A Sick Friend

I grew very worried when I didn't hear from Rosa yesterday. It is not like us to go a day without talking. I feared she had had another round with her crack cocaine addiction and was at the crack house. My worst fears were abated when I drove over to her house this morning. She was alive, but just barely.

"Sweetheart, I have been worried like hell about you," I said as she opened her front door after I knocked. "I didn't hear from you yesterday and you aren't answering your phone."

Rosa looked pasty and white – like death warmed over.

"I've got the old stomach flu," she said. "I haven't eaten since the day before yesterday."

I walked into Rosa's kitchen to check her cupboards and fridge for anything light I could fix for her. She badly needed groceries and didn't have anything to drink.

"I'll be right back," I told her as I left to go to the grocery store just up the street to buy some stuff for her.

I arrived back at Rosa's house after spending $30 dollars shopping. I pulled out a big pot from under her stove and started some homemade chicken noodle soup. I poured in cans of chicken stock and then emptied foil packages of white meat chunked chicken, sliced celery, carrots, wide egg noodles, and an onion. Rosa was also overjoyed that I had bought her two twelve packs of Sprite which is a soft drink that is easy on a sick stomach. Soon the smell of the chicken noodle soup was wafting throughout her house.

"Thank you so much," Rosa said as she stood in the kitchen next to me drinking a lukewarm Sprite. "That soup smells delicious. I am starving. I hope I can keep it down."

"That is what friends are for," I replied as I stirred the soup one last time and put the lid on. "Let this simmer for about an hour."

"Can you do me one more favor?" Rosa then asked.

"Sure," I replied. "You name it."

"Can you go by the convenience store and buy me some cigarettes? I ran out the day before yesterday and felt too ill to get out of the house to buy more."

I left and bought Rosa four packs of cheap cigarettes down at Fat Albert's and took them back to her. She surprised me with the haste at which she opened up a pack and lit up. Rosa was desperate for some smokes. I bid my friend good bye and told her to call me tonight to let me know if she was able to eat and was feeling better. The stomach flu is just one of those ailments that has to run its course. She will be fine in a few days.

The Bogeyman of Chambers County

George was pretty quiet tonight as we embarked upon the drunken express as I call it these days. It didn't help that I was pretty quiet as well. George had probably drunk a six pack of beer before we even made it out of town.

"Pull over," he said as we were leaving the county. "I've gotta piss."

I pulled off the side of the road way out in the countryside. It was a beautiful night as I left the car running and got out to stretch my legs. George carefully walked down next to the woods to relieve himself. I was looking up at the stars noticing that the summer constellations were making their first appearance when George took off running and hollering.

"Fuck!" George hollered. "There is something in the woods!"

George finally stopped - breathing heavily - and told me to move the car where the headlights shone down into those woods.

"It's just deer," I said loudly. "They are harmless."

"I'm tellin' ya something big, dark, and black was moving in dem woods," George replied.

"Come on," I said. "Get in the car and lets head on."

George jumped in the car, shutting and locking the doors, and then buckled up. I was still smiling as I put the car in gear and drove off. George regained his composure and cracked open another beer.

"You gotta watch out for those kamikaze deer," I said with a grin.

"Shut up, man," George replied, his pride bruised. "I swear that wasn't no deer."

"Uh-huh," I said as I drove on. "It must be the bogeyman of Chambers County."

George was none too thrilled at me making light of his fear. I thought it was funny. There is nothing in the woods of Alabama that can hurt you except other humans. George would have been a mess if he would have been homeless in the woods as I was in the winter of '04. I drove until George had drunk enough that he was falling asleep in the passenger's seat and then took him on home. I will never let George live down tonight.

Rendezvous with Rachel

It is well after midnight. My ex-wife has come over with our Boston terrier, Otis. We are lying in the bed after making love.

"Have you missed me?" she asks.

"I've missed you more than anything," I reply as I brush the hair out of her face.

Otis and Maggie are in the den. You can hear them play fighting loudly.

"I got promoted at work," my ex-wife tells me. "I am now head librarian."

"Being a librarian was always your calling," I reply. "You still read a book every few days?"

"You should see my house," she replies. "You almost can't walk there are so many books. I've started selling them on E-Bay. I've actually made a few hundred dollars."

"Do you regret us getting a divorce?" I then ask wistfully.

"I don't know," Rachel says as she sits on the edge of my bed as she puts back on her bra. "I miss you, but I don't miss your drinking and crazy ways."

"It was pretty bad, wasn't it?" I say.

"If you were only like you are now then we would still be married," she replies as she gets up to put the rest of her clothes on.

"Well, I need to head home," she says. "I have to be at work early in the morning. I love you."

"I love you too, doll," I say as I walk her into the den as she puts Otis back on his leash to leave. "Tomorrow night?"

"I'll see you tomorrow night," Rachel replies. "Let's go up to Newnan and eat at our favorite Chinese restaurant."

I suddenly wake up, breathing heavily. It was one of the most realistic and vibrant dreams I have had in years. I can still remember how Rachel's skin felt as we lay unclothed in the bed and the smell of her hair. I sit on the edge of my bed as I light a cigarillo trying to decide if what I just experienced was a good dream or a nightmare. I do know it made me miss my ex-wife deeply. I will never be able to get back to sleep now. It is time for coffee and breakfast as I put these vivid memories behind me.

Staying the Bachelor

"I've decided I am just going to stay single for awhile," I told Rosa honestly as we were walking back from Rodger's Barbeque after eating lunch.

"Is this about A.A.?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "They are right in that relationships can cause things to get complicated and fucked up for someone new to sobriety. I don't want to go back to drinking."

We were halfway across the Chattahoochee when I stopped on the bridge to lean upon the guard rail and look down at that swirling green and turgid river water. Rosa leaned up next to me. The traffic flew by us on the bridge pushing gusts of wind that whipped our clothes and hair into a frenzy.

"I'm always here if you change your mind," she then said. "I appreciate you being honest and forthcoming with me."

"You know what?" I said as I looked up at her. "If things were different and I wasn't some ex-drunk basket case then I would sweep you off your feet."

"Those things don't matter to me," she replied of my alcoholism and my mental illness. "I love you just the way you are. You are one of the better men that I have met in my life. But I understand why you must stay single."

"I appreciate you saying that," I said as we started back walking.

Rosa reached out to hold my hand and clasped it firmly.

"Friends forever?" she asked as we stepped off that bridge to make our way to our homes.

"Friends forever," I replied as I looked at her with a warm smile.

"Today's going to be a beautiful day. I can just feel it," Rosa said.

"It already is," I replied as we crossed the railroad tracks and disappeared into downtown.

_______________________________________

Things of note…

• Today's actions were taken in part by the many wise and insightful comments from my blogging friends yesterday. Thank you for the comments and this post was dedicated to the women who visit my blog. It pays to be forthright and honest with a woman, doesn't it? I was extremely surprised things went so smoothly with Rosa. She took it really well. I guess she really does love me.


