It is sleeting here like I haven't seen it sleet in years. I just excitedly called my father who is also weather obsessed.
"Isn't this just incredible?" my father responded. He was in his car.
"The ground crunches when you step on it," I said. "I hope it keeps up!"
"Keep me informed," Dad said as he hung up.
I put a video of the sleet falling on the weather blog if you are interested.
The police were out in force this morning. Crime has been on the upswing in this small town and it was nice seeing them so active. It made Ferret nervous though.
"The police are so fucked up," he told me. "Bunch of busy bodies."
"I just hope I get my car back tomorrow," I replied.
I told Ferret about the weather for today. Something he never keeps up with.
"It should be raining after lunch," I told him. "What are you going to do?"
"Lay in my tent, drink beer, and listen to the radio," he told me.
Ah, I so envy him. That would be the perfect day of relaxation for me. To lay in my warm sleeping bag, sipping suds, and listening to that terrible right-wing radio that makes me smile. It crossed my mind that I would take my tent down to the woods and join Ferret. I have my weather blog to keep up though and it is going to be very active weather the next few days. I realized I have responsibilities at home as well. Dad would freak out if he came over and I wasn't home for our medication ritual.
Google Reader is starting to feel like a job. I am a completetist I learned from my video game playing days. I feel the need to complete something once I start. I open up Google Reader and see all those blogs unread and feel compelled to go through them all. It feels like a job and not at all enjoyable. I think I am going back to just browsing blogs organically as I come to them. Slowly moving down my favorites list to be pleasantly surprised when someone has updated. I am more likely to comment as well doing that.
I have been stuck in an Internet rut lately. What do you do to pass time on the Internet? I read only blogs and some days, like the weekends, it can mean a long day with nothing to read. I have a sneaking suspicion a lot of blogging and blog reading is being done at work on the weekdays. Drop a comment and let me know what you like to do online. I am begging you because I need to get out of this rut.
"Go get us breakfast," Big S told me as he handed me a ten dollar bill this morning. This charitable side of Big S was so surprising. Big S normally only thinks about numero uno.
I walked the short walk down to Merl's diner and purchased four bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits. I pitched in a little of my own paltry stash of blog advertising cash to buy three coffees. I watched hungrily as the lady behind the counter prepared everything. Merl's was hopping this morning. The loud clinking of dishes being washed could be heard over the din of diners talking. The smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee permeated the air.
"Thanks," I said with a broad grin as the attendant handed me my bag of biscuits and my to-go tray of coffee. I hurried back up to the shopping center to enjoy this treat. I was starving.
Ferret had arrived when I walked back up. I handed him a biscuit and a coffee. His eyes were bloodshot from last nights drinking and he was shivering.
"Fuckin' cold!" he protested. "I will be glad when summer arrives."
"Then you will be complaining about the mosquitoes," I said jokingly.
Ferret didn't look too amused.
I came closest to drinking again this morning than I have in weeks. Ferret pulled out a flask of whiskey and poured some into his coffee. "Want some?" he asked as he reached out for my coffee with that flask in hand. I hesitated and almost went for it. I wanted to feel the warmth of that alcohol so badly. I wanted to numb out my day. Drinking is a vicious cycle for me, though. I will start and I can't quit. It is like some train wreck, chain reaction that I can't stop once I start. My biggest concern would be how disappointed my father would be in me when he came over to bring my medications tonight. He would know right away that I had been drinking.
I left the shopping center after eating my breakfast. I had the choice of going by Rosa's house or coming home to sleep some more. Sleep won out. I walked home and crashed in the bed -- my mind feverishly going over that encounter with Ferret and the alcohol this morning. I had come so close to opening that black door leading to disaster. I always was good at escaping by the hair of my neck. It is going to be another sober day -- a gratefully sober day.
Last night I fell asleep dreaming of computers -- of RAM and Motherboards. Video cards and processors. It was a pleasant dream of one of my favorite hobbies besides model railroading. I dreamed of building computers and someday making a living putting together machines for clients.
I once got hired by our local Catholic Church to update their computers. I was never a good business man and did it for cost. My then wife was exasperated with me. "We need the money," she would moan. "And you're giving out charity." It was more about my love of the hobby rather than the dollars I could earn. I will never forget the smile on the church's secretary's face when she booted up her now fast computer. She gave me a hug. It was the best payment I could ever get.
