Brandon Warren, Malissa Larson, Heavy Weather, myself, and others will all make a big dent in 2008. I know it.
I'm trying to book a show with Mari McNeil and Bass Reeves in Buffalo. Two of WNY's best. I am excited about it. Still trying to find a venue and a date, but they're both interested, so I think we'll get something great. I'm shooting for February 3rd, a Saturday, somewhere great.
Spent time with my friend Erin this weekend, as she visited. I think she really enjoyed herself, and even though I ended up not having a show, we had a good time throwing some beers back, watching football, and laughing. It was refreshing to hang with someone from home.
Brandon and I went to the Bills game yesterday, and it was a really awesome game and experience. We had cheesesteaks and beers and laughed until it hurt.
I'm very frustrated with alot of things right now. I'm losing confidence in alot of things, in a few areas of my life, and for the sake of my sanity, don't want to get into it on a public blog. I want to do and share and laugh so much, and not be clouded by negativity. I feel like I have less people in my corner, and those in my corner are sometimes in different cities, areas, regions, countries. I feel stale, like a has-been. Or a never-was. (so much, in fact, that I'm quoting "Mighty Ducks")
I go from hope to deflation so often now. I just want to succeed, be happy, impress people, and be a good man. I feel I can be all those, but I just need to be happy. Why do I seek all things at once?
Happy 2008. "And though I know I'll never stand a chance / here comes the jackpot question in advance / what are you doing New Year's / New Year's Eve? / What are you doing New Year's Eve?"
December 31, 2007
December 25, 2007
Blog
My blog is getting annoying.
I feel like a street puddle. Stagnant. Growing old.
I feel that a chunk of those around me have lost perspective, and no longer value my friendship like they once did. I can feel it.
At the same time, I am closer than ever with a focused few. I truly value the time, effort, and relationships that have blossomed. I feel my pulse ease, my cheeks ache from laughing, every time I see them. Thank you.
My music career should never feel like something meant to fill in a gap of time until something else is going on, but I feel it is so, especially with those around me. I just released a CD, and I'm not sure why I feel so behind the ball. I guess the best way to put it is that I feel that perspective is getting lost, but not necessarily from me.
I am lonely, and have become jaded at the notion of having someone to share my life with. Jaded, I say, because anger is easier to place than hurt or doubt. I am not confident I will meet someone anytime soon.
I am happy for friends who have gotten engaged. It is a constant reminder that I am socially behind the ball though.
My life seems so full of promise and "up-side," but I don't feel it now. I feel tired, sad, and defeated. I feel I am losing friends, and I need to change my settings, surroundings, or social networks, and whatever might need to be done for my music.
The songs coming out of me are consistently my best work, and I am deathly afraid that no one will care. I feel healthy after a long stretch of being ill, and sleep well. But progress seems lost on me, like I was standing in front of a celebration and not allowed to participate. Or watching a parade. I've yet to make my mark, and I desperately want to. I just want to chance to do it.
My suspicions are heightened. My guard is up in New York City. I want to put the shield away.
I feel like a street puddle. Stagnant. Growing old.
I feel that a chunk of those around me have lost perspective, and no longer value my friendship like they once did. I can feel it.
At the same time, I am closer than ever with a focused few. I truly value the time, effort, and relationships that have blossomed. I feel my pulse ease, my cheeks ache from laughing, every time I see them. Thank you.
My music career should never feel like something meant to fill in a gap of time until something else is going on, but I feel it is so, especially with those around me. I just released a CD, and I'm not sure why I feel so behind the ball. I guess the best way to put it is that I feel that perspective is getting lost, but not necessarily from me.
I am lonely, and have become jaded at the notion of having someone to share my life with. Jaded, I say, because anger is easier to place than hurt or doubt. I am not confident I will meet someone anytime soon.
I am happy for friends who have gotten engaged. It is a constant reminder that I am socially behind the ball though.
My life seems so full of promise and "up-side," but I don't feel it now. I feel tired, sad, and defeated. I feel I am losing friends, and I need to change my settings, surroundings, or social networks, and whatever might need to be done for my music.
The songs coming out of me are consistently my best work, and I am deathly afraid that no one will care. I feel healthy after a long stretch of being ill, and sleep well. But progress seems lost on me, like I was standing in front of a celebration and not allowed to participate. Or watching a parade. I've yet to make my mark, and I desperately want to. I just want to chance to do it.
My suspicions are heightened. My guard is up in New York City. I want to put the shield away.
December 19, 2007
I have no lid upon my head, but if I did
You could look inside and see what's on my mind.