• I dropped my $350 dollar Canon camera the other day and ruined it. On my meager income, I will never be able to afford another until next Christmas. So thus ends pictures for quite awhile and tolls the end of my photo blog. All my funds are going into buying myself a new computer these days and I have saved up $285 dollars.
  


• My friend Cheryl asked me in an email about my father giving me a hard time about Rosa eating on my restaurant tab all the time. Actually, he is just glad I will go and eat. My social anxieties tend to make me shy away from busy restaurants such as Rodger's. So he is glad I have a friend to go with and am getting a "home cooked" meal everyday with vegetables.
  

Ghostly Visages

My pain pill induced one of the more vigorous nights of insomnia I have experienced in weeks. I had forgotten why I – as a schizophrenic – can't take such pills. They cause me to hallucinate and stay up all night. Tonight's wonderful experience (sarcasm) with Lortab and schizophrenia was that of shadowy darkness with shadowy figures coming in and out of that darkness. I was walking the streets on my nightly hike and everywhere were ghostly visages haunting me. I would see something move out of the corner of my eye in my peripheral vision and it would make me shudder with paranoia and fear. These experiences are so hauntingly vivid and real to me, but are purely imagined.

I finally arrived at my favorite after-hour's park and sat trying to collect myself.

"God, I wish this would pass," I said aloud – scared. "I wish I would have never taken that pill."

My hands were shaking and my heart was beating vigorously as if I had just undertaken a marathon. I covered my eyes trying to stop the shadowy figures from haunting me and invading my mind. It can be the most uncomfortable of existences.

"It's going to be okay," I said as I sat there on that cold bench rocking back and forth as I held myself in the cold night air.

I've had this same experience before. When I had my motorcycle accident and broke my arm and shoulder, they had me on injections of Demerol to dull the terrible pain I was experiencing. I grew delirious with hallucinations and delusions. That was when what I call ghosting was at its most intense and extreme. Ghosting is common for me where I see the ghostly visages of cats or animals lazily lying around everywhere. They are black and white and lack color, and are usually innocuous. That was also the time I thought my ex-wife was embroiled in making pornography films and was also pregnant with my child (Rachel was barren). I thought they were shooting such films in my home and would walk upstairs to stop them only to find empty, silent rooms as I stood alone. Rachel was flabbergasted by my pleading calls on the phone for her to stop such vagaries and take care of our child.

Some hours have passed and I am feeling better now. I have often found that time and solitude can often cure what ails me as I have given my system time to metabolize that pain medication. Please remind me tomorrow not to take that pill and to explain to my father what happened tonight. I am afraid my addictive personality will cast all cares to the wind and take another pill come medication time. Let me go crawl into the bed and see if sleep will overcome me. I do so need some rest…

White Pills of Bliss

Arrived home from I and George's little jaunt out into the countryside in his new car. That car drives like a dream and has a silky smooth V6 with loads of power, but it guzzles gas. I had forgotten how much I love spending time with that old drunken fool. George had on his finest Hawaiian style shirt and a pair of khaki pants and his captain's cap. He was dressed to a T in familiar George fashion. We drove out into the country on the back roads to escape the city and the police. That way, George could piss anywhere along side of the road. I know all too well how drinking copious amounts of beer can make you piss like a racehorse.

"When are you and your old lady (Rosa) going to get married?" George asked at one point.

I smiled at George's playful bluntness.

"You didn't know?" I asked, playing along. "We are already engaged."

"You're shitting me!" George exclaimed.

I laugh and say, "Yes, I am shitting you, you dumbass."

"Well, you spend all your time together so you might as well be married."

I and George then had a long discussion about Rosa and why the two of them don't get along.

"She always wants to borrow cigars from me and it pisses me off," George said.

"Rosa thinks you are a cheap bastard that's why she doesn't like you," I reply, thinking of all the countless numbers of beers I have bought George over the years. George is pretty cheap towards Rosa.

We then talked of how it would be embarrassing for me to date Rosa because of my family. I feel terrible about it, but it is true. My father was aghast at me dating an older woman such as my ex-girlfriend Carolyn. He still has high hopes for me having children one day even knowing I could never handle offspring. He would be in horror at me dating a 46 year old ex-prostitute, ex-con grandmother who smokes cigars. I had to smile even thinking about it. My brother and sister married the picture perfect upper middle class mates – much to my father's approval.

I finally arrived home to four messages from my father about tonight's medications. I had forgotten all about them.

"Where in the hell have you been?" He asked, so worried.

"Oh, just driving around with a friend," I replied. "Sorry. I forgot."

"Come on over and take your meds so I can go to bed. I had a hell of a day at work today and am tired."

My father had called my dentist earlier in the day about a molar I broke a few weeks ago. It has started to hurt and I was popping aspirin and Tylenol like candy and this worried him. I couldn't get an appointment until June to get it fixed so my dentist called in a prescription for Lortab to my father's pharmacy so I had a surprise in tonight's medications – a little white pill of bliss.

"You sure will love this," my father said as he handed me my medications to take along with a plastic cup of water.

"You sure I can't have another in case I get to hurting during the night?" I asked as I smiled devilishly.

"Shithead," My father said affectionately. "I bet you would just love to take two. Go get some sleep and quit taking all those Tylenols. You are going to ruin your liver."

I walked on home waiting for the effects of that Lortab to take hold. I have completely forgotten about that broken molar and am on cloud nine. It is going to be a fun night. See you all in the morning.

A Drive with George

I got to drive George's new metallic tan Buick at lunchtime today. We drove way outside the city limits as we talked. He came by to pay me back some money he owed me. I have never seen someone so proud of a used car. George drove a string of pieces of shit that were constantly breaking down for years and deserved this. This car is very nice and almost new – it even has a new car smell.

One of the conditions for George's mother buying him this car was that he was not to drink and drive in it. George said he has struggled deeply with this.

"It's my favorite time to drink," George told me of driving.

"Call me and I will drive you around," I said. "I have nothing but time on my hands and would enjoy the company."

I worry about George and I worry about our friendship. A rift has formed between us in my newfound sobriety. We were much like Rosa and I spending most of our free time together. George was my drinking buddy and we would talk for hours and shoot the shit over a case of beer.

"How about tonight?" George then asked. "I will buy us a bag of McDonald's cheeseburgers and we will drive around over a case of beer."

I smiled - glad George took me up on the offer. My A.A. friends would be howling in protest though that I will be hanging out with an old alcoholic friend who is still using. I trust myself though and I will be driving after all.

"I have A.A. at seven so pick me up at the meeting hall at 8pm," I replied. "I wish you would go with me. I still can't get Ferret to go."

"A.A. screws up my drinking," George said. "That time I went with you made me feel like a drunk and I ain't a drunk."

A.A. will mess up your drinking for sure. If I even think of drinking, the faces of my A.A. friends pop to mind.

I drove me and George back to my house and he left to continue with his fly-by-night taxi service. It worries me that an alcoholic man's livelihood is dependent upon driving around everyday all day. The temptation to drink for George is just too great. Maybe I can help my friend in some small way. There will be those that will say I am enabling him. I am only doing what I would want a friend to do for me when I was still using and drinking heavily.

