This morning was overly cool and I will be glad when summer finally arrives. I walked downtown to watch a few trains pass in the predawn dark. There is just this tangible excitement that builds as you first hear the far off wail of a locomotive horn as a train enters town. Soon, you will see a bright headlight round the corner far down the tracks in the dark as the train approaches. The ground will rumble beneath your feet as the train passes with many container cars marked “China Shipping.” The kid in me always rejoices at this grand spectacle of modern locomotive machinery.
I then stopped by Fat Albert’s this morning for a hot cup of coffee. My ex-girlfriend Carolyn worked there for years and the clerks all know me exceedingly well. I was greeted by hearty hellos and good mornings as I walked in. I stood at the counter to pay for my coffee after carefully fixing it.
“Do you ever hear from Carolyn these days?” The manager, Patty, asked me early this morning. “I haven’t heard from her in ages and was wondering how she was doing.”
“You know we broke up,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” Patty replied. “I just thought you two might still be talking.”
“We no longer talk, but last I heard she is still working at Wal-Mart.”
“You two were such a good couple. I hate you broke up,” Patty replied.
“Yeah,” I said growing silent as I drank my coffee.
Patty rung me up and I paid and left to walk up the street towards home. I thought of Carolyn as I walked. I still get the occasional call on my answering machine were no one talks, but you can hear someone breathing with a television on in the background. I just know it is Carolyn. It has been very tempting to pick up the phone and say hello. I was never good at saying goodbye. If I were to pick up then I would start that emotional roller coaster going all over again. It is best to let sleeping dogs lie.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The Funny Side of Schizophrenia
I spent most of my birthday morning with Rosa. She gave me a new wallet from the dollar store as she had noticed the other day that my old one of many years was growing threadbare. It probably was the most thoughtful gift of this year’s birthday even though it probably only cost a couple of bucks. I gave her a hug and thanked her as I unwrapped the gift, realizing what it was. It even has a compartment to hold a spare house key and car key which will come in handy as I inherited the dreaded key disease from my father and lose my keys easily.
Rosa also got to see one of the side effects of my schizophrenia today as well. Our conversation went as follows…
“What’s so funny?” she asked me as we were walking through downtown heading for home after eating lunch at Rodger’s.
“It’s my schizophrenia,” I replied. “One of my medications or either my mental illness makes me feel giddy at intervals and I will smile and laugh uncontrollably.”
Rosa grinned broadly at this interesting turn of events.
“Well, if you’ve got to have side effects, then laughing and smiling would be a good one to have,” Rosa said, completely enthralled by this occurrence.
“I know,” I said. “But I look crazy as shit walking down the street alone as I smile and laugh goofily like some madman at seemingly nothing.”
“I would rather be with some happy crazy guy than some surly normal dude,” Rosa then said.
“At least I give these nosey small town, small minded people something to gossip about,” I said as I laughed. “Look, there is John’s son walking through town laughing at imaginary jokes. He is happily crazy. Poor thing.”
Rosa burst out laughing, putting her arm in mine, and pulling me close as we walked.
“I just love you to death,” she said. “You are so good at taking things in stride. I love that you can laugh and make fun of your mental illness.”
“I love you to death, too,” I replied as we walked.
We walked on to my house so I could check my mailbox for birthday cards and Rosa then plopped herself in front of my television to once again watch that boring drivel called Court TV. It has been a good day despite some flare ups with my mental illness.
Rosa also got to see one of the side effects of my schizophrenia today as well. Our conversation went as follows…
“What’s so funny?” she asked me as we were walking through downtown heading for home after eating lunch at Rodger’s.
“It’s my schizophrenia,” I replied. “One of my medications or either my mental illness makes me feel giddy at intervals and I will smile and laugh uncontrollably.”
Rosa grinned broadly at this interesting turn of events.
“Well, if you’ve got to have side effects, then laughing and smiling would be a good one to have,” Rosa said, completely enthralled by this occurrence.
“I know,” I said. “But I look crazy as shit walking down the street alone as I smile and laugh goofily like some madman at seemingly nothing.”
“I would rather be with some happy crazy guy than some surly normal dude,” Rosa then said.
“At least I give these nosey small town, small minded people something to gossip about,” I said as I laughed. “Look, there is John’s son walking through town laughing at imaginary jokes. He is happily crazy. Poor thing.”
Rosa burst out laughing, putting her arm in mine, and pulling me close as we walked.
“I just love you to death,” she said. “You are so good at taking things in stride. I love that you can laugh and make fun of your mental illness.”
“I love you to death, too,” I replied as we walked.
We walked on to my house so I could check my mailbox for birthday cards and Rosa then plopped herself in front of my television to once again watch that boring drivel called Court TV. It has been a good day despite some flare ups with my mental illness.
Storms on the Horizon
I sat out Spring Road late last night watching the last of yesterday’s storms roll in. There was a tangible electricity to the air as flashes of lightning lit up the dark horizon. Soon, you could hear the far off rumbles of thunder as the storms grew closer until a bright flash of lightning and deafening crack of thunder chased me back into the safe confines of my car.
Much of the country is getting snow and cold weather, old man winter’s last respite before spring. I long ago realized I lived in the Bermuda triangle of winter weather as we get none and when we do, it is a freak happenstance of maybe once a decade. It has been very warm here with our weather moderated by the Gulf of Mexico.
Earlier in the evening, I had gone out to eat with my mother and father the day before my birthday. We arrived home and I was walking out their backdoor as I and my father talked of the weather. He gets just as excited about the weather as I.
“The dew points are really high,” I said as I stood at their backdoor. “The humidity is so thick you feel as if you could cut it with a knife.”
“Stormy weather is on the way,” My father said being a harbinger of the adverse weather that would arrive later that evening. “You can feel it.”
I walked on home with an eye to the sky and settled in for a quiet evening of weather watching.
_____________________________________
It is 3:13am on the 12th of April, 2007. I am now officially 35 years old. I asked myself if I thought I would be where I am at, at this point in my life. I feel so old. The answer was that I am lucky and blessed. I don’t have to work some menial job to support myself. My schizophrenia has been under check lately. I have a new home that is completely paid for. I have a very nice Honda that is paid for. I have no debt. I have plenty of food, drinks, and smokes. I am sober and sometimes days do go by without me obsessing about having a couple of drinks. It will be a good start to what is the 35th year of the life of this simple man. I hope you all have a good day today and thanks for sharing in the past few years of this journey called life.
Andrew
Much of the country is getting snow and cold weather, old man winter’s last respite before spring. I long ago realized I lived in the Bermuda triangle of winter weather as we get none and when we do, it is a freak happenstance of maybe once a decade. It has been very warm here with our weather moderated by the Gulf of Mexico.
Earlier in the evening, I had gone out to eat with my mother and father the day before my birthday. We arrived home and I was walking out their backdoor as I and my father talked of the weather. He gets just as excited about the weather as I.
“The dew points are really high,” I said as I stood at their backdoor. “The humidity is so thick you feel as if you could cut it with a knife.”
“Stormy weather is on the way,” My father said being a harbinger of the adverse weather that would arrive later that evening. “You can feel it.”
I walked on home with an eye to the sky and settled in for a quiet evening of weather watching.
It is 3:13am on the 12th of April, 2007. I am now officially 35 years old. I asked myself if I thought I would be where I am at, at this point in my life. I feel so old. The answer was that I am lucky and blessed. I don’t have to work some menial job to support myself. My schizophrenia has been under check lately. I have a new home that is completely paid for. I have a very nice Honda that is paid for. I have no debt. I have plenty of food, drinks, and smokes. I am sober and sometimes days do go by without me obsessing about having a couple of drinks. It will be a good start to what is the 35th year of the life of this simple man. I hope you all have a good day today and thanks for sharing in the past few years of this journey called life.
Andrew
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Of the African American Vernacular
“Thank you so much,” Ferret told me as I handed him a to-go box of today’s lunch plate from Rodger’s Barbeque which consisted of meat loaf, fried okra, black-eyed peas, potato salad, and cornbread.
I had walked back into the woods behind the railroad tracks to Ferret’s new homeless campsite. It is in an old pecan tree grove next to the river that has become tangled with undergrowth. George had accompanied me and was winded from the long walk. I have seldom seen George put so much effort into going somewhere before on foot. He was curious to see how Ferret was living these days.
“What up dawg?” George asked Ferret in that African American vernacular, shaking his hand.
“I hate it when you black dudes call each other dawg,” I said as I laughed.
George chuckled and told me it was a “black thang.” There are not too many “black thangs” about George, I thought as we stood there.
Ferret had been trying to cook some lunch in a small pot suspended over a campfire. I walked over, pulled off the lid, and looked inside. It smelled revolting.
“What are you cooking?” I asked. “It smells like dog food.”
“I boiled some ramen noodles, added a can of Veg-All vegetables, and then added some of that beef jerky you bought me yesterday. I was trying to make some vegetable beef soup.”
“Next time, just buy a can of vegetable beef soup. It would be much easier and tastier,” I replied.
Ferret cracked open a lukewarm Milwaukee’s Best Ice Beer and began to drink it as he sat on the ground and ate his lunch. I sat beside him and made a list of some things Ferret needed for me and George to go get at Wal-Mart. George promised to help me pay for the items.
George and I finally left Ferret to polish off that twelve pack of ice beer after lunch and we took a shortcut across the railroad tracks by that grand old abandoned cotton mill.
“Dat nigga be in sad shape,” George told me.
I always cringe when George says that derogatory term, but it is okay for one black person to call another black person by that moniker. If I were to do that so blithely like George, being a white man, then I would be tarred and feathered and ran out of town.
“He survived homelessness once and will survive it again,” I said, plainly and matter-of-factly, never giving up hope on my homeless friend.
I and George drove on down to Wal-Mart and bought Ferret a homeless camping survival kit of sorts with things such as emergency ponchos, fire starter kits, camp cookware, etc. I will take it to him tomorrow once this adverse weather we are having this afternoon has passed.
I had walked back into the woods behind the railroad tracks to Ferret’s new homeless campsite. It is in an old pecan tree grove next to the river that has become tangled with undergrowth. George had accompanied me and was winded from the long walk. I have seldom seen George put so much effort into going somewhere before on foot. He was curious to see how Ferret was living these days.
“What up dawg?” George asked Ferret in that African American vernacular, shaking his hand.
“I hate it when you black dudes call each other dawg,” I said as I laughed.
George chuckled and told me it was a “black thang.” There are not too many “black thangs” about George, I thought as we stood there.
Ferret had been trying to cook some lunch in a small pot suspended over a campfire. I walked over, pulled off the lid, and looked inside. It smelled revolting.
“What are you cooking?” I asked. “It smells like dog food.”
“I boiled some ramen noodles, added a can of Veg-All vegetables, and then added some of that beef jerky you bought me yesterday. I was trying to make some vegetable beef soup.”
“Next time, just buy a can of vegetable beef soup. It would be much easier and tastier,” I replied.
Ferret cracked open a lukewarm Milwaukee’s Best Ice Beer and began to drink it as he sat on the ground and ate his lunch. I sat beside him and made a list of some things Ferret needed for me and George to go get at Wal-Mart. George promised to help me pay for the items.
George and I finally left Ferret to polish off that twelve pack of ice beer after lunch and we took a shortcut across the railroad tracks by that grand old abandoned cotton mill.
“Dat nigga be in sad shape,” George told me.
I always cringe when George says that derogatory term, but it is okay for one black person to call another black person by that moniker. If I were to do that so blithely like George, being a white man, then I would be tarred and feathered and ran out of town.
“He survived homelessness once and will survive it again,” I said, plainly and matter-of-factly, never giving up hope on my homeless friend.
I and George drove on down to Wal-Mart and bought Ferret a homeless camping survival kit of sorts with things such as emergency ponchos, fire starter kits, camp cookware, etc. I will take it to him tomorrow once this adverse weather we are having this afternoon has passed.
Serene Talks with Parental Figures
I awoke this morning to grey, overcast skies. We have a good chance of storms today which brings me joy. I will be glad when we get in that summer weather pattern of afternoon southern thunderstorms every day. It is only just a few short months away.
One scary thing happened this morning. When I awoke, I could smell cigarette smoke. I looked down upon my comforter and a lit cigarette was precariously perched among a fold in the blanket narrowly missing burning the blanket. I don’t even remember lighting it. I picked it up and finished it, relieved I didn’t catch myself on fire. A commenter had commented just the other day about the dangers of smoking in bed.
Last night, I and Dad went for a long ride in his car just to talk and catch up on things. I had just gone to the grocery store. I saw Wanda at Kroger and we talked for a few moments. It was good to see her out of an A.A. setting. She is such a warm hearted and kind soul. I love her dearly.
