39 Pills and Thoughts on Pride

Thirty nine is precisely the number of pills that I take on a good day. A good day means that I am not having to take any pain meds, anything to sleep, anything for migraines, any extra antidiarrheals or any more allergy meds. That is absolutely ridiculous. If I take the outsider's view on my life, especially from somebody that has never dealt with chronic illness, this all has to look pretty insane. In a typical month, 2-4 doctor visits, 1-2 blood draws and an occasional phone consultation is pretty much my norm. Then there is time on my computer doing research, reading, and then, like today (and likely tomorrow as well), it's about just feeling like crap and dealing with it. This all is not said to have somebody throw me a pity party, it's just to show you some perspective on my rather absurd life. It is at these times that I can only come close to describing my life thus: The play called My Life- Confessions of a Viral Pariah, has a script by Bertolt Brecht, adapted by Joe Orton, staged and directed by Sam Shepard, adapted for the screen by Tim Burton, directed by John Waters and starring Gary Busey.

This is only one facet of my life, which makes things even more interesting. I'm not just a sick guy bitching about it, I'm actually a pretty tough cookie. Unless I can't meet my basic needs, my good friends know that when I'm sick, I don't want to be doted on, I want to be left the fuck alone. Unfortunately, and by no doing of his own, my poor boyfriend became the repository of the fallout of me trying to do more than I could today, as a migraine that felt like somebody was hammering a rusty spike into my right eye socket rattled my brain. And holy hell, was I a bitch to him. I had to wait until I was alone this evening to really look back and see how cunty I was being and then I called to apologize, and of course, got his voicemail. So I left what I'm sure sounded like a drunk dial call, since migraines make me hella loopy. The call was loaded with apologies, explanations, excuses, rantings, and in the end, still trying to make sure that he knew that I love him.

My friend Brian (different Brian) warned me last week, since he knows I have migraines, telling me that when his aunt was on Interferon, for 2 days after every injection she would have mind-numbing migraines. Well, because I didn't really want to know that, I sort of tuned it out, knowing that was just about the last sleeping tiger in my body that I wanted to poke a stick at. "Besides" I told myself "I did fine last week, maybe that won't happen to me".

WRONG

So here I lie at 1 am, exhausted but unable to sleep, my head throbbing like nobody's business, and watching a stream of consciousness of racing thoughts go by in a manner not unlike a silent movie.

But this is not the only part of my life, and it's usually not the one that I like to give a lot of mental energy to, since I find, especially with Chronic Fatigue, that it becomes a self-perpetuating cycle. The more you think about it, try to shut it down, try to make it better, the worse it gets.

But again, this is only a part of my life. This week, starting today, is Gay Pride Week, and in San Francisco, it's pretty magical. I've spent many of my waking hours in the last 2 weeks working on my costume for the parade on Sunday. My friend Tilly (boy name Michael), who is an unbelievable fashion designer and tailor, has made me the most stunning ball gown, it takes my breath away every time I see it. It looks like a Fairy Princess gown, like the one the mice made for Cinderella. The gigantic circle skirt is made out of 10 yards of teal taffeta, which will lie over the top of the most full bridal crinolines that I've ever seen. The bodice, which fits me like a glove, is hourglass shaped, and the outermost fabric is the most insanely beautiful blue, green and gold lace pattern that is covered in brilliant holographic sequins. It has huge mutton chop sleeves which taper in at the elbow the rest of the way down to my wrist. The outside of the skirt also has the most beautiful sheer cobalt blue fabric that has small blue applique fabric roses sewn all over it. It is mind-blowing to see. When I tried to describe it tonight to my friend Deanna, the best I could do was say "have you ever seen those Cinderella birthday cakes that they make for tweener girls? The cake is the skirt and the body and head is a doll with a big spike at the bottom to stick it into the top of the cake"? Now that I describe it, it sounds horrific, but they really are kind of cute, especially if you are a tweener girl, or the parent of one. Or the gay little brother of one. This dress is, without a doubt, the most fabulous, beautiful, opulent garment, male or female, that I have ever owned. And that it was made for me makes it even all the more special.

So in spite of all the bullshit that I'm having to deal with right now, especially in regard to my health, things are pretty damned ok. I am a very blessed and fortunate man. I have loyal and loving friends, all of whom will drop everything they are doing and come to my aid. I've never had to use that card, but I know it's there. I have a great boyfriend who loves me to pieces, as do I him. I have a house full of companion animals that bring constant joy and laughter into my life. I have a lovely home in a quiet and attractive suburb. Tonight, at now nearly 2am, the temperature is in the mid 70's, the air is still and I can hear the crickets chirping in the garden outside my bedroom, since I have my sliding door cracked open.

I am very lucky to be a gay man living in a time when the walls of prejudice are falling down all around us. I'm also lucky to have been adult and out of the closet well before this started, so I really have an appreciation for the magnitude of the gay movement and how it has changed our lives, our friends and parent's lives and society as a whole. We aren't there yet, but we're a whole lot closer than we were on a warm August night in 1984 when a very bright-eyed, optimistic and and somewhat impressionable 24 year old boy from Missoula, Montana crossed the Oakland Bay Bridge to embark on an adventure in magical San Francisco, The City By The Bay, that has left enough memories and experiences and insights to fill many more pages of a journal. This is a very wayward journey. There have been many strange and interesting detours, a couple of falls over cliffs, some really quantum-shift changes in perception and a lot of growth and insight. All this has led to the making of a very interesting person. Not always easy to be around, often difficult to understand, much less predict his actions, often appearing like a stranger in his own world, an intellectual and experiential Don Juan, often stuck in his head, sometimes downright weird, but always interesting.

A couple of hours ago I took 17 of my 39 pills, washed down with a glass of cold Yosemite water and a little chuckle at the absurdity of life. Here I am, sitting at yet another fork in the road. But more about that later.



Doggydad's Life Now: The Viral Monologues by Parry Tallmadge is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at doggydad.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.runnymedesilkys.com.

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People Behaving Badly. Film at 11:00

A rhetorical question: is there a specific time that one can pinpoint when people's hobbies and leisure time activities became all-consuming, and then became repositories of hatred and anger? I see it most with competitive hobbies, of which I have two (showing dogs and doing drag), but I have to think that this phenomenon is far more pervasive. This is not coming from a judging place, everybody has the right to pursue their dreams, whether it is in their profession or their hobbies. For me, these observations come from two and a half years of intensely reflecting on my time on this planet, seeing what competition has brought out in myself and those around me, and just in general, observing much more critically, and asking more questions. For the record, when I say that I'm observing more critically I mean as in careful and thorough examination in order to reach a more accurate conclusion, not as in looking for fault in myself and/or others.

When did that sheer, unbridled, ecstatic joy that we got as children when we were playing turn into our leisure time activities becoming difficult, arduous and imbued with the most unsavory of human emotions and behaviors? To put it simply, when did the fun stuff cease to be fun? When did the things that we are supposed to be doing for relaxation and pleasure become as arduous, if not more so, as work. It seems to me that the lines between work and leisure are becoming far more blurred, less like a weekend on the lake and more like time on the clock.

Perhaps this isn't all that new. Perhaps I'm just seeing things more clearly, and there are lots of reasons that might be the case. That is certainly not outside of the realm of possibility, but as I look back on my life, this does seem to be new. I started showing dogs at the age of 30 and I started doing drag at the age of 47. It's not like I was pushed into child beauty pageants at the age of 5, or thrust into competitive sports (I was not, and my ability to throw a ball will attest to that fact).

Let's face it, life, for the most part, is competitive. We compete against others for the good job. We sit in line outside all night waiting for the best tickets to the game. For Christ's sake, we will stand out overnight in the sub-zero weather outside the Wal-Mart doors to be the first inside the day after Thanksgiving so we can be the first motherfuckers to have that coolest new video game console or that piece of crap ginormous flat screen television. Side note: this last day-after Thanksgiving, I actually did go to my first door-buster sale. Home Depot had these 40,000 btu patio heaters for $99 (ridonkulously low price) and I wanted two. There I was, out on a crisp late autumn morning with a few dozen or so other folks at 5:45 am for a 6:00 opening. I was up toward the front, but thankfully people were far more well-behaved than the news footage you see every year of some poor unlucky chump who gets mauled to death or near-death by a stampeding crowd. That said, there was still a rather noxious frenzy to get in the door, and I won't lie, I was in spirit of the moment. I didn't step over anybody to get to the display where the heaters were, but I also didn't saunter leisurely over there either.

I got the last 2 heaters, and being so lost in the feeling of triumphant smugness, I was really a bit of an ass to the next person that came looking. It was likely not noticeable to him or would it have been to anybody but me, but when I told him that I got the last two, I was feeling so superior to this guy, that on the inside I secretly hated myself a little. His crime that was that he was either not so invested in getting the damned crap and was taking his time and moving at his usual, relaxed comfortable pace, or he was just a little slower than me for a myriad of reasons. Rather than either just stating simply that I believed they were all gone, offering to help him look to see if there were more or offer him one of mine, I just rolled my cart away in a smug and self-righteous manner. Served him right, I thought, you have to be fast and early.

I am digressing as I try to make this point, which is really to ask why this pervasive, me-over-you, claw your way to the top, early bird gets the worm mentality has now weaseled its way into our leisure time. More specifically, am I right in my observation, and if I am, than why I am only seeing it now? Perhaps it is being less than a year from seeing my half-century mark on the planet. Maybe it is living most of my adult life dealing with more than one serious health challenge. Last year, at the age of 48, I had officially lived half of my life with HIV. There are perhaps a few thousand of those like me who have survived for so long. It could be that my experience as of late of facing Hepatitis C, and a treatment that is in the short term (that term being 48-72 weeks) is far worse than the disease is coloring my perception. Maybe it's a little bit about losing my spouse (satirical ironic tone, for the record). I haven't experienced the loss of a child, but I imagine that is probably the only loss that is more traumatic. I can never replace Ken. I used to be furious about that. Now I have a resignation about it, but not one you see when somebody gives up, it's more the one you see when people finally reconcile a life-altering loss. Maybe the societal values have always been this way. If they have, then I have lived most of my life in blissful ignorance or a glass bubble.

After Ken died, all that I found fun lost it luster. I didn't care if I ever went to another dog show much less won at one. I didn't really care about anything, other than my small circle of trusted friends and my dogs. Thank God for the dogs, they were my connection to the "real" world. That I had to get out of bed at least twice a day and feed them was more motivating than any personal needs. These creatures also gave me unconditional love, the real true unconditional love. It didn't matter to them how healthy, pretty, sexy, skinny, smart I was or how much money I had. They just loved me because I was me, and for the most part, I love them in the same manner. Other animals are far superior to humans when it comes to having the ability to love unconditionally.

It's funny, when one of the dogs do something that really pisses me off, my response has pretty much taken a 180 from how I used to respond. Rather than being angry and blowing my top (as was typical of me in the past), I usually (immediately) get that gentle reminder that they didn't do it to piss me off, and they didn't know that what they did was wrong. I have come to realize that pretty much every time, it's my fault. I'm their guardian. They are 100% reliant on me. I am supposed to protect them. Additionally, if something material is valuable to me, it needs to be out of reach. Maybe they are bored and not getting enough attention from me. Pretty much always, I can project it right back to me. I'm reminded here of the old adage that when you are pointing your finger at somebody, there are three pointing back at you.

This reels me back in from yet another digression; I see that there is a lot more finger-pointing than I've seen before. I know that I sound like the curmudgeonly old man that I used to roll my eyes at. When I was I child and he told me how much more civilized and polite society was when he was young, I would at best nod patronizingly. I see that now. When I was a child things were far more civilized than they are now, and that observation not coming from some halcyon romantic sentiment that isn't rooted in reality. Back in my day, children could safely go out to play in the streets without parental supervision all day. When I was a kid and summer vacation came around, Mom would kick me out of the house and tell me to go play if I didn't do it on my own, nearly every single day. The only rule was that I had to be home for dinner, or call for permission to stay out later. Fathers didn't punch little league coaches in the face for pulling their child out of the game. We didn't talk back to our teachers, much less bring weapons into school and wage a massacre. We were taught to win and lose with graciousness and manners. Fun was fun, and sometimes work was even fun. Even if work was drudgery, we made better use of our leisure time.

This makes me ask: is fun ever going to become fun again? Does winning matter so much that you have to step over a pile of friends, acquaintances and (imagined) foes to get there? Can there be grace in winning and losing, and can real life's lessons come be learned from the experience? I can answer that at least for me, over the last year or two, I've told myself that if my hobbies aren't bringing me joy and pleasure then I will stop doing them, at least temporarily. I've been pretty true to my convictions in that regard. If I win, how nice, if I lose, oh well, it's just a dog show, drag show, car show, horse show or marathon. Lives aren't resting on the outcome. If losing is leaving me (or you) feeling only like we've been screwed over, that is a red flag. I know my friends have noticed this change, I hear it all the time: "why aren't you doing dog shows anymore Parry? Why aren't you doing (fill in the blank) any more?" Well, maybe it's just because I don't want to. Or maybe I just can't do it because I'm waging a war in my body with what seems like every pathogen known to man.

Believe me, I'll still listen to the gossip from my friends, but now, I really feel a very comfortable detachment from the drama. The bonus has been that life as a whole is getting at least a little more fun again. Even with all my health issues, I am enjoying life as much as I can, and by the same token, doing everything I can to take care of myself. A big part of that is reducing the stressors in my my life over which I have control. I also make sure that I eat healthily, and hopefully, I'll at some point I'll have the energy to start a gentle moderate physical fitness regime again, even if that only means daily walks in my neighborhood.

Tonight will be Week 2 of the Interferon injections. Oh joy. Honestly, I can't complain, at least so far. Feeling flu-like for a couple of days afterward isn't that far from my normal feeling, thanks to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. There are certainly more things that can (and likely will) crop up further along into the therapy. I haven't even reached peak blood levels of Interferon yet; that usually takes 4+ weeks. In the end, if this gets me through this battle and stops the disease progression then it will be worth it. I'm not a stranger to challenges and struggles, I would just like to not have all of them happen at the same time.

Ta-ta for now. Or as Elvis would say: "thank you, thank you very much"



Doggydad's Life Now: The Viral Monologues by Parry Tallmadge is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at doggydad.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.runnymedesilkys.com.

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Interferon, Week 1

I started my Interferon therapy Sunday night, and so far so good. I have to say, I knew that Interferon was a nasty drug. When I was still working (back in the early 90's) in the ICU at UCSF, they were doing some of the first Interferon trials, using it for stage 3 and 4 melanoma and the patients were in our unit for all the infusions. This was a far less refined drug at that time, and nearly every patient that I took care of had a really rough time with it. Back then we were using Interferon-alpha, which is what I am taking now. The biggest differences are that dosing has been figured out to maximize result and minimize problems, and it is now pegylated, which means that it is treated with polyethylene glycol. PEG attaches itself to a protein (Interferon is a protein molecule). This accomplishes 2 things: 1) it slows down the release of the drug, and as a result, 2) the drug has less of a spike after dosing and lasts longer, about a week at the start of therapy, and by the end of the therapy (usually 48 weeks) it takes about 4 weeks to completely clear the remaining drug in your body.

So it's still a nasty, toxic drug, but not as awful as it was back then. I have to say, with all the drugs I'm currently taking (or for that matter have ever taken), I have never gotten a patient information pamphlet that is as scary as the one I got for the Interferon. Under adverse reactions, nearly every major organ system has a life threatening possible complication. This is the best one though: in all these years, this is the first time that a possible adverse reaction to a drug I'm taking is "homocidal or suicidal behavior". I am as serious as a heart attack, which is also a possible adverse reaction.

