Talk. Talk. Talk. I just feel like talking.

Well, I managed to hike six miles this morning. I hike around three miles an hour for a total of two hours walking. I already feel better. Those endorphins were really flowing across my synapses. I needed a purpose to my life. That is what I miss most about working -- the structure it gives you. I am still kicking around volunteer ideas. My ex-wife no longer works at the library (she recently quit) so I may ask them. The humane society volunteer position petered out. They only had around twenty dogs and were having to find things for me to do. With my social anxieties, it made me extremely uncomfortable as if I was a burden to them. I spent most of my time standing around with nothing to do with my hands in my pockets. I can do that at home. Volunteer positions at the hospital were only for one day a week at four hours a day manning the reception desk. There was a waiting list of elderly people lined up to volunteer. I also got discouraged when the lady said I needed a letter from my doctor saying I was able to volunteer. I am tired of asking permission to just live my life. I can be bitter sometimes about how my mental illness moniker follows me around like a black cloud and rains on my parade.

My last post bothers me. I felt I was too opinionated. I feel my opinion is marginalized due to my life and lifestyle. As if it doesn't matter. I don't mean to pick on "The Homeless Guy." It is just that he is the most visible homeless person I know. Search for "homeless" in Google and his blog is the sixth entry. A lot of people go to him for ideas and opinions on homelessness and don't realize they are being fed a line of bullshit. Enough said on that, though.

My ad campaign is floundering. I've only made $25 dollars this month. Last month I made $60 and the check will be here the first of January. There is a fine line between adding a bunch of fancy banner ads that draw people's attention and just adding some text ads that don't pay squat. I miss my Google Adsense ads. They paid well and paid for every thousand that visited. I was making hundreds of dollars. As with everything in life, all good things must come to an end.

No Money, but Still Undaunted

I was brainstorming last night of things that were fun to do without money. Surprisingly, I thought of some. I need to get back into my old habits of hiking and camping. I was once a man obsessed about those pastimes. Pretty much every night would find me in my tent and sleeping bag, and many days I would hike for miles and miles.

Last night, I pitched my tent in the back yard and slept in it. It got down to 27 degrees, but my goose down sleeping bag kept me toasty warm. I slept better than I have for months. Maggie tickled me though. She kept going in and out of her dog door, confused. She couldn't decide if she wanted to be out with me or in my warm home. She finally curled up on my bed and went to sleep without me. I missed her and wished she would have slept in my tent.

This morning, I awoke and walked down to the shopping center in the early morning chill. I asked Jay, my old boss at the Piggly Wiggly, if I could have some coffee from the employees break room. He told me to help myself. I fixed a cup of milky coffee and sat out with Big S in front of the store.

"What did you do last night?" Big S asked me.

"I slept outside in my tent," I replied with a big grin.

"George always said you were crazy," he told me of my little camping adventure. "You must have froze your ass off."

I laughed and laughed.

"I stayed quite warm, thank you," I replied.

I left Big S and hiked for two hours around town as I listened to my radio. My legs are still balking now after just arriving home. I am so out of shape. It is going to take a week of hours of hiking to get my trail legs back. This is going to be fun, though, and I need to display some passion for something in my life. I have grown tired of sitting in front of this computer all day when so few people blog. I still have that dream of one day hiking the Appalachian Trail.

Spangled with Stars

These early morning hours are hardest on the insomnia addled soul. I sat for the longest time listening to Coast to Coast AM out of New Orleans enjoying that hot and steamy coffee from my thermos. The minutes would tick by excruciatingly slow – each hour as if it were a moment of time stood still. The thing I noticed the most was that it was a pitch black and clear sky spangled with thousands of stars yet you could see bright lightning on the horizon. My grandfather would always say you could see a storm for a hundred miles on a clear Southern summer night.

