I couldn’t sleep last night after sleeping for about four hours. I was wide awake at midnight. I had two Klonopin to take which usually make me sleepy as they are very sedating, but I knew to save them for the next afternoon – ever mindful of that anxiety that always hits the most late in the day. I got online and applied for countless fast food jobs just for the hell of it – interested in if I would get some calls. I also applied for a job opening as a grocery clerk at Kroger -- putting feelers out there. The assessment tests on these online applications were interesting in what they would ask – only a moron would answer incorrectly the questions were so obvious in their solutions.
I wandered down to the convenience store well after midnight. The clerk was leaned against the counter looking bored. Only one other customer was there pumping gas in the parking lot. He smiled as I walked in saying good morning. A stereotypical country music song about love lost was playing on the radio sitting on the counter. I stepped back to the beer cooler to pull out a .99 cent 16oz Steel Reserve – my favored beer these days for it’s high alcohol content.
“Slow night?” I asked the clerk as I stepped up to pay and show my ID.
“It’s nice,” he said with a another big smile as he rang me up.
The police were out in force last night being the weekend. I am sure being ever mindful of weekend revelers and drunk drivers. I walked up through the extremely poor neighborhood beyond the convenience store. I passed a house where a man and woman were arguing loudly and violently – no doubt fueled by alcohol on a Friday night/Saturday morning. The lady stormed out onto the porch screaming at the man that she was going to her sister’s house. I shook my head in concern and continued on.
The park was pitch black dark when I arrived. The benches were still missing. “What good is a park without benches?” I mused to myself aggravated. I plopped down on the warm cement, donned my headphones, and drank my solitary beer. I was hoping this little ritual would make me sleepy allowing me to go home and sleep a few hours more before work.
Sunrise found me still sitting in that park this morning listening to the radio. I had made one more trip just down the road for another beer a few hours earlier – the effects of the alcohol had long since worn off. Coast to Coast bored me this morning with open lines – paranoid talk of jet chem-trails prevailed. “It is simple condensation,” my mind screamed listening to these conspiracy theorists proselytizing about the government manipulating our weather and the atmosphere. The government can’t even fix the economy and these goobers think they can control the weather?
7:30am found me sitting over in my father’s kitchen taking my very large handful of morning medications. I fear my father is going deaf. The television was turned up so loud as to be disturbing. I wanted peace and quiet after my late night out. We talked some about my jobs.
“Why don’t you quit?” dad pleaded with me. “You just can’t do all of that. You are going to get in a mess mentally.”
“I’ve felt better than I have in years!” I protested defiantly.
“You don’t need money, son,” he told me. “People like you shouldn’t be allowed money.”
“People like me?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“People who are mentally incompetent,” he said bitingly as he ate his strawberry preserves and toast as we sat at the kitchen table.
I sighed as I got up and left when my ten minutes were up without saying another word. We didn’t even say goodbye to each other – him miffed about my working. I still have a lot of obstacles to overcome was what I thought as I drove to work. The stigmas of mental illness are so palpable in my family. I mused this morning that my father was probably much more mentally ill than I. It was like a revelation to me for the first time in years. His need to control things borders on maniacal.
George wrote me today that he could receive magazine subscriptions in jail as long as they weren’t pornography, racially sensitive, or elicit. He did make a joke about me getting him a subscription to Hustler. I laughed as I read. I got online and ordered some gift subscriptions for magazines using my newly acquired debit card. I got him mainly news magazines such as Time. I also ordered George a subscription to Model Railroader on a whim hoping he would get interested in the hobby. He will enjoy the photography if nothing else.
I called Mrs. Florene and told her about this and she wants to pay me back for the costs of the magazines. I graciously accepted as they proved to be expensive. She was just glad I was able to do this for George so easily with the Internet. She said she was going to cook my favorite meal next week in compensation. Ah, fried cubed steak, rice and gravy, steamed broccoli, and biscuits. I love it!
I have mainly just been mailing George my blog posts, but I wrote a long letter this afternoon with my computer and mailed it out. I wrote a lot about my fears of failure as far as my jobs are concerned. I am worried any day I will go back to my old mentally ill self when a severe anxiety attack will befall me. I also wrote to George for advice about joining the “social club” that meets in the evenings down at the convenience store. It will be interesting to hear George’s advice on that in a few days – him being well versed in such interesting fellows. The fringe dwellers as I call them.