“We’ve had a good two weeks,” my father told me as we drove out River Road.
“It has been nice, hasn’t it?” I replied.
“I am taking you out to eat for your birthday tomorrow night,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s try that new seafood restaurant that just opened.”
“It’s good. I ate there tonight. I got the baked flounder.”
“Is it okay if I get the seafood platter?” I asked.
“You can get anything you want,” he said.
Dad handed me this week’s medications in their bubble pack. A soft rain then started to fall as we drove back into town to take me home. I do so enjoy these calm and serene times with my father. If you have read for a long time, you know our relationship in the past has often been rocky and turbulent.
One scary thing happened this morning. When I awoke, I could smell cigarette smoke. I looked down upon my comforter and a lit cigarette was precariously perched among a fold in the blanket narrowly missing burning the blanket. I don’t even remember lighting it. I picked it up and finished it, relieved I didn’t catch myself on fire. A commenter had commented just the other day about the dangers of smoking in bed.
Last night, I and Dad went for a long ride in his car just to talk and catch up on things. I had just gone to the grocery store. I saw Wanda at Kroger and we talked for a few moments. It was good to see her out of an A.A. setting. She is such a warm hearted and kind soul. I love her dearly.
“We’ve had a good two weeks,” my father told me as we drove out River Road.
“It has been nice, hasn’t it?” I replied.
“I am taking you out to eat for your birthday tomorrow night,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s try that new seafood restaurant that just opened.”
“It’s good. I ate there tonight. I got the baked flounder.”
“Is it okay if I get the seafood platter?” I asked.
“You can get anything you want,” he said.
Dad handed me this week’s medications in their bubble pack. A soft rain then started to fall as we drove back into town to take me home. I do so enjoy these calm and serene times with my father. If you have read for a long time, you know our relationship in the past has often been rocky and turbulent.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Deepest, Darkest Despair
“Here, take this,” I said to Ferret handing him a 20 oz Coca-cola and a bag of beef jerky from the convenience store up the road.
“I fuckin’ want to die,” he said as he sat sulking behind the furniture warehouse.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“You don’t want to die,” I said. “You just need a reason to live.”
“What did you do when you were homeless?” he asked, wiping the tear away.
“I sure as hell didn’t hang around where a lot of people are, like you do,” I replied. “People are bad news when you are homeless.”
“I don’t have a fuckin’ car, I don’t have a fuckin’ job,” he said, slurring his words. “I don’t have a fuckin’ life.”
“You have a fucking choice and that is far more than most people get,” I said, growing angry.
I didn’t have time for a drunken pity party today. I’ve shed a few tears in my beers, so to speak, and it was always a useless endeavor that never really made you feel better. Your emotions are heightened when drunk and you will say and do things you normally wouldn’t do.
“Come by the house and get yourself cleaned up and I will let you borrow a clean shirt and some pants,” I told him. “That way you can try for the job opening at the grocery store.”
“I’m not bagging groceries for chump change,” Ferret told me, adamantly.
“Fine,” I said as I began to walk home. “Fucking starve to death. See if I care.”
Deep down, I did care. More than Ferret would ever know, but males can’t show such affection without being labeled with the “homosexual” moniker. I’ve been in Ferret’s shoes and I‘ve cried in my beer many times. You know what scares me the most? I am a case of suds away from being right back where I started: Living in a tent in the woods and freezing my ass off as I drank and smoked myself into oblivion. At least, I didn’t constantly whine and bitch about it like this Homeless Guy while doing nothing to change my life.
Ferret’s one saving grace is that summer is on the way. I know all too well those cold winter mornings, homeless. My homelessness taught me to look at the change of the seasons in a completely different way. I’ve often reminisced about being homeless and prayed to my gods to once again be “set free” as I like to call it. If there is a god, I want to thank him for unanswered prayers and Ferret’s predicament pounds that home with a resounding jolt to my good senses.
“I fuckin’ want to die,” he said as he sat sulking behind the furniture warehouse.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“You don’t want to die,” I said. “You just need a reason to live.”
“What did you do when you were homeless?” he asked, wiping the tear away.
“I sure as hell didn’t hang around where a lot of people are, like you do,” I replied. “People are bad news when you are homeless.”
“I don’t have a fuckin’ car, I don’t have a fuckin’ job,” he said, slurring his words. “I don’t have a fuckin’ life.”
“You have a fucking choice and that is far more than most people get,” I said, growing angry.
I didn’t have time for a drunken pity party today. I’ve shed a few tears in my beers, so to speak, and it was always a useless endeavor that never really made you feel better. Your emotions are heightened when drunk and you will say and do things you normally wouldn’t do.
“Come by the house and get yourself cleaned up and I will let you borrow a clean shirt and some pants,” I told him. “That way you can try for the job opening at the grocery store.”
“I’m not bagging groceries for chump change,” Ferret told me, adamantly.
“Fine,” I said as I began to walk home. “Fucking starve to death. See if I care.”
Deep down, I did care. More than Ferret would ever know, but males can’t show such affection without being labeled with the “homosexual” moniker. I’ve been in Ferret’s shoes and I‘ve cried in my beer many times. You know what scares me the most? I am a case of suds away from being right back where I started: Living in a tent in the woods and freezing my ass off as I drank and smoked myself into oblivion. At least, I didn’t constantly whine and bitch about it like this Homeless Guy while doing nothing to change my life.
Ferret’s one saving grace is that summer is on the way. I know all too well those cold winter mornings, homeless. My homelessness taught me to look at the change of the seasons in a completely different way. I’ve often reminisced about being homeless and prayed to my gods to once again be “set free” as I like to call it. If there is a god, I want to thank him for unanswered prayers and Ferret’s predicament pounds that home with a resounding jolt to my good senses.
Biscuits and Sausage Sawmill Gravy
“I’m starving,” Rosa told me this morning as we were walking past the car wash heading in the direction of the police department. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”
We made our way to Sarah Jay’s eatery as we talked. Rosa looked nice this morning and not her usual masculine self. You could even see a hint of makeup base on her face covering up the weathered blemishes that pockmark her skin.
“Did you ever catch up with Ferret yesterday?” Rosa asked.
“Nope,” I said, frowning. “George said he saw him downtown though.”
“He’s not thinking right. That mouthwash has pickled his brain,” Rosa replied. “He’s going to wish he listened to you about all that disability shit.”
“Well, they make it hard for the average person to navigate,” I said. “You have to jump through so many hoops to get it and keep it, that I wonder if it is all worth it these days. Throw in a month long drinking binge and your chances are slim to none. I would rather my tax money go to Ferret and not that goddamn farce of a war in Iraq, though.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I like it when you get all riled up.”
We finally arrived at the restaurant and I held the door open for Rosa. I have had a terrible bout with static electricity lately and the door shocked the hell out of me when I touched it. I scowled and cursed from the pain and the sudden jolt of voltage.
“You have an electric personality,” Rosa told me facetiously as she chuckled.
We both sat down and ordered biscuits w/ sausage and sawmill gravy. Rosa was giving me a hard time because I had my face stuck in this morning’s edition of the Atlanta Constitution. I was perusing the classifieds looking for old Chevrolet Chevelles for sale.
“My brother used to have a ’72 Nova,” Rosa told me as I looked over the newspaper trying to feign interest.
“Nova’s were pieces of shit compared to Chevelles,” I said huffily as I returned to my newspaper perusing.
I and Rosa finished our breakfasts and walked back towards the shopping center on this cool morning. The sun shone brightly as it rose above the horizon and was the perfect backdrop to a glorious spring day. I gave Rosa a hug and we parted ways near the convenience store. I walked home feeling so good and upbeat. It is going to be a great day and I can’t wait to get to enjoy it to the fullest.
We made our way to Sarah Jay’s eatery as we talked. Rosa looked nice this morning and not her usual masculine self. You could even see a hint of makeup base on her face covering up the weathered blemishes that pockmark her skin.
“Did you ever catch up with Ferret yesterday?” Rosa asked.
“Nope,” I said, frowning. “George said he saw him downtown though.”
“He’s not thinking right. That mouthwash has pickled his brain,” Rosa replied. “He’s going to wish he listened to you about all that disability shit.”
“Well, they make it hard for the average person to navigate,” I said. “You have to jump through so many hoops to get it and keep it, that I wonder if it is all worth it these days. Throw in a month long drinking binge and your chances are slim to none. I would rather my tax money go to Ferret and not that goddamn farce of a war in Iraq, though.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I like it when you get all riled up.”
We finally arrived at the restaurant and I held the door open for Rosa. I have had a terrible bout with static electricity lately and the door shocked the hell out of me when I touched it. I scowled and cursed from the pain and the sudden jolt of voltage.
“You have an electric personality,” Rosa told me facetiously as she chuckled.
We both sat down and ordered biscuits w/ sausage and sawmill gravy. Rosa was giving me a hard time because I had my face stuck in this morning’s edition of the Atlanta Constitution. I was perusing the classifieds looking for old Chevrolet Chevelles for sale.
“My brother used to have a ’72 Nova,” Rosa told me as I looked over the newspaper trying to feign interest.
“Nova’s were pieces of shit compared to Chevelles,” I said huffily as I returned to my newspaper perusing.
I and Rosa finished our breakfasts and walked back towards the shopping center on this cool morning. The sun shone brightly as it rose above the horizon and was the perfect backdrop to a glorious spring day. I gave Rosa a hug and we parted ways near the convenience store. I walked home feeling so good and upbeat. It is going to be a great day and I can’t wait to get to enjoy it to the fullest.
Things that go bump in the Night
Rosa and I had our customary phone conversation before going to bed last night. I lay in my bed with my cordless phone up to my ear, yawning, until things grew interesting…
“I feel like using tonight,” She told me with an air of seriousness to her voice.
“Stinkin’ thinkin’,” I said. “You need to get to a meeting.”
“You know how I feel about those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings,” She replied. “I am not an alcoholic. I only went that time to support you.”
“Then go to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting,” I said. “I will go with you.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” She asked.
“That’s what friends are for,” I said.
I then yawned loudly and rolled over on my side as I lit a cigar. A wispy whirl of bluish smoke curled around my face lit by my bedside lamp.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” She then asked after a short pause.
“Doll, no. I am just tired. It has been a long day,” I replied. “I will find us a meeting online and we will go tomorrow night.”
“Thank you,” She said. “I will let you go to sleep.”
We said good night and hung up our phones.
I know that feeling of wanting to use all too well. It is as if the less better angels of your nature are sitting upon your shoulder and nagging you to do what you know is not best.
“One drink won’t hurt,” They will say. “You will feel better.”
Sadly, I can’t have just one drink as one will soon grow to twenty or more often drinking and driving to get another fix. When that stinkin’ thinkin’ starts, I know to get to a meeting ASAP. Going is paramount to all other things in my life during that moment. I have a lot of empathy for what Rosa was going through last night.
“I feel like using tonight,” She told me with an air of seriousness to her voice.
“Stinkin’ thinkin’,” I said. “You need to get to a meeting.”
“You know how I feel about those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings,” She replied. “I am not an alcoholic. I only went that time to support you.”
“Then go to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting,” I said. “I will go with you.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” She asked.
“That’s what friends are for,” I said.
I then yawned loudly and rolled over on my side as I lit a cigar. A wispy whirl of bluish smoke curled around my face lit by my bedside lamp.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” She then asked after a short pause.
“Doll, no. I am just tired. It has been a long day,” I replied. “I will find us a meeting online and we will go tomorrow night.”
“Thank you,” She said. “I will let you go to sleep.”
We said good night and hung up our phones.
I know that feeling of wanting to use all too well. It is as if the less better angels of your nature are sitting upon your shoulder and nagging you to do what you know is not best.
“One drink won’t hurt,” They will say. “You will feel better.”
Sadly, I can’t have just one drink as one will soon grow to twenty or more often drinking and driving to get another fix. When that stinkin’ thinkin’ starts, I know to get to a meeting ASAP. Going is paramount to all other things in my life during that moment. I have a lot of empathy for what Rosa was going through last night.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Feed Mania
I discovered RSS blog feeds tonight and am hooked. The bad side to feeds is that you can’t comment unless you visit each blog individually. Still, it’s nice to hit one simple button to see if any of the many blogs I read have updated and to read with Microsoft Office Outlook 2007 what the authors wrote. It has been a slow blog day, by the way. Not many people have updated.
