News traveled fast of my little foray into the land of the inebriated. George called me late this night as Rosa stood impatiently and listened. I let the answering machine pickup.
"Hey white boy. This is your ole pal George. Wanted to be knowin' if you wanted to go riding around and drinking beer. Ferret be sayin' you have joined us drunks again."
"Don't you even think about it," Rosa said during the message with a fierce determination. I smiled as George went on to talk about his usual Saturday night poker game at Pookie's house.
"Got my clock cleaned in poker, but I still have enough to drink. Call me when you be gettin' this."
George was supposed to have quit drinking months ago. His doctor said he was on the verge of cirrhosis. His blood tests came back showing a decreased liver function. I worry about my friend and wish he could sober up. I worry about others as well the way he drinks and drives. Rosa promised me the next time she caught George drinking and driving she was going to use her cell phone to call the police. Rosa hates George and thinks he is a terrible influence upon me. I have always chalked it up to a tad bit of jealously.
Rosa is sleeping now. Restful. Snoring. Content that I am okay. Maggie, my cherub, is curled up at my feet snoring as well. I am sitting up listening to Mick Williams' Cyber Line as I can't sleep. All is right in my world and just the way I want it to be. Pleasant dreams blog world. I am fixing to curl up on the bed in this room as I drift to sleep to the sound of the radio playing. Good night.
4 comments:
Ha, I feel punchdrunk, like Rocky, as I read your writings. Only 10 drinks. But I am trying to stop. I hope I don't kill my liver, like your friend!
Yay, I'm so happy for you!!
{{{hugs}}}
NICE BLOG.
Good for Rosa!! My mother was hit by a drunk driver on her 19th birthday and died a slow, 30 year death. I won't tolerate it.
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