The pacing started again this morning at 2 am. I got up, took a drink of orange drink, smoked my first cigarette of the day, and started walking. As I walk, I daydream and smoke, and it really passes the time. I will look at the clock on my stove and thirty minutes have passed in what seemed like an instant. It is almost like a time warp – a comforting escape.
I have paced and paced today. I have paced for hours. My legs feel like Jell-O and are extremely sore from all the pacing. I know rationally that is not normal to constantly walk in circles around the inside of my house, but I can’t seem to communicate this to the obsessive compulsive component of my brain. Late this evening, I finally collapsed in the world’s most comfortable computer chair to write and relax as I drank the only two diet Cokes I had on hand. The urge is still there though. I want to pace until dad gets here then I will take my medications and go to bed. Luvox don’t let me down tonight!
“I can’t seem to get the pills out of the bottle,” mom said tonight, her hands shaking violently.
“What brought this on?” I asked, worried.
I had driven over to get my six diet Cokes early and some aspirin and Tylenol. It was supposed to rain all night after midnight. I didn’t want to drive in the rain at 3 am in the morning – my usual time to get my drinks.
“I tried to walk tonight,” mom replied. “Your father has been getting on to me about my weight.”
Mom takes the anti-psychotic Zyprexa – the proverbial coin with two sides. It makes you effectively saner, but also makes you fat and diabetic. All these anti-psychotics seem to have severe side effects. Mine is that my Risperdal makes me asexual.
Mom was sitting in her huge bathroom in a chair and I followed her into her bedroom as she took three aprozolam.
“I will feel better in about thirty minutes,” she said, lying down on the bed. “Lock the back door. And don’t get the Cokes in the hall! They’re for tomorrow!”
I smiled and chuckled to myself. As bad as mom felt, she was still handling those diet Cokes with that Nazi-like tenacity she is well known for. Six Cokes and six cokes only is all I’m going to get a day if it weren’t for George.
Joyce’s cat, which I have renamed Lucky, sleeping by the carport of Joyce’s house. I had just fed her a large can of tuna and tuna juice. Maggie sat all afternoon just mere feet away not barking or carrying on so that bode promising.
“I’m trying! I’m trying!” George exclaimed, scraping away with a paint edge.
After one more trip to the auto parts store for a fuel filter and a PCV filter and valve, I installed the carburetor – hooking up the accelerator and fuel lines. I put the air cleaner back on and screwed it down.
“Give it a crank,” I told George who was sitting in the car with a big cigar hanging out of his mouth.
The car cranked and cranked, and then the engine roared to life belching rich black smoke out the exhaust pipe for a short moment. I sighed with relief as the Caprice settled into a smooth idle. It had been years and years since I had rebuilt a carburetor and I was afraid I had forgotten something or didn’t follow the directions correctly.
“Thanks, man,” George said, our grimy and greasy hands clasping.
“You know?” I told him. “Me and you both would be pissed drunk by now if we still drank. Beer and working on cars seemed to go together.”
“Don’t think I didn’t think about having a few beers,” George said with a grin on the day of his seventh week of sobriety.
“What a good hobby!” I thought on the drive home up the street. I hadn’t felt such a sense of satisfaction like that in years.
A few people have asked if these are of my layout. Sadly, I don’t have room for a layout. I am an armchair modeler for the most part. Those random images are taken directly from the pages of Model Railroad Craftsman and Model Railroader magazines. I guess I need to start writing the layout and the creator with each photo. I will endeavor to do that today with today’s photo.
George wasn’t very excited about going to work last night after two days off.
“At least, I have an easy job,” George told me, trying to consol himself.
“Be positive!” I replied cheerily. “What’s your favorite part of work?”
“Shut up Pollyanna!” George said tersely and then laughed.
I burst out laughing as well.
“My favorite part of work is my lunch break,” he said. “Momma always fixes the best lunches and I get in a corner of the break room and chill out for thirty minutes.”