While we are on the subject of my ex-wife, I have been doing a lot of thinking about Rachel lately. Rosa's been asking me a lot of questions about my failed marriage. She can't imagine this bachelor tied down. I miss our Boston Terrier -- an affable little fellow of a dog. I miss Rachel's quirks -- her cerebral-ness and voracity for reading. Rachel and I were strange souls and very suited for each other. If only the drinking and the schizophrenia didn't get in the way, we would still be happily married. I miss Rachel's femininity the most. Rosa is not very feminine. I long for makeup and the smell of perfume and bath oils -- the wiles of femininity beknownst only to a woman.
Treating myself to some Colby cheddar this morning. I love it at room temperature and cut a large hunk and wrapped it in paper towel before going to bed. This finds me munching on cheese and crackers, and drinking a big glass of orange juice this morning. Each bite reminds me how blessed I am as far as having plenty to eat and nourishing food at that.
It is another brutally cold morning. I donned my favorite sweatshirt and sweat pants to set out for my morning walk. I made it to the end of my driveway before turning around and running back inside. I just couldn't deal with all that cold this morning. I would make a terrible homeless person these days unlike Ferret. The sky was pitch black like pools of squid's ink in the predawn light. Street lights shone like little oasis in the dark lighting the way and beckoning me onwards. Daybreak will no doubt find me down at the shopping center so I can once again live vicariously through Ferret's experiences in homeless-hood. I hope you all have a great day.
I am anxiously awaiting my father to arrive with my Benadryl. I saved many blog posts all day in Google Reader to be savored tonight with many drinks of Diet Coke and smokes of pungent cigarillo. It is going to be Andrew's night in. *wrings hands devilishly*
Our much vaunted snow event is now off the radar. Sigh. No snow for us. Check out Andrew's Weather Blog for the latest Southeast weather news. I also put up a brilliant sunset shot tonight. Don't forget to vote for your favorite Weather Channel Babe. Scroll down for pictures of the ladies.
"Here, take this," I told Ferret this morning. "It is a hand warmer. It kept my hands toasty warm all during my homeless days. It feels great down your front pocket."
"Thanks," Ferret said grabbing it. "It is already warm."
"I lit it before I left the house. Should be good for another six hours or so."
Sometimes it's the little things that mean the most when your homeless. Warm hands on a cold day. Hot, nourishing food in your belly. And yes, beer for what ails you if I must digress.
It was cold this morning. The kind of damp cold that seeps into your bones. So cold that Big S didn't make an appearance at the shopping center. Ferret was sitting down there, though.
"How did you sleep?" I asked him living vicariously through his words. He is living the homeless life I have often dreamed of.
"My sleeping bag is warm, but that damn ground is hard," Ferret replied.
"Throw the sleeping bag in a dryer up at the laundromat for a quarter," I told him. "It will be nice and warm when you unfold it and get in."
"You know your shit," Ferret said lighting a cigarette. "You really were homeless."
I laughed.
"I actually learned that on the Internet reading a homeless man's website," I replied.
Ferret left me to go get some lunch. I walked down to the train tracks to catch a passing freight. I've got to quit wandering aimlessly through life, I thought to myself. I wander down to the shopping center and waste time. Hopefully, vocational rehabilitation will put me to work in a few weeks.
Morning arrived and I found myself up and excited to start another day. I thought that was novel that I was actually excited about facing the day in front of me. Rosa rolled over in the bed with Maggie by her side.
"Sleepyheads," I said.
"You get up at ungodly hours," Rosa moaned, pulling the covers back over her.
Dad arrived last night bearing a pot of homemade vegetable beef soup, a pan of cornbread, and slices of buttery pound cake.
"I thought you would enjoy a treat, but it smells like you've already cooked."
"Thanks, Dad," I replied. "We will have it for lunch tomorrow."
Rosa feels uncomfortable around my father and grows antsy. She thinks my father judges her harshly because of her past. Actually, Dad is just glad I have someone and I told her this.
We went through our normal medication ritual. My meds are given to me and my father must watch me swallow them, checking my mouth to make sure they are down. Then, he will give me my six Benadryl for the night.