I left that park across from that old cotton mill and walked through town about a mile away from home. Took a shortcut through the car lot near Rosa's house. Stopped for a moment to look at the prices. Some of these pretentious cars were almost as expensive as my new house. I mused that I would never probably be able to afford such a vehicle for the rest of my life and it didn't bother me at all. My little Honda will be transporting me around for the next decade I hope. After that, come what may. I rarely drive anyway.

The diner had started serving breakfast at 4am for the early morning blue collar work crowd. I put out my cigar, walked in, took a seat and grabbed a menu.

"What are you having, honey?" The sleepy African American waitress asked with pad in hand.

"Get me the eggs, grits, toast, and bacon platter," I said, "and a large orange juice."

My meal was quickly brought out and I sat eating as I people watched. All the railroad workers come in this time of the morning after a night of riding the rails and I wondered what far flung towns and distant environs they had visited overnight. They laughed and talked boisterously over breakfast platters and unending mugs of coffee. I envied them of their job and camaraderie.

I wiped my hands and mouth with my napkin and put a generous tip on the table. I left the diner just minutes from home. I saw that lightning flash brightly one more time on the horizon lighting the distant thunderhead and smiled. Someone in this drought stricken south was getting a good rain and storm. I envied them as well as I would have loved to have curled up in my bed to the sounds of rain and thunder. Maybe such a nature's serenade would have induced sleep. I pulled my backpack tightly upon my shoulders and walked home with thoughts of raging storms, comforting beds, and cool air conditioned air on this hot and humid night. Sometimes, it is okay to have insomnia. I would have missed this wonderful morning of mostly solitude.

Casting a Long Shadow

Sat on my favorite bench in that little park after midnight. A train roared through downtown causing me to turn up my little radio. In my hand was a cup of coffee, black, poured from my thermos. This diet has caused me to forego my usual cream and sugar. It has taken some getting used to my coffee without my usual condiments – especially the bitterness.

On the horizon stretches that grand old cotton mill like some silent sentinel. Its weaving and spinning looms fallen long dormant and quiet as the work was sent overseas for cheaper labor and the workers were left to fend for themselves in unemployment lines – once the lifeblood of this little Southern town - times change.

I realize after-midnight is my witching hour – a time where my senses are heightened, my awareness's sensitive, and my sight keen. I think of the waning crescent moon that will soon be full come the end of the month and the jokes my father often tells of insane and crazy people spurred by that moon to do extraordinary things. I must be sure to prepare my wolf's bane for the moon to come.

I finally stand after drinking the last of my coffee – my body casting a long shadow in the glow of a street light. I stand erect for a moment and stretch – sore from my exertions of moving all day. It is going to be a good week, I muse. I then disappear into the night to walk home – my witching hour passed. The bed waits.

A Canvas of Twinkling Jewels and Deep Dark Azure

Sat in that darkened park that so entices me to visit for most of the night. Nearby was the little roadside barbeque stand near which you could still smell the dampened ash of Saturday's grilling. My stomach grumbled as I thought of a quarter of a barbecued chicken smothered in tangy southern-style sauce. I would have to wait until Monday to fulfill that culinary fantasy though.

The night seemed darker than usual – the moon hidden by thick billowing clouds alit by the light pollution of the city casting an eerie orange glow. I could only see a few feet in front of me as I fumbled with my radio to find a better station. Ah, there it was – 890 AM out of New Orleans - with my favorite show, Coast to Coast AM. I listened for a long time as I drank hot and rich coffee from my thermos as the guests talked of Mayan mysticism and the metaphysical aspects of their ancient calendar. I chuckled at the seriousness in which the callers undertake the subject when discussing pure bullshit on this show – it's like Jerry Springer for intellectuals.

Ring. Ring.

I am startled by that sound. It is coming from my backpack. I had forgotten Rosa had given me her cell phone to keep overnight in case of an emergency during my walk. I curse as I fumble with the phone, finally pulling it out, and hit the answer button.

"Hello?"

"Can I speak to Rosa?"

"She's at home asleep," I reply.

