George really has it made. He has a mother who cooks and cleans and keeps the house spotless. All George has to do is occasionally drive around carrying patrons for money and drink beer. I find myself jealous of him. I know I shouldn’t think that way. The man is on the way to cirrhosis of the liver; a not so enviable proposition. His mother loves him unconditionally though.
It has been hot as hell today. I have sat here and sweated for hours. I know I should break down and turn on the AC. I just don’t want to spend that money. I am determined I can prove to my father that I can pay my own way. I am hell bent I guess you could say.
I am unsure what to do about my father. We haven’t spoken since the trip to my psychiatrist. It all seems so silly. Life is too short for such games I think. I broke down and cried for the longest time today; great deep sobs. I just don’t know what to do. I thought of returning control back over to my father to ease things, but then I would be just as miserable. It is a conundrum to say the least. I love the man so deeply. His love is a conditional love though.
I wish I could just disappear; step out into the night and no longer return. I have thought of packing up everything I can carry in my car and driving off. I am tired of being punished for just being me. That is the way it feels as if I am being punished. The controlling, manipulative aspects of my father drive me crazy. I promise you that I am not a bad man. I think I am a kind and caring fellow. I would go to the farthest lengths for a friend in need.
I am tired and I think I shall sleep. It is time to call it a day. At least in blissful sleep, I don’t have to think of all that ire’s me.
Monday, August 07, 2006
A House Full…
Charlie and his family is showing their house for sale and had come over here to stay for awhile. I started out a few days ago and went camping to escape this crowded house. I had a wonderful time. It was so nice to get away and get in the woods. I was greeted by a pleasant light show of lightening after sunset both days.
I should have said I was going, but it was a spur of the moment thing. I had several phone calls concerned about me and many emails. I am sorry if I have caused any concern. I am okay. I just sometimes need to get away and there is nothing more than I love than camping. It was long overdue.
I should have said I was going, but it was a spur of the moment thing. I had several phone calls concerned about me and many emails. I am sorry if I have caused any concern. I am okay. I just sometimes need to get away and there is nothing more than I love than camping. It was long overdue.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Cleaning Up…
I took a box of trash bags down to Ferret’s campsite and cleaned it up. I had two big bags of trash when all was said and done. Ferret was nowhere to be seen. I am going to make a concerted effort to find him today. According to Sherman, he has been walking the town picking up cans. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.
Am I being meddling? I worry that I am overstepping my bounds. I just know from my own homeless experience that I would have loved for someone to help. I hope Ferret feels the same. I don’t want to be a pest though. That is the least of my intentions.
Am I being meddling? I worry that I am overstepping my bounds. I just know from my own homeless experience that I would have loved for someone to help. I hope Ferret feels the same. I don’t want to be a pest though. That is the least of my intentions.
Sleeping Beauty
Carolyn called awhile ago and asked if she could come over here to sleep.
“I don’t have my air conditioner on,” I replied. “But we can put a fan to blow upon you.”
“I don’t care. I just want to be near you,” She said. “I will sleep better knowing you are near.”
I gave in and shut my windows and turned on that noxiously aggravating air conditioner. Carolyn showed up shortly.
“You know I love you,” She said. “I am glad you are not going away.”
“I love you too,” I said, but felt funny saying it.
I sat on the bed as Carolyn undressed down to her panties and took off her bra.
“Got a t-shirt?” She asked.
I went to my chest of drawers and pulled one out. I smelled it to make sure it was clean and not musty from disuse. I handed it to Carolyn and she put it on.
“You go about your normal activities,” She said. “You will not wake me.”
“I will try to stay quiet,” I replied.
This morning was one of the rare mornings that I actually took the time to make up my bed. I pulled back the covers and Carolyn crawled inside.
“Oh, this feels so good,” She said as she wrapped her arm around one of my pillows and curled up into my covers.
I started to walk out of the room.
“Stay with me for awhile,” Carolyn said.
I sat down by the bed and held her hand.
“Could you ever see us married?” She asked.
The M word. It caught me by surprise. I didn’t know what to say in return.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” She said. “I apologize.”
“No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all,” I replied.
I held her hand for the longest time until I was sure she was fast asleep. I gently tucked it under the covers and left the room. It is so nice having her over here. I know I should be cautious, but I get so lonely for female company. My family would die if I were to marry a woman ten years my senior. I wonder if I and Carolyn have a future or will remain fuck buddies. Either way, I am glad she is over here and in my bed.
“I don’t have my air conditioner on,” I replied. “But we can put a fan to blow upon you.”
“I don’t care. I just want to be near you,” She said. “I will sleep better knowing you are near.”
I gave in and shut my windows and turned on that noxiously aggravating air conditioner. Carolyn showed up shortly.
“You know I love you,” She said. “I am glad you are not going away.”
“I love you too,” I said, but felt funny saying it.
I sat on the bed as Carolyn undressed down to her panties and took off her bra.
“Got a t-shirt?” She asked.
I went to my chest of drawers and pulled one out. I smelled it to make sure it was clean and not musty from disuse. I handed it to Carolyn and she put it on.
“You go about your normal activities,” She said. “You will not wake me.”
“I will try to stay quiet,” I replied.
This morning was one of the rare mornings that I actually took the time to make up my bed. I pulled back the covers and Carolyn crawled inside.
“Oh, this feels so good,” She said as she wrapped her arm around one of my pillows and curled up into my covers.
I started to walk out of the room.
“Stay with me for awhile,” Carolyn said.
I sat down by the bed and held her hand.
“Could you ever see us married?” She asked.
The M word. It caught me by surprise. I didn’t know what to say in return.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” She said. “I apologize.”
“No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all,” I replied.
I held her hand for the longest time until I was sure she was fast asleep. I gently tucked it under the covers and left the room. It is so nice having her over here. I know I should be cautious, but I get so lonely for female company. My family would die if I were to marry a woman ten years my senior. I wonder if I and Carolyn have a future or will remain fuck buddies. Either way, I am glad she is over here and in my bed.
Friday, August 04, 2006
A shower a day keeps the doctor away…
I took another long shower this afternoon. The hot water felt titillating. I scrubbed every crook and cranny of my body. I then got out of the shower and toweled off. I blow dried my hair and then shaved again. My face is baby smooth. I love that feeling.
I dressed and then walked into my bedroom. Carolyn was fast asleep.
“I love you. You know that?” I thought. “I will always be here for you.”
I walked out of my bedroom into the kitchen and started supper. I didn’t know if Carolyn was going to eat so I cooked for two. “I sure could use some of Sherman’s Mom’s cooking right now,” I thought. I proceeded to bake two chicken breasts in lemon and pepper and fixed a side of squash with Vidalia onions, and a pan of cornbread. It was ready in about an hour.
Carolyn came walking into the room and wrapped her arms around me.
“I love you,” She said. “Something smells wonderful.”
“I cooked supper,” I replied. “Are you hungry?”
“I am famished,” She then said.
I fixed us two plates of food and we sat at my kitchen table eating.
“For a guy, you are a great cook,” Carolyn replied.
“Well, thanks,” I said as I blushed.
We finished our meals and I took the dishes into the kitchen to wash them.
“Let me do that,” Carolyn said. “You cooked supper. It is the least I can do.”
I walked into the den to check my email. Alas, no one had decided to email me. I could hear the clamor of Carolyn washing the dishes. She then walked into my den.
“I need to head on home and get ready for work,” She said. “I love you.”
“I love you too sweetheart,” I replied. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Well, I hope we don’t get those damned lottery idiots,” Carolyn said.
I laughed and told her goodnight. I watched as she drove out of my driveway and headed for home.
I dressed and then walked into my bedroom. Carolyn was fast asleep.
“I love you. You know that?” I thought. “I will always be here for you.”
I walked out of my bedroom into the kitchen and started supper. I didn’t know if Carolyn was going to eat so I cooked for two. “I sure could use some of Sherman’s Mom’s cooking right now,” I thought. I proceeded to bake two chicken breasts in lemon and pepper and fixed a side of squash with Vidalia onions, and a pan of cornbread. It was ready in about an hour.
Carolyn came walking into the room and wrapped her arms around me.
“I love you,” She said. “Something smells wonderful.”
“I cooked supper,” I replied. “Are you hungry?”
“I am famished,” She then said.
I fixed us two plates of food and we sat at my kitchen table eating.
“For a guy, you are a great cook,” Carolyn replied.
“Well, thanks,” I said as I blushed.
We finished our meals and I took the dishes into the kitchen to wash them.
“Let me do that,” Carolyn said. “You cooked supper. It is the least I can do.”
I walked into the den to check my email. Alas, no one had decided to email me. I could hear the clamor of Carolyn washing the dishes. She then walked into my den.
“I need to head on home and get ready for work,” She said. “I love you.”
“I love you too sweetheart,” I replied. “Don’t work too hard.”
“Well, I hope we don’t get those damned lottery idiots,” Carolyn said.
I laughed and told her goodnight. I watched as she drove out of my driveway and headed for home.
Life as a mess…
I made it out to the Mental Health clinic. I had to wait a long time as they had to send someone out to get my shot from my father’s pharmacy. The nurse injected it and I already feel better. From now on, they are going to order it. I also talked with my case worker and we drew up a plan of action. She is going to drive me down to the social security office in Opelika to get my disability allotment turned over to her. We will have to fill out several forms and then all will be done.
I then drove over to Sarah Jay’s and parked. I ran across the highway and made my way over the railroad tracks back into the woods. Ferret was nowhere to be seen. His campsite was a mess. There is trash everywhere. He really needs to get that crap cleaned up. Maybe tomorrow I will take down some trash bags and help him clean it up. I fear it is going to get him in trouble. He is camping on railroad property.
I then drove over to the shopping center to see if Big S had seen Ferret.
“No, I ain’t seen him and you don’t want to as well,” Big S said. “Dat nigga be fucked up.”
I reached into my wallet and paid Big S back the five dollars I owed him.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“He has been acting all crazy and shit. It is dat mouthwash. It has fucked him up,” Big S replied.
I sat on the bench next to Big S, smoking a cigarette, and pondering what to do.
“We really need to help Ferret,” I then said.
“I ain’t foolin’ with dat nigga,” Big S replied.
“Great, just great!” I thought. I am in this all alone.
Big S then went on this long tirade about getting a citation for loitering. I completely zoned him out and barely remember what he had said. I had Ferret on my mind. After Big S finished with his tirade, I bid him farewell and drove on home.
I don’t know what I am going to do about Ferret. I guess I could start giving him some money so he will buy beer instead of mouthwash. I am just unsure if I can afford to do that. I will have to talk to Sherman and see what he thinks in the next day or two.
I then drove over to Sarah Jay’s and parked. I ran across the highway and made my way over the railroad tracks back into the woods. Ferret was nowhere to be seen. His campsite was a mess. There is trash everywhere. He really needs to get that crap cleaned up. Maybe tomorrow I will take down some trash bags and help him clean it up. I fear it is going to get him in trouble. He is camping on railroad property.
I then drove over to the shopping center to see if Big S had seen Ferret.
“No, I ain’t seen him and you don’t want to as well,” Big S said. “Dat nigga be fucked up.”
I reached into my wallet and paid Big S back the five dollars I owed him.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“He has been acting all crazy and shit. It is dat mouthwash. It has fucked him up,” Big S replied.
I sat on the bench next to Big S, smoking a cigarette, and pondering what to do.
“We really need to help Ferret,” I then said.
“I ain’t foolin’ with dat nigga,” Big S replied.
“Great, just great!” I thought. I am in this all alone.
Big S then went on this long tirade about getting a citation for loitering. I completely zoned him out and barely remember what he had said. I had Ferret on my mind. After Big S finished with his tirade, I bid him farewell and drove on home.
I don’t know what I am going to do about Ferret. I guess I could start giving him some money so he will buy beer instead of mouthwash. I am just unsure if I can afford to do that. I will have to talk to Sherman and see what he thinks in the next day or two.
The Magical Hour
The magical hour is soon to start. It is about 15 minutes away. The first light of dawn is on the horizon. I call it the magical hour in that this is when the birds first start to call in the morning. They create this great cacophony of noise. When I was homeless, I used to could tell the time by the magical hour. I knew dawn was on the way when it started and it often woke me up. Well, the magical hour just started as I was writing this. Here’s to another day. It still brings me joy to hear it. During those long, cold winter nights when I was homeless, the magical hour was a welcomed occurrence. It meant that the warmer temperatures of the day where on the way. Damn, those were some cold nights.
I don’t have much planned for today. I need to get on the ball as far as setting up an appointment with my therapist and scheduling my injections. I am way past due for my shot. I rebelled against my father this last time and didn’t get it. I can tell a big difference without it. My “ghosting” is off the scale; nothing like seeing a bunch of holographic looking cats lying around your home.
Also, I want to get down to the river and see about Ferret. George told me yesterday that he is not doing well. He said he looked guant as if he was not eating enough. I hope he will walk across the highway with me and eat lunch at Sarah Jay’s. I worry about Ferret as I can see much of myself in him when I was homeless. That hard drinking will really take a toll on you. Mouthwash ain’t exactly the beverage of choice for burgeoning alcoholics. George said that is all he is drinking these days.
