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8/4/05 Stroke Me, Baby
Hey Gonna start this one off with another complaint, typical of late, this complaint being that I'm tired as a bitch, insomnia's been ripping me a new asshole lately, got to sleep last night sometime between 4:30 and 5:00 AM, got awakened by a phone call at 5:23, haven't been to sleep since, I'm tired, Africa tired. I've got some sad tidings to pass along at the end of this one, but first- hey, while many think this thing is strictly about the sturm und drang of being Bill Bitner, it's actually about the good as well as the bad. Ha, I typed "bed" there first time, hello Mr. Freud. To begin, a little good news. Rachel should be in the air even as I type this, and is scheduled to land in Baltimore at 11 pm, today (Thursday). I will be so damn glad to have my baby back home, or if not home, at least back here in the States, you have no idea. It's not that I don't trust Rachel. I don't trust this fucking world. What's Bill been up to? Well, sorry all you non wrestling fans, but the Grapes of Wrath DID work a good match in Hagerstown Saturday, and I feel honor bound to report it. We- (WHO?) -they wrestled a couple more tough kids, HoP is full of 'em, this time a muscley little- 180 little- Lucha type guy, great moves- he did a lionsault on Danny had DFZ gaping in admiration, and this 350 pound (fortunately, most, but not all, of them fat) monster, Tytan (lern to spel). DFZ hit an exploder on Stefan (Lucha guy), then, genuine bastard that he is, went to throw one on Tytan. Do you have NO fucking regard for my knees and shoulder, you shitter? (NONE WHATSOEVER. BUT TELL ME, HOW MUCH COOLER DO I LOOK THROWING A 350 POUND GUY BACK OVER MY HEAD, THAN SOME 180 POUND RUNT?) You're willing to blow my knee caps completely out of my damn body, just so you can look "cool"? (OH, ABSOLUTELY). Well . . . I'm sure it did look cool, that fucker was huge, and you got his ass over great, I was truly impressed. And I'm still able to walk, as well as I could before, anyway, so I guess no (more) harm done. But for fuck's sake . . . At any rate, the Grapes put Stefan and Tytan in their rightful places, which was flat on their backs, and took the win with their "Sour Grapes" (ugh, I didn't name it) double team- sidewalk slam/second rope elbow- finisher. Afterward, we were to head back to Martinsburg to Leggz so I could get with Jynx, and maybe take some photos after. A bunch of the HoP guys were hanging out under this- fucking shit, I am tired, the word won't come to me, one of those tent like things that have a roof and four mesh sides that you can set your shit up under in the summer, to get out of the sun or rain. They had one set up there in the parking lot- and I'd forgotten just how ghetto this section of Hagerstown is- and were hanging out after the show and shooting the shit. They invited me and Danny to join them as we were walking to his car, he wanted to hang out with them terribly, it was almost like, "please, pa", it was only 10 pm, so we reached a compromise, we'd hang with the guys till midnight or so, then head down to Leggz. I couldn't see Jynx getting off before 4 or so, anyway, and why pay a lot for something you're hoping to get for free? There were maybe 8-9 wrestlers hanging, a sorrier named crew you'd be hard pressed to find- Gutterboy, Freak, Skank, Spazzman, Jerkface- Jerkface? (hey, you know on your computer there's this thing you can click to make the letters look like this? Now I do too). Remember, this is the Fed where I ran into Punkazz. We all threw some bucks together- Danny tossed in for me, it's good to be the Death Falcon- for a beer run, a couple 30 packs of Busch, someone pulled a bottle of cheap tequila out of his gear bag, another guy had a bottle of real- okay, I'll stop doing it- cheap vodka, we sat around passing around the bottles like a bunch of stew bums, couple swallows and a chaser of beer and pass to your left, then some guys start passing around a hell of a lot of other things, that were lit on one end, and soon I'm pretty fucking relaxed. It's fun hanging with people who do the same thing that you do, it doesn't have to be wrestling, it can be police work, or drafting, or dental hygienist, whatever, but you have an automatic bond with these folks, and it seems especially strong when what you do combines the elements of trust and danger as complexly as pro wrestling does. We're sitting around all telling our war stories, Danny's in pig heaven, he keeps going "Finally, I'm a made man" cos all these wrestlers were treating him like one of the boys, we get around to telling horror stories, Danny asks, "What's the worst thing that ever happened to you in wrestling, Bill?", I said, "Man, once I had this tag team partner who was so shitty, he was YOU!" It's kind of amusing in an unexpected way, but to a bunch of drunken, well stoned wrestlers it was hilarious, we laughed for ten minutes straight, easy, the laughs would die down, then one guy would start back up again and soon everyone is back to laughing their FAR too buzzed up asses