As George was leaving last night, he said, “Finish up my carburetor tonight! I am excited to crank my Caprice and see how it runs.” So, that is what I did. I stayed up till midnight finishing rebuilding George’s carburetor. We will slap that sucker back on in the morning and see if I didn’t totally screw up the whole process. I have my fingers crossed.
“I had a bad drinkin’ dream yesterday,” George told me as I looked up from putting a new fuel level float in the carburetor. “I dreamed I had drank a fifth of vodka and was trying to hide the smell from the police after getting pulled over. I couldn’t breathe.”
I smiled. “I’ve had many drinkin’ dreams over the years,” I told him. “The brain works in mysterious ways.”
“You wake up wanting a drink, though!” George exclaimed.
“It’ll pass,” I replied trying to reassure him and it does.
George stayed to almost midnight. I was ready to go to bed and George was just getting going good. George told me he was leaving to drive around and listen to the radio for hours – a vestige of his old drinking days sans the drinking. Old habits die hard.
“Your mother was trying to call you today,” dad said over the phone last night. “She couldn’t get her cell phone to work.”
“Johnny? I keep dialing the number, but it won’t ring,” she told me. “I am worried about Andrew’s toothache.”
Dad said he looked at the phone and it was turned off. He said he laughed and laughed.
“What’s wrong?” he said my mother asked.
“You have to turn it on to make calls!” dad exclaimed.
“She must have tried to call five times before giving up,” dad told me.
“Dad, you shouldn’t laugh at mom about stuff like that,” I replied, coming to my mother’s defense.
“Well, it’s just like her mother and her grandmother to do something ditzy like that!” dad said. “It’s genetic and nothing to do with her mental illness.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I hung up the phone. I know I shouldn’t, but it was characteristic of mom. The whole pharmacy and all of dad’s friends will know by Monday.
Pour in skillet and cook at 450 degrees for 22 minutes exactly. This makes one small skillet. Double the recipe for a larger skillet.
1/2 cup of melted unsalted butterPrehead oven to 425 degrees. Spray or wipe a casserole dish baking dish lightly with oil. In a large bowl, combine the butter, Niblets with liquid, and creamed corn. Stir in the muffin mix, sour cream, and eggs. Pour into casserole and cook until golden brown on top. It usually takes 30 to 35 minutes she said.
Lately, on my pacing the floor sessions, I have noticed the cat sitting in the carport sunning itself. I see it everyday. I walked over and the cat has been sleeping in the utility room on some old blankets. I smiled. It was as if Joyce had returned home in feline form. I have been putting out cans of tuna to win over the cat’s trust. I want the cat to be mine if Maggie will accept it. I am going to get mom to get me some stinky canned cat food next week at the grocery store. We’ll see what happens and I will keep you all informed.
I liked Helen’s corn pudding so much I wanted the recipe. Well, Helen doesn’t use recipes. She just cooks out of her head. I hope to call her today and have her recite the recipe to me to the best of her ability. I will post it on the blog. I also want Helen’s recipe for corn bread and will post that as well if she will tell it to me.
“I’ve got a story to tell on your mother,” dad said laughing yesterday afternoon during our medication ritual.
Mom sat on the couch and started to look wary. Dad loves to tell a good story on mom and has told many over the years.
“I wrote down a recipe for cinnamon rolls for Helen to fix for your mother for breakfast this morning,” dad said. “Well, your mother said Helen wasn’t going to be able to read my handwriting and was worried she wasn’t going to get the rolls.”
“What did she do?” I asked, intrigued.
“She got up during the middle of the night and rewrote the recipe twice making it clearer every time,” dad said, laughing. “There were three different looking recipes for cinnamon rolls sitting on the kitchen counter when Helen got here this morning.”
“Johnny, don’t tell all this,” my mother said, embarrassed.
“Well, Helen called me at work this morning,” dad said, just a grinnin’ and laughing.
“Mr. John? Just what recipe do I use for these cinnamon rolls?” Helen asked me.
“I laughed and laughed,” dad said. “I told you your mother can get things complicated really fast.”