Well, let me take a shower and shave. The mental health clinic opens at 8 AM and I want to be first in line. I want to get that taken care of and then I am going to see about Ferret. We might just go fishing for fun. I think Ferret needs a break and I am going to give him one. A good meal and some fishing sounds pretty fun, don’t you think?
I don’t have much planned for today. I need to get on the ball as far as setting up an appointment with my therapist and scheduling my injections. I am way past due for my shot. I rebelled against my father this last time and didn’t get it. I can tell a big difference without it. My “ghosting” is off the scale; nothing like seeing a bunch of holographic looking cats lying around your home.
Also, I want to get down to the river and see about Ferret. George told me yesterday that he is not doing well. He said he looked guant as if he was not eating enough. I hope he will walk across the highway with me and eat lunch at Sarah Jay’s. I worry about Ferret as I can see much of myself in him when I was homeless. That hard drinking will really take a toll on you. Mouthwash ain’t exactly the beverage of choice for burgeoning alcoholics. George said that is all he is drinking these days.
Well, let me take a shower and shave. The mental health clinic opens at 8 AM and I want to be first in line. I want to get that taken care of and then I am going to see about Ferret. We might just go fishing for fun. I think Ferret needs a break and I am going to give him one. A good meal and some fishing sounds pretty fun, don’t you think?
Don’t Take Maggie Away…
My father came over to take Maggie away tonight. Late in the evenings, I leave my back door open to let her come and go. I feel she enjoys being outside and running. You should see the pile of detritus she has placed at my back door to chew upon. For some reason, she was barking furiously tonight. Something had got her ire up tonight. My father came over with a flashlight trying to coax her into coming home with him. He didn’t say one word to me as we sat in my backyard as he petted her. He managed to get Maggie into his backyard and then I bolted into action. “Oh, hell no, I am not going to stand for this,” I thought. I ran down into my parent’s backyard and called Maggie. She immediately came to me. I picked her up and brought her home and closed the back door. Another method of subterfuge and control had been thwarted.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Trashed as they say…
George did come over and drank enough beer for the two of us. I worry about him. His doctor has told him not to drink like he does, but he continues. I drove George on home and then walked the short distance back to my house. Before I walked on home, I and George’s mother had a conversation as she was cooking supper in the kitchen. I told her of what had happened recently.
“Honey, you don’t need to go away,” She said. “You are more level headed than my son.”
“I know,” I replied. “My father means well, but he can just be overbearing. He says I am a danger to myself and others.”
“You, dangerous?” George’s mother scoffed. “I have met many more dangerous men than you and they are running free.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied.
“Sweetheart, stay and eat supper with us,” She asked.
George’s mother was cooking a pot roast with mashed potatoes and green beans.
“It smells so wonderful, but I must get home. I am still very tired from yesterday,” I replied.
“Honey, I am gonna give you some advice,” She then said. “You take it for what it’s worth. Don’t ever let them lock you up. You are a good boy and you help see about my son. He needs all the help he can get. That makes you a good man.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied. “You know I love George to death.”
“Well, he needs a friend like you. Most people would just let him drive home drunk, but you took the time to bring him and now you have to walk home.” She said.
“Well, I worry he is going to get another DUI,” I replied. “I don’t want to see him in jail.”
“That’s why I like you,” She said. “Even for a white boy, you are a good man.”
I bid Mrs. Jones goodbye and walked on home. It was a beautiful, if warm, southern summer afternoon. I took in all my surroundings thinking that I am so lucky to experience all of this. A few days ago, I thought I was a goner. Now, the trees, the birds, and the wind in my hair are all so titillating. I am enjoying life for a change.
“Honey, you don’t need to go away,” She said. “You are more level headed than my son.”
“I know,” I replied. “My father means well, but he can just be overbearing. He says I am a danger to myself and others.”
“You, dangerous?” George’s mother scoffed. “I have met many more dangerous men than you and they are running free.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied.
“Sweetheart, stay and eat supper with us,” She asked.
George’s mother was cooking a pot roast with mashed potatoes and green beans.
“It smells so wonderful, but I must get home. I am still very tired from yesterday,” I replied.
“Honey, I am gonna give you some advice,” She then said. “You take it for what it’s worth. Don’t ever let them lock you up. You are a good boy and you help see about my son. He needs all the help he can get. That makes you a good man.”
“Well, thank you ma’am,” I replied. “You know I love George to death.”
“Well, he needs a friend like you. Most people would just let him drive home drunk, but you took the time to bring him and now you have to walk home.” She said.
“Well, I worry he is going to get another DUI,” I replied. “I don’t want to see him in jail.”
“That’s why I like you,” She said. “Even for a white boy, you are a good man.”
I bid Mrs. Jones goodbye and walked on home. It was a beautiful, if warm, southern summer afternoon. I took in all my surroundings thinking that I am so lucky to experience all of this. A few days ago, I thought I was a goner. Now, the trees, the birds, and the wind in my hair are all so titillating. I am enjoying life for a change.
A Celebratory Call
George called me early this morning to find out the news.
“So, is yo ass goin’ away?” George asked.
“No man, I am free,” I replied.
“Goddammit, I knew you could beat those bastards!” George exclaimed. “So when are we gonna party in celebration?”
“I promised my doctor I would only drink one or two beers a night as I browsed the internet,” I replied. “She said that was perfectly acceptable. I just can’t drink twelve or more like I used to.”
“Well, damn man,” George said. “I was hoping me and you could tie one on.”
“You can still drink,” I replied. “I will just be there in spirit.”
“Well, I am going to go get a case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice and will be over in a minute,” George said. “I am going to celebrate for you.”
I laughed.
“Okay man,” I replied. “But I am driving you home, agreed?”
“You got it brotha,” George said. “You got it. You can drive me home any day. I am just glad yo ass ain’t goin’ away.”
It is not quite 9 AM and George is coming over to get drunk in celebration of my freedom. He has far better stamina and a stronger stomach than me. I was going to miss him more than anybody if I had to go away though. Despite his flaws, he is a super guy and will really look after you. I just hope after he gets a few beers in him that he will not want to drive. I have been known to hide his keys on occasion. :-)
“So, is yo ass goin’ away?” George asked.
“No man, I am free,” I replied.
“Goddammit, I knew you could beat those bastards!” George exclaimed. “So when are we gonna party in celebration?”
“I promised my doctor I would only drink one or two beers a night as I browsed the internet,” I replied. “She said that was perfectly acceptable. I just can’t drink twelve or more like I used to.”
“Well, damn man,” George said. “I was hoping me and you could tie one on.”
“You can still drink,” I replied. “I will just be there in spirit.”
“Well, I am going to go get a case of Milwaukee’s Best Ice and will be over in a minute,” George said. “I am going to celebrate for you.”
I laughed.
“Okay man,” I replied. “But I am driving you home, agreed?”
“You got it brotha,” George said. “You got it. You can drive me home any day. I am just glad yo ass ain’t goin’ away.”
It is not quite 9 AM and George is coming over to get drunk in celebration of my freedom. He has far better stamina and a stronger stomach than me. I was going to miss him more than anybody if I had to go away though. Despite his flaws, he is a super guy and will really look after you. I just hope after he gets a few beers in him that he will not want to drive. I have been known to hide his keys on occasion. :-)
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
A Jingle in my Pocket
It feels so nice to have money in my wallet. I drove down to the local Wendy’s and ordered a double w/ cheese and a small frosty. I sat there smiling thinking that it was all mine. I paid for it. I came home and opened up my windows and backdoor and let Maggie run for awhile. You should have seen her. She had been cooped up inside all day and was so glad to run free. I could see myself in her. I feel as if I had been cooped up for months now as well. Tears streamed down my cheeks as she would occasionally check back in with me to see if I was still here. She wanted to know if daddy was okay.
“You go girl!” I said jubilantly to egg her on.
She tore across the backyard furiously barking at some unforeseen threat with her tail held high. Most likely it was just a deer or a turkey.
I thought about what happened today. Can you imagine that in America people will try to take your freedom away? My father gave it a good try, but failed. I hold no ill will towards him. I am sure that in his mind he thought it was the best thing. I am just not like my mother though. I am not willing to play the subservient sick relative who must be coddled. I am so young yet and have so much life to look forward too. My mother’s life is pretty much done and over with. She will spend the rest of her days sleeping away in her bed with her cat lying atop her. I find that sad because even in her late eighties my grandmother was such a vibrant and busy woman.
I digress and will not get into maudlin subjects tonight. I thank you all for reading and the comments on my last post brought joy to my soul. I felt as if I was sharing my good fortune with all of you. Well, let me go have my last pipe of the day and amble towards bed. I haven’t slept in two days and my eyelids feel like lead weights. Good night and God bless.
“You go girl!” I said jubilantly to egg her on.
She tore across the backyard furiously barking at some unforeseen threat with her tail held high. Most likely it was just a deer or a turkey.
I thought about what happened today. Can you imagine that in America people will try to take your freedom away? My father gave it a good try, but failed. I hold no ill will towards him. I am sure that in his mind he thought it was the best thing. I am just not like my mother though. I am not willing to play the subservient sick relative who must be coddled. I am so young yet and have so much life to look forward too. My mother’s life is pretty much done and over with. She will spend the rest of her days sleeping away in her bed with her cat lying atop her. I find that sad because even in her late eighties my grandmother was such a vibrant and busy woman.
I digress and will not get into maudlin subjects tonight. I thank you all for reading and the comments on my last post brought joy to my soul. I felt as if I was sharing my good fortune with all of you. Well, let me go have my last pipe of the day and amble towards bed. I haven’t slept in two days and my eyelids feel like lead weights. Good night and God bless.
The Rumors of my Demise have been Greatly Exaggerated :^)
My doctor sided with me the whole way and dad was furious. He was livid as hell. I learned during the meeting that he had called a local Judge Crowder and tried to get me legally committed, but the judge said he had no probable cause. So, for the foreseeable future, I am free to live my life and there will be MANY changes. Below is a list of things that are to be changed.
My father will forcibly no longer have financial responsibility for my money. A mental health case worker will be assigned to be my representative payee and give me installments of my disability allotment. This is the same mental health clinic that I volunteered at before so I know everyone well.
All bills and utilities at this house will be put in my name so my father cannot threaten to cut off my internet as he has often done in the past when upset with me.
I must start seeing a therapist on a weekly basis and work on my “personality” disorder. This is a condition that must be met.
My father still agreed to pay off my mortgage, but the new house must be put into my name along with all utilities. Dad was going to keep it in his name.
I must report to my case worker on a monthly basis for her to look over my bills to make sure all are being paid properly and promptly. This is for my benefit and they assured me this was not “Big Brother” looking over my shoulder.
My car title is in my name but the insurance is in my father’s. This is to be changed to my name and I am to be responsible for making the half yearly payment of $318 dollars.
All my injections and medications will now be filled and injected out at the mental health clinic by an RN. My doctor said it was best my father not be involved with this due to possible conflicts of interest.
I can’t tell you how estatic I am. I feel like an adult again. *cue William Wallace voice, “FREEEEEDOM!” I gladly accept all this responsible as it will give me a purpose to life other than writing and hanging out with the gang.
I am sad to report that my father was very mean to me afterwards. He said, “Son, you got what you wanted. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it.” He feels I am not able to handle all of this. Quite the contrary I wanted to tell him.
I have so much I want to write about, but will close for now. I am just emotionally and mentally drained from this experience. I feel as if some great burden has been lifted and also like I have been hit by a train. Thanks, to those of you that commented and showed me support. I promise to repay you all with many interesting stories of Sherman and the gang in the upcoming weeks. Together, we are going to make this blog grand!
My father will forcibly no longer have financial responsibility for my money. A mental health case worker will be assigned to be my representative payee and give me installments of my disability allotment. This is the same mental health clinic that I volunteered at before so I know everyone well.
All bills and utilities at this house will be put in my name so my father cannot threaten to cut off my internet as he has often done in the past when upset with me.
I must start seeing a therapist on a weekly basis and work on my “personality” disorder. This is a condition that must be met.
My father still agreed to pay off my mortgage, but the new house must be put into my name along with all utilities. Dad was going to keep it in his name.
I must report to my case worker on a monthly basis for her to look over my bills to make sure all are being paid properly and promptly. This is for my benefit and they assured me this was not “Big Brother” looking over my shoulder.
My car title is in my name but the insurance is in my father’s. This is to be changed to my name and I am to be responsible for making the half yearly payment of $318 dollars.
All my injections and medications will now be filled and injected out at the mental health clinic by an RN. My doctor said it was best my father not be involved with this due to possible conflicts of interest.
I can’t tell you how estatic I am. I feel like an adult again. *cue William Wallace voice, “FREEEEEDOM!” I gladly accept all this responsible as it will give me a purpose to life other than writing and hanging out with the gang.
I am sad to report that my father was very mean to me afterwards. He said, “Son, you got what you wanted. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it.” He feels I am not able to handle all of this. Quite the contrary I wanted to tell him.