A Terrible Dilemma

It is going on 7:30am. I and Rosa are walking through downtown heading back to my house after eating breakfast. It was a long weekend and we didn't get to see much of each other and I relish this time with her. It is a cool and blustery morning bespeaking of winter's past. A backdoor cold front blew through yesterday upon the heels of thunderstorms. We needed the rain badly.

"How was your meeting with your daughter?" I ask as we walk past the convenience store.

Rosa, her daughter, and granddaughter spent time together this weekend.

"Oh, I was a nervous wreck," Rosa replies. "But I didn't make a fool of myself. My granddaughter is precious. I cooked all weekend and we drove up to Atlanta and ate at The Varsity."

"I am so glad things went well," I say sincerely.

"I just wish you could have been there," she replies.

I pull out my pack of cigarillos handing Rosa one. I light up and then hand Rosa my small box of wooden matches. She struggles to light hers in the blustery wind.

"I thought we were finished with winter," she says of the weather as she pulls on her cigar after finally lighting it.

"I know," I reply. "It feels like fall, not early May."

We walk quietly for a few hundred yards. I can tell Rosa is in deep thought. I finally break the silence by speaking up.

"A penny for your thoughts?" I ask.

"I am just thinking about you and this chick you are enamored with," Rosa says. "George keeps carrying on about it. Says you call her the Celtic beauty. That is a pretty affectionate term."

"We are not dating," I reply, defensively.

"Yet?" Rosa asks. "Would you date her?"

I don't lie, but answer in a roundabout fashion.

"They say you can't date in A.A. during your first year of sobriety," I reply. "I am supposed to stay single for a long time and so is she."

"That didn't keep you from dating Carolyn," Rosa says, rightly.

"I know," I reply. "I am only human."

"And that is what I like about you," Rosa says. "You don't bullshit and I get a feeling you are bullshitting me about this woman."

I grow quiet as we walk just a few minutes from my house. Rosa was right. I usually pride myself on my honesty with my friends and I was being deceptive.

"You know I love you, don't you?" Rosa finally says as we walk through my neighborhood. "Just don't play games with my heart."

I grab her hand and keep walking. I am faced with a terrible dilemma – an overly feminine young woman with whom I am attracted to physically and an overly homely looking much older woman with who I am enamored with her personality. I am worried I will lose Rosa's friendship if I start dating the Celtic beauty and I don't want that to happen. I don't envy myself of the choice. I realize I love both women deeply. A conundrum indeed!

Chapter 13, an Unlucky Number?

Tonight's A.A. meeting was pleasant. I have been having some misgivings about the program and it was nice to have some of my fears assuaged by an innocuous and non-confrontational meeting. I'm struggling with the whole cultist atmosphere A.A. imparts and the agnostic in me wants to revolt. There is just something distasteful about not taking responsibility for your addictions by turning them over to a higher power. I kept thinking of my Celtic beauty who was not there tonight and maybe that will keep me going. I am honestly smitten by her beauty and personality.

Had a mostly quiet day working on my book. I finished the 13th chapter today with a hoped-for total of 30. Papa and the children managed to get in their crucial crop of cotton and sell it only to have calamity strike when their two prized mules grew ill. I am still debating on where to take this story line. I may even trash chapter 13. I don't want the book to become too morose, but I want to maintain the suspense that such an occurrence would cause during the Great Depression. Buying two new mules would be akin to buying a brand new car in depression era dollars. Papa would have to put up his house and next year's crop for collateral and times are already lean. Don't worry...the book will have a good ending. My grandmother lived a wonderful life.

Comedy actor Inman dies aged 71

Actor John Inman, most famous for the comedy Are You Being Served?, has died in London aged 71, his spokesman said.

You may remember John Inman from his famous role as Mr. Humphries on Are You Being Served? He was my favorite character and will be sorely missed. Rest in peace, John.

A Canvas of Twinkling Jewels and Deep Dark Azure

Sat in that darkened park that so entices me to visit for most of the night. Nearby was the little roadside barbeque stand near which you could still smell the dampened ash of Saturday's grilling. My stomach grumbled as I thought of a quarter of a barbecued chicken smothered in tangy southern-style sauce. I would have to wait until Monday to fulfill that culinary fantasy though.

The night seemed darker than usual – the moon hidden by thick billowing clouds alit by the light pollution of the city casting an eerie orange glow. I could only see a few feet in front of me as I fumbled with my radio to find a better station. Ah, there it was – 890 AM out of New Orleans - with my favorite show, Coast to Coast AM. I listened for a long time as I drank hot and rich coffee from my thermos as the guests talked of Mayan mysticism and the metaphysical aspects of their ancient calendar. I chuckled at the seriousness in which the callers undertake the subject when discussing pure bullshit on this show – it's like Jerry Springer for intellectuals.

Ring. Ring.

I am startled by that sound. It is coming from my backpack. I had forgotten Rosa had given me her cell phone to keep overnight in case of an emergency during my walk. I curse as I fumble with the phone, finally pulling it out, and hit the answer button.

"Hello?"

"Can I speak to Rosa?"

"She's at home asleep," I reply.

"What an odd time of the morning to be calling," I think. It must be one of her old using buddies. He sounded like an older man with a gravely and raspy voice.

"Tell her that I called," he said and hung up.

I chuckled. He didn't even tell me who 'I' was. Probably best to let that sleeping dog lie. I don't want Rosa undergoing any old temptations.

I pull on my backpack after drinking the last of my coffee. I light a cigarillo with a wooden match like Clint Eastwood in those old spaghetti westerns and begin the journey home. The clouds have cleared some and a few stars are peeking out between breaks in the cumulus. I throw my head back and gaze almost becoming dizzy and giddy like a small child with a toy telescope seeing the magnified moon for the first time. Natures wonders never cease to amaze me and I think of all the people sleeping soundly missing the most peaceful and comforting time of the night – serenaded by nature's breezes upon a canvas of twinkling jewels with nothing but a horizon awash in the most beautiful deep dark azure. I almost didn't want the walk home to end. Good night.

Processing…

Still trying to catch myself and process all that has been going on the past few days. Have doubled up on my Risperdal at night to combat my symptoms and it seems to be helping. My mind is in shutdown mode and it is hard to take it all in. The paranoia is still there - like some unwelcomed guest that will not leave or go home.

I drove over to my new home today and thought I was being followed. What normally is only a ten minute drive, took thirty with my weird route to dissuade my followers – the police – men in black suits with dark sunglasses. Prying eyes seem to be upon every corner and citizens are looking out of their houses to watch me pass with phones at the ready in their hands – waiting to call the police. Is all this happening? No, but you can't tell me that when it occurs. My surreal reality is just as vivid as real life at hand.

Left my new home this morning and drove over to our pond. The sun decided to make an appearance today after a week of mostly cloudy skies. Those glorious rays shining down upon me made me smile and brought forth a bellowing feeling of gladness from within. God's country and our pond were just as calming and peaceful as I always had remembered them. Squirrels ran through the big hardwoods lining the pond as fish broke the placid surface of the water in search of an easy insect meal. I berated myself for not bringing my tackle box and fishing gear so I could cast in a line with a lure. Some corn meal coated and pan fried bass or bream would have been a nice and economical supper garnished with coleslaw, hushpuppies, and French fries. I could see numerous fish at the water's edge as if they were taunting me.

