"Time Keeps On Slippin', Slippin', Slippin -- Into The Future..."

By Bill Craig

 And it's left me behind, it seems. Cruel time! Did I somehow overstay my allotted time to mourn, or did I (as Dondra would jokingly say) just get lazy?

How about a little of both?

Let's get you caught up, shall we?

From October 2024 until June 2025 I lived in an RV I rented from my in-laws. I am grateful to them for this because it was a nightmare indeed trying to find a one bedroom, 1-bath apartment I could afford. Thanks to my brother Larry and some strings he was able to pull, I now reside in a 2 bedroom duplex and am working to get my life back on track - with the help of some friends and pharmaceuticals from my doctors.

So when someone asks how I'm doing and/or am I happy, I just answer "Working on it." That's as honest as I know how to be at this time. Some would say I'm "A work in progress", but I (and others) are noticing an improvement in my demeanor, and I can now speak of my late wife without tears.

I have to give a huge amount of credit to my younger brother for "taking the reins" of my life and helping me to get centered and begin functioning - at least on a minimal level - to straighten myself out, because I gotta tell ya' I was a mess, my friends. From the time he bought me a phone to helping me in all kinds of other ways, he has been there for me at every turn, so thank you, little brother. I love you.

So what's in my future? Who knows? My cognitive memory is getting weaker, and the symptoms are getting more frequent. My physical body seems to be rebelling against me and I have to be careful driving, because my left eye has become useless. I recently had cataract surgery and am now facing a "retina scraping" to see if we can correct the problem of me being pretty much sightless due to the "growth" in that part of my right and left eyes. Stay tuned.

More symptoms? Well, okay, if you insist.

If I happen to drop something on the floor, it now takes me about 9 seconds (on a good day) to pick it up - creaking and groaning in both directions. My legs feel like I've just run another marathon, and I have to sit and rest after just 2-3 minutes of standing still to shave and/or shower. You read that correctly, folks: just standing still sends my pain level to 7-8 out of 10.

Mentally, I'm slowly having to admit that what Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot calls "the grey cells" are no longer as sharp as they once were. I can still have a "normal" conversation with you, but I find myself not remembering the name of something in 1 out of every 5 sentences, on the average. Kindly, my listening partner gives me time to remember without prompting me, but the word still fails me - until later, when the subject is now on something else. "Neil Armstrong!", I suddenly exclaim, watching the puzzled looks of the people around me.

I think we'll stop here for now. Next time, expect me to be a little more concise, less complaining and more informative.

Thanks for wasting some time with me and see you next time, friends.



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