Lunch time once again found me sitting at Roger’s Barbecue alone. I ate two barbecue sandwiches and a bag of potato chips along with a side of potato salad. I had called my mother earlier with a phobia that I was out of money on my tab. I have this extreme fear of getting caught in an awkward situation and I am broke after paying the workers for my kitchen floor and for Maggie’s fence.
“Surely, you haven’t eaten up a hundred dollars this shortly,” My mother said.
“No, I am just worried that they won’t recognize me or won’t put it on my tab,” I replied.
“Are you taking your medications?” My mother asked sounding perplexed.
“Yes.”
“You go over there and eat some lunch. You have plenty of money on your tab.”
“Okay,” I said timidly as I hung up and got in my car and drove the 5 minutes to the restaurant.
When I arrived home, Charlie’s wife had called me. She couldn’t get on the internet.
“You have Knology, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” She said. “I get a 404 error, page not found, when I open internet explorer.”
“I’ll be right over.”
I drove over which was back across the river and rebooted her cable modem and got her back on the internet.
“Come on,” Janice said. “Let’s go fill up your car for helping me.”
This was much needed as my car was almost out of gas and I am broke until next month.
“Thank you so much,” I said as Janice stepped out of my car to swipe her debit card at the gas pump.
I then took Janice home and then drove over to my new house just to look at and admire things. Just another boring day in my life; I really didn’t have anything else to write about and I just wanted to write. I hope you don’t mind.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Just Friends…
“Let’s just be friends,” Carolyn told me tonight on the phone after a lengthy conversation that was going nowhere just a moment ago.
“Ok,” I said nonchalantly.
“What?” She said exasperated hoping I would fight for my girl or either beg her to stay my gal. “You are not going to give me shit?”
“No,” I said. “I think ‘just friends’ is a good idea. It is not like we get to see each other anymore anyway.”
“Okay,” She said sounding sort of confused and bewildered. “I will talk to you later.”
If big momma wanted a ticket to date other men, then she had my blessing and a first class seat on that train ride. I have grown increasingly tired of our on-again, off-again relationship. I just wasn’t getting much out of it.
The phone rang once more just after I had hung up. I picked it up.
“Hello?” I asked.
“You sure you’re not mad at me?” Carolyn asked.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“People are supposed to fight and stuff when they break up.”
“I am tired of fighting and being mad and shit,” I replied.
“Ok,” She said sounding even more bewildered as we got off the phone once again.
Years ago I would have drank myself into a stupor over this. My divorce left me a homeless drunkard I was so devastated. You know what I did? I ate a leftover piece of pizza, popped open a coke, and sat down to write this immediately feeling better.
It was good while it lasted. I and Carolyn had some wonderful times together, but the spark in our relationship had long since faded and died. I really do wish her the best and hopefully she will find some guy who has much less “issues” as she calls them than me. Che sara, sara. What will be, will be as the Italians say.
“Ok,” I said nonchalantly.
“What?” She said exasperated hoping I would fight for my girl or either beg her to stay my gal. “You are not going to give me shit?”
“No,” I said. “I think ‘just friends’ is a good idea. It is not like we get to see each other anymore anyway.”
“Okay,” She said sounding sort of confused and bewildered. “I will talk to you later.”
If big momma wanted a ticket to date other men, then she had my blessing and a first class seat on that train ride. I have grown increasingly tired of our on-again, off-again relationship. I just wasn’t getting much out of it.
The phone rang once more just after I had hung up. I picked it up.
“Hello?” I asked.
“You sure you’re not mad at me?” Carolyn asked.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“People are supposed to fight and stuff when they break up.”
“I am tired of fighting and being mad and shit,” I replied.
“Ok,” She said sounding even more bewildered as we got off the phone once again.
Years ago I would have drank myself into a stupor over this. My divorce left me a homeless drunkard I was so devastated. You know what I did? I ate a leftover piece of pizza, popped open a coke, and sat down to write this immediately feeling better.
It was good while it lasted. I and Carolyn had some wonderful times together, but the spark in our relationship had long since faded and died. I really do wish her the best and hopefully she will find some guy who has much less “issues” as she calls them than me. Che sara, sara. What will be, will be as the Italians say.
For Annabel…
Just to let you all know I haven’t been sitting on my duff these past few weeks as far as my new house is concerned, I put up some pictures from this morning on my photo blog. The workmen came and put my new kitchen floor in this morning and I paid them. I also got my kitchen, laundry room, and bathroom painted. The only thing left is the kitchen cabinets and I am just going to put a fresh coat of white upon them in the next few days when I get up some money to buy some more paint. The blue on the dish washer is just a protective plastic covering. It will be white when I take it off. A contractor is coming by today to give me an estimate on Maggie's fence. I am pretty sure I am going to accept the offer and work will commence.
This has been a two year project and the end is in sight. I will be moving in two to three weeks. I am so freakin' excited!!!! I have been living in limbo ever since my divorce years ago.
*You can check out the photos over at my photo blog.
This has been a two year project and the end is in sight. I will be moving in two to three weeks. I am so freakin' excited!!!! I have been living in limbo ever since my divorce years ago.
*You can check out the photos over at my photo blog.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Email Roundup…
I am so terrible with email. If you email me, it may take me a week to get back to you so don’t despair or think I am being an asshole as some have. I just don’t like it as a medium even though I enjoy writing so much. My social awkwardness carries over into that avenue of communication as well. I do enjoy reading them though. Here were a few emails about the blog today and my answers. I thought this would be fun.
*You are going to be the next spokesperson for pork with the amount of barbeque, bacon, and ham you eat, one person wrote me today.
I burst out laughing when I read that. They got an email back with me writing to them that I agreed. Cholesterol is the least of my health worries though. Believe me.
*Why do you put those damn aggravating adsense adverts on your blog? They don’t make money. I only made a few cents a day with mine and took them off. They are distracting, another person wrote.
I made fifty dollars last month off of those ads. That is five cartons of the cigars I like to smoke and I smoke a carton a week. It is paying off nicely. Please ignore them if they bother you and certainly don’t click upon them. They paid for my smoking habit so your tax dollars didn’t have to as I have often been chided for over the years of my writing and blogging ventures when I exposed my source of income. Disability is not welfare, by the way. It is a social insurance I paid years of taxes to get. :-)
*You are going to be the next spokesperson for pork with the amount of barbeque, bacon, and ham you eat, one person wrote me today.
I burst out laughing when I read that. They got an email back with me writing to them that I agreed. Cholesterol is the least of my health worries though. Believe me.
*Why do you put those damn aggravating adsense adverts on your blog? They don’t make money. I only made a few cents a day with mine and took them off. They are distracting, another person wrote.
I made fifty dollars last month off of those ads. That is five cartons of the cigars I like to smoke and I smoke a carton a week. It is paying off nicely. Please ignore them if they bother you and certainly don’t click upon them. They paid for my smoking habit so your tax dollars didn’t have to as I have often been chided for over the years of my writing and blogging ventures when I exposed my source of income. Disability is not welfare, by the way. It is a social insurance I paid years of taxes to get. :-)
A Delicate Dance in the Pale Moonlight…
The sun was just rising over the horizon this morning as I looked at my watch. The hands read 7:15am.
“Damn, he is late,” I muttered speaking of George.
George was supposed to meet me for breakfast at the diner before his first patron of the day. He never showed. I could picture him still lying in bed with a hangover feeling terrible.
I went ahead, ordered, and quietly sat alone as I ate my fried ham, hash brown potatoes, and eggs. It was a sufficiently artery clogging meal that left me well satisfied. I pulled on my coat, and then my backpack as I started the walk home.
As I walked behind the shopping center to meet the road that runs to my house, good ole Dumpster Diving Dan was busily poking through a dumpster’s trash with his rubber hip waders on.
“Hello!” Dan said heartily as I passed by and stopped. “It is a brisk morning.”
The temperature was hovering around 40 degrees and it certainly was chilly.
“You haven’t seen George, have you?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen him in weeks,” Dan said.
“Oh, he is back in town after a vacation of sorts,” I said as I smiled.
“When he disappears, it always makes me think he is in jail.”
“You read my mind, my friend,” I replied.
I left Dan to continue on with his diving and walked on home.
________________________________________________
When I first awoke this morning, the house reeked of smoke; the kind of smoke that only a campfire imparts. It was like I was homeless all over again. After checking the house for fire, I looked outside to see a smoky haze throughout my neighborhood in the dim light of the street lamp next to my driveway. I got in my car and drove around in the predawn dark looking for houses on fire. I then drove out Spring Road to find those beautiful woods, where I so like to camp, ablaze. It looked like some scene out of hell with lines of fire running brightly through the forest alighting the burning trees in a hue of bright red.
I arrived home after my short drive to take a shower and get dressed to go meet George. My father called just about as I was stepping out the door to walk down to the diner.
“Did you smell smoke this morning?” Dad said. “I went out to get the paper and it looked like fog it was so thick. I thought your house was on fire. I walked around to the backyard to look and see if you were okay.”
“It’s out Spring Road,” I replied. “The woods are on fire. Some dipshit must have thrown out a cigarette.”
“Well, just glad you are okay,” My father said as we got off the phone.
________________________________________________
Late last night found me out in the backyard trying to get some pictures of the almost full moon with the new digital camera tripod Carolyn had bought me. It was a delicate dance in the pale moonlight trying to see what I was doing. None of my pictures turned out. I realized this morning my error. I had forgotten to set the camera to night scene mode which greatly increases the exposure time, reduces the ISO speed, and opens the aperture. I will try again tonight and hopefully some pictures of a star gilded moon will adorn my photo blog.
Well, let me go get some more lunch and coffee started. I think I shall have some bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for lunch accompanied by some French fries and a few kosher dill pickle spears. My stomach is certainly grumbling. Good day.
“Damn, he is late,” I muttered speaking of George.
George was supposed to meet me for breakfast at the diner before his first patron of the day. He never showed. I could picture him still lying in bed with a hangover feeling terrible.
I went ahead, ordered, and quietly sat alone as I ate my fried ham, hash brown potatoes, and eggs. It was a sufficiently artery clogging meal that left me well satisfied. I pulled on my coat, and then my backpack as I started the walk home.
As I walked behind the shopping center to meet the road that runs to my house, good ole Dumpster Diving Dan was busily poking through a dumpster’s trash with his rubber hip waders on.
“Hello!” Dan said heartily as I passed by and stopped. “It is a brisk morning.”
The temperature was hovering around 40 degrees and it certainly was chilly.
“You haven’t seen George, have you?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen him in weeks,” Dan said.
“Oh, he is back in town after a vacation of sorts,” I said as I smiled.
“When he disappears, it always makes me think he is in jail.”
“You read my mind, my friend,” I replied.
I left Dan to continue on with his diving and walked on home.