Rosa stayed with me most of the afternoon. We got on the internet and found what we both believe is her daughter’s address. Rosa borrowed some paper and an envelope and wrote her a short letter with a return address. Hopefully, we will hear back from Rosa’s daughter in a few weeks. Rosa was so excited to have some tangible part of her long lost daughter within reach. I was just glad I could help in some small way.
I had told Ferret to be prepared to head down to Opelika to go get his disability reinstated. Ferret was nowhere to be seen today which was not too surprising. You tend to expect the worst when dealing with drunks such as me and Ferret. Set your expectations low or you will be sorely disappointed most of the time. George did say he saw him walking through downtown earlier with a swagger, most likely drunk. I thought of the old adage that you can lead a mule to water, but you can’t make him drink. I tried. Ferret will just have to find his own way down to the Social Security office. Hunger and the lack of money can be an awfully powerful motivator, I bet.
I have a terrible case of new computer fever. I “window shop” in my spare time at newegg.com for computer parts to build a new rig. I must raise close to $1000 dollars to build my new dream rig. So far, I have only saved around $300 dollars and another $200 I will most likely receive for my birthday on April the 12th. That new computer is slowly growing closer to within reach and I can’t wait. I haven’t bought a new computer in years and have patched together my two currently running machines with duct tape and bubble gum figuratively speaking.
Well, let me settle in for the night, take my medications, fix a cold glass of milk, and then I am going to go enjoy a big piece of tart lemon meringue pie Charlie’s sister made for me today. It will be the perfect cap to an already serene and peaceful day. Good night dear blogging friends.
Rosa stayed with me most of the afternoon. We got on the internet and found what we both believe is her daughter’s address. Rosa borrowed some paper and an envelope and wrote her a short letter with a return address. Hopefully, we will hear back from Rosa’s daughter in a few weeks. Rosa was so excited to have some tangible part of her long lost daughter within reach. I was just glad I could help in some small way.
I had told Ferret to be prepared to head down to Opelika to go get his disability reinstated. Ferret was nowhere to be seen today which was not too surprising. You tend to expect the worst when dealing with drunks such as me and Ferret. Set your expectations low or you will be sorely disappointed most of the time. George did say he saw him walking through downtown earlier with a swagger, most likely drunk. I thought of the old adage that you can lead a mule to water, but you can’t make him drink. I tried. Ferret will just have to find his own way down to the Social Security office. Hunger and the lack of money can be an awfully powerful motivator, I bet.
I have a terrible case of new computer fever. I “window shop” in my spare time at newegg.com for computer parts to build a new rig. I must raise close to $1000 dollars to build my new dream rig. So far, I have only saved around $300 dollars and another $200 I will most likely receive for my birthday on April the 12th. That new computer is slowly growing closer to within reach and I can’t wait. I haven’t bought a new computer in years and have patched together my two currently running machines with duct tape and bubble gum figuratively speaking.
Well, let me settle in for the night, take my medications, fix a cold glass of milk, and then I am going to go enjoy a big piece of tart lemon meringue pie Charlie’s sister made for me today. It will be the perfect cap to an already serene and peaceful day. Good night dear blogging friends.
A Life Fraught with Dangers Thwarted
I look back on these past few years with a certain fondness despite some setbacks. Things have come such a long way since my homeless days. There have been some trying times, but life is fraught with such moments. My life is mostly calm, quiet, and serene, whereas it used to be constant chaos. My father says it is because I am taking my medications for my schizophrenia religiously. I think it is a multitude of things.
I was talking to Dad just last night about some of these things. We were sitting in his den as we watched The Weather Channel.
“Do you still want to drink these days?” He asked me.
“Every day,” I replied, honestly. “I will always be an alcoholic.”
“One big difference is that we can talk to you,” He said. “When you are not on your medications and drinking, you are unruly.”
“I can’t see or feel when I get like that,” I replied.
“You’re incorrigible,” Dad said. “And you will do stuff that is not in your best interests.”
I went back to my mother’s bedroom and gave her a hug after telling my father goodbye. I walked home with the path ahead lit by my little flashlight. I thought of how much my parents mean to me and how they have both stuck by me through thick and thin. Despite all that has happened in my short life, my father still takes time out of his busy day to help me and see about me. My mother also does what she can despite her own battles with schizophrenia.
I realize I am one of the lucky few. It is far easier, although expensive, to put a mentally ill family member in a group home or psychiatric ward of a hospital to languish in loneliness and caged solitude. I am afforded a certain freedom not experienced by many with this disease of the brain. I am able to maintain a very good quality of life as long as I am careful, don’t drink, take my medications, and keep social and other stressors to a minimum. My life will always have certain limitations, but it is a small price to pay for a certain sense of normalcy not afforded to most with schizophrenia.
I was talking to Dad just last night about some of these things. We were sitting in his den as we watched The Weather Channel.
“Do you still want to drink these days?” He asked me.
“Every day,” I replied, honestly. “I will always be an alcoholic.”
“One big difference is that we can talk to you,” He said. “When you are not on your medications and drinking, you are unruly.”
“I can’t see or feel when I get like that,” I replied.
“You’re incorrigible,” Dad said. “And you will do stuff that is not in your best interests.”
I went back to my mother’s bedroom and gave her a hug after telling my father goodbye. I walked home with the path ahead lit by my little flashlight. I thought of how much my parents mean to me and how they have both stuck by me through thick and thin. Despite all that has happened in my short life, my father still takes time out of his busy day to help me and see about me. My mother also does what she can despite her own battles with schizophrenia.
I realize I am one of the lucky few. It is far easier, although expensive, to put a mentally ill family member in a group home or psychiatric ward of a hospital to languish in loneliness and caged solitude. I am afforded a certain freedom not experienced by many with this disease of the brain. I am able to maintain a very good quality of life as long as I am careful, don’t drink, take my medications, and keep social and other stressors to a minimum. My life will always have certain limitations, but it is a small price to pay for a certain sense of normalcy not afforded to most with schizophrenia.
Walks of the Insomniac
The weather has been raw and wrought with an unforgiving cold lately. Just when I thought we were done with winter, the old man comes back with a vengeance. This makes my predawn walks exercises in tedium and perseverance. Around mile three my face and hands grow numb and no amount of rubbing them will warm them.
2am found me on the last leg of journey as I walked into the parking lot of that convenience store I so frequent these days. My usual and favorite beady eyed clerk was standing behind the counter looking at another porno mag. I shuddered to think what he did with his spare time when no one was in the store looking at such magazines. It was not a pretty thought. He is not the most attractive of beasts.
“Hey stranger,” He said, genuinely glad to see me as he scurried to put the porno under the counter, looking flustered.
“Good morning,” I said as I walked past him to go straight back to the drinks cooler to get an ice cold Gatorade.
“I didn’t see you last night,” He told me as I stepped up to the counter.
“I actually slept last night and got a good night’s sleep,” I said. “I took four Tylenol PM and it knocked me out.”
“I heard Tylenol can ruin your liver so I don’t take it,” The clerk told me.
“Anything, drug wise, can ruin your liver if you take enough of it,” I replied.
“True,” The clerk said as he rung me up and I handed him my money.
I bid the clerk farewell and continued on with my walk. 3am found me walking up my driveway chilled to the bone. Maggie exuberantly greeted me at the door and I parked myself in front of my heater to get warm. Just another day in the life of a lonely insomniac. I sure missed Carolyn this morning.
2am found me on the last leg of journey as I walked into the parking lot of that convenience store I so frequent these days. My usual and favorite beady eyed clerk was standing behind the counter looking at another porno mag. I shuddered to think what he did with his spare time when no one was in the store looking at such magazines. It was not a pretty thought. He is not the most attractive of beasts.
“Hey stranger,” He said, genuinely glad to see me as he scurried to put the porno under the counter, looking flustered.
“Good morning,” I said as I walked past him to go straight back to the drinks cooler to get an ice cold Gatorade.
“I didn’t see you last night,” He told me as I stepped up to the counter.
“I actually slept last night and got a good night’s sleep,” I said. “I took four Tylenol PM and it knocked me out.”
“I heard Tylenol can ruin your liver so I don’t take it,” The clerk told me.
“Anything, drug wise, can ruin your liver if you take enough of it,” I replied.
“True,” The clerk said as he rung me up and I handed him my money.
I bid the clerk farewell and continued on with my walk. 3am found me walking up my driveway chilled to the bone. Maggie exuberantly greeted me at the door and I parked myself in front of my heater to get warm. Just another day in the life of a lonely insomniac. I sure missed Carolyn this morning.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Restless Thoughts and Feelings
I am feeling sad and out of sorts today. I am deeply worred about Ferret. I walked downtown to watch a train pass hoping it would lift my spirits. It did little to help. I feel restless and as if I am about to jump out of my skin.
The last leg of my walk found me over by the shopping center. I ran into Ferret and found him sober, but cold.
I had to bite my tongue when Ferret said that. Luck had nothing to do with it. Ferret was homeless because he started back drinking. I wanted to tell him so, but decided to keep that to myself.
“What did you do last night to stay warm?” I asked. “It was cold as hell.”
“I walked down to Krystal’s and sat up all night drinking coffee and reading newspapers ,” he replied.
“Don’t drink Monday,” I told him. “Remember, we are supposed to go to Opelika to talk to social security.”
“I got another tent and sleeping bag,” Ferret then said dodging the subject, proudly. “I set them up over by the river.”
“Well, maybe this cold snap will not last very long,” I replied. “It is supposed to warm back up the middle of next week.”
“Having this cold would just be my luck,” Ferret said. “Just when I get to be homeless again, Mother Nature decides to be a bitch.”
I had to bite my tongue when Ferret said that. Luck had nothing to do with it. Ferret was homeless because he started back drinking. I wanted to tell him so, but decided to keep that to myself. My relationship with Ferret can be tenuous at best these days when he is not taking his medications and I felt I could damage it with being too honest and blunt with what I have to say.
Ferret so reminds me of my homeless days as well. My only goal in life was getting my next drink and a pack of smokes. Even eating came secondary. I shuddered to think that my life used to be like that. It shows how debased alcoholism can make your life and you begin to be one of the dregs of society.
I then walked home, sad and wistful, as I thought of my homeless friend. I and Ferret have been through a lot together and I view him as my kindred spirit. I am not a very religious man, but I said a small prayer for Ferret on this Easter Sunday that God would see fit to find him a home. God speed, Ferret.
The last leg of my walk found me over by the shopping center. I ran into Ferret and found him sober, but cold.
I had to bite my tongue when Ferret said that. Luck had nothing to do with it. Ferret was homeless because he started back drinking. I wanted to tell him so, but decided to keep that to myself.
“What did you do last night to stay warm?” I asked. “It was cold as hell.”
“I walked down to Krystal’s and sat up all night drinking coffee and reading newspapers ,” he replied.
“Don’t drink Monday,” I told him. “Remember, we are supposed to go to Opelika to talk to social security.”
“I got another tent and sleeping bag,” Ferret then said dodging the subject, proudly. “I set them up over by the river.”
“Well, maybe this cold snap will not last very long,” I replied. “It is supposed to warm back up the middle of next week.”
“Having this cold would just be my luck,” Ferret said. “Just when I get to be homeless again, Mother Nature decides to be a bitch.”
I had to bite my tongue when Ferret said that. Luck had nothing to do with it. Ferret was homeless because he started back drinking. I wanted to tell him so, but decided to keep that to myself. My relationship with Ferret can be tenuous at best these days when he is not taking his medications and I felt I could damage it with being too honest and blunt with what I have to say.
Ferret so reminds me of my homeless days as well. My only goal in life was getting my next drink and a pack of smokes. Even eating came secondary. I shuddered to think that my life used to be like that. It shows how debased alcoholism can make your life and you begin to be one of the dregs of society.
I then walked home, sad and wistful, as I thought of my homeless friend. I and Ferret have been through a lot together and I view him as my kindred spirit. I am not a very religious man, but I said a small prayer for Ferret on this Easter Sunday that God would see fit to find him a home. God speed, Ferret.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Rosa This and That
“Are you going to church tomorrow with your family?” Rosa asked me tonight as we were talking on the phone.
“My family doesn’t go to church,” I replied. “I see no reason to start now.”
“Have you ever gone?” Rosa then asked.
“I sang in a choir when I was married due to the urging of my then wife.”
“I wish I could believe in God and Jesus,” She said. “My using days, prostituting days, and my tough life made me bitter against God and all religions.”
“I know,” I said. “I sometimes feel the same way. It is hard to believe that a just and good God would allow such terrible things to happen in our lives and he supposedly knows all before it happens and can stop it.”
