Waiting for the Polygraph

Count Thursday as a failure. I did make it through work, even though the morning was an open question. The hip and knee bothered me during the morning. A couple of ibuprofen did not help and left my stomach roiling. But the afternoon went better; it seems the leg gets better the more I walk.

I made some calls. CC remains ill. I am thinking of getting her to a doctor, but she turned off the phone in the afternoon. I played phone tag with K. I did get to have a long talk with KH - until my arms cramped up too much to hold the phone to my ear - about the changes since 2010, he thinks there is a difference, for the good, in me. My niece called, it looks like her son is looking at the photography stuff I sent her.

As I told KH, I do not think the PO reads these supervised release entries. Oh, well. I also agreed with him about how the pretrial detention stuff is a bit (or more) a little wooly-headed (albeit not quite as deranged as he told they read).  I think one of my reasons for publishing my journal from 2010 stands up: making a record to compared with where I am now.

After dinner, I called it a day a little after seven. I had a chill and started yawning so bad I had the shakes. Waking around 11, I stayed up and did a little reading of email, but accomplished nothing. Now I am up at 5, putting the hot compress on my elbows, watching TV until I started writing this post a little after 6. 

Now, I wait for sister to take me to Carmel for the second polygraph. I will try to catch up on some of what I left off last night, then shower. I am almost done with this post.

When the PO visited the other day, he asked if I had questions about the polygraph, if I was ready for it. I refrained from asking if there was a study guide for it. It is merely another thing which must be encountered, experience, and endured. I guess we will all know how vile I am by the end of it.

A friend wrote me that she thought I was treading water, not living up to my potential. I certainly feel that way this week. The PO keeps asking about how work is going, if I am moving out of this room, made a comment about me living a happy-go-lucky life. Thing is, I do like my life now. No bloody ulcers. No stress over if I am doing more good than harm. No more bouncing through existence with crazy people. What I do not like is not getting more done with my writing. Time and existence has a deadline, I cannot make up for what I have wasted, there is a grave waiting for me. Ambition, worldly success about ruined me, would have been the end of me but for luck. If one person reads these notes and sees themselves and changes their ways, then I have done a good thing with my time. Likewise, if I can write one good story, that will make me happy.

I could be waiting for Godot.

sch 6:33 am