Rumble, Tumble Nights

I never went to sleep tonight. The deal with Mike and his blog, Carolyn’s misfortunes, and my own misgivings kept me up. I am far too sensitive for my own good. The night has been a night fueled with emotion, diet cokes, packs of cigarettes, and immitigable worry.

__________________________

“Good morning,” I said as I looked down upon her lying in my bed. “You were quite the tempest last night.”

She smiled sleepily reaching out for my hand to hold it.

“Is that coffee I smell,” She asked as she yawned and stretched her arms wide.

I fixed us both two ample mugs and sat at my kitchen table underneath the stark glow of the lights in my dining room. Carolyn came walking in with my Peanuts t-shirt on and her panties to sit with me.

“I am in so much trouble,” She replied. “I think I might have lost my job.”

“Oh, hell,” I said. “They are not going to fire you for one night. They couldn’t find someone else who works like you do and puts up with so much crap. Everybody bowls a gutter ball sometimes.”

“Have you ever shirked off of work?” Carolyn asked looking at me intently.

I laughed as I took another sip of scalding hot coffee.

“Gal, one time, when I worked for the university, I took a whole week off and just didn’t show up. I was addicted to this game called Star Trek Voyager: Elite Force. I spent the whole week playing video games, drinking beer, and smoking copious amounts of cigarettes. I said to hell with it all. I wanted to get fired. I would have made the Protestants with their work ethic howl with fury. I had the time of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world.”

“Did you lose your job?” She asked intrigued.

“No, I played the “mentally ill” card and the university work environment is especially forgiving of disability. I begged Dr. Carey to keep my job. That poor sod got killed in a car wreck last year bless his deluded soul.”

“That’s fucked up,” Carolyn replied as she laughed and drank more of her coffee. “Not about the guy dying though. That was sad.”

“I know,” I said. “But I got a paid week off of bliss from wage slavery. There was nothing like waking up in the morning to crack open a beer, light a cigarette, and to not have to drive an hour to work to sit in front of a computer entering research data all day.”

“Do you ever want to go back to work?” She asked me.

“Sometimes,” I replied. “But I want to make a difference in other people’s lives. I don’t want to spend eight hours a day entering data into some computer or driving a big rig a thousand miles a day with my commercial driver’s license; all that is bullshit and for the faint of heart.”

“Well, I need to head home and check on the animals,” She said as she got up and kissed me setting her coffee mug upon the table. “I know they are hungry.”

I watched as Carolyn took off my t-shirt and put back on her clothes from yesterday.

“I think I am just going to quit my job and come live with you,” She said walking back into my dining room. “We will be one happy, frugal couple. Besides, the kitchen at your new house rocks!”

“Come here,” I said as I pulled her towards me smiling. “I and you are going to be okay.”

“You think so?” She asked as I held her close.

“I know so,” I replied.

She gave me one of the most affectionate hugs I have ever experienced. She kissed me on the forehead and I listened intently as she slipped out of my door to walk down to the vaunted Fat Albert’s to get her car. Good morning gentle soul and don’t let those lottery fuckers get to you tonight.

Rescue Me…

I had a call on the phone late tonight. I looked at the clock and it read 2 AM as I sat at this computer. I was listening to the rebroadcast of Mick Williams’ Cyber-line over the internet. “Fuck, I need to go to bed,” I thought as I got up to answer it wary of who would be calling so late.

“Rescue me,” She said on the other end. “Come down here and get me out of this shit. We have had nothing but fucking crazies all night.”

“Honey, you are falling out of the frying pan and into the fire,” I replied.

“Oh, fuck. Don’t start that, ‘you are crazy’ shit with me,” She replied angrily. “Come down here and get my ass. You carry on about being so crazy, but you are the most laid back and sane guy I know. Quit playing the fool.”

Yikes! Scathing!

I hung up the phone and sleepily put on some more presentable clothes. I was idling around the house in a white cotton t-shirt and my Auburn Tigers polyester shorts; sleeping gear that I wouldn’t leave the house wearing in broad daylight.

I drove down to and walked into Fat Albert’s and poured myself a cup of coffee in the back of the store.

“It’s on the house,” Carolyn said tersely loudly out of viewing.

“What’s got into you tonight?” I asked as I walked up to the counter concerned.

“Just take me home with you,” She said. “I can’t take this shit anymore.”

I looked at Debra who was her co-worker tonight wondering what her reaction would be.

“You two head on out,” She said. “I will be okay until seven by myself. I will tell Barbara (the manager) you got sick.”

I and Carolyn got in my car and headed up through the neighborhood to my home.

“I just can’t take it anymore,” She said as she started to cry pitifully. “My job sucks.”

I reached over and grabbed her hand trying to console her as I drove.

“You are so lucky you don’t have to work and put up with that kind of shit.”

“I know,” I said not knowing what else to say. I am truly lucky although I wouldn’t wish schizophrenia or disability upon anyone else.

“Hell, someone paid for your house,” She said. “You didn’t even have to work for it. I had to bust my ass to keep my home after my divorce.”

She was right. I didn’t have to work for it. I am just lucky my family is very wealthy. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to make some lame excuse about me being fucked up in the head. I stayed quiet and just listened to her vent her feelings.

“Come on, let’s get you in the bed,” I said as we pulled up into my driveway and I turned my headlights off.

“You know I don’t hate you for what you have,” She said wiping the tears from her eyes as she got out of my car. “I am not a jealous person.”

“I know,” I said. “I know. Let’s talk about it in the morning after you have gotten some sleep.”

Carolyn crawled into my bed and pulled my covers over her. I turned off my bedroom lights and quietly stepped into my den to turn on my air conditioner. “Life sucks,” I thought as I sat down to write this. Most people spend all their lives working through bullshit for food tokens and just to pay their bills. Nobody should have to put up with the lottery induced madness that Carolyn has to deal with at paltry wages. I would be pissed off mad as well.

Change of Plans…

I and Carolyn ended up eating at Sushi Huku, a Japanese restaurant, due to my insistence this evening. I was in the mood for authentic Asian cuisine. The food at The Varsity always gives me terrible heartburn afterwards.

“This place is really cool,” Carolyn said as we sat down upon the floor on pillows around the low lying table Japanese dining style.

“Yeah, Rachel (my ex-wife) loved for me to bring her up here to eat,” I replied. “I found this place on a lark one evening searching for restaurants on the internet. We had had a big argument and I took her up here to say sorry. She had a fixation with all things Asian. I spent a fortune keeping her in kimonos off of E-bay.”

Before long, out came our food. I had a bento box with teriyaki marinated and grilled chicken, steamed rice and various Japanese condiments. Carolyn ate a platter of various sushi offerings freshly prepared by the sushi chef.

“How did you learn to use chopsticks so well?” She asked as she watched me eat.

I was in the middle of deftly placing a piece of chicken in my mouth.

“I ate far too much take-out Chinese in college,” I replied with my mouth full of food. “Chopsticks were convenient for a college student living in a dorm without a kitchen.”

We finished our meal and then headed for the mall. It was crazy in there I tell you. Crowds like that make me nervous. Carolyn bought some new shirts and a pair of slacks. I managed to find me a nice suede leather jacket on sale which was still too expensive but I bought it anyway. I never buy things other than the bare necessities and felt I could splurge tonight.

Homed Once Again and a Gang Update…

The smell of mozzarella cheese, pepperoni, and pizza crust is wafting into my den from my kitchen. Yes, I am homed once again. I made the short 5 minute drive up the road to my house and parked my car for the time being. I was growing tired of spending so much on gas lately which such a life entails. I also came to the sobering realization that if I am ever to find a mate, mentally ill or not, I was going to have to go back to a more conventional lifestyle. Let’s face it guys. Some dude living in his car ain’t exactly a prime catch these days. I don’t think that is high up on the list of what women look for in potential mates. It is so nice to be using my relatively fast computers and internet connection at home that my brother affectionately calls “The Bunker.” My laptop is a piece of outdated junk that was a pain in the ass to use.

My whole online reading material is derived from other blogs these days. Nobody is writing much this week leaving me bereft of reading material. Even the normally verbose “The Homeless Guy” has slunk off into some hole to hide lately. He had a paid blogging gig this weekend at a local television affiliates blog and stirred up a shit storm among its readers with a crass post about Steve Irwin deserving what he got. Nobody has heard from him since. I am sure he will lick his wounds and return to blog again another day.

My car living experiment has completely got my usual routines out of whack thus the lack of posts about the gang. I haven’t been spending much time down at the shopping center or at all. I thought I would write a short update on what the gang has been doing. This was garnered from Big S this morning.

George: George has been busy courting Pookie, playing poker, and trying to cut down on his ice beer consumption. There seems to be love in the air these days around here. Big S said that Pookie had gone into his wallet again the other night while he slept at her house and took fifty dollars. She disappeared and showed up two days later after a crack binge. George was furious. I have told him repeatedly that I don’t care how horny you get; a crack whore ain’t a good place to go to get satisfied.

Ferret: Ferret is presumably still at that religious based group home for indigent and alcoholic men down in Columbus, Georgia. No news is good news as far as Ferret is concerned.