I have so much I want to write about, but will close for now. I am just emotionally and mentally drained from this experience. I feel as if some great burden has been lifted and also like I have been hit by a train. Thanks, to those of you that commented and showed me support. I promise to repay you all with many interesting stories of Sherman and the gang in the upcoming weeks. Together, we are going to make this blog grand!
Start of a new week……
Today is Monday. I always traditionally hated Mondays because it meant going back to work. I still feel that feeling even though I am presently unemployed. Saturday and Sunday just have this different feel to them.
My great aunt Myrtis stayed the weekend with me to attend Aunt Jessie’s birthday party. To be eighty seven years old, she is such a busy body. You would never know her age by her looks or activity level. She washed all my clothes and folded and ironed them. She cleaned the house aft to stern and kept me doing projects as well. Take out the trash. Water the flowers. Clean the refrigerator. Sweep the back porch. Clean the vines and ivy off the air conditioning unit. The list goes on and on but it was all good. The upper house and my apartment are spotless and it feels good. I sleep better in an immaculately clean house for some reason. All just seems right with the world.
She got up very early this morning. I awoke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and walked up stairs in my robe. I then got us some breakfast started. I cooked some Jimmy Dean hot sausage, scrambled cheese eggs, and some buttered toast. We opened a fresh jar of strawberry preserves to spread on our toast. She always brings me lots of homemade canned items such as this to put in my pantry and I appreciate it.
After breakfast, we packed up all her stuff and I drove the 30 miles to take her back home. She still lives in her late sister’s house in Waverly. It is like stepping back in time in that the house has been the same for thirty or more years. Life seems to stand still in Waverly as time marches by outside its city limits.
I then drove down to the pond to check on the water level and the progress of the dock. My father spent over $12,000 dollars to redo the pond and clear out the spring. My brother-in-law is also building a dock and I wanted to see his progress. Things looked great and the water level is steadily rising. I walked up into the woods to check on the spring and its output. Water was steadily flowing out of the ground into the channel box and flowing down into the basin of the pond. I get excited by this and hope it fills up soon. It is an awesome place to camp and my father is going to build a cabin over here next summer. It will be a great place to stay.
Well, I must get out and do some yard work. I don’t know how long I will last as the heat and humidity are oppressive. My motto is…..do a little bit everyday and it adds up to big dividends in the long run. Take care and I may post later if something interesting happens today.
My great aunt Myrtis stayed the weekend with me to attend Aunt Jessie’s birthday party. To be eighty seven years old, she is such a busy body. You would never know her age by her looks or activity level. She washed all my clothes and folded and ironed them. She cleaned the house aft to stern and kept me doing projects as well. Take out the trash. Water the flowers. Clean the refrigerator. Sweep the back porch. Clean the vines and ivy off the air conditioning unit. The list goes on and on but it was all good. The upper house and my apartment are spotless and it feels good. I sleep better in an immaculately clean house for some reason. All just seems right with the world.
She got up very early this morning. I awoke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and walked up stairs in my robe. I then got us some breakfast started. I cooked some Jimmy Dean hot sausage, scrambled cheese eggs, and some buttered toast. We opened a fresh jar of strawberry preserves to spread on our toast. She always brings me lots of homemade canned items such as this to put in my pantry and I appreciate it.
After breakfast, we packed up all her stuff and I drove the 30 miles to take her back home. She still lives in her late sister’s house in Waverly. It is like stepping back in time in that the house has been the same for thirty or more years. Life seems to stand still in Waverly as time marches by outside its city limits.
I then drove down to the pond to check on the water level and the progress of the dock. My father spent over $12,000 dollars to redo the pond and clear out the spring. My brother-in-law is also building a dock and I wanted to see his progress. Things looked great and the water level is steadily rising. I walked up into the woods to check on the spring and its output. Water was steadily flowing out of the ground into the channel box and flowing down into the basin of the pond. I get excited by this and hope it fills up soon. It is an awesome place to camp and my father is going to build a cabin over here next summer. It will be a great place to stay.
Well, I must get out and do some yard work. I don’t know how long I will last as the heat and humidity are oppressive. My motto is…..do a little bit everyday and it adds up to big dividends in the long run. Take care and I may post later if something interesting happens today.
Round one and the fight is over…
A cool breeze blows through my apartment. “Ah, these are times meant for living,” I thought. It is 5:30 AM and the katydids have long since stopped calling. Their night of courting is finished. They have retired for the night and so should I, but I can’t sleep. I have so much on mind. The only sound drifting through my windows is that of crickets and it is a pleasant sound as well. I keep thinking it might be the last time I get to hear them for a long time.
I got out my suitcase and lay it upon my bed. I opened it and a musty odor emanated from disuse. “You know I thought getting out of homelessness would make things easier,” I thought. “They only seem to get harder.” I zipped up my suitcase and put it back on the top shelf of my closet. “You will be used again some other day,” I thought again with a renewed resolve. Then I thought of dad and how disappointed he is going to be in me when I refuse to go into that treatment center for six months.
Round One
“In this corner with have the surefooted and sure of himself man who controls things obsessively. He is a successful business owner with a stressful job. He has more friends than he can count and they are all successful and wealthy. He has full control of his faculties,” The announcer lauds. “Two of his children went on to be doctors.” *The crowd claps and cheers*
“And in the opposite corner we have the shy introvert with little material wealth. He is unsure of himself and his future. He lived in a tent for six months in the winter and has had one failed marriage. His friends are a drunk, a dumpster diver, a homeless man, and a panhandler. His greatest aspiration is to be a writer. *The crowd laughs at that last statement.* He has a mental illness and supposed alcoholism.” *The crowd jeers*
“Are you two men ready to rumble?” The announcer and referee asks?
We both hit our boxing gloves together and proceed to meet at the center of the ring. The bell rings and the fight starts. My father lands one punch and I am down for the count upon the mat. I have no one to bring me smelling salts to revive me or to patch and clean the wound upon my forehead. I am all alone. That is how I fear tomorrow will go. My doctor is going to believe the sane man and not the mentally ill dude. Fight over; round one. I fear I will spend the rest of my days rocking in a chair, watching Judge Judy, as spittle oozes out of the corner of my mouth from being over medicated. Let’s expect the worst and hope for the best. Besides, I hate Judge Judy and don’t particularly like boxing.
I got out my suitcase and lay it upon my bed. I opened it and a musty odor emanated from disuse. “You know I thought getting out of homelessness would make things easier,” I thought. “They only seem to get harder.” I zipped up my suitcase and put it back on the top shelf of my closet. “You will be used again some other day,” I thought again with a renewed resolve. Then I thought of dad and how disappointed he is going to be in me when I refuse to go into that treatment center for six months.
Round One
“In this corner with have the surefooted and sure of himself man who controls things obsessively. He is a successful business owner with a stressful job. He has more friends than he can count and they are all successful and wealthy. He has full control of his faculties,” The announcer lauds. “Two of his children went on to be doctors.” *The crowd claps and cheers*
“And in the opposite corner we have the shy introvert with little material wealth. He is unsure of himself and his future. He lived in a tent for six months in the winter and has had one failed marriage. His friends are a drunk, a dumpster diver, a homeless man, and a panhandler. His greatest aspiration is to be a writer. *The crowd laughs at that last statement.* He has a mental illness and supposed alcoholism.” *The crowd jeers*
“Are you two men ready to rumble?” The announcer and referee asks?
We both hit our boxing gloves together and proceed to meet at the center of the ring. The bell rings and the fight starts. My father lands one punch and I am down for the count upon the mat. I have no one to bring me smelling salts to revive me or to patch and clean the wound upon my forehead. I am all alone. That is how I fear tomorrow will go. My doctor is going to believe the sane man and not the mentally ill dude. Fight over; round one. I fear I will spend the rest of my days rocking in a chair, watching Judge Judy, as spittle oozes out of the corner of my mouth from being over medicated. Let’s expect the worst and hope for the best. Besides, I hate Judge Judy and don’t particularly like boxing.
Past Two...
The clock just ticked past two. I have all my windows open and the Katydids are calling earnestly accompanied by the shrill staccato call of an insect I have yet to identify. I have all my windows and backdoor open so Maggie can come and go. She so loves to do this and at this late hour I don’t have to worry about her getting run over on the road. It seems we are both night owls these days. I find the peacefulness of these early hours comforting.
I am fraught with worry over tomorrow. I think this is shall I will handle it. I will let dad and us both sit down in my psychiatrist’s office. Dad will look to me to start.
“You go ahead and speak your mind,” I shall say to him.
When that is done, I shall ask my doctor for some private one on one time. This will completely piss dad off. He probably will not speak to me on the drive home.
“Doc, I am thirty four years old, right?” I shall ask.
She will say yes.
“I am treated as if I am ten.” I shall reply. “I can’t even buy my own groceries or fill up my car with gas.”
“You have a mental illness and need help with such things,” She will say.
“I also have basic human rights that can’t be taken away. They can only be infringed mental illness or no. Many mentally ill people function at a high level.”
“Are you still drinking?” She will then ask.
“I have had a few run-ins with mouthwash these past few weeks,” I will reply.
“What on God’s green earth would make you want to drink mouthwash?” She will ask.
“I had no other recourse. I wanted a drink and my father will not let me have any money and mouthwash is a dollar a bottle,” I will reply.
“Can’t you do without the drinking?” She will ask. “If you cannot then you are an alcoholic.”
“I am more apt to do without it if abstinence is not forced upon me,” I will reply. “I rarely drank heavily until abstinence was forced upon me. It causes me to binge drink. I would like the choice.”
“Hmm, I see,” She will say.
About this time, we will bring my father back in and discuss what I have told her. The outcome? I have no earthly idea. It could go either way.
Then we will adjust my medications. My medications already cost $1300 dollars a month which I think is ridiculous. I can’t tell the different with or without some. She will probably prescribe me another as is her fashion. My father wants her to prescribe me Revia which is an anti-alcohol abuse drugs, but it takes monthly liver tests. The odds of me getting down to the hospital for monthly blood work are almost nil and I have told her this. My P-Doc has left it out as an option.
I will write up what happens tomorrow as soon as I get home. If I do have to go away, I want many of your addresses so we can write and keep up with each other. Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that though. I refuse to be sequestered away in some mental ward just to make my father’s life easier and with less fraught. It’s not like I have ever showed up at their house drunk anyway. If I drink, I stay home and read books and browse the internet. I never drive or get out. Tomorrow will decide if I regain my autonomy or not. I am so scared that the status quo will remain.
I am fraught with worry over tomorrow. I think this is shall I will handle it. I will let dad and us both sit down in my psychiatrist’s office. Dad will look to me to start.
“You go ahead and speak your mind,” I shall say to him.
When that is done, I shall ask my doctor for some private one on one time. This will completely piss dad off. He probably will not speak to me on the drive home.
“Doc, I am thirty four years old, right?” I shall ask.
She will say yes.
“I am treated as if I am ten.” I shall reply. “I can’t even buy my own groceries or fill up my car with gas.”
“You have a mental illness and need help with such things,” She will say.
“I also have basic human rights that can’t be taken away. They can only be infringed mental illness or no. Many mentally ill people function at a high level.”
“Are you still drinking?” She will then ask.
“I have had a few run-ins with mouthwash these past few weeks,” I will reply.
“What on God’s green earth would make you want to drink mouthwash?” She will ask.
“I had no other recourse. I wanted a drink and my father will not let me have any money and mouthwash is a dollar a bottle,” I will reply.
“Can’t you do without the drinking?” She will ask. “If you cannot then you are an alcoholic.”
“I am more apt to do without it if abstinence is not forced upon me,” I will reply. “I rarely drank heavily until abstinence was forced upon me. It causes me to binge drink. I would like the choice.”
“Hmm, I see,” She will say.
About this time, we will bring my father back in and discuss what I have told her. The outcome? I have no earthly idea. It could go either way.
Then we will adjust my medications. My medications already cost $1300 dollars a month which I think is ridiculous. I can’t tell the different with or without some. She will probably prescribe me another as is her fashion. My father wants her to prescribe me Revia which is an anti-alcohol abuse drugs, but it takes monthly liver tests. The odds of me getting down to the hospital for monthly blood work are almost nil and I have told her this. My P-Doc has left it out as an option.
I will write up what happens tomorrow as soon as I get home. If I do have to go away, I want many of your addresses so we can write and keep up with each other. Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that though. I refuse to be sequestered away in some mental ward just to make my father’s life easier and with less fraught. It’s not like I have ever showed up at their house drunk anyway. If I drink, I stay home and read books and browse the internet. I never drive or get out. Tomorrow will decide if I regain my autonomy or not. I am so scared that the status quo will remain.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Maudlin Times
Well, I had a huge throw down with my father last night. On top of that I had to fill out a police report on a homeless guy panhandling over at the Kroger. This is why Big S and the gang NEVER panhandle at the Kroger. They are militant about it. You see, I go around nine to buy to my groceries and dad shows up around 9:30 PM to write a check out of my account for the purchase.
As I was waiting, a very drunk and red and bleary eyed fellow came up to me asking me for a few bucks. He was just a drunk wanting some beer or cheap wine. I actually felt sorry for him. I would have given him a fiver if I had it.