Managed to create an uneasy peace with my father last night. I told him he must give me a little space when I get to feeling ill. He was comforted by the fact that I came over and voluntarily took the numerous pills I have to take every night. We had a long discussion about what really started World War II and the consequences of the Treaty of Versailles at the end of the First World War that left Germany economically crippled. German citizens were actually carrying wheelbarrow loads of German marks just to pay for sundry items such as bread. Hitler's desperate rise to power arose out a sense of desperation from a populace carrying little hope. War breeds jobs and economic vitality for the victor. Hitler's plan backfired though when the juggernaut that was the 1940s US military geared up and entered the war. It is eerily similar to Bush, 9/11, and the rush to invade other countries to protect our "freedoms" from nonexistent weapons of mass destruction. Oh well, my paltry words will do little to persuade a public so jaded by the frenzied propaganda machine that is modern media.

On the outside looking in…

It's an overcast and cool Friday afternoon. The shopping center is bustling with activity as people get in their last minute shopping before the stores close at seven. The sidewalks are choked with yuppie looking women surrounded by throngs of little rugrats. Rosa sits next to me and waxes poetically about her own daughter. We spend all our waking hours together these days. I keep wondering when she will grow tired of me.

"My daughter wrote me another letter," Rosa says. "She talked about being in prison and how it straightened out her life."

"I can only imagine," I reply.

"I've been in jail plenty of times for prostitution so I can't say much about it."

"Jail sucks," I reply. "I spent a night in jail for drinking and driving and learned my lesson as well."

"A pretty boy like you would get ass raped in prison," Rosa says. "You would be everybody's girlfriend."

I shudder to even think of what Rosa just said.

"When do you go see your daughter?" I then ask.

"The first week in May," Rosa replies. "She is driving here with my granddaughter to see me. I am so nervous."

"My social anxiety would be giving me fits," I retort.

"Don't put that in your mouth," A young mother says to her young son as they pass me and Rosa on our bench.

"I'm glad I and Rachel didn't have any kids," I tell Rosa. "That would have been one helluva mess."

"You would make an awesome father, though," Rosa replies. "I bet being a father would change your life for the better."

"Or drive me even crazier that I already am," I respond as I chuckle and smile. "Can you imagine me with teenagers?"

Rosa laughs and agrees. It certainly would make for an interesting family. But I would never want to pass on this affliction called schizophrenia to my offspring. My mother, her mother, and her mother's mother did. It made for some terrible and chaotic childhoods and lives. This line stops with me. I leave Rosa to walk on home feeling forlorn about the whole topic of parenthood. Somethings were just not meant to be.

Meals, Ready to Eat

Rosa got to experience her first military MRE today. A few years ago, I bought several large cases of the meals in case I ever became homeless again – spent a fortune. They have proved perfect for my little jaunts into the woods to go camping although they are rather heavy. They are even self-heating.

"This is really good," Rosa said with her mouth full of spaghetti and meat sauce.

"I told you you would like them," I replied.

I spent the rest of the afternoon unloading my car as Rosa helped. When my schizophrenia strikes, I get it into my head that homelessness is the only solution to my predicament. Hey, I know it's crazy, but I do have schizophrenia if you remember.

"Where were you gonna go?" Rosa asked me of my voluntary homelessness.

"Back out to the woods where no one can find me and force medications upon me," I replied. "I can be crazy and free and not have family watch me constantly."

I told Rosa how my father tries to punish me when I get ill or don't take my medications. He is a total control freak.

"You two's relationship is fucked up," Rosa replied.

"I know," I said. "I usually just ignore the bullshit and controlling nature of my father, but will speak freely when I don't feel well. It drives him crazy. I sometimes wonder who actually is the person with a mental illness in our relationship."

We finally unloaded my car and I came in to write this as Rosa settled down to watch Court TV.

Breakfast on the Lam

Found Rosa sitting down at the shopping center this morning. She was eating a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit as she drank a coffee. It was a beautiful day if rather overcast with a slight cool breeze.

"Hey sweetheart," Rosa says as I walk up. "I've been worried about you. You weren't answering your phone this morning."

"I unplugged it," I reply. "It was making me paranoid."

"I guess you made it through last night."

"I packed up my car with all my survival and camping gear to leave," I say. "I was going to become homeless again."

"Well, I am glad you decided not to," She replies with a worried look upon her face. "When do you get your next injection?"

"Monday," I say. "It's going to be an interesting weekend."

"Oh, George does have a new car, by the way," Rosa says. "His mother bought it for him and he has to pay her back in installments."

I smiled thinking of George. Nobody deserved a newer car than he. He drove those old junkers for years.

"It looks in really good shape, almost new," Rosa added. "He asked about you. He said he owes you some money. I wish you wouldn't let that old drunk take money from you."

"I'm headed across the river for lunch," I say ignoring the comment about George as I start to walk off.

"I am coming over this afternoon so look for me," Rosa replies as she slaps me on the ass.

"See you after lunch," I say as I smile from her deviousness.

That Old Demon Arises

My old nemesis schizophrenia hit me hard today thus no posts or writing. I spent most of the day in bed trying to sleep off the funks. My mother came over four times to check on me. Rosa, who has a key to my house, came over and crawled into the bed with me. It was very welcomed and I was having such a hard day that I needed the comforting company of another.

Had a spurious argument with my father tonight. I had missed my injection for my schizophrenia.

"Leave me alone," I told him. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

"I pay your bills. I do everything for you," he said.

"I didn't ask you too. You took all that upon yourself so don't fucking blame me. Just don't do it anymore."

"I am going to cut off your internet," he then said.

"Fucking cut it off," I replied as I slammed the door shut.

Twilight Joy

It is going on 9pm. Twilight still lights the horizon – one of the joys of living on eastern daylight savings time. A train is roaring through downtown and I am writing down the locomotive types and their numbers upon my scratchpad as I and Rosa stand next to the tracks.

"This has to be the most boring shit I have ever done," Rosa says loudly over the din of the passing train as she looks on with the most disinterested look.

"Hey," I reply, putting my pad back into my backpack. "You said you were bored and wanted to hang out with me. This is one of my favorite things to do."

"No wonder your ex-wife divorced you," Rosa says snidely as she smiles. "This is about as boring as watching plants grow."

I laugh and say, "Rachel divorced me because I was a crazy lush who wouldn't take his medications. She would actually go to the hobby shop in Atlanta and buy me trains."

"Well, from what you've told me, she was weird as hell."

I couldn't argue with Rosa. My ex-wife was pretty interesting.

"Come on," Rosa says as she grabs my hand. "I am leaving. You've had enough trains for one night."

Just an hour beforehand, I was standing around in a circle holding hands at the end of my A.A. meeting saying the Lord's Prayer.

Our Father, who art in heaven…hallowed be thy name…

The Celtic beauty was standing next to me with her hand in mine. It was a wonderful moment of intimacy and touch – her warm hand feeling soft as the finest silk.