My very first phone call on my new cellphone was from Kim. I smiled when it rang as it was sitting on my computer desk after charging.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked inquisitively.
“Me and Derrick are watching movies,” I told her. “Would you like to join us for fun, movies, and beer?”
“I would love that,” she said. “But I hate beer. I will be the designated driver. I might have one glass of wine.”
I smiled and told her how excited I was for her to be coming. We talked a long time about work – a common subject between us. She still makes jabs about me having the easiest job at Wal-Mart. She says I get paid for hanging out in electronics.
“But it is a very hot job!” I protested as I laughed jovially.
“Oh, you work mornings when it isn’t that hot,” she said goodheartedly. “Quit your bitching!”
I told her all about my best friend, George, this afternoon who is in jail for a DUI I said. I told her about what an interesting and good guy he was and about him possibly coming home on parole in October. She said she couldn’t wait to meet him. I explained to her about him being a fringe dweller and what fringe dwellers are.
“He can be crass at times,” I warned her. “George’s strong suit is not social etiquette.”
She laughed and then we got off the phone after finalizing our plans for the night. I am just going to pick her up at her house and she will ride with me to Derrick’s apartment. I hope Derrick doesn’t mind me bringing a friend. The more the merrier is what I always say. They both knew each other from work already so they have a rapport.
Do you think I will be able to do it? To bike the three miles to work every morning and home at lunch? I will probably get lazy and quit, but I am going to give it a good try. I mainly want to save the wear and tear on my car. It seems my car is going to have to last me many more years – dad having decided to hold off on buying new Hondas for a while yet. I will not be getting my mother’s Honda Civic for the foreseeable future. Charlie keeps pushing dad to do this, but dad doesn’t want more car payments. The payment on his BMW is exorbitant.
I got the tires on my mountain bike fixed this afternoon adding new tubes. I pumped them up with my fingers crossed and everything seems fine. I did a little maiden voyage around the block and it felt good to be back on a bike. I need a new larger seat, though, as the current seat hurts my boney ass. It is a really nice Schwinn bike and I hope to put it to good use in the next few months. It is much more economical than a scooter and it is paid for lock. stock and barrel.
The convenience store down the street from my house fascinates me. Now that I have money, I find myself visiting it a lot these days. I walked down with my sunset brews in my backpack growing tepid and bought my favorite cheese on wheat crackers and a candy bar. I noticed today how so many things sold in a convenience store are addictive or easily abused. Junk food. Caffeine laden sodas and energy drinks. A myriad of forms of alcohol. Cigarettes and cigars. Smokeless tobacco. Countless condoms for the sex addict. America is also addicted to oil and thousands of gallons of gasoline are sold at this store everyday – cars are always lined up waiting for a free gas pump.
I didn’t see my “friend” – the teenaged black girl with a smoking habit. I missed her in a strange way. I like familiarity and routines. I was hoping she would once again jab me with language for a cigarette. As I walked down to the store, I thought of witty comebacks I could thwart her attempts with. My favorite was, “It’s going to stunt your growth!” She is already petite and tiny. I knew it would piss her off. Like I said yesterday, payback is hell. She has been so rude to me!
I find myself having to stay busy to keep the anxiety and mental problems at bay. If I sit too long or are too idle, I start to worry and feel out of sorts. It is as if I am over thinking things and willing my mental problems to happen. I’ve sat in this house for years miserable thinking these very same things. It has been so nice to live without extreme anxiety these past three days. Maybe it’s the medications in the morning or maybe it’s me staying busy. Who knows? It works and I am sticking with it.
The black boys weren’t in the park playing basketball tonight. I missed their playful banter. I didn’t stay in the park long finding Sunday’s offering of talk radio to be mediocre at best. I drank my two sunset brews and walked the thirty minutes home.
I’m probably writing to much on the blog and overwhelming my readers I thought tonight. Who wants to read all this gibberish? I just love writing about my days finding it so cathartic. It is such an effective means of therapy for me so I hope you don’t mind.
“You gonna give me a cigarette today?” she asked smiling when she saw me as if nothing ever happened the other night. I guess she had forgotten she had told me to, “fuck off!”
“Smoke thou shalt not! Cancer it doth cause!” I replied laughingly mocking her. She was so rude to me the other night that I decided to have a little fun with her.
“Just one cigarette!” she pleaded.
“Why don’t just give a crackhead ten bucks and they will buy you a pack,” I told her. “Crackheads are everywhere around here! Look! There goes one right now!”