off. Even Danny, who was acting responsibly as a driver, got a laugh out of it, every so often later in the evening he'd cap a statement with, "And he was so shitty, he was ME!" And we'd all laugh like idiots every time. However, you may be able to see where we're going with this. Getting way, WAY too buzzed up with the boys when I'm supposed to see a female later in the evening has been a glaring flaw in my character since pretty much birth. I've always been convinced that I can have my cake and eat it too, which may well be so, but having my buzz with the boys and then my evening with the ladies has very, very seldom worked out well for me. And this night was no different. I wake up in Danny's car sometime in the middle of the night, having eventually passed out there in the parking lot- along with everyone else except Danny and Kev, the only two normally named guys present. I think that's probably significant. He's stopped at a Sheetz to get himself a sub, and has very thoughtfully bought one for me as well, in case I wake up sometime on the ride home and am hungry. Well, I am hungry, I'm DAMN hungry, and it's not for no stinking sub. I blurt out something that was intended to be "Take me to Leggz." Danny must've been expecting that's what I was going to say, cos he sure as hell couldn't have understood the bizarre sound I made, shit, I knew what I was saying and couldn't understand me. "No", he says. I REALLY want to be taken to Leggz. Again, Danny refuses. Seeing I'm winding up, he attempts to justify his decision. "It's"- I forget what time he said it was, but I remember Izzy- oh yeah, I forgot, one of the other wrestlers there was IzzY Stoned- uh, YES!- leaving the impromptu party and saying it was 2 am, and that was a while before I passed out, so whatever time he said, it was late- "(whatever time he said), you're absolutely buzzed out of your fucking mind, you can't fuck, you can't walk, Jesus, I'm not sure you can even MOVE." To prove that I could- move, that is- I head butt Danny in the face and break his glasses. Then, before I can cause further trouble for either of us, I pass back out, trying to open the car door. The next morning Danny's walking around with his glasses super glued together. Why does Danny put up with me? Fuck if I know. Why does ANYONE put up with me? I wake up the next day, head sore and heart sick. Fucking hell, I was all set up with this hot young stripper, and I get fucking wrecked instead. There's time's I just want to strangle me. I call her before I leave town but get no answer. she's probably sensibly still asleep (and she was, she sent me a couple head shots yesterday - ha, I said "head shots"), I'll have Joe put one in here once it hits the site, she says she'll send me the body shots as well if I want. No, see, I want to take them, dammit. I'll be passing back through Martinsburg working the big HoP show in Newville, PA on the 13th, then working some more hardcore stuff there at the Armory the 27th, so hope is not yet all lost. I don't like Red Bull, I never got the energized effect it touts, I think it's all marketing bullshit. I also I think it tastes like carbonated antifreeze (and yeah, I drank antifreeze and vodka once, it's some kind of warped biker drink, I wouldn't recommend it for a number of reasons). However, Talent recommended Fuze green tea- something, I think there's more to the name, I'll have to look at the bottle again- and I think its pretty good stuff. It's real sweet, more so that I like, but honey sweet, and I've gotten used to it, to the point where I actually like it, and a very invigorating drink, try one on my recommendation and see. What else? Nah, fuck it, I'm exhausted, if I don't get to the real reason for this NL, its not gonna happen tonight, cos I'm about gone. In a classic case of, "If the right one don't get ya, the left one will", while we've been all worried about my Mom and her upcoming surgery, the fucking roof has fallen in on my Dad. I'm afraid there won't be any more funny Bill and his Dad stories after this- at least new ones- for a while, and maybe never. Like I said, got to sleep very late last night, to wake up a little before 5:30, to the phone ringing. It's my Mom, almost casually wanting to know if I can come out and help her get my Dad back into bed? B: Back into . . . he fell out of bed? My mom is fucking nuts, and has always called me on I don't know many fucking occasions, when what she truly needs to do is call 911. So I should've taken the extra minute or so before I left the house here to call 911 myself. But she told me twice she'd call. I get to the house to a pretty appalling scene, my Dad's on the bedroom floor on his left side, drooling and making some pretty creepy noises, his right arm is waving and spazzing all around like he's trying to put a spell on us, and he's pissed about a quart of really rank urine all over himself and the bedroom floor- and my Mom's standing there telling my Dad, "Okay, Bit, Bill's here, he'll get you back in bed now." I've known since childhood that my Mom is without question the worst person on