C H A P T E R 7
I have just returned from saying 'good-bye' to my dying sister. She is 60, and may not live to see 61. She has cancer. It had mainly been in her legs, but now has spread to her brain. With radiation and medication, she is generally quite lucid. To get up there, I went by Greyhound. Since I am 6'2" and weigh 350 pounds, I had anticipated being cramped & uncomfortable. I was pleasantly surprised that it was comfortable. The trip took six hours, and was OK. My brother picked me up at the station -right on time so that was nice as well. My brother took me to a pizza joint for dinner, then over to his place for the night. He lives in a brand new, but tiny apartment. It is about 15 feet by 25 feet. Nice tile floor, and well designed living space. There is a kitchen area, a small living/dining area, a sleeping area where he has a large futon, and a full bathroom. He set me up with towels, etc., and went off to stay at his girlfriend's for the night.

chapter six
I got 3 interesting letters from the IRS today. Each of them
had a little box in the corner below my name & address. Each of the boxes said in BOLD letters: "The Amount You Owe as of
September 3,2007": then there was a smaller black-bordered box below that with a dollar amount. The first read $1417.94. The second one read $1098.24 and finally, the third one read $81.22! I think I know why they showed up today. A couple of days ago, thinking that I might want to go back to school to give myself some marketable skills,I filled out an online application for a student loan (FAFSA). In it they ask about your income tax from the previous year, which I (oddly for me) filled out honestly. BINGO! I had awoken the sleeping giant.
Because they are the feds, they will not give up. I almost wish there WERE a debtor's prison. If I could go to some white collar federal prison, serve 5 years, and be off the hook - I would do it. But no.
No such luck. I will have to pay then the $2.6K and be done with it. If I were working, and I could pay them $100/month it would take me two years. At a more realistic $25/month, it will take 100 months, which is just over eight years. So we will see what happens.

As to my tragic tale about my leg, I have seen my doctor who prescribed new meds, and I am taking them faithfully. The swelling has gone down, and the color is gradually fading. I have talked myself out of exercising a few times, but I know I will get back to it soon. I am broke & unemployed. It's scary.


C H A P T E R 5
OK, so I was feeling like my right leg had turned into a barbershop pole, because it is literally cylindrical, and red and white. It is actually splotchy red & white, rather than striped, but you get the idea. So, having dutifully taken the meds that the E.R. doctor prescribed, I was kinda pissed that the swelling didn't go down. But, I had made an appointment with my regular MD for Tuesday, and figured I would take it up with him. Monday night, I get a call from my doctor, well actually from his office. OK from a PERSON in his office, who says to me "the doctor has had a personal family emergency, and has to cancel" All this in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, which ignores the fact that I'm dyin' here! OK, not really dying, but in pain and worried about if my leg is ever going to go back to normal. So I ask if we can just postpone instead of canceling, and she says "OK, he can see you on the 31st". Alright, so I will eventually be seen and cared for. When I was discharged from the E.R. after getting this looked at, the doctor said keep your leg elevated as much as possible. In fact she WRITES that in the discharge instructions. So, I try, but if I don't work, of course I don't get paid, so I get up and go to work every day. Except Tuesday, because I had told my boss I had a doctor's appointment. When I find out I don't, I call him at home at 10pm to tell him I CAN come into work the next day, he says "Naw, don't bother, I gotta go out of town, so just come in Wednesday." (sigh)
Since I don't feel up to walking up the hill with the pins-and-needles feeling in my leg, I think about going swimming, but to do that, I have to wear shorts, which exposes the leg to the public, and it's not just the kids gaping and pointing that I fear, but the parents who upon seeing the barber pole would scream "Hey!!! Don't put that leg in the pool, you will infect all of us!"
Then they would yell at their kids -in Russian -to run crying from the area. The apartment building I live in is in a predominantly Russian neighborhood. This means that 50 out of the 60 apartments are occupied by Russian families. OK, now I have to admit that my grandparents were Russian, they came here in 1917 for obvious reasons.
HOWEVER -they learned, and always spoke English. They would say "we're Americans now, so we will speak only English" Admittedly, most of the Russian-Americans who live here are far better educated than I, and speak English perfectly well WHEN THEY WANT TO. When they don't want to, like when I ask them politely to not use my patio as an ashtray, they suddenly can't understand or speak a word of English. I admit to being envious of their bilingualism, but it is frustrating none the less.
Meanwhile, She -who's name will not be mentioned -is still having trouble with her computer. She talks our son into putting the computer and printer into her shopping cart, and taking it on the bus to Best Buys (where she got it) and having them fix it. They keep it for two days, and declare it cured. The lad carts it back to her place, hooks it up, and tries it out. Lo and Behold! It works! He prints from every possible source, and it works fine. To celebrate, he takes the next day -Sunday, and goes to the beach with his friends. He has a great time, and comes home sunburned literally lobster red from head to toe. So he has a week of itching and peeling to look forward to. Meanwhile, his mother calls me -in tears- "I can't get it to print from my e-mail (sob) what do I do?!" I am temped to say 'put it back in the box and return it - you just ain't cut out to compute' But I restrain myself, and walk her through printing by copying the e-mail to Word, and printing from there. There is probably a way to actually print from e-mail under VISTA (ugh) but this at least works. Finally, when I got home this evening, no one was home, but the food was still on the stove, and there was even a glass of milk on the desk. I am sure that everyone is OK, but I'll call everyone, just to be sure. Tune in tomorrow to see how it all turns out... Peace.