“I missed you today,” Rosa then told me. “I kept hoping you would come walking around the corner down at the shopping center. I was down there for hours talking to Big S and Ferret. It was the most boring conversation and I needed you to liven things up. Ferret was drunk as hell and the manager of the grocery store almost called the police. Ferret went sulking off. To where, I don’t know.”
“I missed you too. I wondered what you did today. Ferret is worrying the hell out of me. He is like me. We can’t do anything half-assed. Even drinking. We are all or nothing fellows. I wish I had the money to put him in a treatment center.”
“You would spend money on that drunk?”
“I would do the same for you,” I said. “People are more important than money.”
“Thanks,” Rosa said. “I know you will always be there for me. Well, I am going to bed early.”
“Good night and sleep tight,” I replied.
“Am I gonna see you tomorrow?”
“Let’s go get some lunch down at McDonald’s. My treat.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Rosa said and we hung up our phones.
I am not long for the bed myself.
“My family doesn’t go to church,” I replied. “I see no reason to start now.”
“Have you ever gone?” Rosa then asked.
“I sang in a choir when I was married due to the urging of my then wife.”
“I wish I could believe in God and Jesus,” She said. “My using days, prostituting days, and my tough life made me bitter against God and all religions.”
“I know,” I said. “I sometimes feel the same way. It is hard to believe that a just and good God would allow such terrible things to happen in our lives and he supposedly knows all before it happens and can stop it.”
“I missed you today,” Rosa then told me. “I kept hoping you would come walking around the corner down at the shopping center. I was down there for hours talking to Big S and Ferret. It was the most boring conversation and I needed you to liven things up. Ferret was drunk as hell and the manager of the grocery store almost called the police. Ferret went sulking off. To where, I don’t know.”
“I missed you too. I wondered what you did today. Ferret is worrying the hell out of me. He is like me. We can’t do anything half-assed. Even drinking. We are all or nothing fellows. I wish I had the money to put him in a treatment center.”
“You would spend money on that drunk?”
“I would do the same for you,” I said. “People are more important than money.”
“Thanks,” Rosa said. “I know you will always be there for me. Well, I am going to bed early.”
“Good night and sleep tight,” I replied.
“Am I gonna see you tomorrow?”
“Let’s go get some lunch down at McDonald’s. My treat.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Rosa said and we hung up our phones.
I am not long for the bed myself.
A Cold Dawn Arriving
I awoke around 1am and walked all the way to the end of Spring Road which took about three hours and is about a six mile walk. Maggie accompanied me tethered to her leash and was still rearing to go when we finally arrived home at my driveway. She is like the energizer bunny and just keeps going and going. I wish I had her energy.
It was really cold this morning and I wasn’t prepared for the cold, stark reality that greeted me around mile three and the point of return with three miles to go ahead of me. I was uncomfortably cold and clammy. I started to walk faster to get my blood flowing and my heart beating faster. I pulled my collar up, thrust my hands in my coat pockets, and soldiered on. I could feel the warmth of my exertions coarse through my veins and my face felt flush, buffeted by the cold air.
I arrived home around 4am and got a hearty breakfast started. I fried some breakfast ham and made a pan of steamy, buttery, homemade buttermilk biscuits. Making southern style biscuits is a fine art in cooking I have learned. You don’t want to knead the dough too much or the biscuits will get tough and not flaky and tender. George’s mom taught me this technique and it has served me well. She will knead the dough just enough to mix the ingredients and then cut the biscuits with an old tomato paste can with both ends opened up. I have watched her do this countless times and she makes a pan of biscuits that will just melt in your mouth they are so tender and fluffy.
I have guests staying at the house with me this weekend. Two friends of my father’s have come from Gainesville, Florida to hunt turkey on our land we own. They are a quiet bunch and I hardly know they are here except for the occasional creaking of the floor as they walk around upstairs. Yesterday morning they got up at 5am to head out for yesterday’s hunting trip. These two men take this ritual very seriously. I never could get into hunting and certainly wouldn’t be heading out to the woods at 5am to do so. My grandfather was an avid hunter, but he died before I was born. I guess if he would have lived, he would have taken me with him on his trips and I would have grown to enjoy and like it. I do so enjoy fishing in the summer though.
I don’t have much planned for today. Saturday’s are usually spent writing and working on my novel while I watch the many cooking shows on Public Broadcasting that come on after lunch. I especially enjoy America’s Test Kitchen and have learned some wonderful recipes watching that show. They have cooking down to an exact science. Just don’t sign up for recipes on their website though or you will get constant spam in your inbox and numerous telemarketing calls on your telephone. That soured my feelings and relationship towards them. I still enjoy the television show though.
Well, this is my most boring post ever. I just felt like rambling and posts like these are fun and casual to write for me and I don’t have to put much thought into them. I hope you all have a grand weekend and hope to get up some more interesting writing material about the gang mid-afternoon. I was going to take Ferret to the Social Security office, but realized they are closed on the weekend. That will have to wait until Monday. Hopefully, I can get Ferret sobered up enough that is won’t be readily apparent he is lush these days when we talk to a representative. Good day.
It was really cold this morning and I wasn’t prepared for the cold, stark reality that greeted me around mile three and the point of return with three miles to go ahead of me. I was uncomfortably cold and clammy. I started to walk faster to get my blood flowing and my heart beating faster. I pulled my collar up, thrust my hands in my coat pockets, and soldiered on. I could feel the warmth of my exertions coarse through my veins and my face felt flush, buffeted by the cold air.
I arrived home around 4am and got a hearty breakfast started. I fried some breakfast ham and made a pan of steamy, buttery, homemade buttermilk biscuits. Making southern style biscuits is a fine art in cooking I have learned. You don’t want to knead the dough too much or the biscuits will get tough and not flaky and tender. George’s mom taught me this technique and it has served me well. She will knead the dough just enough to mix the ingredients and then cut the biscuits with an old tomato paste can with both ends opened up. I have watched her do this countless times and she makes a pan of biscuits that will just melt in your mouth they are so tender and fluffy.
I have guests staying at the house with me this weekend. Two friends of my father’s have come from Gainesville, Florida to hunt turkey on our land we own. They are a quiet bunch and I hardly know they are here except for the occasional creaking of the floor as they walk around upstairs. Yesterday morning they got up at 5am to head out for yesterday’s hunting trip. These two men take this ritual very seriously. I never could get into hunting and certainly wouldn’t be heading out to the woods at 5am to do so. My grandfather was an avid hunter, but he died before I was born. I guess if he would have lived, he would have taken me with him on his trips and I would have grown to enjoy and like it. I do so enjoy fishing in the summer though.
I don’t have much planned for today. Saturday’s are usually spent writing and working on my novel while I watch the many cooking shows on Public Broadcasting that come on after lunch. I especially enjoy America’s Test Kitchen and have learned some wonderful recipes watching that show. They have cooking down to an exact science. Just don’t sign up for recipes on their website though or you will get constant spam in your inbox and numerous telemarketing calls on your telephone. That soured my feelings and relationship towards them. I still enjoy the television show though.
Well, this is my most boring post ever. I just felt like rambling and posts like these are fun and casual to write for me and I don’t have to put much thought into them. I hope you all have a grand weekend and hope to get up some more interesting writing material about the gang mid-afternoon. I was going to take Ferret to the Social Security office, but realized they are closed on the weekend. That will have to wait until Monday. Hopefully, I can get Ferret sobered up enough that is won’t be readily apparent he is lush these days when we talk to a representative. Good day.
Friday, April 06, 2007
And She Was…
“I feel good,” Rosa told me warmly today as we were walking back to my house from the convenience store.
She was puffing on a cigar and twirling a lock of her stringy brown hair around her index finger.
“We need to get you some of those skinny feminine cigarettes to smoke,” I told her. “Smoking cigars is just so unwomanly.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I really don’t give a shit what other people think. I am not looking for dates unless you are interested. Besides, those ‘feminine’ cigarettes cost an arm and a leg.”
Here we go again. Rosa has been steadily pursuing me these past few weeks. She makes little constant remarks that reek of sexual innuendo.
“Why can’t we just be friends?” I asked her as we passed the retired professor’s house who smokes a pipe when he is working in his yard. “The whole ‘us’ sleeping together thing was just weird. You are ten years older than me.”
“That crazy chick you were dating was ten years older as well,” Rosa said of Carolyn, rightly. “You didn’t complain about her age.”
“Let’s just drop it,” I said, growing uncomfortable.
“I love to see you squirm,” Rosa said as she chuckled and put her arm in my arm to pull me close.
She leaned her head upon the side of my arm as we walked quietly the rest of the way to my home. I know we looked like an interesting couple to all the prying eyes of my many nosey neighbors; the odd couple, indeed.
Rosa took a nap in my lazy boy while I busily prepared the social security disability papers for Ferret to fill out to get his disability back. I am going to drive him down to Opelika tomorrow to talk to a representative if he stays sober long enough and see if we can’t get him an emergency advance that I read about online. The money from his last paycheck is quickly running out. He has been drinking it up like a fish. I did tell him to just drink the cheapest beer or whiskey he could find and lay off the mouthwash. So far he has. That will put a good decade upon his life at his current rate of drinking.
I also talked to my father on the phone this afternoon. He wanted to know how I have been doing on my new medications. I told him I feel pretty good despite the extreme insomnia I have been experiencing. He said even my voice sounded different and I wasn’t so manic.
She was puffing on a cigar and twirling a lock of her stringy brown hair around her index finger.
“We need to get you some of those skinny feminine cigarettes to smoke,” I told her. “Smoking cigars is just so unwomanly.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I really don’t give a shit what other people think. I am not looking for dates unless you are interested. Besides, those ‘feminine’ cigarettes cost an arm and a leg.”
Here we go again. Rosa has been steadily pursuing me these past few weeks. She makes little constant remarks that reek of sexual innuendo.
“Why can’t we just be friends?” I asked her as we passed the retired professor’s house who smokes a pipe when he is working in his yard. “The whole ‘us’ sleeping together thing was just weird. You are ten years older than me.”
“That crazy chick you were dating was ten years older as well,” Rosa said of Carolyn, rightly. “You didn’t complain about her age.”
“Let’s just drop it,” I said, growing uncomfortable.
“I love to see you squirm,” Rosa said as she chuckled and put her arm in my arm to pull me close.
She leaned her head upon the side of my arm as we walked quietly the rest of the way to my home. I know we looked like an interesting couple to all the prying eyes of my many nosey neighbors; the odd couple, indeed.
Rosa took a nap in my lazy boy while I busily prepared the social security disability papers for Ferret to fill out to get his disability back. I am going to drive him down to Opelika tomorrow to talk to a representative if he stays sober long enough and see if we can’t get him an emergency advance that I read about online. The money from his last paycheck is quickly running out. He has been drinking it up like a fish. I did tell him to just drink the cheapest beer or whiskey he could find and lay off the mouthwash. So far he has. That will put a good decade upon his life at his current rate of drinking.
I also talked to my father on the phone this afternoon. He wanted to know how I have been doing on my new medications. I told him I feel pretty good despite the extreme insomnia I have been experiencing. He said even my voice sounded different and I wasn’t so manic.
The Walkin’ Man
I once again walked those lonely streets through downtown this morning on my hike. It is so frustratingly maddening not being able to sleep. My eyes burned and my head pounded from the effects of only four hours of rest. I swung by the all-night convenience store once again to try and quench my unquenchable thirst and to satiate my sweet tooth.
“Another restless night?” The clerk said through thick glasses with beady eyes as I walked through the door.
We have developed a casual rapport with each other.
“You wouldn’t happen to know someone who could hook me up with some valium, do you?” I asked jestfully in response.
The clerk chuckled nervously with shifty eyes as if he did know someone, but said no.
I then placed a large orange flavored Gatorade and a Hershey’s bar w/almonds upon the counter.
“$2.34,” The clerk said, holding out his greedy little hand.
I handed him two dollar bills and some change after counting it.
“Say, didn’t you tell me the other night you used to work here third shift?” He then asked, drumming up a conversation.
“I worked here for about a year when I was in college,” I replied.
“Doesn’t this job just suck donkey balls?” He asked as he smiled facetiously.
“It’s not an experience I would like to repeat, but it did pay the bills,” I replied.
“Sometimes, I think 7am will never get here,” He said. “These early morning hours tend to drag on so long and seem to last forever.”
“I know how you feel. I have been in your shoes,” I replied.
I finally bid the clerk goodbye and continued on with my morning hike. This sleepy little southern town was eerily quiet as I walked. Nary a car or person was to be encountered. Here I was, a lonely soul walking in the deepest, darkest hours of the night; alone with my thoughts and a most vivid imagination. I thought of down feather comforters, fluffy pillows, and sleep, blissful sleep. I think it is time to get a prescription for a sleep aid. I don’t think I can bear another sleepless night.