The woman I pointed at looked like your stereotypical crackwhore. She had the bulbous Adam's apple and bobbing chickenhead so characteristic of them. The dark circles under her eyes and pallid skin gave away her drug habit.
The girl said a few more obscenities to me as I walked off ignoring her pleading with my beer now in my backpack. I turned, lit up of a cigarette, and smiled devilishly mocking her. I was being so bad tonight and felt so cheeky. Payback is hell as they say.
George was a wreck this morning at Fat Albert's. He looked like he had been up all night. Red shot eyes. Disheveled clothes.
"Don't even ask me how I made it into work," he told me.
It made me feel so grateful that I don't drink these days.
"Mom wants you to came and eat Sunday dinner with us tomorrow," George said. "I was going to call you."
Mrs. Jones is one of the best Southern cooks I have ever encountered. I am unsure if I will go, but the thought was nice.
I walked two miles this morning. That was a true milestone. I worried about Maggie, though. Her short, little legs really have to work to keep up with me. So far, she is loving it.
My air conditioning has decided to quit. Actually, it just never came back on after our winter. I have all my windows open in my house on this 82 degree day. My thermometer says 83 degrees inside. I love the heat which is a good thing so I am not uncomfortable.
After my walk this morning, I decided to drive over to Fat Albert's for my morning cup of coffee. It has been awhile since I went and I was surprised to still see George employed.
"Coffees on the house," George exclaimed after questioning me about where I've been.
I insisted on paying for my cup which was only 99 cents. George looked perturbed. I wanted to tell him that giving me free coffee could get him fired. George can act like a little kid in fairy land sometimes. Aloof.
I go to my psychiatrist tomorrow. I am continuing the discussion about my anxiety attacks. I am determined to get these damn things out of my life.
I hope you all are having a good week and thanks for reading.
This morning started with my 5 AM Fat Albert's cup of .99 cent coffee.
"Where's George?" I asked the other George working there.
"He called in sick," the other George said looking surly.
I know this George's daughter. Her name is Heidi and she works for Disney. We went to high school together and she worked for my father for years.
The rumor is that this George is crazy. Always bouncing from one job to another. Kinda like me. I noticed today he was still wearing his wedding band and he has been divorced for dozens of years.
"Your John's son," The other George then said getting a clue. "I thought you looked familiar."
"Yeah," I said. "John is my pop."
I drank my cup of strong coffee standing in the overly warm convenience store. My George usually gives me free refills, but I was required to pay .25 cents today. That was too rich for my blood so I left.
I was down at Fat Albert's this morning as soon as they opened at 5 AM. George was standing behind the counter looking asleep.
"What'cha need?" he asked me with that sly grin of his.
"Oh, just a cup of coffee," I replied.
A cup of coffee was all I could afford.
We spent the next hour talking about Rosa. Where she is and how she is doing. She still does occasionally call me.
"She still have her Toyota?" George then asked me.
"Yeap," I replied. "Despite pawning the title twice."
George chuckled.
It was freezing cold this morning as I left Fat's to drive home. Maggie greeted me in her usual exuberant way. I miss Rosa sometimes, but I don't miss the emotional games she would play.
I took a long walk tonight well past my bedtime. It was a winter wonderland walking through my quaint little southern town as I trudged down past the town square. The hush and still of a snow covered world was so palpable and comforting. It was as if my world was covered by a soft, thick blanket. Mute. Quiet. Calm. White as snow. Virgin, almost. It could have been a scene on a Christmas postcard.
I stopped by to see my favorite convenience store clerk on my way home. He was telling me tales of our various town (rednecks) inhabitants in their big four-wheel-drive trucks. "I've sold enough Budweiser tonight to boost Anheuser Busch's stock price," he told me, laughing. I chuckled along as I drank my hot chocolate and smoked my cigarillo. I was almost jealous of my redneck brethren. They were having so much fun, and a four-wheel-drive romp in the snow would have to beat the local mud hole. Country music blarin'. Empty cans of Budweiser rattling around in the truck bed. Marlboro's dangling from mustached lips.
We ended up with only an inch of the white stuff, but what fun it was. I thought it was a fitting gift from the weather gods that be for it to snow on my sixtieth day of sobriety -- something terribly rare this deep south -- almost as rare as my extended period of sobriety. It was also a milestone in that I didn't have to get sloshed to enjoy the snow. I enjoyed it sober. Lucid. Alert. Content, most of all.