“Buddy, you are asking the brokest guy in all of Valley for money,” I replied.
He headed off for anther victim and the manager came up to speak to me.
“Did he just ask you for money?” She asked. “We have had a string of problems with that guy.”
“Yeah, but he was nice about it,” I replied.
Soon, the police arrived and I had to fill out a statement. The police want to know everything about you except the last time you took a dump. I was growing tired of the questions until they finally ended.
Dad came in and met me at the check out line (this is so humiliating.) Dad looked at my eyes and said, “You have been taking something. Haven’t you?” You can’t fool a pharmacist. Otherwise, I was acting normal. You would think the police would have nabbed me if I was acting odd and slurring my speech. Taking Librium to me is akin to taking a placebo.
“I have been saving up the Librium you have been giving me and took seven tonight,” I replied. “I just wanted to feel better. I am fucking miserable with our current arrangement being treated like a child.”
We got outside the grocery store and the shit hit the fan. Dad called a friend to come pick up my car and took my keys away from me. He then drove me home and I unloaded my groceries.
“It is going to take a beer, isn’t it?” He asked.
“Well, I certainly would like one,” I replied.
“Beer is more important than me or your family,” he said.
“Oh, just wait a moment. I voluntarily gave up the drinking and you went off running with it,” I replied. “I drank for years before these latest codlings and you never knew. I and George (Sherman) would have a few every morning as we talked.”
“Go on and get inside and I will go buy you some beer since that is more important to you than your family,” He said.
I waited a few moments and Dad came back with an 18 pack of Miller High Life.
“Here’s your goddamn precious beer,” He said in a huff as he handed me the 18 pack. “You realize I am writing you off from now on.”
“Thank ye gods!” I said aloud as I looked up and outstretched my hands. “Maybe now, I can get a life for a change.”
Dad got in her car and roared out of the driveway. It seems the mortgage payoff was just a ruse to get me into treatment. He is still going to do that. I sat for the rest of the evening reading a book by candlelight and enjoying my cold Miller High Life. It ended up a pleasant evening. Maybe I am a psychopath as well as I feel no remorse over what happened last night. I feel a certain calmness and languidness.
As I was waiting, a very drunk and red and bleary eyed fellow came up to me asking me for a few bucks. He was just a drunk wanting some beer or cheap wine. I actually felt sorry for him. I would have given him a fiver if I had it.
“Buddy, you are asking the brokest guy in all of Valley for money,” I replied.
He headed off for anther victim and the manager came up to speak to me.
“Did he just ask you for money?” She asked. “We have had a string of problems with that guy.”
“Yeah, but he was nice about it,” I replied.
Soon, the police arrived and I had to fill out a statement. The police want to know everything about you except the last time you took a dump. I was growing tired of the questions until they finally ended.
Dad came in and met me at the check out line (this is so humiliating.) Dad looked at my eyes and said, “You have been taking something. Haven’t you?” You can’t fool a pharmacist. Otherwise, I was acting normal. You would think the police would have nabbed me if I was acting odd and slurring my speech. Taking Librium to me is akin to taking a placebo.
“I have been saving up the Librium you have been giving me and took seven tonight,” I replied. “I just wanted to feel better. I am fucking miserable with our current arrangement being treated like a child.”
We got outside the grocery store and the shit hit the fan. Dad called a friend to come pick up my car and took my keys away from me. He then drove me home and I unloaded my groceries.
“It is going to take a beer, isn’t it?” He asked.
“Well, I certainly would like one,” I replied.
“Beer is more important than me or your family,” he said.
“Oh, just wait a moment. I voluntarily gave up the drinking and you went off running with it,” I replied. “I drank for years before these latest codlings and you never knew. I and George (Sherman) would have a few every morning as we talked.”
“Go on and get inside and I will go buy you some beer since that is more important to you than your family,” He said.
I waited a few moments and Dad came back with an 18 pack of Miller High Life.
“Here’s your goddamn precious beer,” He said in a huff as he handed me the 18 pack. “You realize I am writing you off from now on.”
“Thank ye gods!” I said aloud as I looked up and outstretched my hands. “Maybe now, I can get a life for a change.”
Dad got in her car and roared out of the driveway. It seems the mortgage payoff was just a ruse to get me into treatment. He is still going to do that. I sat for the rest of the evening reading a book by candlelight and enjoying my cold Miller High Life. It ended up a pleasant evening. Maybe I am a psychopath as well as I feel no remorse over what happened last night. I feel a certain calmness and languidness.
Monday, July 31, 2006
My life as a Shipwreck and Childhood Monsters
I look back upon my past life as if it were some battered shipwreck washed upon the rocks of stormy Cape Horn, South America. It is going to take a lot of work to get this shattered hull afloat again and to set sail for new horizons; heh, horizons, what a quaint little word to describe my future life.
I realize I am scared. I feel as if I am a small child again looking at the crack in an almost open closet door in my darkened childhood bedroom wondering if any monsters will emerge. Strange shadows stretch across the carpet cast from the street lamp outside my bedroom window. They seem to move in creepy crawly fashion; tendrils reaching out to snatch me from my bed.
I turn on the bedside lamp and the shadows immediately disappear. The shadows of my past are gone in an instant. Now a distant memory until I turn off the lamp and they reemerge from their hiding places; once again to torment me.
This is how I feel about the journey upon which I am soon to embark. My failed marriage; my homelessness; the mental illness; the alcoholism; all monsters in my closet keeping me scared and mired in the past. Six months of my life will be gone, but will it rebuild the hull of this battered shipwreck. I don’t know. The uncertainty is overbearing. Those are six months I will never get back. If only this ship can set sail again. I hear there are distant lands to be discovered over the vast oceans distances that will be my recovery. I want to set sail and leave this rocky Horn. Undiscovered countries await. I just hope I don’t encounter hostile natives once I arrive.
I realize I am scared. I feel as if I am a small child again looking at the crack in an almost open closet door in my darkened childhood bedroom wondering if any monsters will emerge. Strange shadows stretch across the carpet cast from the street lamp outside my bedroom window. They seem to move in creepy crawly fashion; tendrils reaching out to snatch me from my bed.
I turn on the bedside lamp and the shadows immediately disappear. The shadows of my past are gone in an instant. Now a distant memory until I turn off the lamp and they reemerge from their hiding places; once again to torment me.
This is how I feel about the journey upon which I am soon to embark. My failed marriage; my homelessness; the mental illness; the alcoholism; all monsters in my closet keeping me scared and mired in the past. Six months of my life will be gone, but will it rebuild the hull of this battered shipwreck. I don’t know. The uncertainty is overbearing. Those are six months I will never get back. If only this ship can set sail again. I hear there are distant lands to be discovered over the vast oceans distances that will be my recovery. I want to set sail and leave this rocky Horn. Undiscovered countries await. I just hope I don’t encounter hostile natives once I arrive.
Randall's Birthday...
Charlie’s son’s birthday went very well today. He turned 35 today. He is one year older than me. I ended up eating three hamburgers, a huge helping of baked beans, and a very large portion of French fries. I was stuffed and had indigestion for the rest of the afternoon.
Charlie grills the best hamburgers I have ever tasted. His secret is that he marinates the ground chuck and ground sirloin mixture in Lea and Perrin’s Worcestershire sauce overnight. He cooked 53 hamburger patties and had three different grills going. He cooks them hot and fast to sear in the flavor.
Charlie’s son is autistic and his current obsessions are bowling, Dora the Explorer dolls, and collecting shaving cream cans. He received over twenty cans of shaving cream yesterday for his birthday to add to his collection, four Dora the Explorer dolls, and two plastic bowling sets. You should see his room. It is wall to wall shelves containing hundreds upon hundreds of cans of shaving cream of varying brands.
Charlie grills the best hamburgers I have ever tasted. His secret is that he marinates the ground chuck and ground sirloin mixture in Lea and Perrin’s Worcestershire sauce overnight. He cooked 53 hamburger patties and had three different grills going. He cooks them hot and fast to sear in the flavor.
Charlie’s son is autistic and his current obsessions are bowling, Dora the Explorer dolls, and collecting shaving cream cans. He received over twenty cans of shaving cream yesterday for his birthday to add to his collection, four Dora the Explorer dolls, and two plastic bowling sets. You should see his room. It is wall to wall shelves containing hundreds upon hundreds of cans of shaving cream of varying brands.
Sleepless in A-Ville
I lay in the bed for the longest time tonight tossing and turning and looking at the clock as the hours ticked by. I tried numerous things to put me to sleep. One was a religious program on the radio playing old hymnal tunes. I was sure that would put me to sleep, but no. I then donned my mp3 player and listened to some melancholy soundtrack selections I uploaded. Next I tried a warm glass of milk heated in the microwave accompanied by three Tylenol PMs. Nothing worked. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” I said aloud regarding the denizens of the night.
I decided to call Carolyn down at Fat Albert’s convenience store as she works third shift most days and have a little fun at her expense. The phone rang…
“Fat Albert’s, can I help you?” Carolyn said picking up the phone.
“Uh, I want to know today’s winning lottery numbers,” I said as I masked my voice by making it deeper.
“Which lottery?” Carolyn asked.
“All of them,” I replied.
“Sir, there are far too many numbers for me to name them all on the phone,” She replied curtly.
“Well, could you tell me the Cash3 numbers for yesterday at least?” I said trying to stifle back a laugh.
Carolyn was growing frustrated with this call.
“Hold on a second,” she said with a huff and in few minutes later picked the phone back up and replied, “514”
“Thank you ma’am,” I said. “How much is a cup of coffee? I think I might come down and get a cup. You sound kind of cute.”
“Who is this?” Carolyn asked laughing.
“It’s me,” I said in my real voice.
“YOU SHITHEAD!” She exclaimed laughing. “I am gonna kill you when I see you. I thought you were one of those weirdos we get all the time obsessing over the lottery.”
“Ya’ll busy tonight?” I asked.
“It has been completely dead tonight,” She said. “We haven’t had a soul come in for the last hour.”
“Well, at least that makes your job easy,” I replied.
“It makes my job damn boring and the nights go by long,” She said.
“Listen, in the next day or two we need to talk,” I replied.
“What’s wrong?” She asked with a tone of concern in her voice.
“Oh, nothing major. I just want to tell you in person though,” I said. “Well listen, you have a good night and I will let you get off the phone.”
“Now you have me worried,” She replied.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It has nothing to do with you personally.”
We both said goodnight and hung up the phone.
Now, I must find something to do for the rest of the night. I doubt I will get any sleep. I might play some games and am gonna pop some popcorn. Nobody updates their blogs at 1 AM in the morning so reading blogs is out of the question. Well, let me go find something to pass these idle late night hours. Luckily, I can sleep all day tomorrow.
I decided to call Carolyn down at Fat Albert’s convenience store as she works third shift most days and have a little fun at her expense. The phone rang…
“Fat Albert’s, can I help you?” Carolyn said picking up the phone.
“Uh, I want to know today’s winning lottery numbers,” I said as I masked my voice by making it deeper.
“Which lottery?” Carolyn asked.
“All of them,” I replied.
“Sir, there are far too many numbers for me to name them all on the phone,” She replied curtly.
“Well, could you tell me the Cash3 numbers for yesterday at least?” I said trying to stifle back a laugh.
Carolyn was growing frustrated with this call.
“Hold on a second,” she said with a huff and in few minutes later picked the phone back up and replied, “514”
“Thank you ma’am,” I said. “How much is a cup of coffee? I think I might come down and get a cup. You sound kind of cute.”
“Who is this?” Carolyn asked laughing.
“It’s me,” I said in my real voice.
“YOU SHITHEAD!” She exclaimed laughing. “I am gonna kill you when I see you. I thought you were one of those weirdos we get all the time obsessing over the lottery.”
“Ya’ll busy tonight?” I asked.
“It has been completely dead tonight,” She said. “We haven’t had a soul come in for the last hour.”
“Well, at least that makes your job easy,” I replied.
“It makes my job damn boring and the nights go by long,” She said.
“Listen, in the next day or two we need to talk,” I replied.
“What’s wrong?” She asked with a tone of concern in her voice.
“Oh, nothing major. I just want to tell you in person though,” I said. “Well listen, you have a good night and I will let you get off the phone.”
“Now you have me worried,” She replied.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It has nothing to do with you personally.”
We both said goodnight and hung up the phone.
Now, I must find something to do for the rest of the night. I doubt I will get any sleep. I might play some games and am gonna pop some popcorn. Nobody updates their blogs at 1 AM in the morning so reading blogs is out of the question. Well, let me go find something to pass these idle late night hours. Luckily, I can sleep all day tomorrow.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Too Early Phone Calls and Fried Ham and Eggs
I awoke and stumbled into the kitchen. I filled my percolator with water and measured out the correct amount of coffee. I set the stove on high and then came into the den to awaken my sleeping blogging computer to check my email and the weather radar. Maggie sat at the back door whining to go out. The sound of softly falling rain could be heard outside my windows.
“Come on girl. Head out and do your business,” I said as I opened the back door to let her out. She was greeted by big drops of rain falling heavily from the eaves of my house.
