She stood her ground by the front screened door until Papa could ingress and get settled on Maggie's couch.
"You get seven cokes tonight," my father told me."One from last night fell out its sack into the car."
I was getting my second wind when my father pulled up tonight. I was truly feeling my oats. Dad and I were laughing and having a good time together. We were really "shooting the shit" as my old friend George would say.
"You do so well these days," my father said bragging on me. "You're are a different person and I appreciate you being so responsible about your injections,"
I told my father that Gittermom had a hand in all that transpired today. She's a dear journal friend I had to explain to him.
Well, I was just eating up the attention. My father doesn't commend me very often like this.
I was telling my father of Maggie's little SNAFU earlier in the evening.
"There was this little black fluffy dog busily sniffing around in the yard and Maggie mistook it as a cat. Well, you have never heard such a commotion over a mistaken dog -- much and such vicious barking. If Maggie could've only sniffed its butt, then all would be well," I told my father.
My father roared with laughter at my last remark.
I only do this once in a blue moon, but I asked my father for two more 2 mg Klonopin to help me get to bed at a decent hour after sleeping all day. I don't want to get back to a nocturnal existence as it taxes me so. He begrudgingly agreed while admonishing me. We walked out to his car to get the extra medications and he headed home. That was the only mar on a great evening with my parental unit.
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