Droopy: You all read of my run-in with Droopy last night. He has really let himself go and is not taken care to keep up his appearance. He will wear the same t-shirt and jeans for weeks on end. I see him constantly walking about this small town on his various social errands with the underbelly of town

Dumpster Diving Dan: Dan is doing what he always does. His longstanding feud with the hog man ceased as the hog man gave up due to Dan’s tenacity and went looking for greener pastures. Dan still feeds his seagulls every morning and hits the dumpsters before the heat of a late summer’s sun hits.

Addiction…

I am officially addicted to my ex-wife’s myspace journal. At first, I didn’t read it because I thought it would just upset me. Now, I can’t help but check in every few hours to see if she has written something. I can be so damn nosey sometimes to my own detriment.

She is dating this guy that is a really interesting character. He has had multiple DUIs and his license is revoked so he can’t drive. My ex-wife has to drive him around everywhere. He seems to spend most of his time drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. I was shocked that Rachel would date someone like that after what she went through with me and my drinking escapades. Though, Rachel loves being a victim. It was unnerving to read about her and this guy’s sordid debauchery in the very bed I paid for with my hard earned cash. I am pretty sure this guy will be husband number three.

I went and bought groceries tonight and saw Droopy wandering around Kroger with a cup of Ramen noodles in his hand. He looked especially grungy tonight. The clothes on his back had seen several weeks of wear and were visibly dirty and stained from sweat.

“What are doing on this side of town?” I asked him.

He mumbled some almost incomprehensible reply. I can barely understand the dude when he talks. I left him to continue his wandering and went and paid for my groceries.

As the World Turns…

I am sitting here in this beautiful park scribbling in my notebook. Three squirrels are busy foraging in the green grass that spreads before me like an expansive, lush carpet. You can hear thunder rumbling on the horizon. It has been an overcast day which has kept the temperatures wonderfully cool. Deputy Fife just drove by in his golf cart making sure that chaos was not breaking out in this deserted corner of the world. I can’t help but smile when I see him riding by looking so full of purpose and seriousness.

I made the mistake of telling my mother where I spend most of my days. She has been bringing me a plate of food out to the park which is only a short drive from their home. Today, my father’s cook prepared chicken and dumplings and biscuits. I had forgotten how delicious homemade chicken and dumplings could be.

Amidst a Sea of 87,000 Strong…

I made my way to Jordan – Hare stadium last night after spending over thirty minutes finding a parking spot. You could hear the roaring crowd and the announcer speaking over a mile away as I walked. I passed by frat houses with the tenants trying to get in three or four more beers before they made their way to the stadium as well in drunken and loud rowdiness. There was this tangible and excitable feeling of electricity in the air.

Once in the stadium, it took a moment for me to find my bearings. I had to look at my ticket several times to make sure I was heading in the right direction. I finally found my gate section and walked up that long ramp as the crowd noise grew ever louder. Within moments I emerged from that ramp standing amidst a sea of 87,000 strong and was almost overwhelmed. I looked up into the stands to see if I could see my father and his friends. There were just too many people. I finally did find them. Dad was sitting with my sister’s husband and two of his best friends. Everyone greeted me and shook my hand as they made room for me to sit down.

The teams took the field. A low roar of “Waaaa-a-a-a-r-r-r-r!!!” erupted from the crowd as the place kicker set up his ball on the tee. The referee blew the whistle; the place kicker started his run and then set the ball soaring into the air followed by a deafening “Eagle!!! Hey!!!” from the crowd. The game was underway.

Auburn played a good game. By the end of half-time we were had a good point lead and had started to put in second and third string players. I quietly slipped out of the stadium to avoid the leaving crowds and snarling traffic. I drove on up interstate 85 listening to the rest of the game on the radio. I parked in my secluded grove and bedded down for the night as I browsed the internet, wrote some, and listened to the radio. I then slept until noon this afternoon. These blissful weekends of long sleep will end tomorrow morning as the employees will once again start to arrive after a weekend off and begin another week of workin’ for the man. I will have to vacate the premises at dawn.

War Eagle!!!!!

The Pigskins Start to Fly…

I stopped by my house this morning to check my email and to check my answering machine for messages. There was a message from my father to come and eat lunch with them today. A conciliatory act I guess. The passage of time does heal wounds. I drove to their house around eleven ‘o’ clock. Maggie wiggled furiously in their fence and started to dig with vigor to get out. I walked over to pet her and give her a big belly rub. I then walked on inside with butterflies in my stomach hoping this first visit in weeks wouldn’t erupt into a furious argument.

My father has hired a new full time cook and she is much better than their previous one. She prepares food in the old southern tradition. President Taft, a Yankee, once came to the South for a conference and his only comment about the South to his aides was, “They served me greasy vegetables and corn bread.” My father’s new cook prepares the vegetables that same way since those days long ago of President Taft’s visit. We had fried chicken, butterbeans w/ fat back for seasoning, squash casserole, deviled eggs, and one of the most delicious pans of corn bread I have ever eaten.

“You’re brother got back from Iraq yesterday,” My father said as we sat there eating our meal.

“I was just about to ask you that,” I replied. “I knew it would be any day now.”

“Lily (his daughter) asked him why he doesn’t wear panties,” Dad said as he chuckled. “It had been that long since a man had been in the house and he walked out of the bedroom with his boxer shorts on. She thought everybody wore panties.”

“Well, I hope my brother doesn’t start cross dressing,” I replied snidely in jest.

We all laughed.

My brother is an officer in the Navy with the rank of Lieutenant. He was attached to a group of Marines as a physician in a mobile field hospital. He had served eight long months in Iraq. It was good to have him home. When he left his daughter was barely talking. Now, you can’t get her to be quiet.

As I began to walk out of my Parent’s backdoor after saying farewell, my father handed me a bundle of season football tickets wrapped together with a rubber band.

“I expect to see you at the Auburn game tonight,” He said. “I will be looking for you.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world,” I replied as I gave him a hug. “I will see you around 7:45 tonight.”

“Time does indeed heal wounds,” I thought as I drove down the street to park in my secluded spot to write and read for a few hours.

All it takes is for one of us to reach out to each other. I and my father will probably always fundamentally disagree on things and will have a contentious relationship. That doesn’t mean we can’t look beyond those differences and still love each other. See ya at the game dad.

And the Rain Gently Falls…

A storm parked itself over this small town last night and it rained for hours and hours into the wee hours of the morning. I laid back in the reclined seat of my car listening to this symphony of nature. At first, the harsh, metallic patter of the rain dropping heavily upon my hood and windshield aggravated me. Then I started to relax and noticed the more subtle sounds accompanying it. The pleasant sluice of infrequent car tires cutting through the water on the wet road nearby; the drip of rain from the leaves of the neatly manicured shrubs lining the perimeter of the parking lot; the occasional strong gusts of wind that would hauntingly whistle in the cracks of my slightly opened windows. This wind would, from time to time, blow a mist of water in those cracks giving the rain an all more tangible fell. Not only could I hear it, I could experience it tactually.

Morning arrived in what seemed like a blink of the eye. The rain had long since ceased and I was greeted by a grey and overcast sky. It took until midmorning for these clouds to burn off and for the sun to be revealed. The temperature then skyrocketed heated by the late summer sun. I found myself out at the park lost in my thoughts as I sat quietly reading a book in my fortress of solitude.

In two days, it will have been one whole week of exploring this new lifestyle. I find it suits me and my disability very well. I haven’t felt this free from anxiety in years and am pleasantly content with the slow pace and almost drifting nature of my days. I have pretty much removed myself from the conventions of modern society and find myself beginning to form my own philosophy on what I believe is a meaningful life. Being removed from the thoughts and opinions of others is allowing me to formulate my own beliefs, desires and opinions. It is so intellectually stimulating and satisfying. For once, I had a week in my life in where I felt the value of my person was not measured by the opinions and regards of others or how they expected me to life my life.

I finally gave up on daytime talk radio yesterday which had grown part of my routine during the week. At first, it held a morbid fascination, but the same tiresome rants, proselytizing, and fear-mongering grew old after awhile. I found myself longing to hear and read about more moderate stances on politics and not the constant tactics to divide people along political and party lines. There is an extreme juxtaposition of what is aired during the day to what is aired at night. The so called conservatives have a strangle hold on radio during the day and they all spout the same vitriol ad nauseam. It just reaffirms my belief that as long as the ruling elite can continue to keep people divided politically, socially, and religiously that people will never be able to work together for a common cause of bettering this world for all. They are all too busy squabbling over the scraps thrown from the table of our ruling elite.

The Art of Verbal Self-defense

I have been extremely lucky over the years I have been writing online journals to have largely supportive, thoughtful, and kind people commenting on my various writings and ramblings. But it is a fact of online journaling with regards to comments, especially anonymous comments, that from time to time you will have dissenters show up and express their opinions. All it takes is a modicum of readership and an opinionated blog author. The vast majority of these few negative comments have been in the variety of ad hominem jabs. The option of commenting also seems to elicit a certain bravado when done so behind the veil of anonymity or in the indubitable Molly Brown’s case, a blog written by a human masquerading as a dog.