“I’m not going out into that,” She seemed to say as she looked up at me, whined, and wagged her tail at the threshold of my backdoor.
I finally had the bright idea to take her under the basement. A portion of it has a dirt floor. I coaxed her into going to the bathroom. She really had to go bad and it took several minutes. Once the deed was done, we both sleepily walked back into my den. Maggie proceeded to carry around one of my socks. She placed it at my feet. “Here, this is for you. Put it on,” She seemed to say. I smiled and petted her vigorously. She wiggled with glee.
Just about the time my coffee began to percolate vigorously, the phone rang loudly startling me.
“Who in the hell could be calling this early in the morning,” I thought as it was just after 7 AM.
I answered the phone and was greeted by a big, “WHAZZUP!” on the other end.
I laughed and smiled. It was George.
“Momma wants to know if you want to come and eat breakfast with us,” Sherman replied. “She is cooking fried ham and eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy.”
“Oh man, that sounds so good, but I haven’t had a shower yet and look like the dregs of society this morning,” I replied. “And the weather is just horrible.”
“Screw dat shit and get your white ass over here,” George replied.
“Okay man, let me take a shower and drink a quick cup of coffee and I will be right over,” I said.
“Screw the coffee and the shower and come on over,” George said. “Momma is about to have it ready. We ain’t gonna judge how yo ass looks.”
I turned off my coffee pot, threw on some clothes, put on my ugly glasses as Maggie has chewed up my good pair, and ran out to the car to start the 5 minute drive to George’s house.
I arrived and knocked on the door and George let me in. The house smelled wonderfully of frying ham and baking biscuits. You can hear black gospel music playing on the radio in the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey,” The elderly Mrs. Jones said as I walked into the kitchen followed by Sherman.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied. “I appreciate you all inviting me.”
“Momma, dat be some good smellin’ shit,” Sherman said.
“Now don’t you be talkin’ like dat on the Lord’s Day,” Mrs. Jones replied as she scowled at Sherman.
I couldn’t help but smile at this little exchange.
We all sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat. The fried ham was the kind of thinly sliced salty breakfast ham they sell in the south. It was delicious in a biscuit with a little mustard slathered on. It had been awhile since I had had fried eggs as well and they were delicious. This grits were also just perfectly cooked; not too runny and not too thick with the right amount of seasoning and butter. George’s mother is wonderful old southern style cook.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you honey,” She replied. “At least someone appreciates my hard work.” She said as she gave a hard look at Sherman.
George ignored her and continued to greedily wolf down his food.
After eating, I got in the kitchen and tried to help cleanup, but Mrs. Jones wouldn’t hear of it.
“You two go on in the den and drink some coffee and watch a little TV,” She said. “I will do the cleaning up.”
George tuned the TV to channel ten and it was Edgewood Baptist Church’s morning service.
“Do you really like to watch this?” I asked.
“I like the music,” George replied.
“Well man, it seems I am going to be sent off for six months,” I replied starting up a conversation.
“So, you are gonna let yo pops incarcerate you,” George said.
“Commit me,” I replied correcting him for the umpteenth time over this matter. “It is just going to be a treatment center and not a psych ward. Dad is going to pay off my mortgage in full if I agree to go.”
“How much is left on yo mortgage if you don’t mind me asking,” George said. “I know it be none of my business.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you,” I said. “$33,000 dollars.”
“Holy son of a bitch,” George said.
You could hear George’s mother holler out not to cuss at Sherman on the Lord’s Day in the kitchen.
“Sorry momma,” George said loudly. “Well, I would go to jail for six months for that kind of money.”
“It is not going to be like jail,” I replied. “It will be a lot of therapy and twelve step meetings.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” George said. “I am going to miss you man. Can I come and visit?”
“I think you can visit on Sundays every week,” I replied.
George changed the channel on the TV to another station that was playing gospel music.
“Well man, I need to run on home and get cleaned up,” I replied. “Dad’s best friend’s son’s birthday is today and he is cooking hamburgers. I promised I would go even though I don’t want to.”
“Me and you will have one last drunk before you leave,” George replied quietly so his mother in the next room couldn’t hear.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “We will get a couple of cases of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer like old times.”
I told George’s mother, “Thank you so much for breakfast. It was delicious. Sherman is lucky to have you cook for him.”
She said thank you and did a black woman’s version of blushing. It had begun to rain much harder by now and I quickly ran out to the car trying to avoid getting wet as much as possible and drove on home. It was a wonderful breakfast and a grand time this morning. I am going to miss Sherman and his antics and his wonderful mother as well. It is going to be a long six months away it seems. I am going to miss experiences like these.
“Come on girl. Head out and do your business,” I said as I opened the back door to let her out. She was greeted by big drops of rain falling heavily from the eaves of my house.
“I’m not going out into that,” She seemed to say as she looked up at me, whined, and wagged her tail at the threshold of my backdoor.
I finally had the bright idea to take her under the basement. A portion of it has a dirt floor. I coaxed her into going to the bathroom. She really had to go bad and it took several minutes. Once the deed was done, we both sleepily walked back into my den. Maggie proceeded to carry around one of my socks. She placed it at my feet. “Here, this is for you. Put it on,” She seemed to say. I smiled and petted her vigorously. She wiggled with glee.
Just about the time my coffee began to percolate vigorously, the phone rang loudly startling me.
“Who in the hell could be calling this early in the morning,” I thought as it was just after 7 AM.
I answered the phone and was greeted by a big, “WHAZZUP!” on the other end.
I laughed and smiled. It was George.
“Momma wants to know if you want to come and eat breakfast with us,” Sherman replied. “She is cooking fried ham and eggs, grits, biscuits and gravy.”
“Oh man, that sounds so good, but I haven’t had a shower yet and look like the dregs of society this morning,” I replied. “And the weather is just horrible.”
“Screw dat shit and get your white ass over here,” George replied.
“Okay man, let me take a shower and drink a quick cup of coffee and I will be right over,” I said.
“Screw the coffee and the shower and come on over,” George said. “Momma is about to have it ready. We ain’t gonna judge how yo ass looks.”
I turned off my coffee pot, threw on some clothes, put on my ugly glasses as Maggie has chewed up my good pair, and ran out to the car to start the 5 minute drive to George’s house.
I arrived and knocked on the door and George let me in. The house smelled wonderfully of frying ham and baking biscuits. You can hear black gospel music playing on the radio in the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey,” The elderly Mrs. Jones said as I walked into the kitchen followed by Sherman.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied. “I appreciate you all inviting me.”
“Momma, dat be some good smellin’ shit,” Sherman said.
“Now don’t you be talkin’ like dat on the Lord’s Day,” Mrs. Jones replied as she scowled at Sherman.
I couldn’t help but smile at this little exchange.
We all sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat. The fried ham was the kind of thinly sliced salty breakfast ham they sell in the south. It was delicious in a biscuit with a little mustard slathered on. It had been awhile since I had had fried eggs as well and they were delicious. This grits were also just perfectly cooked; not too runny and not too thick with the right amount of seasoning and butter. George’s mother is wonderful old southern style cook.
“Mrs. Jones,” I said. “This is delicious.”
“Thank you honey,” She replied. “At least someone appreciates my hard work.” She said as she gave a hard look at Sherman.
George ignored her and continued to greedily wolf down his food.
After eating, I got in the kitchen and tried to help cleanup, but Mrs. Jones wouldn’t hear of it.
“You two go on in the den and drink some coffee and watch a little TV,” She said. “I will do the cleaning up.”
George tuned the TV to channel ten and it was Edgewood Baptist Church’s morning service.
“Do you really like to watch this?” I asked.
“I like the music,” George replied.
“Well man, it seems I am going to be sent off for six months,” I replied starting up a conversation.
“So, you are gonna let yo pops incarcerate you,” George said.
“Commit me,” I replied correcting him for the umpteenth time over this matter. “It is just going to be a treatment center and not a psych ward. Dad is going to pay off my mortgage in full if I agree to go.”
“How much is left on yo mortgage if you don’t mind me asking,” George said. “I know it be none of my business.”
“No, I don’t mind telling you,” I said. “$33,000 dollars.”
“Holy son of a bitch,” George said.
You could hear George’s mother holler out not to cuss at Sherman on the Lord’s Day in the kitchen.
“Sorry momma,” George said loudly. “Well, I would go to jail for six months for that kind of money.”
“It is not going to be like jail,” I replied. “It will be a lot of therapy and twelve step meetings.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” George said. “I am going to miss you man. Can I come and visit?”
“I think you can visit on Sundays every week,” I replied.
George changed the channel on the TV to another station that was playing gospel music.
“Well man, I need to run on home and get cleaned up,” I replied. “Dad’s best friend’s son’s birthday is today and he is cooking hamburgers. I promised I would go even though I don’t want to.”
“Me and you will have one last drunk before you leave,” George replied quietly so his mother in the next room couldn’t hear.
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied. “We will get a couple of cases of Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer like old times.”
I told George’s mother, “Thank you so much for breakfast. It was delicious. Sherman is lucky to have you cook for him.”
She said thank you and did a black woman’s version of blushing. It had begun to rain much harder by now and I quickly ran out to the car trying to avoid getting wet as much as possible and drove on home. It was a wonderful breakfast and a grand time this morning. I am going to miss Sherman and his antics and his wonderful mother as well. It is going to be a long six months away it seems. I am going to miss experiences like these.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Dumpster Diving Wars
I saw Dumpster Diving Dan this morning on my walk. He was parked behind the shopping center just down from my house pondering what to do. He started to tell me about being harassed by the police this morning for diving in the dumpsters behind the shopping center.
“I don’t bother any body,” He said. “I mind my own business and never do any harm. They just throw this crap away and it will go to waste if someone doesn’t use it.”
“What did the police say to you?” I asked.
“They said there had been complaints from someone and for me to ‘cease and desist’ diving in the dumpsters,” Dan replied. “That said I fit the description from the complaint.”
“Man that is a shame. They throw away perfectly good food daily and you keep it from going to waste,” I told him.
“It was that damn hog man that complained,” Dan replied with an air of paranoia surrounding him. “That bastard is trying to encroach upon my territory. He needs to find his own dumpsters to dive in.”
The past few weeks have been a furious tussle between the “hog man” and Dan over dumpster diving rights. They have both been hitting the dumpsters earlier and earlier trying to beat each other out for the goods.
“Keep a watch out and see if he still scavenges in the dumpsters,” I replied. “And then you will know.”
“He feeds hogs with this perfectly good food!” Dan exclaimed. “I am trying to feed myself.”
“Well Dan, don’t you have an income and isn’t it enough to feed you?” I asked.
“Yeah, it is enough to live on, but dumpster diving saves me a lot of money on food,” He said. “I am a cheap bastard and just like to do it. It is a hobby of mine.”
I laughed at the thought of dumpster diving being a hobby.
“Ah, I see,” I replied. “I tried it once, but it just wasn’t to my liking.”
“Don’t you start stealing my food as well,” Dan said good heartedly as he smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I replied. “I just don’t have the heart to dumpster dive. And don’t worry about the police. They were probably just bored and won’t bother you again.”
“Well, I hope not,” Dan replied.
“See ya later bud,” I said and then walked on around to the front of the shopping center to see if any of the gang was around.
Big S was sitting in front the grocery store on a brand new bench that still smelled of fresh paint that had just dried.
“Big S, Dan was telling me about the police harassing him this morning,” I said.
“They asked me to stop loitering this morning too,” Big S replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I walked over to Sarah Jay’s to eat breakfast and then came back after they left. It is all just a show of force. The police are full of shit.”
“Man, let me borrow two bucks,” I then asked Big S. “I have let you borrow a dollar and cigarettes many times.”
Big S pulled out his wallet and gave me a $5 dollar bill.
“Don’t expect me to do this all the time,” Big S replied with a scowl.
Oh, how the tables have turned that I was having to borrow money from Big S. Usually, it is the other way around. It was downright embarrassing.
“I will be sure to return the favor soon when you need a few,” I said.
I walked on inside the grocery store and bought my morning Gatorade and a couple of bananas. Breakfast was served. I then walked on home as I drank my Gatorade and munched on an almost too green banana. Just like I like them. I can’t stand too ripe bananas.
“I don’t bother any body,” He said. “I mind my own business and never do any harm. They just throw this crap away and it will go to waste if someone doesn’t use it.”
“What did the police say to you?” I asked.
“They said there had been complaints from someone and for me to ‘cease and desist’ diving in the dumpsters,” Dan replied. “That said I fit the description from the complaint.”
“Man that is a shame. They throw away perfectly good food daily and you keep it from going to waste,” I told him.
“It was that damn hog man that complained,” Dan replied with an air of paranoia surrounding him. “That bastard is trying to encroach upon my territory. He needs to find his own dumpsters to dive in.”
The past few weeks have been a furious tussle between the “hog man” and Dan over dumpster diving rights. They have both been hitting the dumpsters earlier and earlier trying to beat each other out for the goods.
“Keep a watch out and see if he still scavenges in the dumpsters,” I replied. “And then you will know.”
“He feeds hogs with this perfectly good food!” Dan exclaimed. “I am trying to feed myself.”