"Now don't take all of them at once," he always tells me without fail.
I usually take two to sleep and save the rest for overnight. I am learning I must be careful with the Benadryl though. I like taking them far too much. I like anything that makes me feel out of the ordinary. Taking six is like popping a handful of Xanax or Valium. It will even give you the munchies like those pills.
Rosa was smiling as I carefully plated up some food to take a photograph.
"I want to share this with my readership," I told her. "It is a big deal for me to be back cooking."
She sighed. She thinks my whole blogging obsession is silly.
Tonight we had spaghetti with meat sauce, a vegetable medley left from lasts night's stir fry, and garlic bread. Yummy!
Last night I made a stir fry of broccoli, carrots, celery, and strips of chicken breast. I added this to some wide egg noodles and a sauce of cream, butter, and parmesan. I find this important because Rosa is home, and I decided to cook like this for myself. I feel a part of some great awakening -- a slumber of which the negative symptoms of my schizophrenia imparted. Everyday I grow a little more awake and into life. There is hope for me yet.
Spent some time this morning in the cold helping Ferret carry the last of his belongings to his campsite. The campsite is a mess and looks just like some ne'er do well homeless person has set up home. Beer cans are everywhere. An old fire pit sits with half burned trash hanging out of it. Ferret's belongings are scattered about under a tarp tied between trees.
"You're going to draw attention to yourself," I warned Ferret.
He didn't seem too concerned. It is paramount to be stealthy when homeless.
The cold is already getting to him. Ferret walked all the way down to Wal-Mart to buy some warmer clothes. He changed in the bathroom and threw his perfectly good clothes away in the trash can.
"I didn't want to have to carry them," Ferret told me as he regaled me in this tale.
I shook my head in disbelief as Ferret is going all about this the wrong way.
I then sat down for a long time as Ferret drank beer and we talked. They don't sell beer here on Sundays in the Bible Belt so he had to stock up the day before. I don't know where Ferret is getting all this money, and I am afraid to ask. I noticed it was expensive beer. Budweiser. Beer I could never afford when I was homeless.
"Ferret, what are you doing to do?" I asked of his homelessness genuinely concerned.
"I am going to drink myself to death," he replied with an air of joking as he laughed.
"Don't you have goals and aspirations?"
"What are your goals?" Ferret asked me dodging the question.
"To go back to work. To buy a new computer. To cherish my car that was stolen when I get it back. I am putting a lot of stock in vocational rehabilitation. I also want to get into digital photography."
"I've never had goals," Ferret said. "I just live."
Oh, how I knew how he felt. I've never had goals as well until recently. My remission from my schizophrenia had spurred me onwards to think ever more progressively. To work. To have the self esteem of supporting myself. To be able to afford my favorite hobby: computers. I know all too well how Ferret is thinking, though. I've been there myself, homeless and aimless. It is a quagmire of a bottomless pit that is hard to dig out of. My family saved me from that quagmire. Unfortunately, Ferret is on his own.
Head over to Andrew's Weather Blog to see a photo of this evening's sunset. I thought it was a particularly good one.
Maggie is giving me that, "just what are you doing?" look. I've never seen a dog sleep so much as she does. Thankfully, she did spend some time outside today chewing on a rawhide bone. I am going to get her a harness and start walking her everyday, and taking her to the shopping center with me.
It is lunchtime Saturday at the shopping center. The regulars are all abuzz about the grocery store having a new manager. My old boss, Jay, has gotten a promotion to regional manager. He always was a great guy who worked his ass off.
"Here come's the money," Big S tells me with a feverish grin.
"Ah, you think you can start back panhandling," I reply.
"At least for a little while," Big S says.
Ferret soon comes sauntering up with Dexter. Ferret doesn't have to panhandle. With no bills, his disability allotment keeps him in drink. And panhandling is always about addiction and not true need. Big S panhandles to help pay for his expensive premium cigarette habit.
"Damn," Ferret tells me. "It was cold as shit this morning."
"Maybe that will sober you up and you will find a home," I reply.
Ferret just laughs back at me nervously. Ferret is not interested in finding a home.
Dexter looks lost today. I worry about him hanging around Ferret. He is so impressionable.
