It is 8:30pm here and I hope and wish that every car that passes in front of my house is my father. Maggie is asleep on the couch while that vile Nancy Grace drones on the television. She makes a living off of other peoples problems, murders, and death. All of that to sell soap and automobiles. 400 people died in an earthquake in Ecuador and she centers on one aerobics teacher at a church getting killed in the same church yesterday.
Another car passed and I thought it was my father. Hopes dashed, I write some more. I guess I am going through withdrawal from all the psychotropic drugs I am on. These psychiatric medications can be a catch-22. You can't live with them and you can't live without them. My withdrawal seems to be especially acute tonight. Maybe it was my exertions earlier in the day. I've never been one to tread softly on this earth.
********
I often like to write the most when my medications are soaking in. My father will leave. Maggie will get on the bed behind me. I will turn on the air conditioning, and come in here to write.
********
My neighbors have a lamp post by the road with a bulb that changes colors every few seconds. I have found that interesting and intriguing. It is mesmerizing to watch. They also have those passé solar powered lights lining the walk to the front door.
********
9:07pm and he is not here yet. Maggie's sitting on the back of the couch on lookout. She will let me know when that jet black Honda pulls up in front of my house.
9:20pm Papa arrived to much fanfare from Maggie. My long wait is over for another day.
9:41pm My father has left and is heading home.
"I am getting me an ice-cold diet Coke, crawling into my recliner, and not moving until midnight while I watch the television," he told me.
Maggie has her rituals as well. As soon as my father leaves, she will want me to bring her bowl of dog food in here with me as she will be hungry. Then she will get on the bed and wait for me to come as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment