I am okay. Thanks to those of you that inquired. I have done nothing but sleep since Sunday occasionally letting Maggie out for the bathroom. “This too shall pass,” I keep telling myself. My goal of ninety A.A. meetings in ninety days has been shattered.
I awoke last night in the middle of the night to hear someone walking upstairs. It scared the shit out of me. There was also a strange car in the driveway. I crept upstairs and slowly opened the door leading to the stairs. It was my Great Aunt’s caretaker. I let out a huge sigh of relief. She had a doctor’s appointment and they had decided to come over here to stay.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I told her. “I thought someone had broken in.”
She apologized profusely.
Not much has gone on other than that. I struggle daily to not get drunk. I would like nothing more than to escape in blissful inebriation. I dream of beer. They say Alcoholics Anonymous will mess up your drinking and I believe it. All I can think about is having to pick up that first white chip again (A.A. gives you a white poker chip on your first day of sobriety). It keeps me sober.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
A Conundrum of the Highest Sorts…
I was sound asleep. I kept dreaming I was hearing someone knocking at my backdoor. Actually, someone was knocking at my backdoor. I awakened abruptly as Maggie started to bark. It scared the shit out of me. My heart was racing furiously.
“Hush girl,” I said to quiet her as I got up and put on my robe and bedroom slippers.
I walked to the back door and turned on my porch light. I saw George leaning against the frame of the door. I opened it. He almost fell into the house.
“What in the hell is going on man,” I say. “It is three in the morning.”
“Something’s bad wrong with momma,” George says slurring his words. “She won’t answer the door.”
I let out a big sigh of frustration. I was sleeping so well. I didn’t need this shit tonight.
“Come on in man and sit down. You are drunk as hell,” I say as I open the door wide.
I get on the phone and call George’s mom. It rings maybe twenty times before I almost give up and then she answers.
“Mrs. Jones are you okay?”
“Sweetheart, I am fine,” She says. “What’s wrong?”
“Your son is over here drunk and said there was something wrong with you and you wouldn’t open the door.”
“I told him if he comes in one more night after midnight drunk then I am no longer going to let him in. He will just have to sleep it off in his car. I have to get some sleep.”
I get turned into an instant arbitrator. I sigh even more deeply.
“He can sleep it off over here,” I say. “You go on back to bed.”
“Honey, it ain’t my fault he showed up at your doorstep.”
“I know. You get back to sleep. He will be sobered up by morning.”
George’s mom is in her late seventies having to put up with this kind of crap. I felt sorry for her. Of course, the shit gets dumped onto me. I then walked outside with a flashlight to look George's car for any damage. I couldn’t find any. I walk back inside and George is passed out in my lazy boy recliner.
“Hey man,” I say as I shake him. “Wake up. Let’s go get you into a bed upstairs.”
George leans forward to stand and almost falls into the floor. I have to help him get up. I manage to get him up the stairs and into a bed. I turn on the central heating and air to cool things down. It is hot as hell upstairs.
“You owe me one man,” I say.
George is already passed out on top of the bed and probably won’t remember a thing in the morning.
Now, I can’t go back to sleep. I have tried several times to lie down and rest. I said to hell with it and got up and wrote this. I am going to talk to George’s mom tomorrow about getting him into a detox up in Birmingham. I will take him if he will go. That is going to be the hard part is just getting him to agree to it. If he doesn’t get a drink then his hands shake so bad he can’t even hold one of his cigars. It is really sad and makes me glad to be sober.
“Hush girl,” I said to quiet her as I got up and put on my robe and bedroom slippers.
I walked to the back door and turned on my porch light. I saw George leaning against the frame of the door. I opened it. He almost fell into the house.
“What in the hell is going on man,” I say. “It is three in the morning.”
“Something’s bad wrong with momma,” George says slurring his words. “She won’t answer the door.”
I let out a big sigh of frustration. I was sleeping so well. I didn’t need this shit tonight.
“Come on in man and sit down. You are drunk as hell,” I say as I open the door wide.
I get on the phone and call George’s mom. It rings maybe twenty times before I almost give up and then she answers.
“Mrs. Jones are you okay?”
“Sweetheart, I am fine,” She says. “What’s wrong?”
“Your son is over here drunk and said there was something wrong with you and you wouldn’t open the door.”
“I told him if he comes in one more night after midnight drunk then I am no longer going to let him in. He will just have to sleep it off in his car. I have to get some sleep.”
I get turned into an instant arbitrator. I sigh even more deeply.
“He can sleep it off over here,” I say. “You go on back to bed.”
“Honey, it ain’t my fault he showed up at your doorstep.”
“I know. You get back to sleep. He will be sobered up by morning.”
George’s mom is in her late seventies having to put up with this kind of crap. I felt sorry for her. Of course, the shit gets dumped onto me. I then walked outside with a flashlight to look George's car for any damage. I couldn’t find any. I walk back inside and George is passed out in my lazy boy recliner.
“Hey man,” I say as I shake him. “Wake up. Let’s go get you into a bed upstairs.”
George leans forward to stand and almost falls into the floor. I have to help him get up. I manage to get him up the stairs and into a bed. I turn on the central heating and air to cool things down. It is hot as hell upstairs.
“You owe me one man,” I say.
George is already passed out on top of the bed and probably won’t remember a thing in the morning.
Now, I can’t go back to sleep. I have tried several times to lie down and rest. I said to hell with it and got up and wrote this. I am going to talk to George’s mom tomorrow about getting him into a detox up in Birmingham. I will take him if he will go. That is going to be the hard part is just getting him to agree to it. If he doesn’t get a drink then his hands shake so bad he can’t even hold one of his cigars. It is really sad and makes me glad to be sober.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
A Smoke Before you go…
We all gather outside to smoke after tonight’s speaker meeting. A fellow I have never seen before comes up to me and asks me for a light and just begins to talk to me. It felt kind of awkward at first. I almost thought he was doing a version of his fifth step.
“You know, I used to live down in Key West,” He said.
“Oh really,” I replied. “My big run when I drove an eighteen wheeler was from Birmingham, Alabama down to Key West, Florida.”
“You know that long two lane bridge coming down from Miami?” He asks.
“Sure do,” I replied. “I drove over it many times. You think that bridge will never end.”
“Let me tell you a story about that bridge,” He began. “Me and a buddy were drinking and raising hell driving down that bridge one afternoon. The car in front of us slammed on their brakes and I swerved to miss them. I hit the guardrail and caused a pile up of cars. The shit hit the fan. Me and my buddy were both pretty messed up and hurt.”
“Hmmm…” I said as I smoked my cigarette and listened.
“We sat there for about an hour in pain until a tug boat came along pushing two barges up next to the bridge. The cars were backed up miles behind us. On one barge was a helicopter and on the other was a crane. That crane picked up all the wrecked cars and put them on the one barge to clear the road while the helicopter flew all us injured to the hospital.”
“I always wondered how they would handle an accident on that long bridge,” I replied intrigued at this point. “Did you two go to jail?”
“Sure did after we had been checked out at the hospital,” He said. “I was hung over as hell the next morning thinking how in the hell I am going to myself out of this mess. I finally got my then wife to come bail us out. Bless her soul. I liked to have never heard the end of that one from her.”
The story continued on until I had finished smoking my cigarette and had an excuse to take leave and go head for the ashtray. I thought the fellow was going to talk to me all night. I walked back over and shook his hand and asked him for his name and told him mine. We had skipped those pleasantries initially.
“Bob S.,” He said.
“Good to meet you Bob,” I replied. “Well, I am headed to the house.”
“Only in Alcoholics Anonymous would you meet such an interesting character and hear such an interesting tale,” I thought as I walked to my car and drove on home.
By the way, we had a wonderful motivational speaker tonight. He was this bigwig business man out of Houston, Texas in town for business. His story was fascinating and he was an eloquent and masterful story teller; much better than our usual fare. I left feeling inspired and motivated in my sobriety.
“You know, I used to live down in Key West,” He said.
“Oh really,” I replied. “My big run when I drove an eighteen wheeler was from Birmingham, Alabama down to Key West, Florida.”
“You know that long two lane bridge coming down from Miami?” He asks.
“Sure do,” I replied. “I drove over it many times. You think that bridge will never end.”
“Let me tell you a story about that bridge,” He began. “Me and a buddy were drinking and raising hell driving down that bridge one afternoon. The car in front of us slammed on their brakes and I swerved to miss them. I hit the guardrail and caused a pile up of cars. The shit hit the fan. Me and my buddy were both pretty messed up and hurt.”
“Hmmm…” I said as I smoked my cigarette and listened.
“We sat there for about an hour in pain until a tug boat came along pushing two barges up next to the bridge. The cars were backed up miles behind us. On one barge was a helicopter and on the other was a crane. That crane picked up all the wrecked cars and put them on the one barge to clear the road while the helicopter flew all us injured to the hospital.”
“I always wondered how they would handle an accident on that long bridge,” I replied intrigued at this point. “Did you two go to jail?”
“Sure did after we had been checked out at the hospital,” He said. “I was hung over as hell the next morning thinking how in the hell I am going to myself out of this mess. I finally got my then wife to come bail us out. Bless her soul. I liked to have never heard the end of that one from her.”
The story continued on until I had finished smoking my cigarette and had an excuse to take leave and go head for the ashtray. I thought the fellow was going to talk to me all night. I walked back over and shook his hand and asked him for his name and told him mine. We had skipped those pleasantries initially.
“Bob S.,” He said.
“Good to meet you Bob,” I replied. “Well, I am headed to the house.”
“Only in Alcoholics Anonymous would you meet such an interesting character and hear such an interesting tale,” I thought as I walked to my car and drove on home.
By the way, we had a wonderful motivational speaker tonight. He was this bigwig business man out of Houston, Texas in town for business. His story was fascinating and he was an eloquent and masterful story teller; much better than our usual fare. I left feeling inspired and motivated in my sobriety.
A New Day Dawns…
I stumble out of bed and put on my bedroom slippers and robe. First, I go turn off that damnable air conditioner and the racket it makes. Maggie is waiting at the back door to be let out for her morning run of the yard.
“Hold on girl. Let me go get my coffee started,” I tell her as I yawn and stretch.
I stand at the stove. I can’t see as I have yet to put my contacts in or glasses on. I always prepare my coffee the night before going to bed. I bend over to look closely at the dial on the stove and turn it to high. I am blind as a bat.
The bathroom then beckons.
“One more minute girl. I am coming,” I reply to Maggie as she impatiently wiggles at the back door; far too excited for this early in the morning. It is 6 AM. I must do my business first though. The last time I took a whiz in the backyard in the morning with Maggie a neighbor just happened to be on their early morning walk and saw me as they walked by the house. I caught them in my peripheral vision. You have never seen someone pull up their underwear so fast and close a robe. Yes, that was one of the more embarrassing moments in my recent life. What’s okay for dogs is not so acceptable for us humans; especially when a neighbor is walking by. I can only think of what they thought.
I can hear my coffee start to percolate loudly as I flush the toilet. I yawn and stretch once more.
“I promise I am coming. Let me pour me a cup,” I tell Maggie as I walk through the den.
I know I sound like the elderly Cat Lady at the A.A. meetings taking about or to her cats this morning.
Maggie is looking at me like, “Okay bozo, you better hurry up or I am going to give you a nice little present on this carpet.”
I walk to the back door with my coffee mug in hand and open it. Maggie goes tearing out the door and starts her morning ritual of mostly sniffing around and then at the last minute taking a wee. It as if she has to pick the perfect spot.
I sit outside in one of the wrought iron chairs and watch the sky grow ever brighter. The magical hour has begun and all the neighborhood birds are earnestly calling. I smile, glad to be alive another day. I made it a whole Saturday without drinking with sixty dollars in my wallet. One day at a time as they say. Sundays are a safe day as they don’t sell alcohol on the Lord’s Day due to the Bible belt laws. I would have to drive sixty miles for a beer and that ain’t gonna happen. That sixty dollars has got to last me until next Friday.
I leave the back door open so Maggie can decide when she is ready to come back inside. I awaken my sleeping computer, open Firefox, and check my blog for comments from last night.
“Holy shit!” I exclaim as I see the amount of comments on my last post.
I sit, read them all, and then begin to write this. One things for sure; everyone has a different opinion on religion and the topic is polarizing. It just reaffirms my belief that where you are born determines what religion you will follow. I broke one of my more ardent blog rules yesterday afternoon. Never write about religion or politics. You will just alienate your readers by doing so.
“Hold on girl. Let me go get my coffee started,” I tell her as I yawn and stretch.
I stand at the stove. I can’t see as I have yet to put my contacts in or glasses on. I always prepare my coffee the night before going to bed. I bend over to look closely at the dial on the stove and turn it to high. I am blind as a bat.
The bathroom then beckons.
“One more minute girl. I am coming,” I reply to Maggie as she impatiently wiggles at the back door; far too excited for this early in the morning. It is 6 AM. I must do my business first though. The last time I took a whiz in the backyard in the morning with Maggie a neighbor just happened to be on their early morning walk and saw me as they walked by the house. I caught them in my peripheral vision. You have never seen someone pull up their underwear so fast and close a robe. Yes, that was one of the more embarrassing moments in my recent life. What’s okay for dogs is not so acceptable for us humans; especially when a neighbor is walking by. I can only think of what they thought.
I can hear my coffee start to percolate loudly as I flush the toilet. I yawn and stretch once more.
“I promise I am coming. Let me pour me a cup,” I tell Maggie as I walk through the den.
I know I sound like the elderly Cat Lady at the A.A. meetings taking about or to her cats this morning.
Maggie is looking at me like, “Okay bozo, you better hurry up or I am going to give you a nice little present on this carpet.”
I walk to the back door with my coffee mug in hand and open it. Maggie goes tearing out the door and starts her morning ritual of mostly sniffing around and then at the last minute taking a wee. It as if she has to pick the perfect spot.
I sit outside in one of the wrought iron chairs and watch the sky grow ever brighter. The magical hour has begun and all the neighborhood birds are earnestly calling. I smile, glad to be alive another day. I made it a whole Saturday without drinking with sixty dollars in my wallet. One day at a time as they say. Sundays are a safe day as they don’t sell alcohol on the Lord’s Day due to the Bible belt laws. I would have to drive sixty miles for a beer and that ain’t gonna happen. That sixty dollars has got to last me until next Friday.
I leave the back door open so Maggie can decide when she is ready to come back inside. I awaken my sleeping computer, open Firefox, and check my blog for comments from last night.
“Holy shit!” I exclaim as I see the amount of comments on my last post.
I sit, read them all, and then begin to write this. One things for sure; everyone has a different opinion on religion and the topic is polarizing. It just reaffirms my belief that where you are born determines what religion you will follow. I broke one of my more ardent blog rules yesterday afternoon. Never write about religion or politics. You will just alienate your readers by doing so.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Confessions of a Closet Atheist
I never could grasp the concept of God. That vengeful, vindictive God of the Old Testament always disturbed me. I was also perplexed by many of the concepts of the New Testament. A man being resurrected after dieing for our sins always seemed like an implausible fairy tale to me. What happened to all the other people who came before Christ? Are they in Hell? “Nonsense,” I would say. The very concept that a loving, omniscient God would allow a hell was an aberration in my mind.