"Dexter, I see you are wearing your Christmas sweatshirt," I say, trying to make small talk.
Dexter pulls his shirt out to show me and smiles. Dexter is perpetually broke and always digging through the dumpsters around town. The rumor is he eats from the dumpster behind the Korean restaurant.
I finally sit back on my bench and light up a cigarette. I grow so lonesome some days and the company of the gang is a Godsend. Everything is well in the life of my unorthodox friends and that makes me happy. I look at my watch and the day is still young. Much can happen while I am gone and walking home. I finally leave my friends doing what they normally do. Just another day in J-ville and it feels good.
Listening to Coast to Coast AM this morning out of Portland, Oregon as I drink my coffee and smoke cigars. George Noory has on someone who claims to build time machines and sells them. I couldn't help but smile at the amount of bullshit being bantered about. I can imagine George trying hard to keep a straight face as this guy talks and George has heard it all. I know he wants to burst out laughing.
I went for another long walk this morning. I just haven't been able to sleep at night lately -- mainly the early mornings. This afternoon will find me curled up in the bed with Maggie sleeping no doubt. I did stop by my favorite convenience store this morning for some hot chocolate, and heard some disheartening news about Ferret.
"I had to quit serving your friend," my favorite clerk told me this morning.
"Ferret?" I asked.
"Yeah, that skinny black dude. He was sloppy drunk and trying to buy more wine. I told him to come back later when he sobered up."
No doubt Ferret walked down to the other convenience store owned by the middle eastern men. They will sell alcohol to anyone with money as long as you can stand up.
It was freezing cold this morning after a clear and windless night -- classic radiational cooling scenario for the south. I worried Ferret was going to catch pneumonia in this weather. When I was homeless, I would sleep with my beer in the sleeping bag with me so it wouldn't freeze and burst. I would lie there drinking beer after beer for hours, listening to the radio as I waited for the sun to come up. It seems I was always waiting on something to happen then. Now days, I am more into making things happen.
I've felt so well lately. It truly is a miracle.
"How do you feel different?" Rosa just asked a moment ago when I was telling her about it.
"I feel happy. I don't feel crazy. Can I dare say 'normal'?" I replied. "I feel content with life."
Rosa smiled as she went back to watching the television. I left her to come in here and write about it.
I still struggle with the anxiety attacks, but they are few and far between. I felt so well today that I got up the courage to pour out those three beers I have been hiding for a "special occasion." The sickly sweet smell of fermented beverage made my stomach churn as the beers were emptied into my kitchen sink. I couldn't believe I could stomach that swill.
Mom came by today with groceries and stayed a long time. It was so good seeing her.
"What have you done today other than this?" I asked her.
"I laid in the bed," she replied. "I am terrible about doing that. I lay in the bed all the time."
"You don't sleep?" I asked.
"No, I just lay there for hours."
I don't see how my mother does that. I was trying to think today what mom was like when I was growing up. It was a tumultuous time and mom was always doing crazy shit. I tend to shut out all that and don't remember it well. I never remember my mother being loving or comforting. She was always manic, and screaming and hollering over something. My father was gone all the time as all he did was work 12 hour days. It is amazing I didn't turn out more screwed up than I already am.
My brother calls this my bunker. It is where I spend too much time of the day. Email me your blogging setup and I will post it here. The TV is usually tuned to the Weather Channel to get ideas for my weather blog. The secondary monitor is usually used when browsing BlogExplosion.
This afternoon found me aimlessly occupying the bench next to the dollar store. Rosa was with me. She loves to hang out down there and smoke cigarettes. We had just eaten a lunch of tuna sandwiches at Rosa's house.
"This is just like my homeless days, except there are few homeless people," she told me.
"You are forgetting Ferret," I replied.
"He's homeless by choice. He doesn't count," Rosa responded.
I laughed.
I had heard from Clara this morning and was telling Big S about it.
"She has turned her life around," I said. "She is still sober, going to outpatient treatment, and attending A.A. meetings."
"Damn," Big S replied. "That is hard to believe. She was worse than Ferret when it comes to drinking."
"Believe it, my friend," I said.