But so far, the world is safe, and I'm doing fine with it. The caveat is that this is only day 3 of 336, but I'm happy right now. About all I can say for now is that it might be exacerbating my Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but as I was telling Therese last night, in a way, my CFS has been a good preperatory experience for this. I know what it's like to have malaise that gets so bad at times, that it's all I can do to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. I know what it's like to be so fatigued that it's easier to keep watching the same thing on TV rather than looking for the remote, which is probably at most a few feet away. And I'm resigned to that, and for that matter, ok with it. You ask anybody that lives with a lifelong disability, and nearly every one of us will say that one calibrates themselves to a new sense of what is normal. You have to if you want to cope with the disease and still remain positive and see the good things in life. It's a really good life lesson in not sweating the small stuff and really getting clear on your priorities. The silly stuff is a lot easier to let go of. Actually, it sort of organically falls away without you even noticing most of the time.

So far, so good. If it stays like the for the next 11 months I'll be just fine. I'm fairly sure that there are going to be some big challenges and obstacles along the way, but I'm not at all worried about them. If I am concerning myself with anything, it is hoping with all my might that this is going to work, and I'm telling myslef that it will. I keep being asked by my friends "what can I do for you?". For right now, send out the positive energy to the universe that this treatment works. I need that more than anything.

Pride is now 11 days away. I can't wait. I'm going to have a fabulous time, and for that one day, everything in my life that is weighing me down will not make it out of the front door of my house. If I can keep that attitude up after that day, even better. Perhaps that should be my goal right now. Worries will only weigh me down if I am worrying, so maybe that is the one thing that I most need to let go of. More later. Happy Hump Day to all.


Doggydad's Life Now: The Viral Monologues by Parry Tallmadge is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at doggydad.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.runnymedesilkys.com.

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Before Now

Well, like I said, a lot has happened since I last posted in April of 2006. I lost my partner of 16 years, Ken, on November 19, 2006. Tragically, this brilliant and vital man lost a lifetime battle against depression and took his own life. Since then, it's been quite the roller coaster ride for me. I've had a great spiritual awakening and have embarked on a path less taken. I'll talk more about that later, but suffice to say, everything in my life that didn't make sense (like why does God let bad things happen not just to good people, but in the world period) has been given clarity. It's given me a lot of inner peace and has also taught me the miracle of the power of unconditional forgiveness.

In June of 2007, I met a wonderful man named Brian, who, despite all my desire to not date anybody for a long time, got a grip onto my heart, and we've been dating since then. I have been true to my desire to not jump headlong back into a partnership where my life is completely intertwined with another. We maintain separate homes and he has been very respectful of my need for alone time. He is starting a new work life anyway (change of profession), which also requires a lot of his time and attention, which is good. It allows me the private time I need to continue to heal and grow. It also, and equally importantly, allows him the time to develop his business without constant distraction.

My life has changed in many other ways as well. I lost the last of my original 3 Basenjis, Kaelii, this February, at 2 weeks shy of her 16th birthday. I still have the 2 Silky Terriers that Ken and I acquired, Bobby and Hillary, and last year, Hillary had a litter and I kept one of the girls from the litter, a lovely and highly-entertaining little ragamuffin named Minnie. I also got a new Basenji 18 months ago, another high-energy, silly and entertaining little boy named Danny. At the same time, I also got a cat, the first one I've had in over 1o years. He is without a doubt the COOLEST cat ever, and it's not just me that feels that way; everybody that meets him says the same thing. He is a big handsome Maine Coon Cat named Angus (after Angus Young of AC/DC), and really adds a lot of fun to my home.

A little less than a year after losing Ken, to my dismay at the time, I had to sell the home that Ken and I bought in 1992. We took a little 1200 square foot 1911 cottage and remodeled it from basement to roof, turning a ramshackle little mess in need of a lot of love into a spectacular 3000 square foot showplace. It was an elegant and comfortable city home, and Ken and I were both extremely proud of what we accomplished. Unfortunately, not only did the home become a very sad place for me after losing Ken, but it also became unaffordable after he was gone. We had borrowed against it substantially in order to do all the work, and as such, it had a mortgage that I could not afford.