What about the other “books” of the bible that were decided by the early church to not be included? There are some, you know. The Gospels of St. Thomas come to mind. The Gospels of St. Thomas had Jesus contradicting himself from things he had said in the other Gospels such as Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John. This always made me think of the Bible as a manmade collected manuscript of tales; not of the Divine.
Also, my scientifically inclined mind would go into overtime over such concepts as a 6000 year old earth and all encompassing floods with no evidence. The very existence of our fossil record and carbon dating precludes a young earth theory that is so touted by creationists. “Hogwash!” I would decree; such fools to believe in such ridiculous things.
I was reading the chapter in the Big Book just moment ago titled “We Agnostics.” I realized that the God above as described didn’t apply to me. I could really, honestly choose a God of my understanding. I could still be a spiritual person without all that baggage of organized religion. It was if I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A revelation occurred. A great sense of peace and understanding overcame me; a God of my understanding; what a novel concept. I guess that is why A.A. has worked for so many Agnostics and Atheists and is starting to work for me.
They say without this spiritual awakening that you will never get sober. I have come to firmly believe it now. I have struggled with drinking for most of my adult life. Drinking has taken so many things away from me; so many opportunities. I have spent most of my life trying to hide it unsuccessfully. I now find myself praying on an almost hourly basis; asking the God of my understanding for strength. If I can find God then the opportunities ahead of me seem almost limitless. There seems to now be a purpose to my life: to get sober and go out and help other alcoholics get and stay sober as well.
What about the other “books” of the bible that were decided by the early church to not be included? There are some, you know. The Gospels of St. Thomas come to mind. The Gospels of St. Thomas had Jesus contradicting himself from things he had said in the other Gospels such as Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John. This always made me think of the Bible as a manmade collected manuscript of tales; not of the Divine.
Also, my scientifically inclined mind would go into overtime over such concepts as a 6000 year old earth and all encompassing floods with no evidence. The very existence of our fossil record and carbon dating precludes a young earth theory that is so touted by creationists. “Hogwash!” I would decree; such fools to believe in such ridiculous things.
I was reading the chapter in the Big Book just moment ago titled “We Agnostics.” I realized that the God above as described didn’t apply to me. I could really, honestly choose a God of my understanding. I could still be a spiritual person without all that baggage of organized religion. It was if I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A revelation occurred. A great sense of peace and understanding overcame me; a God of my understanding; what a novel concept. I guess that is why A.A. has worked for so many Agnostics and Atheists and is starting to work for me.
They say without this spiritual awakening that you will never get sober. I have come to firmly believe it now. I have struggled with drinking for most of my adult life. Drinking has taken so many things away from me; so many opportunities. I have spent most of my life trying to hide it unsuccessfully. I now find myself praying on an almost hourly basis; asking the God of my understanding for strength. If I can find God then the opportunities ahead of me seem almost limitless. There seems to now be a purpose to my life: to get sober and go out and help other alcoholics get and stay sober as well.
The Return of Dumpster Diving Dan!
The always jovial Dan returned on the scene this morning. I hadn’t seen him in days.
“Where have you been?” I asked excitedly glad to see him.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Dan said as he shook my hand vigorously.
“Been busy with meetings and such,” I replied.
“A.A.?” Dan asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “How could you guess?”
“Oh, I have been through those hallowed halls before myself,” Dan said. “I know what ‘meetings’ means.”
I didn’t want to pry, but was curious as to what Dan had experienced.
“What happened to you?” I asked timidly hoping it wouldn’t offend Dan.
“Oh, it was ‘Nam,” He said. “When I came home from ‘Nam, I lived with my parents for a few years. All I did was drink and raise hell. I spent my time at bars at night, working menial jobs in the daytime for drinking money. My parents finally grew tired of my drunken binges and threw me out. I was almost homeless. I had to find a way to sober up, ease the pain of war, and to grow up for a change so I started going to A.A. I lived in Atlanta then.”
“I think we all have skeletons in our closet,” I replied.
“That we do, my friend,” He said.
“Why don’t you go now?” I then asked. “I have never seen you over at any of the meetings.”
“Well, when I finally came to terms with the war, I no longer had the desire to drink,” Dan replied. “I still drink a beer or two every now and then, but I no longer get drunk. I am too old for it. I got what I could out of A.A. and no longer felt the need to go.”
“Ah, I see,” I said.
“Well, let me hit those dumpster before the hog man gets to ‘em,” Dan said. “I am still fighting a war of sorts.”
“Good to see you fighting the good fight,” I replied as I smiled and then went to finish my daily walk.
_________________________________
My father’s new approach…
Well, it seems my father is taking a new approach with me and I think it shall be a good one. I called him this morning asking him about my every two week injection. He had told my psychiatrist that the Nurses down at Dr. Kamath’s office had grown afraid to give it to me; that I had been acting erratically. I still don’t believe that though. They always treated me so nicely. I never felt fear when I was around them.
The phone rang…
“Hello?” My father answered.
“Hey Dad, it’s me,” I replied.
“What do you want?” He asked with an air of meanness in his voice.
“You had said that Dr. Kamath’s nurses were growing afraid of me,” I replied. “I wanted to know if you thought they would still give me my injection every two weeks.”
“Yeah, but you are going to have to take care of it yourself. We are not taking care of you any longer.”
“That’s fine,” I replied. “I think I need to take care of it.”
He hung up the phone.
For the past two years ever since my homelessness, my parents have coddled me and taken care of everything in my life. I think Annabel was right when she got on her soapbox and told me to “suck it up and be a man.” I need to start taking responsibility and taking care of these details for myself. It certainly will help my self esteem and sense of well being knowing that I am acting as an independent adult for a change.
As far as my father is concerned and the meanness I felt in his voice, I hung up the phone and walked back downstairs to write this. I sat in front of my computer, bowed my head and said, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” I felt better immediately.
“Where have you been?” I asked excitedly glad to see him.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Dan said as he shook my hand vigorously.
“Been busy with meetings and such,” I replied.
“A.A.?” Dan asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “How could you guess?”
“Oh, I have been through those hallowed halls before myself,” Dan said. “I know what ‘meetings’ means.”
I didn’t want to pry, but was curious as to what Dan had experienced.
“What happened to you?” I asked timidly hoping it wouldn’t offend Dan.
“Oh, it was ‘Nam,” He said. “When I came home from ‘Nam, I lived with my parents for a few years. All I did was drink and raise hell. I spent my time at bars at night, working menial jobs in the daytime for drinking money. My parents finally grew tired of my drunken binges and threw me out. I was almost homeless. I had to find a way to sober up, ease the pain of war, and to grow up for a change so I started going to A.A. I lived in Atlanta then.”
“I think we all have skeletons in our closet,” I replied.
“That we do, my friend,” He said.
“Why don’t you go now?” I then asked. “I have never seen you over at any of the meetings.”
“Well, when I finally came to terms with the war, I no longer had the desire to drink,” Dan replied. “I still drink a beer or two every now and then, but I no longer get drunk. I am too old for it. I got what I could out of A.A. and no longer felt the need to go.”
“Ah, I see,” I said.
“Well, let me hit those dumpster before the hog man gets to ‘em,” Dan said. “I am still fighting a war of sorts.”
“Good to see you fighting the good fight,” I replied as I smiled and then went to finish my daily walk.
My father’s new approach…
Well, it seems my father is taking a new approach with me and I think it shall be a good one. I called him this morning asking him about my every two week injection. He had told my psychiatrist that the Nurses down at Dr. Kamath’s office had grown afraid to give it to me; that I had been acting erratically. I still don’t believe that though. They always treated me so nicely. I never felt fear when I was around them.
The phone rang…
“Hello?” My father answered.
“Hey Dad, it’s me,” I replied.
“What do you want?” He asked with an air of meanness in his voice.
“You had said that Dr. Kamath’s nurses were growing afraid of me,” I replied. “I wanted to know if you thought they would still give me my injection every two weeks.”
“Yeah, but you are going to have to take care of it yourself. We are not taking care of you any longer.”
“That’s fine,” I replied. “I think I need to take care of it.”
He hung up the phone.
For the past two years ever since my homelessness, my parents have coddled me and taken care of everything in my life. I think Annabel was right when she got on her soapbox and told me to “suck it up and be a man.” I need to start taking responsibility and taking care of these details for myself. It certainly will help my self esteem and sense of well being knowing that I am acting as an independent adult for a change.
As far as my father is concerned and the meanness I felt in his voice, I hung up the phone and walked back downstairs to write this. I sat in front of my computer, bowed my head and said, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” I felt better immediately.
Nightly Routines
I have a nightly routine that brings joy to my soul. Usually around 6 PM, I start to make my way to my nightly 7 PM AA meeting. This entails a long drive out into the country to view the anvils of thunderheads that have formed on the horizon which have been many these past few weeks. I then make my way out county road 209 which brings me full circle back into town. I stop by the shopping center and buy my 30 cent can of soda. I am trying to limit myself to one a day. It is a sweet carbonated treat I relish.
Tonight’s meeting went okay. Friday nights we have this one very elderly lady who usually spends twenty minutes or more talking or should I say rambling about the twenty odd something cats she owns. I think this aggravates some of the other members, but I find her kind and endearing. She is originally from Chicago and has a strong mid-west accent; something you don’t hear very often in the South.
After my meeting, I come home and fix supper. Tonight, I was lazy and cooked two chicken pot pies in the oven and doctored them up with a little butter, a dash of salt, pepper, and lemon juice. Dinner was ready around 9 PM. About this time, I turn on my air conditioner after a hot day and let my little apartment get icy cold for sleeping.
After dinner, I take my nightly meds and usually browse all my favorite blogs. The best time to read is at night after everyone has updated during the day. I was amused to see “The Homeless Guy” trying to sell a voided and used food stamp card on EBAY tonight. That has to be one of his most hair brained ideas yet. The auction is just at over $7; furious bidding I tell you. He wrote, “One day I'll be even more famous than I am now, and this card will be worth a lot. For those who do not know, I am the author of the blog, "The Homeless Guy". Invest in the future and bid on this item.” “How arrogant,” I thought bemused.
Usually around 11 PM, I head for the bed after the rooms have grown cold which takes about two hours. I pour me a glass of ice water, bring my cigarettes and ash tray to the side of the bed, and crawl in. I listen to The Big 870 out of New Orleans for a few hours. Even though New Orleans is hundreds of miles away, I pick it up perfectly every night with my cheap little twenty year old alarm clock. At 1 AM, Coast to Coast AM comes on and I try to stay up and listen to the first hour. Their discussions of the paranormal, aliens, etc. amuse me. Somewhere during this time, I fall asleep and usually dream the most vivid dreams during the night.
I wake up in the morning and it all begins anew. And this has to be my most boring post evar! I promise to get back to my normal writing stories routine soon. I just haven’t seen much of the gang these past few days. I have been terribly busy with meetings and such.
Tonight’s meeting went okay. Friday nights we have this one very elderly lady who usually spends twenty minutes or more talking or should I say rambling about the twenty odd something cats she owns. I think this aggravates some of the other members, but I find her kind and endearing. She is originally from Chicago and has a strong mid-west accent; something you don’t hear very often in the South.
After my meeting, I come home and fix supper. Tonight, I was lazy and cooked two chicken pot pies in the oven and doctored them up with a little butter, a dash of salt, pepper, and lemon juice. Dinner was ready around 9 PM. About this time, I turn on my air conditioner after a hot day and let my little apartment get icy cold for sleeping.
After dinner, I take my nightly meds and usually browse all my favorite blogs. The best time to read is at night after everyone has updated during the day. I was amused to see “The Homeless Guy” trying to sell a voided and used food stamp card on EBAY tonight. That has to be one of his most hair brained ideas yet. The auction is just at over $7; furious bidding I tell you. He wrote, “One day I'll be even more famous than I am now, and this card will be worth a lot. For those who do not know, I am the author of the blog, "The Homeless Guy". Invest in the future and bid on this item.” “How arrogant,” I thought bemused.
Usually around 11 PM, I head for the bed after the rooms have grown cold which takes about two hours. I pour me a glass of ice water, bring my cigarettes and ash tray to the side of the bed, and crawl in. I listen to The Big 870 out of New Orleans for a few hours. Even though New Orleans is hundreds of miles away, I pick it up perfectly every night with my cheap little twenty year old alarm clock. At 1 AM, Coast to Coast AM comes on and I try to stay up and listen to the first hour. Their discussions of the paranormal, aliens, etc. amuse me. Somewhere during this time, I fall asleep and usually dream the most vivid dreams during the night.
I wake up in the morning and it all begins anew. And this has to be my most boring post evar! I promise to get back to my normal writing stories routine soon. I just haven’t seen much of the gang these past few days. I have been terribly busy with meetings and such.
Friday, August 11, 2006
I Am Okay
I have just been really busy the past few days with Alcoholics Anonymous. I have been going to as many meetings as I can get to. I have read the Big Book for hours and have tried my best to find a “higher power” or in other words “a God of my understanding.” It does help. I have even tried praying for a change and doing daily devotionals revolving around the twelve steps.
I have also been struggling with quitting cigarettes, but just couldn’t do it tonight. I managed to make it twenty four hours and have just gone down to Fat Albert’s and bought some. I had some nicorette gum, but was afraid to use it as it had expired in 6/2005. I went a year one time without drinking or smoking and I was hoping by quitting cigarettes I could recapture that most healthy time in my life. I was even jogging every night. An old timer at AA told me not to try to quit too much at once after our meeting this meeting. He said I was setting myself up for failure. He is probably right.
As far as Dad is concerned, he has just been acting very distant and cold to me. I don’t think he is going to do anything any longer. We have gone back to our routine of him giving me $85 dollars every week for groceries, cigs, etc.
All of this just puts a lot of stress upon me and I get out of my usual routines. It affects my writing and demeanor as well. I don’t want this to turn into some “drama” blog though that constantly keeps my readers worrying about me. I am okay; just under a lot of anxiety at the moment. There is no need to worry I assure you. I am doing okay and am sober taking it one day at a time.
I have also been struggling with quitting cigarettes, but just couldn’t do it tonight. I managed to make it twenty four hours and have just gone down to Fat Albert’s and bought some. I had some nicorette gum, but was afraid to use it as it had expired in 6/2005. I went a year one time without drinking or smoking and I was hoping by quitting cigarettes I could recapture that most healthy time in my life. I was even jogging every night. An old timer at AA told me not to try to quit too much at once after our meeting this meeting. He said I was setting myself up for failure. He is probably right.
As far as Dad is concerned, he has just been acting very distant and cold to me. I don’t think he is going to do anything any longer. We have gone back to our routine of him giving me $85 dollars every week for groceries, cigs, etc.