Thy kingdom come…thy will be done…on earth as it is in heaven…

"I'm sorry about the other night," I tell her after finishing the Lord's Prayer as the meeting concludes and we walk outside to our cars.

"Sorry for what?" She asks as she stops walking and looks up at me with a confused look. I am a good foot taller than her.

"Sorry for coming on to you."

"Oh that," She says. "I thought it was sweet. You were so nervous your hands were shaking."

"I thought you would never talk to me again," I reply as I laugh trying to make light of my nervousness.

The Celtic beauty throws back her head and laughs as well.

"Silly," she says of me. "I just need some time in sobriety before I start dating again. My divorce drove me to drinking every night and I almost lost my job and life began to spiral out of control. I would date you in a heartbeat if it wasn't for that. Just give me some time."

I felt so much better after she told me that. I thought I had ruined everything and now the door is cracked slightly awaiting me to open it and come inside. I drove home with a big smile upon my face as I headed to Rosa's house which soon found us down at the train tracks and the start of this story. It has been a pretty damn good day.

On Writing Hardscrabble Times

My book is quickly progressing. Today's chapter centered on the family getting in their crop of cotton just in time to sell it on the market while the price was still high which was crucial to surviving the upcoming winter. Sally Lou's (the protagonist) hands were broken and bleeding from picking cotton for weeks and so were all the other eight children of Papa. The hired hands, L and Bear, helped as well almost being surrogate sons to Papa, Sally Lou's father, despite being two young orphaned black men – their mother having been killed in a tornado at the turn of the century. In an era were black men were treated as second class citizens, Papa treated Bear and L as men of equal stature and was chastised by the local white men in town for doing so.

"It ain't right to have niggers eating at your table and using your tableware," One man told Papa in town in this chapter.

Papa was a big, burly man hardened from years of sharecropping a farm and told the white man to watch his words. The man cowered and went about his way mumbling under his breath.

I think I have done a pretty good job in capturing the flavor of the south during the depression. My grandmother always told me times were hard then, but they had such an extremely close knit family that tempered the harshness of their poor reality. I hope to catch the essence of her early life in my attempts at writing this book. My father is going to love it. I have only let him read one chapter, the first, and he keeps asking me for more and has been invaluable in helping me flesh out my main characters. Well, let me get back to writing. Chapter ten awaits.

A Lambasting Reader

I received a lambasting email today about my smoking habit. They said I was using "government money" (my disability is funded mostly by MY TAX DOLLARS I paid into the system working for decades) to support my smoking habit. WRONG! My proceeds from the advertisements on this blog easily cover the $1 dollar a day, one pack a day habit I have. At first, I grew angry and defensive, but my rational side overcame my rashness when replying. They called me a burden on the health system.

"Statistically, you are more likely to die in a car accident if you drive a lot than I am to die of complications from smoking," I replied. "I rarely drive my car and can go weeks on one tank of gas. I like my odds better."

"My schizophrenia and the extremely expensive ($1500 dollars a month funded by Medicare part D) medications to subdue it also will cost much, much more than any smoking related costs over the course of my lifetime," I further added. "Should I off myself to save your valuable tax dollars? The only cure for schizophrenia is death."

It is well known in scholarly circles about the relationship of schizophrenia and other mental illnesses to smoking. There is something about nicotine that helps those of us that suffer with this disease to calm our symptoms. Don't believe me? Spend some quality time in the mental ward of a hospital as I have many times and you will find most that smoke. There are a lot of mentally ill people walking the halls with nicotine patches on their shoulders.

I will not do your homework for you, but if you are interested in the veracity of smoking as it relates to schizophrenia then just search Google. You will find countless scholarly studies that have been published in peer reviewed scientific journals about the link to smoking and mental illness.

Breakfast at A.A.

This morning we had our monthly A.A. breakfast meeting which happens on the first Wednesday of every month. The women of the group cooked sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, buttery grits, hash brown potatoes, and biscuits. It was delicious. We also had a speaker for the meeting and he was very interesting. He had spent his career in the Navy as a cook until he got court marshaled for doing untoward things while he was drunk. I have found that people from all walks of life come together in these A.A. meeting halls.

After the meeting, I was sitting on the porch talking to my favorite A.A. person, Wanda.

"Have you got a sponsor yet?" she asked.

"No," I replied, sheepishly.

"I wish you would listen to me," she said, motherly. "And get one."

"I wrote my ex-wife a letter," I then said (I took Annabel's advice). "I told her I still loved her and would send her money every month if I had a job. I told her I was sober, taking my medications, and doing well these days."

"Do you feel better?" Wanda asked.

"I don't care about how I feel," I replied. "I just want Rachel to have some resolution and peace. She will always mean the world to me."

Wanda is a nurse and soon had to head to work. She hugged me goodbye and once again urged me to get a sponsor. I told her I would try.

I then walked the long walk over to the shopping center. Big S was sitting out front.

"George has a new car!" Big S said excitedly.

"How in the hell did George afford a car?" I asked.

"He said his mother bought it for him."

"What kind is it?"

"Buick LaSabre," Big S replied.

I bid Big S farewell and walked on home. I can't wait to catch up with George to see if this rumor is true. George badly needed a new car as his Thunderbird was on its last leg. Let's just hope he doesn't wreck it while drinking and driving.

Picture of Rosa

I took this picture a few weeks ago as I and Rosa were sitting on the bench down at the shopping center talking up from the dollar store. FIWA wanted one so I called Rosa and she said it would be fine. She keeps hoping like George that my writings will make her famous. She doesn't realize how many people read this blog or she wouldn't let me do this no doubt. I love this picture and the story it tells.

Road Trip

"George told me you tried to ask a woman out the other night," Rosa told me as we were driving down to a nearby college town with a mall to go shopping.

"Damn George," I thought. You can't tell him anything without him gossiping about it.

"I just asked her out for coffee and to talk," I replied.

"Would you date her?"

"No," I replied, lying. I didn't want to hurt Rosa's feelings and felt something's were best not said. It didn't amount to anything anyway.

"You know I would be extremely jealous."

"I know. That's why I didn't say anything about it. I didn't want to hurt you."

We arrived at the mall after a forty five minute drive. I had a $500 dollar gift card for Belk's to spend from my birthday and also a $100 gift card from my brother for Red Lobster. I bought Rosa two very nice shirts.

"How do I look?" Rosa asked as she came out of the fitting room.

"You look gorgeous," I replied as I smiled, glad she looked so excited and happy. Rosa nor I can afford to go shopping much.

Rosa smiled sheepishly as I lavished praise upon her. I also bought myself four polo style shirts and two pair of shorts and we left. I still have $200 dollars left on that card. The prices were very reasonable and my shirts were buy-one, get-one-free.

We then headed for the Red Lobster that was just across the parking lot from the mall.

"I don't much like seafood," Rosa said.

"Then get a steak," I replied.