“Well, I really wanted those cinnamon rolls and was afraid Helen wouldn’t be able to cook them reading your chicken scratch!” mom said huffily, now defensive.
I smiled. I love my mother so much and this is just characteristic of her obsessive compulsiveness. I would have rewritten the recipe twice as well for some of Helen’s cinnamon rolls.
Well, I sat down at the kitchen table to start rebuilding George’s carburetor last night. I don’t know why I have been dreading this so. What we do for friends. George had brought over a service manual for his car he ordered at AutoZone late yesterday evening which gave me the impetus to start. George also brought wiper blades for my car which excited me. You know you don’t get to shop much when getting wiper blades excites you. The next project I want to do on my car is the obvious oil change and a trip to the junk yard to get a digital clock out of a junked 2001 Honda CR-V. Mine quit working a year ago and it drives me crazy as I never wear a watch.
“No,” I replied. “I am out.”
“I am sending some with your dinner plate. Your mother is on her way. I put you an extra table spoonful of each vegetable as well. I hope you enjoy it.”
Vegetables? I thought we were having fried fish Friday. It turns out Helen couldn’t find that special kind of fish she uses so she picked a different menu instead. We had fried pork cutlet, corn pudding, green beans with potatoes and cornbread. I must say the corn pudding was spectacular as that was the first time Helen had ever fixed that.
I can also pace the floor between my den and bedroom for hours smoking cigarettes until my legs are sore. It is strange that I thoroughly enjoy this as I hate the once six mile walk I embarked upon every day. It is also very obsessive compulsive. I will vacillate from pacing for hours to laying on the bed listening to the radio for hours – completely wasting my time. C’est la vie!
I figured out a way to have a new blog theme for every day of the week. You will see something new every morning from about 5 AM to 6 AM. I am very excited about this as it will keep the look of the blog fresh and interesting – you will never know what to expect the next day until we have cycled through all the preset designs I have made. I am constantly making more and saving them as .xlm files and adding them to the queue.
This ties into my “motivator is broken” theme. I no longer want to fool with the weather blog. I realize only a select few people are going to be interested in it anyway and I feel I am wasting my time when I could be pouring those efforts into my main blog. People are only going to be interested in the weather of the area they live in and weather is very area specific. The sunset of the day photo will be incorporated into 4th Avenue as I love doing that and editing the photos. I thought the sunset of the day would grew repetitive, but every sunset seems to be different which is exciting and keeps things fresh. Sorry to the handful that actually kept up with it.
Maggie and I are both having a lazy day after her walk and our nap. I’ve gotten so lazy that Maggie’s walks have devolved into quick little jaunts around the neighborhood – something to be rushed and hurried. Maggie doesn’t want to come inside when we get home knowing she has been short changed. I feel terrible about it, but I no longer have the desire, heart or inclination to spend two hours everyday walking six miles.
George laughed. “I get about five hours a day,” he replied. “But momma was cleaning house all day today and kept me up.”
George had brought by that carburetor, the rebuild kit and four cans of Gumout carburetor cleaner.
“I liked to have never gotten it off the intake manifold,” George told me. “The old gasket was like glue. I had to pry it off with a paint knife.”
I asked George to help me with some things on my car in return. I need new wiper blades front and rear and an oil change. I don’t want to get entangled with mom to do all that. It will get too complicated. George assured me we will get to work on my car soon as well.
Mom bought me all kinds of “steam in bag” vegetables with sauce. I am excited to try out the different varieties. I also got an interesting variety of fruit – mom having bought me six gooseberries, my favorite. I had told mom not to buy me anymore more fish steaks as they had grown, well, fishy. Well, six cans of fish steaks were in the bag and Maggie will get those. She loves stinky stuff.
“Did you have a good day off?” I asked dad last night.
“I stayed in my pajamas and read books until lunch,” Dad replied, grinning. “Then I took a bath, dressed and went to eat at Rodger’s Barbeque.”
“What did you have?” I asked, always intrigued about food.
“I had the super que and an order of fries.”
“Yum!” I exclaimed. “I guess that explains why the phone was off the hook all day.”