All of this just puts a lot of stress upon me and I get out of my usual routines. It affects my writing and demeanor as well. I don’t want this to turn into some “drama” blog though that constantly keeps my readers worrying about me. I am okay; just under a lot of anxiety at the moment. There is no need to worry I assure you. I am doing okay and am sober taking it one day at a time.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Overcoming Desire
I was overcome with a great thirst this morning that almost couldn’t be quenched. I managed to scrape up enough change for a Gatorade. I drove down to Fat Albert’s this morning to get it. The place was bustling with activity. Carolyn was just getting off of work.
“This place is crazy,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” She replied. “Donna wanted me to work over into first shift and I told her hell no. They don’t pay me enough.”
I had to wait a long time to purchase my Gatorade. I got stuck behind one of the lottery addicts.
“Give me two number fives and three thirteen’s,” They said relating to those scratch off tickets. They then stood at the counter to scratch them off as if salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
“Excuse me,” I said. “But I want to make a purchase.”
The lady got all mad with me and acted as if I had just asked her to take off all her clothes. Believe me, that wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.
“Fuckin’ idiot,” I muttered under my breath.
I and Carolyn then walked outside and sat in her car.
“Come over and crawl into the bed with me,” She said. “I really don’t want to be alone.”
“I will just keep you up,” I replied. “I slept well last night.”
“We don’t have to necessarily sleep,” She replied smiling full of innuendo.
“Maybe some other time,” I replied.
I can’t believe I passed up sex, but just wasn’t in the mood for it this morning. I gave Carolyn a hug as if it were to be my last and she drove home to go eat breakfast and then crawl into the bed after a hard night’s work.
“This place is crazy,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” She replied. “Donna wanted me to work over into first shift and I told her hell no. They don’t pay me enough.”
I had to wait a long time to purchase my Gatorade. I got stuck behind one of the lottery addicts.
“Give me two number fives and three thirteen’s,” They said relating to those scratch off tickets. They then stood at the counter to scratch them off as if salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
“Excuse me,” I said. “But I want to make a purchase.”
The lady got all mad with me and acted as if I had just asked her to take off all her clothes. Believe me, that wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.
“Fuckin’ idiot,” I muttered under my breath.
I and Carolyn then walked outside and sat in her car.
“Come over and crawl into the bed with me,” She said. “I really don’t want to be alone.”
“I will just keep you up,” I replied. “I slept well last night.”
“We don’t have to necessarily sleep,” She replied smiling full of innuendo.
“Maybe some other time,” I replied.
I can’t believe I passed up sex, but just wasn’t in the mood for it this morning. I gave Carolyn a hug as if it were to be my last and she drove home to go eat breakfast and then crawl into the bed after a hard night’s work.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
A Rough Night for Ferret…
I spoke to Ferret for a brief time today. He had talked to Sherman and Sherman told him of all the beer we had drank last night. Ferret wanted the empty cans.
“I got soaked last night. Just fuckin’ soaked,” He replied. “My tent leaked.”
I walked into the house and got him some seam sealer for his tent. I had a tube to spare.
“That was one hell of a storm and it blew up outta nowhere,” I said. “My great grandfather would always say that if it rained at night in July or August in the South then it was going to be one hell of a rain.”
“I just hope my sleeping bag doesn’t mildew,” Ferret said. “I did manage to get all my clothes into a trash bag though so they are dry.”
“Are you headed down to the shopping center?” I asked after Ferret had gathered all the cans.
“Yeah, I am headed that way,” Ferret replied. “I am going to check the dumpsters behind it. Good thing Dan doesn’t like cans.”
“Hold on and I will walk with you,” I said.
I and Ferret headed on down to the shopping center. Ferret immediately went and crawled into one of the big dumpsters to poke around for cans. I walked on around front to see what Big S was up. I sat down next to him.
“Hot as hell today,” Big S said as he wiped his brow. “Sherman told me about your father trying to gain power of attorney over you.”
“Yeah, that is some fucked up shit,” I replied. “He thinks I need help taking care of myself.”
Droopy then came walking up with that eternal sad look on his face.
“Cigarette?” Droopy asked.
I pulled the pack out of shirt pocket and gave him one.
“Why do none of you fuckers ever have any cigarettes?” I asked perplexed. “You all smoke.”
“I don’t need to buy cigarettes when I got you to bum them off of,” Big S said as he laughed.
“Fuckin’ moochin’ bastard,” I replied as I smiled.
Big S and Droopy then got into this long conversation about the storm last night.
“I ain’t never seen it thunder and lightening like that,” Big S said.
“Me neither,” Droopy replied. “I had lightening strike so close to the house that I thought it had gotten hit.”
They kept on talking about the storm and I walked on home. My social requirements for the day had been fulfilled.
“I got soaked last night. Just fuckin’ soaked,” He replied. “My tent leaked.”
I walked into the house and got him some seam sealer for his tent. I had a tube to spare.
“That was one hell of a storm and it blew up outta nowhere,” I said. “My great grandfather would always say that if it rained at night in July or August in the South then it was going to be one hell of a rain.”
“I just hope my sleeping bag doesn’t mildew,” Ferret said. “I did manage to get all my clothes into a trash bag though so they are dry.”
“Are you headed down to the shopping center?” I asked after Ferret had gathered all the cans.
“Yeah, I am headed that way,” Ferret replied. “I am going to check the dumpsters behind it. Good thing Dan doesn’t like cans.”
“Hold on and I will walk with you,” I said.
I and Ferret headed on down to the shopping center. Ferret immediately went and crawled into one of the big dumpsters to poke around for cans. I walked on around front to see what Big S was up. I sat down next to him.
“Hot as hell today,” Big S said as he wiped his brow. “Sherman told me about your father trying to gain power of attorney over you.”
“Yeah, that is some fucked up shit,” I replied. “He thinks I need help taking care of myself.”
Droopy then came walking up with that eternal sad look on his face.
“Cigarette?” Droopy asked.
I pulled the pack out of shirt pocket and gave him one.
“Why do none of you fuckers ever have any cigarettes?” I asked perplexed. “You all smoke.”
“I don’t need to buy cigarettes when I got you to bum them off of,” Big S said as he laughed.
“Fuckin’ moochin’ bastard,” I replied as I smiled.
Big S and Droopy then got into this long conversation about the storm last night.
“I ain’t never seen it thunder and lightening like that,” Big S said.
“Me neither,” Droopy replied. “I had lightening strike so close to the house that I thought it had gotten hit.”
They kept on talking about the storm and I walked on home. My social requirements for the day had been fulfilled.
Thunder, the music to my soul…
We had one hell of a storm last night. It thundered for what seemed like hours. “Music to my soul,” I thought as I stood at the refrigerator and drank milk straight from the carton. I have always enjoyed doing that ever since I was an adult. Mom would always scold me for doing it as a child. “You’ll make the milk go sour,” She would say as if milk was some golden substance to be cherished. “Hogwash,” I always thought. I can go buy another.
I thought of Ferret and how he fared through last night’s storm; sitting in his cheap Wal-Mart tent. It was a definite gulley washer. Not your usual storm, but a downright maelstrom. It was violent.
George came by during the middle of that storm. For him, the weather is just a mere inconvenience. We could have a major hurricane blow through and George would be out driving in it like a retard.
“Damn, God decided to piss on us tonight,” George said as he stepped through my door.
I couldn’t help but laugh; another Georgeism.
“What do you need man?” I asked.
“Hell, I decided to check on you,” George replied. “I know you are going through hell right now.”
George reeked of stale and foul smelling beer breath.
“For god’s sake,” I replied. “Sober up man. You are going to get yourself killed.”
“I ain’t never been struck by lightening,” George said with a confused look on his face.
“I meant the drinking and driving you dumbass,” I replied and we both burst out laughing. It was contagious.
George had brought my favorite beer Heineken; two six packs.
“These are for you and these are for me,” He said pointed to the case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice he was carrying as well after running back out to his car to get it.
We both sat and gotten completely sloshed as the storm raged outside. It was an enjoyable evening. I had a gulley washer going on outside and one in my gullet as well. It was late enough in the evening that I knew no relatives would come by so felt safe in getting drunk. The last thing I remembered was waking up at 3 AM. The storm had passed and George was gone. The first thing I did this morning was to crack open another beer; nothing like a Heineken first thing in the morning.
I thought of Ferret and how he fared through last night’s storm; sitting in his cheap Wal-Mart tent. It was a definite gulley washer. Not your usual storm, but a downright maelstrom. It was violent.
George came by during the middle of that storm. For him, the weather is just a mere inconvenience. We could have a major hurricane blow through and George would be out driving in it like a retard.
“Damn, God decided to piss on us tonight,” George said as he stepped through my door.
I couldn’t help but laugh; another Georgeism.
“What do you need man?” I asked.
“Hell, I decided to check on you,” George replied. “I know you are going through hell right now.”
George reeked of stale and foul smelling beer breath.
“For god’s sake,” I replied. “Sober up man. You are going to get yourself killed.”
“I ain’t never been struck by lightening,” George said with a confused look on his face.
“I meant the drinking and driving you dumbass,” I replied and we both burst out laughing. It was contagious.
George had brought my favorite beer Heineken; two six packs.
“These are for you and these are for me,” He said pointed to the case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice he was carrying as well after running back out to his car to get it.
We both sat and gotten completely sloshed as the storm raged outside. It was an enjoyable evening. I had a gulley washer going on outside and one in my gullet as well. It was late enough in the evening that I knew no relatives would come by so felt safe in getting drunk. The last thing I remembered was waking up at 3 AM. The storm had passed and George was gone. The first thing I did this morning was to crack open another beer; nothing like a Heineken first thing in the morning.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Out of the Dark…
Sorry about that last post. I don’t mean to cause concern. When you get in the funks like I have been experiencing, life seems so pointless with no direction. Things get to seem pretty grim. I have literally slept for a week.
I just walked down to the shopping center to buy my daily Gatorade and to get out of the house. I managed to scrounge up a dollar and some change. Big S was sitting out front as usual in the heat accompanied by Droopy.
“Where in the hell have you been lately?” Big S asked me.
“In the bed,” I reply.
“You slept all fucking week?” Big S asked.
“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well,” I replied.
I sat down next to Big S to drink my Gatorade.
“Got a cigarette?” Big S asked.
I pulled my pack out from my shirt pocket and gave him one. Droopy was standing up against the wall next to the bench and greedily eyed our little exchange. I was expecting him to ask for one as well, but he never did.
“George’s been asking about you,” Big S said. “We all got worried as we see you about once a day down here. Cap w/Tag Guy even spoke to ask about you.”
“Yeah, I kept expecting George to show up at the house any day now. You know how nosey he can be,” I replied.
“Cap w/Tag Guy actually spoke?” I then asked incredulously as I smiled as I took another drag off of my cigarette.
“I kept expecting the second coming of Christ after that one,” Big S said as he smiled back. “Dat nigga don’t ever speak.”
I and Big S finished smoking our cigarettes. The Gatorade tasted absolutely delicious and refreshing as well. I then bid the fellas farewell and walked on home. It was nice to get out of the house for a change.
I just walked down to the shopping center to buy my daily Gatorade and to get out of the house. I managed to scrounge up a dollar and some change. Big S was sitting out front as usual in the heat accompanied by Droopy.
“Where in the hell have you been lately?” Big S asked me.
“In the bed,” I reply.
“You slept all fucking week?” Big S asked.
“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well,” I replied.
I sat down next to Big S to drink my Gatorade.
“Got a cigarette?” Big S asked.
I pulled my pack out from my shirt pocket and gave him one. Droopy was standing up against the wall next to the bench and greedily eyed our little exchange. I was expecting him to ask for one as well, but he never did.
“George’s been asking about you,” Big S said. “We all got worried as we see you about once a day down here. Cap w/Tag Guy even spoke to ask about you.”
“Yeah, I kept expecting George to show up at the house any day now. You know how nosey he can be,” I replied.
“Cap w/Tag Guy actually spoke?” I then asked incredulously as I smiled as I took another drag off of my cigarette.
“I kept expecting the second coming of Christ after that one,” Big S said as he smiled back. “Dat nigga don’t ever speak.”
I and Big S finished smoking our cigarettes. The Gatorade tasted absolutely delicious and refreshing as well. I then bid the fellas farewell and walked on home. It was nice to get out of the house for a change.
A Good Drink for the Two of Us…
George came over this morning bearing a case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice. I gave in this morning and drank three. To be honest, that swill is the most awful tasting beer. George drinks it because it is cheap and has a very, very high alcohol content. A case costs $11.99 down at Fat Albert’s and is even cheaper at Wal-Mart. Twelve will get you shit faced. The alcohol content is 6 % per beer; twice that of normal beer.
“You know dad is trying to get power of attorney over me,” I told George. “He hired a very expensive lawyer.”
“That son of a bitch doesn’t play around, does he?” George said. “He just don’t give up.”
“He thinks I am a danger to myself and says the police keep calling about me,” I replied.
“Let me tell you something,” George said. “The police don’t call about you. They come and get you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “It is just bullshit.”
“What are you going to do?” George asked.
“I am going to relinquish control back over to dad and give in,” I replied. “I am tired of fighting. I guess I am going away.”
“Go away man. Leave,” George replied. “Pack your car up and drive off. They can’t lock you up if they can’t find you.”
“I have nowhere to go,” I replied sadly. “It is best that I just quit fighting.”
“I never thought I would tell you this, but you should just go back to being homeless,” George said. “At least then, you will be free.”
“They would just find me and come and get me,” I replied.
Maggie ran up and down my back yard so joyous to be out of the house. It made me smile to watch her; one of life’s small little joys.
“George, do I act crazy?” I asked.
“I think you have just been labeled as crazy and now it has stuck,” George replied.
“Well, I do have problems with the ghosting and shit, but I am not running out in the streets babbling incoherently,” I said.
“I wish I knew what to tell you,” George replied. “I would do what I could to help you.”
“I know you would man,” I said. “You are a good friend and I would do the same for you.”
George went and threw his empty beer can away and I managed to get Maggie back inside. It was no small feat as she was having so much fun.
“Let’s just get rip roarin’ drunk,” George said. “You never drink these days.”
“I would just be adding fuel to the fire,” I replied. “It would just be another reason that I am a danger to myself. With my luck, every family member I know would come right over to find out.”
George told me goodbye and drove off. He had to get busy making some money. He just drank up a good day’s work. I worry about him drinking and driving like that. He is far more a danger to himself and others than I. Eventually, it will catch up with him.
I was thinking this morning as we sat and drank how George has a choice with his freedom and gambles with it constantly. One accident; one fender bender; and he would lose his freedom. I have no choice. Someone is purposely trying to take mine away.
“You know dad is trying to get power of attorney over me,” I told George. “He hired a very expensive lawyer.”
“That son of a bitch doesn’t play around, does he?” George said. “He just don’t give up.”
“He thinks I am a danger to myself and says the police keep calling about me,” I replied.
