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. :^)
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