“Well Dan, don’t you have an income and isn’t it enough to feed you?” I asked.
“Yeah, it is enough to live on, but dumpster diving saves me a lot of money on food,” He said. “I am a cheap bastard and just like to do it. It is a hobby of mine.”
I laughed at the thought of dumpster diving being a hobby.
“Ah, I see,” I replied. “I tried it once, but it just wasn’t to my liking.”
“Don’t you start stealing my food as well,” Dan said good heartedly as he smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I replied. “I just don’t have the heart to dumpster dive. And don’t worry about the police. They were probably just bored and won’t bother you again.”
“Well, I hope not,” Dan replied.
“See ya later bud,” I said and then walked on around to the front of the shopping center to see if any of the gang was around.
Big S was sitting in front the grocery store on a brand new bench that still smelled of fresh paint that had just dried.
“Big S, Dan was telling me about the police harassing him this morning,” I said.
“They asked me to stop loitering this morning too,” Big S replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I walked over to Sarah Jay’s to eat breakfast and then came back after they left. It is all just a show of force. The police are full of shit.”
“Man, let me borrow two bucks,” I then asked Big S. “I have let you borrow a dollar and cigarettes many times.”
Big S pulled out his wallet and gave me a $5 dollar bill.
“Don’t expect me to do this all the time,” Big S replied with a scowl.
Oh, how the tables have turned that I was having to borrow money from Big S. Usually, it is the other way around. It was downright embarrassing.
“I will be sure to return the favor soon when you need a few,” I said.
I walked on inside the grocery store and bought my morning Gatorade and a couple of bananas. Breakfast was served. I then walked on home as I drank my Gatorade and munched on an almost too green banana. Just like I like them. I can’t stand too ripe bananas.
Bribery if By No Other Name…
Well, I decided to restart the blog from scratch and just post tales about the gang or at least try from now on to make my father feel better about my postings. I will try to keep the more personal aspects of my family’s life private, but I digress on this post. I will slowly rebuild my archives over the next few days. It is a rather time consuming process, but luckily I have every old post saved in Microsoft word format.
I had rather long conversation with my father last night. I grew rather belligerent with him at first initially.
“I want to work and support myself and be a man,” I replied.
“You tried working for years and couldn’t handle the stress,” My father said. “It made you even more ill. You will get yourself in a mess again.”
“Well, I just get tired of not having control of my finances,” I replied. “Today, I wanted so bad to just drive down to Fat Albert’s and buy a few hotdogs and a soda and couldn’t as I have no money. Would you want to not have control over such things in your life?”
My father gave in and said, “No, I can understand your frustration. It would drive me crazy as well.”
“That’s why I can get so frustrated with our current arrangement,” I replied. “It feels so undignified and aggravating and that is why I get mad and rebel against you.”
My mother couldn’t take us arguing and she retired to bed without saying good night.
“I’ll tell you what I will do,” Dad said. “I am going to pay off your mortgage in full if you will go for that six months treatment program and straighten yourself out. Keep in mind that is over $28,000 dollars. Consider it part of your inheritance from your grandmother when we sell the house you’re living in, in a few months. Does that sound like a deal?”
“Dad, that is akin to bribery,” I replied.
“Well, I just want to see you okay,” He said. “And just think. Most people would die to have their mortgage paid off at such an early age. You will never have another house payment and will always have a place to live even after I am gone. Just think about it for me, okay?”
“Yeah, you’re right. That is too good of a deal to pass up. I will go if you just promise me you and mom will come see me on visitation days,’ I replied. “I don’t want to be stuck in some treatment center all alone for six months with no friends and family.”
“You’re my family and I will be there,” Dad then said.
“And when I get out, also promise me you are going to let me have more control over my finances and affairs.” I asked him.
“I promise,” Dad said. “It’s a deal.”
I hugged him goodnight and somberly walked on home with a lot on my mine. The prospect of my mortgage being paid off is so exciting. I will be able to live quite a comfortable life and my new house is really going to be nice.
I know that speaks badly of me and is sad, but the thing I am going to miss most while I am in for that six months is not being able to keep up with Sherman, the gang, my online friends, and writing in my journal. I have worked so hard to build up a readership and six months absence of writing will just kill my readership. Maybe, one of you good friends would allow me to write you about what I am experiencing and you could update my journal for me while I am gone. I know that is a lot to ask of strangers so don’t worry about it. I am also going to miss my Christmas trip to San Diego to see my brother and his wife. It is going to be a hard six months, but I think a small price to pay for such long term security.
I had rather long conversation with my father last night. I grew rather belligerent with him at first initially.
“I want to work and support myself and be a man,” I replied.
“You tried working for years and couldn’t handle the stress,” My father said. “It made you even more ill. You will get yourself in a mess again.”
“Well, I just get tired of not having control of my finances,” I replied. “Today, I wanted so bad to just drive down to Fat Albert’s and buy a few hotdogs and a soda and couldn’t as I have no money. Would you want to not have control over such things in your life?”
My father gave in and said, “No, I can understand your frustration. It would drive me crazy as well.”
“That’s why I can get so frustrated with our current arrangement,” I replied. “It feels so undignified and aggravating and that is why I get mad and rebel against you.”
My mother couldn’t take us arguing and she retired to bed without saying good night.
“I’ll tell you what I will do,” Dad said. “I am going to pay off your mortgage in full if you will go for that six months treatment program and straighten yourself out. Keep in mind that is over $28,000 dollars. Consider it part of your inheritance from your grandmother when we sell the house you’re living in, in a few months. Does that sound like a deal?”
“Dad, that is akin to bribery,” I replied.
“Well, I just want to see you okay,” He said. “And just think. Most people would die to have their mortgage paid off at such an early age. You will never have another house payment and will always have a place to live even after I am gone. Just think about it for me, okay?”
“Yeah, you’re right. That is too good of a deal to pass up. I will go if you just promise me you and mom will come see me on visitation days,’ I replied. “I don’t want to be stuck in some treatment center all alone for six months with no friends and family.”
“You’re my family and I will be there,” Dad then said.
“And when I get out, also promise me you are going to let me have more control over my finances and affairs.” I asked him.
“I promise,” Dad said. “It’s a deal.”
I hugged him goodnight and somberly walked on home with a lot on my mine. The prospect of my mortgage being paid off is so exciting. I will be able to live quite a comfortable life and my new house is really going to be nice.
I know that speaks badly of me and is sad, but the thing I am going to miss most while I am in for that six months is not being able to keep up with Sherman, the gang, my online friends, and writing in my journal. I have worked so hard to build up a readership and six months absence of writing will just kill my readership. Maybe, one of you good friends would allow me to write you about what I am experiencing and you could update my journal for me while I am gone. I know that is a lot to ask of strangers so don’t worry about it. I am also going to miss my Christmas trip to San Diego to see my brother and his wife. It is going to be a hard six months, but I think a small price to pay for such long term security.
Friday, July 28, 2006
I Have a Lot on my Mind Tonight
I have been thinking about what to do over the situation with my father. I really would like to find a job and pay my own mortgage. I see that as the best solution. I need to suck it up and be a man. I want to be independent. I want my dignity back. I don’t want to have to beg someone for a few dollars just to get something to eat or some cigarettes. I don’t want to feel guilty for mooching off of my parents by living in this home any longer. The only problem is that my medications run $1300 dollars a month and I don’t think I can afford to lose Medicare part D which pays for my medications except for a small $35 dollar co-pay. I can work for up to nine months and still receive my benefits and my medical coverage through the ticket to work program. I will continue to mull over this the next few days and look around some for possible jobs and to see what I can get. I will also discuss this with dad and my sister and see what they think.
Update: I just found out my Medicare coverage will continue for 8 ½ years if I return to work. That is very good to know.
Update: I just found out my Medicare coverage will continue for 8 ½ years if I return to work. That is very good to know.
Just What I Needed: A Laugh
Ferret came by the house this afternoon on the search for cans for his money for recycling effort. I do drink a lot of sodas and told him to check the trash can. I walked inside and got him a trash bag to put them in. George was right about Ferret being on the great aluminum can hunt.
“I never thought I would be caught digging in your trash,” He said with the funniest look on his face when I walked back out.
I couldn’t help but bust out laughing loudly and then patted him on his shoulder.
“Are you still drinking that mouthwash?” I asked.
“Man, that shit is all I can afford,” He replied. “I can’t afford the good stuff.”
The good stuff for Ferret is Natural Ice beer. I had let Maggie out and she went off chasing one of those gigantically large black Texas grasshoppers that have showed up in my yard this summer.
“Yo dog gonna eat that damn thing?” Ferret asked.
“If she does then it will be one hell of a bitter taste in her mouth,” I said as Maggie carried the grasshopper over to me and sat it down at my feet. She looked up at me like, “Ya hungry? Lunch is served.” The grasshopper once again struggled to get away making a hissing noise as Maggie pawed it. Those things are fucking huge and clumsy.
Ferret managed to gather a grand total of fourteen aluminum cans out from my trashcan.
“How much money will that get you?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, about a goddamn quarter I think,” He replied. “I need to find enough for seventy five more cents.”
A bottle of mouthwash at Fred’s costs a $1.09 with tax for 2 liters.
“Man, if I had the money, I would give you enough to buy some beer,” I said. “But I am under the ‘John no drinking plan.’ Dad won’t even give me a dime. I hate to see you drinking that mouthwash.”
“Well, I am going to hit the dumpsters behind the shopping center,” Ferret said. “Sometimes, you get thirty or more cans out of them.”
I told Ferret goodbye and then he strolled on down the street in his quest for that elusive $1.09 to get trashed tonight.
“I never thought I would be caught digging in your trash,” He said with the funniest look on his face when I walked back out.
I couldn’t help but bust out laughing loudly and then patted him on his shoulder.
“Are you still drinking that mouthwash?” I asked.
“Man, that shit is all I can afford,” He replied. “I can’t afford the good stuff.”
The good stuff for Ferret is Natural Ice beer. I had let Maggie out and she went off chasing one of those gigantically large black Texas grasshoppers that have showed up in my yard this summer.
“Yo dog gonna eat that damn thing?” Ferret asked.
“If she does then it will be one hell of a bitter taste in her mouth,” I said as Maggie carried the grasshopper over to me and sat it down at my feet. She looked up at me like, “Ya hungry? Lunch is served.” The grasshopper once again struggled to get away making a hissing noise as Maggie pawed it. Those things are fucking huge and clumsy.
Ferret managed to gather a grand total of fourteen aluminum cans out from my trashcan.
“How much money will that get you?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, about a goddamn quarter I think,” He replied. “I need to find enough for seventy five more cents.”
A bottle of mouthwash at Fred’s costs a $1.09 with tax for 2 liters.
“Man, if I had the money, I would give you enough to buy some beer,” I said. “But I am under the ‘John no drinking plan.’ Dad won’t even give me a dime. I hate to see you drinking that mouthwash.”
“Well, I am going to hit the dumpsters behind the shopping center,” Ferret said. “Sometimes, you get thirty or more cans out of them.”
I told Ferret goodbye and then he strolled on down the street in his quest for that elusive $1.09 to get trashed tonight.
Cold Malt Liquor and Hot Summer Days
I and George are sitting outside in my backyard upon my wrought iron chairs (no, I was not drinking). It is a very hot and muggy day and soon we will have to escape back inside. We are talking of the recent events I have undergone in my life lately.
“Dat be some fucked up shit,” George replied. “I would tell your father to kiss my ass. You don’t need to be incarcerated.”
“Committed,” I replied correcting George.
I certainly hope I am not incarcerated any time soon.
“Well, it be the same damn thing,” George replied.
“Yeah, you are pretty much right,” I replied.
“We need to get your ass a job and an apartment so you can say fuck all dat crazy ass shit,” George said.
“I will lose my SSDI though,” I replied.
“Hell, you are smart. You could work anywhere I think,” George said. “And hell, if you lose your job then just go find another.”
“I will think about it,” I replied. “I just worry that I will have another episode with my mental illness and can’t work. It is scary to think of.”
We sat for awhile longer as George sipped on a cold Colt 45.
“It sure is hot today,” I replied changing the subject. “Have you seen Ferret lately?”
George laughed.
“I am glad you asked about dat crazy ass nigga,” George said as he smiled. “He has been picking up aluminum cans to get them recycled for a few dollars to get a drink. Dat nigga has been busy. I see him all over town.”
I smiled at the thought of Ferret busily running around town picking up cans.
“Ferret could work a job with the amount of work he will have to put in to get up enough money recycling cans,” I replied.
“I know. Ain’t dat some crazy shit?” George replied as he laughed again. “I told ya dat nigga was crazy and to stay away from him.”
I sat and thought of my own bouts with schizophrenia. Mental Illness is just some fucked up shit as Sherman would say. George had finally finished that cold Colt 45 and got up to leave.
“Hang in there, my man,” George said. “And don’t let yo pops incarcerate you.”
“Committed,” I replied once more correcting Sherman.
“Same difference,” George said as walked towards his car. “Hey, the food would probably be better in prison. You could always rob a convenience store and get on the inside.”
“Now that is some crazy shit,” I replied as I scoffed. “We will not go there.”