"What an odd time of the morning to be calling," I think. It must be one of her old using buddies. He sounded like an older man with a gravely and raspy voice.

"Tell her that I called," he said and hung up.

I chuckled. He didn't even tell me who 'I' was. Probably best to let that sleeping dog lie. I don't want Rosa undergoing any old temptations.

I pull on my backpack after drinking the last of my coffee. I light a cigarillo with a wooden match like Clint Eastwood in those old spaghetti westerns and begin the journey home. The clouds have cleared some and a few stars are peeking out between breaks in the cumulus. I throw my head back and gaze almost becoming dizzy and giddy like a small child with a toy telescope seeing the magnified moon for the first time. Natures wonders never cease to amaze me and I think of all the people sleeping soundly missing the most peaceful and comforting time of the night – serenaded by nature's breezes upon a canvas of twinkling jewels with nothing but a horizon awash in the most beautiful deep dark azure. I almost didn't want the walk home to end. Good night.

Oasis in the Night

Another night was spent in my tent sleeping upon the ground. My father will stand at his bedroom window and watch me as I bed down for the night - my tent lit and glowing by my candle lantern like a great green and orange pumpkin in the backyard. My sleeping in the backyard disturbs him, but what can he do? He knows I am on my medications as I have to walk over to his house nightly and take them to ease his mind. I have to wait thirty minutes so he can be assured I will not throw them back up and they have a chance to take effect. I do feel better these days with his help. I love him dearly and don’t mean to worry him.

I have just struggled so with insomnia and found I sleep better outside now that the weather has turned far kinder. For months after I regained a home from my homelessness, I would sleep on the floor of my bedroom in my sleeping bag. The bed was far too soft and unfamiliar to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe my recent forays into the backyard camping harkens back to those homeless days long past. I certainly have slept much better lately, if only brokenly.

Set out for this morning’s hike around 1am. It was another gorgeous night, if rather damp, after all the rain of yesterday. I trudged past the many dark houses in my neighborhood – the occupants long asleep. Street lights at intervals lit my way with their sodium halide lighting – like little oasis in the dark of the night. I deeply breathed in that cool night air filling my lungs with welcomed oxygen and exhaled with a sigh. All was right in my little world for yet another morning.

Passed the convenience store around 2am and didn’t stop. My social anxieties got the better of me this morning. I just couldn’t bear the mindless small talk. I saw my favorite clerk through that big plate glass window sitting on the counter no doubt reading another porno magazine as he smoked cigarettes and played pocket pool. As usual, the parking lot was deserted as I trudged by. I thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t have to spend long and sleepless nights bored out of my mind working such a menial job. I admire that man and the work he does that makes the world go round – selling the gas and convenience items that make our lives easier.

Well, let me get some coffee started and let Maggie out for her morning run. It will soon be 5am and my favorite radio program will help me greet this new morning. I hope you all have a great day and I will write again soon as the day progresses and something interesting happens. Good day dear friends.

Of Porn and Police Patrols

I’m sitting in that Park by that grand old abandoned cotton mill. It is well after midnight. The air is cool and has a palpable dampness to it. It reminds me of the term the British coined: rising damp. I am drinking coffee from my thermos and a lone police cruiser pulls into the parking lot just a few feet from me next to the post office and rolls down his window. A bright crescent moon adorns the early morning sky.

“You okay?” the officer asks from his patrol car.

“Yes sir and good morning to you,” I reply.

“I see you out here a lot in the morning. You can’t sleep?”

“Yeah, I walk every morning to just get out of the house. I like this time of the night to think and gather myself,” I reply as I take another drink of steaming coffee from my thermos cap.

“Well, I was just checking on you,” the police officer says. “You have a good night.”

I watched as he pulled off and disappeared beyond the post office to go about his nightly rounds. It was comforting to know the police were being so kind and just looking out for me. In this heightened age of hysteria after 9/11, he could have checked my ID and made a big deal of me sitting in that park alone at such an ungodly hour.

