Beyond the Diagnoses

Tonight was the first time in a very long time I had my bed to myself. I stretched out blissfully upon the whole width of my bed. I hogged the covers and slept on my back so I could snore as loudly as I wanted. My little slumber party was finally interrupted when Maggie jumped into the bed with me. "You just had to go and ruin my fun," I told her playfully, looking down at her lying at my feet. She watched me for a few moments and then went sound asleep with a canine sigh. I sat on the edge of my bed to put on my shorts, shoes, and came in here to write, listen to the radio, and drink a Mountain Dew.

Soul wanted to know more of the man beyond the diagnoses. I think I am smart and driven. I am very creative and have a flair for things such as music, drawing, and painting. I imagine myself to be from a long line of creatively brilliant schizophrenics known for their eccentricity and candle light bright lives that are short and furious in their living. Rosa says I am too smart for my own good and that I tend to over think things. She is usually right when it concerns me and knows me best. I have grand aspirations for life. I want to marry again. I want to regale in a life that is dull and full of routine which I consider normal. I would like to work again and support myself. I want to make love with abandon and howl at the moon. I don't want to take medications and deal with their side effects for the rest of my life. My Achilles heel is a stiff drink. I feel most passionate after a few drinks. That passion has been hard to capture any other way.

I was talking to my father last night and I love how "normal" his life is. I want my life to be so mundane.

"Tell me of your routines," I asked him as we sat in my den.

"Oh, I put on my favorite t-shirt and pajama bottoms every night when I get home," he said. "I usually pour myself a diet coke and turn on the t.v. to The Weather Channel. Your mother asks me a thousand questions as I unwind from my day. I have to pet my pussy (his cat). I then usually toast a piece of buttered cinnamon toast as a treat and go to bed."

I sighed wistfully and longingly.

"Tell me about your day," dad then asked.

"After you leave from giving me my medications, I go straight to bed and listen to the radio as I drift off to sleep. Rosa usually complains about it being too loud. I sleep for a few hours then wake up excited that my favorite program is on."

"What program is that?" dad asked.

"Coast to Coast AM. I then stay up to about 7 a.m. and then cook breakfast."

"Oh, that is that show about bigfoot and aliens," he said as he smiled. "You also like a traditional breakfast, don't you."

"Yeah, I like eggs, bacon or sausage, and buttery toast. I usually slice some sharp cheddar as well."

"Does Rosa eat breakfast with you?"

"She gets up to eat and then encourages me to come back to bed.  She says my sleeping habits are crazy and that I keep her up all night.  I have told her she can always sleep at her house, but she insists on staying with me."

"See? You have comforting routines as well," my father said.

"Yeah, and I can be rather autistic about them getting interrupted."

"That's why I don't ask of you as much as I do of your brother or sister. I don't want to upset you."

"What are Maggie's routines?" my father then asked.

I laughed, calling her my cherub.

"She goes in and out of the dog door all day. Lunches are spent on the riviera sunning ourselves. A dainty dinner of kibbles is served at noon.  Afternoons are spent lazing about, watching our human host like some rendition of The Truman Show."

My father laughed and loved the humor for which I told of Maggie's day.

"You've taken such good care of her and I am proud of you for that."

"I love her," I replied. "She is as close to having a child as I will ever experience." 

I walked my father to the door and told him to go enjoy his routine. He smiled and hugged me goodnight.

"Get some good sleep tonight," he said.

I thanked him and curled up in the bed for a few hours and then started my routines for the day. There is a long stretch ahead of me filled with radio until breakfast at 7 a.m. Then, I can go back to sleep with the air turned down low and with Maggie by my side. It is going to be a good morning and I better quit writing about it and go and enjoy it. Good morning and good day.