I and Rosa both got the thirty shrimp special despite her saying she didn't like seafood and I noticed she ate every bite. Rosa also got a margarita and I got one as well of the virgin varieties. We finished with dessert. I almost couldn't stand up I was so full. We really lived it up today.

"I don't know what I would do without you," Rosa told me as I was driving home. "It's weird having a cool friend who isn't also a crack head."

I smiled broadly.

"That is what best friends are for," I replied. "Just help me stay sober and I will help you stay clean."

I dropped Rosa off at her house and headed home. It was a really nice day and I enjoyed it despite my aversion to shopping.

To Soothe the Savage Soul

Sat on my favorite bench in my favorite park after midnight listening to the radio, staring at my small town's skyline stretched out before me. City lights danced in the distance mirrored by the background of a starry night sky. It was all staggeringly beautiful and I was glad to be able to enjoy this moment with a semi sane mind – my medications doing their job. I didn't realize how much I had missed these pseudo southern summer nights after such a winter of long, disparaging periods of cold darkness. It was a beautiful, spring night as a bright waxing gibbous moon marched stalwartly across the night sky soon to be full. It made me think of my father often saying a full moon brings the crazies into his pharmacy. I never believed such claptrap, but it did make me smile to think of rabid pill takers insanely assaulting my father's pharmacy for their monthly fix of medications. I have been known to stand outside the pharmacy awaiting its opening doors to get my fix as well – although I am not sure if the moon was full or not.

A fog soon started to roll in off that grand Chattahoochee as the one 'o' clock hour arrived – that grand abandoned cotton mill turning a dark grey in the mist alit by moonlight. I pulled on my backpack and thought of Summer and her concerns about me and my nightly travails through town in the wee hours of the morning with my most valuable possessions slung upon my back. I have always been an affable man with what I will do and the friends that I make. Take the gang for instance – all mostly unsavory individuals with which my life has become intertwined. I guess it would take just one bad experience and my affableness would be cured for good.

Arrived home to find man's best friend at my door vigorously wagging her tail. I have had a lot of companions in my life both human and animal and none has been gladder to see me or more loving than this little mutt of a dog. I got down on the floor and vigorously scratched Maggie's back as she licked my arms and smelled every available square inch of me as if my body was a book of my travels with which she could read by smell.

Thought long and hard of yesterday evening and being spurned by that Celtic beauty, Dana. It embarrassed me deeply, but I was a better man for trying. Events such as yesterday help me overcome my social anxieties and fears. Practice makes perfect as they say and there is no better therapy than experiencing real life situations for one with my condition. I do hope we can just be friends and help each other in our newfound sobriety. I look forward to seeing her smiling face at my meeting tomorrow night and hope she harbors no ill will towards me because of my mild advances the previous evening.

Shot Down in Flames

I once again ran into the Celtic beauty at my nightly AA meeting. Her red hair flowed down around her shoulders and her perky lips were a subdued rouge complementing her hair as she sat a few chairs down from me. She also had on a pair of comfortable looking grey sweat pants and a L.A. Lakers sweat shirt. I wondered if she liked basketball. Her name is Dana.

During tonight's AA meeting we discussed the twelve steps as a road to recovery. Much was said of Alcohol being a disease of the mind and of the spirit. I thought of all the terrible things done while drunk – things said rashly – that I would never do when sober and of a rational mind. The say alcoholism is a form of insanity – always doing the same thing and hoping for a different outcome. I agree with that.

The meeting ended and I walked Dana to her car. I thought we were becoming fast friends. Reality brought my hopes to a screeching halt.

"Would you like to go get some coffee and talk over at the Waffle House?" I asked, mustering up all my courage and subduing my social anxieties for a brief moment.

She smiled uncomfortably and said, "I am just coming out of a terrible divorce. I would rather not get involved, but I am flattered that you asked."

"Damn!" I thought as I was shot down in flames - spiraling to the ground. I could feel my knees grow weak, faltering and a sweat broke out upon my forehead out of nervousness and shame.

"I'm so sorry," I said, apologizing profusely. "I didn't know."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it," she said. "Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," I replied, trying to regain my composure as my voice squeaked. "I will see you here."

She shut her car door and drove off to home. I felt like such a fool. It was not the first time I have been turned down by a woman, but it felt as if it was the worst time. I just knew from the other night that she wanted to get to know me better. She seemed so outwardly friendly with me – mixed signals. Oh well, at least I tried. I would have never known unless I asked. Better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all – and I had already fallen in love with the idea of dating this woman. Next time, I will stick my toe in the water to test the temperature more carefully before diving in.

Making Windows XP Look Like Windows Vista

I bought Windows Vista Upgrade and just didn't like how much of a resource hog it was. I did love how it looked and set out this morning to make Windows XP look just like Vista and run as smoothly as XP. Here are the results…

Download and install the Windows XP Crystal brico theme pack and then install Google Desktop sidebar. Viola! You have a very passable representation of Windows Vista without the cost or all the hassles of a new operating system.

I will eventually migrate to Vista when I put together my new and much more robust computer, but this will suffice for now. I am very pleased with the results.

Saving Grace

I stayed on the phone with Rosa last night until midnight. She talked me out of going to get that six-pack of Heineken.

"I don't like you when you are drinking," she said. "You are a different person. But you are easy to bed."

"I know," I replied. "I just feel this empty feeling and want to fill it with alcohol."

"Do you want me to come back over and stay the night?"

"No, I am fine," I replied. "You go get some sleep."

I then left the house just to clear my head as I went on my nightly hike. I had a discussion with my favorite all-night convenience store clerk. He was telling me of the merits of Plumper's porno magazine and I smiled deeply as he talked, amused.

"Big women are just more beautiful," he said, looking wistful.

"My ex-wife was a big woman," I replied. "I thought she was gorgeous."

"You were a lucky man," he told me. "Why did you get a divorce?"

"Ah, it's a long story," I said, not wanting to delve into my days of drunken debauchery sans my medications for my mental illness.

"I see all these skinny women in Playboy and Penthouse and want to tell them to eat a sandwich or two or three."

I burst out laughing. My ex-wife never had that problem. She struggled with her weight so and the pressure society puts upon women to be svelte and slim. I always thought she was being silly and was fine just the way she was. My grandmother would have called her healthy.

My old Nemesis, Social Anxiety

That old nemesis of mine struck hard today. Slept most of the afternoon and woke to late shafts of sunshine shining through my bedroom windows. Swirls and eddies of dust were carried around on those shafts of bright light. The sound of children playing outside wafted in through my open windows and was comforting. I got up, put on my shoes and walked to my window to look out. The neighbor's kids were playing baseball. I longed to be a kid again and join in on their game.

Suppertime found me in the kitchen fixing a southwestern feast. Rosa joined me for supper. I served chili sans beans over steamed rice and baked a big iron skillet of Mexican cornbread.

"You cook so damn well," Rosa said sitting at my table eating.

"This chili is not too bad, is it?" I asked.

Rosa smiled and took another bite in return.

"You sure are quiet tonight," Rosa then said.

"I've had a rough day," I replied. "I want to get in my car, drive off and never return."

"You better not drive off without me!" Rosa exclaimed. "I would be bored to death without you. Is it your schizophrenia?"