“Let me tell you something,” George said. “The police don’t call about you. They come and get you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “It is just bullshit.”
“What are you going to do?” George asked.
“I am going to relinquish control back over to dad and give in,” I replied. “I am tired of fighting. I guess I am going away.”
“Go away man. Leave,” George replied. “Pack your car up and drive off. They can’t lock you up if they can’t find you.”
“I have nowhere to go,” I replied sadly. “It is best that I just quit fighting.”
“I never thought I would tell you this, but you should just go back to being homeless,” George said. “At least then, you will be free.”
“They would just find me and come and get me,” I replied.
Maggie ran up and down my back yard so joyous to be out of the house. It made me smile to watch her; one of life’s small little joys.
“George, do I act crazy?” I asked.
“I think you have just been labeled as crazy and now it has stuck,” George replied.
“Well, I do have problems with the ghosting and shit, but I am not running out in the streets babbling incoherently,” I said.
“I wish I knew what to tell you,” George replied. “I would do what I could to help you.”
“I know you would man,” I said. “You are a good friend and I would do the same for you.”
George went and threw his empty beer can away and I managed to get Maggie back inside. It was no small feat as she was having so much fun.
“Let’s just get rip roarin’ drunk,” George said. “You never drink these days.”
“I would just be adding fuel to the fire,” I replied. “It would just be another reason that I am a danger to myself. With my luck, every family member I know would come right over to find out.”
George told me goodbye and drove off. He had to get busy making some money. He just drank up a good day’s work. I worry about him drinking and driving like that. He is far more a danger to himself and others than I. Eventually, it will catch up with him.
I was thinking this morning as we sat and drank how George has a choice with his freedom and gambles with it constantly. One accident; one fender bender; and he would lose his freedom. I have no choice. Someone is purposely trying to take mine away.
Monday, August 07, 2006
A Nice Life…
George really has it made. He has a mother who cooks and cleans and keeps the house spotless. All George has to do is occasionally drive around carrying patrons for money and drink beer. I find myself jealous of him. I know I shouldn’t think that way. The man is on the way to cirrhosis of the liver; a not so enviable proposition. His mother loves him unconditionally though.
It has been hot as hell today. I have sat here and sweated for hours. I know I should break down and turn on the AC. I just don’t want to spend that money. I am determined I can prove to my father that I can pay my own way. I am hell bent I guess you could say.
I am unsure what to do about my father. We haven’t spoken since the trip to my psychiatrist. It all seems so silly. Life is too short for such games I think. I broke down and cried for the longest time today; great deep sobs. I just don’t know what to do. I thought of returning control back over to my father to ease things, but then I would be just as miserable. It is a conundrum to say the least. I love the man so deeply. His love is a conditional love though.
I wish I could just disappear; step out into the night and no longer return. I have thought of packing up everything I can carry in my car and driving off. I am tired of being punished for just being me. That is the way it feels as if I am being punished. The controlling, manipulative aspects of my father drive me crazy. I promise you that I am not a bad man. I think I am a kind and caring fellow. I would go to the farthest lengths for a friend in need.
I am tired and I think I shall sleep. It is time to call it a day. At least in blissful sleep, I don’t have to think of all that ire’s me.
It has been hot as hell today. I have sat here and sweated for hours. I know I should break down and turn on the AC. I just don’t want to spend that money. I am determined I can prove to my father that I can pay my own way. I am hell bent I guess you could say.
I am unsure what to do about my father. We haven’t spoken since the trip to my psychiatrist. It all seems so silly. Life is too short for such games I think. I broke down and cried for the longest time today; great deep sobs. I just don’t know what to do. I thought of returning control back over to my father to ease things, but then I would be just as miserable. It is a conundrum to say the least. I love the man so deeply. His love is a conditional love though.
I wish I could just disappear; step out into the night and no longer return. I have thought of packing up everything I can carry in my car and driving off. I am tired of being punished for just being me. That is the way it feels as if I am being punished. The controlling, manipulative aspects of my father drive me crazy. I promise you that I am not a bad man. I think I am a kind and caring fellow. I would go to the farthest lengths for a friend in need.
I am tired and I think I shall sleep. It is time to call it a day. At least in blissful sleep, I don’t have to think of all that ire’s me.
A House Full…
Charlie and his family is showing their house for sale and had come over here to stay for awhile. I started out a few days ago and went camping to escape this crowded house. I had a wonderful time. It was so nice to get away and get in the woods. I was greeted by a pleasant light show of lightening after sunset both days.
I should have said I was going, but it was a spur of the moment thing. I had several phone calls concerned about me and many emails. I am sorry if I have caused any concern. I am okay. I just sometimes need to get away and there is nothing more than I love than camping. It was long overdue.
I should have said I was going, but it was a spur of the moment thing. I had several phone calls concerned about me and many emails. I am sorry if I have caused any concern. I am okay. I just sometimes need to get away and there is nothing more than I love than camping. It was long overdue.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Cleaning Up…
I took a box of trash bags down to Ferret’s campsite and cleaned it up. I had two big bags of trash when all was said and done. Ferret was nowhere to be seen. I am going to make a concerted effort to find him today. According to Sherman, he has been walking the town picking up cans. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.
Am I being meddling? I worry that I am overstepping my bounds. I just know from my own homeless experience that I would have loved for someone to help. I hope Ferret feels the same. I don’t want to be a pest though. That is the least of my intentions.
Am I being meddling? I worry that I am overstepping my bounds. I just know from my own homeless experience that I would have loved for someone to help. I hope Ferret feels the same. I don’t want to be a pest though. That is the least of my intentions.
Sleeping Beauty
Carolyn called awhile ago and asked if she could come over here to sleep.
“I don’t have my air conditioner on,” I replied. “But we can put a fan to blow upon you.”
“I don’t care. I just want to be near you,” She said. “I will sleep better knowing you are near.”
I gave in and shut my windows and turned on that noxiously aggravating air conditioner. Carolyn showed up shortly.
“You know I love you,” She said. “I am glad you are not going away.”
“I love you too,” I said, but felt funny saying it.
I sat on the bed as Carolyn undressed down to her panties and took off her bra.
“Got a t-shirt?” She asked.
I went to my chest of drawers and pulled one out. I smelled it to make sure it was clean and not musty from disuse. I handed it to Carolyn and she put it on.
“You go about your normal activities,” She said. “You will not wake me.”
“I will try to stay quiet,” I replied.
This morning was one of the rare mornings that I actually took the time to make up my bed. I pulled back the covers and Carolyn crawled inside.
“Oh, this feels so good,” She said as she wrapped her arm around one of my pillows and curled up into my covers.
I started to walk out of the room.
“Stay with me for awhile,” Carolyn said.
I sat down by the bed and held her hand.
“Could you ever see us married?” She asked.
The M word. It caught me by surprise. I didn’t know what to say in return.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” She said. “I apologize.”
“No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all,” I replied.
I held her hand for the longest time until I was sure she was fast asleep. I gently tucked it under the covers and left the room. It is so nice having her over here. I know I should be cautious, but I get so lonely for female company. My family would die if I were to marry a woman ten years my senior. I wonder if I and Carolyn have a future or will remain fuck buddies. Either way, I am glad she is over here and in my bed.
“I don’t have my air conditioner on,” I replied. “But we can put a fan to blow upon you.”
“I don’t care. I just want to be near you,” She said. “I will sleep better knowing you are near.”
I gave in and shut my windows and turned on that noxiously aggravating air conditioner. Carolyn showed up shortly.
“You know I love you,” She said. “I am glad you are not going away.”
“I love you too,” I said, but felt funny saying it.
I sat on the bed as Carolyn undressed down to her panties and took off her bra.
“Got a t-shirt?” She asked.
I went to my chest of drawers and pulled one out. I smelled it to make sure it was clean and not musty from disuse. I handed it to Carolyn and she put it on.
“You go about your normal activities,” She said. “You will not wake me.”
“I will try to stay quiet,” I replied.
This morning was one of the rare mornings that I actually took the time to make up my bed. I pulled back the covers and Carolyn crawled inside.
“Oh, this feels so good,” She said as she wrapped her arm around one of my pillows and curled up into my covers.
I started to walk out of the room.
“Stay with me for awhile,” Carolyn said.
I sat down by the bed and held her hand.
“Could you ever see us married?” She asked.
The M word. It caught me by surprise. I didn’t know what to say in return.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” She said. “I apologize.”
“No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all,” I replied.
I held her hand for the longest time until I was sure she was fast asleep. I gently tucked it under the covers and left the room. It is so nice having her over here. I know I should be cautious, but I get so lonely for female company. My family would die if I were to marry a woman ten years my senior. I wonder if I and Carolyn have a future or will remain fuck buddies. Either way, I am glad she is over here and in my bed.
Friday, August 04, 2006
A shower a day keeps the doctor away…
I took another long shower this afternoon. The hot water felt titillating. I scrubbed every crook and cranny of my body. I then got out of the shower and toweled off. I blow dried my hair and then shaved again. My face is baby smooth. I love that feeling.
I dressed and then walked into my bedroom. Carolyn was fast asleep.
“I love you. You know that?” I thought. “I will always be here for you.”
I walked out of my bedroom into the kitchen and started supper. I didn’t know if Carolyn was going to eat so I cooked for two. “I sure could use some of Sherman’s Mom’s cooking right now,” I thought. I proceeded to bake two chicken breasts in lemon and pepper and fixed a side of squash with Vidalia onions, and a pan of cornbread. It was ready in about an hour.
Carolyn came walking into the room and wrapped her arms around me.
“I love you,” She said. “Something smells wonderful.”
“I cooked supper,” I replied. “Are you hungry?”
“I am famished,” She then said.
I fixed us two plates of food and we sat at my kitchen table eating.
“For a guy, you are a great cook,” Carolyn replied.
“Well, thanks,” I said as I blushed.
We finished our meals and I took the dishes into the kitchen to wash them.
“Let me do that,” Carolyn said. “You cooked supper. It is the least I can do.”
I walked into the den to check my email. Alas, no one had decided to email me. I could hear the clamor of Carolyn washing the dishes. She then walked into my den.
“I need to head on home and get ready for work,” She said. “I love you.”
“I love you too sweetheart,” I replied. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Well, I hope we don’t get those damned lottery idiots,” Carolyn said.
I laughed and told her goodnight. I watched as she drove out of my driveway and headed for home.
I dressed and then walked into my bedroom. Carolyn was fast asleep.
“I love you. You know that?” I thought. “I will always be here for you.”
I walked out of my bedroom into the kitchen and started supper. I didn’t know if Carolyn was going to eat so I cooked for two. “I sure could use some of Sherman’s Mom’s cooking right now,” I thought. I proceeded to bake two chicken breasts in lemon and pepper and fixed a side of squash with Vidalia onions, and a pan of cornbread. It was ready in about an hour.
Carolyn came walking into the room and wrapped her arms around me.
“I love you,” She said. “Something smells wonderful.”
“I cooked supper,” I replied. “Are you hungry?”
“I am famished,” She then said.
I fixed us two plates of food and we sat at my kitchen table eating.
“For a guy, you are a great cook,” Carolyn replied.
“Well, thanks,” I said as I blushed.
We finished our meals and I took the dishes into the kitchen to wash them.
“Let me do that,” Carolyn said. “You cooked supper. It is the least I can do.”
I walked into the den to check my email. Alas, no one had decided to email me. I could hear the clamor of Carolyn washing the dishes. She then walked into my den.
“I need to head on home and get ready for work,” She said. “I love you.”
“I love you too sweetheart,” I replied. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Well, I hope we don’t get those damned lottery idiots,” Carolyn said.
I laughed and told her goodnight. I watched as she drove out of my driveway and headed for home.
Life as a mess…
I made it out to the Mental Health clinic. I had to wait a long time as they had to send someone out to get my shot from my father’s pharmacy. The nurse injected it and I already feel better. From now on, they are going to order it. I also talked with my case worker and we drew up a plan of action. She is going to drive me down to the social security office in Opelika to get my disability allotment turned over to her. We will have to fill out several forms and then all will be done.
I then drove over to Sarah Jay’s and parked. I ran across the highway and made my way over the railroad tracks back into the woods. Ferret was nowhere to be seen. His campsite was a mess. There is trash everywhere. He really needs to get that crap cleaned up. Maybe tomorrow I will take down some trash bags and help him clean it up. I fear it is going to get him in trouble. He is camping on railroad property.
I then drove over to the shopping center to see if Big S had seen Ferret.
“No, I ain’t seen him and you don’t want to as well,” Big S said. “Dat nigga be fucked up.”
I reached into my wallet and paid Big S back the five dollars I owed him.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“He has been acting all crazy and shit. It is dat mouthwash. It has fucked him up,” Big S replied.
I sat on the bench next to Big S, smoking a cigarette, and pondering what to do.
“We really need to help Ferret,” I then said.
“I ain’t foolin’ with dat nigga,” Big S replied.
“Great, just great!” I thought. I am in this all alone.
Big S then went on this long tirade about getting a citation for loitering. I completely zoned him out and barely remember what he had said. I had Ferret on my mind. After Big S finished with his tirade, I bid him farewell and drove on home.
I don’t know what I am going to do about Ferret. I guess I could start giving him some money so he will buy beer instead of mouthwash. I am just unsure if I can afford to do that. I will have to talk to Sherman and see what he thinks in the next day or two.
I then drove over to Sarah Jay’s and parked. I ran across the highway and made my way over the railroad tracks back into the woods. Ferret was nowhere to be seen. His campsite was a mess. There is trash everywhere. He really needs to get that crap cleaned up. Maybe tomorrow I will take down some trash bags and help him clean it up. I fear it is going to get him in trouble. He is camping on railroad property.
I then drove over to the shopping center to see if Big S had seen Ferret.
“No, I ain’t seen him and you don’t want to as well,” Big S said. “Dat nigga be fucked up.”
I reached into my wallet and paid Big S back the five dollars I owed him.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“He has been acting all crazy and shit. It is dat mouthwash. It has fucked him up,” Big S replied.
I sat on the bench next to Big S, smoking a cigarette, and pondering what to do.
“We really need to help Ferret,” I then said.
“I ain’t foolin’ with dat nigga,” Big S replied.
“Great, just great!” I thought. I am in this all alone.
Big S then went on this long tirade about getting a citation for loitering. I completely zoned him out and barely remember what he had said. I had Ferret on my mind. After Big S finished with his tirade, I bid him farewell and drove on home.
I don’t know what I am going to do about Ferret. I guess I could start giving him some money so he will buy beer instead of mouthwash. I am just unsure if I can afford to do that. I will have to talk to Sherman and see what he thinks in the next day or two.
The Magical Hour
The magical hour is soon to start. It is about 15 minutes away. The first light of dawn is on the horizon. I call it the magical hour in that this is when the birds first start to call in the morning. They create this great cacophony of noise. When I was homeless, I used to could tell the time by the magical hour. I knew dawn was on the way when it started and it often woke me up. Well, the magical hour just started as I was writing this. Here’s to another day. It still brings me joy to hear it. During those long, cold winter nights when I was homeless, the magical hour was a welcomed occurrence. It meant that the warmer temperatures of the day where on the way. Damn, those were some cold nights.
