Citizen Pain

If President Obama had time to send an 300-word email to me this afternoon telling me that he is "humbled" to be selected for the Nobel Peace Prize, I certainly should be able to find the time to update my own blog more than once every few days.

Right?

I'm sorry I haven't maintained my quota of posts lately, gang. If I may be so bold as to piggyback on the current emotions of the POTUS, I might even say that I am humbly sorry.

It's been a trying week.

The jury is out regarding whether the meds that the Maxillofacial Surgery doctor prescribed are going to successfully deliver a K.O. to the pain I've been dealing with lately. I've got 10 more days of taking the antibiotics and the muscle relaxant is such a tiny pill I can't imagine that it can travel to all of the places in my head that are causing me grief before it runs out of gas. Sleepless nights cut into the hour or so each morning I set aside for writing, and exhaustion sucks up much of the time in the evening.

Continuing in the kvetching vein, I missed the appointment with the surgeon who said she'd look at my G-tube, due to conflicting work commitments, and I ran into a snafu in the pharmacy getting a refill on the pain meds that the ER prescribed last Saturday.

Right now I'm debating with myself about whether I should catch a screening of "Citizen Kane" tonight at the Linnwood Dunn Theater in Hollywood. The theater is on my way home from the office, and I can kill time at nearby Amoeba Music before the movie begins. It's been a while since I've seen "Citizen Kane" and the Linnwood Dunn may be the finest theater in the city that's open to the public. It also has the distinction of being located in the building that used to house AIDS Project Los Angeles in the mid- to late 90s, so it's always a treat to go there, dial back the years and daydream.

It doesn't need to be a late night for me. An hour of "Citizen Kane" is worth 10 hours of "Zombieland." Besides, I already know that Rosebud was Kane's sl— aw, I don't wanna spoil it for you in case you never saw the film.

Looking ahead, Bob Dylan swings into town next week for a three-gig engagement at the Palladium. Under normal circumstances, I'd be holding tickets for all three nights but I'm going only once.

I'd be a fool to walk out on Bob Dylan, so I'm counting on both him and me having a good night next Wednesday. And when he asks "How does it feel?" I want the pain in my head to be the furthest thing on my mind.