I long ago decided not to debate such comments or only fleetingly make a passing remark in a non-confrontational manner. These comments are written to elicit an angry response in order to get your undivided attention, in order to shut you down and silence you or put you in your place. I try to follow a simple set of guidelines in these circumstances I read on the web many moons ago called Elgin’s “Metaprinciples.”

A. Anything you feed will grow.
B. Anything you starve, smother, or neglect will fester or die.
C. Every language interaction is an interactive feedback loop.
D. The only meaning an utterance has in the real world is the meaning the listener understands it to have.
E. Mismatch is a warning sign; watch for it.

When commenting on other blogs I try to follow what Elgin call’s “Miller’s Law.”

"In order to understand what another person is saying, you must assume that it is true and try to imagine what it could be true of." (George Miller; 1980.)

Our tendency when we hear someone say something that strikes us as unacceptable is to assume that it is false and try to imagine what's wrong with the person who said it. (As in: "That's ridiculous! He's only saying that because he's stupid/biased/ignorant/trying to trick me/..." and so on.) This guarantees communication breakdown; instead, use Miller's Law. The proper response when someone says, "My toaster has been talking to me!" is to give the speaker your full attention, ask, "What has it been saying?", and then listen carefully.

Comments such as these are why I rarely express my opinions on modern politics, religion, or society. It evokes such a vitriolic response from certain people and I am content with my views on the world and its structure so do not normally feel the need to share them or to try to push my beliefs upon others. I was just having a hard time coming up with something to write today and that was issue that was pressing on my mind.

I have been reading a book lately titled Lila by Robert Persig and the below quote sums up my coping mechanism very well. Those of us with mental illness will greatly relate to this passage; thus my shyness with being expressive or pushy with my opinions on this journal.

The hardest thing to deal with was the righteousness of the sane.

"When you're in agreement with the sane they're a great comfort and protection, but when you disagree with them it's another matter. Then they're dangerous. Then they'll do anything. The sinister thing that struck the most fear in him was what they'd do in the name of kindness. The ones he cared about most and who cared about him most suddenly, all of them, turned against him the same way they had against Ellen. They kept saying, "There's no way we can reach you. If only we could make you understand."

"He saw that the sane always know they are good because their culture tells them so. Anyone who tells them otherwise is sick, paranoid, and needs further treatment. To avoid that accusation Phædrus had to be very careful of what he said when he was in the hospital. He told the sane what they wanted to hear and kept his real thoughts to himself.

Open thine eyes to be greeted by the sun…

I was startled awake by the loud thud of a car door slamming shut. I opened my eyes to be greeted by a bright midmorning sun shining in through the windows of my car. I immediately leaned up, reclined my seat back to its upright position and looked at my watch. It was 7:30 AM! I was amidst a sea of cars filling this vast parking lot as the employees had arrived to spend another drudge filled day sitting in their little cubicles in front of glaring computer monitors toiling for this corporate behemoth.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

I had forgotten to set my alarm clock the night before and had overslept.

“Oh well,” I thought. “Everybody bowls a gutter ball sometimes.”

It was a wonderfully cool and comfortable night to sleep last night. My little portable weather station showed the temperature had fallen to a low of 69 degrees in the overnight hours. This allowed me to sleep with my windows rolled up creating a barrier between me and those pesky mosquitoes.

I cranked up my car and drove the short distance down the street to Fat Albert’s to imbibe in my morning cup of coffee. Carolyn was just finishing up counting her till and was eager to head home and get in the bed after a long night shift.

“Hey stranger!” She said as she greeted me enthusiastically as I walked in.

“Hey gal,” I replied as I walked pass the cash register to the back of the store to fix my coffee with extra cream and sugar.

Fat Albert’s was eerily quiet this morning as the great hordes of lottery addicts had yet to arrive and gamble their hard earned cash away. I am sure the store would be hopping by lunchtime as this is lottery central for the local area.

“Would you do me a favor?” Carolyn asked as I stepped back up to the counter. “I will pay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me whatever it is,” I replied. “We are the best of friends, remember?”

“Could you come by this morning and cut my grass?” She asked. “David (her son) is in Atlanta doing contract work all week and can’t cut it. It needs it bad. I am afraid it is going to get too overgrown.”

“I will be over within the hour,” I replied.

I drove on downtown to eat a quick breakfast of two egg McMuffins and an orange juice and then headed out to Carolyn’s house. She was already in the bed when I arrived and was fast asleep. She had left her garage door up so I could get to her riding mower.

I proceeded to try to crank it, but the battery was so weak it would barely turn the engine over. I put it in neutral and pushed it out into the driveway. I then pulled my car near and got my jumper cables out and connected the two batteries of both vehicles and the riding mower roared to life with the first turn of the key. It only took me around an hour to cut her grass as I circled her yard in an ever decreasing square. I didn’t even bother to wake her when I finished. I just parked the mower back in the garage and shut the door and went about my business. I will see her tomorrow morning. She needs her sleep.

Languid Days…

Its lunch time and I am sitting in the park eating my two .50 cent hotdogs from Fat Albert’s. Amazingly, these beautiful surroundings seem to be ignored for the most part by the local population and townsfolk. I feel as if I have garnered a new family; the regulars that have the good fortune of enjoying the surroundings much as me; the few that there are. We all respect each others boundaries and see each other everyday. We keep a comfortable distance.

One middle aged lady shows up around lunch time to walk laps around the perimeter of the park around noon. She is amazingly fit for what I believe to be her age. I admire her undaunted determination with which she so dutifully does her best to exercise everyday. I sometimes daydream about being seduced by such an older and attractive women twice my age. Various sexual fantasies vividly fill my mind as it wanders over the banal preponderances of AM talk radio emitting from my headphones.

A group of what I believe to be migrant Mexican farm workers shows up everyday to subsistence fish. They are a jovial bunch laughing and talking in that language I cannot understand. I watch intently as they clean their fish and proceed to grill them over hot coals on the grills the park provides. They look as if they live in abject poverty, but seem so happy and fulfilled. It reinforces home the fact I have learned over the years that money can’t buy you happiness.

The park ranger whom I have deemed Deputy Fife makes his rounds on the hour. He never fails everyday to accost the Mexicans and check their fishing licenses. He is a nervous, jittery fellow adorned in a light green shirt with a badge and khaki pants. His mode of transportation is a golf cart which always makes me smile as he tools around the park with an air of importance in such a laughable vehicle. I imagine he was once a police officer and had to retire to the relative obscurity of a park ranger due to stress and his nervous disposition.

Thunder rolls loudly on the horizon suddenly. The Mexicans spring into action and pack up all their fishing and cooking gear. What seems like twenty of them pile into one vehicle and drive off. The lady walking the perimeter park has long since left. I am left alone with my thoughts and my surroundings. My only companion is the voice of the daytime AM radio show hosts ranting endlessly on my radio about the war on terrorism and those evil Muslims; fervently trying to whip their listeners into frenzy over nonexistent threats. It astonishes me that citizens would turn to these talking heads to generate their view on the world and politics. I listen in with morbid fascination.

The thunder grows ever louder and the first heavy rain drops start to fall. It chases me to the sheltered confines of my car. I close the door and sit quietly as the rain picks up in intensity. I smile and feel so tranquil and content. For once, my life seems to have such a profound meaning. I am at one with the world and my surroundings. I open my laptop and proceed to capture today’s lunchtime moment in the park with zeal.

Good News Arrives on the Wind…

The scuttlebutt down at the shopping center this morning was that Ferret has managed to secure a bed in a group home for homeless, alcoholic men for a tenure of nine months. I looked up their website on the web and was dismayed to find this to be one of those religious programs (which aren’t? When did the Christians corner the market on trading in insolvent, indigent, and/or addicted men? ) where you are force fed sermons during the day of a fundamentalist nature (the website reeked of fundie). Ferret doesn’t have a religious bone in his body so I am kind of concerned as to how long he will actually stay and put up with all that pretentious nonsense. At least for the time being, he has a roof over his head, a bed, and three square meals a day. The poor dude deserved a break, but now he has to deal with Jesus freaks for nine months and their ignominious preaching just to get some help. Who knows? Maybe he will get born again. With winter coming on, this was good news to hear for Ferret’s sake despite the bible thumpin’ nature of the program. Ferret’s condition was degrading on a daily basis. My brother always told me, “You have to believe in something,” in regards to Alcoholics Anonymous and it’s religious overtones which often caused me to chide in distaste. Maybe the same will hold true for Ferret as well. I would much rather to not have anything but good to write about that fellow for a change if anything at all. Ferret deserves a break.

George wins the numbskull of the day award today. Big S said he had seen him earlier this morning and George related to him the story of his running over his mother’s mailbox last night. Big S said George was in an abnormally animated mode of discussion today as he shared the lurid details of his run-in with Postal Service property. Luckily, not much was harmed other than George’s pride and a $50 mailbox. I didn’t even have to ask Big S if he was drunk. It was a given. George is another individual in my life that is definitely burning his candle at both ends. Why do all these drunks gravitate towards me? It must be my alluring charm, wit, and discerning ear; my drunken gravitas. I seemed to have stamped on my forehead “Drunk? Yes, I will talk to you! Have a seat!”