I write today awake and healthy. After travelling for 39.5 hours this weekend, driving a total of 1450 miles, playing music for a total of 4.5 hours, all on literally 13 hours of total sleep, I am feeling recovered and able to write here.
My record release was great. I don't know how else to put it. So very many people, making me their Friday night, all the record sales, all the good music with me. All the hugs, kisses, handshakes, well-wishes, compliments, stories, laughs, smiles, and drinks. A real homecoming for me.
I felt like I was up there to kick ass. To kick ass with my performance, blow some hair back, and make the room stop.
Fast forward, and a long weekend of travelling. I don't have the wherewithall to write about the release anymore.
I saw Ingy play, with Elliot, Chris, Bess, Allie, Ben, etc. She was great, and her shows sound no different than they used to, which is comforting for me. All the success she's had, and she's still singing the hell out of the songs as if she was playing the Trash Bar in Williamsburg on a Wednesday night for only me and Ryan in the audience. I've seen a much longer ride than most people in attendance last night, and I was so proud of everyone. Positivity. It's not just a great-but-wordy Stevie Wonder song. Ingrid was nice enough to put me on her guest list, so I could get into the show.
I sat up in the rafters, where I prefer to see a show, so I can do what I do best, observe. I kept thinking to myself, shit I could do this. I am just as capable. I play with alot of the same musicians. It wasn't anything negative or envious or jealous, just a realization that I am in the same company and class as this. I may not have yet had my day in the sun, but we are all in the same boat, I can see this kind of generation brewing and growing together. I may not have been with them from the start, and I may not be close to them all, but I know what I am capable of, what is inside me, and where I want to go, and that makes me feel like I belong.
I feel lonely quite often these days. I know precisely why, but there's little to nothing I can do. No quick fixes anymore, no half-assed attempts at kidding myself. It's time to rejoin the forces down there, the ones I can honestly say I grew comfortable around for so long. Toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.
The songs I'm writing now keep topping each other. I'm very excited about getting them with the band. Who knows how it will all sound. "Stones," my newest one, already got really gratious and sincerely positive reviews in Canada, so I am optimistic that others will enjoy it. I wrote the end part for Elliot, not in a lyrical sense, but literally writing the piece of music, lyrics, and vibe to go along with a type of drumming he says is most in tune with his spirit. I am hoping he takes my idea, runs with it, shows off a bit in it, and plays almost animalistic and as natural as possible.
I wish I could rehearse with them all day. Like right now. WHAM into a song. It feels awfully good. Soon enough.
Probably won't write again until after Christmas, but who knows. Merry Christmas to you. Remember God is right by you, in the space between your Christmas sweater and your hairy tummy. Be thankful for your life, health, and wonderful people. And, take a moment to catch your breath.
John
I write today awake and healthy. After travelling for 39.5 hours this weekend, driving a total of 1450 miles, playing music for a total of 4.5 hours, all on literally 13 hours of total sleep, I am feeling recovered and able to write here.
My record release was great. I don't know how else to put it. So very many people, making me their Friday night, all the record sales, all the good music with me. All the hugs, kisses, handshakes, well-wishes, compliments, stories, laughs, smiles, and drinks. A real homecoming for me.
I felt like I was up there to kick ass. To kick ass with my performance, blow some hair back, and make the room stop.
Fast forward, and a long weekend of travelling. I don't have the wherewithall to write about the release anymore.
I saw Ingy play, with Elliot, Chris, Bess, Allie, Ben, etc. She was great, and her shows sound no different than they used to, which is comforting for me. All the success she's had, and she's still singing the hell out of the songs as if she was playing the Trash Bar in Williamsburg on a Wednesday night for only me and Ryan in the audience. I've seen a much longer ride than most people in attendance last night, and I was so proud of everyone. Positivity. It's not just a great-but-wordy Stevie Wonder song. Ingrid was nice enough to put me on her guest list, so I could get into the show.
I sat up in the rafters, where I prefer to see a show, so I can do what I do best, observe. I kept thinking to myself, shit I could do this. I am just as capable. I play with alot of the same musicians. It wasn't anything negative or envious or jealous, just a realization that I am in the same company and class as this. I may not have yet had my day in the sun, but we are all in the same boat, I can see this kind of generation brewing and growing together. I may not have been with them from the start, and I may not be close to them all, but I know what I am capable of, what is inside me, and where I want to go, and that makes me feel like I belong.
I feel lonely quite often these days. I know precisely why, but there's little to nothing I can do. No quick fixes anymore, no half-assed attempts at kidding myself. It's time to rejoin the forces down there, the ones I can honestly say I grew comfortable around for so long. Toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.
