All right, but I don't know if you'll like it

I've been asked to stop purloining stuff off the internet and write more about being me. That doesn't seem very interesting to me, so I can't imagine that it's going to be interesting to you, but I'll try...

The words from the old Grateful Dead song ring so true: What a long, strange trip it's been. There's this huge divide between my life Before and my life Now, as if I had really died (instead of just almost dying) and been born again. No, not Born Again; my distaste for religion hasn't diminished in the slightest. But there's this huge dark block of time, weeks and weeks, where I have no memories. None. Even going back to the hospital didn't refresh them. Oh, I remember the morning after, vaguely, and I remember being in the rehab hospital, but the eight or nine weeks in between are gone, sorry. I can read about them in Chris' inestimal blog of my illness, but it's as if I'm reading about someone else, though the photos pretty much prove I was there.
My long-term memory, going back Before, is still pretty good, but my short-term memory (as in an hour ago, or yesterday) is pretty bad. The classic (and sad) example was talking on the phone with my friend (now ex-friend, sadly; his call) David and being distracted, only to come back to the phone and have him ask me (in that accusing tone he did so well) what we'd been talking about. "I dunno." That really pissed him off...
But that, sadly, pathetically, is how it is in here; I just forget. It's why I'm compulsive about writing things down, whether on my computer (thank goodness for the Macintosh) or on various bits of paper that litter my world. (I think I'm the largest single consumer of blank 3x5 cards in the Western Hemisphere.)
Photographs are also good memory aids; I've endeavored to gather and keep as many as I can, and I regularly use my iPhone (thank goodness for Steve Jobs and that invention) to capture people and places I need to remember. I know I've mentioned it earlier (see, some memories do work), but the movie Memento is a classic example of the problem. (I suggest you rent it.)
I owe my very life, of course, to my ladylove Christine. Those of you who fancy themselves my friends should thank her regularly, as I do, for not only saving my life in the early going, but keeping me healthy and sane (well, as sane as I get) these days.
As for the future, well, that's still unclear. Looks, to everyone's surprise but none more than my own, like I'm going to have one, so I'd better figure out what it is I'm going to be now that I'm going to grow older. (I can't really say 'grow up', because I'm not sure I really am; Christine never tires of pointing out my child-like behavior...)
I will continue to write, because that's what I do best. You'll see some of it on-line, and there are always my books you can buy. (Gotta fund that retirement somehow, you know...) I have intentions (and the paint) to do some watercolors, starting with one of my cat (just because she's so unusual looking, and pretty). Then there's the cowboy shooting and the Civil War stuff (including my Civil Wargasm, planned for 2011 through 2015) to keep me occupied.

I've got a few trips planned in the back of my mind for later, mostly to places with a lot of sun and much warm water (gotta have warm water) like here and here.
Enough for now. It's Sunday, supposedly a day of rest, and now I'm going to go do some...