Now, Rosa has expressed some jealously over my and Clara's relationship. I have to be careful about what I will say. I didn't tell Big S much. He was glad to hear what I did have to say though. The gang forms a close bond with each other -- kind of a poor man's truce. We all look out for each other and help each other.
"Did you and Clara date when we were broken up?" Rosa asked.
"No," was all I said, and I quickly changed the subject.
Ferret was no where to be seen today. Probably sleeping off this morning's early drunk. I could picture him wrapped up in his sleeping bag in his tent in that little clearing in the woods. The thought made me long to go camping.
I left Rosa in the bed early this morning unable to sleep. The wee hours of the morning found me sitting in my favorite park, smoking cigarillos, and enjoying this warm air -- a mild, pleasant stretch of weather to revel in.
"Your blessed," I thought to myself as I listened to Coast to Coast AM, and took great, hardy drags of smoke from my cigar. "Things have been so good lately I don't think you know how to handle it, or to enjoy it to it's fullest. Savor this time in your life."
Far too often my life was arduous and full of strife. Drunken debauchery. An unwell mind. Strained relations with my family. It all added up to me being a bundle of nerves and raw emotion. A great, tense miasmic mess of a human being.
To my surprise Ferret was sitting outside the convenience store above the "no loitering" sign. I had stopped to get a cup of hot chocolate from my favorite convenience store clerk. The irony made me smile.
"How come I always run into you?" Ferret said, jokingly.
"We haunt the same places," I replied. "Don't you ever sleep?"
"I could ask the same thing of you," Ferret quipped.
"Thunderbird," I thought. "He's drinking Thunderbird. That damn Thunderbird."
I didn't linger long around Ferret as I was feeling weak this morning. That great, wild call of alcohol only an alcoholic knows well was working hard on me this day.
"Damn you," I thought. "You are obsessed. You know drinking will only destroy your life and yet you still want to do it. You still think about it."
They say in A.A. that drinking is a form of insanity -- always doing the same thing and expecting different results. I've had far too much insanity in my life in these later years. I made a conscious choice to be sane. I made a conscious choice not to drink. I choose to live a decent life.
_______________________________
I've thought long and hard about my inclination to save Ferret. Sadly, he has a choice to live homeless or not. If he didn't drink so with wanton abandon, he could afford an apartment. I wanted to step in and handle his problems much like my father steps in to handle mine. Sadly, my father did nothing but harm me doing that, and I would be doing the same to Ferret.
They say life can be the greatest teacher. Much like my recent lesson I learned with my stolen car. Never leave your keys in your car. Even in this small town. In a few days colder weather will break this mild spell we are having, and living outside will become far less kind. Maybe it will give Ferret the impetus to get off the streets, sober up, and start being responsible. I can only hope for the best for my unorthodox friend. But I can't choose his path for him. I can only support him in the good choices and watch idly on as he blunders through life with the bad.
Maggie is on the made bed asleep. Rosa has just taken a bath and washed her hair. She is now sitting in the den with her head wrapped in a towel and watching some terrible reality TV show. Have I told you she likes TV for the lowest common denominator? It is why I don't watch with her and she gets tired of me sitting in front of this computer. I just can't stand what she likes to watch. It gets on my nerves.
The lady from vocational rehabilitation called me late this afternoon. She is coming up to the Valley on the 24th of this month. I am to meet her at the hospital. She is mailing me some forms to fill out.
Dad called the detectives about my car today. They are still "processing the evidence." It makes me shudder to think what my interior looks like. It was already pretty dirty. I am wondering if I will ever get my car back.
Soon, Dad will be over with my medications and my Benadryl. Midnight will find me winding down ready for bed. I have been staying up late lately. No doubt Rosa will come in several times to check on me for bed saying, "Coming to bed, yet?" "Soon," I will reply and stay up longer. It reminds me of being married to Rachel. She couldn't sleep without me in the bed with her.
I go get my injection for my schizophrenia in the morning. My mother is driving me. HELP ME! My mom drives like a little old lady that can barely see over the steering wheel.
Well, let me check my favorites blogs for an update. I am still hoping Annabel will update tonight and we couldn't forget Cheryl. Two of my most favorite blogs as they write about real life and real living. You could go read a ranting waiter, but you would be missing the gems that are everyday blogs.