“I wasn’t about to get tangled in pharmacy stuff today,” dad said.
Dad works so very hard running his business and it is nice to hear about days such as yesterday when he can relax and do dad stuff. He was in an uncommonly good mood last night because of it.
“Did mom ask you any questions today?” I asked, jokingly.
“Oh gawd!” dad said, sounding exasperated. “I never get a day off from that!”
We both laughed and laughed. That’s my mom for you. I told you she was having a “big hair” day.
“You sure that toothache isn’t going to cause your schizophrenia to act up?” mom asked me, concerned, this afternoon. “You know what stress can do to you. It’ll make you crazy.”
Mom popped the trunk for me to get my groceries out. She sat in the car asking me more fretting questions all the while my brow wrinkled with frustration and aggravation. You could hear Maggie loudly yelping on the inside that mom was here she was so excited.
“I’m not going to the Dentist unless the Tylenol and aspirin stops working,” I told her. “I have a phobia about dentists and barbers.”
I started to walk through the yard carrying four bags of groceries.
“That infection is going to eat your brain out!” mom hollered back at me frustrated.
I smiled, but didn’t look back. I finally got all my groceries in and was mad at mom because she said she was too tired to walk across the yard to see Maggie. She just sat in the car directing things. It was like taking a kid’s Christmas away for Maggie. Mom was having what me and dad call a “big hair” day – her hair was all prettily done and she was all cocky, opinionated, and sure of herself. It is always interesting when she has these days because she is like a different mom – more like a real mother or parent I should say.
A few days ago, I reinstalled a site meter just to see what kind of traffic the blog was getting. I had no idea and comments are a poor indicator of the actual amount of people stopping by. I was pleasantly surprised to see quite a few people still reading. This greatly encourages me to keep on writing and sharing my life with others. Here is a look at the stats since I put that sitemeter on the blog a week ago…
I made the mistake of telling George yesterday that I can rebuild carburetors. Well, George has already ordered a rebuild kit at a local auto parts store and wants me to rebuild the two barrel carburetor on his new Caprice. I reluctantly agreed. It will give me something to do at night for about a week. It is an intricate process though. I hope I don’t screw it up. It has been years since I fiddled with one.
Today is one of my favorite days – grocery day. My only requests were two large cans of tuna, dill pickle relish, and more Louisiana hot sauce. Mom will fill in the blanks so to speak. Mom will always buy me something new and interesting and I look forward to that. We are also continuing our fruit and vegetable theme – me doing so well lately on that diet. I really think my healthy diet lately has improved my mental health, and it really helps me not practicing the bulimia anymore either. I realized I was malnourished.
Dad asked me last night what I wanted Helen to fix for this Friday’s supper. “Have Helen cook her fried fish supper,” I said. “I want fish, french fries, hushpuppies, and cole slaw.” Dad thought it was a great idea and said we would have it if Helen could find that special kind of fish she has to have to prepare it. You can only find it at the Piggly Wiggly.
“Niggas think they own the road!” George exclaimed after sitting down in my den early this morning after work. “Black people walk on the sidewalk, but niggas get out in the road and won’t get off.”
I laughed, wondering where this was going.
“What happened?” I asked as I took my morning dose of Tylenol with a soda George had brought me.
“Two niggas were just walking in the street and I had to slow down to miss them,” George said, perturbed. “They gave me the stare niggas give when they are fronting you. I honked my horn, rolled down the window, and hollered, ‘Get out of the road, niggas!’”
I laughed again. I hadn’t seen George this animated since the day we talked about my “needs” and I told him I was chemically castrated by my medications.
“Next time I am going to run over dem sons of bitches,” George said huffily. “That will teach dem niggas a lesson.”
George may be sober these days, but he is still the same ole George I have always loved and befriended years ago.
“Aren’t you hungry?” George then asked me.
“I ate a bowl of the spiciest chili I have ever eaten for breakfast this morning!” I replied, still laughing.
“I was going to tell you to come home with me and let’s get momma to fix us a big breakfast.”