The songs I'm writing now keep topping each other. I'm very excited about getting them with the band. Who knows how it will all sound. "Stones," my newest one, already got really gratious and sincerely positive reviews in Canada, so I am optimistic that others will enjoy it. I wrote the end part for Elliot, not in a lyrical sense, but literally writing the piece of music, lyrics, and vibe to go along with a type of drumming he says is most in tune with his spirit. I am hoping he takes my idea, runs with it, shows off a bit in it, and plays almost animalistic and as natural as possible.
I wish I could rehearse with them all day. Like right now. WHAM into a song. It feels awfully good. Soon enough.
Probably won't write again until after Christmas, but who knows. Merry Christmas to you. Remember God is right by you, in the space between your Christmas sweater and your hairy tummy. Be thankful for your life, health, and wonderful people. And, take a moment to catch your breath.
John
December 17, 2007
newly edited old post.
Wish Upon a Monarch [Sep. 7th, 200510:15 pm]
by John M. Schmitt
For the sake of this writing
I choose an extended metaphor
[So I guess you just won’t know
What I’m talking about]
But my message will remain the same.
When I speed home at night
I stick my arm out my window
Feel the aerodynamics change
As I shift my arm
I stare in silence
In front of me are the Pine Barrens
With disabled cars,
Remains of blown tires,
And so much history creeping in the Thick.
Very tired, the eyes burn
When the wind rushes into the front
This is nothing like driving in Buffalo
Nothing.
Never felt sleepy in Buffalo
Never felt weary
But here, I fight the urge to crash
Because of sweet slumber.
My mind wanders
To the same place as always
[So it never really wanders]
But metaphorically, wanders
Where all writings invariably end.
I pray, but
This is not the Supplication, Praise,
Or Petition prayer I learned about in school.
[I think God knows how great He is
And it’s a given that He know I think that also.]
In my belief system and mentality,
I also do not find frivolous prayers of petition
[God, help me win the lottery]
To be a worthy cause,
To be the Good Fight, if you will.
My issues are not of life and death
Nor of impending moral destruction
Instead I have been blessed from Above
And have no need to implore God’s power.
But I pray for one thing
One tiny gift
One spec of wisdom
Clarity.
I say “Lord, clear my mind up
I know all things in Your time, not mine.”
“Let me be wise, and follow my heart
and most importantly, Your Will.”
I sometimes recite a prayer I learned
Written by St. Ignatius Loyola
Founder of the Jesuits
Which asks God to “teach me”
To be a whole list of different, noble traits
All relating to service
“Know that I am doing Your will
And that You have done the same for me”
This is how I keep my head in order
My life, in all areas, needs to start and end
With the Holy Truth
And it does.
However, this is not an affirmation
Of things I hold dear
[I do that enough everyday]
No, the point is
I pray.
I pray as much as people daydream, if not more
And, speeding home, most nights
I pray to have this nervous feeling cease.
I feel like I have insects bouncing
Literally BOUNCING
In my stomach
I am an insect nite club
And everybody’s dancing.
There’s something to this
Because while I do not necessarily enjoy the intial onset
It is something I remember.
It is not painful
And that rules out any number of incidents
Associated with stubbing a toe, falling,
Scraping, cutting, chewing, swearing,
And so on.
No, it is not painful.
not at all.
Perhaps I’m nervous?
Did I forget something?
Did I turn that off?
Did I fill that out correctly?
Do I have my phone, wallet, and keys?
[In that order]
To answer: No, No, Yes, Yes, and Yes respectively.
So it cannot really be nerves.
Perhaps God knows what this is
[There’sreally no need for the word 'perhaps' in those statements]
And in my Mind’s Ear
I silently hear a whisper:
“Think.”
Fair enough. I will try.
I know this feeling
And I know the insects.
I’ve felt it only once before.
Only one time ever before.
Butterflies.
Monarch butterflies.
Bright orange, beautiful
Monarch butterflies.
Chugging around my insides.
Tickling, twisting, dancing sweetly
Monarch butterflies.
Poking at me,
Reminding me
Reminding me of why I set out
Set out writing in the first place.
There are few people in this world
I whole-heartedly trust
Trust enough to write for, about,
Or use any sort of extended metaphors for.
And really, while I speak of him/her
This is about me
Feeling something
Feeling alive.
This is about me wanting to do great things
To “Measure in Love”
To plug in, and connect.
So I pray.
For Clarity.
And God grants it, like He always does.
And looking at my stomach,
From up here,
Butterflies are dancing.
They’re dancing for me.
I think I like that.
Slowly, gracefully
The tiny one breaks away
And passes into sight
Cascading through me
Until it is in plain view
6 inches from my abdomen.
