9/11 and Covd

 9/11/2022 14:46 Covid

Last Tuesday, I woke up feeling miserable.  My brain was throbbing, coughing, fatigue and aches and the rest of the symptoms that would make anyone guess, they got it.  I heard the expression a couple of weeks after people were getting hit with Omnicom, it’s not a matter of IF you get it, it’s a matter of WHEN.  I thought I beat it.  I take care of myself.  I eat well and run and workout.  I play baseball.  But it caught me.  I made an appointment at the local Rite Aid and took a test.  The results came back Thursday morning as positive. I took a rapid test which looked inconclusive.  Wednesday and Thursday I was feeling better and thought, I beat this.  Friday, I woke up feeling sicker.  Yesterday, I woke up feeling horrible, as if I had a hold cold, but without the mucus and in the shower, I noticed my sense of smell was gone.  We played our first in a series of three in the playoffs and lost.  We were down a few players, but next weekend we will play a double-header and that will be it for the season unless we win those games.  I feel better today.  Still no smell.  I heard this thing kicks ass for two weeks.  So, I am resting and reading, Stories from the Tenants Downstairs by Sidik Fofana which came from Strand as part of a fiction Book of the month club.  I am enjoying it, the characters are in a series of train wrecks which constantly pop up.  

Received a text from my publisher and they are scheduling interviews and promo pieces.  I need to jump on marketing my book now that it’s out for a year.  It’s time.  Worked on Part II of Bones. 

It has been raining all day.  A stark difference to that day twenty-one years ago.  May those souls rest.

Thank you for reading this  

We Were Promised JetPacks @ Bell House Brooklyn on 9/11/12

Driving into the Brooklyn as night crept up into the sky. Eleven years after the attack. The sky yesterday was clear blue and similar to that morning when we were in a collected shock. Two erect ghostly beams of light shredded into dim stars. This is where we lost loves. This is where souls collected in the city and rose like the lights into heaven. What a difference a night makes for a band. Compared to their performance at Ollie’s Point the night before, We Were Promised Jet Packs kicked it into full gear. This was the last show of a shortened US tour. There was an opening band from Indianapolis and I hope they get someone who can sing instead of a pouting and a somber ho hum murmured clown. A drummer and guitarist and a sound board with licks from the eighties, hey that sounds like The Cure, no sounds like Joy Division, it’s something. No it’s nothing. It was a forgettable opening act. The crowd, roughly three hundred, maybe closer to five hundred by the time We Were Promised Jetpacks walked onto the stage. The Bell House is an open vast venue, tucked in an industrial section of Brooklyn, with two fine bars and a little food section. This place has class; it has chandeliers, cement floors and a dignified crimson curtain. I’d like to get back in there and discover more corners. The band played an extensive set. Adam joked that he didn’t want anyone come up to him after the show and complain why they didn’t play something else. The crowd sang along, screamed out like a chorus of saints. It was amazing to be so close and look back and watch the responses, pumped fists…I’m curious if they are working on their next album. The band has the repudiation for their live shows, but it’s almost a year since they released a new album. I found out last night’s show was being recorded…maybe it’s a live album? I wish Amanda was there. Today she is 18…as I left the venue I pulled a poster promoting the show…a gift for my Mo Cheeks…