I don’t have much planned for today. I need to get on the ball as far as setting up an appointment with my therapist and scheduling my injections. I am way past due for my shot. I rebelled against my father this last time and didn’t get it. I can tell a big difference without it. My “ghosting” is off the scale; nothing like seeing a bunch of holographic looking cats lying around your home.
Also, I want to get down to the river and see about Ferret. George told me yesterday that he is not doing well. He said he looked guant as if he was not eating enough. I hope he will walk across the highway with me and eat lunch at Sarah Jay’s. I worry about Ferret as I can see much of myself in him when I was homeless. That hard drinking will really take a toll on you. Mouthwash ain’t exactly the beverage of choice for burgeoning alcoholics. George said that is all he is drinking these days.
Well, let me take a shower and shave. The mental health clinic opens at 8 AM and I want to be first in line. I want to get that taken care of and then I am going to see about Ferret. We might just go fishing for fun. I think Ferret needs a break and I am going to give him one. A good meal and some fishing sounds pretty fun, don’t you think?
I don’t have much planned for today. I need to get on the ball as far as setting up an appointment with my therapist and scheduling my injections. I am way past due for my shot. I rebelled against my father this last time and didn’t get it. I can tell a big difference without it. My “ghosting” is off the scale; nothing like seeing a bunch of holographic looking cats lying around your home.
Also, I want to get down to the river and see about Ferret. George told me yesterday that he is not doing well. He said he looked guant as if he was not eating enough. I hope he will walk across the highway with me and eat lunch at Sarah Jay’s. I worry about Ferret as I can see much of myself in him when I was homeless. That hard drinking will really take a toll on you. Mouthwash ain’t exactly the beverage of choice for burgeoning alcoholics. George said that is all he is drinking these days.
Well, let me take a shower and shave. The mental health clinic opens at 8 AM and I want to be first in line. I want to get that taken care of and then I am going to see about Ferret. We might just go fishing for fun. I think Ferret needs a break and I am going to give him one. A good meal and some fishing sounds pretty fun, don’t you think?
Don’t Take Maggie Away…
My father came over to take Maggie away tonight. Late in the evenings, I leave my back door open to let her come and go. I feel she enjoys being outside and running. You should see the pile of detritus she has placed at my back door to chew upon. For some reason, she was barking furiously tonight. Something had got her ire up tonight. My father came over with a flashlight trying to coax her into coming home with him. He didn’t say one word to me as we sat in my backyard as he petted her. He managed to get Maggie into his backyard and then I bolted into action. “Oh, hell no, I am not going to stand for this,” I thought. I ran down into my parent’s backyard and called Maggie. She immediately came to me. I picked her up and brought her home and closed the back door. Another method of subterfuge and control had been thwarted.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Trashed as they say…
George did come over and drank enough beer for the two of us. I worry about him. His doctor has told him not to drink like he does, but he continues. I drove George on home and then walked the short distance back to my house. Before I walked on home, I and George’s mother had a conversation as she was cooking supper in the kitchen. I told her of what had happened recently.
“Honey, you don’t need to go away,” She said. “You are more level headed than my son.”
“I know,” I replied. “My father means well, but he can just be overbearing. He says I am a danger to myself and others.”
“You, dangerous?” George’s mother scoffed. “I have met many more dangerous men than you and they are running free.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied.
“Sweetheart, stay and eat supper with us,” She asked.
George’s mother was cooking a pot roast with mashed potatoes and green beans.
“It smells so wonderful, but I must get home. I am still very tired from yesterday,” I replied.
“Honey, I am gonna give you some advice,” She then said. “You take it for what it’s worth. Don’t ever let them lock you up. You are a good boy and you help see about my son. He needs all the help he can get. That makes you a good man.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied. “You know I love George to death.”
“Well, he needs a friend like you. Most people would just let him drive home drunk, but you took the time to bring him and now you have to walk home.” She said.
“Well, I worry he is going to get another DUI,” I replied. “I don’t want to see him in jail.”
“That’s why I like you,” She said. “Even for a white boy, you are a good man.”
I bid Mrs. Jones goodbye and walked on home. It was a beautiful, if warm, southern summer afternoon. I took in all my surroundings thinking that I am so lucky to experience all of this. A few days ago, I thought I was a goner. Now, the trees, the birds, and the wind in my hair are all so titillating. I am enjoying life for a change.
“Honey, you don’t need to go away,” She said. “You are more level headed than my son.”
“I know,” I replied. “My father means well, but he can just be overbearing. He says I am a danger to myself and others.”
“You, dangerous?” George’s mother scoffed. “I have met many more dangerous men than you and they are running free.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied.
“Sweetheart, stay and eat supper with us,” She asked.
George’s mother was cooking a pot roast with mashed potatoes and green beans.
“It smells so wonderful, but I must get home. I am still very tired from yesterday,” I replied.
“Honey, I am gonna give you some advice,” She then said. “You take it for what it’s worth. Don’t ever let them lock you up. You are a good boy and you help see about my son. He needs all the help he can get. That makes you a good man.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied. “You know I love George to death.”
“Well, he needs a friend like you. Most people would just let him drive home drunk, but you took the time to bring him and now you have to walk home.” She said.
“Well, I worry he is going to get another DUI,” I replied. “I don’t want to see him in jail.”
“That’s why I like you,” She said. “Even for a white boy, you are a good man.”
I bid Mrs. Jones goodbye and walked on home. It was a beautiful, if warm, southern summer afternoon. I took in all my surroundings thinking that I am so lucky to experience all of this. A few days ago, I thought I was a goner. Now, the trees, the birds, and the wind in my hair are all so titillating. I am enjoying life for a change.
A Celebratory Call
George called me early this morning to find out the news.
“So, is yo ass goin’ away?” George asked.
“No man, I am free,” I replied.
“Goddammit, I knew you could beat those bastards!” George exclaimed. “So when are we gonna party in celebration?”
“I promised my doctor I would only drink one or two beers a night as I browsed the internet,” I replied. “She said that was perfectly acceptable. I just can’t drink twelve or more like I used to.”
“Well, damn man,” George said. “I was hoping me and you could tie one on.”
“You can still drink,” I replied. “I will just be there in spirit.”
“Well, I am going to go get a case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice and will be over in a minute,” George said. “I am going to celebrate for you.”
I laughed.
“Okay man,” I replied. “But I am driving you home, agreed?”
“You got it brotha,” George said. “You got it. You can drive me home any day. I am just glad yo ass ain’t goin’ away.”
It is not quite 9 AM and George is coming over to get drunk in celebration of my freedom. He has far better stamina and a stronger stomach than me. I was going to miss him more than anybody if I had to go away though. Despite his flaws, he is a super guy and will really look after you. I just hope after he gets a few beers in him that he will not want to drive. I have been known to hide his keys on occasion. :-)
“So, is yo ass goin’ away?” George asked.
“No man, I am free,” I replied.
“Goddammit, I knew you could beat those bastards!” George exclaimed. “So when are we gonna party in celebration?”
“I promised my doctor I would only drink one or two beers a night as I browsed the internet,” I replied. “She said that was perfectly acceptable. I just can’t drink twelve or more like I used to.”
“Well, damn man,” George said. “I was hoping me and you could tie one on.”
“You can still drink,” I replied. “I will just be there in spirit.”
“Well, I am going to go get a case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice and will be over in a minute,” George said. “I am going to celebrate for you.”
I laughed.
“Okay man,” I replied. “But I am driving you home, agreed?”
“You got it brotha,” George said. “You got it. You can drive me home any day. I am just glad yo ass ain’t goin’ away.”
It is not quite 9 AM and George is coming over to get drunk in celebration of my freedom. He has far better stamina and a stronger stomach than me. I was going to miss him more than anybody if I had to go away though. Despite his flaws, he is a super guy and will really look after you. I just hope after he gets a few beers in him that he will not want to drive. I have been known to hide his keys on occasion. :-)
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
A Jingle in my Pocket
It feels so nice to have money in my wallet. I drove down to the local Wendy’s and ordered a double w/ cheese and a small frosty. I sat there smiling thinking that it was all mine. I paid for it. I came home and opened up my windows and backdoor and let Maggie run for awhile. You should have seen her. She had been cooped up inside all day and was so glad to run free. I could see myself in her. I feel as if I had been cooped up for months now as well. Tears streamed down my cheeks as she would occasionally check back in with me to see if I was still here. She wanted to know if daddy was okay.
“You go girl!” I said jubilantly to egg her on.
She tore across the backyard furiously barking at some unforeseen threat with her tail held high. Most likely it was just a deer or a turkey.
I thought about what happened today. Can you imagine that in America people will try to take your freedom away? My father gave it a good try, but failed. I hold no ill will towards him. I am sure that in his mind he thought it was the best thing. I am just not like my mother though. I am not willing to play the subservient sick relative who must be coddled. I am so young yet and have so much life to look forward too. My mother’s life is pretty much done and over with. She will spend the rest of her days sleeping away in her bed with her cat lying atop her. I find that sad because even in her late eighties my grandmother was such a vibrant and busy woman.
I digress and will not get into maudlin subjects tonight. I thank you all for reading and the comments on my last post brought joy to my soul. I felt as if I was sharing my good fortune with all of you. Well, let me go have my last pipe of the day and amble towards bed. I haven’t slept in two days and my eyelids feel like lead weights. Good night and God bless.
“You go girl!” I said jubilantly to egg her on.
She tore across the backyard furiously barking at some unforeseen threat with her tail held high. Most likely it was just a deer or a turkey.
I thought about what happened today. Can you imagine that in America people will try to take your freedom away? My father gave it a good try, but failed. I hold no ill will towards him. I am sure that in his mind he thought it was the best thing. I am just not like my mother though. I am not willing to play the subservient sick relative who must be coddled. I am so young yet and have so much life to look forward too. My mother’s life is pretty much done and over with. She will spend the rest of her days sleeping away in her bed with her cat lying atop her. I find that sad because even in her late eighties my grandmother was such a vibrant and busy woman.
I digress and will not get into maudlin subjects tonight. I thank you all for reading and the comments on my last post brought joy to my soul. I felt as if I was sharing my good fortune with all of you. Well, let me go have my last pipe of the day and amble towards bed. I haven’t slept in two days and my eyelids feel like lead weights. Good night and God bless.
The Rumors of my Demise have been Greatly Exaggerated :^)
My doctor sided with me the whole way and dad was furious. He was livid as hell. I learned during the meeting that he had called a local Judge Crowder and tried to get me legally committed, but the judge said he had no probable cause. So, for the foreseeable future, I am free to live my life and there will be MANY changes. Below is a list of things that are to be changed.
My father will forcibly no longer have financial responsibility for my money. A mental health case worker will be assigned to be my representative payee and give me installments of my disability allotment. This is the same mental health clinic that I volunteered at before so I know everyone well.
All bills and utilities at this house will be put in my name so my father cannot threaten to cut off my internet as he has often done in the past when upset with me.
I must start seeing a therapist on a weekly basis and work on my “personality” disorder. This is a condition that must be met.
My father still agreed to pay off my mortgage, but the new house must be put into my name along with all utilities. Dad was going to keep it in his name.
I must report to my case worker on a monthly basis for her to look over my bills to make sure all are being paid properly and promptly. This is for my benefit and they assured me this was not “Big Brother” looking over my shoulder.
My car title is in my name but the insurance is in my father’s. This is to be changed to my name and I am to be responsible for making the half yearly payment of $318 dollars.
All my injections and medications will now be filled and injected out at the mental health clinic by an RN. My doctor said it was best my father not be involved with this due to possible conflicts of interest.
I can’t tell you how estatic I am. I feel like an adult again. *cue William Wallace voice, “FREEEEEDOM!” I gladly accept all this responsible as it will give me a purpose to life other than writing and hanging out with the gang.
I am sad to report that my father was very mean to me afterwards. He said, “Son, you got what you wanted. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it.” He feels I am not able to handle all of this. Quite the contrary I wanted to tell him.
I have so much I want to write about, but will close for now. I am just emotionally and mentally drained from this experience. I feel as if some great burden has been lifted and also like I have been hit by a train. Thanks, to those of you that commented and showed me support. I promise to repay you all with many interesting stories of Sherman and the gang in the upcoming weeks. Together, we are going to make this blog grand!
My father will forcibly no longer have financial responsibility for my money. A mental health case worker will be assigned to be my representative payee and give me installments of my disability allotment. This is the same mental health clinic that I volunteered at before so I know everyone well.
All bills and utilities at this house will be put in my name so my father cannot threaten to cut off my internet as he has often done in the past when upset with me.
I must start seeing a therapist on a weekly basis and work on my “personality” disorder. This is a condition that must be met.
My father still agreed to pay off my mortgage, but the new house must be put into my name along with all utilities. Dad was going to keep it in his name.
I must report to my case worker on a monthly basis for her to look over my bills to make sure all are being paid properly and promptly. This is for my benefit and they assured me this was not “Big Brother” looking over my shoulder.
My car title is in my name but the insurance is in my father’s. This is to be changed to my name and I am to be responsible for making the half yearly payment of $318 dollars.
All my injections and medications will now be filled and injected out at the mental health clinic by an RN. My doctor said it was best my father not be involved with this due to possible conflicts of interest.
I can’t tell you how estatic I am. I feel like an adult again. *cue William Wallace voice, “FREEEEEDOM!” I gladly accept all this responsible as it will give me a purpose to life other than writing and hanging out with the gang.
I am sad to report that my father was very mean to me afterwards. He said, “Son, you got what you wanted. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it.” He feels I am not able to handle all of this. Quite the contrary I wanted to tell him.
I have so much I want to write about, but will close for now. I am just emotionally and mentally drained from this experience. I feel as if some great burden has been lifted and also like I have been hit by a train. Thanks, to those of you that commented and showed me support. I promise to repay you all with many interesting stories of Sherman and the gang in the upcoming weeks. Together, we are going to make this blog grand!
Start of a new week……
Today is Monday. I always traditionally hated Mondays because it meant going back to work. I still feel that feeling even though I am presently unemployed. Saturday and Sunday just have this different feel to them.
My great aunt Myrtis stayed the weekend with me to attend Aunt Jessie’s birthday party. To be eighty seven years old, she is such a busy body. You would never know her age by her looks or activity level. She washed all my clothes and folded and ironed them. She cleaned the house aft to stern and kept me doing projects as well. Take out the trash. Water the flowers. Clean the refrigerator. Sweep the back porch. Clean the vines and ivy off the air conditioning unit. The list goes on and on but it was all good. The upper house and my apartment are spotless and it feels good. I sleep better in an immaculately clean house for some reason. All just seems right with the world.