I left the park and walked over to the convenience store just down the road. My favorite after-hours clerk was sitting behind the counter, smoking a cigarette and listening to the radio. I noticed the very large no smoking sign on the door as I walked in and smiled. He was breaking the rules when no manager was around.

“Hey bud,” He said. “Good to see you. I’ve been wondering where you have been.”

“Had anymore patrons drinking beer in the bathroom?” I asked, jokingly, as I walked past.

He smiled broadly and said, “No, but I would catch that son of bitch on my watch.”

I knew how the clerk felt. When I worked here years ago, I would make a game out of catching shoplifters and caught quite a few during my tenure there. The only downside was that I had to spend a lot of time sitting during trumped up trials in kangaroo courts that can be our court system.

I then walked over to peruse the magazine section and picked out a magazine about PC repair/Computer Hardware and took it to the counter.

“You fix computers?” The clerk asks.

“I am pretty good with it,” I reply. “I can usually fix anything electronic.”

“My computer at home is slow as hell and I might get you to come check it out.”

“Just let me know,” I said. “And I will be glad to help.”

“Porn,” I thought as the clerk rang me up. I have found that many people’s problems with slow computers when it concerns guys, is that they are visiting a plethora of porn sites. Those websites are rife with Trojans, worms, and various viruses. I thought of all the early mornings I have walked in to find this clerk busily playing pocket pool to an issue of Plumpers magazine. I smiled as I walked out the door to head home. Men will be men. I never could get into much porn though. I guess I am the odd man out.

I’m not a Killer

My book is quickly coming together. It has been years since I have been so consumed with writing something other than this blog. I lie awake in bed thinking about where I will take my characters next and how to describe their surroundings and experiences. It is all so exciting. I know I will never get published, but still…the book will be a product of me and I have poured my heart and soul into it. I think I have really captured the South during the depression and the wonderful tales my grandmother reveled me in growing up. She made life seem so worth living and vibrant and vivid. The book will be dedicated to her and her life.

This evening found me sleeping in my tent. I awoke to a loud crash in the woods nearby as Maggie began to bark furiously. I turned on my flashlight, unzipped my tent door, and peered down into the woods. A lone doe stood frozen in the light. She finally turned and disappeared into the bamboo thicket. You would think that deer would be quiet creatures, but they are not. When I was homeless, I would often get awoken by deer wandering through my campsite at night. I finally got Maggie calmed down and back to sleep and I drifted off as well for a grand total of five hours of slumbering bliss.

I finally awoke, dressed, and went for this morning’s daily hike. I am finding these early morning hours to be my favorite time of the day. I feel so comforted that my chances of human contact are slim to none. I realize this is just another irrationality of my mental illness. It is not normal to want to avoid social contact. It scares me that I will be viewed by readers as another one of those loner, crazy killer types with a mental illness. The public tends to have a kneejerk reaction to such matters after what happened at Virginia Tech fueled by the mass media feeding frenzy after such an event. I wish I could assure you all that I don’t have a violent bone in my body and never have.

Headlights at Noon

The weather today was befitting my mood…melancholy. I didn’t feel bad. I just felt blah; kind of devoid of emotion and feeling. It is common with my medications. The sky was cloudy and grey with a cool breeze and the weather guessers say rain is on the way, although I will believe it when I see it. It has been so dry here and we are seven inches behind on our rainfall total for the year.

I stopped down at the shopping center, but none of the gang was to be found. So I carried on over to Rosa’s house hoping she would spice up my day and she did. She was in a wild and suggestive mood. She answered her door still in her pajamas which consisted of sweat pants and a cotton t-shirt with no bra on. I must add that Rosa is quite well endowed as far as the breast region of her chest is concerned and her “headlights” were on full bore. I couldn’t help but stare.

“I was hoping I would get to see you,” Rosa told me, demurely, as I stepped inside.

The smell of something wonderful cooking was emanating out of the kitchen. I walked in and pulled the lid off the pot, curious.