I’m so far beyond enchanted
To smile, or try to touch it.
I just exist.
The tiny one is here
For me, not I for it.
Breaking away, darting to my right,
It vanishes
And then Clarity takes control of my being.
But this is not over
Because there ahead of me,
In my Mind's Eye,
There in a black sweater
And brand new jean skirt
There sits the hurting,
Fallen Jennifer.
[Why such a sad, sullen thing
In such a beautiful happening?
God, why are You showing me this?]
She sits, unsure, with uneasy feelings
About what people can do to one another.
But yet, this is not a sad image.
It is not possible.
She may sit, sob, seemingly sulk
Nod, cry, and nod more
Sing, Laugh, and Reminisce
Fear, feel, and grow nervous
She may be more scared than ever
But here, in front of you, John,
Here tonight
Here with the Monarchs
Here in the Pine Barrens
Tonight
Yes, here
She glows.
She glows as a fire-fly,
As a phoenix glows.
She shares the deepest,
The darkest, most untouched aspects of herself.
The hurt that seemingly lasts
She shares it with you, John.
But it is not sad, nor is it hopeless
Because as I glance up,
I see her outstretched hand
She says “Here. I thought you might want to know.”
There is her Heart
Hurting, yet still beating
Still searching, still needing
Still terrified.
She gives it not out of romantic gesture
Or to “win me over”
But instead shows it,
With painstaking care
And a grace.
[all the while glowing...]
She shows me her heart
Out of Trust
Overcoming the fear in her mind.
I ask her: “What shall I do with it?”
But as I do so
I finally look up at her face
Radiating, iridescently glowing
She just smiles,
[She always smiles]
She laughs, looks away, and cracks:
“Ehh, just don’t tell anybody...”
Capped off with a wink.
I promise not to
...And the Monarchs start dancing...
Feverishly, with a purpose
They want me to know something.
Perhaps God wants me to know something.
Perhaps I want Me to know something.
It feels uneasy.
And Jennifer notices,
“What the matter?”
But there is really nothing wrong
In fact, it is one of those ‘epic’ times
When men recall 40 or 50 years later
Where they were, what they were doing
And who they were with.
And tonight, I am in the car
Speeding home
Alone
With Christine and the Monarchs.
No, I assure her, nothing is wrong
All is fine
All is more than fine.
The soundtrack kicks in
And frankly it doesn’t matter what it is
Because anything beautiful would work
But as I look forward
Jennifer looks back
Holding her Heart
So tenderly, so carefully
I ask: “You see the butterflies, Jenn?”
She nods, as they dance between us
As one lands on her lap.
It, too, glows as it becomes
A part of her now.
“They’re not here for me,” I tell her.
“These butterflies are here for you.”
She smiles, sweetly, and looks up at me
And she glows.
She glows.
The Monarchs glow.
Her eyes glow.
“Why are they dancing?”
And it is then,
In that very moment,
In that space between
Fantasy and Faith
Where every atom in my being
Knows the answer.
[Even God is grinning like a fool]
There, in the car,
In the Pine Barrens
With the windows down
With the wind
The burning eyes
The praying
The glowing Jennifer
The Darkness
The Monarchs
There is the truth.
Just say it!
“They're dancing, Jenn,
Because I love you.
The Monarchs, you see,
Are my heart,
And you make them glow
They are yours to do with
As you wish.
But they will always dance for you-
Always.”
And with that
Another ride home complete;
Another daydream at night;
Another wish upon a Monarch.
by John M. Schmitt
For the sake of this writing
I choose an extended metaphor
[So I guess you just won’t know
What I’m talking about]
But my message will remain the same.
When I speed home at night
I stick my arm out my window
Feel the aerodynamics change
As I shift my arm
I stare in silence
In front of me are the Pine Barrens
With disabled cars,
Remains of blown tires,
And so much history creeping in the Thick.
Very tired, the eyes burn
When the wind rushes into the front
This is nothing like driving in Buffalo
Nothing.
Never felt sleepy in Buffalo
Never felt weary
But here, I fight the urge to crash
Because of sweet slumber.
My mind wanders
To the same place as always
[So it never really wanders]
But metaphorically, wanders
Where all writings invariably end.
I pray, but
This is not the Supplication, Praise,
Or Petition prayer I learned about in school.
[I think God knows how great He is
And it’s a given that He know I think that also.]
In my belief system and mentality,
I also do not find frivolous prayers of petition
[God, help me win the lottery]
To be a worthy cause,
To be the Good Fight, if you will.
My issues are not of life and death
Nor of impending moral destruction
Instead I have been blessed from Above
And have no need to implore God’s power.