She got up very early this morning. I awoke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and walked up stairs in my robe. I then got us some breakfast started. I cooked some Jimmy Dean hot sausage, scrambled cheese eggs, and some buttered toast. We opened a fresh jar of strawberry preserves to spread on our toast. She always brings me lots of homemade canned items such as this to put in my pantry and I appreciate it.
After breakfast, we packed up all her stuff and I drove the 30 miles to take her back home. She still lives in her late sister’s house in Waverly. It is like stepping back in time in that the house has been the same for thirty or more years. Life seems to stand still in Waverly as time marches by outside its city limits.
I then drove down to the pond to check on the water level and the progress of the dock. My father spent over $12,000 dollars to redo the pond and clear out the spring. My brother-in-law is also building a dock and I wanted to see his progress. Things looked great and the water level is steadily rising. I walked up into the woods to check on the spring and its output. Water was steadily flowing out of the ground into the channel box and flowing down into the basin of the pond. I get excited by this and hope it fills up soon. It is an awesome place to camp and my father is going to build a cabin over here next summer. It will be a great place to stay.
Well, I must get out and do some yard work. I don’t know how long I will last as the heat and humidity are oppressive. My motto is…..do a little bit everyday and it adds up to big dividends in the long run. Take care and I may post later if something interesting happens today.
My great aunt Myrtis stayed the weekend with me to attend Aunt Jessie’s birthday party. To be eighty seven years old, she is such a busy body. You would never know her age by her looks or activity level. She washed all my clothes and folded and ironed them. She cleaned the house aft to stern and kept me doing projects as well. Take out the trash. Water the flowers. Clean the refrigerator. Sweep the back porch. Clean the vines and ivy off the air conditioning unit. The list goes on and on but it was all good. The upper house and my apartment are spotless and it feels good. I sleep better in an immaculately clean house for some reason. All just seems right with the world.
She got up very early this morning. I awoke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and walked up stairs in my robe. I then got us some breakfast started. I cooked some Jimmy Dean hot sausage, scrambled cheese eggs, and some buttered toast. We opened a fresh jar of strawberry preserves to spread on our toast. She always brings me lots of homemade canned items such as this to put in my pantry and I appreciate it.
After breakfast, we packed up all her stuff and I drove the 30 miles to take her back home. She still lives in her late sister’s house in Waverly. It is like stepping back in time in that the house has been the same for thirty or more years. Life seems to stand still in Waverly as time marches by outside its city limits.
I then drove down to the pond to check on the water level and the progress of the dock. My father spent over $12,000 dollars to redo the pond and clear out the spring. My brother-in-law is also building a dock and I wanted to see his progress. Things looked great and the water level is steadily rising. I walked up into the woods to check on the spring and its output. Water was steadily flowing out of the ground into the channel box and flowing down into the basin of the pond. I get excited by this and hope it fills up soon. It is an awesome place to camp and my father is going to build a cabin over here next summer. It will be a great place to stay.
Well, I must get out and do some yard work. I don’t know how long I will last as the heat and humidity are oppressive. My motto is…..do a little bit everyday and it adds up to big dividends in the long run. Take care and I may post later if something interesting happens today.
Round one and the fight is over…
A cool breeze blows through my apartment. “Ah, these are times meant for living,” I thought. It is 5:30 AM and the katydids have long since stopped calling. Their night of courting is finished. They have retired for the night and so should I, but I can’t sleep. I have so much on mind. The only sound drifting through my windows is that of crickets and it is a pleasant sound as well. I keep thinking it might be the last time I get to hear them for a long time.
I got out my suitcase and lay it upon my bed. I opened it and a musty odor emanated from disuse. “You know I thought getting out of homelessness would make things easier,” I thought. “They only seem to get harder.” I zipped up my suitcase and put it back on the top shelf of my closet. “You will be used again some other day,” I thought again with a renewed resolve. Then I thought of dad and how disappointed he is going to be in me when I refuse to go into that treatment center for six months.
Round One
“In this corner with have the surefooted and sure of himself man who controls things obsessively. He is a successful business owner with a stressful job. He has more friends than he can count and they are all successful and wealthy. He has full control of his faculties,” The announcer lauds. “Two of his children went on to be doctors.” *The crowd claps and cheers*
“And in the opposite corner we have the shy introvert with little material wealth. He is unsure of himself and his future. He lived in a tent for six months in the winter and has had one failed marriage. His friends are a drunk, a dumpster diver, a homeless man, and a panhandler. His greatest aspiration is to be a writer. *The crowd laughs at that last statement.* He has a mental illness and supposed alcoholism.” *The crowd jeers*
“Are you two men ready to rumble?” The announcer and referee asks?
We both hit our boxing gloves together and proceed to meet at the center of the ring. The bell rings and the fight starts. My father lands one punch and I am down for the count upon the mat. I have no one to bring me smelling salts to revive me or to patch and clean the wound upon my forehead. I am all alone. That is how I fear tomorrow will go. My doctor is going to believe the sane man and not the mentally ill dude. Fight over; round one. I fear I will spend the rest of my days rocking in a chair, watching Judge Judy, as spittle oozes out of the corner of my mouth from being over medicated. Let’s expect the worst and hope for the best. Besides, I hate Judge Judy and don’t particularly like boxing.
I got out my suitcase and lay it upon my bed. I opened it and a musty odor emanated from disuse. “You know I thought getting out of homelessness would make things easier,” I thought. “They only seem to get harder.” I zipped up my suitcase and put it back on the top shelf of my closet. “You will be used again some other day,” I thought again with a renewed resolve. Then I thought of dad and how disappointed he is going to be in me when I refuse to go into that treatment center for six months.
Round One
“In this corner with have the surefooted and sure of himself man who controls things obsessively. He is a successful business owner with a stressful job. He has more friends than he can count and they are all successful and wealthy. He has full control of his faculties,” The announcer lauds. “Two of his children went on to be doctors.” *The crowd claps and cheers*
“And in the opposite corner we have the shy introvert with little material wealth. He is unsure of himself and his future. He lived in a tent for six months in the winter and has had one failed marriage. His friends are a drunk, a dumpster diver, a homeless man, and a panhandler. His greatest aspiration is to be a writer. *The crowd laughs at that last statement.* He has a mental illness and supposed alcoholism.” *The crowd jeers*
“Are you two men ready to rumble?” The announcer and referee asks?
We both hit our boxing gloves together and proceed to meet at the center of the ring. The bell rings and the fight starts. My father lands one punch and I am down for the count upon the mat. I have no one to bring me smelling salts to revive me or to patch and clean the wound upon my forehead. I am all alone. That is how I fear tomorrow will go. My doctor is going to believe the sane man and not the mentally ill dude. Fight over; round one. I fear I will spend the rest of my days rocking in a chair, watching Judge Judy, as spittle oozes out of the corner of my mouth from being over medicated. Let’s expect the worst and hope for the best. Besides, I hate Judge Judy and don’t particularly like boxing.
Past Two...
The clock just ticked past two. I have all my windows open and the Katydids are calling earnestly accompanied by the shrill staccato call of an insect I have yet to identify. I have all my windows and backdoor open so Maggie can come and go. She so loves to do this and at this late hour I don’t have to worry about her getting run over on the road. It seems we are both night owls these days. I find the peacefulness of these early hours comforting.
I am fraught with worry over tomorrow. I think this is shall I will handle it. I will let dad and us both sit down in my psychiatrist’s office. Dad will look to me to start.
“You go ahead and speak your mind,” I shall say to him.
When that is done, I shall ask my doctor for some private one on one time. This will completely piss dad off. He probably will not speak to me on the drive home.
“Doc, I am thirty four years old, right?” I shall ask.
She will say yes.
“I am treated as if I am ten.” I shall reply. “I can’t even buy my own groceries or fill up my car with gas.”
“You have a mental illness and need help with such things,” She will say.
“I also have basic human rights that can’t be taken away. They can only be infringed mental illness or no. Many mentally ill people function at a high level.”
“Are you still drinking?” She will then ask.
“I have had a few run-ins with mouthwash these past few weeks,” I will reply.
“What on God’s green earth would make you want to drink mouthwash?” She will ask.
“I had no other recourse. I wanted a drink and my father will not let me have any money and mouthwash is a dollar a bottle,” I will reply.
“Can’t you do without the drinking?” She will ask. “If you cannot then you are an alcoholic.”
“I am more apt to do without it if abstinence is not forced upon me,” I will reply. “I rarely drank heavily until abstinence was forced upon me. It causes me to binge drink. I would like the choice.”
“Hmm, I see,” She will say.
About this time, we will bring my father back in and discuss what I have told her. The outcome? I have no earthly idea. It could go either way.
Then we will adjust my medications. My medications already cost $1300 dollars a month which I think is ridiculous. I can’t tell the different with or without some. She will probably prescribe me another as is her fashion. My father wants her to prescribe me Revia which is an anti-alcohol abuse drugs, but it takes monthly liver tests. The odds of me getting down to the hospital for monthly blood work are almost nil and I have told her this. My P-Doc has left it out as an option.
I will write up what happens tomorrow as soon as I get home. If I do have to go away, I want many of your addresses so we can write and keep up with each other. Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that though. I refuse to be sequestered away in some mental ward just to make my father’s life easier and with less fraught. It’s not like I have ever showed up at their house drunk anyway. If I drink, I stay home and read books and browse the internet. I never drive or get out. Tomorrow will decide if I regain my autonomy or not. I am so scared that the status quo will remain.
I am fraught with worry over tomorrow. I think this is shall I will handle it. I will let dad and us both sit down in my psychiatrist’s office. Dad will look to me to start.
“You go ahead and speak your mind,” I shall say to him.
When that is done, I shall ask my doctor for some private one on one time. This will completely piss dad off. He probably will not speak to me on the drive home.
“Doc, I am thirty four years old, right?” I shall ask.
She will say yes.
“I am treated as if I am ten.” I shall reply. “I can’t even buy my own groceries or fill up my car with gas.”
“You have a mental illness and need help with such things,” She will say.
“I also have basic human rights that can’t be taken away. They can only be infringed mental illness or no. Many mentally ill people function at a high level.”
“Are you still drinking?” She will then ask.
“I have had a few run-ins with mouthwash these past few weeks,” I will reply.
“What on God’s green earth would make you want to drink mouthwash?” She will ask.
“I had no other recourse. I wanted a drink and my father will not let me have any money and mouthwash is a dollar a bottle,” I will reply.
“Can’t you do without the drinking?” She will ask. “If you cannot then you are an alcoholic.”
“I am more apt to do without it if abstinence is not forced upon me,” I will reply. “I rarely drank heavily until abstinence was forced upon me. It causes me to binge drink. I would like the choice.”
“Hmm, I see,” She will say.
About this time, we will bring my father back in and discuss what I have told her. The outcome? I have no earthly idea. It could go either way.
Then we will adjust my medications. My medications already cost $1300 dollars a month which I think is ridiculous. I can’t tell the different with or without some. She will probably prescribe me another as is her fashion. My father wants her to prescribe me Revia which is an anti-alcohol abuse drugs, but it takes monthly liver tests. The odds of me getting down to the hospital for monthly blood work are almost nil and I have told her this. My P-Doc has left it out as an option.
I will write up what happens tomorrow as soon as I get home. If I do have to go away, I want many of your addresses so we can write and keep up with each other. Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that though. I refuse to be sequestered away in some mental ward just to make my father’s life easier and with less fraught. It’s not like I have ever showed up at their house drunk anyway. If I drink, I stay home and read books and browse the internet. I never drive or get out. Tomorrow will decide if I regain my autonomy or not. I am so scared that the status quo will remain.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Maudlin Times
Well, I had a huge throw down with my father last night. On top of that I had to fill out a police report on a homeless guy panhandling over at the Kroger. This is why Big S and the gang NEVER panhandle at the Kroger. They are militant about it. You see, I go around nine to buy to my groceries and dad shows up around 9:30 PM to write a check out of my account for the purchase.
As I was waiting, a very drunk and red and bleary eyed fellow came up to me asking me for a few bucks. He was just a drunk wanting some beer or cheap wine. I actually felt sorry for him. I would have given him a fiver if I had it.
“Buddy, you are asking the brokest guy in all of Valley for money,” I replied.
He headed off for anther victim and the manager came up to speak to me.
“Did he just ask you for money?” She asked. “We have had a string of problems with that guy.”
“Yeah, but he was nice about it,” I replied.
Soon, the police arrived and I had to fill out a statement. The police want to know everything about you except the last time you took a dump. I was growing tired of the questions until they finally ended.
Dad came in and met me at the check out line (this is so humiliating.) Dad looked at my eyes and said, “You have been taking something. Haven’t you?” You can’t fool a pharmacist. Otherwise, I was acting normal. You would think the police would have nabbed me if I was acting odd and slurring my speech. Taking Librium to me is akin to taking a placebo.
“I have been saving up the Librium you have been giving me and took seven tonight,” I replied. “I just wanted to feel better. I am fucking miserable with our current arrangement being treated like a child.”
We got outside the grocery store and the shit hit the fan. Dad called a friend to come pick up my car and took my keys away from me. He then drove me home and I unloaded my groceries.
“It is going to take a beer, isn’t it?” He asked.
“Well, I certainly would like one,” I replied.
“Beer is more important than me or your family,” he said.
“Oh, just wait a moment. I voluntarily gave up the drinking and you went off running with it,” I replied. “I drank for years before these latest codlings and you never knew. I and George (Sherman) would have a few every morning as we talked.”
“Go on and get inside and I will go buy you some beer since that is more important to you than your family,” He said.
I waited a few moments and Dad came back with an 18 pack of Miller High Life.
“Here’s your goddamn precious beer,” He said in a huff as he handed me the 18 pack. “You realize I am writing you off from now on.”
“Thank ye gods!” I said aloud as I looked up and outstretched my hands. “Maybe now, I can get a life for a change.”
Dad got in her car and roared out of the driveway. It seems the mortgage payoff was just a ruse to get me into treatment. He is still going to do that. I sat for the rest of the evening reading a book by candlelight and enjoying my cold Miller High Life. It ended up a pleasant evening. Maybe I am a psychopath as well as I feel no remorse over what happened last night. I feel a certain calmness and languidness.
As I was waiting, a very drunk and red and bleary eyed fellow came up to me asking me for a few bucks. He was just a drunk wanting some beer or cheap wine. I actually felt sorry for him. I would have given him a fiver if I had it.
“Buddy, you are asking the brokest guy in all of Valley for money,” I replied.
He headed off for anther victim and the manager came up to speak to me.
“Did he just ask you for money?” She asked. “We have had a string of problems with that guy.”
“Yeah, but he was nice about it,” I replied.
Soon, the police arrived and I had to fill out a statement. The police want to know everything about you except the last time you took a dump. I was growing tired of the questions until they finally ended.
Dad came in and met me at the check out line (this is so humiliating.) Dad looked at my eyes and said, “You have been taking something. Haven’t you?” You can’t fool a pharmacist. Otherwise, I was acting normal. You would think the police would have nabbed me if I was acting odd and slurring my speech. Taking Librium to me is akin to taking a placebo.