George left for home to get Mrs. Florene to cook him up some grub, and I couldn’t wait to get to this computer to write about this morning. It was like old times except without all the beer and drunken silliness.
Maggie slept with me all night which is always a joy. I sleep better with her in the bed – her rhythmic breathing lulling me to sleep. She didn’t scratch and carry on waking me up either. She moved into the den this morning to finish her beauty rest – my bedroom being the warmest room in the house and the den is nice and cool; the coldest room in the house.
Well, I finally got my computer situated. Everything is fixed and running tic tock. I am not installing any more programs no matter how much I want Google Buzz or that little application that allows me to organize my iPod. The more programs you install, the more Window’s registry becomes bloated and slow. I will digress and say I bumped my front side bus up to 1700 mHz again for an over clock. I just couldn’t resist, but things are running fine. I am doing a backup this morning to my D:Storage drive and that way I can always revert to this point if need be.
“I’m calling the dentist in the morning at eight,” mom told me last night when she brought by my fast food supper. “Your infection in your tooth is going to travel to your brain and kill you.”
LOL! Leave it to mom to think of the worst case scenario. I’ve had a toothache and mom has been doling out Tylenol and aspirin to me the past few days.
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me to the dentist,” I told her adamantly. “They are going to want to do a root canal. I can’t take all that.”
“Well, at least let me call to get you something for pain and an antibiotic.”
“Mom, you know I can’t take prescription pain killers,” I replied scoldingly.
Mom sighed frustrated. I smiled. Mom drove down to the pharmacy to get me more Tylenol and aspirin in preparation for the next few days. I love my mother, but if you’re not careful, she can get you into more appointments than you can handle quick. She has six this week with the eye doctor, various medical doctors, and hair appointments. As dad says, “She’s the appointed one!”
“I’ve driven by three times waiting on your company to leave,” George said over his cell phone. “I’ve got two sodas and some of those chili cheese Fritos you are always looking for, but can’t find.”
I laughed.
“Come on!” I said, excited. “That maroon Cadillac out front is just some stranger who broke down.”
George brought me the sodas and the big bag of Fritos. I thanked him profusely. He had made my day. My friend Liz calls these “little joys”. Next? Mom is bringing Arby’s and two Cokes from the pharmacy. More little joys. Maggie is already sitting in the front window whining – knowing our Monday night routine. Mom is her second favorite person behind Charlie.
Maggie was moping around this morning so I decided to give her a treat to perk her up. She loves sweet foods. I gave her a whole package of strawberry Poptarts. She immediately ate one and then proceeded to carry the other one around in her mouth for an hour. She couldn’t go bury it in the backyard as we were in a downpour. She wanted to so badly and would stick her head out the dog door only to retreat. I laughed and laughed. Her dog instincts were telling her to save one for a rainy day.
Today marks George’s sixth week of sobriety. Who would have thought he could make it this far? He has sort of traded one addiction for others though. He chain smokes cigars and has an insatiable appetite for sex these days. Mrs. Florene is still planning a sobriety party for George tentatively next weekend.
I have a limited functionality version of Photoshop that came with my digital camera. Well, today it stopped working and the install became corrupted. No about of uninstalling and installing would solve it. I had to completely reinstall Windows 7 to get it to work again. It seems I am stuck in this long string of bad computer luck. Now? My DVD-rom drives aren’t showing up in My Computer. I am currently activating iTunes Genius which can take an hour and hope a restart will fix the drive issue. It is always something. If I get everything sorted on this computer today then that’s it. I am not installing anything else or changing anything about this computer. No more over clocking either as much as I want the extra CPU power.
Some days do you feel like not writing? I had the hardest time today coming up with something to write. It has been a completely uneventful day as far as my social life goes. I’ve been all alone today other than Maggie and not a single known soul has come by. I didn’t even go eat breakfast with George and Mrs. Florene as I wasn’t feeling well after getting up at 2 AM. Well, I am off to install more programs and to get my computer situated. Email is next to tackle. I have three different accounts to set up.