So with a heavy heart, I sold the home in September, 2007. It sold quickly, and at a price that allowed me to both pay off the mortgage and have a down payment for a more modest home. I began to look in San Francisco for my next home base earlier that summer, but was never able to find a home that I felt comfortable in and that was in a neighborhood that I felt safe in. As such, I started to broaden my search. Luckily, I've always felt comfortable in a city, a suburb or in a rural setting. This really gave me a lot more options. If I was to move out of the city, I made a resolution to myself that I would keep myself close to San Francisco and I would buy a home that didn't need to have a lot of work done. I had lived for 12+ years in a state of constant construction, and I needed a break from that. Luckily, I found exactly what I was looking for.

Very soon after the sale of my SF home closed escrow, I began looking in earnest, and the perfect home fell into my lap. I found a beautiful single-story ranch home, built in 2ooo, in a suburb 25 miles outside of SF called Walnut Creek. I had always loved WC; it is quiet, similar in population to the town I grew up in (approx. 60,000), and really doesn't have a bad part of town. The weather is spectacular. Instead of having one season like I did in SF (cool), I now have 3 seasons (cold, warm and a very hot summer). The home is on a perfectly-sized lot, already had been beautifully landscaped, and only needed to have cosmetic work done. Though it was well-built, unfortunately all the finishes were very economy, so before moving in I did a speedy remodel of the kitchen and bathrooms and had my nephew come out from Montana to paint the entire interior. It is now nearly exactly what I want. There might be a little thing here or there that I would like to do, but nothing that I need to do.

So in the midst of all this good change, there of course had to be some speedbumps on the road, and I sure hit them. Easily the most difficult challenge has been that sometime in the last 18 or so months, I contracted Hepatitis C. On its own that would be enough to cause concern, but that was the just the cherry on top of many other health issues. The most obvious was that I have now lived 26+ years with HIV. So HIV disease, with all the immune system compromise that it has caused, has now been complemented with another very compromising chronic viral illness.

Perhaps the worst part of Hepatits C is the treatment. Though it is generally a slowly progressing disease when dealt with alone, when it is a co-infection with HIV the damage is often realized much more quickly, so the treatment has to start as soon as it is diagnosed. Unfortunately, the only current therapy is a very toxic combination of drugs, Interferon (which is basically a chemotherapeutic agent) and an antiviral drug called Ribavirin. The interferon takes a heavy toll on the immune system in general, and is quite damaging to the bone marrow in particular. Consequently, the treatment (which lasts 48-72 weeks) requires close and frequent monitoring of my response to treatment by my physician. I have to have frequent blood draws for laboratory testing of my blood cell counts, organ function and endocrine function. I also need to keep a careful, complete and accurate history (journal) of any problems that I'm having.

Which has led to this being the primary topic of my blog posts over the next 12-18 months. Though I'm likely to take some detours and scenic side-trips along the way, this is going to be my most important story at least for now. Since there are a number of you that have asked for me to keep you posted (and many kind and generous offers of assistance along the way for which I'm very grateful), this will be my main forum, partly out of laziness (I don't want to have to keep retelling the story on a daily basis) and more importantly, so I don't leave out some of the details, which would be a likely occurrence if I had to keep retelling as I keep you all updated. So bear with me, and enjoy the ride. I'll try to do updates on a frequent and regular basis, but I'm sure that at times life will get in the way.

If you don't see postings from me in awhile, don't assume that there is something to worry about. I just might be busy and just not have the time and/or the energy, and I will prioritize and make sure that I'm taking care of the most important things first. You are welcome to call or email me any time if you're worried or just want to check up on me.

One final caveat: as most of you know, my way of managing the challenges that I've encountered in my live has been to retell with humor. My humor, unfortunately for you sometimes, is a very gallows sense of humor, but those of you who know me know that this is no cause for alarm. Please don't read between the lines of my often acerbic, dry wit and assume that there is something really wrong. If there is something that you need to worry about, I'll let you know, straight out, no beating around the bush. Most of you know this, but there are a few who will be likely reading this journal and who don't know that about me, so for those of you who this speaks to, please keep that in mind.