“Spaghetti!” I exclaimed. “Awesome. That is my favorite.”

“You gonna stay for lunch?”

“I just ate at Rodger’s,” I replied. “Today is meatloaf day and I never miss it. It’s my favorite meal.”

I stood by the stove as Rosa began to boil some pasta and occasionally stirred the spaghetti sauce. My eyes kept wandering down to stare at Rosa’s chest. I felt like a dirty old man.

“You like what you see?” Rosa then asked, embarrassing me. “You keep staring at my tits.”

I laughed nervously diverting my eyes. Rosa smiled. She is not much one to mince words and although it can be startling at times, I do like this about her.

Rosa then finished the pasta and pulled out a plate. Upon the pasta, she used a 1-cup measuring cup to pour over a generous serving of pasta sauce. She then took her plate into her den to sit on the couch to eat. I followed her and sat watching the television. Rosa let me have a bite of the spaghetti to taste it. I had never tried Rosa’s cooking before and I have to admit, the spaghetti was delicious.

I finally grew bored with the television and Rosa was intent on being a homebody today. So I left to continue with my daily hike with the noontime hour finding me walking up my driveway to home. My father had come by while I was away to do a beer check. He left me a note on my radio explaining that he had been by. I smiled. Used to, such an occurrence would upset me. I realize this is more for dad than it is for me. It gives him peace of mind and also keeps me on my toes so to speak by having someone checking up on me. Isn’t it hard to believe I am 35 years old? I shudder to think what some of you must think about me. I need to quit sharing such overly honest and forward stuff on my blog.

Onward, I Ever Walk

This morning was overly cool and I will be glad when summer finally arrives. I walked downtown to watch a few trains pass in the predawn dark. There is just this tangible excitement that builds as you first hear the far off wail of a locomotive horn as a train enters town. Soon, you will see a bright headlight round the corner far down the tracks in the dark as the train approaches. The ground will rumble beneath your feet as the train passes with many container cars marked “China Shipping.” The kid in me always rejoices at this grand spectacle of modern locomotive machinery.

I then stopped by Fat Albert’s this morning for a hot cup of coffee. My ex-girlfriend Carolyn worked there for years and the clerks all know me exceedingly well. I was greeted by hearty hellos and good mornings as I walked in. I stood at the counter to pay for my coffee after carefully fixing it.

“Do you ever hear from Carolyn these days?” The manager, Patty, asked me early this morning. “I haven’t heard from her in ages and was wondering how she was doing.”

“You know we broke up,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” Patty replied. “I just thought you two might still be talking.”

“We no longer talk, but last I heard she is still working at Wal-Mart.”

“You two were such a good couple. I hate you broke up,” Patty replied.

“Yeah,” I said growing silent as I drank my coffee.

Patty rung me up and I paid and left to walk up the street towards home. I thought of Carolyn as I walked. I still get the occasional call on my answering machine were no one talks, but you can hear someone breathing with a television on in the background. I just know it is Carolyn. It has been very tempting to pick up the phone and say hello. I was never good at saying goodbye. If I were to pick up then I would start that emotional roller coaster going all over again. It is best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Walks of the Insomniac

The weather has been raw and wrought with an unforgiving cold lately. Just when I thought we were done with winter, the old man comes back with a vengeance. This makes my predawn walks exercises in tedium and perseverance. Around mile three my face and hands grow numb and no amount of rubbing them will warm them.

2am found me on the last leg of journey as I walked into the parking lot of that convenience store I so frequent these days. My usual and favorite beady eyed clerk was standing behind the counter looking at another porno mag. I shuddered to think what he did with his spare time when no one was in the store looking at such magazines. It was not a pretty thought. He is not the most attractive of beasts.

“Hey stranger,” He said, genuinely glad to see me as he scurried to put the porno under the counter, looking flustered.

“Good morning,” I said as I walked past him to go straight back to the drinks cooler to get an ice cold Gatorade.

“I didn’t see you last night,” He told me as I stepped up to the counter.