Rosa was asleep in the bed when I arrived home. I popped open a diet coke and sat on the side of the bed as I took off my pants, shoes, and socks. I reached over and brushed the hair out of Rosa's face, and then petted Maggie. Rosa didn't stir. Maggie looked up as if she was smiling with that under bite. "Glad you're coming to bed," she seemed to impart. "Let me go write about this," is what I thought as I sat in front of this computer and started this tale. I felt so good, grounded, and alive. I felt like there was hope left in the world. It has been a very pleasant day and now I hope sweet dreams await. Good night or should I say good morning? Au revoir will have to suffice.
Listening to Coast to Coast AM this morning out of Portland, Oregon as I drink my coffee and smoke cigars. George Noory has on someone who claims to build time machines and sells them. I couldn't help but smile at the amount of bullshit being bantered about. I can imagine George trying hard to keep a straight face as this guy talks and George has heard it all. I know he wants to burst out laughing.
I went for another long walk this morning. I just haven't been able to sleep at night lately -- mainly the early mornings. This afternoon will find me curled up in the bed with Maggie sleeping no doubt. I did stop by my favorite convenience store this morning for some hot chocolate, and heard some disheartening news about Ferret.
"I had to quit serving your friend," my favorite clerk told me this morning.
"Ferret?" I asked.
"Yeah, that skinny black dude. He was sloppy drunk and trying to buy more wine. I told him to come back later when he sobered up."
No doubt Ferret walked down to the other convenience store owned by the middle eastern men. They will sell alcohol to anyone with money as long as you can stand up.
It was freezing cold this morning after a clear and windless night -- classic radiational cooling scenario for the south. I worried Ferret was going to catch pneumonia in this weather. When I was homeless, I would sleep with my beer in the sleeping bag with me so it wouldn't freeze and burst. I would lie there drinking beer after beer for hours, listening to the radio as I waited for the sun to come up. It seems I was always waiting on something to happen then. Now days, I am more into making things happen.
I left Rosa in the bed early this morning unable to sleep. The wee hours of the morning found me sitting in my favorite park, smoking cigarillos, and enjoying this warm air -- a mild, pleasant stretch of weather to revel in.
"Your blessed," I thought to myself as I listened to Coast to Coast AM, and took great, hardy drags of smoke from my cigar. "Things have been so good lately I don't think you know how to handle it, or to enjoy it to it's fullest. Savor this time in your life."
Far too often my life was arduous and full of strife. Drunken debauchery. An unwell mind. Strained relations with my family. It all added up to me being a bundle of nerves and raw emotion. A great, tense miasmic mess of a human being.
To my surprise Ferret was sitting outside the convenience store above the "no loitering" sign. I had stopped to get a cup of hot chocolate from my favorite convenience store clerk. The irony made me smile.
"How come I always run into you?" Ferret said, jokingly.
"We haunt the same places," I replied. "Don't you ever sleep?"
"I could ask the same thing of you," Ferret quipped.
"Thunderbird," I thought. "He's drinking Thunderbird. That damn Thunderbird."
I didn't linger long around Ferret as I was feeling weak this morning. That great, wild call of alcohol only an alcoholic knows well was working hard on me this day.
"Damn you," I thought. "You are obsessed. You know drinking will only destroy your life and yet you still want to do it. You still think about it."
They say in A.A. that drinking is a form of insanity -- always doing the same thing and expecting different results. I've had far too much insanity in my life in these later years. I made a conscious choice to be sane. I made a conscious choice not to drink. I choose to live a decent life.
_______________________________
I've thought long and hard about my inclination to save Ferret. Sadly, he has a choice to live homeless or not. If he didn't drink so with wanton abandon, he could afford an apartment. I wanted to step in and handle his problems much like my father steps in to handle mine. Sadly, my father did nothing but harm me doing that, and I would be doing the same to Ferret.
They say life can be the greatest teacher. Much like my recent lesson I learned with my stolen car. Never leave your keys in your car. Even in this small town. In a few days colder weather will break this mild spell we are having, and living outside will become far less kind. Maybe it will give Ferret the impetus to get off the streets, sober up, and start being responsible. I can only hope for the best for my unorthodox friend. But I can't choose his path for him. I can only support him in the good choices and watch idly on as he blunders through life with the bad.
