and had the body of a teenager. She is a totally uninhibited person in some ways. Deep down, however, she seems like a victim. Bipolar. At least, that's what she told me the problem was. I knew what she wanted. I knew what she chose me for. I knew I probably wouldn't measure up. One thing I couldn't do. I couldn't refuse to be with her when she decided to delude herself with me.

All the women I've had serious relationships know they're special, and that my needs are just what they got to offer. I never had to beg none of them to be with me. As a matter of fact, they chose me for their own reasons by fooling me into thinking I seduced them. It always turns out that way. There has only been a handful I've fully engaged with. The women I might claim to have actually seduced didn't last long.

This woman had credentials up the ying yang. She was Phi Beta Kappa, and a true slut to beat the band. Capricorn. She wanted exclusivity with a wild passion. She want my exclusivity, yet not give it. I turned to old friends for comfort. I knew she couldn't hang with my down side. I couldn't hang when she was up. Constant mis-match.

My first wife's name was Glenda, and she was born in the masculine sign of Aries. Her father's name was Glenn. He was soft on the outside. My second wife's name was Carla, and she was born in the masculine sign Gemini. Her father's name was Carl, and was soft on the outside. This woman's name was Claudia, and was born in the feminine sign Capricorn. At least her father's name was not Claude, and he was a murderous terrorist and a crime boss. I thought we had a chance. I was too soft on the inside.