“I actually slept last night and got a good night’s sleep,” I said. “I took four Tylenol PM and it knocked me out.”

“I heard Tylenol can ruin your liver so I don’t take it,” The clerk told me.

“Anything, drug wise, can ruin your liver if you take enough of it,” I replied.

“True,” The clerk said as he rung me up and I handed him my money.

I bid the clerk farewell and continued on with my walk. 3am found me walking up my driveway chilled to the bone. Maggie exuberantly greeted me at the door and I parked myself in front of my heater to get warm. Just another day in the life of a lonely insomniac. I sure missed Carolyn this morning.

A Cold Dawn Arriving

I awoke around 1am and walked all the way to the end of Spring Road which took about three hours and is about a six mile walk. Maggie accompanied me tethered to her leash and was still rearing to go when we finally arrived home at my driveway. She is like the energizer bunny and just keeps going and going. I wish I had her energy.

It was really cold this morning and I wasn’t prepared for the cold, stark reality that greeted me around mile three and the point of return with three miles to go ahead of me. I was uncomfortably cold and clammy. I started to walk faster to get my blood flowing and my heart beating faster. I pulled my collar up, thrust my hands in my coat pockets, and soldiered on. I could feel the warmth of my exertions coarse through my veins and my face felt flush, buffeted by the cold air.

I arrived home around 4am and got a hearty breakfast started. I fried some breakfast ham and made a pan of steamy, buttery, homemade buttermilk biscuits. Making southern style biscuits is a fine art in cooking I have learned. You don’t want to knead the dough too much or the biscuits will get tough and not flaky and tender. George’s mom taught me this technique and it has served me well. She will knead the dough just enough to mix the ingredients and then cut the biscuits with an old tomato paste can with both ends opened up. I have watched her do this countless times and she makes a pan of biscuits that will just melt in your mouth they are so tender and fluffy.

I have guests staying at the house with me this weekend. Two friends of my father’s have come from Gainesville, Florida to hunt turkey on our land we own. They are a quiet bunch and I hardly know they are here except for the occasional creaking of the floor as they walk around upstairs. Yesterday morning they got up at 5am to head out for yesterday’s hunting trip. These two men take this ritual very seriously. I never could get into hunting and certainly wouldn’t be heading out to the woods at 5am to do so. My grandfather was an avid hunter, but he died before I was born. I guess if he would have lived, he would have taken me with him on his trips and I would have grown to enjoy and like it. I do so enjoy fishing in the summer though.

I don’t have much planned for today. Saturday’s are usually spent writing and working on my novel while I watch the many cooking shows on Public Broadcasting that come on after lunch. I especially enjoy America’s Test Kitchen and have learned some wonderful recipes watching that show. They have cooking down to an exact science. Just don’t sign up for recipes on their website though or you will get constant spam in your inbox and numerous telemarketing calls on your telephone. That soured my feelings and relationship towards them. I still enjoy the television show though.

Well, this is my most boring post ever. I just felt like rambling and posts like these are fun and casual to write for me and I don’t have to put much thought into them. I hope you all have a grand weekend and hope to get up some more interesting writing material about the gang mid-afternoon. I was going to take Ferret to the Social Security office, but realized they are closed on the weekend. That will have to wait until Monday. Hopefully, I can get Ferret sobered up enough that is won’t be readily apparent he is lush these days when we talk to a representative. Good day.

The Walkin’ Man

I once again walked those lonely streets through downtown this morning on my hike. It is so frustratingly maddening not being able to sleep. My eyes burned and my head pounded from the effects of only four hours of rest. I swung by the all-night convenience store once again to try and quench my unquenchable thirst and to satiate my sweet tooth.

“Another restless night?” The clerk said through thick glasses with beady eyes as I walked through the door.

We have developed a casual rapport with each other.

“You wouldn’t happen to know someone who could hook me up with some valium, do you?” I asked jestfully in response.