This morning found me once again down at the corner store, drinking free coffee, and talking to my favorite clerk. I know I am starting to sound like a broken record. I am a creature of habit. The police were out in full force this morning, fueling their patrol cars, and it made me nervous. I have terrible luck and I just knew something from my drinking past would pop up to bite me in the ass.
"Oh, they're harmless," my favorite clerk said of the police after one had just left.
"Well, when I was drinking I would do things and then not remember them the next day," I replied. "I am always worried my past is going to come back to haunt me."
"That must be a terrible feeling," he told me.
"Tell me about it!" I exclaimed. "It is a horrible feeling! I have this nagging feeling I have warrants out for my arrest."
"You still going to AA?"
"I haven't been in weeks," I replied. "I am on my sixteenth day of sobriety, though. I just haven't wanted to drink and that is a miracle."
"Maybe your cured."
"They say once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic," I replied. "I don't think I am cured. The day I think I am cured is the day I will drink again."
I left my clerk friend to walk over to that little park by the cotton mill. It was too cold to linger, though, and my coffee had run out with my hands growing bitterly cold. I walked back home taking in the full glory of all the Christmas lights in my neighborhood. A sliver of a crescent moon was on the Eastern horizon and hung low along with Venus. It was a beautiful morning, a beautiful sight, and a fine start to the day despite my nagging paranoia about the police. "What tangled webs we weave," was my thought on my past drinking as I trudged home in the predawn dark.
Stayed up most of the evening talking to an old friend on the phone. She is newly divorced and juggling two young children. I sometimes think I have it too hard until my reality comes crashing down around me after talking to someone else like last night. I really have it easy when it all boils down to it. She kept telling me she wanted to trade places with me. I scoffed and coughed. I wouldn't want to wish my reality on anyone else, nor would I want her reality as well.
Left the house around 3 A.M. Trudged down to my local convenience store for a free cup of coffee. It was a brutally cold morning with a temp of 28. My favorite clerk was in fine spirits reveling me in tales of last night's customers.
"I had someone try to get a refund on a pack of cigarettes," he told me propped up against his counter.
I smiled and listened intently.
"Wanted to trade it for a beer."
"What did you tell them?" I asked.
"Told her we can't trade tobacco and alcohol products," he replied as he laughed. "It was the biggest line of bullshit and I almost couldn't keep a straight face telling it. I just didn't want to fool with that shit last night."
"Do you have any kids?" I then asked, changing the subject.
"Why?"
"Just curious. I was talking to a friend last night about them. We both agreed they were more trouble than they were worth."
"There are no skeletons in my closet," he replied. "I don't want any kids."
I walked on home thinking of children. I am getting older and my time is passing. Soon, I will be over the hump and headed for sixty. The odds of me having kids decreases every day. I wondered if my life would have taken a different path if I and Rachel could have had children. My life would have certainly been more complicated. I came to the conclusion that it would be selfish of me to bring kids into this crazy world, and with my assorted problems.
"These crazy crackheads keep boosting (stealing) all my batteries," my favorite clerk told me this morning.
I had drove the short drive down the street to get a cup of hot chocolate using the last of the spare change my Honda had collected these past few months.
"Batteries?" I asked, amused. Wondering if my favorite clerk wasn't suffering from a tad bit of paranoia.
"Yeah, batteries. Triple A. Double A. They like them all and they sell them somewhere for crack."
I laughed. I had never heard of such a thing, but I have come to expect the unexpected from our little convenience store down on the corner. Being open all night, it attracts the most interesting and wayward souls. Including me.
"I'm talking to my boss this morning about moving them to the back of the counter," he then told me. "I can't stand shoplifting! And I don't want to spend all my time in court after catching them."
It pays to be proactive instead of reactive, I thought. Nip it in the bud, as Deputy Barney Fife would say filled with bravado and boisterousness.
"Do you ever sleep?" my clerk friend then asked me as I sipped on my hot drink and puffed on a little cherry hinted cigar. I had been up for hours.
"I slept five hours last night with all my lights on and the internet radio blaring," I said. "I was just emailing a friend awhile ago about how unscheduled my bachelor life is these days. It is kinda nice to be so free."
"It must be nice!" he replied with an air of jealousy. "I wish I could live that way. I just work, eat, shit, and sleep. That is my life. I feel like a hamster in a exercise wheel running his ass off to never get anywhere."