chapter 4 -
I feel like George Lucas with Star Wars, and all the chapters in the wrong order, but there is no need to punish anyone who has found their way here more than once by making them slog thru my blog like explorers in the jungle to get to the new stuff. Also, I realize (after everyone else, obviously) that each chapter can -or should be able to- stand alone, and need not be a Dear Diary.
Ya know, those of us who grew up with typewriters (Google it) find the new 'helpful' word processing programs frustrating as fuck. All I want to do is write in my own fumbling way, and not have the format push itself into my deathless prose. Leave me alone! My kinda-ex wife has really been suffering through the brave new world of (ecch!) VISTA. She is just trying to type and print some papers for school. and crying from the frustration of not being able to type and print a simple document. She was over here from 8PM till 5AM trying to get it done on my antique PC and printer. I mean this is a woman with a BA in English, and who can type over 110 words a minute. I think most of it got done, but I fell asleep far before she was finished. Microsoft's shit is like a virus. People like she & I need a DOWNGRADE -back to the days when stuff made sense. Yea, I know, fuckin' geezers do nothing but bitch...
So, people, on a completely different note, here is the e-dress of my fiction blog, which I invite you to contribute to, it is a group effort, called "a Story by All of Us" which is awkwardly enough at: astorybyallofus.blogstream.com Hike on over, and take a look. Lemme know what you think -RoscoeDeadbeat@yahoo.com
Or, just write the next chapter. Let's see where it goes, eh? Thanx!

C H A P T E R 3
Today has been spent trying to get my son a gift for his b'day at the end of next month. I have been saving up for a whole year, so he can see the Blue Man Group in Vegas. (He will be turning 22). OK, so I Google Blue Man Group {from now on BMG}. Easy- they are at the Venetian on his b'day. No sweat. He knows I am poor, so I am going to surprise the fuck outa him by getting the $120+ orchestra seats.
OK, so I go to the Venetian website and try to buy tix. First, you gotta register, so I do that, very carefully. I go through the whole S T E P -BY -S T E P process of ordering the ticket.
When I click BUY, an error pop up well, pops up. So I try again. Same result. SO, I call the Venetian, and the nice lady says Um you can't get an e-ticket on the phone. OK, how 'bout a will call? NOPE! the credit card holder has to pick it up with ID the night of...
I explain that it is not convenient for me to do so, as I am in a different state. She (I can feel her shrug) suggests I try on-line again. So I do. Same pop-up (grrr!) OK, so now I go to Ticketmasters
-Shot down again. They have no tickets avail. for that performance.
OK, so I call another delightful young woman at the Venetian. SHE suggests that I buy the ticket on line, and fax them an signed authorization for my soon to P/U the ticket at Will Call. I assure her I will go get a FAX machine (ie; download a fax pgrm.) and get that right to her. So now, I think, I'll just go to the local ticket outlet, and but one there, and then I will have an actual PAPER ticket in my grubby hot fist, and give it to the lad at the appropriate time.
So, I get on the bus -with a cane, so I can get a seat, because my leg is still cylindrical and pulsing red. I go down to the ticket joint where I gone for the last 10 years, and (surprise!) it is closed. There is a sign, which says that they have moved across the street. So off I trudge. I go up to their new executive suite, and greet the guy behind the counter (who looks like Vin Diezel). He greets me cheerfully enough, and asks what I need. I tell him, and he says "This is not like when you get local concert tickets from us. We are brokers for the Vegas shows, but we have to charge you such a huge premium that it's not really worth it." "I love my son", I say, "how MUCH of a premium?" "125 dollars" he says, and has the good grace to blush and cringe. "I don't love him that much", I say and head for home. Back at home, I try the Venetian one more time. I re-register and start over from the beginning. My old friend the pop-up again. So, I will work out another way. Stay tuned and I'll letcha know what happens. Thanks for listening er, um reading...