“I have been saving up the Librium you have been giving me and took seven tonight,” I replied. “I just wanted to feel better. I am fucking miserable with our current arrangement being treated like a child.”
We got outside the grocery store and the shit hit the fan. Dad called a friend to come pick up my car and took my keys away from me. He then drove me home and I unloaded my groceries.
“It is going to take a beer, isn’t it?” He asked.
“Well, I certainly would like one,” I replied.
“Beer is more important than me or your family,” he said.
“Oh, just wait a moment. I voluntarily gave up the drinking and you went off running with it,” I replied. “I drank for years before these latest codlings and you never knew. I and George (Sherman) would have a few every morning as we talked.”
“Go on and get inside and I will go buy you some beer since that is more important to you than your family,” He said.
I waited a few moments and Dad came back with an 18 pack of Miller High Life.
“Here’s your goddamn precious beer,” He said in a huff as he handed me the 18 pack. “You realize I am writing you off from now on.”
“Thank ye gods!” I said aloud as I looked up and outstretched my hands. “Maybe now, I can get a life for a change.”
Dad got in her car and roared out of the driveway. It seems the mortgage payoff was just a ruse to get me into treatment. He is still going to do that. I sat for the rest of the evening reading a book by candlelight and enjoying my cold Miller High Life. It ended up a pleasant evening. Maybe I am a psychopath as well as I feel no remorse over what happened last night. I feel a certain calmness and languidness.
Monday, July 31, 2006
My life as a Shipwreck and Childhood Monsters
I look back upon my past life as if it were some battered shipwreck washed upon the rocks of stormy Cape Horn, South America. It is going to take a lot of work to get this shattered hull afloat again and to set sail for new horizons; heh, horizons, what a quaint little word to describe my future life.
I realize I am scared. I feel as if I am a small child again looking at the crack in an almost open closet door in my darkened childhood bedroom wondering if any monsters will emerge. Strange shadows stretch across the carpet cast from the street lamp outside my bedroom window. They seem to move in creepy crawly fashion; tendrils reaching out to snatch me from my bed.
I turn on the bedside lamp and the shadows immediately disappear. The shadows of my past are gone in an instant. Now a distant memory until I turn off the lamp and they reemerge from their hiding places; once again to torment me.
This is how I feel about the journey upon which I am soon to embark. My failed marriage; my homelessness; the mental illness; the alcoholism; all monsters in my closet keeping me scared and mired in the past. Six months of my life will be gone, but will it rebuild the hull of this battered shipwreck. I don’t know. The uncertainty is overbearing. Those are six months I will never get back. If only this ship can set sail again. I hear there are distant lands to be discovered over the vast oceans distances that will be my recovery. I want to set sail and leave this rocky Horn. Undiscovered countries await. I just hope I don’t encounter hostile natives once I arrive.
I realize I am scared. I feel as if I am a small child again looking at the crack in an almost open closet door in my darkened childhood bedroom wondering if any monsters will emerge. Strange shadows stretch across the carpet cast from the street lamp outside my bedroom window. They seem to move in creepy crawly fashion; tendrils reaching out to snatch me from my bed.
I turn on the bedside lamp and the shadows immediately disappear. The shadows of my past are gone in an instant. Now a distant memory until I turn off the lamp and they reemerge from their hiding places; once again to torment me.
This is how I feel about the journey upon which I am soon to embark. My failed marriage; my homelessness; the mental illness; the alcoholism; all monsters in my closet keeping me scared and mired in the past. Six months of my life will be gone, but will it rebuild the hull of this battered shipwreck. I don’t know. The uncertainty is overbearing. Those are six months I will never get back. If only this ship can set sail again. I hear there are distant lands to be discovered over the vast oceans distances that will be my recovery. I want to set sail and leave this rocky Horn. Undiscovered countries await. I just hope I don’t encounter hostile natives once I arrive.
Randall's Birthday...
Charlie’s son’s birthday went very well today. He turned 35 today. He is one year older than me. I ended up eating three hamburgers, a huge helping of baked beans, and a very large portion of French fries. I was stuffed and had indigestion for the rest of the afternoon.
Charlie grills the best hamburgers I have ever tasted. His secret is that he marinates the ground chuck and ground sirloin mixture in Lea and Perrin’s Worcestershire sauce overnight. He cooked 53 hamburger patties and had three different grills going. He cooks them hot and fast to sear in the flavor.
Charlie’s son is autistic and his current obsessions are bowling, Dora the Explorer dolls, and collecting shaving cream cans. He received over twenty cans of shaving cream yesterday for his birthday to add to his collection, four Dora the Explorer dolls, and two plastic bowling sets. You should see his room. It is wall to wall shelves containing hundreds upon hundreds of cans of shaving cream of varying brands.
Charlie grills the best hamburgers I have ever tasted. His secret is that he marinates the ground chuck and ground sirloin mixture in Lea and Perrin’s Worcestershire sauce overnight. He cooked 53 hamburger patties and had three different grills going. He cooks them hot and fast to sear in the flavor.
Charlie’s son is autistic and his current obsessions are bowling, Dora the Explorer dolls, and collecting shaving cream cans. He received over twenty cans of shaving cream yesterday for his birthday to add to his collection, four Dora the Explorer dolls, and two plastic bowling sets. You should see his room. It is wall to wall shelves containing hundreds upon hundreds of cans of shaving cream of varying brands.
Sleepless in A-Ville
I lay in the bed for the longest time tonight tossing and turning and looking at the clock as the hours ticked by. I tried numerous things to put me to sleep. One was a religious program on the radio playing old hymnal tunes. I was sure that would put me to sleep, but no. I then donned my mp3 player and listened to some melancholy soundtrack selections I uploaded. Next I tried a warm glass of milk heated in the microwave accompanied by three Tylenol PMs. Nothing worked. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” I said aloud regarding the denizens of the night.
I decided to call Carolyn down at Fat Albert’s convenience store as she works third shift most days and have a little fun at her expense. The phone rang…
“Fat Albert’s, can I help you?” Carolyn said picking up the phone.
“Uh, I want to know today’s winning lottery numbers,” I said as I masked my voice by making it deeper.
“Which lottery?” Carolyn asked.
“All of them,” I replied.
“Sir, there are far too many numbers for me to name them all on the phone,” She replied curtly.
“Well, could you tell me the Cash3 numbers for yesterday at least?” I said trying to stifle back a laugh.
Carolyn was growing frustrated with this call.
“Hold on a second,” she said with a huff and in few minutes later picked the phone back up and replied, “514”
“Thank you ma’am,” I said. “How much is a cup of coffee? I think I might come down and get a cup. You sound kind of cute.”
“Who is this?” Carolyn asked laughing.
“It’s me,” I said in my real voice.
“YOU SHITHEAD!” She exclaimed laughing. “I am gonna kill you when I see you. I thought you were one of those weirdos we get all the time obsessing over the lottery.”
“Ya’ll busy tonight?” I asked.
“It has been completely dead tonight,” She said. “We haven’t had a soul come in for the last hour.”
“Well, at least that makes your job easy,” I replied.
“It makes my job damn boring and the nights go by long,” She said.
“Listen, in the next day or two we need to talk,” I replied.
“What’s wrong?” She asked with a tone of concern in her voice.
“Oh, nothing major. I just want to tell you in person though,” I said. “Well listen, you have a good night and I will let you get off the phone.”
“Now you have me worried,” She replied.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It has nothing to do with you personally.”
We both said goodnight and hung up the phone.
Now, I must find something to do for the rest of the night. I doubt I will get any sleep. I might play some games and am gonna pop some popcorn. Nobody updates their blogs at 1 AM in the morning so reading blogs is out of the question. Well, let me go find something to pass these idle late night hours. Luckily, I can sleep all day tomorrow.
I decided to call Carolyn down at Fat Albert’s convenience store as she works third shift most days and have a little fun at her expense. The phone rang…
“Fat Albert’s, can I help you?” Carolyn said picking up the phone.
“Uh, I want to know today’s winning lottery numbers,” I said as I masked my voice by making it deeper.
“Which lottery?” Carolyn asked.
“All of them,” I replied.
“Sir, there are far too many numbers for me to name them all on the phone,” She replied curtly.
“Well, could you tell me the Cash3 numbers for yesterday at least?” I said trying to stifle back a laugh.
Carolyn was growing frustrated with this call.
“Hold on a second,” she said with a huff and in few minutes later picked the phone back up and replied, “514”
“Thank you ma’am,” I said. “How much is a cup of coffee? I think I might come down and get a cup. You sound kind of cute.”
“Who is this?” Carolyn asked laughing.
“It’s me,” I said in my real voice.
“YOU SHITHEAD!” She exclaimed laughing. “I am gonna kill you when I see you. I thought you were one of those weirdos we get all the time obsessing over the lottery.”
“Ya’ll busy tonight?” I asked.
“It has been completely dead tonight,” She said. “We haven’t had a soul come in for the last hour.”
“Well, at least that makes your job easy,” I replied.
“It makes my job damn boring and the nights go by long,” She said.
“Listen, in the next day or two we need to talk,” I replied.
“What’s wrong?” She asked with a tone of concern in her voice.
“Oh, nothing major. I just want to tell you in person though,” I said. “Well listen, you have a good night and I will let you get off the phone.”
“Now you have me worried,” She replied.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It has nothing to do with you personally.”
We both said goodnight and hung up the phone.
Now, I must find something to do for the rest of the night. I doubt I will get any sleep. I might play some games and am gonna pop some popcorn. Nobody updates their blogs at 1 AM in the morning so reading blogs is out of the question. Well, let me go find something to pass these idle late night hours. Luckily, I can sleep all day tomorrow.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Too Early Phone Calls and Fried Ham and Eggs
I awoke and stumbled into the kitchen. I filled my percolator with water and measured out the correct amount of coffee. I set the stove on high and then came into the den to awaken my sleeping blogging computer to check my email and the weather radar. Maggie sat at the back door whining to go out. The sound of softly falling rain could be heard outside my windows.
“Come on girl. Head out and do your business,” I said as I opened the back door to let her out. She was greeted by big drops of rain falling heavily from the eaves of my house.
“I’m not going out into that,” She seemed to say as she looked up at me, whined, and wagged her tail at the threshold of my backdoor.
I finally had the bright idea to take her under the basement. A portion of it has a dirt floor. I coaxed her into going to the bathroom. She really had to go bad and it took several minutes. Once the deed was done, we both sleepily walked back into my den. Maggie proceeded to carry around one of my socks. She placed it at my feet. “Here, this is for you. Put it on,” She seemed to say. I smiled and petted her vigorously. She wiggled with glee.
Just about the time my coffee began to percolate vigorously, the phone rang loudly startling me.
“Who in the hell could be calling this early in the morning,” I thought as it was just after 7 AM.
I answered the phone and was greeted by a big, “WHAZZUP!” on the other end.
I laughed and smiled. It was George.
“Momma wants to know if you want to come and eat breakfast with us,” Sherman replied. “She is cooking fried ham and eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy.”
“Oh man, that sounds so good, but I haven’t had a shower yet and look like the dregs of society this morning,” I replied. “And the weather is just horrible.”
“Screw dat shit and get your white ass over here,” George replied.
“Okay man, let me take a shower and drink a quick cup of coffee and I will be right over,” I said.
“Screw the coffee and the shower and come on over,” George said. “Momma is about to have it ready. We ain’t gonna judge how yo ass looks.”
I turned off my coffee pot, threw on some clothes, put on my ugly glasses as Maggie has chewed up my good pair, and ran out to the car to start the 5 minute drive to George’s house.
I arrived and knocked on the door and George let me in. The house smelled wonderfully of frying ham and baking biscuits. You can hear black gospel music playing on the radio in the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey,” The elderly Mrs. Jones said as I walked into the kitchen followed by Sherman.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied. “I appreciate you all inviting me.”
“Momma, dat be some good smellin’ shit,” Sherman said.
“Now don’t you be talkin’ like dat on the Lord’s Day,” Mrs. Jones replied as she scowled at Sherman.
I couldn’t help but smile at this little exchange.
We all sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat. The fried ham was the kind of thinly sliced salty breakfast ham they sell in the south. It was delicious in a biscuit with a little mustard slathered on. It had been awhile since I had had fried eggs as well and they were delicious. This grits were also just perfectly cooked; not too runny and not too thick with the right amount of seasoning and butter. George’s mother is wonderful old southern style cook.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you honey,” She replied. “At least someone appreciates my hard work.” She said as she gave a hard look at Sherman.
George ignored her and continued to greedily wolf down his food.
After eating, I got in the kitchen and tried to help cleanup, but Mrs. Jones wouldn’t hear of it.
“You two go on in the den and drink some coffee and watch a little TV,” She said. “I will do the cleaning up.”
George tuned the TV to channel ten and it was Edgewood Baptist Church’s morning service.
“Do you really like to watch this?” I asked.
“I like the music,” George replied.
“Well man, it seems I am going to be sent off for six months,” I replied starting up a conversation.
“So, you are gonna let yo pops incarcerate you,” George said.
“Commit me,” I replied correcting him for the umpteenth time over this matter. “It is just going to be a treatment center and not a psych ward. Dad is going to pay off my mortgage in full if I agree to go.”
“How much is left on yo mortgage if you don’t mind me asking,” George said. “I know it be none of my business.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you,” I said. “$33,000 dollars.”
“Holy son of a bitch,” George said.
You could hear George’s mother holler out not to cuss at Sherman on the Lord’s Day in the kitchen.
“Sorry momma,” George said loudly. “Well, I would go to jail for six months for that kind of money.”
“It is not going to be like jail,” I replied. “It will be a lot of therapy and twelve step meetings.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” George said. “I am going to miss you man. Can I come and visit?”
“I think you can visit on Sundays every week,” I replied.
George changed the channel on the TV to another station that was playing gospel music.
“Well man, I need to run on home and get cleaned up,” I replied. “Dad’s best friend’s son’s birthday is today and he is cooking hamburgers. I promised I would go even though I don’t want to.”
“Me and you will have one last drunk before you leave,” George replied quietly so his mother in the next room couldn’t hear.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “We will get a couple of cases of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer like old times.”
I told George’s mother, “Thank you so much for breakfast. It was delicious. Sherman is lucky to have you cook for him.”
She said thank you and did a black woman’s version of blushing. It had begun to rain much harder by now and I quickly ran out to the car trying to avoid getting wet as much as possible and drove on home. It was a wonderful breakfast and a grand time this morning. I am going to miss Sherman and his antics and his wonderful mother as well. It is going to be a long six months away it seems. I am going to miss experiences like these.
“Come on girl. Head out and do your business,” I said as I opened the back door to let her out. She was greeted by big drops of rain falling heavily from the eaves of my house.
“I’m not going out into that,” She seemed to say as she looked up at me, whined, and wagged her tail at the threshold of my backdoor.