"Yeah," I replied, sadly.

It's par for the course for my life some days. You win some, you lose some. I am just glad to be alive and maybe tomorrow I will awake to a better day.

I never made it up to my AA meeting to see my Celtic beauty. She will have to wait until tomorrow night. I was deeply disappointed in myself that I couldn't overcome my social anxieties and fears to go. I really need a meeting. I think I am going to go get a six pack of Heineken and cast my cares to the wind. I feel one coming on. The proverbial storm clouds are on the horizon already. Soon, you will be able to hear the thunder and feel the rain. Good night.

Blogging with Word 2007

Did you know you can write and publish directly to your blog with Microsoft Word 2007? It was very simple to set up and this post proves it works. I discovered it this morning just playing around with Word. It saves a very time consuming step for me when copying and pasting and then editing my blog posts. I thought this was neat and wanted to share it. If you need any help setting this up then just email me or drop a comment.

I have received an overwhelming response to the blog in the form of emails this week with over 30 in my to-reply box. I can be terrible with email, but I promise those of you that wrote you will receive a personal response from me within the next few days or so. I was going to sit down to start responding a moment ago and got overwhelmed with what to say. It's my social phobias acting up and I am so afraid I will write something stupid. Look for an email from me soon and thank you for taking the time to write to me. It means a lot and I enjoy reading them almost as much as I enjoy getting comments. I even heard from a train engineer for Norfolk Southern railway that visits from schizophrenia.com where I am linked in their blogs of note section. I thought that was awesome.

Schizophrenia Revisited

Had a discussion with my father last night of my recent experiences with schizophrenia. I was over taking my medications and he once again checked my hand and under my tongue for errant pills. It can be rather humiliating.

“I think everyone is watching me and laughing at me,” I told him as we sat in his den. “It is so discouraging and drives me crazy.”

“That must be so tiresome,” My father replied with a worried look upon his face.

“I was sitting in Rodger’s eating lunch and thought every burst of laughter was about me and that every prying eye in the restaurant was focused upon me. I wanted to jump up and run out screaming.”

“You didn’t, did you?” He asked, worried.

“No,” I replied. “When I am on my medications I know it is happening and can temper the crazy impulses.”

“You seem so much better now that we have your medications on a regular schedule,” he said. "You look better."

“Oh, I have lived with this since the early nineties,” I replied. “I am better. It is just worse sometimes than others. It comes and goes.”

“I feel the same way,” my mother chimed in sitting in the chair across from me. “I think everybody is talking about me and watching me.”

“You two must think you are pretty important,” My father said kind of facetiously.

“It’s not that at all,” I replied. “It is self deprecating to be exact. We think something is odd with us or that we look funny. We think we are being made fun of.”

“We need to talk to your doctor about this,” he said. “This worries me.”

I tried to tell my father that we can only manage my schizophrenia to a certain extent. It will never leave me nor will I ever be cured. I will always have symptoms and through my medications the symptoms are greatly reduced to where I can live with them without becoming psychotic. My father, the pharmacist, thinks we will find some magical combination of pills and I will become the next Nobel peace prize winner, a doctor, or person of great accomplishment. I long ago quit living in that kind of fantasy land. I will always live a simple and low key life to better manage my schizophrenia and its symptoms. I just wish my father could understand that. He puts so much pressure on me to live an orthodox and successful life. It is all rather alarming and disturbing.

Of Gods and Celtic Beauties

Saw the Celtic beauty at my A.A. meeting again tonight. These meetings are in another town (quite a lengthy drive) and are much more liberal in scope. I like them much better than the extremely conservative meetings in my small hometown.

“I am struggling with the issue of a higher power,” She said, sharing during the meeting. “I feel I should take responsibility for my addictions and not just give them away to some mythical being in nether land.”

Ah, a woman of my own heart. You could feel an air of uncomfortableness go around the room, though. We live in a theocracy after all and even A.A. doesn’t escape the rabid religiosity of this country much to my chagrin.

The meeting then ended with several people coming up to talk to her about what she shared trying to reassure her that religion was the key to sobriety. I caught her as she left the Old Catholic church that was now the meeting hall and she was walking to her car.

“I use the A.A. group as a whole as my higher power,” I told her as she turned to look and see who was speaking to her.

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” she said, smiling warmly.

“I have trouble with the whole God thing and higher power malarkey myself.”

“I guess it is how you are raised,” she replied as she stopped walking to talk to me in the parking lot. “I just wasn’t raised in a religious family. We never went to church and my father taught us to question authority, especially that of religious figures.”

“I grew up the same,” I told her. “My father was rather irreverent about the whole idea of religion as well.”

I walked her to her car and noticed there was no wedding ring on her finger. My heart leapt up into my throat at such a fortuitous happenstance. She is just absolutely, stunningly gorgeous.

“Will I see you at a meeting here tomorrow night?” she asked, unlocking her car door. “I noticed you don’t come much.”

“I live in a town nearby and just come up here on occasion for a change of pace,” I replied, overjoyed that she wanted to see me again. “I will certainly see you tomorrow night.”

She smiled warmly again and got in her late model Toyota to drive home. I haven’t been this mesmerized by a woman in years and wanted her so badly and I barely even know her. “Baby steps,” I told myself as I walked to my CR-V to drive home. Baby steps, indeed…

Fried Chicken of another Kind

Saw Ferret this morning down at ye olde shopping center. He was reveling me in tales of working at Kentucky Fried Chicken these days.

“It’s a cluster fuck,” Ferret told me. “You don’t want to eat there.”

“I never liked KFC anyway,” I replied. “What bothers you most about it?”

“Nobody ever washes their hands when handling the food and I saw a piece of chicken dropped on the floor and a manager put it back in the heating bin to sell.”

“Gross,” I replied. “That’s why I rarely eat fast food. You pay people shit wages and they will do shit work and will just not give a crap.”

“I’m glad to have the job though even if the hours aren’t that great,” Ferret said. “I just go in and do my job and go home. I try not to let the bullshit get to me. It pays the bills.”

I don’t mean to be disparaging about Ferret, but when he was homeless, he wasn’t the most clean of persons. He would go weeks without a shower and wouldn’t change his clothes or shave. I can only imagine the bottom of the barrel KFC is scraping to hire such an individual. He still looks kind of rough around the edges these days even though he has a home and opportunity to take a bath every day. I think I will continue to cook my own chicken and take a pass on Kentucky Fried Chicken and fast food in general.

Oasis in the Night

Another night was spent in my tent sleeping upon the ground. My father will stand at his bedroom window and watch me as I bed down for the night - my tent lit and glowing by my candle lantern like a great green and orange pumpkin in the backyard. My sleeping in the backyard disturbs him, but what can he do? He knows I am on my medications as I have to walk over to his house nightly and take them to ease his mind. I have to wait thirty minutes so he can be assured I will not throw them back up and they have a chance to take effect. I do feel better these days with his help. I love him dearly and don’t mean to worry him.