George drove off to go do what George does on a daily basis. It was very good to see him today. George has a “street wisdom” that escapes most of the people in my family and in middle class suburbia.
“Dat be some fucked up shit,” George replied. “I would tell your father to kiss my ass. You don’t need to be incarcerated.”
“Committed,” I replied correcting George.
I certainly hope I am not incarcerated any time soon.
“Well, it be the same damn thing,” George replied.
“Yeah, you are pretty much right,” I replied.
“We need to get your ass a job and an apartment so you can say fuck all dat crazy ass shit,” George said.
“I will lose my SSDI though,” I replied.
“Hell, you are smart. You could work anywhere I think,” George said. “And hell, if you lose your job then just go find another.”
“I will think about it,” I replied. “I just worry that I will have another episode with my mental illness and can’t work. It is scary to think of.”
We sat for awhile longer as George sipped on a cold Colt 45.
“It sure is hot today,” I replied changing the subject. “Have you seen Ferret lately?”
George laughed.
“I am glad you asked about dat crazy ass nigga,” George said as he smiled. “He has been picking up aluminum cans to get them recycled for a few dollars to get a drink. Dat nigga has been busy. I see him all over town.”
I smiled at the thought of Ferret busily running around town picking up cans.
“Ferret could work a job with the amount of work he will have to put in to get up enough money recycling cans,” I replied.
“I know. Ain’t dat some crazy shit?” George replied as he laughed again. “I told ya dat nigga was crazy and to stay away from him.”
I sat and thought of my own bouts with schizophrenia. Mental Illness is just some fucked up shit as Sherman would say. George had finally finished that cold Colt 45 and got up to leave.
“Hang in there, my man,” George said. “And don’t let yo pops incarcerate you.”
“Committed,” I replied once more correcting Sherman.
“Same difference,” George said as walked towards his car. “Hey, the food would probably be better in prison. You could always rob a convenience store and get on the inside.”
“Now that is some crazy shit,” I replied as I scoffed. “We will not go there.”
George drove off to go do what George does on a daily basis. It was very good to see him today. George has a “street wisdom” that escapes most of the people in my family and in middle class suburbia.
Waking Dreams and Ghosting
I know I never talk much about my mental illness on this blog. Quite frankly, it embarrasses me and there is so much stigma surrounding schizophrenia. For most people, axe murderers come to mind and violent and dangerous individuals. My father has remarked that he had seen a movie about a mentally ill women and she killed her whole family. He thought I would do the same to my family during a bad spell. That is a terrible burden to bear when you think someone you love so dearly would think such things of you. I have never been violent and my episodes are benign for the most part. I wanted to write today to give a clearer picture of why my father wants me committed.
I experience what I call “waking dreams” and “ghosting.” The ghosting is where I see almost fluorescent looking animals (mainly cats) laying about the house. It looks like the glow of a television after the channel has quit broadcasting for the day. Do you remember what Princess Leia looked like in Star Wars when that holographic picture of her was played by R2D2 and she said, “Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you are our only hope?” That is what these cats look like. This happens more often if I am under a lot of stress as of lately. The animals are always peaceful and just lazily lying around the house. It used to really disturb me, but I have grown used to it. It is much better these days with my new dosage of Risperdal.
I also experience what I term “waking dreams.” I had an especially vivid encounter with this last night. As I was sitting here at the computer, I drifted off into this dream state. It is increadably vivid and real. I can remember all the sights, smells, and sounds from these waking dreams to the point that I honestly felt I experienced them. They are much more vivid and real than your average dream. I can remember every detail of the experience.
Last night’s was a rather long waking dream. I was living in a homeless shelter in Palm Coast Florida and trying to persuade everyone that I was actually homeless to give you the short of it. The dream then shifted to me and my family being at a Tulane vs. Mississippi State football game. I and my father had a huge argument on the sidelines. I told him I wanted to be treated as an adult and to be left alone. The dream ended with my mother driving us home after a short auction of game memorabilia in which my father bought some things. I came to and almost two hours had passed.
For the longest time, I also experienced extreme paranoia over talking on the phone. I also thought my neighbors were watching my every move through their windows. Those are the most hurtful and aggravating of symptoms as the fear is so palpable. I am glad those symptoms have passed much lately.
Well, that is the long and short of it. Maybe that will give you an idea of what I experience with this illness and see why my father is so concerned for my well being. One of the main reasons I like to drink is that it calms these symptoms and they are lessened. I guess you could say I am self medicating.
I experience what I call “waking dreams” and “ghosting.” The ghosting is where I see almost fluorescent looking animals (mainly cats) laying about the house. It looks like the glow of a television after the channel has quit broadcasting for the day. Do you remember what Princess Leia looked like in Star Wars when that holographic picture of her was played by R2D2 and she said, “Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you are our only hope?” That is what these cats look like. This happens more often if I am under a lot of stress as of lately. The animals are always peaceful and just lazily lying around the house. It used to really disturb me, but I have grown used to it. It is much better these days with my new dosage of Risperdal.
I also experience what I term “waking dreams.” I had an especially vivid encounter with this last night. As I was sitting here at the computer, I drifted off into this dream state. It is increadably vivid and real. I can remember all the sights, smells, and sounds from these waking dreams to the point that I honestly felt I experienced them. They are much more vivid and real than your average dream. I can remember every detail of the experience.
Last night’s was a rather long waking dream. I was living in a homeless shelter in Palm Coast Florida and trying to persuade everyone that I was actually homeless to give you the short of it. The dream then shifted to me and my family being at a Tulane vs. Mississippi State football game. I and my father had a huge argument on the sidelines. I told him I wanted to be treated as an adult and to be left alone. The dream ended with my mother driving us home after a short auction of game memorabilia in which my father bought some things. I came to and almost two hours had passed.
For the longest time, I also experienced extreme paranoia over talking on the phone. I also thought my neighbors were watching my every move through their windows. Those are the most hurtful and aggravating of symptoms as the fear is so palpable. I am glad those symptoms have passed much lately.
Well, that is the long and short of it. Maybe that will give you an idea of what I experience with this illness and see why my father is so concerned for my well being. One of the main reasons I like to drink is that it calms these symptoms and they are lessened. I guess you could say I am self medicating.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Coming to Terms with the Demon’s of my Past
I had a long talk with my father tonight as I walked over to get another Librium. He has given me two today so that is very generous for him. We managed to both stay civil. I sat in the den as I noticed three Xanax lying on the coffee table. My addictive personality thought of slipping those three pill’s into my pocket.
“Dad, you left mom’s Xanax out on the table tonight,” I replied. “You need to get them before I will take them.”
Dad thanked me for my candor in this matter and put them in his pocket.
“Did you delete your journal?” Dad asked.
“I am going to tomorrow,” I replied. “I wrote a goodbye post for all the caring readers that have been reading for months now.”
“You can be so naïve,” Dad said. “That is so dangerous for you to write about such personal things and to put pictures up on that journal. Your sister’s husband would not even let her come down here knowing that picture of her was up on the internet. She could be abducted by some stranger on the internet. Also, my job is very dangerous and someone with addictions my come and rob my pharmacy. Your cousin Marilyn was right when she was concerned about you writing that other journal using your real name.”
“It took the pictures down and do not ever use real names on my journal,” I replied exasperated at my father’s seeming paranoia over this issue. I encounter strangers everyday and do not get robbed and abducted and have been writing online journals since my homeless days.
“You are a danger to your family and others,” He then said about my blogging. “But keep it up if you continue to remain anonymous. I will be reading though and NO MORE pictures of the family posted, okay?”
We then talked a long time about me going into some sort of assisted living.
“Your sister is coming down this weekend and we are going to look at the options,” Dad replied. “You are danger to yourself and others when you drink like that. Your sister said drinking that mouthwash was going to give you pancreatitis and will kill you pretty quickly. Do you want to die?”
“No!” I exclaimed demurely. “Who would want to die?”
“Well, I made an appointment with your psychiatrist for Wednesday,” Dad said. “I am going to tell her you are suicidal and then she will have to take more drastic measures in getting you some help. She will be legally obligated to do something then. I want you to be committed to an asylum.”
I am just going to hang back, keep my mouth shut, and see what happens. I have a great fear of being committed to such an institution for crazy people. I can picture living out the rest of days surrounded by crazy blathering idiots and eating bland institutional food. Well, on the good side of the coin, I would have plenty of time to read my beloved books. That and someone would cook me three squares a day.
I walked outside with my little flashlight in hand to find Maggie sitting at my parent’s backdoor. She seems to have an uncanny knack for getting out of the fence these days. I have been trying to honor my father’s wishes in that she “not become a house dog” to use his words. I sneak her back in at nighttime so she can sleep with me after I know dad has long been asleep. :^)
“Dad, you left mom’s Xanax out on the table tonight,” I replied. “You need to get them before I will take them.”
Dad thanked me for my candor in this matter and put them in his pocket.
“Did you delete your journal?” Dad asked.
“I am going to tomorrow,” I replied. “I wrote a goodbye post for all the caring readers that have been reading for months now.”
“You can be so naïve,” Dad said. “That is so dangerous for you to write about such personal things and to put pictures up on that journal. Your sister’s husband would not even let her come down here knowing that picture of her was up on the internet. She could be abducted by some stranger on the internet. Also, my job is very dangerous and someone with addictions my come and rob my pharmacy. Your cousin Marilyn was right when she was concerned about you writing that other journal using your real name.”
“It took the pictures down and do not ever use real names on my journal,” I replied exasperated at my father’s seeming paranoia over this issue. I encounter strangers everyday and do not get robbed and abducted and have been writing online journals since my homeless days.
“You are a danger to your family and others,” He then said about my blogging. “But keep it up if you continue to remain anonymous. I will be reading though and NO MORE pictures of the family posted, okay?”
We then talked a long time about me going into some sort of assisted living.
“Your sister is coming down this weekend and we are going to look at the options,” Dad replied. “You are danger to yourself and others when you drink like that. Your sister said drinking that mouthwash was going to give you pancreatitis and will kill you pretty quickly. Do you want to die?”
“No!” I exclaimed demurely. “Who would want to die?”
“Well, I made an appointment with your psychiatrist for Wednesday,” Dad said. “I am going to tell her you are suicidal and then she will have to take more drastic measures in getting you some help. She will be legally obligated to do something then. I want you to be committed to an asylum.”
I am just going to hang back, keep my mouth shut, and see what happens. I have a great fear of being committed to such an institution for crazy people. I can picture living out the rest of days surrounded by crazy blathering idiots and eating bland institutional food. Well, on the good side of the coin, I would have plenty of time to read my beloved books. That and someone would cook me three squares a day.
I walked outside with my little flashlight in hand to find Maggie sitting at my parent’s backdoor. She seems to have an uncanny knack for getting out of the fence these days. I have been trying to honor my father’s wishes in that she “not become a house dog” to use his words. I sneak her back in at nighttime so she can sleep with me after I know dad has long been asleep. :^)
Selfishness
It seems I am getting a little dose of reality today. I can sometimes live in my own little microcosm. Yes, I am being very selfish about wanting to become homeless again. I should do what is best for my family and care about them instead. I am going to suck it up and quit romanticizing about becoming homeless again. I sometimes forget those bitter cold days where I had a hard time just keeping warm. I am also going to continue to stay involved with AA and try my best to not drink. Thank you Fury and the anonymous commenter for the dose of reality. Reading Fury’s comment made me realize just how lucky I am to have what I have today.
Car Living: Homeless Style
There is invaluable advice on living homeless comfortably at The Survival Guide to Homelessness and Hobopoet. Alan of Hobopoet fame lived in his car for around a year as an experiment. Mobile Homemaker of The Survival Guide to Homelessness was also homeless for a time and wrote invaluable tips on surviving homelessness and making it much more comfortable. The homelessness as experienced by such people as The Homeless Guy is for the birds and not very smart people. The homeless guy has become institutionalized by the very charities that feed, clothe, and give him a place to sleep at night. He also has to subjugate himself to the very entities that “keep him up” so to speak such as listening to hell bent sermons every night and scheduling his life around the shelter’s time. Just about every homeless blog I have ever read wrote that The Homeless Guy was full of shit. Mobile Homemaker wrote on his blog…
I have no desire to get caught up in that vicious cycle that most homeless people experience. Actually, I am sort of experiencing that with my father at the moment. The only difference is that I have a roof over my head.
Here is my checklist for my next venue of homelessness. Well, I will be living in my car so technically you could say I will have a home.
I will add more to this list as the day progresses and I think of other things. If you have a tip then drop them in my comments. I would appreciate the advice.
This is another reason that charity is so unsavory. It comes from a position of superiority. The charitable feel they have a right to determine the goals, purposes, and uses of their charity. It lacks dignity. I don't mean for the recipient. I mean it is not dignified to try to direct the lives of others, to be so involved in the details of other lives. It's a failure to understand boundaries.
I have no desire to get caught up in that vicious cycle that most homeless people experience. Actually, I am sort of experiencing that with my father at the moment. The only difference is that I have a roof over my head.
Here is my checklist for my next venue of homelessness. Well, I will be living in my car so technically you could say I will have a home.