When I first awoke this morning, the house reeked of smoke; the kind of smoke that only a campfire imparts. It was like I was homeless all over again. After checking the house for fire, I looked outside to see a smoky haze throughout my neighborhood in the dim light of the street lamp next to my driveway. I got in my car and drove around in the predawn dark looking for houses on fire. I then drove out Spring Road to find those beautiful woods, where I so like to camp, ablaze. It looked like some scene out of hell with lines of fire running brightly through the forest alighting the burning trees in a hue of bright red.
I arrived home after my short drive to take a shower and get dressed to go meet George. My father called just about as I was stepping out the door to walk down to the diner.
“Did you smell smoke this morning?” Dad said. “I went out to get the paper and it looked like fog it was so thick. I thought your house was on fire. I walked around to the backyard to look and see if you were okay.”
“It’s out Spring Road,” I replied. “The woods are on fire. Some dipshit must have thrown out a cigarette.”
“Well, just glad you are okay,” My father said as we got off the phone.
Late last night found me out in the backyard trying to get some pictures of the almost full moon with the new digital camera tripod Carolyn had bought me. It was a delicate dance in the pale moonlight trying to see what I was doing. None of my pictures turned out. I realized this morning my error. I had forgotten to set the camera to night scene mode which greatly increases the exposure time, reduces the ISO speed, and opens the aperture. I will try again tonight and hopefully some pictures of a star gilded moon will adorn my photo blog.
Well, let me go get some more lunch and coffee started. I think I shall have some bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for lunch accompanied by some French fries and a few kosher dill pickle spears. My stomach is certainly grumbling. Good day.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Have you ever been to Glocca Morra?
“Have you ever been to Glocca Morra?” I asked George early this morning.
As is usual this time of year in the South, the days are very warm and the nights are very cool. We sat in George’s car with the engine on and the heat running trying to warm up. George’s car smells of old well used sweaty sneakers and stale cigars. Not exactly the most olfactory pleasing thing first thing in the morning.
“Glocca what?” George said as he laughed.
“I don’t know either,” I said. “It was just something the homeless guy wrote on his blog the other day; sounds tropical. Sounded like he was fixing to take off on another one of his road trips.”
“Dat motherfucker be more full of shit than a five gallon bucket of cow manure,” George said as I reached into my backpack to bring out my camera. “If he can travel to tropical places then he can drive a car like me and make a living.”
I often keep George informed on what the so called homeless guy is doing. We both find him fascinating in a weird feel sorry for ineptitude kind of way. I tend to trust George’s street instincts on this matter and agree the guy is full of shit. George says he knows a con artist when he sees one.
“Come on. Let me take a picture,” I said as I turned my camera on as the Canon sound rang out in the car.
“You ain’t plasterin’ my mug all over dem internets,” He said as he pushed my camera away.
I laughed. I did so want to put a picture of George upon the blog. I don’t want to endanger him though.
“What are you going to do today?” George then asked me as we both lit up cigars watching the early morning people coming to and fro from the shopping center.
“My life is simple,” I replied, “And has to be. I will probably just take it easy. Write about this. Eat a good lunch. Try not to drink. Take my medications, etc.”
“Sounds like a nice life,” George said as the blue smoke of his cigar billowed around his face casting a hazy hue to the now warm air in the car.
“I know it sounds nice,” I said, “But it is hard for me to maintain and can be a struggle. My normal state is chaos.”
“You ain’t dat crazy,” George said. “You white boys just all tend to be a little off.”
I burst out laughing at George saying that. He is probably right. My good friend Charlie says we are all a little crazy in our own way in my defense. I don’t like to delve too much into my mental issues though with George as he will get drunk and blather about them.
I left George to sit in his car waiting for his first patron of the day as I walked down to buy two $1.99 bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits and a large coffee from the diner. As I walked home, in the cool morning air, eating my breakfast, I noticed so many cool photo opportunities for me to explore today. Maybe I will pry myself from this computer long enough to get them upon my photo blog once the sun has risen high and the light is just right for photos. It will be good for me. I have been trying not to be a hermit and to stay in the house as I tend to do when feeling ill. Calmer days have arrived. It feels good to be back. I could never write like this when I on in one of my “episodes” as my father calls them. Good day.
As is usual this time of year in the South, the days are very warm and the nights are very cool. We sat in George’s car with the engine on and the heat running trying to warm up. George’s car smells of old well used sweaty sneakers and stale cigars. Not exactly the most olfactory pleasing thing first thing in the morning.
“Glocca what?” George said as he laughed.
“I don’t know either,” I said. “It was just something the homeless guy wrote on his blog the other day; sounds tropical. Sounded like he was fixing to take off on another one of his road trips.”
“Dat motherfucker be more full of shit than a five gallon bucket of cow manure,” George said as I reached into my backpack to bring out my camera. “If he can travel to tropical places then he can drive a car like me and make a living.”
I often keep George informed on what the so called homeless guy is doing. We both find him fascinating in a weird feel sorry for ineptitude kind of way. I tend to trust George’s street instincts on this matter and agree the guy is full of shit. George says he knows a con artist when he sees one.
“Come on. Let me take a picture,” I said as I turned my camera on as the Canon sound rang out in the car.
“You ain’t plasterin’ my mug all over dem internets,” He said as he pushed my camera away.
I laughed. I did so want to put a picture of George upon the blog. I don’t want to endanger him though.
“What are you going to do today?” George then asked me as we both lit up cigars watching the early morning people coming to and fro from the shopping center.
“My life is simple,” I replied, “And has to be. I will probably just take it easy. Write about this. Eat a good lunch. Try not to drink. Take my medications, etc.”
“Sounds like a nice life,” George said as the blue smoke of his cigar billowed around his face casting a hazy hue to the now warm air in the car.
“I know it sounds nice,” I said, “But it is hard for me to maintain and can be a struggle. My normal state is chaos.”
“You ain’t dat crazy,” George said. “You white boys just all tend to be a little off.”
I burst out laughing at George saying that. He is probably right. My good friend Charlie says we are all a little crazy in our own way in my defense. I don’t like to delve too much into my mental issues though with George as he will get drunk and blather about them.
I left George to sit in his car waiting for his first patron of the day as I walked down to buy two $1.99 bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits and a large coffee from the diner. As I walked home, in the cool morning air, eating my breakfast, I noticed so many cool photo opportunities for me to explore today. Maybe I will pry myself from this computer long enough to get them upon my photo blog once the sun has risen high and the light is just right for photos. It will be good for me. I have been trying not to be a hermit and to stay in the house as I tend to do when feeling ill. Calmer days have arrived. It feels good to be back. I could never write like this when I on in one of my “episodes” as my father calls them. Good day.
Monday, March 05, 2007
The Return of George…
“Where has Rosa been?” I asked, late this afternoon.
George was in fine spirits today. I was so glad to see he hadn’t been in jail. George has been in Florida visiting with some relatives. I bet that was an interesting family get together. I can imagine George and a few cohorts laughing jovially over the cheapest beer you can buy as ground beef patties sizzled on a charcoal grill in the wonderfully warm Florida sun.
“I heard you two did the ole horizontal tango,” George said of I and Rosa with the biggest, goofiest grin. “You go get ‘em tiger.”
News travels fast with the gang. George knows all the gossip on the misfits that hang out down at the shopping center. Dumpster Diving Dan seems to be the only mystery as far as George is concerned. I understand him the best as we are both eccentric souls.
“Don’t remind me,” I said bemoaning the fact that had happened. “I was drunk as hell.”
“I thought you don’t drink anymore?” George asked has he lit up a cigar and then handed me the pack offering me one. “You put on the ole beer goggles, eh? That Rosa ain’t exactly a looker.”
“I usually don’t,” I replied of my drinking, taking a brief pause to light up that cheap White Owl. “I just got in a bad spell and had a weak moment.”
George left me for a moment to sit with Big S. Big S was in a surly mood today. I noticed Big S wasn’t wearing his usual blue jean overalls and had on a well worn and comfortable looking flannel shirt. The red and black checkered shirt stood out sharply against the background of his ebony skin.
“What’s bit you in the ass?” I asked him.
“My life sucks,” He said in a rare moment when a black man will show weakness. “The takings have been terrible as far as my ‘job’ goes.”
I chuckled softly not really to belittle Big S and the fact that life has been tough. I could just think of a thousand easier ways to make money than sitting out front of a grocery store begging people for spare change all day.
George then walked out carrying a cheap bottle of Wild Irish Rose wrapped in a paper bag.
“You want a drink?” He asked pushing the bottle towards me.
“Uggg!” I said tersely as I pushed his hand away thinking of the hangover I had a few days ago.
“What’s this shit about you going around saying I am crazy?” I then asked him with a stern look on my face.
“I don’t know what you be talkin’ about,” George replied with a mystified look upon his face.
“You drunk son of bitch,” I said realizing he was so drunk he didn’t remember.
“Dat nigga sho did go around saying all dat,” Big S said enjoying our little tussle of words.
George just smiled as he took another drink of that swill they try to pass as wine. It is more akin to cough syrup.
“I ain’t gettin’ in dis,” George said as I got up to walk home.
It was good to see George and even better that I managed to avoid Rosa. She has that fiery temper that Hispanic women are known for. I smiled as I walked home just glad he was ok. George and I have gone through a lot of shit over the years and nothing could break our bond. The tulip tree was blooming and the first buds of the azaleas are opening. The sweet smell of this year’s camellias drifted across the road as I walked by. It was a fine early spring late afternoon. I hope it gets even better. You will find me a different man once spring officially arrives. The woods are calling.
George was in fine spirits today. I was so glad to see he hadn’t been in jail. George has been in Florida visiting with some relatives. I bet that was an interesting family get together. I can imagine George and a few cohorts laughing jovially over the cheapest beer you can buy as ground beef patties sizzled on a charcoal grill in the wonderfully warm Florida sun.
“I heard you two did the ole horizontal tango,” George said of I and Rosa with the biggest, goofiest grin. “You go get ‘em tiger.”
News travels fast with the gang. George knows all the gossip on the misfits that hang out down at the shopping center. Dumpster Diving Dan seems to be the only mystery as far as George is concerned. I understand him the best as we are both eccentric souls.
“Don’t remind me,” I said bemoaning the fact that had happened. “I was drunk as hell.”
“I thought you don’t drink anymore?” George asked has he lit up a cigar and then handed me the pack offering me one. “You put on the ole beer goggles, eh? That Rosa ain’t exactly a looker.”
“I usually don’t,” I replied of my drinking, taking a brief pause to light up that cheap White Owl. “I just got in a bad spell and had a weak moment.”
George left me for a moment to sit with Big S. Big S was in a surly mood today. I noticed Big S wasn’t wearing his usual blue jean overalls and had on a well worn and comfortable looking flannel shirt. The red and black checkered shirt stood out sharply against the background of his ebony skin.