“Another restless night?” The clerk said through thick glasses with beady eyes as I walked through the door.
We have developed a casual rapport with each other.
“You wouldn’t happen to know someone who could hook me up with some valium, do you?” I asked jestfully in response.
The clerk chuckled nervously with shifty eyes as if he did know someone, but said no.
I then placed a large orange flavored Gatorade and a Hershey’s bar w/almonds upon the counter.
“$2.34,” The clerk said, holding out his greedy little hand.
I handed him two dollar bills and some change after counting it.
“Say, didn’t you tell me the other night you used to work here third shift?” He then asked, drumming up a conversation.
“I worked here for about a year when I was in college,” I replied.
“Doesn’t this job just suck donkey balls?” He asked as he smiled facetiously.
“It’s not an experience I would like to repeat, but it did pay the bills,” I replied.
“Sometimes, I think 7am will never get here,” He said. “These early morning hours tend to drag on so long and seem to last forever.”
“I know how you feel. I have been in your shoes,” I replied.
I finally bid the clerk goodbye and continued on with my morning hike. This sleepy little southern town was eerily quiet as I walked. Nary a car or person was to be encountered. Here I was, a lonely soul walking in the deepest, darkest hours of the night; alone with my thoughts and a most vivid imagination. I thought of down feather comforters, fluffy pillows, and sleep, blissful sleep. I think it is time to get a prescription for a sleep aid. I don’t think I can bear another sleepless night.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Finding Religion
George was in a fine mood today. He was actually sober which surprised me greatly. We got caught in a conversation about all things related to religion…
“I think I am gonna start going to church with momma again,” George told me after a lengthy discussion about the holy trinity.
I smiled broadly, amused. This was not the first time George has said something along those lines. George will go a few Sundays until it grows too tiresome to stay sober long enough to make it to church.
“You don’t have a religious bone in your body,” I replied, pulling on a cigar, as I continued to smile and listen earnestly.
“I’m serious,” George said. “I feel Jesus calling me home. He be talkin’ to me.”
“If I were to say that, they would lock me up on the psychiatric ward of the hospital and up the dosages of my meds.”
George burst out laughing at me saying that.
“Do you think religious people are actually crazy?” George asked.
“Let’s just say I think religious people are interesting,” I replied. “I wouldn’t go so far as calling them crazy, although, I’ve met a few fundamentalist preachers with a few screws loose.”
I really didn’t want to get into another tiresomely long and drawn out discussion with George about God and things theological, so I carefully bid him farewell escaping the conversation and walked on around to the back of the shopping center. I then saw Dumpster Diving Dan leaning over into a dumpster picking through the trash. Dan is looking haggard these days as if he is ill of health. He just seems to not be taking care of himself. Dan has to be in his mid sixties, although, I don’t know his exact age. I didn’t stop to talk and just walked on home. I was feeling anti-social today and my social gas had run out with the long discussion with George. Ferret or Rosa was nowhere to be seen today.
“I think I am gonna start going to church with momma again,” George told me after a lengthy discussion about the holy trinity.
I smiled broadly, amused. This was not the first time George has said something along those lines. George will go a few Sundays until it grows too tiresome to stay sober long enough to make it to church.
“You don’t have a religious bone in your body,” I replied, pulling on a cigar, as I continued to smile and listen earnestly.
“I’m serious,” George said. “I feel Jesus calling me home. He be talkin’ to me.”
“If I were to say that, they would lock me up on the psychiatric ward of the hospital and up the dosages of my meds.”
George burst out laughing at me saying that.
“Do you think religious people are actually crazy?” George asked.
“Let’s just say I think religious people are interesting,” I replied. “I wouldn’t go so far as calling them crazy, although, I’ve met a few fundamentalist preachers with a few screws loose.”
I really didn’t want to get into another tiresomely long and drawn out discussion with George about God and things theological, so I carefully bid him farewell escaping the conversation and walked on around to the back of the shopping center. I then saw Dumpster Diving Dan leaning over into a dumpster picking through the trash. Dan is looking haggard these days as if he is ill of health. He just seems to not be taking care of himself. Dan has to be in his mid sixties, although, I don’t know his exact age. I didn’t stop to talk and just walked on home. I was feeling anti-social today and my social gas had run out with the long discussion with George. Ferret or Rosa was nowhere to be seen today.
The Complicit Partner
I sat in my den talking to Rosa on the phone late last night. We have become inseparable friends these days and spend most of our waking hours together and on the phone when we are apart. I call us the odd couple.
“I got scheduled for an HIV/AIDS test,” I told her, letting the cat out of the bag.
“I got tested a few years ago and was negative,” She told me, sounding offended.
“It will just give me piece of mind,” I replied. “I need to do this for me.”
“You are the first guy I have been with in years,” She said, innocently, sounding honest.
I wasn’t taking any chances though.
“I know,” I replied. “But you used to hook and I don’t want to take any chances.”
“I always used condoms,” Rosa said, tersely. “I was just desperate to support myself.”
I couldn’t imagine being so desperate for money that you would have to sell your body to feed, clothe, and house yourself. Such is the reality for many forlorn and desperate women in our inner cities. It is a sad fact of life that is often swept under the rug and not talked about by polite society.
I then yawned loudly, telling Rosa I must head for bed.
“I’m sorry,” She said as we said our goodbyes.
“Sorry, for what?” I asked, confused.
“Sorry for putting you in that situation and worrying you,” She said. “I don’t want things between us to change.”
“I am a big boy and was just as complicit in that as you,” I replied. “You get some sleep and don’t worry. It hasn’t changed anything.”
We hung up our phones. I tried to sound brave as we said goodnight, but I am scared to death deep down inside. I have never been faced with the prospect of a disease that might cause my demise. I will be glad when those test results come back.Sandwiches of Saving Grace
I took Ferret some grilled roast turkey and cheese sandwiches and a thermos of hot microwaved vegetable beef soup for lunch today. Rosa accompanied me on this little jaunt and mission of mercy.
“I used to be homeless,” Rosa said, proudly, almost as if it was a badge of courage. "Years ago. Just like you were."
“You never cease to surprise me,” I replied as we walked down the street by the newspaper office to the shopping center.
“When I hooked (prostitution) and lived in Atlanta, I would use the money after selling my body and giving blowjobs to buy cheap hotel rooms every night. Sometimes, I would have to sleep in the park or at a women’s shelter when it was a slow night. I was using heavy then.”
I couldn’t imagine someone paying to sleep with Rosa. I guess there are a lot of desperate men out in the world, including myself. A sinking feeling overcame me when I thought of sleeping with this woman when she told me about her prostituting days. A myriad of sexually transmitted diseases came to mind and the thought scared the shit out of me. I made a mental note to get tested for various diseases ASAP.
Ferret was sitting down at the shopping center and had missed yet another day of work. I told him to stop by the house this afternoon and we would download and fill out the forms to get him back on social security disability. It had been less than nine months since he dropped his disability so he could go back on no questions asked since it was pretty much a given that he has lost his job. Ferret thanked me for the food and the help, and me and Rosa walked back up through my neighborhood to my house.
“He was homeless last summer?” She asked me as we walked home.
“He lived in a tent down by the river,” I replied. “I would walk down through the woods every morning and hang out with him at his camp and drink beer.”
“I can’t imagine you drinking on a regular basis,” Rosa said, surprised. "You act stupid when you are drinking."
“I used to give George a run for his money,” I replied. “I was a lush.”
Rosa settled down in my den's lazy boy to watch her daytime Court TV shows and I sat down to write this. As soon as Rosa leaves, I am going to make an appointment with my family practitioner and get tested for AIDS and STDs. That is going to worry the shit out of me until I find out something about it. My drinking days continue to haunt me to this day; just another reason to never drink again. I exhibit no common sense when drinking and will sleep with anything that moves. No offense Rosa.
“I used to be homeless,” Rosa said, proudly, almost as if it was a badge of courage. "Years ago. Just like you were."
“You never cease to surprise me,” I replied as we walked down the street by the newspaper office to the shopping center.
“When I hooked (prostitution) and lived in Atlanta, I would use the money after selling my body and giving blowjobs to buy cheap hotel rooms every night. Sometimes, I would have to sleep in the park or at a women’s shelter when it was a slow night. I was using heavy then.”
I couldn’t imagine someone paying to sleep with Rosa. I guess there are a lot of desperate men out in the world, including myself. A sinking feeling overcame me when I thought of sleeping with this woman when she told me about her prostituting days. A myriad of sexually transmitted diseases came to mind and the thought scared the shit out of me. I made a mental note to get tested for various diseases ASAP.
Ferret was sitting down at the shopping center and had missed yet another day of work. I told him to stop by the house this afternoon and we would download and fill out the forms to get him back on social security disability. It had been less than nine months since he dropped his disability so he could go back on no questions asked since it was pretty much a given that he has lost his job. Ferret thanked me for the food and the help, and me and Rosa walked back up through my neighborhood to my house.
“He was homeless last summer?” She asked me as we walked home.
“He lived in a tent down by the river,” I replied. “I would walk down through the woods every morning and hang out with him at his camp and drink beer.”
“I can’t imagine you drinking on a regular basis,” Rosa said, surprised. "You act stupid when you are drinking."
“I used to give George a run for his money,” I replied. “I was a lush.”
Rosa settled down in my den's lazy boy to watch her daytime Court TV shows and I sat down to write this. As soon as Rosa leaves, I am going to make an appointment with my family practitioner and get tested for AIDS and STDs. That is going to worry the shit out of me until I find out something about it. My drinking days continue to haunt me to this day; just another reason to never drink again. I exhibit no common sense when drinking and will sleep with anything that moves. No offense Rosa.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Troubled Times for Ferret
Ferret is not doing well. It seems he has unleashed the hounds as far as his drinking goes after a many month drought. He did so well for most of the winter.
Seeing him today made me glad I am sober. He went straight back to his old ways of drinking mouthwash and missed work today. His clothes were amiss and he looked haggard and tired down at the shopping center needing a shower badly.
Not seeing Ferret or hearing from Ferret is good news. It means he is doing well and busily working. Seeing him down at the shopping center at his old haunts all day was an ill omen and didn’t bode well for the future.
“That dude was drinking mouthwash from the dollar store,” Rosa told me quietly, as if it were a secret, as we were walking back to my house for some sandwiches.
“I know,” I said. “It’s crazy.”
“Will mouthwash mess you up?” Rosa asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “It has the same amount of drinkable grain alcohol as a 60 proof bottle of whiskey. It will most definitely get you messed up.”
“God, that’s got to be tearing up his insides.”
I sighed and agreed, worried.
Ferret had climbed the fence behind the shopping center and slept on an old blanket last night. I saw Dumpster Diving Dan this morning and he told me he saw Ferret crawling through a hole in that fence early this morning to go get what he presumed was breakfast. It must have been a sad sight to see. Dan just shook his head and agreed with me that alcoholism is a terrible thing. Dan knows all too well from his own experiences with drinking and getting sober over the years after his tour of duty in Viet-Nam.
“I did some crazy things while smoking crack cocaine,” Rosa told me. “But I don’t think I would ever drink mouthwash.”
I was now standing in my kitchen making I and Rosa some roast turkey sandwiches and potato chips.
“Never say never,” I replied. “You know all too well how crazy addictions can get when you are using.”
“But mouthwash…” Rosa said flabbergasted as I cut her off from saying anything further.
The whole conversation felt tawdry and cheap.
“Let’s drop it and eat our lunch,” I said as I set our paper plates on the kitchen table, sitting down, as Rosa joined me.
We quietly sat and ate our sandwiches as Rosa mulled over what had happened today. She wasn’t hanging around when Ferret was using last summer and was astonished someone could live like that. Alcoholism is a terrible disease, indeed, I pondered as we ate.
Seeing him today made me glad I am sober. He went straight back to his old ways of drinking mouthwash and missed work today. His clothes were amiss and he looked haggard and tired down at the shopping center needing a shower badly.
Not seeing Ferret or hearing from Ferret is good news. It means he is doing well and busily working. Seeing him down at the shopping center at his old haunts all day was an ill omen and didn’t bode well for the future.
“That dude was drinking mouthwash from the dollar store,” Rosa told me quietly, as if it were a secret, as we were walking back to my house for some sandwiches.
“I know,” I said. “It’s crazy.”
“Will mouthwash mess you up?” Rosa asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “It has the same amount of drinkable grain alcohol as a 60 proof bottle of whiskey. It will most definitely get you messed up.”
“God, that’s got to be tearing up his insides.”