- Gym Membership for showers. The truck stop is just too expensive to use on a regular basis.
- Sex lube for shaving
- I also have an OLD laptop with windows98 on it that I will use for internet access. The local Krystal’s restaurant was free wifi and I know the supervisor very well. The battery has long died on the laptop, but it still runs if I plug it in.
- Luckily, I live near the country and there are plenty of seldom traveled back dirt roads for when I get ready sleep. Hell, I might just go park my car at the parking across from where Ferret camps and pitch my tent.
- Cooler for ice and cold drinks from my car.
- I still have all my camping gear as well such as my tent, backpacks, and sleeping bags.
- Marine battery and fan to blow the hot air out of my car at night. I will need to wire this to my battery so it will charge as I drive.
- I need to sell my three computers I currently have. One is mediocre, another is mid-range, and my gaming computer is VERY nice. Hopefully, I will get a few thousand dollars from this before I can find a job. I will have to live on that money for a few months.
I will add more to this list as the day progresses and I think of other things. If you have a tip then drop them in my comments. I would appreciate the advice.
Half Way House
Well, my father wants to put me in a half way house for drunks. I am unsure of what to do in this matter. At least he doesn’t have power of attorney over me. He said the police have been calling about me, but frankly I think that is bullshit. Why would they not just call me if the matter pertains to me? I am a grown man after all. I didn’t even leave the house much during my drinking spree. I walked down to Fred’s to buy the mouthwash.
Dad also came over last night and took all my money away and the remaining mouthwash I still had. He also took away my 9mm pistol as he was afraid I was going to kill myself. This coddling he seems to do grows so tiresome and aggravating. I am at my wit’s end at what to do over this matter. I know he means well, but I am a grown man and even if I do drink mouthwash then it should be a decision for me to make.
Dad then asked me what I do with my days and I said, “I write.” He forcefully read the whole of my journal last night and said that “I am a danger to my family” by writing about my life and the gang. He is going to terminate my internet access as it is in his deceased mother’s name. Unfortunately, due to my mental illness, he is my representative payee for my monthly SSDI money and I have no control over it. I can choose a new representative payee at any time, but I don’t know who would be willing to act in this capacity. I do believe the county adult services will act in this capacity for me.
I called Dad this morning and asked about the police matter. He vaguely said that I have been acting in a weird capacity and that they were worried about me. I then asked him for some money and he said no. He is going to come over and give me some Librium before work to calm me down. I do think it is time for me to start living homeless again and to change the person that acts as my representative payee. It is just going to be a pain in the ass to accomplish all this though. It will involve countless phone calls (which I hate) and possible much paperwork.
Dad also came over last night and took all my money away and the remaining mouthwash I still had. He also took away my 9mm pistol as he was afraid I was going to kill myself. This coddling he seems to do grows so tiresome and aggravating. I am at my wit’s end at what to do over this matter. I know he means well, but I am a grown man and even if I do drink mouthwash then it should be a decision for me to make.
Dad then asked me what I do with my days and I said, “I write.” He forcefully read the whole of my journal last night and said that “I am a danger to my family” by writing about my life and the gang. He is going to terminate my internet access as it is in his deceased mother’s name. Unfortunately, due to my mental illness, he is my representative payee for my monthly SSDI money and I have no control over it. I can choose a new representative payee at any time, but I don’t know who would be willing to act in this capacity. I do believe the county adult services will act in this capacity for me.
I called Dad this morning and asked about the police matter. He vaguely said that I have been acting in a weird capacity and that they were worried about me. I then asked him for some money and he said no. He is going to come over and give me some Librium before work to calm me down. I do think it is time for me to start living homeless again and to change the person that acts as my representative payee. It is just going to be a pain in the ass to accomplish all this though. It will involve countless phone calls (which I hate) and possible much paperwork.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Self Destruction
I have drank two 18 packs of Miller high life and three bottles of Fred’s dollar store mouthwash over the past few days. I don’t know what to do. I guess I am on a path to self destruction. The past few days have been a drunken blur. I guess I am just a sorry son of a bitch and deserve no less.
Mom and Dad have both came over to try and shake me out of this malaise. It is times such as these that I want to be left alone. I know they mean well, but it gets fucking tiresome to be harangued all the time. I wish they would mind their own business.
I had a frightful encounter this morning. I thought I had lost a contact and those things are so damn expensive. I examined my eye in my bathroom mirror and found it. I was so relieved. I couldn’t afford to purchase another. I guess lady luck is looking after this drunk today.
Mom and Dad have both came over to try and shake me out of this malaise. It is times such as these that I want to be left alone. I know they mean well, but it gets fucking tiresome to be harangued all the time. I wish they would mind their own business.
I had a frightful encounter this morning. I thought I had lost a contact and those things are so damn expensive. I examined my eye in my bathroom mirror and found it. I was so relieved. I couldn’t afford to purchase another. I guess lady luck is looking after this drunk today.
The Doldrums
I have completely fallen under a malaise of the doldrums. My life has felt so lackluster lately. Hopefully, I will bring myself out of this malaise soon.
I completely freaked out this morning. I thought I had lost a contact and those things are so damned expensive. Upon careful examination, I found it in the corner of my eye. I could not have afforded to purchase another. I breathed a definite sigh of relief.
I completely freaked out this morning. I thought I had lost a contact and those things are so damned expensive. Upon careful examination, I found it in the corner of my eye. I could not have afforded to purchase another. I breathed a definite sigh of relief.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
A dollar a day keeps the doldrums away…
Momma called me tonight wondering why I haven’t been coming over to get my dollar for my AA meeting. To be frank, I have been lazy. A trip to my parent’s house often means dressing up and putting on airs.
“I have been worried about you,” Mom said.
“Oh, I have been fine,” I replied. “Don’t worry.”
I need to make a habit out of going over there and getting that dollar just to assuage mom’s worries. She is such a kind soul for doing that for me.
I was kind of taken aback at the comments I got on my last post about Carolyn. I didn’t think three words could carry such weight. I mainly said last night’s “I love you,” out of obligations. I do love her though. She has become a special soul in my life. I think about her often throughout the day. If it were up to me, she would be around constantly and not have to work that menial job at Fat Albert’s.
“I have been worried about you,” Mom said.
“Oh, I have been fine,” I replied. “Don’t worry.”
I need to make a habit out of going over there and getting that dollar just to assuage mom’s worries. She is such a kind soul for doing that for me.
I was kind of taken aback at the comments I got on my last post about Carolyn. I didn’t think three words could carry such weight. I mainly said last night’s “I love you,” out of obligations. I do love her though. She has become a special soul in my life. I think about her often throughout the day. If it were up to me, she would be around constantly and not have to work that menial job at Fat Albert’s.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Super Self Service
I went to my volunteer job for a few hours this afternoon. I am overjoyed that I have a computer and internet access. It really helps to pass the time and me not being paid allows me to not feel guilty for browsing occasionally. My job is rather simple. Our clients come to see the psychiatrist and then come back the next day to pick up their medications. My job is to schedule the next appointment with the doctor and to pass out the medications that have already been filled as the clients come back to pick them up. They have to sign a release form and pay a base rate of $5 dollars a bottle for their medications. It was $2 dollars a bottle when I utilized this service when I was homeless so the cost has gone up quite a bit.
Not long after I arrived home from work, mom came pulling up into my driveway.
“Will you drive me down to fill up my car?” Mom asked. “I don’t want to drive on highway 31.”
My mother is a terrible driver and she knows this.
“Sure,” I replied. “Let me put my shirt back on.”
Being a small town, we still have a family owned gas station with full service. My father’s pharmacy has an account with them so we can just charge the gas (petrol) we get. I drove mom down to that station and rolled down my window. An attendant walked out.
“What grade?” He asked.
“Regular unleaded and fill her up,” I replied as I sat in the car.
The attendant started to pump our gas, check the oil, and wash off the windshield.
“This is really nice,” I thought as I sat in the cool confines of the car on a hot July day.
“That will be $30.18,” The attendant said as he walked back up to my window.
“Charge this to Fairfax Pharmacy,” I replied.
“Sure will. Ya’ll have a nice day,” He said.
I then drove me and mom down to my father’s pharmacy which is just a few hundred yards from the gas station. Mom wanted to get a diet coke and I needed some batteries for my MP3 player. My father was not there and his stand in pharmacist was on duty. We got what we needed and then headed back up through the valley. Mom then handed me a dollar as I was driving.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“I am going to give you a dollar a day to put in the AA donation basket,” Mom said. “You seem to be doing so well lately and I want to help out with the cause.”
“Mom, you don’t have to do that,” I replied.
“I insist,” She said. “I ran by the bank today and changed two twenties and got $40 dollars in ones just for your meetings.”
“Well, the group will really appreciate the extra money,” I replied.
“As long as you will go, I will give you the money,” Mom replied.
I drove us on home and parked mom’s car in the garage and walked back to my house. My parent’s maid is cooking supper tonight and mom is supposed to call me when it is ready. It should be around 6 PM. Fanny is cooking fried cubed steak, rice, steamed broccoli, and dinner rolls. I am going to eat real quick and then head to my 7 PM Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Not long after I arrived home from work, mom came pulling up into my driveway.
“Will you drive me down to fill up my car?” Mom asked. “I don’t want to drive on highway 31.”
My mother is a terrible driver and she knows this.
“Sure,” I replied. “Let me put my shirt back on.”
Being a small town, we still have a family owned gas station with full service. My father’s pharmacy has an account with them so we can just charge the gas (petrol) we get. I drove mom down to that station and rolled down my window. An attendant walked out.
“What grade?” He asked.
“Regular unleaded and fill her up,” I replied as I sat in the car.
The attendant started to pump our gas, check the oil, and wash off the windshield.
“This is really nice,” I thought as I sat in the cool confines of the car on a hot July day.
“That will be $30.18,” The attendant said as he walked back up to my window.
“Charge this to Fairfax Pharmacy,” I replied.
“Sure will. Ya’ll have a nice day,” He said.
I then drove me and mom down to my father’s pharmacy which is just a few hundred yards from the gas station. Mom wanted to get a diet coke and I needed some batteries for my MP3 player. My father was not there and his stand in pharmacist was on duty. We got what we needed and then headed back up through the valley. Mom then handed me a dollar as I was driving.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“I am going to give you a dollar a day to put in the AA donation basket,” Mom said. “You seem to be doing so well lately and I want to help out with the cause.”
“Mom, you don’t have to do that,” I replied.
“I insist,” She said. “I ran by the bank today and changed two twenties and got $40 dollars in ones just for your meetings.”
“Well, the group will really appreciate the extra money,” I replied.
“As long as you will go, I will give you the money,” Mom replied.
I drove us on home and parked mom’s car in the garage and walked back to my house. My parent’s maid is cooking supper tonight and mom is supposed to call me when it is ready. It should be around 6 PM. Fanny is cooking fried cubed steak, rice, steamed broccoli, and dinner rolls. I am going to eat real quick and then head to my 7 PM Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Two is Company; Three is a Crowd
I awoke this morning to a crowded bed. It reminded me of a scene from Erskine Caldwell’s book Tobacco Road were all the poor country bumpkins slept together in one bed. Carolyn was snuggled up against the wall and Maggie was between us. Two is company; three is a crowd as they say. Maggie looked at me with her head poked out from under the covers like, “Time to go take a wee yet?” I crawled out of bed slipping on my bedroom slippers and my robe and went to go let her out. Carolyn whimpered, rolled over, wrapped herself up tightly in my covers and went back to sleep.
I vaguely remember Carolyn coming in last night. I had only gotten two hours of sleep the night before and was dead to the world. No, we were both too tired to do anything if that is what you are wondering. The only thing sexual that happened last night is that she pulled my arm around her and placed my hand upon her breast as I held her. That was the last thing I remembered before falling fast asleep again.
I am going to let Carolyn sleep as I go take Maggie out to the veterinarians to get her sutures out this morning. That might take a few hours depending on how busy Dr. Thomas is today. Then I will come home and fix us a grand brunch of Clark Brother’s sausage and ham and cheddar cheese omelets. Hopefully, by then, Carolyn will be up and about. Well, let me go get dressed and get Maggie loaded up into the car. I fear she already associates riding in the car with going to the dreaded veterinarian. I need to start taking her on daily rides to de-condition her of this assumption. Good day.
I vaguely remember Carolyn coming in last night. I had only gotten two hours of sleep the night before and was dead to the world. No, we were both too tired to do anything if that is what you are wondering. The only thing sexual that happened last night is that she pulled my arm around her and placed my hand upon her breast as I held her. That was the last thing I remembered before falling fast asleep again.
I am going to let Carolyn sleep as I go take Maggie out to the veterinarians to get her sutures out this morning. That might take a few hours depending on how busy Dr. Thomas is today. Then I will come home and fix us a grand brunch of Clark Brother’s sausage and ham and cheddar cheese omelets. Hopefully, by then, Carolyn will be up and about. Well, let me go get dressed and get Maggie loaded up into the car. I fear she already associates riding in the car with going to the dreaded veterinarian. I need to start taking her on daily rides to de-condition her of this assumption. Good day.
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