“What’s bit you in the ass?” I asked him.
“My life sucks,” He said in a rare moment when a black man will show weakness. “The takings have been terrible as far as my ‘job’ goes.”
I chuckled softly not really to belittle Big S and the fact that life has been tough. I could just think of a thousand easier ways to make money than sitting out front of a grocery store begging people for spare change all day.
George then walked out carrying a cheap bottle of Wild Irish Rose wrapped in a paper bag.
“You want a drink?” He asked pushing the bottle towards me.
“Uggg!” I said tersely as I pushed his hand away thinking of the hangover I had a few days ago.
“What’s this shit about you going around saying I am crazy?” I then asked him with a stern look on my face.
“I don’t know what you be talkin’ about,” George replied with a mystified look upon his face.
“You drunk son of bitch,” I said realizing he was so drunk he didn’t remember.
“Dat nigga sho did go around saying all dat,” Big S said enjoying our little tussle of words.
George just smiled as he took another drink of that swill they try to pass as wine. It is more akin to cough syrup.
“I ain’t gettin’ in dis,” George said as I got up to walk home.
It was good to see George and even better that I managed to avoid Rosa. She has that fiery temper that Hispanic women are known for. I smiled as I walked home just glad he was ok. George and I have gone through a lot of shit over the years and nothing could break our bond. The tulip tree was blooming and the first buds of the azaleas are opening. The sweet smell of this year’s camellias drifted across the road as I walked by. It was a fine early spring late afternoon. I hope it gets even better. You will find me a different man once spring officially arrives. The woods are calling.
Can’t Leave Well Enough Alone…
...and it bit me in the ass. I completely screwed my good computer today. I managed to get my backup one working by adding an old Pentium 4 processor I had lying around and some spare RAM. S-L-O-O-O-W! This computer is so slow and choppy. I was so spoiled by my fast blogging computer and the RAID hard drive array I had set up using two 10K Raptor drives.
What happened was that I dropped a screw next to the processor causing the heat sink to not sit properly upon it as I was adding another Pentium 4 Prescott that was much faster and had a much better level 2 cache. DUH! *slaps forehead* The processor literally burned up within moments of booting the computer up. You could smell it in my den.
Dammit! When it rains, it pours. I can’t afford another at the moment. Hopefully, I can get a new motherboard and processor for my birthday which is the 12th of April. It is going to be a long March with this old POS. I have gone back 4 years in computer time as far as the technology is concerned. Oh well, you have to roll with the punches.
______________________________________________
I had a nice fellow in Scotland email me about the templates on my blogs awhile back. I am terrible with email. I just don’t have the time to write to everyone who emails me about this main blog. I do try. He wondered where I got my template ideas. Beautiful Beta is your one stop shop for all your nonstandard template needs. I gleaned most of my ideas from Hans. He freely gives out the code and his ideas, but you can make a pay-pal donation if you want in appreciation.
What happened was that I dropped a screw next to the processor causing the heat sink to not sit properly upon it as I was adding another Pentium 4 Prescott that was much faster and had a much better level 2 cache. DUH! *slaps forehead* The processor literally burned up within moments of booting the computer up. You could smell it in my den.
Dammit! When it rains, it pours. I can’t afford another at the moment. Hopefully, I can get a new motherboard and processor for my birthday which is the 12th of April. It is going to be a long March with this old POS. I have gone back 4 years in computer time as far as the technology is concerned. Oh well, you have to roll with the punches.
I had a nice fellow in Scotland email me about the templates on my blogs awhile back. I am terrible with email. I just don’t have the time to write to everyone who emails me about this main blog. I do try. He wondered where I got my template ideas. Beautiful Beta is your one stop shop for all your nonstandard template needs. I gleaned most of my ideas from Hans. He freely gives out the code and his ideas, but you can make a pay-pal donation if you want in appreciation.
Mom to the Rescue…
“When was the last time you ate?” My mother asked me over the phone. My father didn’t even ask this when he saw me. He was too concerned about checking my refrigerator for beer and berating me once again for being "crazy."
“I have some breakfast foods left and a loaf of bread in the freezer for toast and sandwiches,” I replied.
“You don’t have enough to eat,” She said. “I noticed the other day that you have lost way too much weight again.”
Mom then drove over to Rodger’s and bought me several pounds of chunked pork barbeque (which was very expensive) and a gallon of Brunswick stew to put in the freezer. She knows these are my favorite foods and I will actually eat them.
“Did you use my tab?” I asked speaking of the running tab I have at the restaurant.
“Yes,” She said. “But you were almost out of money. I added a hundred dollars.”
I vaguely remember eating there the other day. I think I got the southern fried catfish platter with three whole catfish fillets. It turned out they had called the police concerning me as I seemed kind of incoherent.
“You don’t remember talking to the police?” Mom asked.
“No,” I replied. “I hope nothing bad happened.”
“They drove you home and made sure you were safely inside with your door locked,” She said.
“Please don’t tell Dad,” I said emphatically.
“That will stay between you and me,” Mom said.
“You remember what I used to would do when I got off my medications, don’t you?” She then asked.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t go in the house and sat out in the yard all day,” I replied.
“You take your medications. You don’t want to be like that,” She said.
“I will,” I replied honestly knowing I took all those pills last night. I couldn’t write this if I didn’t.
Mom left to go to the grocery store to restock my pantry and refrigerator with food. See? My mother understands. She knows from her own experiences with schizophrenia how it affects me. She takes a high dosage of Zyprexa. I am too afraid to take it due to the extreme sedation I experience and concerns about it causing diabetes. There are numerous class action law suits out over that issue. The best I ever did was on Zyprexa despite the extreme sleepiness. That was when I got married and had a semblance of a normal life. We lived in the suburbs with a new home, car, and my beloved Suzuki motorcycle. We even bought an old 1969 Chevrolet Nova in pristine condition. I was also able to hold down a job.
I love you mom, I thought as I sat at my kitchen table eating that delicious barbeque until getting full. I do so love you. You understand and you don't berate me.
“I have some breakfast foods left and a loaf of bread in the freezer for toast and sandwiches,” I replied.
“You don’t have enough to eat,” She said. “I noticed the other day that you have lost way too much weight again.”
Mom then drove over to Rodger’s and bought me several pounds of chunked pork barbeque (which was very expensive) and a gallon of Brunswick stew to put in the freezer. She knows these are my favorite foods and I will actually eat them.
“Did you use my tab?” I asked speaking of the running tab I have at the restaurant.
“Yes,” She said. “But you were almost out of money. I added a hundred dollars.”
I vaguely remember eating there the other day. I think I got the southern fried catfish platter with three whole catfish fillets. It turned out they had called the police concerning me as I seemed kind of incoherent.
“You don’t remember talking to the police?” Mom asked.
“No,” I replied. “I hope nothing bad happened.”
“They drove you home and made sure you were safely inside with your door locked,” She said.
“Please don’t tell Dad,” I said emphatically.
“That will stay between you and me,” Mom said.
“You remember what I used to would do when I got off my medications, don’t you?” She then asked.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t go in the house and sat out in the yard all day,” I replied.
“You take your medications. You don’t want to be like that,” She said.
“I will,” I replied honestly knowing I took all those pills last night. I couldn’t write this if I didn’t.
Mom left to go to the grocery store to restock my pantry and refrigerator with food. See? My mother understands. She knows from her own experiences with schizophrenia how it affects me. She takes a high dosage of Zyprexa. I am too afraid to take it due to the extreme sedation I experience and concerns about it causing diabetes. There are numerous class action law suits out over that issue. The best I ever did was on Zyprexa despite the extreme sleepiness. That was when I got married and had a semblance of a normal life. We lived in the suburbs with a new home, car, and my beloved Suzuki motorcycle. We even bought an old 1969 Chevrolet Nova in pristine condition. I was also able to hold down a job.
I love you mom, I thought as I sat at my kitchen table eating that delicious barbeque until getting full. I do so love you. You understand and you don't berate me.
Crazy is as Crazy does…
I was just sitting here and eating my bacon, eggs, and toast as I thought, I have got to get back on track. There should be some kind of brain chemical analyzer on my computer that doesn’t let me write on such days. I really got it in my head that leaving town was the only viable option. I wanted to be homeless, because I thought it would be a more stable environment than my home. That’s sad and crazy. Next time you see some crazy homeless man on the corner talking to himself think that could have been my friend Andrew.
Well, here’s to getting back to stable this week. It can sometimes take a week to get back on track after I go off my medications for a few days during one of my “episodes” as my father calls them. I feel much more rational with even thinking this morning. My father never showed up to take my car keys and credit cards away last night. He just worries that I will get in the car and kill someone when I get to thinking so crazy. Who knows? I could have tried to drive to Nashville last night in my fit of craziness and really got into some trouble. Lost, paranoid, and most likely ending up in jail.
Well, here’s to getting back to stable this week. It can sometimes take a week to get back on track after I go off my medications for a few days during one of my “episodes” as my father calls them. I feel much more rational with even thinking this morning. My father never showed up to take my car keys and credit cards away last night. He just worries that I will get in the car and kill someone when I get to thinking so crazy. Who knows? I could have tried to drive to Nashville last night in my fit of craziness and really got into some trouble. Lost, paranoid, and most likely ending up in jail.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Reality Sets In…
My friend Kristen called me and talked some sense into me. It was good to hear her voice.
I must once again relinquish control and give my wallet and car keys to my father tonight. That is hard for me to do being 34 years old. I just got myself into a pickle over this whole drinking and Rosa deal. I am a terribly sensitive fellow if you don’t know by now.
“If you leave, then I am going to have Maggie put to sleep,” My father told me over the phone.
That hit home deeply. I would never want harm to come to Maggie. I have tried my best, despite my limitations, to take good care of her. She doesn’t lack for anything.
Well, I am just going to be quiet for awhile, take my nightly medications, and soon, hopefully, sleep will arrive.
I must once again relinquish control and give my wallet and car keys to my father tonight. That is hard for me to do being 34 years old. I just got myself into a pickle over this whole drinking and Rosa deal. I am a terribly sensitive fellow if you don’t know by now.
“If you leave, then I am going to have Maggie put to sleep,” My father told me over the phone.
That hit home deeply. I would never want harm to come to Maggie. I have tried my best, despite my limitations, to take good care of her. She doesn’t lack for anything.
Well, I am just going to be quiet for awhile, take my nightly medications, and soon, hopefully, sleep will arrive.
Saying Goodbye…
“I just can’t do this anymore,” I told Rosa as she hugged me.
“Can’t do what?” She asked mystified.
“I can’t see you any longer,” I replied feeling terrible.
“So I was a cheap piece of ass then?” She then said.