But I pray for one thing
One tiny gift
One spec of wisdom
Clarity.
I say “Lord, clear my mind up
I know all things in Your time, not mine.”
“Let me be wise, and follow my heart
and most importantly, Your Will.”
I sometimes recite a prayer I learned
Written by St. Ignatius Loyola
Founder of the Jesuits
Which asks God to “teach me”
To be a whole list of different, noble traits
All relating to service
“Know that I am doing Your will
And that You have done the same for me”
This is how I keep my head in order
My life, in all areas, needs to start and end
With the Holy Truth
And it does.
However, this is not an affirmation
Of things I hold dear
[I do that enough everyday]
No, the point is
I pray.
I pray as much as people daydream, if not more
And, speeding home, most nights
I pray to have this nervous feeling cease.
I feel like I have insects bouncing
Literally BOUNCING
In my stomach
I am an insect nite club
And everybody’s dancing.
There’s something to this
Because while I do not necessarily enjoy the intial onset
It is something I remember.
It is not painful
And that rules out any number of incidents
Associated with stubbing a toe, falling,
Scraping, cutting, chewing, swearing,
And so on.
No, it is not painful.
not at all.
Perhaps I’m nervous?
Did I forget something?
Did I turn that off?
Did I fill that out correctly?
Do I have my phone, wallet, and keys?
[In that order]
To answer: No, No, Yes, Yes, and Yes respectively.
So it cannot really be nerves.
Perhaps God knows what this is
[There’sreally no need for the word 'perhaps' in those statements]
And in my Mind’s Ear
I silently hear a whisper:
“Think.”
Fair enough. I will try.
I know this feeling
And I know the insects.
I’ve felt it only once before.
Only one time ever before.
Butterflies.
Monarch butterflies.
Bright orange, beautiful
Monarch butterflies.
Chugging around my insides.
Tickling, twisting, dancing sweetly
Monarch butterflies.
Poking at me,
Reminding me
Reminding me of why I set out
Set out writing in the first place.
There are few people in this world
I whole-heartedly trust
Trust enough to write for, about,
Or use any sort of extended metaphors for.
And really, while I speak of him/her
This is about me
Feeling something
Feeling alive.
This is about me wanting to do great things
To “Measure in Love”
To plug in, and connect.
So I pray.
For Clarity.
And God grants it, like He always does.
And looking at my stomach,
From up here,
Butterflies are dancing.
They’re dancing for me.
I think I like that.
Slowly, gracefully
The tiny one breaks away
And passes into sight
Cascading through me
Until it is in plain view
6 inches from my abdomen.
I’m so far beyond enchanted
To smile, or try to touch it.
I just exist.
The tiny one is here
For me, not I for it.
Breaking away, darting to my right,
It vanishes
And then Clarity takes control of my being.
But this is not over
Because there ahead of me,
In my Mind's Eye,
There in a black sweater
And brand new jean skirt
There sits the hurting,
Fallen Jennifer.
[Why such a sad, sullen thing
In such a beautiful happening?
God, why are You showing me this?]
She sits, unsure, with uneasy feelings
About what people can do to one another.
But yet, this is not a sad image.
It is not possible.
She may sit, sob, seemingly sulk
Nod, cry, and nod more
Sing, Laugh, and Reminisce
Fear, feel, and grow nervous
She may be more scared than ever
But here, in front of you, John,
Here tonight
Here with the Monarchs
Here in the Pine Barrens
Tonight
Yes, here
She glows.
She glows as a fire-fly,
As a phoenix glows.
She shares the deepest,
The darkest, most untouched aspects of herself.
The hurt that seemingly lasts
She shares it with you, John.
But it is not sad, nor is it hopeless
Because as I glance up,
I see her outstretched hand
She says “Here. I thought you might want to know.”
There is her Heart
Hurting, yet still beating
Still searching, still needing
Still terrified.
She gives it not out of romantic gesture
Or to “win me over”
But instead shows it,
With painstaking care
And a grace.
[all the while glowing...]
She shows me her heart
Out of Trust
Overcoming the fear in her mind.
I ask her: “What shall I do with it?”
But as I do so
I finally look up at her face
Radiating, iridescently glowing
She just smiles,
[She always smiles]
She laughs, looks away, and cracks:
“Ehh, just don’t tell anybody...”
Capped off with a wink.
I promise not to
...And the Monarchs start dancing...
Feverishly, with a purpose
They want me to know something.
Perhaps God wants me to know something.
Perhaps I want Me to know something.
It feels uneasy.
And Jennifer notices,
“What the matter?”
But there is really nothing wrong
In fact, it is one of those ‘epic’ times
When men recall 40 or 50 years later
Where they were, what they were doing
And who they were with.