Last night was unpleasantly hot and humid. A cold front blew through with an unceremonious whimper during the night bringing little relief and the storms ahead of it had dissipated long before it arrived much to my chagrin. We got a few brief sprinkles of rain as if the weather gods were mocking me and my weather obsession. The mosquitoes were also hellacious last night. I spent much of the night fending off the little blood sucking bastards instead of sleeping. It was too hot to roll up the windows of my car. There is no more miserable feeling than literally being eaten alive for hours on end by a foe you can barely see. Note to self: Get mosquito repellant today, pronto!

Morning arrived much to my relief with me sitting at my sunrise spot in the park. I sat eating a Payday candy bar and drinking a pint of milk as I welcomed in the magical hour. I looked at my watch and it seemed several hours had passed in a moment’s notice; I, living in my own little world that inhabits this dusty and cobweb festooned malfunctioning mind.

I had several people remark to me today about how much weight I have lost lately. The medications for schizophrenia are notorious for causing weight gain and not being able to lose weight. I am having the exact opposite problem these days. I rarely look into a mirror so this piqued my curiosity. One of the dollar stores has an old fashioned scale were you can weigh yourself for a dime. I got on it and weighed. 190 pounds. I have lost 30 pounds with no effort on my part. I seriously need to stop eating out of a can and get back to eating three nutritious meals a day again. My appetite has just been nonexistent though. I have to force myself to eat. I am fueled by cigarettes and diet cokes these days.

Becoming Unwired…

I was pleasantly surprised to find that there is a strong Wi-Fi signal emanating from the office building across from where I am camping at night and it’s unsecured! Joy! 24 hours of free internet access bliss! I had to run down to Wal-Mart and purchased an expensive 12 volt to 110 volt converter to use my laptop in my car. The batteries on my very old laptop are almost shot and barely hold a small charge these days. So, I am writing this from the comfy confines of my trusty steed as I settle down for the evening to wait for my favorite radio shows to air.

Pipe wrote a comment concerned about me and various aspects of my life. Pipe, rest assured that things are going well. We are in the very process of getting everything put in my name. I found it sad though that you thought my car camping experiments were not living a “true, adult life.” What in the hell is a true adult life anyway? I find most orthodox adults that I encounter on a daily basis to be boring, vapid, and dull individuals living equally boring, vapid, and dull lives. I am happy! I am doing something I very much enjoy. I revel in exploring alternative ways to living. While most adults are sequestered in their “safe” and “boring” boxes i.e. homes, I am out experiencing life and the forces of nature. I feel fully alive and invigorated! Also, due to the great amount of social anxiety that I experience, living in my car affords me a certain solitude and a feeling of safeness from encounters in which I do not wish to participate in. I am free from the prying eyes of my ever watchful family members.

Day 3 and the Adventure Continues…

George is intrigued by my car camping experiment. He has been my constant companion these past few days.

“You have a perfectly good bed to sleep in and a home and yo white ass, cracka ass is sleepin’ in your car,” He said with an air of incredulousness.

“Think of it as a camping trip,” I replied as I smiled undaunted.

“You white ass honkeys are crazy,” George said as he took another drink from his beer.

I thought about arguing the absurdity of drinking beer at 7 AM in the morning, but let it slide. Thus sets the scene for this morning’s foray into the lakeside park to cook breakfast on my camp stove. George watched intently as I boiled a pot of grits and then set it aside to fry some bacon.

“You’ve done this before,” George replied.

“I was homeless for six months, remember? This is second nature to me.”

George certainly didn’t have any problem in partaking of the bowl of grits and crumbled bacon I handed him. We both sat eating as the sun first rose over the trees on the far side of the lake.

“Brilliant!” I exclaimed as I took in another spoonful of food.

George demurely played it off as if it was no big deal. Soon, he was taking leave of me to go start his day of earning money via his fly-by-night taxi service. “The park has to be the most fucking boring place to spend your morning,” were his words to me as he got in his car. I laughed it off and bid him farewell. Little did he know that these treasured surroundings meant a great deal to me. They are akin to my fortress of solitude.

Company for Two…

I made the mistake of telling George where I was car camping yesterday evening. He came pulling up late last night blaring his gospel music.

“What’s up my brotha!” He exclaimed jovially from the open windows of his car as he pulled up.

“Just great!” I thought as my stealth camping spot was now revealed to all who passed by.

George got in my car with a case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion. With each beer his speech grew more mangled and confused. Soon, he was passed out. I walked around the car to open the passenger’s door and released the lever for the seat to recline it. Sherman went flopping backwards as the seat reclined with a loud thud. He didn’t wake up until this morning when my alarm clock went off.

“Let’s move your car over to the shopping center,” I said.

George was still drunk as hell this morning and stumbled to get into his car. He did manage to drive it over to the shopping center and parked it. I then drove us down to the Waffle House to eat some breakfast hoping it would sober George up some.

Meeting Destiny at Noon…

It is very comforting to me to know that I can get to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting every noon in a local town. It is quite a lengthy drive, but well worth it if you are feeling sorry for yourself like I was this morning. I woke up with the funks. Mornings such as these are prime meeting time.

I managed to arrive at the meeting hall just mere minutes before the meeting was to begin. I walked in, grabbed an ashtray, and waved at a few familiar faces as I sat down. This meeting is the last one I know of in that you can smoke during the actual meeting. A smoky haze highlighted by the noon sun shining in through the windows already filled the room and drifted on the currents of the air. This meeting hall was once a Catholic Church and the bright noon sun also shone through the old stained glass windows splaying a myriad of vibrant colors upon the floor and the walls. It brought a tranquil feeling upon me.

The meeting began and we went through the usual routines of reading the traditions, promises, and the 12 steps. Soon, it was time to talk and the chairperson opened up the room to do so. A very beautiful young woman spoke up and immediately caught my attention.

“Hi, I’m Angela and I am an alcoholic,” She said and then began to speak.

I leaned forward in my chair placing my elbow upon the table and resting my chin within my hand. God, she was gorgeous and so eloquent. I was mesmerized as she told us what problems she was having today. I looked closely at her hand and she wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

She ended up talking for 20 minutes and that 20 minutes passed by quickly in a blur of infatuation. I was far too shy to talk today in a room consisting mostly of strangers and people I was unfamiliar with. I quietly slipped out the front door after emptying my ashtray and returning it to the ledge below a window when the meeting was over.

I drove on over to Charlie Joseph’s Hotdogs for lunch still thinking about that woman. I hadn’t been this stricken by someone in years.

“Can I take your order?” Rang out interrupting my daydream.

I was quickly brought back into the world at hand. A weasely looking teen-ager stood at the cash register looking at me intently and waiting for my order. His glasses had started to slip off the edge of his nose and he reached up with his hand to push them back on.

“Yeah, I want two slaw dogs, a small order of fries, and a medium diet coke,” I replied finally composing myself.

“That’s two slaw dogs, a small order of fries, and a medium coke,” He repeated. “Could I interest you in an order of our fried hot pepper poppers?”

“No thanks,” I said.

Within moments, my order was ready and I walked back up to the counter to grab the tray of food and go sit down. I sat at the back of the restaurant in front of a window watching the cars whir by on the highway. I ate my meal still mesmerized by that beautiful, young lady named Angela that spoke today. Various scenarios of romance played out in my mind. I was regretting the fact that I was not forward enough to ask her for her phone number. I may never see her again.

Oh well, they say in A.A. that you should sometimes wait years and get quite a good stretch of sobriety before ever even entertaining another relationship. Getting sober is hard enough without adding another person’s wants, desires, and emotional needs to the mix. I can take comfort in my dreams though. Someday, maybe a beautiful, kind, and eloquent soul like Angela will enter my life and give it all the more meaning. Until then, my dreams and daydreams will have to suffice.

Mr. Magoo, to you!

The cacophony of cicadas was almost deafening as I walked down to the shopping center this morning. The heat and humidity was already impressive at 9 AM. I had broken out in a sweat just from a slow walk. Dark patches had formed on my light grey Auburn Tigers t-shirt.

George was sitting in his car eating a tin of sardines and carefully placing each morsel on a cracker as I walked up. He immediately busted out laughing when he saw me almost choking on the food he was chewing.

“You look like a fucking Mister Magoo!” He exclaimed referring to my not so stylish glasses.

I was having a hell of a time with my contacts this morning and Maggie had chewed up my good pair of glasses. I had to fall back on a very outdated pair of lenses that I have had for years and years.

“Shut the hell up man,” I said self consciously.

“You are the goofiest looking fucker with those damn things on,” George said as he continued to laugh. “You could pass for Waldo.”

I smiled when George said that as his laughing grew contagious. I couldn’t help but start laughing along. George got to laughing so hard that he dropped the cracker and sardine he was holding on the floor board of his car. He sveltely pushed it under his seat with the heel of his foot. I am sure that will be an interesting smell in a few days. George’s car is not the most clean of vehicles thats for sure. It might add to the ambiance instead of taking away from it.

“Yeah, they do look pretty ridiculous, don’t they?” I asked. “I have an appointment on the 30th to get new glasses.”