I have just struggled so with insomnia and found I sleep better outside now that the weather has turned far kinder. For months after I regained a home from my homelessness, I would sleep on the floor of my bedroom in my sleeping bag. The bed was far too soft and unfamiliar to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe my recent forays into the backyard camping harkens back to those homeless days long past. I certainly have slept much better lately, if only brokenly.

Set out for this morning’s hike around 1am. It was another gorgeous night, if rather damp, after all the rain of yesterday. I trudged past the many dark houses in my neighborhood – the occupants long asleep. Street lights at intervals lit my way with their sodium halide lighting – like little oasis in the dark of the night. I deeply breathed in that cool night air filling my lungs with welcomed oxygen and exhaled with a sigh. All was right in my little world for yet another morning.

Passed the convenience store around 2am and didn’t stop. My social anxieties got the better of me this morning. I just couldn’t bear the mindless small talk. I saw my favorite clerk through that big plate glass window sitting on the counter no doubt reading another porno magazine as he smoked cigarettes and played pocket pool. As usual, the parking lot was deserted as I trudged by. I thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t have to spend long and sleepless nights bored out of my mind working such a menial job. I admire that man and the work he does that makes the world go round – selling the gas and convenience items that make our lives easier.

Well, let me get some coffee started and let Maggie out for her morning run. It will soon be 5am and my favorite radio program will help me greet this new morning. I hope you all have a great day and I will write again soon as the day progresses and something interesting happens. Good day dear friends.

Picnics, Sexuality, and Storms

I and Rosa are sitting out at the park by the river behind the lake. I have a quilt thrown upon the vividly green grass. The laughter of children can be heard by the little fishing pond as ducks drift across it's surface. For lunch, we are eating warm fried chicken and Rosa prepared some potato salad. It is delicious. Storm clouds are looming on the horizon and rain is on the way. We hurry to eat before the skies open up upon us.

“I love a man who can cook.” Rosa tells me as she takes a bite out of a fried chicken leg.

I smile and say, “Thank you. Your potato salad is delicious as well.”

“I try, but I am not as good a cook as you.”

Thunder rumbles on the horizon.

“It looks like a good storm is brewing,” I say.

“And we were just having so much fun,” Rosa replies.

We pack up our picnic and run to the car as the rain begins to fall in earnest. I throw everything in the back of my Honda and we head for home.

“I saw your friend George this morning. He was drunk,” Rosa tells me as I drive us back into town.

“When is George ever not drunk,” I reply.

“Did you used to drink like George?” She asks.

“I drank worse than George,” I reply. “I couldn’t handle my liquor. George can. It was rather pitiful.”

“You seem so strong now.”

“Even the strong have weak moments,” I reply. “That’s why I go to A.A.”

“I wish I was younger,” Rosa then tells me.

“Why?” I ask.

“Cause I was prettier then and more your age and you would want me. I didn’t have all this grey in my hair and these wrinkles in my face.”

There is an awkward silence.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” I say, trying not to make light of what Rosa just said. “I just think of you as a friend.”

“Friends with benefits?” Rosa asks, alluding to sex, as she smiles demurely.

I laugh and reach out to hold her hand as I drive with the other.

“Yes, there are a lot of benefits to being your friend,” I say downplaying the sexuality of Rosa’s last question.

We finally pull up in my driveway and arrive home. Rosa reclines in my lazy boy lounge chair and is soon fast asleep with Maggie in her lap. I sit down in front of my computer to write this and soon start on chapter seven of my novel. It is just a wonderful day full of good things, good food and great conversation. My schizophrenia is at bay for the moment.

Professorial Moments

Last night I fell asleep in my tent dreaming of my homeless days. Cold and shivering – I struggled to keep warm in those disturbingly vibrant memories bouncing around in my head. I awoke suddenly and realized I was safe in my backyard with my home mere yards away. The night was warm and comforting with the smell of rain upon the air – a great juxtaposition from my dream. Through the deep silence, calmness enveloped me. “It’s okay,” I told myself as I unzipped my sleeping bag and sat up to light a cigar and my candle lantern in the dark black of the night. One of the few times in my life that I welcomed reality.

Treated myself to some hoop cheddar cheese and water crackers for supper - a cheese and cracker normally so expensive that I do not buy it. I felt spend thrifty yesterday evening during my weekly adventure to the grocery store. Also bought a loaf of expensive cinnamon raisin bread that will be a welcomed breakfast food slathered with creamy peanut butter and enjoyed along with a cold glass of milk and a ripe banana.

The cold snap of a few weeks past seems to be a distant memory these days. Tonight was so warm, evoking memories of southern summer nights. Soon, the katydids will start to call in earnest bringing forth a flourish of memories of sitting on my grandmother’s front porch on summer evenings as a child. I do so miss her dearly and I and my father were talking of her yesterday.

Yesterday was such a beautiful day. The sky was a summer blue – full of islands of silvery light, like pools of liquid mercury. Hard to be miserable on such a day and the beauty of it made me forget the harsh reality of my existence and that harsh mistress that is my constant companion, mental illness. Sat for the longest time in the backyard reading some of the books I checked out at the library as I smoked my pipe looking professorial. Pipe Tobacco would be proud and I thought of him as that pungent bluish tobacco smoke curled around my face as that warm and lit pipe was nestled in between my fingers.

A Shoplifter’s Tale

4am found me walking up my driveway to home. I had just been on my usual early morning hike and stopped by to see my favorite convenience store clerk. He was blowing the parking lot with a leaf blower as I stopped by to get a cup of coffee.

“I just put a fresh pot of coffee on for the morning crowd,” He told me after turning the blower off and following me inside after unlocking the door.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” I said as I stepped to the back counter to pour a cup.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he replied. “You gave me an excuse to quit. I hate blowing that damn parking lot.”

The clerk’s next task was to go out and wash off the gas pumps with a bucket of soapy water and a rag. I followed him outside to continue our conversation.

“Caught a shoplifter last night,” he told me as he wiped off the face of one of the pumps.

“Tell me about it,” I said taking another drink of coffee as I stood next to him.

The morning air was crisp and cool, but not uncomfortable. Not a car was on the nearby highway which would be bustling come morning as people headed to work.

“This guy walked in asking for a glass of water, handing me a Solo cup,” the clerk said, beginning his tale. “I turned to the sink to fill up his glass. As I turned my back to him, I looked at the security camera’s monitor to watch. He reached way over the counter, thinking I couldn’t see, and started grabbing and stuffing Newport cigarettes down his jacket.”

“Slick,” I replied of the shoplifter.

“We repeated the process as I got him another glass of water. I wanted to make sure he had quite a bit of cigarettes before calling the police. He walked out the door and didn’t get two blocks away until the town's finest nabbed him.”

“Well, I guess it made for an interesting night,” I said smiling.

“Oh yeah. That will make the time fly and get your adrenaline pumping,” he said. “I can’t stand shoplifters and love to catch ‘em.”

I left my ever vigilant clerk as he began to mop the floor and walked on home. I have come to enjoy these little trips into town to talk to him. We have become fast friends. I feel a certain camaraderie with him as I did his same job for over a year while in college. It is as if an old comforting routine in my life has returned.