“You were not a piece of ass and you were not cheap,” I replied emphatically.
Rosa left the house in a huff. I noticed she had taken one of my packs of cigars with her after she left. It was a small price to pay for my solitude. I can’t handle a lot of bullshit going on in my life when I am sober.
I walked to the fridge to look at the twelve pack of beer I had left there from a few days ago. I poured all of the damn things out. I felt better after sitting down and listening to the radio for awhile.
“Can’t do what?” She asked mystified.
“I can’t see you any longer,” I replied feeling terrible.
“So I was a cheap piece of ass then?” She then said.
“You were not a piece of ass and you were not cheap,” I replied emphatically.
Rosa left the house in a huff. I noticed she had taken one of my packs of cigars with her after she left. It was a small price to pay for my solitude. I can’t handle a lot of bullshit going on in my life when I am sober.
I walked to the fridge to look at the twelve pack of beer I had left there from a few days ago. I poured all of the damn things out. I felt better after sitting down and listening to the radio for awhile.
Sorry…
The chat was a bust, but I did talk with a few before 10 PM. I get to feeling what is akin to being drunk after taking my nightly medications. I laid down to let the feeling pass and missed the chat. I am sorry. Such is my life.
A cold front has roared through overnight. I can tell by the strong gusts of wind this time of the night. It reminds me so much of my homeless days it is uncanny. Such nights of cold winds were often a common occurrence. Thankfully, I have a little gas heater to turn on to stay warm these days. Thank you goes out to my father who has given me this home. I do so love him dearly.
A cold front has roared through overnight. I can tell by the strong gusts of wind this time of the night. It reminds me so much of my homeless days it is uncanny. Such nights of cold winds were often a common occurrence. Thankfully, I have a little gas heater to turn on to stay warm these days. Thank you goes out to my father who has given me this home. I do so love him dearly.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Join me in a great conflagration...
Saturday nights find me in Mick William's Cyber-line chat room. Please do join us and join in on the chat. It will mean a lot to me. The chat starts at 10 PM eastern time. You might find the room empty until then. I will be there though. You will find me there as "BamaGuy."
He was fine before he met her…
Rosa sat in my den at lunch eating a sandwich I had fixed. My friend in Canada has emphatically told me to not let these “street people” in my home as Carolyn calls them.
“You are looking mighty fine this morning,” She said with an alluring voice.
“Rosa, don’t get mixed up with crazy,” I said earnestly trying to divert her affections. “I am crazy as hell.”
“I find you one of the most interesting people I have ever met,” She said diverting my dismissions.
“You want another sandwich?” I said changing the subject.
I walked into my kitchen as I put some more roast beef on a paper plate to be warmed in the microwave. I slathered on mayonnaise upon a piece of bread as I added another slice of tomato and a piece of lettuce. I was standing there adding some salt and pepper to the slice of tomato as the roast beef warmed in the microwave.
“You sure you don’t want to crawl into the bed again?” Rosa asked as I stood there making that sandwich.
“I was drunk and lonely,” I replied speaking of our little foray into the bed a few days ago trying not to hurt her feelings.
“I’ll get you in the end,” She said smiling demurely as she ate that other sandwich.
I stood there speechless and unable to respond. I fear I am stricken drunk or not. Once in a blue moon has been the story of my life.
“You are looking mighty fine this morning,” She said with an alluring voice.
“Rosa, don’t get mixed up with crazy,” I said earnestly trying to divert her affections. “I am crazy as hell.”
“I find you one of the most interesting people I have ever met,” She said diverting my dismissions.
“You want another sandwich?” I said changing the subject.
I walked into my kitchen as I put some more roast beef on a paper plate to be warmed in the microwave. I slathered on mayonnaise upon a piece of bread as I added another slice of tomato and a piece of lettuce. I was standing there adding some salt and pepper to the slice of tomato as the roast beef warmed in the microwave.
“You sure you don’t want to crawl into the bed again?” Rosa asked as I stood there making that sandwich.
“I was drunk and lonely,” I replied speaking of our little foray into the bed a few days ago trying not to hurt her feelings.
“I’ll get you in the end,” She said smiling demurely as she ate that other sandwich.
I stood there speechless and unable to respond. I fear I am stricken drunk or not. Once in a blue moon has been the story of my life.
The Magical Hour Arrives…
Dawn is arriving sooner and sooner. Spring is on the way much to my relief. The magical hour started well before dawn this morning. It started with the shrill song of a redbird. I call it the magical hour in that it was such an important time during my homeless days. The nights would be so cold and I knew dawn was on the way followed by much, much warmer temperatures. The magical hour beckoned forth the flourish of the sun’s warmth upon which I would sit by my campfire as I warmed my hands.
I and Maggie had a good night’s sleep. I have learned to make ample room for her on my single bed. If I don’t, it will find her at my feet which will drive me crazy. I awoke this morning to find her lying beside me sound asleep. I petted her and she rolled over to snuggle up beside me. I then walked into the den to turn on my gas heater. Maggie plopped down upon the floor to lie in front of it to bask in it’s heat. Our routines are so singular and without fail when I am not drinking.
Pipe Tobacco is still in my thoughts this morning. I know he will not read this. The last thing on his mind would be the internet and his blogging friends during this terrible time of strife. I wish I could call him to offer my support and well wishes. Unfortunately, we have never talked on the phone despite our long history as blogging friends. I do wish him the best. God speed once again my dear friend and know that you are not alone in the least. Your friends are thinking of you.
I and Maggie had a good night’s sleep. I have learned to make ample room for her on my single bed. If I don’t, it will find her at my feet which will drive me crazy. I awoke this morning to find her lying beside me sound asleep. I petted her and she rolled over to snuggle up beside me. I then walked into the den to turn on my gas heater. Maggie plopped down upon the floor to lie in front of it to bask in it’s heat. Our routines are so singular and without fail when I am not drinking.
Pipe Tobacco is still in my thoughts this morning. I know he will not read this. The last thing on his mind would be the internet and his blogging friends during this terrible time of strife. I wish I could call him to offer my support and well wishes. Unfortunately, we have never talked on the phone despite our long history as blogging friends. I do wish him the best. God speed once again my dear friend and know that you are not alone in the least. Your friends are thinking of you.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Sadness Reigns Supreme…
My good and dear friend Pipe Tobacco’s mother passed away this morning. I, of all people, will know how deeply this will affect him. He is such an emotional fellow much like me. I read about this on Abbagirl’s blog and the tears started to roll deeply down my cheeks. I know he will just be devastated.
Please offer him your condolences. He is a good fellow who has stuck by me through thick and thin. Many homeless days passed as he read my blog and offered words of support. Out of all the people I have encountered during my blogging days, he has been one of the most stalwart friends always wanting what is best for me. For that, I love him and will think of him all night as he goes through this hard time. God speed dear Pipe Tobacco and may your mother rest in peace.
Please offer him your condolences. He is a good fellow who has stuck by me through thick and thin. Many homeless days passed as he read my blog and offered words of support. Out of all the people I have encountered during my blogging days, he has been one of the most stalwart friends always wanting what is best for me. For that, I love him and will think of him all night as he goes through this hard time. God speed dear Pipe Tobacco and may your mother rest in peace.
Thoughts on a Setting Sun…
The sun will soon set. The horizon is already awash in great swashes of orange, red, and yellow. It has been a good day. I am so very proud for making it another day without drinking. The deal with drinking is that it is a self perpetuating cycle. Once you start again, it is so hard to quit. That first hung over day after a bout of alcoholism is the toughest. You want another drink to quell the aftermath, the nausea, and the shakes.
I just walked outside to smoke a cigar. My elderly neighbor is aimlessly tooling around in his front yard. He works constantly, but the yard never seems to improve. It reminded me of myself.
Dear man, you are a more stalwart soul than I, I thought as he pushed his wheel barrow through the yard. The weeds were ever growing and he had yet to pull them.
He looked up to find me smoking and waved. I waved back heartily. Life goes on in this small town like it always has. The shroud of the deep, dark past few days has lifted. Life once again gets back on track.
I just walked outside to smoke a cigar. My elderly neighbor is aimlessly tooling around in his front yard. He works constantly, but the yard never seems to improve. It reminded me of myself.
Dear man, you are a more stalwart soul than I, I thought as he pushed his wheel barrow through the yard. The weeds were ever growing and he had yet to pull them.
He looked up to find me smoking and waved. I waved back heartily. Life goes on in this small town like it always has. The shroud of the deep, dark past few days has lifted. Life once again gets back on track.
Photo Blog Updated...
I swear I am going to get regular about updating my other blogs. I posted some Maggie being Maggie moments today. I finally had to just pick her up and bring her inside before she ruined the lawn in the backyard. I guess she just got bored and decided to dig and dig some more.
Mom has been by this afternoon to bring Maggie's flea treatment and her heartworm medicine. It is the most hilarious moment trying to get Maggie to sit still long enough to put her flea medicine on. My mother has little to no patience with hyperactive little dogs. I couldn't help but glean the most enjoyment of mom growing exasperated as we tried to put on that Frontline.
"Your dog needs risperdal," Mom said of my medications for my schizophrenia which are extremely sedating.
"She just loves you and gets excited when you come over," I replied as my face flushed with a smile.
Maggie reacts totally different to my mother coming over rather than my father. I guess she can sense his no nonsense attitude. It was the same with us kids growing up. You could always argue with my mother and she would argue back like a child. You didn't dare do this with my father or you got whipped with a switch that you would have to go pick off of the bush yourself.
Mom has been by this afternoon to bring Maggie's flea treatment and her heartworm medicine. It is the most hilarious moment trying to get Maggie to sit still long enough to put her flea medicine on. My mother has little to no patience with hyperactive little dogs. I couldn't help but glean the most enjoyment of mom growing exasperated as we tried to put on that Frontline.
"Your dog needs risperdal," Mom said of my medications for my schizophrenia which are extremely sedating.
"She just loves you and gets excited when you come over," I replied as my face flushed with a smile.
Maggie reacts totally different to my mother coming over rather than my father. I guess she can sense his no nonsense attitude. It was the same with us kids growing up. You could always argue with my mother and she would argue back like a child. You didn't dare do this with my father or you got whipped with a switch that you would have to go pick off of the bush yourself.
Enterprise Tornado
I updated the weather blog with an image of the tornado that raced through downtown Enterprise, Alabama. This tornado killed eight people. It is that time of the year folks for the South. We often get such squall lines in the spring. March roared in weatherwise with a sad beginning to the many lives affected by the storms from last night.
We got a lot of thunder and lightning the likes of which I haven't heard or seen since last year. Also, very strong gusts of wind at several times. Luckily, we escaped any damage here in town. I also have a lot of pictures from the damage in Fayette county. I will get those up in a minute upon the weather blog.