"Good night!" I finally said with a smile, meaning good morning, as a line of customers had formed behind me anxiously and hurriedly. The morning spurt of patrons had arrived heading for their early shift of work after getting their morning dose of caffeine, snacks, candy, or cigarettes. I chuckled to myself as I got in my car to drive the short drive home. You never know what to expect down at Circle K #12 on Gilmer Avenue. Batteries, I mused. You learn something new everyday.
My favorite clerk was in fine form this morning. Eagerly, he rang up each customer. The beep of the cash register could be heard with every transaction. People paraded into line to buy coffee, gas, candy, and cigarettes. I was in awe at how masterfully he handled the masses. It is a thankless job he handles so well. I was envious.
"Quiet night," he told me. "Not one peep out of the usual rabble rousers."
"That's a good thing, right?" I asked.
"It makes for a slow night. 3 'o' clock passed and I thought morning would never get here."
I stood drinking my decaf so glad to be out of the house. It was another very cold morning and the warmth of the convenience store was inviting. I also got an application for employment even though they are not hiring. It couldn't hurt to try. At least it will be on file.
I left the convenience store and walked to the park. The great orb of the sun was just hanging over the cotton mill. Its light blinding me as I sat beneath the boughs of those great oaks. It was going to be a fine day. One to relish.
I feel so well this morning. I haven't felt this well in months. There is much going on behind the scenes of this blog that I am shy about writing. Maybe I can get up the courage to reveal what's going on. I don't want to whine and portray too much drama though. I worry about burdening you all with my problems. Maybe its best to just write of pleasant morning walks and conversations with friends. Yes, that would be best.
"Hey Ken, check this out," I say to my favorite convenience store clerk early this morning.
I hold up yesterday's paper and there is a mention of him calling the police the other night in that D.U.I. with the kids in the car.
"No shit?" he says as he smiles incredulously and grabs the paper from me.
"You're a hero, dude," I say as I drink my decaf and watch patrons parade to the counter with the coffee.
"I'm gonna have this framed," he says, beaming.
"It is just a mention," I reply.
"Still," he says. "I am in the newspaper."
Our small town paper isn't much. They love crime drama and if you get a D.U.I. you get a mention. When I had my drunken accident on my motorcycle above the cotton mill on the road they wrote a paragraph about me. It embarrassed my family to death.
"What are you doing when you get off?" I then ask my favorite clerk.
"Sleep," he says. "I should have been off an hour ago. This time change is kicking my ass."
I laughed and agreed. It has been kicking my ass as well. I left the store with my mug filled with coffee and my backpack upon my back. I was just about to leave the parking lot when someone came walking out of the convenience store and hollered at me. It was Ken.
"Sorry about the beer thing the other night," He says loudly. "I didn't think you were really an alcoholic."
"Shush," I reply loudly as I put my finger to my lips. "Don't tell the whole world."
We both laughed and I walked on home. I don't know why I am so shy about strangers in my real life knowing that when I blather about it upon this blog so openly and readily. Just another strange variance of life it seems.
It was a foggy morning as I set out for my early morning walk. The fog rolling in off the Chattahoochee river. It was almost surreal walking through that mist as it beaded on my jacket and rolled off. I had been down to see my favorite convenience store clerk and it wasn't a kind meeting. He was trying to entice me into having a beer to feel better. He just didn't understand alcoholism which is common for many.
"Maybe a couple of drinks will make you feel better," he told me as we stepped back to the beer cooler.
He pulled out a six-pack of Heineken knowing it was my favorite.
"Go ahead," he said. "It's on me. A couple of drinks won't hurt."
I thanked him for his kindness as that is what he meant and put the beer back up.
"I have to abstain," I said, not believing I passed up free beer without a dime to my name. "I think it will cause the anxiety attacks to become worse and I become a different person when drunk."
"I'm just trying to help," he said as he smiled.
"I understand," I replied, biting my tongue that he was about to destroy weeks of sobriety.
I quickly left the convenience store wondering if I would ever return. This was such a surprising turn of events. My friend meant well, but was misguided. He thought the beer would calm me and help assuage what has been ailing me.
"I thought alcoholics drank," he quipped as I walked out of the store.
Choose your friends wisely...I thought.
I walked on down to the railroad tracks and sat on the bench in front of the train museum smoking cigarettes. I realized I just can't take a lot going on becoming dizzy with thoughts and desires. Those old urges to drink were in full force and I debated on walking back up to the store to get that beer before my friend got off of work and the chance was lost. Amazingly, I resisted the urge and left the museum to walk on home. Broken glass shimmering like little jewels on the sidewalk as I walked in the lights of the many fog encircled street lamps. I arrived home and ate an apple danish and a glass of milk for breakfast.