“I would just walk around blind,” George replied.

“Man, I would be bumpin’ into walls and posts and shit. I am blind as a bat.”

George continued to eat his Sardines and crackers. He would eat a whole cracker and a sardine covered with a liberal dollop of Texas Pete’s hot sauce. Each mouthful would be followed by a swallow of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer. My stomach churned as he imbibed in such smelly cuisine.

“Oh man, you are making me sick at my stomach. The beer is the kicker. That has to taste nasty,” I replied as I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

George put another sardine on a cracker and stuck it right up under my nose.

“Fuck man, you fucker,” I said as I quickly got out of the car.

George was going to spoil my coveted daily lemon/lime Gatorade. I could still hear him laughing hysterically as I walked on up towards the grocery store to buy my drink and then head back home before it got too hot.

Those Hallowed Halls of Alcoholics Anonymous…

I liked it when Dumpster Diving Dan called the meeting rooms of A.A. those hallowed halls a few weeks ago. It has stuck in my mind ever since. It is an apt description for a sanctuary for those of us that struggle with this “disease.”

I rode my bike tonight and daringly took a shortcut through the seediest part of town. Even Sherman, a black man, will not travel through this part of town and he beds a crack whore. Broken beer and malt liquor bottles were shattered at intervals all over the side walk. The broken glass twinkled like jewels in the late afternoon sunshine. I had to carefully navigate my mountain bike so as not to puncture a tire.

I passed many decrepit houses that were condemned to be burned down by controlled fire via the fire department in future months. A few had already succumbed. To think those decrepit old homes once harbored generation after generation of families. Now they are just sad testaments that all things do eventually come to an end.

I was extremely careful not to make long eye contact with the many forlorn looking men walking the street seemingly listlessly. To do so by a white man to a poor, downtrodden black man would have been an affront. The pall of poverty hung heavy upon me until I passed that corridor of despair. I emerged on the far end of 5th street unscathed having taken my chances.

I arrived at the meeting hall and chained my bike to a front porch post. I walked inside to be greeted by cool air and the heavy aroma of brewing coffee. The room was already half full and several people got up to shake my hand, give me a hug, and greet me. I felt as if I was finally home after being gone on a long, hard journey. I have never met so many contented and happy people than in these hallowed halls (other than the occasional crotchety, sullen old dry drunk and we have a few that I avoid). I desperately want to find the secret to the happy lives these many people lead without drinking. It is definitely contagious.

After the meeting, a young fellow had heard me share and walked up to me. He looked a good ten years my junior. He had picked up his white chip tonight marking his first day of sobriety. The room had erupted in applause as that shy, young man sheepishly walked up to the podium to get that chip.

“I heard you talk tonight and was inspired by what you said,” He told me.

I thanked him and congratulated him on picking up the hardest chip you will ever get in A.A. It takes a damn fair share of courage to admit you’re a drunk to a full room of strangers and to walk up in front of that room to humbly start a new way of living.

“Will you be my temporary sponsor?” He asked me earnestly.

“Bud,” I replied. “I am far too new in the program to guide you. I appreciate you asking though. Come over here with me.”

We went to speak to my sponsor, Phillip, to inquire if he would take him on temporarily. Phillip is a literal demigod in our local chapter of A.A. Philip agreed as long as he promised to call once a day to check in.

“Let’s get you some phone numbers,” I then told the young man as we walked around the room asking various old timers for said numbers.

In a matter of minutes, the fellow had over twenty numbers to call if he needed to talk to someone about drinking. This is an aspect of the program I have utilized sparingly due to my phobias surrounding the phone. I know I am missing an important part of A.A.

“If you ever feel the need to drink and it is uncontrollable,” I said. “Call me no matter how late it is at night. I will come pick you up and we will drive over to the Waffle House and drink some coffee and talk.”

He smiled and shook my hand vigorously thanking me. Most alcoholics, when they come into the program, have lived a life of solitude. It is sometimes amazing, as it was for me that if you tell of room full of people your worst deeds or your darkest secrets; they still shake your hand and tell you to come back with a smile or a hug. They treat you as family. Suddenly, from the darkest throes of despair and solitude, you find welcome-ness and understanding.

I rode home on my bike this evening feeling as if I had finally grasped an important part of the program that has so eluded me these past few weeks. It is in the service to others that you find sobriety and not in self motivated, selfish aims to quit drinking for personal reasons. I pulled up into my driveway as the last light of the afternoon made its presence known. The western horizon was ablaze in hues of orange. I was overcome by a deep feeling of contentment and serenity. Once again, I didn’t have to drink today and that is a miracle.

Ah, the Magical Hour…

The first light on the horizon starts to show as the songs of crickets start to fade. I sit cross legged at the open door of my tent smoking my pipe. I take gentle pulls of smoke from it and slowly inhale and then gently exhale. The wispy smoke curls around my face. It is such an invigorating moment for me. I imagine I am a hobbit in the shire partaking of the coveted Longbottom Leaf.

The land around me grows so still and quiet in this early morning moment. I quietly listen for and await the magical hour to arrive. It comes in almost an instant. First, one melodious call of a cardinal rings out in my backyard followed by the plaintive call of a mourning dove. The chorus of birds then grows and grows as the minutes pass. The magical hour arrives in a rush of bird song. I smile and take another long pull from my pipe. It is time to finally head for bed. I crawl out of my tent, zip up the door and head inside. I must get some sleep to awake in time this afternoon to enjoy another spectacle of a Southern summer: those wonderful afternoon thunderstorms. Good night, good world. You brought me much pleasure this morning.

Come in From the Dark…

I came in from outside to get a diet coke as I was thirsty. Out of curiosity, I decided to check my email. I received this comment tonight…

I just can't get over how much people are willing to spend on cigarettes, when they openly understand the health hazards involved.

Or how about: Don't buy cigarettes anymore and just break your habit.

That, to me, was the most shocking part of the story.

I thought I would quickly add my two cents on this subject before I head back out to my tent for an enjoyable night of listening to the radio and…OH MY GAWD, Smoking.

There have been hundreds of research studies on why so many people with schizophrenia smoke. Check it out for yourselves. Quoted from one study:

UK Mental Health Research Center, Eastern State Hospital, Lexington, KY 40508, USA.

In several countries, the prevalence of smoking among schizophrenia patients is extraordinarily high (70% or greater). A State hospital survey demonstrated that after correcting for other factors, inpatients who have schizophrenia are more likely to be smokers than are persons in the normal population or even other chronic psychiatric inpatients. These findings suggest that neuroleptic treatment and the hospital environment cannot completely explain the high prevalence of smoking. The relationship between smoking and schizophrenia may be explained by a combination of three factors. One factor is the great difficulty for schizophrenia patients to quit smoking. Another is late onset: some schizophrenia patients start to smoke after the onset of psychosis. A third is increased early onset: schizophrenia patients may start daily smoking in greater numbers during adolescence (before the onset of their psychosis) than do persons in the normal U.S. population. Daily smoking is usually considered a sign of nicotine addiction and is used by epidemiological surveys to define the prevalence of smokers (most smokers smoke daily and very few smokers do not smoke every day). The increased early onset suggests that familial factors may increase the prevalence of smoking even among patients who have not yet shown psychotic symptoms. It is hypothesized that smoking among family members in families with genetic loading for schizophrenia may be a marker for those at risk of developing schizophrenia.

I am unsure of any studies on this that exist, but I am far more likely to commit suicide due to my mental illness than dieing of smoking related ailments. Believe me. Smoking is the least of my worries these days and is a great comfort to me and helps assuage some of the symptoms of my illness.

As far as the cost is concerned, $38 dollars of cigarettes will last me quite a long time. Usually around three weeks as I have been smoking around one cigarette per hour. At least, I try to limit myself to that amount due to the costs. If I smoked according to my inclinations then I would be smoking three packs a day at an astronomical cost. I also rarely drive and can go weeks (4 or 5) on one tank of gasoline costing around $30. I am pretty sure you are probably spending more in gasoline for your vehicle in three weeks than I am spending in cigarettes during that time period. I could argue that by burning fossil fuels and contributing to possible global warming and a peak oil crisis that you are not only affecting your future health wish, but those of your children and grandchildren as well. Of course, this is supposition as you may not even own a vehicle, but I thought it was an interesting case in point.

Food in my Belly and a Tent in the Backyard…

It had been two days since I ran out of food. Hunger will push you to do things you normally wouldn’t do. I have a garage door opener to my parent’s house. I knew my mother goes to eat Mexican every Tuesday night with a friend and was not home. I walked over, opened the garage, and then turned off the alarm. My father keeps the checks for our joint checking account in his bedside table. I went upstairs and got one of the checkbooks. I felt like I was breaking and entering even though it is my parent’s house. It was the weirdest feeling.

I then drove to Kroger and bought $67 dollars in groceries; enough to get me by till Monday. And then drove to Fat Albert’s and bought two cartons of cigarettes for $38 dollars. The first thing I did when I got home was to microwave two hotdogs and crack open a diet coke. They were delicious! I was so hungry.

