Great Brain? He Just Couldn't Use It...

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It is such a very good sign and feeling when that black Honda CR-V comes pulling up in front of my house. I always say the cavalry has arrived (Where is Custer when you need him?) or second shift for that matter. To Maggie, it is a return of one of her prestigious pack members named Papa or Gamma dog.

"How do you do, sir?" my father asked very formally as he stepped inside my home. "I am glad to be at this point in my day."

"Your house smells delicious," my father then added suddenly. "You must've had a Mexican meal tonight."

Dad wanted me to talk about mental illness and how it affected me over the years. Boy, did I have a tale to tell him.

"The only thing that made me feel any better was all that booze from John Barleycorn I drank for years," I told my father of the true most underlying cause to many of my troubles.