We got a lot of thunder and lightning the likes of which I haven't heard or seen since last year. Also, very strong gusts of wind at several times. Luckily, we escaped any damage here in town. I also have a lot of pictures from the damage in Fayette county. I will get those up in a minute upon the weather blog.
Close Computer Calls…
I am operating on just one computer these days. The bios battery in my server finally died after years of use. It is an older motherboard. I need to find a CR2081 coin cell battery somewhere to replace it. Maybe Dad can order me one down at his pharmacy next week.
Well, I just couldn’t leave well enough alone and decided to order some more memory for my main computer. I installed it, booted up through the bios, and it completely froze during the Windows splash screen. It took me thirty minutes to fix it and figure it out. I was booting to my spare hard drive that stores my music. This partition has a very old copy of Windows XP that I just saved to keep all my files and documents. I set my RAID array up as the bootable device and Windows Vista loaded fine. Whew! I got scared there for a minute and thought I had screwed something up badly. I would go nuts without a computer these days. It is hard to believe, but I didn’t even own one until I got married. Rachel constantly vied for my attention from that first computer. I was in technophile heaven.
Today will be a cool day. I ordered a new TV turner card for $40 bucks to use with media center in Windows Vista. My old TV tuner was circa 2000 and not compatible with this new operating system. I will be like a kid on Christmas day waiting for that sound of the big brown UPS truck pulling up outside. My package is already in Montgomery this morning and about to be on its way here. Ah, the marvel of modern internet package tracking. Good day.
Well, I just couldn’t leave well enough alone and decided to order some more memory for my main computer. I installed it, booted up through the bios, and it completely froze during the Windows splash screen. It took me thirty minutes to fix it and figure it out. I was booting to my spare hard drive that stores my music. This partition has a very old copy of Windows XP that I just saved to keep all my files and documents. I set my RAID array up as the bootable device and Windows Vista loaded fine. Whew! I got scared there for a minute and thought I had screwed something up badly. I would go nuts without a computer these days. It is hard to believe, but I didn’t even own one until I got married. Rachel constantly vied for my attention from that first computer. I was in technophile heaven.
Today will be a cool day. I ordered a new TV turner card for $40 bucks to use with media center in Windows Vista. My old TV tuner was circa 2000 and not compatible with this new operating system. I will be like a kid on Christmas day waiting for that sound of the big brown UPS truck pulling up outside. My package is already in Montgomery this morning and about to be on its way here. Ah, the marvel of modern internet package tracking. Good day.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
An outpouring of concern…
I was going to delete the blog, but just took down some posts instead. I feel much more comfortable with it now. My friend Kristen called tonight. I can always count on a certain set of people to reach out to me when I am doing ill or untoward things. Diana also called as well and it was good to hear her voice. I have missed our conversations.
Tonight, found me sitting in those hallowed halls of alcoholics anonymous as Dumpster Diving Dan likes to call them. I occasionally have to remind myself why I don’t drink. When I drink, I will not take my medications and things can grow very interesting around Casa de Andrew.
“We all screw up sometimes,” Wanda told me tonight at AA. “The big kicker is getting up and doing something about it. “
She gave me the longest and most heartfelt hug.
“I need people like you in my life,” I told her very honestly as I hugged her.
“Next time you go do something stupid,” She said. “You call me instead. I am the Queen of doing stupid things. I can talk you out of it.”
I picked up another white poker chip as the AA meeting ended. It was a symbol of how crazy my life can get without these meetings and my sobriety. I fondled it in my pocket as I walked the long walk home. Wanda’s words of calling herself “the Queen of stupid” bore heavily upon my mind. If I keep this up, I can be her king. We all live and we learn. Now, I have to decide how to handle the whole situation with Rosa. I fear I have woken the beast within. I don’t think she will look as attractive tomorrow without a good twelve pack of beer in my belly wearing the rose colored glasses that it imparts.
Thanks so much to Kristen, Wanda, and Diana for the calls today. You made a big and importance difference in my life. It is cool people like that that make suffering through this disease of the brain and my alcoholism bearable.
Tonight, found me sitting in those hallowed halls of alcoholics anonymous as Dumpster Diving Dan likes to call them. I occasionally have to remind myself why I don’t drink. When I drink, I will not take my medications and things can grow very interesting around Casa de Andrew.
“We all screw up sometimes,” Wanda told me tonight at AA. “The big kicker is getting up and doing something about it. “
She gave me the longest and most heartfelt hug.
“I need people like you in my life,” I told her very honestly as I hugged her.
“Next time you go do something stupid,” She said. “You call me instead. I am the Queen of doing stupid things. I can talk you out of it.”
I picked up another white poker chip as the AA meeting ended. It was a symbol of how crazy my life can get without these meetings and my sobriety. I fondled it in my pocket as I walked the long walk home. Wanda’s words of calling herself “the Queen of stupid” bore heavily upon my mind. If I keep this up, I can be her king. We all live and we learn. Now, I have to decide how to handle the whole situation with Rosa. I fear I have woken the beast within. I don’t think she will look as attractive tomorrow without a good twelve pack of beer in my belly wearing the rose colored glasses that it imparts.
Thanks so much to Kristen, Wanda, and Diana for the calls today. You made a big and importance difference in my life. It is cool people like that that make suffering through this disease of the brain and my alcoholism bearable.
Rainy Mornings Ally...
I awoke this morning in a drunken stupor. It was thundering outside fiercely. Each crash of thunder would make me think the house was coming down around me.
Maggie was lying on the bed beside me.
“I love you girl,” I said as I petted her.
Maggie sighed softly and curled up on the bed beside me.
I laid there in the bed thinking of yesterday. My parents had made a grand spectacle of me having a few beers. I missed Rosa. I wish she would stop by so I could curl up in the bed with her. I needed a woman’s touch; an older woman at that that didn’t make a mountain out of a mole hill.
Well, I am going to drink three more beers and go back to bed. That’s all I have left.
Maggie was lying on the bed beside me.
“I love you girl,” I said as I petted her.
Maggie sighed softly and curled up on the bed beside me.
I laid there in the bed thinking of yesterday. My parents had made a grand spectacle of me having a few beers. I missed Rosa. I wish she would stop by so I could curl up in the bed with her. I needed a woman’s touch; an older woman at that that didn’t make a mountain out of a mole hill.
Well, I am going to drink three more beers and go back to bed. That’s all I have left.
Visits from Dad…
My father came by last night.
“I just wish you wouldn’t drink,” He said exasperated.
I held onto his leg as I groveled. I do so miss my father.
I didn’t tell him of Rosa coming by yesterday.
“Give me your credit cards and wallet,” He said worried that I would drink more.
I walked into my den as I sheepishly gave him said things.
“Dad, I just want to die,” I said.
“That is such a foolish thing to say,” He replied as he hugged me.
“Don’t make me suffer,” I said with a stern heart.
“God, you are drunk,” My father then said.
Dad soon left followed by my mother coming over. She wanted the keys to my car. I gave them to her willingly.
“I don’t know why you want to torture us so,” She said of my drinking.
Mom soon left to find me sitting on the floor crying. I cried my heart out.
“I just want to die,” I repeated.
Fortunately, dying is far harder than it seems. Death doesn’t come easy.
“I just wish you wouldn’t drink,” He said exasperated.
I held onto his leg as I groveled. I do so miss my father.
I didn’t tell him of Rosa coming by yesterday.
“Give me your credit cards and wallet,” He said worried that I would drink more.
I walked into my den as I sheepishly gave him said things.
“Dad, I just want to die,” I said.
“That is such a foolish thing to say,” He replied as he hugged me.
“Don’t make me suffer,” I said with a stern heart.
“God, you are drunk,” My father then said.
Dad soon left followed by my mother coming over. She wanted the keys to my car. I gave them to her willingly.
“I don’t know why you want to torture us so,” She said of my drinking.
Mom soon left to find me sitting on the floor crying. I cried my heart out.
“I just want to die,” I repeated.
Fortunately, dying is far harder than it seems. Death doesn’t come easy.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Midday Meanderings…
Rosa knocked on my door after almost midday.
“I love you,” She said. “I really love you.”
I could smell the alcohol on her breath. I am not used to such blatant flagrations of one’s love for me.
“Sweetheart, come on inside and go to sleep,” I replied.
We walked into my bedroom upon where Rosa hugged me deeply.
“I need more beer,” She said. “Will you go get me some more?”
I sighed. I am experiencing some weird kind of hell after being an alcoholic for years. I drove Rachel crazy with my drinking.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need anymore,” I replied.
“I really, really need another beer,” Rosa replied emphatically.
I got in my car and drove over to the convenience store. I bought us both a 24 pack of Budweiser using my debit card. I then drove home in a flush of traffic as people went about their day.
“You are the best thing a woman could ever want,” Rosa said as I walked inside my apartment with that 24 pack of Budweiser.
“I understand,” I said solemnly as me and Rosa cracked open a beer.
Rosa then went about changing her clothes and undressing fully. I can’t say it was the most beautiful sight in the world. She has lived a hard life. She crawled into my bed to go to sleep.
“I love you,” She said once again as I sat at my kitchen table drinking a Budweiser.
“I love you too, sweetheart. You go to sleep,” I replied as I sat there getting drunk.
What tangled webs we weave, I thought as I sat there drinking that Budweiser. Rosa just needed someone and she picked a poor choice in me. What am I doing? I am drinking the beer I bought for her. We drunks live convoluted lives.
“I love you,” She said. “I really love you.”
I could smell the alcohol on her breath. I am not used to such blatant flagrations of one’s love for me.
“Sweetheart, come on inside and go to sleep,” I replied.
We walked into my bedroom upon where Rosa hugged me deeply.
“I need more beer,” She said. “Will you go get me some more?”
I sighed. I am experiencing some weird kind of hell after being an alcoholic for years. I drove Rachel crazy with my drinking.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need anymore,” I replied.
“I really, really need another beer,” Rosa replied emphatically.
I got in my car and drove over to the convenience store. I bought us both a 24 pack of Budweiser using my debit card. I then drove home in a flush of traffic as people went about their day.
“You are the best thing a woman could ever want,” Rosa said as I walked inside my apartment with that 24 pack of Budweiser.
“I understand,” I said solemnly as me and Rosa cracked open a beer.
Rosa then went about changing her clothes and undressing fully. I can’t say it was the most beautiful sight in the world. She has lived a hard life. She crawled into my bed to go to sleep.
“I love you,” She said once again as I sat at my kitchen table drinking a Budweiser.
“I love you too, sweetheart. You go to sleep,” I replied as I sat there getting drunk.
What tangled webs we weave, I thought as I sat there drinking that Budweiser. Rosa just needed someone and she picked a poor choice in me. What am I doing? I am drinking the beer I bought for her. We drunks live convoluted lives.