I sighed and agreed, worried.
Ferret had climbed the fence behind the shopping center and slept on an old blanket last night. I saw Dumpster Diving Dan this morning and he told me he saw Ferret crawling through a hole in that fence early this morning to go get what he presumed was breakfast. It must have been a sad sight to see. Dan just shook his head and agreed with me that alcoholism is a terrible thing. Dan knows all too well from his own experiences with drinking and getting sober over the years after his tour of duty in Viet-Nam.
“I did some crazy things while smoking crack cocaine,” Rosa told me. “But I don’t think I would ever drink mouthwash.”
I was now standing in my kitchen making I and Rosa some roast turkey sandwiches and potato chips.
“Never say never,” I replied. “You know all too well how crazy addictions can get when you are using.”
“But mouthwash…” Rosa said flabbergasted as I cut her off from saying anything further.
The whole conversation felt tawdry and cheap.
“Let’s drop it and eat our lunch,” I said as I set our paper plates on the kitchen table, sitting down, as Rosa joined me.
We quietly sat and ate our sandwiches as Rosa mulled over what had happened today. She wasn’t hanging around when Ferret was using last summer and was astonished someone could live like that. Alcoholism is a terrible disease, indeed, I pondered as we ate.
The Penniless Pair
“I am so tired of being broke,” Rosa told me last night on the phone.
“I hear you,” I replied, emphatically.
The twilight zone in between when you run out of money and your next disability check arrives is neither the most comfortable nor fun of times.
“What are you going to do when you get your check?” I then asked, curious, and trying to make small talk after a quiet awkward moment.
“I am ordering a large pizza, the works, with extra cheese and sauce.”
I laughed jovially. It is always the simplest of pleasures you miss the most when you are broke and amidst that penniless twilight zone.
“I am going to fill up my car and take a long night drive out into the countryside as I smoke cigars,” I told her as far as my post penniless dream was concerned. “My car is on dead empty as far as gas goes these days.”
“Oh, that sounds so nice,” She replied. “Can I go?”
“Sure,” I said. “I would enjoy sharing in the joy.”
“It’s a date!” Rosa said, enthusiastically.
“Well, let’s just call it a gathering of friends amidst similar circumstances as we enjoy our new found largesse,” I replied after another awkward silent moment.
Rosa then told me good night and that she was going to bed to dream of rolling in piles of cash. I smiled, laughed, and told her good night as well as I hung up the phone. I then went and lay in the bed as I thought of the concept of money. We place so much value and stock into little pale green pieces of paper that really aren’t worth more than the pieces of paper they are printed upon. Yet, society places so much value onto those pieces of pressed cellulose that it controls the very fabric and direction of our lives. Most people live their whole lives and can never think of the concept of money objectively or abstractly. It is just another one of those things in life that just is and they work all their lives for those pieces of paper that I call food tokens. I realized I abhorred the concept of money, after all, and it left a bittersweet taste in my mouth as I went to sleep last night. I don’t want to live with the rest of my life juxtaposed between periods of comfortableness and poverty as is seems the case these days. Life shouldn't be about a constant hardscrabble crawl out of depravity.
“I hear you,” I replied, emphatically.
The twilight zone in between when you run out of money and your next disability check arrives is neither the most comfortable nor fun of times.
“What are you going to do when you get your check?” I then asked, curious, and trying to make small talk after a quiet awkward moment.
“I am ordering a large pizza, the works, with extra cheese and sauce.”
I laughed jovially. It is always the simplest of pleasures you miss the most when you are broke and amidst that penniless twilight zone.
“I am going to fill up my car and take a long night drive out into the countryside as I smoke cigars,” I told her as far as my post penniless dream was concerned. “My car is on dead empty as far as gas goes these days.”
“Oh, that sounds so nice,” She replied. “Can I go?”
“Sure,” I said. “I would enjoy sharing in the joy.”
“It’s a date!” Rosa said, enthusiastically.
“Well, let’s just call it a gathering of friends amidst similar circumstances as we enjoy our new found largesse,” I replied after another awkward silent moment.
Rosa then told me good night and that she was going to bed to dream of rolling in piles of cash. I smiled, laughed, and told her good night as well as I hung up the phone. I then went and lay in the bed as I thought of the concept of money. We place so much value and stock into little pale green pieces of paper that really aren’t worth more than the pieces of paper they are printed upon. Yet, society places so much value onto those pieces of pressed cellulose that it controls the very fabric and direction of our lives. Most people live their whole lives and can never think of the concept of money objectively or abstractly. It is just another one of those things in life that just is and they work all their lives for those pieces of paper that I call food tokens. I realized I abhorred the concept of money, after all, and it left a bittersweet taste in my mouth as I went to sleep last night. I don’t want to live with the rest of my life juxtaposed between periods of comfortableness and poverty as is seems the case these days. Life shouldn't be about a constant hardscrabble crawl out of depravity.
Monday, April 02, 2007
April Fools
“Dad, I just drank a whole case of beer and am drunk as hell,” I told my father last night in a slurred drunken voice over the phone.
“Where did you get it?” He asked. “I thought you were broke. I just don’t know what we are going to do with you.”
“APRIL FOOLS!” I hollered out laughing, discarding the drunken timbre to my voice.
My father burst out laughing as well and was so relieved it was an April fool’s joke.
“You really had me going,” He said. “You sounded so drunk over this phone.”
“I just couldn’t resist,” I said. “I apologize.”
“No, don't apologize,” He said. “I love it. I deserved that.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone with me still smiling and chuckling. Ya just gotta laugh along with me and not at me. I can be so mischievous sometimes.
“Where did you get it?” He asked. “I thought you were broke. I just don’t know what we are going to do with you.”
“APRIL FOOLS!” I hollered out laughing, discarding the drunken timbre to my voice.
My father burst out laughing as well and was so relieved it was an April fool’s joke.
“You really had me going,” He said. “You sounded so drunk over this phone.”
“I just couldn’t resist,” I said. “I apologize.”
“No, don't apologize,” He said. “I love it. I deserved that.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone with me still smiling and chuckling. Ya just gotta laugh along with me and not at me. I can be so mischievous sometimes.
Back on the Streets
The scuttlebutt according to George this morning is that Ferret is back on the streets and homeless. George’s cousin told him that Ferret started drinking again and Monte threw him out of the room he was renting at his house. This is terrible news as Ferret was doing so well with a job, taking his medications, and staying sober.
“That bastard ain’t never gonna learn,” George told me over the phone this morning. “Monte kicked his ass out after he came home so drunk he could barely stand up. Monte said he punched a hole in the drywall of the hall. He wasn’t too happy with that dumb son of a bitch.”
“Ferret is not a dumb son of bitch.” I told George, angrily, defending Ferret. “He’s just an alcoholic like you and I. He needs our help and not our scorn.”
George apologized profusely for his rash and callous words.
I tried for the longest time to get Ferret to go to A.A. with me, but he wouldn’t have any part of it.
“A.A. is for white crackers,” Ferret told me one day when I had asked him to accompany me to a meeting. “Black people take care of their own.”
Yeah, right. Monte threw his black ass out at the first sign of trouble and it was part of the condition for Ferret renting that room. He wasn’t to drink or raise hell and he must pay the $250 dollars a month in rent on time every month.
It is a sad day. Ferret will now go back to his old ways and friends down at the shopping center. He will no doubt once again pitch a tent by the river and sleep out in the elements. The saddest thing is that I and Ferret are a lot alike. We have an allergy to drinking and our lives spiral totally out of control after that first drink. I have seen the same thing countless times over these past few years of attending Alcoholic’s Anonymous.
The old timers of Alcoholic's Anonymous say you have to hit rock bottom before you can start to climb back up. I just hope this isn’t Ferret’s last time at the bottom of the heap. I don’t know if he has another recovery in him. I know I don’t and that scares the shit out of me and keeps me sober these days. The next time I “go back out” as they say in A.A. will probably be the last time before I die. I just hope that doesn’t bode the same for Ferret. It is going to be a long, hot, southern summer for him.
“That bastard ain’t never gonna learn,” George told me over the phone this morning. “Monte kicked his ass out after he came home so drunk he could barely stand up. Monte said he punched a hole in the drywall of the hall. He wasn’t too happy with that dumb son of a bitch.”
“Ferret is not a dumb son of bitch.” I told George, angrily, defending Ferret. “He’s just an alcoholic like you and I. He needs our help and not our scorn.”
George apologized profusely for his rash and callous words.
I tried for the longest time to get Ferret to go to A.A. with me, but he wouldn’t have any part of it.
“A.A. is for white crackers,” Ferret told me one day when I had asked him to accompany me to a meeting. “Black people take care of their own.”
Yeah, right. Monte threw his black ass out at the first sign of trouble and it was part of the condition for Ferret renting that room. He wasn’t to drink or raise hell and he must pay the $250 dollars a month in rent on time every month.
It is a sad day. Ferret will now go back to his old ways and friends down at the shopping center. He will no doubt once again pitch a tent by the river and sleep out in the elements. The saddest thing is that I and Ferret are a lot alike. We have an allergy to drinking and our lives spiral totally out of control after that first drink. I have seen the same thing countless times over these past few years of attending Alcoholic’s Anonymous.
The old timers of Alcoholic's Anonymous say you have to hit rock bottom before you can start to climb back up. I just hope this isn’t Ferret’s last time at the bottom of the heap. I don’t know if he has another recovery in him. I know I don’t and that scares the shit out of me and keeps me sober these days. The next time I “go back out” as they say in A.A. will probably be the last time before I die. I just hope that doesn’t bode the same for Ferret. It is going to be a long, hot, southern summer for him.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
A Talk Among Lowly Plebeians
“What do you so like about me?” Rosa asked me tonight in my car as I was driving her home after our A.A. meeting.
“I like your honesty,” I said. “You can be brutally honest and I know what to expect. Life is already filled with enough bullshit. I like a friend who will tell me like it is.”
“I like how open you can be about your limitations,” Rosa told me. “If I ask you about A.A. or your mental illness, you will tell me the truth. You don’t bullshit as well.”
“It can be a curse,” I said. “I sometimes say way too much. I share too much on my journal as well. I call it written and verbal diarrhea.”
Rosa laughed and said, “I think people respect you because of it.”
“I hope so,” I said, distracted, as I narrowly missed a car parked on the side of the road in a no parking zone.
I cursed loudly. Rosa quickly grabbed the "oh shit" handle above the passenger's door.
“It’s good to know something good comes out of it,” I then said after regaining my composure.
Rosa behaved herself at the A.A. meeting tonight. It was a “speaker” meeting where a local college professor from a major university came and talked for an hour about his ordeal and recovery from alcoholism. I found it inspiring and Rosa was mesmerized that an actual college professor was human enough and could deal with such problems like us lowly plebeians.
“Do you ever write about me on your journal?” Rosa then asked.
“I write about you all the time,” I replied. “I have come to see you as so important to my life and my best friend besides George.”
“George just uses you to borrow money so he can get drunk.”
I didn’t say anything as I pulled up in front of the rundown house Rosa is renting these days. I have known George for years and Rosa has only been on the scene as far as the gang is concerned for less than one. George, despite all his problems and drinking, is a good soul, and a gentle and good friend. I wish him and Rosa would make their peace.
“You want to come in?” Rosa asked.
“Nah,” I replied. “I am going to drive home and write about this.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I hope I get to be famous one day by your writings.”
“Good night and sleep tight,” I said as I winked as she shut my door, and I drove home and did exactly what I told her I was going to do. I sat down after supper with a mug of hot tea and a cigar, and began to write. My day is at an end. I am so damn tired and weary, and hope I will sleep tonight.
“I like your honesty,” I said. “You can be brutally honest and I know what to expect. Life is already filled with enough bullshit. I like a friend who will tell me like it is.”
“I like how open you can be about your limitations,” Rosa told me. “If I ask you about A.A. or your mental illness, you will tell me the truth. You don’t bullshit as well.”
“It can be a curse,” I said. “I sometimes say way too much. I share too much on my journal as well. I call it written and verbal diarrhea.”
Rosa laughed and said, “I think people respect you because of it.”
“I hope so,” I said, distracted, as I narrowly missed a car parked on the side of the road in a no parking zone.
I cursed loudly. Rosa quickly grabbed the "oh shit" handle above the passenger's door.
“It’s good to know something good comes out of it,” I then said after regaining my composure.
Rosa behaved herself at the A.A. meeting tonight. It was a “speaker” meeting where a local college professor from a major university came and talked for an hour about his ordeal and recovery from alcoholism. I found it inspiring and Rosa was mesmerized that an actual college professor was human enough and could deal with such problems like us lowly plebeians.