I then called my father and told him what I had spent so he could deduct it from the checking account as he keeps the ledger at his business. He really didn’t know what to say to me. I tend to be submissive to him and he rarely sees me take charge like this. I also told him of my plans for Monday’s appointment to get all my medications and money transferred to the mental health clinic and a social worker.

“You do what you want to do,” He replied. “You are the one that is going to have to live with it though.”

“Love ya Dad and goodnight,” I said. “I hope you didn’t have to work too hard today.”

We then both hung up the phone.

I thought it was going to be World War III after what I did. I think Dad was just tired and wasn’t in the mood for arguing tonight. He had worked his usual ten hour day. I blew a sigh of relief that that ordeal had worked out so well. I was hungry dammit! There are no soup kitchens or charities around here were I could go eat.

I am going to pamper myself tonight. I set up my tent in the backyard and lugged my summer weight sleeping bag out and put it in it. I am fixing to go lie down to a serenade of crickets and katydids and listen to my nightly radio programs. Maybe, something interesting will be on Coast to Coast AM tonight. I have to wait until 1 AM before the program starts though out of the station in New Orleans. I am going to continue my book by candlelight until that time.

Good night my gentle blog readers and thanks for reading. A new era in my life dawns on Monday.

The Stillness of the Night

It’s late at night. I can’t sleep. Everything in this small town is closed. The sound of a train roaring through downtown drowns out the katydids and crickets. Its horn wails. My mind wanders as I think that train is headed to Atlanta and I wonder who is driving it. The trains here tend to be nocturnal. Wanderlust overcomes me as I want to ride downtown, hop aboard a freight car, and head out for adventures unknown with my Kelty backpack upon my back.

Early this morning, I was reading the tale of a young man who set out to live in the backwoods of the Alaskan wilderness. His adventure ended in disaster and he died exposed to the elements and animals. He was unprepared. What would make someone’s life become so unbearable that they would want to give up everything and set out on such a doomed escapade? I know the answer. I’ve felt that pain. It sometimes becomes so overbearing that you are willing to give everything up and just disappear to escape your current life.

Alienation is the worst pain to bear. We are all such social creatures. Humans have evolved to work in interactive groups and to support each other. All our lives are intricately entangled in this web known as society. The days of the self reliant Daniel Boone are certainly over. These skills of lone survival have been increasingly replaced by our dependence upon each other and the technology and perks of society that we have grown so accustomed to (and I would argue enslaved to). Just as I am dependent upon my father to just feed myself.

I don’t really know where I am going with this essay other than the point that I want to escape my current life. I would like nothing more than to just walk out my back door with my backpack upon my back to live by my wits; to escape the oppressive, overbearing pall of my family and society. Yes, it would initially be hard. I have led a pretty much sheltered life other than my homeless days. But my homeless days taught me that I could survive through some harsh conditions.

It’s funny, but I felt so alive when I was homeless and lived in the woods. I felt connected to Mother Nature as she was my home and caretaker. Those cold nights laying in my sleeping bag as a coyote yelps; the hoot of an owl far off in the forest; those crisply cold mornings were I would unzip my tent door to find the frost covering the landscape so thick it looked like a winter wonderland. The only downside was the alienation I felt. I felt so alone. I knew that if disaster were to strike then it could be weeks before anyone found my body. That was always a sobering thought. That is what keeps me from walking out my backdoor right this minute. I don’t want to live the rest of my life in solitude; an outcast hermit. I, as most humans, yearn for the company of others.

Well, I have rambled on enough this morning. I think I shall go curl back up into my bed and dream of adventures, freedom, and good food. Sleep is my last great escape from this life I lead. Those dreams are certainly more exciting and fulfilling than my awoken life. I hope you all have a good day.

The Balls a Rollin’

Well, I finally got in contact with a social worker this afternoon. I have an appointment with East Alabama Mental Health to get everything set up next Monday at 8:30 AM. I have to bring proof of income (which will be an interesting experience to get from my father. I will probably need a bank statement) and my Medicare parts A, B, and D cards. I am just glad to finally get things going. I was nervous as hell talking on the phone as she asked me all sorts of questions. My voice was shaky.

Hopefully, this will start to bring to an end the chaos that has been my life these past few months with regards to my income, medications and family relationships. I am just unsure how the mental health agency is going to handle being my representative payee though. That will certainly prove interesting as well.

Close Encounters of the Scare the Shit out of ya Kind…

I rode my bike down to the shopping center this morning before the heat of the day hit. It was a beautiful morning as I rode through my neighborhood; pleasantly cool with a gentle breeze. The sun was still hanging low on the eastern horizon shining with an orange blaze of glory and casting long, dark shadows throughout the neighborhood. The cicadas were already earnestly calling their staccato calls which would only grow in intensity as the heat of the day built. That sound brings back such fond memories of listless childhood summers.

I passed the local newspaper’s office and saw Dumpster Diving Dan’s Toyota Tacoma truck parked behind the shopping center. Its bed was filled with old furniture. I rode over to talk to him. I was glad to see him.

“Can you believe someone threw all this good furniture away?” He asked excitedly.

I took a long look at it in the back of his truck. It looked like junk to me and needed some serious refinishing. I guess the old saying that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure still rings true.

“Yeah, that is pretty nice stuff,” I said lying so as not to hurt his feelings.

“Did you feed the seagulls this morning?” I then asked.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “I am starting to get some flak from the city though. The flock has really grown.”

“Seagulls are rats of the sea. Mere vermin to most,” I thought after Dan said that. They are precious to Dan though.

“I hate to hear they are giving you a hard time,” I replied.

“Yeah, a cop said it was a health hazard and that he was going to speak to someone higher up about it,” Dan said.

“Well, I doubt there are any ordinances against feeding seagulls,” I replied.

“Let’s hope not,” Dan said.

I left Dan to continue his dumpster diving and rode on around to the front of the shopping center. I was hoping to find George out front and he was. He had called me earlier leaving a message that he would be down there most of the day. George was in rare form today. I chained my bike to a post out front and walked over to his car. Cigar smoke was billowing out the windows. He had on his sunglass and was bearing a big white toothy grin upon his face. I smiled as he looked humorous.

“What’s going on man?” I asked as I sat down in the passenger’s seat.

The door shut with a loud creak.

“Man, I had a fucked up night last night,” He replied.

“What happened?”

“I lost fifty dollars in a poker game over at Pookie’s house,” He said. “It was two days worth of work. You ain’t got twenty dollars I could borrow?”

“Dude, I was hoping you would let me borrow twenty dollars,” I replied. “I am broke as hell.”

As we were sitting there I saw HIV/AIDS Guy come out of the dollar store looking suspicious with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What in the hell is he doing?” I asked George. “There is nothing in that store he would want to buy.”

“He is boosting batteries and stuff and selling them for crack.”

“What a dumb-ass,” I replied.

“Yep, he ain’t the smartest of niggas,” George said as he laughed.

About this time a cop car came slowly cruising through the parking lot. George had an open forty ounce bottle of malt liquor between his legs. He scrambled to screw the top back on and slide it up under the seat. He then reached for a pack of gum on the dash and put a piece in his mouth to mask the smell of beer in case the cops decided to ask us some questions. The cop car slowly drove by eyeing us suspiciously, but kept on cruising.

“Damn you live dangerously man,” I said.

“I’m tellin’ ya brotha,” George replied. “My luck has been fucked up these past few days. That was a close call.”

“Good thing they didn’t run your license plate or that failure to appear warrant would pop up.”

“Tell me about it!” George exclaimed.

After the close call with the police, George decided to move on to greener pastures or so he hoped. He was headed back to Pookie’s house to try his luck with his last ten dollars in another poker game if he could get one up and running. I bid him farewell. I then walked over to Big S and managed to borrow two dollars from him. I purchased my Gatorade, sat outside to drink it, and then rode on home. I’m telling ya. Having two bucks feels like a million dollars when you have been as broke as I have been this past week. That Gatorade tasted like liquid gold. Big S also earned a few good karma points in my book as well. I could almost forgive him for accosting that poor, little old lady for a dollar the other day.

An Unforgettable Evening…

I will never forget that cool fall evening in 1984. I had been to school all day and was at my weekly Boy Scout meeting. We had an interesting bunch of kids that attended my local Boy Scout hut. We were all more interested in smoking white owl cigars and looking at the latest edition of Playboy magazine secluded in the wooded confines behind the hut rather than earning badges and becoming eagle scouts. We had an inept scout leader and could get away with this most Wednesdays.

I remember waiting on mom to pick me up after the hour was over. I was standing on the front of the porch with some other kids as my uncle pulled up into the parking lot. His car at the time was unmistakable.

“Now this is strange,” I thought as my uncle was never much of a family man or very family friendly.

He meekly walked up to the porch to talk to me.

“Andrew, something bad has happened,” He said. “You’re mother can’t come to get you. I am going to take you home.”

My heart leapt up into my throat as various disastrous scenarios played out in my mind. “Was mom dead? Had there been a car accident? Was my grandmother sick?” were some of the scenarios that came forth.

My uncle has always been a very shy and socially awkward man. I don’t think he ever felt comfortable around kids. It was a long drive back home as he tried to explain what had happened.

“Your house almost burned down,” He finally said bluntly after many awkward moments. “It is in pretty bad shape.”