Terrible Deeds Done past Midnight…
I finally got to talk to Annabel on the phone. We talked for what seemed like forever. As usual, she was busily preparing for another speech tournament this weekend. I hated to end our call, but had grown as sleepy as to where I could hardly keep my eyes open. A quick nap sufficed.
I did something terrible tonight and am regretting it. I took six of my Librium in a fit of madness. I just wanted to feel out of the ordinary and those little green and white capsules were beckoning from my medicine cabinet. So far, I feel pleasantly numb. I guess I will have to go pick up another white poker chip at alcoholic’s anonymous tomorrow evening signifying the start of a new bout of sobriety. Taking those little pills was very much like drinking a six pack. I dare not let the old timers on to my using pills instead of beer though. They would have me tarred and feathered quite quickly.
“Once a good alcoholic, always a good alcoholic,” I muttered after taking the pills knowing very well what I was doing.
Carolyn is back to working the third shift at her place of employment. She thoroughly hates her job and I can’t quite blame her. Our phone conversations consist of her bitching to me about said job.
“Who were you on the phone with so long tonight?” She asked me when she called well after midnight knowing I would be up.
“My friend in Texas,” I replied.
“Is she female?” Carolyn then asked.
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry about me having a torrid online relationship,” I said enjoying the limelight. “She has far more sense than me so I don’t think she wants to get romantically mixed up with some mentally ill dude in Alabama.”
“What does that say about me?” Carolyn then asked.
Silence reigned supreme as I knew not to answer that question. I should have spoke up and told her my mind. Lately, I could care less if either I or Carolyn stay in this relationship. It is growing far too high maintenance for my tastes.
I did something terrible tonight and am regretting it. I took six of my Librium in a fit of madness. I just wanted to feel out of the ordinary and those little green and white capsules were beckoning from my medicine cabinet. So far, I feel pleasantly numb. I guess I will have to go pick up another white poker chip at alcoholic’s anonymous tomorrow evening signifying the start of a new bout of sobriety. Taking those little pills was very much like drinking a six pack. I dare not let the old timers on to my using pills instead of beer though. They would have me tarred and feathered quite quickly.
“Once a good alcoholic, always a good alcoholic,” I muttered after taking the pills knowing very well what I was doing.
Carolyn is back to working the third shift at her place of employment. She thoroughly hates her job and I can’t quite blame her. Our phone conversations consist of her bitching to me about said job.
“Who were you on the phone with so long tonight?” She asked me when she called well after midnight knowing I would be up.
“My friend in Texas,” I replied.
“Is she female?” Carolyn then asked.
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry about me having a torrid online relationship,” I said enjoying the limelight. “She has far more sense than me so I don’t think she wants to get romantically mixed up with some mentally ill dude in Alabama.”
“What does that say about me?” Carolyn then asked.
Silence reigned supreme as I knew not to answer that question. I should have spoke up and told her my mind. Lately, I could care less if either I or Carolyn stay in this relationship. It is growing far too high maintenance for my tastes.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Thoughts on a Pipe…
My good friend Pipe Tobacco wanted a post on my pipe tobacco usage so here it is. He has given up his pipe for Lent which I find very admiral if somewhat misguided. Some of his best writings come about when he is waxing poetically about his pipe. The things men will do for religion…
My pipe smoking hobby has been of the special occasion variety as of late. Mornings usually find me sitting upon my porch enjoying the burley leaf. I fear I have grown bored with the varieties of leaf available to me in this small town though. I have been on a robust cigar kick lately.
I have found the smoking of the pipe to be akin to a ritual not easily imparted upon craving my usual methods of imbibing nicotine. There is the ritual of filling and packing the pipe. Another ritual consists of regularly cleaning it for it to be ready to be smoked again. I tend to be far too lazy to do this on a regular basis and thus cigars have filled my need lately (to Pipe’s chagrin I don’t doubt).
I will concede that there is artistry to smoking a tobacco pipe though. Pipes have long been associated with learned and esteemed souls. You don’t think of your average professor smoking the average low brow cigarette. It is easy to picture a pipe in his hand though as the smoke from the burley leaf curls around his face; jovially imparting knowledge upon the ignorant masses as he enjoys a hobby that is best left to more noble men than I.
All this writing of pipes has made me yearn for a bowl of the burley leaf. I will once again walk out on this warm night to fill my pipe and smoke that rich leaf of tobacco. There is certainly no other taste or smell in the world than that of the smokable tobaccos that is imparted by the pipe and the tobaccos smoked within. I hope my good, jolly, pipe smoking friend will have enjoyed this post. Lord knows, I have gleaned years of enjoyment from reading his blog. Good night and until our pipes meet again.
My pipe smoking hobby has been of the special occasion variety as of late. Mornings usually find me sitting upon my porch enjoying the burley leaf. I fear I have grown bored with the varieties of leaf available to me in this small town though. I have been on a robust cigar kick lately.
I have found the smoking of the pipe to be akin to a ritual not easily imparted upon craving my usual methods of imbibing nicotine. There is the ritual of filling and packing the pipe. Another ritual consists of regularly cleaning it for it to be ready to be smoked again. I tend to be far too lazy to do this on a regular basis and thus cigars have filled my need lately (to Pipe’s chagrin I don’t doubt).
I will concede that there is artistry to smoking a tobacco pipe though. Pipes have long been associated with learned and esteemed souls. You don’t think of your average professor smoking the average low brow cigarette. It is easy to picture a pipe in his hand though as the smoke from the burley leaf curls around his face; jovially imparting knowledge upon the ignorant masses as he enjoys a hobby that is best left to more noble men than I.
All this writing of pipes has made me yearn for a bowl of the burley leaf. I will once again walk out on this warm night to fill my pipe and smoke that rich leaf of tobacco. There is certainly no other taste or smell in the world than that of the smokable tobaccos that is imparted by the pipe and the tobaccos smoked within. I hope my good, jolly, pipe smoking friend will have enjoyed this post. Lord knows, I have gleaned years of enjoyment from reading his blog. Good night and until our pipes meet again.
Not so Little, You and I…
I and Carolyn talked for a short while last night.
“I wish you wouldn’t hang out with those street people,” She said of my conflagrations with George, Rosa, and the gang.
I didn’t tell her of Rosa coming over yesterday to watch television and to change her shirt. I and Rosa had a good time together. I do so dearly love her.
“They are my friends,” I replied.
“You are like a small child,” Carolyn said scolding me. “You never listen. They are going to steal you blind.”
I quickly got off of the phone after being berated for a good thirty minutes.
Yesterday found me once again eating at our local Mexican restaurant. I ate two burritos with a heaping serving of Spanish rice.
“Gracias,” I told my server as he started to walk away.
He smiled at my use of his native language.
I sat and ate as I missed my ex-wife. Rachel had her faults, but I still missed her deeply. I kept expecting her to walk in at any moment. She was like her parents and ate out every meal.
“I wish you wouldn’t hang out with those street people,” She said of my conflagrations with George, Rosa, and the gang.
I didn’t tell her of Rosa coming over yesterday to watch television and to change her shirt. I and Rosa had a good time together. I do so dearly love her.
“They are my friends,” I replied.
“You are like a small child,” Carolyn said scolding me. “You never listen. They are going to steal you blind.”
I quickly got off of the phone after being berated for a good thirty minutes.
Yesterday found me once again eating at our local Mexican restaurant. I ate two burritos with a heaping serving of Spanish rice.
“Gracias,” I told my server as he started to walk away.
He smiled at my use of his native language.
I sat and ate as I missed my ex-wife. Rachel had her faults, but I still missed her deeply. I kept expecting her to walk in at any moment. She was like her parents and ate out every meal.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Lost Moments of Togetherness…
Tonight found me down at a local Mexican restaurant. I ordered the chilies releno which was two very large pablano chilies filled with a mixture of ground beef, rice, and asiago cheese. I quietly ate as I read the latest Model Railroader. I have great aspirations for the spare bedroom in my new house. I want to emulate the late Chattahoochee Valley Railway in model form.
I then drove home and found that Annabel had called me and I had missed her call. How I hated to miss speaking to her. She has given up the internet for Lent. She sounds just as chipper and vivacious in her voice as she does on her blog. I do so dearly miss her and her frequent blog updates.
Maggie has been a total curmudgeon tonight and will not come inside. It got up into the seventies today and I put Maggie in the back fence along with some food and water. A moment ago, I sat out on the back deck trying to coax Maggie inside. She was thoroughly content in licking my legs, but every time I would go to grab her to bring her inside, she would go tearing across the backyard barking. I fear midnight will roll around before I ever corral her into coming in.
I really missed my ex-wife today. I was just thinking that at this time of the night, she would have taken a long bath and would be lying in bed reading a book. This would usually find me beside her on our laptop browsing the internet. She would close the book and lie down as she watched me before going to sleep. I would reach out to hold her hand.
“I love you,” She would say.
I would reach over and brush her brown hair out of her green eyes.
“I love you too,” I would reply before closing the laptop and turning off our bedside lamp.
I would wrap my arms in the pillows and listen to her breathe as she went to sleep. I still have a hard time believing that I was ever married. I have missed those moments of togetherness today.
I then drove home and found that Annabel had called me and I had missed her call. How I hated to miss speaking to her. She has given up the internet for Lent. She sounds just as chipper and vivacious in her voice as she does on her blog. I do so dearly miss her and her frequent blog updates.
Maggie has been a total curmudgeon tonight and will not come inside. It got up into the seventies today and I put Maggie in the back fence along with some food and water. A moment ago, I sat out on the back deck trying to coax Maggie inside. She was thoroughly content in licking my legs, but every time I would go to grab her to bring her inside, she would go tearing across the backyard barking. I fear midnight will roll around before I ever corral her into coming in.
I really missed my ex-wife today. I was just thinking that at this time of the night, she would have taken a long bath and would be lying in bed reading a book. This would usually find me beside her on our laptop browsing the internet. She would close the book and lie down as she watched me before going to sleep. I would reach out to hold her hand.
“I love you,” She would say.
I would reach over and brush her brown hair out of her green eyes.
“I love you too,” I would reply before closing the laptop and turning off our bedside lamp.
I would wrap my arms in the pillows and listen to her breathe as she went to sleep. I still have a hard time believing that I was ever married. I have missed those moments of togetherness today.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
A Two For…
I hadn’t seen Rosa or Dan in days. Today was a two for. I saw her plus Dumpster Diving Dan.
“The weather’s gonna get rough tonight,” Dan told me as I stopped to talk to him behind the shopping center.
“The National Weather Service has issued a special weather statement,” I replied with a worried look upon my face. “Did you hear them test the tornado warning sirens at noon?”