C H A P T E R 2
OK, well a couple of things have happened. Firstly, much to my astonishment and pleasure people not only read this, but sent me comments and greetings! How cool is that?! Second, I went to work today, using a cane (acquired from a previous surgery) to get a seat on the bus, as it hurts like hell to stand up. [crap-this has spellcheck, but not spell correct -harumph!]Anyway, I work for an architect, as an office manager. I archive his publications -he receives about 70 every month. I file his corrospondence and file all of the vendor brochures and catalogs. You get the idea. He works with his wife, who is an interior designer -out of their townhouse. They are decent to me, and they pay pretty good. So it was nice to be at work. My leg is still bright red, and so swollen that it is cylindrical. I mean I have no ankles, ya know? At least 90% of my work is sitting down. I am taking the meds that the ER doc prescribed (3 at a time, 4 times a day). Hopefully it will go down. OK so my latest adventure with my erstwhile spouse. She is going to school to get her Masters in Education. She teaches part-time as a substitute. So she has all kinds of papers to write, lesson plans to print, etc. She until recently didn't have a computer. She was going to the library to use one, and called me all the time to reserve it for her. She is a very needy person. I talked my boss into giving her one of his old ones when he got new ones, so she had that. She went out and got a good printer and a LCD monitor so she was all set up. My son and I (OK our son) went over to her new apt., and hooked her all up, set up her internet, etc. Well that worked fine for a while, then the computer broke down -an unrepairable short on the mother board. So she had to get a new computer. While she saved up for the new one, it was finals week, so she borrowed our son's laptop. Both the old computer and the laptop are PC's which ran Windows XP. They worked fine. Finally, last week, she bought a NEW computer. IT runs fuckin' Windows VISTA. Now, nothing works. The printer can't see the computer or whatever. Bottom line- it won't print. We went over, and spent a whole day installing new printer drivers, installing patches, installing MS office, etc. The @#$%^&* still doesn't work and she was over here tonight printing shit out on MY computer. It was a fuckin' pain. (sigh) Finally, she is going to have outpatient surgery on Friday, and so needs to get picked up and taken home. Who knows what care she will need? Hopefully not much, but some, for certain.
We were married for damn near 30 years, so y'know, we do have some history, bit we've been separated for a long time, and I don't really owe her anything. But I just know this is going to be a pain somewhere south of MY neck. I'll tell you all about it -OR if you are really nice, -I won't. See ya next time...

THE FIRST SORDID CHAPTER:

First, to understand what follows, you have to know a little about me.
Actually, if you know Homer Simpson, you have a pretty good picture of me. July 11th was my 55th birthday. OK, so here I am starting a new year (woo hoo!) I have great plans. A month ago -for the first time in years, I started exercising; walking up the tall hill behind my house.
I start at around 6:30AM, as it is the only time cool enough for me to survive the hike. So, this is a good thing. I breathe hard, I sweat and I feel good about myself for getting up and doing it. Also, I meet people up there, who are encouraging to me. I enjoy it it makes it easier to come back the next day. So, I start being encouraging to people who I run into on the trail. Usually, just a smile and a thumbs-up, but sometimes an encouraging word. You know, like 'alright! keep it up, you're almost there!' etc. One day I wore a T-shirt, on which I had printed "I think I beat Anorexia" Keep in mind that I weigh almost 400 pounds... I got positive comments from people, and I want to say that I totally respect the people who really do suffer from anorexia nervosia it is a tough thing to beat in real life, and I had no desire or intent to belittle their struggle in any way.

So now, on the day of my birthday, I am being taken out to lunch by my daughter {25), and her boyfriend. We go to a nice bistro, I have grilled salmon, and no dessert. I am being a good boy! On the way home, I realize that I am having a little trouble breathing. We get home at 4PM or so, and I collapse on the couch, where I spend the next 24 hours, drifting in and out of sleep, alternating freezing, teeth chattering chills, and burning up with fever. My son {21) is there, and takes care of me. OK, so my first day of being 55 has been spent as if I were going cold turkey from heroin or something.

Ah, on to the bright light of a new day. Friday morning, I am feeling pretty much better, and get up and out of bed. I am immediately hit by ten thousand spikes of pain in my leg. I look down at the leg, and it is bright red from the knee down, and swollen to to twice it's normal size. {a little hyperbole there, but it was swollen}. So, I get myself on a bus, and go to the ER. Where I spend the whole day.
It turns out it is Cellulitis, which I have had before, but a new and improved variety with much more pain and suffering. The docs are concerned that I may have a blood clot, so they send me for an ultrasound. This takes a couple of hours. Not for the procedure, but for the time slot, which is awarded by how serious your injury is. I totally can see that there are people who are far more seriously fucked up than I, so I don't resent their priority, I just don't hurt any less while I am waiting. So I finish with the hospital, or they finish with me and boot me out. I go home, drink a big dose of Nyquil, which helps me sleep. Unfortunately it helps me too well, and I wake up at 4AM having wet the bed. Which DID explain all the dreams I had about restrooms... So I strip the bed, change clothes, and go back to sleep. I wake up, and resolve to write a blog about my zany adventures. and here it is... Thanks for listening.