And tonight, I am in the car
Speeding home
Alone
With Christine and the Monarchs.
No, I assure her, nothing is wrong
All is fine
All is more than fine.
The soundtrack kicks in
And frankly it doesn’t matter what it is
Because anything beautiful would work
But as I look forward
Jennifer looks back
Holding her Heart
So tenderly, so carefully
I ask: “You see the butterflies, Jenn?”
She nods, as they dance between us
As one lands on her lap.
It, too, glows as it becomes
A part of her now.
“They’re not here for me,” I tell her.
“These butterflies are here for you.”
She smiles, sweetly, and looks up at me
And she glows.
She glows.
The Monarchs glow.
Her eyes glow.
“Why are they dancing?”
And it is then,
In that very moment,
In that space between
Fantasy and Faith
Where every atom in my being
Knows the answer.
[Even God is grinning like a fool]
There, in the car,
In the Pine Barrens
With the windows down
With the wind
The burning eyes
The praying
The glowing Jennifer
The Darkness
The Monarchs
There is the truth.
Just say it!
“They're dancing, Jenn,
Because I love you.
The Monarchs, you see,
Are my heart,
And you make them glow
They are yours to do with
As you wish.
But they will always dance for you-
Always.”
And with that
Another ride home complete;
Another daydream at night;
Another wish upon a Monarch.
December 6, 2007
18 months ago, it all began.
I sit here blogging from 1275 York Ave. probably for the last time. Tomorrow is my last day working with Dr. Strong, and I'm not sure exactly how I feel.
Monday I begin a position at Human Resources, working in the Benefits Department for the hospital. I'm not really sure why exactly or specifically I decided to look elsewhere for another position at the hospital, but there are many factors. The stress and 'gravitas' of working with patients filled with anxiety, fear, and desperation takes a toll, and I am not of the right mind to continue dealing with it. I care too much. There is no thick skin on me, and I am blessed that I don't usually have to see the faces of the patients usually. But, Mr. M, Mr. G, Mrs. E, Mr. S - the patients that have touched my life the most, move me to tears. Especially Mr. S.
For the sake of privacy, I'll call him Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was diagnosed with gastric cancer, and saw us in the beginning of this past year, like many patients. There was nothing entirely remarkable about him, and I worked just as hard on arranging his tests, appointments, and over the phone as I would with any patient. I do remember that he had no family whatsoever, no relatives, and his only contact was his parish priest. This is uncommon, but I have seen it before.
But then things really took a turn for the worse. Mr. Smith was found to have something in his bladder on scan, which was then biopsied and found to be bladder cancer. Now, this means that he did not have stomach cancer that just spread to the bladder, but instead, had a seperate, isolated site of additional cancer of another type. While this is not uncommon, it is relatively rare. I could not imagine the thought, if that were me. What do you do?
And then, Mr. Smith was found to have something in his colon. A biopsy was done of this as well. Colon Cancer. Again, this was not a spread of his bladder cancer or gastric cancer, this represented what is called a "third primary" cancer, another seperate site of disease. So this man had three different cancers, all churning and growing and dividing out of control. What would you do?
Well on one day, I needed to call Mr. Smith about his appointments. He had just been released from a hospital the following weekend, as all three of his known cancers started to really get at him. We wanted him to come in here, and possibly be admitted, so we could start to treat him better. So I called Mr. Smith, and the phone rang and rang. I was about to hang up when he finally answered.
I introduced myself, said hello, and he was very nice, as patients usually are. I said I was sorry for disturbing him, and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. He said I was not disturbing, and that is when he phone started to crackle with static. It became difficult to hear him, so he said he was "going inside" so I could hear him. I was shocked he was outside, a man that is so sick. He went on to tell me he hasn't had too much time these past few weeks to tend his garden, and today was such a beautiful day that he needed to be out there. He was very sorry for having made me wait on the phone. I asked him about his garden briefly, and he said he is cherishing every last minute out there, and how beautiful it all was. I gave him the information he needed, and he wished me a good day.
Mr. Smith died about a month later, and that day is never, ever, ever lost on me. Even now, a 24 year old man is sitting at work and bawling. His garden. Three cancers. Not a care in the world. Not a person around with him. And yet, I feel I have always been with Mr. Smith since then, that somehow he spoke to me on a soul-soul level, not just through a telephone. God blessed him with a beautiful day, and he really took advantage.
Mr. Smith lived more in that one day that I ever have. In his death, there is life, and how fitting. I am really not doing it justice, but I really hope this rings true for all who read this. A very holy man he was.