“Do you ever write about me on your journal?” Rosa then asked.
“I write about you all the time,” I replied. “I have come to see you as so important to my life and my best friend besides George.”
“George just uses you to borrow money so he can get drunk.”
I didn’t say anything as I pulled up in front of the rundown house Rosa is renting these days. I have known George for years and Rosa has only been on the scene as far as the gang is concerned for less than one. George, despite all his problems and drinking, is a good soul, and a gentle and good friend. I wish him and Rosa would make their peace.
“You want to come in?” Rosa asked.
“Nah,” I replied. “I am going to drive home and write about this.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I hope I get to be famous one day by your writings.”
“Good night and sleep tight,” I said as I winked as she shut my door, and I drove home and did exactly what I told her I was going to do. I sat down after supper with a mug of hot tea and a cigar, and began to write. My day is at an end. I am so damn tired and weary, and hope I will sleep tonight.
For Aug
Aug of Aug's Casa had wanted some pictures of me walking across the bridge that spans that grand Chattahoochee River. I took some this morning and put them up on my photo blog for him if any of you are interested in seeing them as well. You can see the route me and Rosa often walk to go eat lunch at Rodger's Barbeque.
The Passing of another Soul
Rosa’s aunt passed away early this morning at the hospital in Jacksonville, Florida on the Lord's Day. According to Rosa, she had a terrible, painful ordeal with inoperable liver cancer that had spread to other organs as well. She finally got some respite from all that pain after months of battling that terrible disease.
“I didn’t know her well, but I did love her,” Rosa told me early this morning, trying to make herself feel more at ease about the whole affair.
Rosa felt guilty because she wouldn’t be able to make another trip to Jacksonville for the funeral. Rosa is as broke as I. Our disability checks arrive at similar times.
“I know,” I said trying to comfort her which was what Rosa wanted. “We all show love in our own ways. She will always be with you in your memories. It was good you got to see her and talk to her before she passed away. You did the right thing.”
It brought back raw memories of my friend Pipe Tobacco’s turmoil with the recent passing of his mother and memories of my own dear grandmother’s passing, as well, a few years ago. My grandmother was the one soul on this earth that completely understood me and loved me totally unconditionally. She would always jokingly tell me that if I killed someone, she would help me bury the body and then hide the gun. She loved me that much. I know that sounds macabre, but it was our own little personal inside joke.
“Can I go to A.A. with you tonight?” Rosa then asked me, bringing me out of my deep thoughts, as we sat in my den watching an early morning church service on the television.
I was watching mainly for the pipe organ music which I so enjoy; one good thing that has come out of the Christian Church, the music.
“I thought you didn’t believe in god and all that A.A. religious mumbo jumbo,” I replied.
“Well, you’re agnostic and you still go,” Rosa said, snidely, trying to convince me that she honestly wanted to attend a meeting.
I smiled. Rosa was right, if rather abrupt.
“I will pick you up at 6:30 tonight,” I said as Rosa got up from my chair to leave and walk down to the shopping center to do what Rosa normally does down there.
I am kind of apprehensive of Rosa going to A.A. with me. I am worried she will embarrass me. I wonder what Wanda will think of her. Socially, Rosa can be the proverbial bull in the china shop. I will just have to hope for a more even tempered Rosa after the death of her aunt and to personally have more faith in my friend. I can handle Rosa on a personal basis, but am unsure of how to act in a room full of my A.A. peers with her unorthodox behavior. Rosa is always so forgiving of the weird mannerisms that stem from my schizophrenia. I guess I should return the favor in kind as far as Rosa's social transgressions are concerned.
“I didn’t know her well, but I did love her,” Rosa told me early this morning, trying to make herself feel more at ease about the whole affair.
Rosa felt guilty because she wouldn’t be able to make another trip to Jacksonville for the funeral. Rosa is as broke as I. Our disability checks arrive at similar times.
“I know,” I said trying to comfort her which was what Rosa wanted. “We all show love in our own ways. She will always be with you in your memories. It was good you got to see her and talk to her before she passed away. You did the right thing.”
It brought back raw memories of my friend Pipe Tobacco’s turmoil with the recent passing of his mother and memories of my own dear grandmother’s passing, as well, a few years ago. My grandmother was the one soul on this earth that completely understood me and loved me totally unconditionally. She would always jokingly tell me that if I killed someone, she would help me bury the body and then hide the gun. She loved me that much. I know that sounds macabre, but it was our own little personal inside joke.
“Can I go to A.A. with you tonight?” Rosa then asked me, bringing me out of my deep thoughts, as we sat in my den watching an early morning church service on the television.
I was watching mainly for the pipe organ music which I so enjoy; one good thing that has come out of the Christian Church, the music.
“I thought you didn’t believe in god and all that A.A. religious mumbo jumbo,” I replied.
“Well, you’re agnostic and you still go,” Rosa said, snidely, trying to convince me that she honestly wanted to attend a meeting.
I smiled. Rosa was right, if rather abrupt.
“I will pick you up at 6:30 tonight,” I said as Rosa got up from my chair to leave and walk down to the shopping center to do what Rosa normally does down there.
I am kind of apprehensive of Rosa going to A.A. with me. I am worried she will embarrass me. I wonder what Wanda will think of her. Socially, Rosa can be the proverbial bull in the china shop. I will just have to hope for a more even tempered Rosa after the death of her aunt and to personally have more faith in my friend. I can handle Rosa on a personal basis, but am unsure of how to act in a room full of my A.A. peers with her unorthodox behavior. Rosa is always so forgiving of the weird mannerisms that stem from my schizophrenia. I guess I should return the favor in kind as far as Rosa's social transgressions are concerned.
75 Pennies of Purchasing Power
The wind was briskly blowing tonight and I got caught in a brief downpour around 1am as I once again walked on my insomnia fueled hike. Luckily, I had my little foldable umbrella in my backpack which kept me from getting too wet.
“I have weathered far worse storms than this, homeless,” I said as I trudged onwards towards the all-night convenience store braving the rain.
I had a heavy bag of 75 pennies in my backpack; the last of my money until this month’s disability check arrives. It was embarrassing to spend, but I was craving a sweet, caramel and peanut infused, Snicker’s bar.
“You must be pretty broke,” The now familiar third shift clerk said of my payment as I handed him the Ziploc bag of pennies.
“I am so sorry,” I said as I apologized profusely. “It is rather embarrassing to have to pay with so many pennies.”
“Well, at least you are not trying to buy a $2.99 six pack of beer with pennies,” He replied. “I had some desperate drunk dude try that one night.”
“Was he short, balding, and black?” I asked.
“No, he was a little redneck, white dude,” The clerk replied.
“Ah,” I said as I chuckled. “I thought it might have been my friend, George. He has been known to do stuff like that.”
The clerk didn’t even count my pennies and put them in the cash register. I walked back outside as I took the wrapper off my candy bar thoroughly enjoying it as I took a bite. That sweet chocolate coating, caramel, and peanuts hit the spot. I then headed on back down the road towards home as the rain once again began to fall, blown sideways by the wind, making my umbrella useless. I sighed, folded my umbrella, and resigned myself to the fact that I was just going to get wet.
“I have weathered far worse storms than this, homeless,” I said as I trudged onwards towards the all-night convenience store braving the rain.
I had a heavy bag of 75 pennies in my backpack; the last of my money until this month’s disability check arrives. It was embarrassing to spend, but I was craving a sweet, caramel and peanut infused, Snicker’s bar.
“You must be pretty broke,” The now familiar third shift clerk said of my payment as I handed him the Ziploc bag of pennies.
“I am so sorry,” I said as I apologized profusely. “It is rather embarrassing to have to pay with so many pennies.”
“Well, at least you are not trying to buy a $2.99 six pack of beer with pennies,” He replied. “I had some desperate drunk dude try that one night.”
“Was he short, balding, and black?” I asked.
“No, he was a little redneck, white dude,” The clerk replied.
“Ah,” I said as I chuckled. “I thought it might have been my friend, George. He has been known to do stuff like that.”
The clerk didn’t even count my pennies and put them in the cash register. I walked back outside as I took the wrapper off my candy bar thoroughly enjoying it as I took a bite. That sweet chocolate coating, caramel, and peanuts hit the spot. I then headed on back down the road towards home as the rain once again began to fall, blown sideways by the wind, making my umbrella useless. I sighed, folded my umbrella, and resigned myself to the fact that I was just going to get wet.
The Arrow of Time
I thought this was neat...
The Arrow of Time
On June 17th, every year, the family goes through a private ritual; we photograph ourselves to stop, for a fleeting moment, the arrow of time passing by.
The Arrow of Time
The March of Time
Spent a long time tonight reading the journal of a formerly homeless woman who lived in her car among the streets of London. Anya has such a touching way with words that you feel as if you along with her for the journey. I wish I could write like that. Reading her made me depressed about my own writing abilities. I really try so hard – maybe too hard and that is my problem. I can be the most terrible perfectionist at heart and it is a terrible curse to bear. I am already predestined to failure due to my mental illness. At least, I have good intentions at heart. I have come a long way from my very auspicious beginnings when I began online journaling in 2004.
Woke very late from a nap with shafts of sunlight shining gloriously across the floor of my bedroom. I laid there as the shadow from the big oak beside my driveway slowly marched across the floor as the sun set. I watched mesmerized as the world turned with me upon it and time seemed to pass so much faster than normal. I could also hear the voices of children playing outside in the late afternoon sun, as well. Luckily, it wasn’t voices in my head as I first thought.
The thunderous clap of a baseball bat hitting a baseball rang out just outside as I soon sat in my lazy boy trying to wake up. I got out of my chair to stand at my den’s window as I smoked a cigar. The neighbor’s kids have a new batting cage and pitching machine. I watched as one child fed balls into the machine as each baseball came shooting out like a bullet to meet with the head of that bat in the child’s swinging hands and arms. The child batting would squeal with joy and ready himself for anther swing at home plate. It brought back fond memories of me and my brother doing similar things in the yard of my childhood home when I was a young child as well. Oh, to be a child again. I take comfort in that I will always be young at heart.
Woke very late from a nap with shafts of sunlight shining gloriously across the floor of my bedroom. I laid there as the shadow from the big oak beside my driveway slowly marched across the floor as the sun set. I watched mesmerized as the world turned with me upon it and time seemed to pass so much faster than normal. I could also hear the voices of children playing outside in the late afternoon sun, as well. Luckily, it wasn’t voices in my head as I first thought.
The thunderous clap of a baseball bat hitting a baseball rang out just outside as I soon sat in my lazy boy trying to wake up. I got out of my chair to stand at my den’s window as I smoked a cigar. The neighbor’s kids have a new batting cage and pitching machine. I watched as one child fed balls into the machine as each baseball came shooting out like a bullet to meet with the head of that bat in the child’s swinging hands and arms. The child batting would squeal with joy and ready himself for anther swing at home plate. It brought back fond memories of me and my brother doing similar things in the yard of my childhood home when I was a young child as well. Oh, to be a child again. I take comfort in that I will always be young at heart.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Discussions of my Illness over a Hearty Meal
I was sitting over at my parent’s house eating supper last night. Helen had cooked a wonderful meal of sour cream and mushroom chicken, green beans, baked sweet potato patties, a green salad, and corn bread. I asked Helen for the recipe for her sour cream and mushroom chicken. She mixed equal parts cream of mushroom soup and sour cream and then melted in a stick of butter. She then seasoned it with salt and pepper and poured this over large chicken breasts and baked it in the oven until the chicken was fork tender and done. It was some of the most fattening and delicious baked chicken I have ever eaten.
“You are still acting weird from yesterday,” My father told me over our meal as we sat at his kitchen table.
My mother was strangely quiet last night and not saying much.
“I am just tired and haven’t been able to sleep,” I replied. “My sinuses have also been giving me hell with all this pollen we have been having.”
It has been a bumper year as far as pine and oak pollen is concerned.
“I thought I was going to have to check you in the hospital yesterday,” My father then said.
“Please, God, don’t put me back in that hospital,” I told him. “You just give me something to sleep, put me in the bed, and I will be better in the morning after taking my meds.”
“You don’t realize how strange you act, do you?” My father asked.
“No, not really,” I replied taking another bite of my chicken.
“You won’t make eye contact, will not sit still, and smoke obsessively when you get like that,” He said.
“Well, I was feeling pretty rough yesterday and it is a scary feeling,” I replied. “The most important organ in my body was malfunctioning.”