the planet to have around in any type emergency situation. She varies from shrieking hysterics, to this total retreat from reality, where if something truly bad is happening, she refuses to acknowledge it. It's creepy, and genuinely nuts, and NO damn good to anyone. B: Where the fuck is that ambulance? Don't get me wrong- my Mom is a very good person, and has been a very good Mother to me- but at that moment I could have cheerfully shot her. I call 911. My Dad is now making intelligible, if slurred, words. D: Get me up, I'll be okay. The ambulance comes and takes my Dad to the hospital, where he's been tested damn near to pieces over the course of the day. The upshot, so far, is that he has indeed had a stroke- not rocket science to figure out- one Doc said major, the other, massive. It's not nearly as bad as it could be- he's not dead, or brain dead, mental function, again so far, seems to be good. The bad part? Right now he has total paralysis of the left side, drawn mouth and left eye, not even sure he can see out of that eye at this point. He's stable, they're still running tests, what we were told most recently was, expect him to be in the hospital for at least a week, and then undergoing in-patient rehab at Institute for an extended- no, I don't know how long that is- period. How much motor function he'll regain on his left side is unknown at this point. He looks both pitiful and ghastly, both Sarah and Tom broke into tears when they saw him. Seeing someone you love in the condition he's in is fucking torture. My sister Lori is staying with him tonight, she goes downstairs earlier this evening to eat with my Mom and Sarah leaving me to stand guard over him. I promise you, they weren't even on the damn elevator before my Dad starts to act up. Eyes still closed, still out of it as far as I can tell- he slept almost all afternoon, I was told- he starts banging his right arm on the bed rail, hard, then harder- B: Hey, stop that, you're gonna hurt yourself . . . stop . . STOP, I said . . . I grab his hand to make him stop, man, there's no problem with the grip in his right hand, he's got a big whammer there just like Hellboy, he bends my thumb back- "Hey, oooww!", then grabs my arm and starts banging IT on the rail. B: HEY . . . dammit, that hurt, will you just settle . . . stop . . . I'm saying stop to you, can you hear me? . . . STOP, WILL YA?! He stops, cos now he has to keep pulling the oxygen canula out of his nose, and off his ears, and start waving it around in the air like he's so proud to show how his right arm still works. B: God BLESS it, will you just STOP. . . I get the canula away from him and back in his nose, and am down in his face, inches away, hooking it around his ears when he suddenly opens his eyes- D: BILL! I damn near jumped out the window. He closes his eyes and starts grabbing for the canula again. B: You know it's me, don't you? That's what it is. You lay here for Lori hour after hour, all good, all I have to do is walk in the damn room and you start to show your ass. Man, can't you go into a nice quiet coma for a couple hours? There's a lady visiting the guy in the next bed who hears me say this and gets all offended- what the fuck business it is of hers is completely beyond me- and wants to get pissy. I'm not in the mood for a fight so I try to defuse things. B: Nah, see, what I'm trying to do is make him mad, so he'll keep fighting, so he'll get well faster. I'm actually trying to help him. She digests this for a moment, "Oh, I see," she says, sounding mildly impressed. Some people will believe fucking anything. And now she'll probably be mean to some poor sick person in future thinking she's helping them. I must be a stone prick, cos I actually find that funny. I'm too tired to go into what all this means for me and my family, but think about it, cos this is how it's going to end up, trust me- me taking care of my aged, invalid Dad. Both of our worst motherfucking nightmares, come true. Give us strength. It's weird, I almost put in last issue, and would have had it not already been running so long, and I was so hammered by the time I finished it- about all these bad dreams I've been having the past month or so. They've all started out very mundane- in one, my Mom, Sarah and I are shopping at some mall, in another, Chris and I are fishing- when I just get this overwhelming feeling of impending doom. I want to run, cos something bad is definitely about to happen, but nothing untoward is going on, I don’t know where TO run, or what from. Not claiming any connection at all between these dreams and what happened today beyond coincidence, by the way. And also by the way, Saturday is still on, if you were coming out here, please still do, Lori's gonna take care of my Mom and Dad that day, and believe me, in the weeks and months to come, I'm going to be seeing plenty, plenty, PLENTY of my parents, and probably not so much of you guys, so come out and enjoy me while you can. I need to go. Later Bill
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The
hardest thing to do in this world is live in it.