“Sure did,” Dan said as he rubbed the stark white stubble on his bony chin. “Always scares the shit out of me. Reminds me of Vietnam. Makes me think Gooks are in the wire.”
“Hmmm…” I said. “I didn’t think of that affecting you like that.”
“Sure does. Sends chills up my spine.”
I and Dan walked over to his truck. Dan’s little dog, Scrap, was fiercely wagging his tail with his little head hanging out of the window. Dan rubbed his head as we walked around to the back to look in the bed of the pickup. He picked up a wax coated cardboard box and showed me the contents.
“Perfectly good bunches of bananas,” He told me with a grin.
They looked terrible to me and were way too brown.
“Those will make a fine banana pudding tonight if my house doesn’t get blown away.”
Dan always loves to show me what he finds. I did notice today that Dan's truck had been in an accident. There was a huge dent in the rear quarter panel. I didn’t ask feeling it would have been a sore subject to talk about. I left Dan as he was getting in his Toyota to drive across the river to check the dumpster at the convenience store affectionately known between us as “Rectum.”
I then walked on down past the tax preparation office and the hair salon and rounded the corner. Rosa was sitting in her favorite spot.
“Hey gorgeous,” She said as I sat down next to her. “You are looking mighty fine today.”
“You don’t want anything to do with me, remember?” I said. “I am crazy.”
Rosa laughed as she told me she hadn’t seen George in over a week. George had gone around during a drunken spree telling all the gang that I was crazy and schizophrenic. At first, it had made me mad as hell, but I can laugh about it now. I am more worried about where George has been these days. When he disappears for any length of time it usually means he’s in jail for driving under the influence.
“Well, I am going to go get me a chocolate milk and some cheese on wheat crackers,” I told Rosa as I got up to continue on to the grocery store after we had finished our cigars. She slapped me on the butt and grinned devilishly.
“I will see ya handsome,” She said looking at my posterior without making eye contact.
I shuddered as I walked away. I really like Rosa as a friend, but she has a daughter my age and isn’t exactly what you would call a fine specimen of a woman. I like older women, but not women my mother’s age. I finished my shopping and walked on home noticing the wind had picked up considerably and whipped my Auburn t-shirt with a fury.
“Keep an eye to the skies,” I told myself mimicking my late grandmother as I walked on inside and shut the door against a brisk wind.
“The weather’s gonna get rough tonight,” Dan told me as I stopped to talk to him behind the shopping center.
“The National Weather Service has issued a special weather statement,” I replied with a worried look upon my face. “Did you hear them test the tornado warning sirens at noon?”
“Sure did,” Dan said as he rubbed the stark white stubble on his bony chin. “Always scares the shit out of me. Reminds me of Vietnam. Makes me think Gooks are in the wire.”
“Hmmm…” I said. “I didn’t think of that affecting you like that.”
“Sure does. Sends chills up my spine.”
I and Dan walked over to his truck. Dan’s little dog, Scrap, was fiercely wagging his tail with his little head hanging out of the window. Dan rubbed his head as we walked around to the back to look in the bed of the pickup. He picked up a wax coated cardboard box and showed me the contents.
“Perfectly good bunches of bananas,” He told me with a grin.
They looked terrible to me and were way too brown.
“Those will make a fine banana pudding tonight if my house doesn’t get blown away.”
Dan always loves to show me what he finds. I did notice today that Dan's truck had been in an accident. There was a huge dent in the rear quarter panel. I didn’t ask feeling it would have been a sore subject to talk about. I left Dan as he was getting in his Toyota to drive across the river to check the dumpster at the convenience store affectionately known between us as “Rectum.”
I then walked on down past the tax preparation office and the hair salon and rounded the corner. Rosa was sitting in her favorite spot.
“Hey gorgeous,” She said as I sat down next to her. “You are looking mighty fine today.”
“You don’t want anything to do with me, remember?” I said. “I am crazy.”
Rosa laughed as she told me she hadn’t seen George in over a week. George had gone around during a drunken spree telling all the gang that I was crazy and schizophrenic. At first, it had made me mad as hell, but I can laugh about it now. I am more worried about where George has been these days. When he disappears for any length of time it usually means he’s in jail for driving under the influence.
“Well, I am going to go get me a chocolate milk and some cheese on wheat crackers,” I told Rosa as I got up to continue on to the grocery store after we had finished our cigars. She slapped me on the butt and grinned devilishly.
“I will see ya handsome,” She said looking at my posterior without making eye contact.
I shuddered as I walked away. I really like Rosa as a friend, but she has a daughter my age and isn’t exactly what you would call a fine specimen of a woman. I like older women, but not women my mother’s age. I finished my shopping and walked on home noticing the wind had picked up considerably and whipped my Auburn t-shirt with a fury.
“Keep an eye to the skies,” I told myself mimicking my late grandmother as I walked on inside and shut the door against a brisk wind.
Sunrise over the Chattahoochee…
Ah, another restful night of sleep. I just might get used to this. I was just standing outside in the cool morning air drinking my first mug of coffee of the day and I thought, you know, that would make a wonderful photograph. I was far too lazy and sleepy to walk back inside to grab the camera and snap a shot though. There will be many more sunrises in my life. I hope. Touchwood as Austere would say.
I walked back inside, turned on the television to find more and more commercials on The Weather Channel and less weather. Maggie sat at my feet watching me stoically. That is her way of letting me know she needs to go out for a potty break pronto. The constant staring will turn into muted mews in a few moments. Having a young dog is like having a kid except, hopefully, your kid doesn’t lick their butt.
Soon, the smell of brewing coffee in my apartment will be accompanied by the smell of frying bacon and the sound of eggs cracking and sizzling in the pan. I am feeling adventurous and nouveau riche this morning and might just have a cheese omelet instead of my usual plain Jane scrambled. Ok, my stomach is telling me to quit writing about it and to get to cooking. Good day.
I walked back inside, turned on the television to find more and more commercials on The Weather Channel and less weather. Maggie sat at my feet watching me stoically. That is her way of letting me know she needs to go out for a potty break pronto. The constant staring will turn into muted mews in a few moments. Having a young dog is like having a kid except, hopefully, your kid doesn’t lick their butt.
Soon, the smell of brewing coffee in my apartment will be accompanied by the smell of frying bacon and the sound of eggs cracking and sizzling in the pan. I am feeling adventurous and nouveau riche this morning and might just have a cheese omelet instead of my usual plain Jane scrambled. Ok, my stomach is telling me to quit writing about it and to get to cooking. Good day.
In the Still of the Night…
The midnight hour has far since passed. I am so sleepy, but am staying up listening to a radio program that I so enjoy out of New Orleans that only airs after midnight.
Cheryl had asked in a comment for me to write about one of my and mom’s meals. Helen, my father’s cook and maid, cooked a delicious chicken pot pie yesterday afternoon. Mom called me and had asked me to come eat supper with her. Helen’s chicken pie was filled with chunks of chicken breast; dumplings made the traditional southern way with lard, potatoes, carrots, celery, and sliced boiled eggs. This was cooked in a rich, creamy white, peppery sauce and topped with a flaky pastry crust. She also prepared her signature cornbread muffins which are slightly sweet and not traditional southern style. Southern style cornbread where I live is usually tangy, crunchy, and made with buttermilk, hot oil, and white corn meal. For the dessert, Helen had prepared pear salad which consisted of a pear half on a bed of lettuce with a dollop of mayonnaise sprinkled with sharp cheddar cheese and topped with a sweet candied cherry. It was delicious and I went back to the stove for a second helping much to Helen’s enjoyment.
There was a different cashier yesterday from the usual lady with the glass eye. I recognized him as the son of one of the men who goes to Alcoholics Anonymous with me. I was very nervous and wary that he would be unaware of my relationship and tab with the restaurant and that there would be problems.
“You eat up baby,” She told me. “I thought of you while I was cooking it.”
My father soon arrived home from work to eat with us. I and mom had almost finished.
“What in the hell is Maggie barking at?” He asked me.
“She has barked all day like a mad dog,” I replied. “I don’t know what has gotten into her.”
“It must be a possum or a deer.”
I walked home as the sun was setting as I looked for more photo opportunities. I am trying to gain a photographer’s eye for things.
I still have a tab at Roger’s Barbeque and ate lunch there yesterday as well. I am going to gain a hundred pounds the way I have been eating lately. I ordered two chunked pork barbeque sandwiches and a bag of Lay’s potato chips. As usual, the restaurant was busy which makes me nervous and paranoid, but my hunger and the want of a free meal overcomes my fears.
There was a different cashier yesterday from the usual lady with the glass eye. I recognized him as the son of one of the men who goes to Alcoholics Anonymous with me. I was very nervous and wary that he would be unaware of my relationship and tab with the restaurant and that there would be problems. Thankfully, management had filled him in and my check out process and tip went smoothly.
Well, this radio program will go on until the wee hours of the morning and my eyelids have grown so heavy I don’t think I can stay up any longer. I will try to write again in the morning. Good night.
Cheryl had asked in a comment for me to write about one of my and mom’s meals. Helen, my father’s cook and maid, cooked a delicious chicken pot pie yesterday afternoon. Mom called me and had asked me to come eat supper with her. Helen’s chicken pie was filled with chunks of chicken breast; dumplings made the traditional southern way with lard, potatoes, carrots, celery, and sliced boiled eggs. This was cooked in a rich, creamy white, peppery sauce and topped with a flaky pastry crust. She also prepared her signature cornbread muffins which are slightly sweet and not traditional southern style. Southern style cornbread where I live is usually tangy, crunchy, and made with buttermilk, hot oil, and white corn meal. For the dessert, Helen had prepared pear salad which consisted of a pear half on a bed of lettuce with a dollop of mayonnaise sprinkled with sharp cheddar cheese and topped with a sweet candied cherry. It was delicious and I went back to the stove for a second helping much to Helen’s enjoyment.
There was a different cashier yesterday from the usual lady with the glass eye. I recognized him as the son of one of the men who goes to Alcoholics Anonymous with me. I was very nervous and wary that he would be unaware of my relationship and tab with the restaurant and that there would be problems.
“You eat up baby,” She told me. “I thought of you while I was cooking it.”
My father soon arrived home from work to eat with us. I and mom had almost finished.
“What in the hell is Maggie barking at?” He asked me.
“She has barked all day like a mad dog,” I replied. “I don’t know what has gotten into her.”
“It must be a possum or a deer.”
I walked home as the sun was setting as I looked for more photo opportunities. I am trying to gain a photographer’s eye for things.
I still have a tab at Roger’s Barbeque and ate lunch there yesterday as well. I am going to gain a hundred pounds the way I have been eating lately. I ordered two chunked pork barbeque sandwiches and a bag of Lay’s potato chips. As usual, the restaurant was busy which makes me nervous and paranoid, but my hunger and the want of a free meal overcomes my fears.