Sharyna found these at sobercircle.com. Head to Sharyna's blog to read the rest. She, too, is starting a new life as a sober person. I think she is on day 8. She would love some encouraging words or a comment or two.
Step 1. I'm screwed - I can't manage anything.
Step 2. And I'm crazy.
Step 3. Ok...I give up.
Step 4. I'll write about it.[...] Click here to read the rest...
I've noticed since the newness of my camera has worn off that I am taking less and less photos. Winter is drab, with little color, and there are not a lot of photo opportunities. I am going to try and find beauty in small things in my yard. Here are two photos I took late this afternoon. The leaf on the bottom looks like the continent of Africa and the colors match, too!
Tonight's supper was oven baked chicken fingers, scalloped potatoes, glazed carrots, and seasoned green beans.
"You make it look so easy!" Rosa said of my cooking as we sat and ate. I had to tear her away from the TV to get her to join me in the kitchen.
"I would never do this if it wasn't for you," I said. "Thank you."
Before Rosa and I got back together, I was having trouble with the basics of life such as grooming myself, brushing my teeth, taking showers, and fixing meals. It was almost as if I gave up on living. I had no reason to get out of the bed. It is nice to have purpose again. The shrinks and therapists would say I am co-dependent. Probably am.
Rosa is so kind hearted. To have gone through what she went through as an crack addict and a prostitute, homeless and aimless, it is amazing that she has such a good and kind outlook on life. You would think she would be hardened and surly like many of the older alcoholics I have encountered in A.A.
"Doll," she said over the phone. "Today is fifty days."
I didn't even realize she was keeping up with my sobriety.
"How long have you been sober?" I asked.
"Oh, it has been years now," she replied. "Almost two years exactly."
"I'm very proud of you."
"I am very proud of you, too," she replied. "Let's celebrate by going to a meeting tonight."
"Hopefully, I can pick up my car today and we will go," I said. "I am still waiting on that detective to call."
"How are you feeling today?"
"I feel okay. I felt shaky last night when Dad was over with my medications. I had to pace the floor to keep an attack from occurring. I know Dad thinks I am just crazy as hell. He makes me so nervous."
"I love you and will see you in a little bit," she told me.
"Love you too," I said, and hung up the phone.
Relationships can be hard. Love can be tumultuous. But I think I've found my soul mate for life (crossing fingers). I can actually envision myself getting married again some day. That is something I would have never thought I would entertain.
I can't believe it. I really can't, and it is hard to believe it is going on two months sober. I won't say I haven't struggled. I have. My natural inclination is to be drunk. I think it is in my genes. My mother's side of the family all struggled with mental illness and addictions. They were always doing crazy things and still are.
One gift I have found from my sobriety is my ability to write and tell a tale. I just couldn't write well when I was drinking. You tend to embellish when you've had a few beers making for wildly fantastical tales. My tales of George and the gang were disjointed and haphazard. I think I am better able to capture the nuances of my interactions with the gang these days.
Thank you for reading along and supporting me through this. You don't know what a comment of, "50 days! That's great," means to me. Lets hope I will have many more days to come in the months ahead.
The storms last night came in with a whimper by the time they reached Eastern Alabama. We didn't even get much rain. I was relieved for Ferret's sake. I walked down to the shopping center this morning to check on him. He was no worse for wear.
"My mother is buying me a tent," Ferret told me after I had sat awhile. "I talked to her today."
"Why don't you move in with your mother?" I asked.
"I'm not moving in with that alcoholic bitch," he replied.
Alcoholism tens to run in families and Ferret's is one of the best examples. According to Ferret, his grandmother was a severe alcoholic and so is his mother. I've met Ferret's mother once and she was drunk out of her gourd. I don't blame Ferret for not wanting to live with her as he has done in the past. She is a drunken drama queen. They end up in chaos and fighting all the time.
"What did you do last night?" I asked.
"I sat and listened to the radio as I drank beer," he replied.
"God, you must have been pretty drunk by last night."
"Yeah, I was," he replied. "I was still drunk this morning."
"You know, in a way, I envy you," I told him. "You are living life much like I did when I was homeless. I was free to drink and do what I wanted. The only thing that was harsh was the cold and trying to stay showered."