The clerk chuckled nervously with shifty eyes as if he did know someone, but said no.

I then placed a large orange flavored Gatorade and a Hershey’s bar w/almonds upon the counter.

“$2.34,” The clerk said, holding out his greedy little hand.

I handed him two dollar bills and some change after counting it.

“Say, didn’t you tell me the other night you used to work here third shift?” He then asked, drumming up a conversation.

“I worked here for about a year when I was in college,” I replied.

“Doesn’t this job just suck donkey balls?” He asked as he smiled facetiously.

“It’s not an experience I would like to repeat, but it did pay the bills,” I replied.

“Sometimes, I think 7am will never get here,” He said. “These early morning hours tend to drag on so long and seem to last forever.”

“I know how you feel. I have been in your shoes,” I replied.

I finally bid the clerk goodbye and continued on with my morning hike. This sleepy little southern town was eerily quiet as I walked. Nary a car or person was to be encountered. Here I was, a lonely soul walking in the deepest, darkest hours of the night; alone with my thoughts and a most vivid imagination. I thought of down feather comforters, fluffy pillows, and sleep, blissful sleep. I think it is time to get a prescription for a sleep aid. I don’t think I can bear another sleepless night.

75 Pennies of Purchasing Power

The wind was briskly blowing tonight and I got caught in a brief downpour around 1am as I once again walked on my insomnia fueled hike. Luckily, I had my little foldable umbrella in my backpack which kept me from getting too wet.

“I have weathered far worse storms than this, homeless,” I said as I trudged onwards towards the all-night convenience store braving the rain.

I had a heavy bag of 75 pennies in my backpack; the last of my money until this month’s disability check arrives. It was embarrassing to spend, but I was craving a sweet, caramel and peanut infused, Snicker’s bar.

“You must be pretty broke,” The now familiar third shift clerk said of my payment as I handed him the Ziploc bag of pennies.

“I am so sorry,” I said as I apologized profusely. “It is rather embarrassing to have to pay with so many pennies.”

“Well, at least you are not trying to buy a $2.99 six pack of beer with pennies,” He replied. “I had some desperate drunk dude try that one night.”

“Was he short, balding, and black?” I asked.

“No, he was a little redneck, white dude,” The clerk replied.

“Ah,” I said as I chuckled. “I thought it might have been my friend, George. He has been known to do stuff like that.”

The clerk didn’t even count my pennies and put them in the cash register. I walked back outside as I took the wrapper off my candy bar thoroughly enjoying it as I took a bite. That sweet chocolate coating, caramel, and peanuts hit the spot. I then headed on back down the road towards home as the rain once again began to fall, blown sideways by the wind, making my umbrella useless. I sighed, folded my umbrella, and resigned myself to the fact that I was just going to get wet.

Of Lonely Clerks and Walks after Midnight

2am found me once again walking the streets downtown. A cold front blew in upon a brisk and chilly wind. I shivered, not used to the cold, and wrapped myself in my fleece pullover as I pulled my backpack tightly upon my shoulder. I stopped after walking a mile at the all-night convenience store to buy a candy bar with the last bit of change in my pocket.

“You sure keep odd hours,” The clerk tells me with an air of familiarity at my regular presence these days when I walked inside the door.

“I have terrible insomnia,” I reply, “And nothing is on TV at two in the morning except infomercials. I walk to pass the time until sunrise.”

“You don’t get scared and shit of getting robbed in the middle of the night?” He asks.

“No,” I reply loudly as I stand in front of the candy counter surveying the offerings.

“I see some weird shit go down in this store after midnight,” He says. “Drunks come out of the woodwork after midnight and last night I caught a guy drinking beer without paying in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” I say as I chuckle, trying to feign interest.

The shopkeeper was clearly lonely and just wanted someone to talk to.

“He would drink a six pack and then stuff the empty cans up above the ceiling tiles and act like nothing happened. I finally caught that son of a bitch and called the police.”

“Did they arrest him?” I ask, now interested.