There was a different cashier yesterday from the usual lady with the glass eye. I recognized him as the son of one of the men who goes to Alcoholics Anonymous with me. I was very nervous and wary that he would be unaware of my relationship and tab with the restaurant and that there would be problems. Thankfully, management had filled him in and my check out process and tip went smoothly.
Well, this radio program will go on until the wee hours of the morning and my eyelids have grown so heavy I don’t think I can stay up any longer. I will try to write again in the morning. Good night.
Friday, February 23, 2007
The Power of Money…
“Money is power,” My father told me over the phone today. “That is one thing I have learned from owning a multi-million dollar business.”
“I know,” I said plaintively as I thought of the paltry $11,000 dollars a year I live on.
We had gotten on the subject of lawyers and the ease with which my father will pay for and use them. My recent debacle with a credit card company was easily thwarted by my father’s lawyer. They wanted third party arbitration. In the fine print of the agreement, you had thirty days to write and request a judge to decide and forego arbitration. I would have never known this without the help of my father’s lawyer. The credit card company dismissed the supposed $278 dollars I owed them on a card I never used. It would have been far more costly for them to go to court. Without my father’s money, I would have never been able to afford a lawyer. I would have owed that company the money and they could have easily garnished my monthly check for the amount.
“Hindsight is 20/20,” I told my father speaking of my rash decision in applying for that credit card. “I will never do that again.”
“Well, I now have power of attorney over you and can handle all those things,” He replied. “You didn’t mean any harm.”
Nothing has worried me more (paranoia) than this whole power of attorney thing. I am doing okay at the moment, but I never know what tomorrow may bring as far as my mental illness is concerned. My father could easily have me locked away in some psychiatric hospital now if things turned for the worse. I am placing, in his trust, my very future and life.
“Promise me you will only do what is best for me,” I said with great affliction in my voice.
“What did I do for your brother and sister?” He asked.
“You saw them through medical school and told them what do,” I replied.
“I am telling you now to take your medications and to never drink again and you will be okay,” He said sternly. “I will see about you.”
I hung up the phone after saying goodbye and sat in the deepest of thoughts. It is still just damn scary. Addictions are so unpredictable. My father is a rabid teetotaler.
One day at a time, I thought as I sat there scared. At least I am no longer homeless.
My thoughts were of little consolation.
“I know,” I said plaintively as I thought of the paltry $11,000 dollars a year I live on.
We had gotten on the subject of lawyers and the ease with which my father will pay for and use them. My recent debacle with a credit card company was easily thwarted by my father’s lawyer. They wanted third party arbitration. In the fine print of the agreement, you had thirty days to write and request a judge to decide and forego arbitration. I would have never known this without the help of my father’s lawyer. The credit card company dismissed the supposed $278 dollars I owed them on a card I never used. It would have been far more costly for them to go to court. Without my father’s money, I would have never been able to afford a lawyer. I would have owed that company the money and they could have easily garnished my monthly check for the amount.
“Hindsight is 20/20,” I told my father speaking of my rash decision in applying for that credit card. “I will never do that again.”
“Well, I now have power of attorney over you and can handle all those things,” He replied. “You didn’t mean any harm.”
Nothing has worried me more (paranoia) than this whole power of attorney thing. I am doing okay at the moment, but I never know what tomorrow may bring as far as my mental illness is concerned. My father could easily have me locked away in some psychiatric hospital now if things turned for the worse. I am placing, in his trust, my very future and life.
“Promise me you will only do what is best for me,” I said with great affliction in my voice.
“What did I do for your brother and sister?” He asked.
“You saw them through medical school and told them what do,” I replied.
“I am telling you now to take your medications and to never drink again and you will be okay,” He said sternly. “I will see about you.”
I hung up the phone after saying goodbye and sat in the deepest of thoughts. It is still just damn scary. Addictions are so unpredictable. My father is a rabid teetotaler.
One day at a time, I thought as I sat there scared. At least I am no longer homeless.
My thoughts were of little consolation.
There and Back Again…
I awoke this morning to the first light of dawn. I unzipped my sleeping bag and glared at my watch as I squinted. 7:00 AM it read as I almost had to hold it to my face to read it. I then fumbled for my glasses as if I were caught in the darkest of nights without a light, or as if I were a blind man stumbling in an unfamiliar furniture filled room.
“Damn, I can’t see crap!” I muttered tersely to myself as my groping hand finally felt the cold metal of their frames. “I need to get that eye surgery done.”
Thus began my first morning camping out in quite awhile. I had forgotten how much I enjoy this pastime. I had also forgotten how much I love to leave behind the rigors of modern life for a much simpler existence; an existence that only a trip to woods can conjure within me.
I had stayed up late last night reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I marveled at how simply it was written, but so addicting to read. Each new chapter would arrive with a resolve from me to close the book and go to sleep.
It was well after midnight when I heard that mournful hoot of an owl far down in the woods below me. I finally closed the book as I took off my glasses, blew out my candle lantern, and lay there listening to the winter woods in the dark for the longest time. The owl hooted again with a plaintive call. In my mind, I could picture that owl sitting atop a branch, in the piney woods, with big blinking yellow eyes watching the forest floor for mice and other small moving and tasty edibles.
[Sleep arrived…]
I finally roused myself from my sleeping bag this morning and began breakfast after one of the most restful sleeps I had experienced in months. My little propane camp stove lit with a flare and a whoosh, and then hissed softly as a pot of water began to boil. I poured in the grits and added a dash of salt. There is a true art to good southern style grits I have learned over the years. Runny grits should only be found north of the Mason-Dixon Line. You want the consistency of a creamy, fine, thick porridge; a careful balance of water and ground corn.
As I sat eating my perfectly prepared grits from a plastic bowl with a plastic spoon, fog wafted off of the surface of our pond in the cool morning air and drifted down into the pine trees below the dam. Occasionally, the water would ripple in great expanding circles as a fish would break the surface. I longed to stay in this moment forever; forever serene, calm, and comforted.
With a heavy heart, I finally began to pack up my gear in my car and head for home. I knew my father would grow worried when he would find my car gone for more than a day. I drove home and away from God’s country as the brightly shining globe of the sun had risen high above the trees, almost blinding me as I drove east, prompting the use of my Honda’s visor; east towards home.
“Damn, I can’t see crap!” I muttered tersely to myself as my groping hand finally felt the cold metal of their frames. “I need to get that eye surgery done.”
Thus began my first morning camping out in quite awhile. I had forgotten how much I enjoy this pastime. I had also forgotten how much I love to leave behind the rigors of modern life for a much simpler existence; an existence that only a trip to woods can conjure within me.
I had stayed up late last night reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I marveled at how simply it was written, but so addicting to read. Each new chapter would arrive with a resolve from me to close the book and go to sleep.
It was well after midnight when I heard that mournful hoot of an owl far down in the woods below me. I finally closed the book as I took off my glasses, blew out my candle lantern, and lay there listening to the winter woods in the dark for the longest time. The owl hooted again with a plaintive call. In my mind, I could picture that owl sitting atop a branch, in the piney woods, with big blinking yellow eyes watching the forest floor for mice and other small moving and tasty edibles.
[Sleep arrived…]
I finally roused myself from my sleeping bag this morning and began breakfast after one of the most restful sleeps I had experienced in months. My little propane camp stove lit with a flare and a whoosh, and then hissed softly as a pot of water began to boil. I poured in the grits and added a dash of salt. There is a true art to good southern style grits I have learned over the years. Runny grits should only be found north of the Mason-Dixon Line. You want the consistency of a creamy, fine, thick porridge; a careful balance of water and ground corn.
As I sat eating my perfectly prepared grits from a plastic bowl with a plastic spoon, fog wafted off of the surface of our pond in the cool morning air and drifted down into the pine trees below the dam. Occasionally, the water would ripple in great expanding circles as a fish would break the surface. I longed to stay in this moment forever; forever serene, calm, and comforted.
With a heavy heart, I finally began to pack up my gear in my car and head for home. I knew my father would grow worried when he would find my car gone for more than a day. I drove home and away from God’s country as the brightly shining globe of the sun had risen high above the trees, almost blinding me as I drove east, prompting the use of my Honda’s visor; east towards home.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Morning Musings…
It’s 5:00 AM on this dark morning. The sun is just waiting below the horizon and casting its first rays of the day over the Atlantic. I can imagine Europe beginning their day. Breakfast is finished. People are going about their lives and heading to work. The sun is already high on the horizon.
In Asia, the sun is setting or has set. Their days are winding down as families gather around low dinner tables to eat the last meal of the day, watch television, and then head to bed. Such goes as the world turns. Days end and other days begin. Life is a never ending circle revolving in the void of space.
The only sound in my apartment is that of my coffee percolator starting to boil and the soft hissing of my gas heater this morning. Maggie is stretched out like a lazy Cheshire cat in front of that heater enjoying its warmth as is her usual routine after a cool night.
Ah, a train just started to roar through downtown. You can first hear the far off wail of its horns way down below that old abandoned cotton mill. Within minutes, the louder wails of its horns ring out as it makes it to downtown to greet a sleepy populace. I grew up hearing these trains in this small town and the sound of those horns is as ubiquitous as the birds singing in the trees and the sound of a warm breeze on a bright spring day.
Well, enough of my morning musings. I need to start packing and get ready to head out for a little camping adventure. Many of you want pictures. I am debating on carrying my $350 dollar camera into the woods to be banged around in my backpack. You will just have to wait a few days to see if I post them and overcome my fears of damaging my beloved camera. I could never afford another. I hope you all have a great next few days and I will write again this weekend.
In Asia, the sun is setting or has set. Their days are winding down as families gather around low dinner tables to eat the last meal of the day, watch television, and then head to bed. Such goes as the world turns. Days end and other days begin. Life is a never ending circle revolving in the void of space.
The only sound in my apartment is that of my coffee percolator starting to boil and the soft hissing of my gas heater this morning. Maggie is stretched out like a lazy Cheshire cat in front of that heater enjoying its warmth as is her usual routine after a cool night.
Ah, a train just started to roar through downtown. You can first hear the far off wail of its horns way down below that old abandoned cotton mill. Within minutes, the louder wails of its horns ring out as it makes it to downtown to greet a sleepy populace. I grew up hearing these trains in this small town and the sound of those horns is as ubiquitous as the birds singing in the trees and the sound of a warm breeze on a bright spring day.
Well, enough of my morning musings. I need to start packing and get ready to head out for a little camping adventure. Many of you want pictures. I am debating on carrying my $350 dollar camera into the woods to be banged around in my backpack. You will just have to wait a few days to see if I post them and overcome my fears of damaging my beloved camera. I could never afford another. I hope you all have a great next few days and I will write again this weekend.
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