There are dozens of stories like these that I have, things I am taking with me as I go forward. I feel Dr. Strong and I function on the level of friends now, as much as it could be given that I assist her. I have made friends in the office, with Maria, Scott, Liza, Linda, and Harriet, and I am off on my own path again on Monday. I am sad now about it, but I know it is ultimately for the best.
This was my first job after school, the place that plucked me out of unemployed obscurity not a moment to soon, and made the rest of my life, the idea of living my dream, a reality. I am still under its umbrella, but it will certainly not be the same anymore. The Mr. Smith stories will no longer be going on, but there will also no longer be the intense stress and anxiety that comes with this job as well. I am blessed to have been here with these people, and it is time to move on.
I don't have it in me right now to talk about my music. I'm excited more than you know, but it would take up too much time here. More soon on all that.
Enjoy your gardens people, enjoy them as healthy, happy, people. With the bees, sunshine, dirt, and bird-chirps, we have all been blessed. Thank you, Mr. S, for showing me through your life in action.
Monday I begin a position at Human Resources, working in the Benefits Department for the hospital. I'm not really sure why exactly or specifically I decided to look elsewhere for another position at the hospital, but there are many factors. The stress and 'gravitas' of working with patients filled with anxiety, fear, and desperation takes a toll, and I am not of the right mind to continue dealing with it. I care too much. There is no thick skin on me, and I am blessed that I don't usually have to see the faces of the patients usually. But, Mr. M, Mr. G, Mrs. E, Mr. S - the patients that have touched my life the most, move me to tears. Especially Mr. S.
For the sake of privacy, I'll call him Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was diagnosed with gastric cancer, and saw us in the beginning of this past year, like many patients. There was nothing entirely remarkable about him, and I worked just as hard on arranging his tests, appointments, and over the phone as I would with any patient. I do remember that he had no family whatsoever, no relatives, and his only contact was his parish priest. This is uncommon, but I have seen it before.
But then things really took a turn for the worse. Mr. Smith was found to have something in his bladder on scan, which was then biopsied and found to be bladder cancer. Now, this means that he did not have stomach cancer that just spread to the bladder, but instead, had a seperate, isolated site of additional cancer of another type. While this is not uncommon, it is relatively rare. I could not imagine the thought, if that were me. What do you do?
And then, Mr. Smith was found to have something in his colon. A biopsy was done of this as well. Colon Cancer. Again, this was not a spread of his bladder cancer or gastric cancer, this represented what is called a "third primary" cancer, another seperate site of disease. So this man had three different cancers, all churning and growing and dividing out of control. What would you do?
Well on one day, I needed to call Mr. Smith about his appointments. He had just been released from a hospital the following weekend, as all three of his known cancers started to really get at him. We wanted him to come in here, and possibly be admitted, so we could start to treat him better. So I called Mr. Smith, and the phone rang and rang. I was about to hang up when he finally answered.
I introduced myself, said hello, and he was very nice, as patients usually are. I said I was sorry for disturbing him, and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. He said I was not disturbing, and that is when he phone started to crackle with static. It became difficult to hear him, so he said he was "going inside" so I could hear him. I was shocked he was outside, a man that is so sick. He went on to tell me he hasn't had too much time these past few weeks to tend his garden, and today was such a beautiful day that he needed to be out there. He was very sorry for having made me wait on the phone. I asked him about his garden briefly, and he said he is cherishing every last minute out there, and how beautiful it all was. I gave him the information he needed, and he wished me a good day.
Mr. Smith died about a month later, and that day is never, ever, ever lost on me. Even now, a 24 year old man is sitting at work and bawling. His garden. Three cancers. Not a care in the world. Not a person around with him. And yet, I feel I have always been with Mr. Smith since then, that somehow he spoke to me on a soul-soul level, not just through a telephone. God blessed him with a beautiful day, and he really took advantage.
Mr. Smith lived more in that one day that I ever have. In his death, there is life, and how fitting. I am really not doing it justice, but I really hope this rings true for all who read this. A very holy man he was.
There are dozens of stories like these that I have, things I am taking with me as I go forward. I feel Dr. Strong and I function on the level of friends now, as much as it could be given that I assist her. I have made friends in the office, with Maria, Scott, Liza, Linda, and Harriet, and I am off on my own path again on Monday. I am sad now about it, but I know it is ultimately for the best.
This was my first job after school, the place that plucked me out of unemployed obscurity not a moment to soon, and made the rest of my life, the idea of living my dream, a reality. I am still under its umbrella, but it will certainly not be the same anymore. The Mr. Smith stories will no longer be going on, but there will also no longer be the intense stress and anxiety that comes with this job as well. I am blessed to have been here with these people, and it is time to move on.