My father gave me some pyroxate for my sinuses and then some Librium to help me sleep. I walked home, drank a glass of milk, took two Librium, and went sound to sleep and slept for five hours. I awoke well after midnight feeling rested. I have got to get my sleeping habits back on a more normal schedule though.
“You are still acting weird from yesterday,” My father told me over our meal as we sat at his kitchen table.
My mother was strangely quiet last night and not saying much.
“I am just tired and haven’t been able to sleep,” I replied. “My sinuses have also been giving me hell with all this pollen we have been having.”
It has been a bumper year as far as pine and oak pollen is concerned.
“I thought I was going to have to check you in the hospital yesterday,” My father then said.
“Please, God, don’t put me back in that hospital,” I told him. “You just give me something to sleep, put me in the bed, and I will be better in the morning after taking my meds.”
“You don’t realize how strange you act, do you?” My father asked.
“No, not really,” I replied taking another bite of my chicken.
“You won’t make eye contact, will not sit still, and smoke obsessively when you get like that,” He said.
“Well, I was feeling pretty rough yesterday and it is a scary feeling,” I replied. “The most important organ in my body was malfunctioning.”
My father gave me some pyroxate for my sinuses and then some Librium to help me sleep. I walked home, drank a glass of milk, took two Librium, and went sound to sleep and slept for five hours. I awoke well after midnight feeling rested. I have got to get my sleeping habits back on a more normal schedule though.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Hell hath no Fury like a Woman with PMS
“Well, look what the cat drug in,” Rosa says scowling as George comes driving up in his battlewagon.
I affectionately call George’s ’79 Thunderbird the battlewagon or battle cruiser.
I then smiled at George sitting behind the wheel of that big old boat of a car. Bluish smoke was belching from the exhaust pipe and George had the biggest, goofiest grin on his face as he pulled into the fire lane in front of the shopping center as a cheap cigar dangled from between his lips.
“Come here,” George mouthed and waved as I walked up to that rusty old ’79 Thunderbird.
“How did you get this piece of shit running?” I say as I sit down in the passenger’s seat.
“Where there is a will, there is a way my pale little buddy,” George says, proud of putting that piece of junk back on the road. “Let’s go for a ride.”
I could smell alcohol on George’s breath.
“I think I will sit this one out,” I say. “I am on my ninth life as far as drinking and driving is concerned.”
“Well, I am off to make the big bucks,” George replies as I get out of the car after only sitting a moment and he drives off to look for braver patrons than I for his fly-by-night taxi service.
It was good to see George back on the road again, despite the imminent threat of a drinking and driving charge. I wondered what he had to do to get that car running. I walked back over and sat down next to Rosa once again.
“He’s gonna get a DUI,” Rosa says, glibly.
“I know,” I reply. “But what can you do?”
“I ought to go call the police right now about the drunk driving son of a bitch,” Rosa says.
Rosa dislikes George. They are like oil and water.
“Be nice,” I say. “It will happen sooner or later without your help.”
“Did you go to A.A. last night?” Rosa then asks, changing the subject.
“No, I was being lazy last night,” I reply. “I didn’t feel like getting out of the house.”
“You are not the lazy type,” Rosa says. “You walk everywhere which I think is stupid since you have a damn nice car and money for gas.”
“Well, you are just a bundle of joy and inspiration today,” I say, sarcastically. “Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”
“PMS,” Rosa says with a smirk.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned or experiencing PMS, I think as I sit there, wary of what Rosa would say next.
I used to think women used PMS as an excuse just to be a bitch, but changed my mind after being married for two years. My ex-wife had a definite Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde transformation that time every month. Rachel would cry at the smallest setback or little thing, and would grow so emotional. You could often find me in the woods camping when PMS time would roll around. Mother Nature was a far kinder beast to bear than my ex-wife when she was ovulating. It seems Rosa is a woman after all despite that burly, rough, and masculine exterior.
I affectionately call George’s ’79 Thunderbird the battlewagon or battle cruiser.
I then smiled at George sitting behind the wheel of that big old boat of a car. Bluish smoke was belching from the exhaust pipe and George had the biggest, goofiest grin on his face as he pulled into the fire lane in front of the shopping center as a cheap cigar dangled from between his lips.
“Come here,” George mouthed and waved as I walked up to that rusty old ’79 Thunderbird.
“How did you get this piece of shit running?” I say as I sit down in the passenger’s seat.
“Where there is a will, there is a way my pale little buddy,” George says, proud of putting that piece of junk back on the road. “Let’s go for a ride.”
I could smell alcohol on George’s breath.
“I think I will sit this one out,” I say. “I am on my ninth life as far as drinking and driving is concerned.”
“Well, I am off to make the big bucks,” George replies as I get out of the car after only sitting a moment and he drives off to look for braver patrons than I for his fly-by-night taxi service.
It was good to see George back on the road again, despite the imminent threat of a drinking and driving charge. I wondered what he had to do to get that car running. I walked back over and sat down next to Rosa once again.
“He’s gonna get a DUI,” Rosa says, glibly.
“I know,” I reply. “But what can you do?”
“I ought to go call the police right now about the drunk driving son of a bitch,” Rosa says.
Rosa dislikes George. They are like oil and water.
“Be nice,” I say. “It will happen sooner or later without your help.”
“Did you go to A.A. last night?” Rosa then asks, changing the subject.
“No, I was being lazy last night,” I reply. “I didn’t feel like getting out of the house.”
“You are not the lazy type,” Rosa says. “You walk everywhere which I think is stupid since you have a damn nice car and money for gas.”
“Well, you are just a bundle of joy and inspiration today,” I say, sarcastically. “Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?”
“PMS,” Rosa says with a smirk.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned or experiencing PMS, I think as I sit there, wary of what Rosa would say next.
I used to think women used PMS as an excuse just to be a bitch, but changed my mind after being married for two years. My ex-wife had a definite Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde transformation that time every month. Rachel would cry at the smallest setback or little thing, and would grow so emotional. You could often find me in the woods camping when PMS time would roll around. Mother Nature was a far kinder beast to bear than my ex-wife when she was ovulating. It seems Rosa is a woman after all despite that burly, rough, and masculine exterior.
Of Lonely Clerks and Walks after Midnight
2am found me once again walking the streets downtown. A cold front blew in upon a brisk and chilly wind. I shivered, not used to the cold, and wrapped myself in my fleece pullover as I pulled my backpack tightly upon my shoulder. I stopped after walking a mile at the all-night convenience store to buy a candy bar with the last bit of change in my pocket.
“You sure keep odd hours,” The clerk tells me with an air of familiarity at my regular presence these days when I walked inside the door.
“I have terrible insomnia,” I reply, “And nothing is on TV at two in the morning except infomercials. I walk to pass the time until sunrise.”
“You don’t get scared and shit of getting robbed in the middle of the night?” He asks.
“No,” I reply loudly as I stand in front of the candy counter surveying the offerings.
“I see some weird shit go down in this store after midnight,” He says. “Drunks come out of the woodwork after midnight and last night I caught a guy drinking beer without paying in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” I say as I chuckle, trying to feign interest.
The shopkeeper was clearly lonely and just wanted someone to talk to.
“He would drink a six pack and then stuff the empty cans up above the ceiling tiles and act like nothing happened. I finally caught that son of a bitch and called the police.”
“Did they arrest him?” I ask, now interested.
“They sure did. Took him straight to jail. I have to go to court next month.”
I grab a pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups and head for the counter. The clerk rings me up and I count out the change to pay.
“You be safe tonight,” I say as I start to walk out the door.
“You too,” The clerk says, looking forlorn at being left alone without sober company.
It must be a lonely existence working the dead shift at a dumpy little convenience store in Podunk Alabama. The clerk clearly would talk to anything showing signs of life. I thanked my lucky stars that most of my living existence wasn’t being spent in such a dead end job earning minimum wage for food tokens. I did chuckle to myself once again as I thought of the clerk’s story of the little black man drinking beer and then stuffing the cans up in the ceiling to hide his crime. Only in small town Alabama, I thought as I walked on home.
“You sure keep odd hours,” The clerk tells me with an air of familiarity at my regular presence these days when I walked inside the door.
“I have terrible insomnia,” I reply, “And nothing is on TV at two in the morning except infomercials. I walk to pass the time until sunrise.”
“You don’t get scared and shit of getting robbed in the middle of the night?” He asks.
“No,” I reply loudly as I stand in front of the candy counter surveying the offerings.
“I see some weird shit go down in this store after midnight,” He says. “Drunks come out of the woodwork after midnight and last night I caught a guy drinking beer without paying in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” I say as I chuckle, trying to feign interest.
The shopkeeper was clearly lonely and just wanted someone to talk to.
“He would drink a six pack and then stuff the empty cans up above the ceiling tiles and act like nothing happened. I finally caught that son of a bitch and called the police.”
“Did they arrest him?” I ask, now interested.
“They sure did. Took him straight to jail. I have to go to court next month.”
I grab a pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups and head for the counter. The clerk rings me up and I count out the change to pay.
“You be safe tonight,” I say as I start to walk out the door.
“You too,” The clerk says, looking forlorn at being left alone without sober company.
It must be a lonely existence working the dead shift at a dumpy little convenience store in Podunk Alabama. The clerk clearly would talk to anything showing signs of life. I thanked my lucky stars that most of my living existence wasn’t being spent in such a dead end job earning minimum wage for food tokens. I did chuckle to myself once again as I thought of the clerk’s story of the little black man drinking beer and then stuffing the cans up in the ceiling to hide his crime. Only in small town Alabama, I thought as I walked on home.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
A Visitor in the Night
Dad came by tonight to check on me. I had my lights off and was lying in the bed listening to The Golden Age of Radio broadcast over the internet. I heard my door unlock and he walked into my darkened den calling out to me. Maggie went totally apeshit crazy she was so excited to get some company. I had to jump out of the bed and pick her up to keep her from rushing outside when dad opened my backdoor. She would have stayed out all night if I hadn’t to have acted quickly. It would devastate me if something were to happen to her. I couldn’t live without her.
“What’s going on?” Dad said as he went immediately to my refrigerator to check for beer. “It’s not like you to have your lights off so early. It just seems strange. I hope you are not drinking.”
“I was just lying in the bed listening to the radio,” I replied. “You can smell my breath for alcohol.”
Dad had me blow on his face to do our customary alcohol check. He had also brought this week’s medications carefully packed in their bubble pack.
“I want you to take this lithium and let’s see if it will stabilize your moods and stop these bad days you seem to have cyclically,” He told me. “Promise me you are going to take it.”
I took lithium years ago and it always upset my stomach. My father was concerned I wouldn’t take it because of that side effect.
“I promise,” I replied.
“Give me a hug,” Dad then said as he wrapped his arms around me. “We are going to keep trying till we find the right medications and get you well.”
I walked out upon my driveway as I waved at dad as he drove off. I worried tonight about a comment Dorid had written me earlier in the day about me writing on that post about Dad treating me as if I am retarded and not mentally ill. It has troubled me deeply tonight. That was a terrible thing to write and no person cares about me more than my father. He has stuck by me through thick and thin, and terrible times dealing with my illness. He worked 12 hours today and still took the time to bring me my medications, check on me, and to make sure I was sober. I realize I am truly blessed to have such a father and should not be so callous with the words I write upon this blog about him. Yes, he can treat me like a small child sometimes, but I have been known to act like one as well.
“What’s going on?” Dad said as he went immediately to my refrigerator to check for beer. “It’s not like you to have your lights off so early. It just seems strange. I hope you are not drinking.”
“I was just lying in the bed listening to the radio,” I replied. “You can smell my breath for alcohol.”
Dad had me blow on his face to do our customary alcohol check. He had also brought this week’s medications carefully packed in their bubble pack.
“I want you to take this lithium and let’s see if it will stabilize your moods and stop these bad days you seem to have cyclically,” He told me. “Promise me you are going to take it.”
I took lithium years ago and it always upset my stomach. My father was concerned I wouldn’t take it because of that side effect.
“I promise,” I replied.
“Give me a hug,” Dad then said as he wrapped his arms around me. “We are going to keep trying till we find the right medications and get you well.”
I walked out upon my driveway as I waved at dad as he drove off. I worried tonight about a comment Dorid had written me earlier in the day about me writing on that post about Dad treating me as if I am retarded and not mentally ill. It has troubled me deeply tonight. That was a terrible thing to write and no person cares about me more than my father. He has stuck by me through thick and thin, and terrible times dealing with my illness. He worked 12 hours today and still took the time to bring me my medications, check on me, and to make sure I was sober. I realize I am truly blessed to have such a father and should not be so callous with the words I write upon this blog about him. Yes, he can treat me like a small child sometimes, but I have been known to act like one as well.
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