That moment was forever etched into my mind. The words echoed over and over in my head. That day turned our foreseeable lives into chaos and uncertainty for many months ahead. We were, for all intents and purposes, homeless. I thought it was my fault because I had sinned by smoking those cigars and looking at that Playboy magazine. God was punishing me. I felt guilty for years after that incident.

We pulled up to the house to a barrage of fire trucks and scrambling firemen. Smoke was still billowing out the broken windows. A large crowd of neighbors had gathered in the street in front of the house to gawk. I saw my father standing in the front yard with his hand to his head looking dismayed. I timidly walked up to him, afraid of him and his reaction, but managed to meekly ask what had happened.

“Your mother burned up the house,” He tersely said with a fiery mad look in his eyes. “She left French fries frying on the stove and the oil bubbled over and caught fire. She forgot about it to go pick up your brother and you.”

“Oh hell,” I thought. It was my fault after all. God was punishing me. I had sinned and brought down his wrath.

The firemen finally had the fire put out and were putting up their equipment as I and another neighborhood friend walked up to the front door to look inside. I will never forget that acrid smell of smoke. It clung to your clothes. All the walls were blackened and there was considerable heat damage. The kitchen was a complete loss. I remember standing at the front steps as water poured out in little rivulets upon the floor of the front door and down those steps.

“Andrew, get the fuck away from the house!” My father screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran towards me. “You are just getting in the way!”

That incident frightened this child to death. I had never seen my father so virulently angry at me. It took years for me to forgive my father for that embarrassing moment. All the neighbors and neighborhood kids were watching on as my father berated me and cursed at me. I don’t think I had ever been so embarrassed in my life. I still have scars from that moment to this day and remember it so vividly.

We ended up living with my grandmother for a month and what a crowded house it was. Tempers were constantly flared. I lost my beloved cat that month as well as she disappeared to never return confused in the change of addresses. We later on got an apartment and life returned to some normalcy. It took months and months to bring our home back up to livable standards at much expense. My father never again let my mother cook or touch the stove.

Great Plans get Squashed…

Well, I just got my mountain bike road worthy again. I had forgotten that I had a hand air pump attached to the frame and pumped up my tires and oiled the chain and sprockets with chain oil. I was going to ride the four miles to my AA meeting tonight for exercise, but we have some huge storms on the way meandering to the southwest towards us. I am not sure if I shall risk it or not. With my luck, I will get caught in a torrential downpour. Damn, the best laid plans of mice and men…

Fond Summer Memories…

Every summer for most of my childhood I would go off to summer camp for six weeks accompanied by my brother. My sister would go to our sister camp Greystone. It was a prestigious and upscale camp in North Carolina that my parents would pay thousands of dollars for us to attend. They were absolutely the best times of my life. I was never happier than those six weeks at Falling Creek Camp for Boys. I would always cry when I had to come home and this perplexed my parents. They thought I would be glad to be home after being away so long. My brother hated it and cried the six weeks he was there. He never was the outdoorsy type. He once cried for a whole week because he had spilt Ear Dry for swimmer’s ear in his toothpaste. He thought he would be poisoned and wrote multiple letters home pleading with my parents to come and get him and take him to a poison control center. My mother cried and worried the whole time he was gone she would later say. His letters were so pitiful.

I have always been interesting in hiking and camping and summer camp gave me so many opportunities to explore the trails of the Appalachian Mountains and their surroundings. I will never forget one week long camping trip to Cold Mountain, North Carolina when the temperatures got down into the forties in July! I was astonished and amazed! I was never discomforted by sleeping on the ground in sleeping bags or eating freeze dried meals. I also learned so many other things like mountain biking, canoeing, kayaking, riflery, archery, etc. I once went on a week long canoeing and camping trip and contracted infantigo on my butt and couldn’t sit for a week afterwards. The camp nurses took good care of me though and it soon cleared up.

It was also a place I fit in. The atmosphere was very alternative and the staff encouraged us to be creative and individual. Conformity was disdained. I reveled in these types of surroundings and made some of the best friends of my life. I was always socially awkward as a child and making such friends was a grand social learning and novel experience for me. People actually liked the weird little slightly overweight kid with glasses! Who would have thought?

I later graduated on to become a counselor in training in my teens and then to become a full fledged counselor during my college years. I even worked on the kitchen staff one summer which was a very interesting experience to say the least; feeding hundreds of kid’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We had a wonderful chef who was this very elderly black man who was mute. He lived at the camp year around in a little wood heated cabin behind the kitchen. His name was Tommy and he was such a gentle soul. I will never forget those big vats of spaghetti and meatballs he cooked to perfection on those huge industrial grade gas stoves. The kitchen would smell wonderful and the kids would stand outside the locked screen doors anxiously waiting to be let in for their meal accompanied by their counselors. Falling Creek was renowned in the industry for its food.

Later, when I was homeless and older, I contacted the camp director asking for a volunteer position for just food and board. The director declined saying for legal reasons that I must be on the payroll. I remember feeling so disheartened. Here I was without a home, feeling desperate and miserable; hoping that I could recapture some of those wonderful memories of my youth and early adulthood.

I will always have those memories though and they are the highlight of my life. For once in my life, I fit in and was happy. I had friends. I had fun. I had a life. Maybe, someday I can recapture those experiences once again. Like Annabel said in her latest post on her blog, I have a choice. One big choice gets made on Monday with a phone call and I am anxious to get things underway. Wish me luck!

Lazy Sundays

I stayed up way too late last night listening to Coast to Coast AM. I just lay in the bed, smoking cigarettes and listening to their discussions on “shadow people” and ghosts.

There is a graveyard way out a dirt road nearby that is reported to be haunted. It used to be a black, country church and was reportedly burned down by the Klu Klux Klan in the early nineteen hundreds. The myth is that if you go out to the graveyard at midnight you can see spirits. Many times in high school we would go out there to scare our girlfriends into holding us tight. We never did see any spirits, only the spooky darkness and stillness of a deserted graveyard way out in the woods well away from any habitation. Some of the tomb stones are so old that the names and dates have been weathered away. Those people and their remains have long been forgotten. It can often bring a feeling of melancholy over me if I ever ride out there to know the someday too my tomb stone will be weathered beyond recognition and I will be a long forgotten memory.

I finally got up around 10 AM and ate a quick breakfast of some strawberry yogurt. It was way past due date, but tasted fine. My food stores are running critically low. I only have four frozen chicken pot pies, a package of thick sliced bacon, and a package of sliced sharp cheddar cheese left to eat. To fill myself up last night, I ate a whole jar of zesty dill pickle spears; sodium overload for sure. I am too stubborn to ask my father for any help in obtaining more groceries. I am tired of having to go to him for everything. Oh well, I could stand to lose a few pounds these days anyway.

A light bulb went off into my head this morning on the search for more spare change. “Go look in your car,” I thought. In my little change container, I managed to scrape up enough change to buy my morning Gatorade and a loaf of bread. I will be eating cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches for the next few days it seems interspersed with the occasional doled out chicken pot pie. I did see Big S this morning, but was avoiding him. I am disgusted with him with about how he treated that little old lady yesterday. It overcame my urge to even garner a tale today to write about.

I am starting to trust Maggie more and more in letting her stay outside during the day. I know she gets tired of being cooped up in this house with nothing to do but sleep all the time. This morning she managed to find an uneaten corn on the cob and had the best time chewing on it for the longest time; where she found that I will never know. I don’t run the air conditioner during the day so I leave the back door open and she comes back inside when she needs a drink, some food or a rest. She likes to spend much of her time over at the neighbor’s house. They have a little mutt of a dog that is perpetually caged in a little 6” X 4” fence. It is the saddest sight to see and it brings me some peace to know that Maggie likes to go over there and give that poor little dog some social canine contact. That little dog barely has enough room to escape his own excrement. I have nicknamed the dog “scruffykins” due to his rough looks and unkempt appearance.

Thanks,

I like Pipe Tobacco's idea of writing a weekly “thanks” for his readers that comment. I really appreciate the warm and heartfelt comments I received on the blog today and tonight. It is nice to know I have some wonderful online blogging friends with which to share my life. Many of you who faithfully blog and write about yours as well have enriched my life in immeasurable ways. I get to share with you in your joys, trials, and tribulations.

Annabel wrote a wonderful post tonight titled “Choice” that came at the right time in my life. I suggest those of you up late go over and read it. It was very inspirational and motivating. I loved the quotes at the end of the post. I printed it out to remind me of my own choice in my life and my situation. She really surprises me sometimes with her wisdom at such a young age.

I also especially enjoyed Leann's comment about the weather in Alaska this evening. You know me. I am weather obsessed. It fascinated me that there is already snow in the foothills and the temperatures are so cold at night already. They really do have short summers up there. It will be late October/early November before we even get our first frost here (if then) and not long after that the colors of fall start to show in the trees and in their leaves. September is just another summer month here; hot and humid.

Saturdays are a special night full of familiar and comforting routines for me. I usually watch my British comedies until ten. They air such classics here as Are You Being Served? and Keeping up Appearances. I have seen all the episodes maybe three or four times, yet tune in every Saturday night religiously to watch my familiar favorites.