I don't have it in me right now to talk about my music. I'm excited more than you know, but it would take up too much time here. More soon on all that.
Enjoy your gardens people, enjoy them as healthy, happy, people. With the bees, sunshine, dirt, and bird-chirps, we have all been blessed. Thank you, Mr. S, for showing me through your life in action.
December 3, 2007
"Look at the glade girls...
Your cool new spot
No, stay in the shade, girls!
It's getting hot
It's getting orange"
A fever pitch in my life. So very much.
A recap. I'm currently ripping caluses off my fingertips. How very telling.
My CD is out. My music career unofficially underway. The CD Release was really wonderful, and such a brilliant turnout.
Spent the week afterward touring the Northeast. Made some great contacts and friends, especially in Philadelphia. The time with Jeff was great, I remember why we became such good friends.
Back here, time for Thanksgiving. Made a feast for my friends, and got drunk. 7 bottles of wine. Family, it seems, is where ever you call home, so I was not terribly sad about not being in Buffalo.
Last weekend, one of my only free weekends since September, I went to see Seurat at MoMA. Went with Malissa and Adam. Adam tends to do his own thing, which is good, he knows what space is like. Malissa and I spent over an hour in the Seurat exhibit, and I showed her all the different things in his paintings, his use of color and light, his expressionism, subject matter, and his life story intertwining the paper and canvass. A man of the same ilk as me. Malissa gets it, and would walk up as close as me and then pull back, and the joy I got from his works was remarkable. We laughed until our face hurt, I think because that is what life in its purest form is all about, joy. I am so grateful to have shared that with her, and with Adam.
Played in the village this past weekend, the crowd was electric. Chatted with a new friend from Wales, who bought my CD. They have such wonderful names, the Welch, and their language is so mysterious and lyrical. To me, she spoke in limerick.
Another fresh face that night, too, and seriously, who but me gets caught up talking about Imperial Russia, losing track of time, until 3am? In a crowded bar with ghetto music blasting? Apparently someone else does, too, and it was as if the windows were opened on the night and on the last few weeks. I am a complete, total, and guilty-as-charged nerd. I prefer History Channel over weekly dramas, Modern Marvels in HD over Entourage. Maybe I belong at Columbia Graduate school, too, studying literature. In any event, someone met me half way, and followed up on it the next day. I've already got a book to swap and more insight to share.
Week one of Advent. O come, o come Emmanuel. These are the days in between for me, and I know that being alone is only temporary.
Does it comfort you to know you fought the good fight?
No, stay in the shade, girls!
It's getting hot
It's getting orange"
A fever pitch in my life. So very much.
A recap. I'm currently ripping caluses off my fingertips. How very telling.
My CD is out. My music career unofficially underway. The CD Release was really wonderful, and such a brilliant turnout.
Spent the week afterward touring the Northeast. Made some great contacts and friends, especially in Philadelphia. The time with Jeff was great, I remember why we became such good friends.
Back here, time for Thanksgiving. Made a feast for my friends, and got drunk. 7 bottles of wine. Family, it seems, is where ever you call home, so I was not terribly sad about not being in Buffalo.
Last weekend, one of my only free weekends since September, I went to see Seurat at MoMA. Went with Malissa and Adam. Adam tends to do his own thing, which is good, he knows what space is like. Malissa and I spent over an hour in the Seurat exhibit, and I showed her all the different things in his paintings, his use of color and light, his expressionism, subject matter, and his life story intertwining the paper and canvass. A man of the same ilk as me. Malissa gets it, and would walk up as close as me and then pull back, and the joy I got from his works was remarkable. We laughed until our face hurt, I think because that is what life in its purest form is all about, joy. I am so grateful to have shared that with her, and with Adam.
Played in the village this past weekend, the crowd was electric. Chatted with a new friend from Wales, who bought my CD. They have such wonderful names, the Welch, and their language is so mysterious and lyrical. To me, she spoke in limerick.
Another fresh face that night, too, and seriously, who but me gets caught up talking about Imperial Russia, losing track of time, until 3am? In a crowded bar with ghetto music blasting? Apparently someone else does, too, and it was as if the windows were opened on the night and on the last few weeks. I am a complete, total, and guilty-as-charged nerd. I prefer History Channel over weekly dramas, Modern Marvels in HD over Entourage. Maybe I belong at Columbia Graduate school, too, studying literature. In any event, someone met me half way, and followed up on it the next day. I've already got a book to swap and more insight to share.
Week one of Advent. O come, o come Emmanuel. These are the days in between for me, and I know that being alone is only temporary.
Does it comfort you to know you fought the good fight?
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