Started a new ad campaign this morning. I get to pick and choose which ads I display. Let me know what would interest you. I would appreciate it. I had to talk to a representative on the phone about getting enrolled and setting everything up which was an interesting twist for an ad company. It certainly is overly complicated to put ads up having so many to choose from.
"It's simple," my favorite convenience store clerk tells me. "You have to make her love you. There has to be mystery and mystique. Keep her guessing."
I never thought I would be getting relationship advice from the third shift convenience store clerk down the road. We were talking about keeping a relationship fresh so it wouldn't lose that "new" feeling.
"Send her flowers," he says. "It makes a woman's heart melt."
Rosa is not a flowers type woman. They would most likely wilt in the vase neglected.
"Are you dating these days?" I ask him.
"Oh, no," he says, drinking his coffee as he looks at me through coke bottle bottom glasses. "I am in between relationships these days."
You should have sent her flowers, I thought as I chuckled and was what I wanted to tell my faux Don Juan friend.
"Women like the thrill of a chase," he continues after ringing up a midnight drunk. "You have to play hard to get."
I decided I had received enough relationship advice from my verbose friend and left the store to walk home. As I walked, I thought of what it would take to keep Rosa happy. Me and her have been through a lot over the years and simplicity thrills us. Rosa likes simple times of shared meals, curling up on the couch watching television, stability. Playing hard to get would go over like a lead balloon with her. Too many things in her life have been too hard to get. I decided the best I could do was to be her Rock of Gibraltar. Unflinching. Stalwart. As unchanging as the landscape.
The house is quiet as I arrive home and hang my backpack by the door. Maggie comes sheepishly walking into the den to greet me as if she knows Rosa is asleep. I change into my boxer shorts and favorite sleeping t-shirt. I smoke a cigarillo and come into my computer room to write this. I can hear Rosa softly snoring in the back room.
Unflinching, Stalwart. As unchanging as the landscape, I think again.
I realize the best thing I can do for Rosa is to give her a home. A place to hang her proverbial hat. Her dozen roses is having a man who is always going to be there sober and sane.
My hardwood floor then creaks as Rosa stirs and walks into the room.
"You coming to sleep soon?" she asks sleepily as she walks over.
"Let me finish writing this," I reply busily pecking away at this keyboard.
"I love you," she says as she wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the neck.
The sensation is invigorating. I, too, feel a stability I haven't felt in years.
"I love you, too," I say back and for the first time in my life I can actually feel it. It is not just idle and empty words.
The floor creaks again as she escapes back to the bedroom. I can hear her climb into the bed and pull the covers around her. The light is turned off with a click. It is little moments like this that make life worth living. Someone to come home to. Stability.
It was a beautiful July afternoon at lunch. The humidity was low with the temps hovering in the lower eighties. I was so glad to be at one of my old haunts and hang-outs, Fat Albert's. It felt like old times and Rosa had accompanied me on this almost forgotten routine. She wanted to play the Georgia lottery as she often does.
"You could just give me the money," I said, coyly, of her buying lottery tickets. "It would be the same thing."
"You either have gambling blood or you don't," was Rosa's reply. "And no, you can't have my money. I want the thrill of the chase for all those winnings."
I smiled as I ate my red-hot pickled sausage and watched as Rosa scratched off the little metallic circles revealing money amounts. She didn't win a dime as I had predicted.
I heard some news about my ex-girlfriend, Carolyn, from her friend, the manager, today. She was transferred from a Wal-Mart store to a local Wal-Mart distribution center. She had gotten a promotion and I was pleased for her. Carolyn's friend then told me that she still isn't dating anyone and I was pleased that she was still single. I felt terrible for feeling that way and was beating myself up over it on the drive home. "Why would I take pleasure in someone else's misfortune?" I thought. I told Rosa about it and she said she has done the same thing before as well.
"I occasionally hear about my old boyfriend and pimp," she said. "And I have to keep myself from being pleased that he is still a no-good thief and crack-head. It makes me feel better to feel that way about that son of a bitch."
Breaking up can be a strange thing, indeed. I should just be glad Carolyn was okay and doing well. I did so love her once. Rosa told me not to be so hard on myself as everyone does that. It seems so childish and immature though - like something out of high school. I will just chalk up my churlish response as a blip on the radar of emotion.