So with all this in mind, let's have the story begin...keep in touch, and let me know what you're thinking. If you don't understand something I'm talking about just ask. If you want more of the story, just ask. Also, when there is the occasional post that I think may not be for the faint of heart, I will warn you in advance. You may just want to pass those over, because I'll likely be explicit. Since I'm a nurse and many of my friends are also health care professionals, I'll sometimes address things that they will find both interesting and graphic, and you might find a bit too gory. If I warn you, and you still read and as a result are disturbed, remember, you were warned. So here we go, welcome to The Viral Monologues: a bitter confection of viral infection, introspection, genuflection and intellectual dissection. Welcome aboard, make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened and your tray table is in the upright and locked position.

Maybe you'll learn a thing or two about me that you never knew or thought possible. As I am often told, I'm a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, veiled in opacity and covered in a conundrum. I'm a fiercely loyal friend and a formidable foe. I'm passionate, intense, loving and scary. I'm a thief and a shit-kicker and I want to be famous. I'm fascinated by the outrageous and bored by the mediocre. I'm hedonistic, realistic and supercalafragilistic. Sometimes at parties I can be a wallflower, sometimes I'm the party. I am often self-contradictory and unapologetic. I can be moody and brooding. I can be very funny, often by mistake. I can be frustrating, fascinating and flatulent. But I'm rarely boring. So, with much love to all, welcome to my (our) journey.


Doggydad's Life Now: The Viral Monologues by Parry Tallmadge is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at doggydad.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.runnymedesilkys.com.

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The Viral Monologues, a sour confection of co-infection

Wow, 3 years and 2 days shy of 2 months shy of my last post. It seems like both yesterday and a lifetime ago, so I really don't know where to begin. I'll spend the next day or 2 sorting that out. Hmm...where to start. Loss of lover of 16 years? Loss of 2 beloved dogs in the last 2 years? Living with HIV since 1983? Moving out of San Francisco and into the halcyon suburbs? A complete upheaval of pretty much every facet of my life? Hmm, I think I need to make little slips of paper with topics and pull one out of a jar each time I'm ready for a change of topic.

To those long-time friends who have been with me these last 3 years and pulled me through a horrific, disorienting and painful time (and a lot of good times as well), you know who you are. Please know that I keep you close to my heart at all times. Since you know who you are, I don't need to give an Oscar speech, nor is that really my style. You hopefully know I love you, about as unconditionally as I ever have in my life.

To my newer friends who have come into my crazy life in these last 3 years, not afraid of the baggage I was carrying, you are wonderful people. Again, you know who you are. Please know how grateful I am for your support and love, and I return that love threefold, if that is even possible.

To those I've stepped over, hurt, disrespected, spoken or thought poorly of, or who I have harmed in any other way, physical or emotional, please accept my humble and heartfelt apology. If you don't or can't, I love you anyway, and always have a place in my life for those who want to be there.

To those who have harmed me (or I thought they did), anybody that may have had less than loving intentions toward me, anybody that broke my heart or left me feeling abandoned, anybody that I let make me feel unworthy of love, or even life, for that matter, I forgive you all. Let's try to find a way to heal ourselves and open our hearts again to each other. It's as easy as snapping your fingers or as hard as moving a mountain; it is what you let it be for you. But I bear no grudges; to the contrary, I am extending my hand.

It feels good to be writing again, I will do my best to keep it regularly updated, especially with what I'm facing in the very near future (ok, that will be my next topic). If you read this journal and you love, hate or feel indifferent about anything you read, share it with me and anybody else that might by reading my little stream-of-consciousness pondering. As long as it's a least vaguely respectful I won't censor it.

Thanks for your time, Doggydad has left the building. Aloha.


Doggydad's Life Now: The Viral Monologues by Parry Tallmadge is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at doggydad.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.runnymedesilkys.com.

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