"George always said you were crazy," Ferret replied. "I think he was right."
I laughed and agreed. I am pretty crazy for thinking that, but I just can't help it. I will always harbor a certain fondness for my homeless days. I was actually relieved my family wouldn't have anything to do with me. Life was much simpler then.
It is a busy weather night in the South and it is keeping me busy on my weather blog. I won't be able to go to bed until the storms pass after midnight. Come on over and drop a comment or two. You may get to find out what the weather is doing in your neck of the woods. You will also read about people getting struck by lightning and inch diameter hailstones.
"Let is all out girl," I wanted to say when I read CJM-R's blog post a moment ago. She wrote a good op-ed piece on the recent media frenzy over Hillary showing emotion by crying. I've been known to have a good cry myself and would expect our President to cry over the thousands lost on 9/11. Did he? I don't know, but the press probably would have tore him a new asshole if he did. My Personal Lens (bookmark it, please? great blog)
The weather is gorgeous here. It is almost hard to believe it is January. The sun is shining. The temperature is in the low seventies. And only a few clouds are in the sky. I have been sitting outside in my backyard for the longest time playing with Maggie. I worry about her. She sleeps all the time these days as if she is bored. She grows so excited when I walk outside, attacking that pair of socks I have let her have. That always makes me smile.
I am still waiting to hear from a detective about my car. I doubt they will ever catch the perpetrator. The first thing I am doing is driving down to Opelika, Alabama to Vocational Rehabilitation. I can't overcome my fear to call, so will drive down there and speak to someone in person. It is strange how talking on the phone terrifies me, but I will do fine if I drive all the way down there and speak to the receptionist in person.
I had another panic attack last night, but it was a mild one. I realized I had drank far too many diet Cokes which probably triggered it (caffeine). It wasn't one of my terrible ones, but it was disconcerting. I thought those attacks were only brought on by the drinking, and it was a good deterrent to staying away from the old booze. Those three beers in my laundry cabinet suddenly look more appealing today than they have in weeks.
The Homeless Guy continues to work. I am so excited for him! There is no better feeling than getting that first paycheck in years! I have been following his blog for years, have an invested interest, and feel that maybe this time may be the right time for him to get off the streets. If he can just hold out for long enough for work to become a habit, then I think his tendency to quit will be overcome. I emailed him today telling him how proud of him and how elated I was. I really want to see something go right for this guy.
Big S told me at lunch that Ferret was seen walking down to the woods with a grocery cart of his belongings. He "borrowed" the cart from the grocery store's parking lot at the shopping center.
"He had everything," Big S said. "He was asking where you were so you could buy him a tent. He was also drunk as a son of a bitch."
"I can't even afford a chocolate bar these days," I told Big S. "I've had to borrow money from Rosa to cook meals."
I walked on down to the woods beyond the railroad museum. There sat Ferret getting drunk amidst his gear about a hundred yards from the clearing and the tracks.
"It is a beautiful day!" Ferret exclaimed drunkenly.
It was nice. The temperature was in the sixties and it had yet to start raining. Ferret had a tarp tied to four trees to cover his belongings. He was going to get wet though. It is supposed to storm pretty badly tonight.
"The weather is going to get bad," I said. "Go borrow some money from Big S to buy a tent. It will only cost $30 bucks."
"I'm fine," Ferret replied. "I've got some beer. I've got my stuff. I am going to be okay."
Ferret was drunk. Wasted drunk. He was so drunk he no longer cared about his predicament. I quickly left him to go talk to Big S.
"Ferret needs a tent," I told Big S after walking the ten minutes back up to the shopping center.
"Shit, man. I ain't got it," Big S said of the money. He pulled out his pockets to show me.
"Damn," I said.
I left not knowing what else to do. I have no way of taking Ferret to the men's shelter in Columbus, Georgia, and he probably wouldn't go anyway. The police still haven't released my car. I can only hope it doesn't storm too badly and Ferret stays dry under that tarp. What a damn fine mess Ferret has gotten himself into this time. The sad thing is he didn't seem to care. He was only worried about getting drunk. He actually wants to be homeless. I've been there before when I was homeless as well. It is a debilitating condition. Mental Illness and alcoholism are a crazy thing.