Around ten, I come back to my computer desk. Fire up Windows media player and listen to the weekend airing of Mick Williams' Cyber Line. That radio show is actually horrible and you would probably hate it and find it boring, but I just love it. It has just become a familiar part of my weekend ritual and I must listen. It is basically just three guys bantering for three hours about computers, linux, NASA, and such.

Well, let me get back to my radio program. The commercials are almost over. I will head to bed sometime around 1 AM tonight after it finishes airing.

Ebbs and Flows…

I realized my writing and my stories have taken a turn for the worst these past few weeks. Please understand that I suffer from paranoid schizophrenia. I am not saying that for sympathy, but because it is a fact of my life and effects my persona and demeanor at times. It also affects me as a writer. I have to live a kind of sheltered and quiet life and the chaos involving my father these past few months has sent me into a tailspin. It is time to bail out and open the parachute. I am going to call that number Monday morning and get the ball rolling and changing my representative payee for my disability.

I realize that most don’t want to come here to read another whiney blog about mental health issues, social security disability, homelessness, etc. I try not to write about it, but sometimes ya just gotta vent, ya know? It’s my life and it colors my blog. It’s not like I can have a heart to heart with my closest friend, Sherman, on how goofy I feel today. Life experience has taught me to hide my illness. I foolishly let the cat out of the bag on this blog and was trying not to reveal that aspect of my life. People will and do judge you even though they have the best of intentions.

As with anything in life, my writing ebbs and flows. I will get on great sprees of a very creative period and then my creativity will fall off as my illness effects me. I live for writing these days and love to capture the stories involving Sherman and the gang. I often find myself giddy with excitement to get home and write about a certain encounter with the group after visiting the shopping center. I think that is why most of the people come here to read. They want to be entertained and not saddened or concerned about my personal life. They say hindsight is 20/20 and I believe it. I should know better by know with having lived with this mental illness for years.

I promise to get back on a regular schedule of writing more carefully crafted tales and get away from all this personal garbage I have been laboring my readers with. I am also going to try to get back on my daily walk that brings me into contact with the gang to have something interesting to write about. I hope some of you are still reading and will join along as we take this blog to the next level of vigor. I have noticed my traffic has drastically fallen off these past few weeks. I fear I have effectively killed this blog for all intents and purposes.

Begging: just can’t do it…

I walked down to the grocery store to watch Big S practice the art of panhandling this morning with the intents on practicing said art. I was desperate for a few dollars in my pocket. I have almost exhausted my spare change.

There was a cool breeze on the air with bright shafts of sunshine lighting my way through the trees as I walked. Atypically cool for this time of the year in the South. You could almost feel fall encroaching upon the southern, humid Bermuda high that has persisted through most of this summer.

I went in to purchase my morning Gatorade and went back outside to sit with Big S. His first subject he solicited was an elderly black lady who was very nicely dressed. She looked like a sweet little old lady; like someone’s grandma.

“Watch this,” Big S said as he left me to sit as he walked up to her.

She looked surprised and accosted as Big S stood in front of her.

“Ma’am, you couldn’t spare a dollar for a hungry man, could you?” Big S asked towering ominously over her.

She meekly reached into her purse to pull out a dollar bill and gave it to him. It was a clear case of intimidation and made me feel uncomfortable just watching it.

“God bless you, ma’am,” Big S replied as he came over to sit back down next to me with a big grin on his face.

He snapped the crisp one dollar bill with his fingers and kissed it.

“Ah, money, there is nothing like it,” He said. “It is like taking candy from a baby.”

“Don’t you have any conscious about what you are doing?” I asked him. “That poor little lady was obviously intimidated by you.”

“Hey, I just ask for dollar,” Big S replied. “They can give or not give. It is their choice.”

I could no longer watch Big S continue with this process. It was revolting and to think I even entertained the idea. Am I that desperate for money? To stoop to the lowest dregs of society and damage what little pride I have left just for a few measly dollars? I would rather go hungry I then decided. My pride and my sense of well being were just far too important.

I live in a vastly rich country. A country in where a listless homeless man can sit and blog all day and still get something to eat and a place to sleep at night. Even the poorest of the poor here have far more than dreamt of by the poor of less wealthy countries. Yet, that wealth seems so intangible and unreachable to me. Will I have to go to work to support myself once again? The option seems far less damaging to my pride these days although I will have to subjugate myself to the whims of another employer at minimum wage which I find distasteful. It is just weeks like last week that scare me in that I may not be able to handle it. I was gripped in the throes of my illness last week and it was not a welcomed or pretty sight to behold. I awoke from last week a mess.

“Another day, another dollar,” As Big S is fond of saying.

I guess it’s time I rejoined the workforce and started earning my keep and regaining my freedom as well. I will have to whore out my being to the capitalist behemoth that marches ever forward trampling over those that can’t or don’t wish to play by the rules. The only other option is becoming that despicable man of a panhandler like Big S.

Pleasantly Surprised…

I had quite a rebound today. I bounced back and enjoyed a long afternoon of smoking and reading. I think it is just all the medications I am taking. You should see what I have to take on a daily basis. I think my psychiatrist far too easily prescribes new drugs at just the slightest hint of a symptom. It is one of the more endearing aspects of her with regards to my father. Being a pharmacist, he is keen on the more medications, the better. I just don’t want to turn into a drooling zombie like my mother can be sometimes due to being over medicated. She takes Zyprexa for her schizophrenia and it is extremely sedating (along with dozens of other drugs).

It is midnight and I can hear the neighbor’s kids playing out in the backyard. It is music to my ears and makes me feel not so lonely tonight. They are quite an animated little bunch. I am craving human contact tonight for some reason. Maggie is lying on the floor at my feet occasionally looking up to me for a good backrub. I have all my windows open and there is a hint of fall in the air. It is downright nippy tonight with temperatures in the sixties. I will soon have to close all my windows.

My mother came by this evening with a care package of cokes, cigarettes, and dog food. It was much appreciated. I didn’t even ask her to do this. “I just worry about you,” She replied. “And thought you needed a little TLC. We haven’t seen you all week.”

I was very pleased to hear that the Judge ruled Bush’s warrant-less wiretapping to be unconstitutional today. It was one of the rare days that I actually watched and kept up with the news. They keep trying to spin as an issue revolving around terrorists and keeping tabs on them. Why don’t they just get a warrant and do it legally? Next we will have gulags to lock up socially deviant people and Muslims. Did we not learn anything from the Japanese internment camps from World War II? History has an uncanny knack of repeating itself, I fear. There is a lot this administration has done that I don’t agree with at all.

Hanging out with the Gang…

Well, I made myself get out of the house this afternoon and walked back down to the shopping center. I scrounged up some more change to buy my daily 30 cent can of soda. As I walked down the road, I saw my neighbor out working in his yard. Pipe may like to know that my neighbor is also a pipe smoker and a retired professor. I waved and let out a hearty, “Hello!” as I passed.

“Good afternoon, good sir!” He replied.

When I arrived at the shopping center, things were abuzz. George was parked out in the front talking to some pretty girl leaved over into the window. I bought my can of soda and went and sat down next to Big S.

“George ain’t got a chance if thinks he gonna get a piece of that action,” Big S said.

“Well, you know George has Pookie for his lovin’ needs,” I replied as we both laughed.

“Ain’t nothin’ like a crack whore to keep you warm on a cold night,” Droopy said as he stood next to us. We all laughed again.

I sometimes have a hard time understanding Droopy. He talks in this fast, stuttered staccato cadence. He also had the ever present sad look on his face. Big S was eyeing my drinking my cold, sweating soda.

“You got 30 more cents?” Big S asked. “Dat coke sure looks good.”

“Man, you are talking to probably the most broke man in the Valley,” I replied. “I had to go through the pockets of my dirty clothes to find this.”

George then turned off his car and got out to open the hood. He had to put another quart of oil in. George’s 1981 Dodge Diplomat guzzles the stuff.

“You need new piston rings badly,” I told him. “With as much oil as you put in that car you could have paid to have it done by now.”

George buys the generic looking store brand oil from the grocery store. The cheapest stuff they have.

About this time, Cap w/Tag Guy came sauntering by. He held out hand for me to shake it and nodded the black man’s version of hello. He headed on down towards the dollar store after our little exchange.

“Is he still selling crack?” I asked Big S speaking of Cap w/Tag Guy.

“The last time I heard him say he was retired,” Big S replied. “He said it was too much of a hassle.”

I burst out laughing. What a novel concept; to retire from selling crack.

Tired…

It’s been a rough week. I have slept until I could sleep no more. I think I shall go back to bed in a moment. I haven’t eaten in over a week. I would really like two barbeque sandwiches from Chuck’s barbeque. Alas, they don’t open for several more hours and I am completely out of money.

I have come to the conclusion that my father is a meddling twit of a man. He has started to play the “money game” with me once more. He is denying me access to my money out of “concerns” for me. I wish he would just leave me the hell alone and let me run my own life. He just needs to bugger off. It sucks being hungry with no access or money for food. Maggie is almost out of dog food as well; maybe one day’s worth left.