the compulsive newyorker – 052122

FESCH.TV INFORMIERT:

I have been slumming for two days in a row, practically unwilling to get out of bed. Yesterday, for example, when I woke at 11am (I work late and usually get to bed around 3am), after playing a game of solitaire on iPod, winning on the first try, I watched several pre-recorded 60min broadcasts of Amanpour & Co with hostess Christiane Amanpour on PBS (Public Broadcasting Service) from this month of May which normally is the near-last thing I watch before joining the sleep-angels, the last thing being the solitaire habit which also includes being the first activity before getting up. I like her because she looks like my mother, black heavy hair and dark eyes. Sometimes I take a photo of her seconds before signing off at the end of the program, as her face image halfway blends into her studio background. I would have done the same slumming today until somehow I managed to pull myself out of my lethargy and general unhappiness with my place in the universe, the place I see myself which is mostly invisible.
What has contributed to this retreat from my normally busy busy life entirely conducted in my studio-apartment on New York UpperWestside, one block from Central Park and a 3/4 view of CP from my 12th floor south facing widows? I have to admit that while writing this, I am actually squirming irritated by spider bites that sting and sting for several days, swelling, turning red, and usually last for ten days or so. What’s the cause of this infestation of spiders? I am so obsessed with my self-selected artist occupation with journal-making (writing, video and audio recording) that I don’t take time to clean my floors and wipe or wash the dust on shelves, counters, tables etc. Spiders like dust and dirt. They build their webs in dust, under furniture, in corners, behind and out of sight. They don’t suck blood but their bite is truly toxic. So, stupidly or not, that’s one other cause of my feeling out of control of my life.
However a more serious interference in my control is what appears to be a fait accompli, meaning that it is near certain that sometime in the next few weeks I will be going through a medical procedure called ‘The Watchman’. This procedure will introduce, penetrate, a catheter into a vein in my leg, up through my body to my heart, penetrate into the left wall of the heart atrial to open a 1 inch [2.2cm] cover over an appendage, closing it in order to prevent blood clots formed there that travel to brain causing stroke in patients with atrial fibrillation. It is described as a minimally invasive procedure lasting 30 minutes under general anesthesia and usually require a day or two in the hospital, and only a few days later to resume most normal activities. 200,000 Watchman implants have been performed over 20 years of clinical trials and real life experience with low complication rates of 0.5% and 94.7% success. Still it has me shaking a bit in my boots. Its primary purpose is to eliminate the blood-thinner medication that otherwise would have to be taken for the rest of my life, whether one day, one week or ten years. I now answer questions about my age with “I am 90 minus 10 months.” I have tried since turning 70 to acclimate myself to old age too often declaring my age, even to strangers in the elevators, or meetings in the park, as a way to accept this massive truth about where I am at in my life’s journey.
Another factor in my ‘slumming’ days is my near total aversion to my iPhone, driving me several times to slamming the device on a table or even near to throwing on the floor – The little arrows, the little ‘x’s that are hardly visible that permit returning to something or advancing in a search for something. Not designed for my 90 year-old brain circuitry. I lose my temper like a baby wanting but not getting.