I finally had the bright idea to take her under the basement. A portion of it has a dirt floor. I coaxed her into going to the bathroom. She really had to go bad and it took several minutes. Once the deed was done, we both sleepily walked back into my den. Maggie proceeded to carry around one of my socks. She placed it at my feet. “Here, this is for you. Put it on,” She seemed to say. I smiled and petted her vigorously. She wiggled with glee.
Just about the time my coffee began to percolate vigorously, the phone rang loudly startling me.
“Who in the hell could be calling this early in the morning,” I thought as it was just after 7 AM.
I answered the phone and was greeted by a big, “WHAZZUP!” on the other end.
I laughed and smiled. It was George.
“Momma wants to know if you want to come and eat breakfast with us,” Sherman replied. “She is cooking fried ham and eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy.”
“Oh man, that sounds so good, but I haven’t had a shower yet and look like the dregs of society this morning,” I replied. “And the weather is just horrible.”
“Screw dat shit and get your white ass over here,” George replied.
“Okay man, let me take a shower and drink a quick cup of coffee and I will be right over,” I said.
“Screw the coffee and the shower and come on over,” George said. “Momma is about to have it ready. We ain’t gonna judge how yo ass looks.”
I turned off my coffee pot, threw on some clothes, put on my ugly glasses as Maggie has chewed up my good pair, and ran out to the car to start the 5 minute drive to George’s house.
I arrived and knocked on the door and George let me in. The house smelled wonderfully of frying ham and baking biscuits. You can hear black gospel music playing on the radio in the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey,” The elderly Mrs. Jones said as I walked into the kitchen followed by Sherman.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied. “I appreciate you all inviting me.”
“Momma, dat be some good smellin’ shit,” Sherman said.
“Now don’t you be talkin’ like dat on the Lord’s Day,” Mrs. Jones replied as she scowled at Sherman.
I couldn’t help but smile at this little exchange.
We all sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat. The fried ham was the kind of thinly sliced salty breakfast ham they sell in the south. It was delicious in a biscuit with a little mustard slathered on. It had been awhile since I had had fried eggs as well and they were delicious. This grits were also just perfectly cooked; not too runny and not too thick with the right amount of seasoning and butter. George’s mother is wonderful old southern style cook.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you honey,” She replied. “At least someone appreciates my hard work.” She said as she gave a hard look at Sherman.
George ignored her and continued to greedily wolf down his food.
After eating, I got in the kitchen and tried to help cleanup, but Mrs. Jones wouldn’t hear of it.
“You two go on in the den and drink some coffee and watch a little TV,” She said. “I will do the cleaning up.”
George tuned the TV to channel ten and it was Edgewood Baptist Church’s morning service.
“Do you really like to watch this?” I asked.
“I like the music,” George replied.
“Well man, it seems I am going to be sent off for six months,” I replied starting up a conversation.
“So, you are gonna let yo pops incarcerate you,” George said.
“Commit me,” I replied correcting him for the umpteenth time over this matter. “It is just going to be a treatment center and not a psych ward. Dad is going to pay off my mortgage in full if I agree to go.”
“How much is left on yo mortgage if you don’t mind me asking,” George said. “I know it be none of my business.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you,” I said. “$33,000 dollars.”
“Holy son of a bitch,” George said.
You could hear George’s mother holler out not to cuss at Sherman on the Lord’s Day in the kitchen.
“Sorry momma,” George said loudly. “Well, I would go to jail for six months for that kind of money.”
“It is not going to be like jail,” I replied. “It will be a lot of therapy and twelve step meetings.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” George said. “I am going to miss you man. Can I come and visit?”
“I think you can visit on Sundays every week,” I replied.
George changed the channel on the TV to another station that was playing gospel music.
“Well man, I need to run on home and get cleaned up,” I replied. “Dad’s best friend’s son’s birthday is today and he is cooking hamburgers. I promised I would go even though I don’t want to.”
“Me and you will have one last drunk before you leave,” George replied quietly so his mother in the next room couldn’t hear.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “We will get a couple of cases of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer like old times.”
I told George’s mother, “Thank you so much for breakfast. It was delicious. Sherman is lucky to have you cook for him.”
She said thank you and did a black woman’s version of blushing. It had begun to rain much harder by now and I quickly ran out to the car trying to avoid getting wet as much as possible and drove on home. It was a wonderful breakfast and a grand time this morning. I am going to miss Sherman and his antics and his wonderful mother as well. It is going to be a long six months away it seems. I am going to miss experiences like these.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Dumpster Diving Wars
I saw Dumpster Diving Dan this morning on my walk. He was parked behind the shopping center just down from my house pondering what to do. He started to tell me about being harassed by the police this morning for diving in the dumpsters behind the shopping center.
“I don’t bother any body,” He said. “I mind my own business and never do any harm. They just throw this crap away and it will go to waste if someone doesn’t use it.”
“What did the police say to you?” I asked.
“They said there had been complaints from someone and for me to ‘cease and desist’ diving in the dumpsters,” Dan replied. “That said I fit the description from the complaint.”
“Man that is a shame. They throw away perfectly good food daily and you keep it from going to waste,” I told him.
“It was that damn hog man that complained,” Dan replied with an air of paranoia surrounding him. “That bastard is trying to encroach upon my territory. He needs to find his own dumpsters to dive in.”
The past few weeks have been a furious tussle between the “hog man” and Dan over dumpster diving rights. They have both been hitting the dumpsters earlier and earlier trying to beat each other out for the goods.
“Keep a watch out and see if he still scavenges in the dumpsters,” I replied. “And then you will know.”
“He feeds hogs with this perfectly good food!” Dan exclaimed. “I am trying to feed myself.”
“Well Dan, don’t you have an income and isn’t it enough to feed you?” I asked.
“Yeah, it is enough to live on, but dumpster diving saves me a lot of money on food,” He said. “I am a cheap bastard and just like to do it. It is a hobby of mine.”
I laughed at the thought of dumpster diving being a hobby.
“Ah, I see,” I replied. “I tried it once, but it just wasn’t to my liking.”
“Don’t you start stealing my food as well,” Dan said good heartedly as he smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I replied. “I just don’t have the heart to dumpster dive. And don’t worry about the police. They were probably just bored and won’t bother you again.”
“Well, I hope not,” Dan replied.
“See ya later bud,” I said and then walked on around to the front of the shopping center to see if any of the gang was around.
Big S was sitting in front the grocery store on a brand new bench that still smelled of fresh paint that had just dried.
“Big S, Dan was telling me about the police harassing him this morning,” I said.
“They asked me to stop loitering this morning too,” Big S replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I walked over to Sarah Jay’s to eat breakfast and then came back after they left. It is all just a show of force. The police are full of shit.”
“Man, let me borrow two bucks,” I then asked Big S. “I have let you borrow a dollar and cigarettes many times.”
Big S pulled out his wallet and gave me a $5 dollar bill.
“Don’t expect me to do this all the time,” Big S replied with a scowl.
Oh, how the tables have turned that I was having to borrow money from Big S. Usually, it is the other way around. It was downright embarrassing.
“I will be sure to return the favor soon when you need a few,” I said.
I walked on inside the grocery store and bought my morning Gatorade and a couple of bananas. Breakfast was served. I then walked on home as I drank my Gatorade and munched on an almost too green banana. Just like I like them. I can’t stand too ripe bananas.
“I don’t bother any body,” He said. “I mind my own business and never do any harm. They just throw this crap away and it will go to waste if someone doesn’t use it.”
“What did the police say to you?” I asked.
“They said there had been complaints from someone and for me to ‘cease and desist’ diving in the dumpsters,” Dan replied. “That said I fit the description from the complaint.”
“Man that is a shame. They throw away perfectly good food daily and you keep it from going to waste,” I told him.
“It was that damn hog man that complained,” Dan replied with an air of paranoia surrounding him. “That bastard is trying to encroach upon my territory. He needs to find his own dumpsters to dive in.”
The past few weeks have been a furious tussle between the “hog man” and Dan over dumpster diving rights. They have both been hitting the dumpsters earlier and earlier trying to beat each other out for the goods.
“Keep a watch out and see if he still scavenges in the dumpsters,” I replied. “And then you will know.”
“He feeds hogs with this perfectly good food!” Dan exclaimed. “I am trying to feed myself.”
“Well Dan, don’t you have an income and isn’t it enough to feed you?” I asked.
“Yeah, it is enough to live on, but dumpster diving saves me a lot of money on food,” He said. “I am a cheap bastard and just like to do it. It is a hobby of mine.”
I laughed at the thought of dumpster diving being a hobby.
“Ah, I see,” I replied. “I tried it once, but it just wasn’t to my liking.”
“Don’t you start stealing my food as well,” Dan said good heartedly as he smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I replied. “I just don’t have the heart to dumpster dive. And don’t worry about the police. They were probably just bored and won’t bother you again.”
“Well, I hope not,” Dan replied.
“See ya later bud,” I said and then walked on around to the front of the shopping center to see if any of the gang was around.
Big S was sitting in front the grocery store on a brand new bench that still smelled of fresh paint that had just dried.
“Big S, Dan was telling me about the police harassing him this morning,” I said.
“They asked me to stop loitering this morning too,” Big S replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I walked over to Sarah Jay’s to eat breakfast and then came back after they left. It is all just a show of force. The police are full of shit.”
“Man, let me borrow two bucks,” I then asked Big S. “I have let you borrow a dollar and cigarettes many times.”
Big S pulled out his wallet and gave me a $5 dollar bill.
“Don’t expect me to do this all the time,” Big S replied with a scowl.
Oh, how the tables have turned that I was having to borrow money from Big S. Usually, it is the other way around. It was downright embarrassing.
“I will be sure to return the favor soon when you need a few,” I said.
I walked on inside the grocery store and bought my morning Gatorade and a couple of bananas. Breakfast was served. I then walked on home as I drank my Gatorade and munched on an almost too green banana. Just like I like them. I can’t stand too ripe bananas.
Bribery if By No Other Name…
Well, I decided to restart the blog from scratch and just post tales about the gang or at least try from now on to make my father feel better about my postings. I will try to keep the more personal aspects of my family’s life private, but I digress on this post. I will slowly rebuild my archives over the next few days. It is a rather time consuming process, but luckily I have every old post saved in Microsoft word format.
I had rather long conversation with my father last night. I grew rather belligerent with him at first initially.
“I want to work and support myself and be a man,” I replied.
“You tried working for years and couldn’t handle the stress,” My father said. “It made you even more ill. You will get yourself in a mess again.”
“Well, I just get tired of not having control of my finances,” I replied. “Today, I wanted so bad to just drive down to Fat Albert’s and buy a few hotdogs and a soda and couldn’t as I have no money. Would you want to not have control over such things in your life?”
My father gave in and said, “No, I can understand your frustration. It would drive me crazy as well.”
“That’s why I can get so frustrated with our current arrangement,” I replied. “It feels so undignified and aggravating and that is why I get mad and rebel against you.”
My mother couldn’t take us arguing and she retired to bed without saying good night.
“I’ll tell you what I will do,” Dad said. “I am going to pay off your mortgage in full if you will go for that six months treatment program and straighten yourself out. Keep in mind that is over $28,000 dollars. Consider it part of your inheritance from your grandmother when we sell the house you’re living in, in a few months. Does that sound like a deal?”
“Dad, that is akin to bribery,” I replied.
“Well, I just want to see you okay,” He said. “And just think. Most people would die to have their mortgage paid off at such an early age. You will never have another house payment and will always have a place to live even after I am gone. Just think about it for me, okay?”
“Yeah, you’re right. That is too good of a deal to pass up. I will go if you just promise me you and mom will come see me on visitation days,’ I replied. “I don’t want to be stuck in some treatment center all alone for six months with no friends and family.”
“You’re my family and I will be there,” Dad then said.
“And when I get out, also promise me you are going to let me have more control over my finances and affairs.” I asked him.
“I promise,” Dad said. “It’s a deal.”
I hugged him goodnight and somberly walked on home with a lot on my mine. The prospect of my mortgage being paid off is so exciting. I will be able to live quite a comfortable life and my new house is really going to be nice.
I know that speaks badly of me and is sad, but the thing I am going to miss most while I am in for that six months is not being able to keep up with Sherman, the gang, my online friends, and writing in my journal. I have worked so hard to build up a readership and six months absence of writing will just kill my readership. Maybe, one of you good friends would allow me to write you about what I am experiencing and you could update my journal for me while I am gone. I know that is a lot to ask of strangers so don’t worry about it. I am also going to miss my Christmas trip to San Diego to see my brother and his wife. It is going to be a hard six months, but I think a small price to pay for such long term security.
I had rather long conversation with my father last night. I grew rather belligerent with him at first initially.
“I want to work and support myself and be a man,” I replied.
“You tried working for years and couldn’t handle the stress,” My father said. “It made you even more ill. You will get yourself in a mess again.”
“Well, I just get tired of not having control of my finances,” I replied. “Today, I wanted so bad to just drive down to Fat Albert’s and buy a few hotdogs and a soda and couldn’t as I have no money. Would you want to not have control over such things in your life?”
My father gave in and said, “No, I can understand your frustration. It would drive me crazy as well.”
“That’s why I can get so frustrated with our current arrangement,” I replied. “It feels so undignified and aggravating and that is why I get mad and rebel against you.”
My mother couldn’t take us arguing and she retired to bed without saying good night.
“I’ll tell you what I will do,” Dad said. “I am going to pay off your mortgage in full if you will go for that six months treatment program and straighten yourself out. Keep in mind that is over $28,000 dollars. Consider it part of your inheritance from your grandmother when we sell the house you’re living in, in a few months. Does that sound like a deal?”
“Dad, that is akin to bribery,” I replied.
“Well, I just want to see you okay,” He said. “And just think. Most people would die to have their mortgage paid off at such an early age. You will never have another house payment and will always have a place to live even after I am gone. Just think about it for me, okay?”
“Yeah, you’re right. That is too good of a deal to pass up. I will go if you just promise me you and mom will come see me on visitation days,’ I replied. “I don’t want to be stuck in some treatment center all alone for six months with no friends and family.”
“You’re my family and I will be there,” Dad then said.
“And when I get out, also promise me you are going to let me have more control over my finances and affairs.” I asked him.
“I promise,” Dad said. “It’s a deal.”
I hugged him goodnight and somberly walked on home with a lot on my mine. The prospect of my mortgage being paid off is so exciting. I will be able to live quite a comfortable life and my new house is really going to be nice.
I know that speaks badly of me and is sad, but the thing I am going to miss most while I am in for that six months is not being able to keep up with Sherman, the gang, my online friends, and writing in my journal. I have worked so hard to build up a readership and six months absence of writing will just kill my readership. Maybe, one of you good friends would allow me to write you about what I am experiencing and you could update my journal for me while I am gone. I know that is a lot to ask of strangers so don’t worry about it. I am also going to miss my Christmas trip to San Diego to see my brother and his wife. It is going to be a hard six months, but I think a small price to pay for such long term security.
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