“They sure did. Took him straight to jail. I have to go to court next month.”

I grab a pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups and head for the counter. The clerk rings me up and I count out the change to pay.

“You be safe tonight,” I say as I start to walk out the door.

“You too,” The clerk says, looking forlorn at being left alone without sober company.

It must be a lonely existence working the dead shift at a dumpy little convenience store in Podunk Alabama. The clerk clearly would talk to anything showing signs of life. I thanked my lucky stars that most of my living existence wasn’t being spent in such a dead end job earning minimum wage for food tokens. I did chuckle to myself once again as I thought of the clerk’s story of the little black man drinking beer and then stuffing the cans up in the ceiling to hide his crime. Only in small town Alabama, I thought as I walked on home.

A Ring in the Night

I was lying in bed last night. The time was near midnight. I had the ringer to my phone turned off and my answering machine caught the call. All I could hear was someone breathing and a television on in the background and they hung up without saying anything. I have a good idea it was Carolyn. Good thing I didn’t pick up that phone. I couldn’t deal with another guilt trip last night. I still care about her deeply and want her to be okay, but I know it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. It is best not to say anything in the heat of the moment that I would later regret. I was afraid I might blurt out that four letter word…L-O-V-E.
I am not happy with how I have been writing lately. I am my own worst critic. My descriptions of my life and interactions with people are so plain and matter of fact. I wish I could be a more capable word weaver and incorporate more descriptive writing filled with metaphors and similes.
This morning I once again set out for my daily walk. The sweet smell of the many spring flowers blooming was upon the air and set a splendid ambiance for this nice and warm spring morning. I felt so good today and my spirits were in good cheer despite only four hours of sleep. I have just resigned myself to the fact that my body doesn’t need much sleep these days.

I arrived home and was entirely too lazy to fix a big breakfast and just made some buttered toast in my toaster oven. I sat eating my toast as I read over what I wrote last week. I am not happy with how I have been writing lately. I am my own worst critic. My descriptions of my life and interactions with people are so plain and matter of fact. I wish I could be a more capable word weaver and incorporate more descriptive writing filled with metaphors and similes. I am an entirely lazy writer and most blog entries take only a few short minutes to write and to publish. I really need to start taking more time with my writing and actually write a draft and then revise it. Knowing me though, I will just continue on with the status quo. I guess I better just take the good with the bad. If I make blogging a chore and work then this blog will die and I will no longer write.

I hope you all have a good day today. Of course, I will stop by your blogs to see how my online friends are doing. Take care all of you and thanks so much for being a part of my life with the wonderful comments you send my way. I do appreciate them very much and they make blogging worthwhile. Have a great day my dear friends.

In the Still of the Night

I once again walked those streetlight lined streets this morning. I reveled in the fact that spring is finally here and the cold is a distant memory these days. Winter always imparts the doldrums upon me and the arrival of spring brings a renewed vigor to my spirit and demeanor.

I made my way up the sidewalk on highway 29 thinking of George this morning. I wonder what ole George is going to do without his car. I can’t imagine him getting a regular, more mainstream, job. “Do you want fries with that?” I could picture George in my mind asking customers down at McDonald’s as I chuckled to myself. Knowing George, he would tell the manager to stick it where the sun don’t shine and would walk out at the first sign of trouble or hard work. I could also picture him coming in to work still drunk from the night before, red eyed and hung-over. It is going to be interesting to see how this new chapter in George’s life unfolds.

I finally arrived at the all-night convenience store around 3am. The shopkeeper was perched upon and sitting on the counter glaring at a porno mag. I once worked the third shift at this very convenience store and the police would come in and peruse the porno magazine stand behind the counter every night. I wondered if they still do that as they fill up their patrol cars waiting for their shifts to end.

“Good morning,” The shopkeeper said as he hastily put the magazine under the counter and stood erect as I walked in.

“Good morning,” I replied in return as I walked to the back of the store to pull out a Coca-cola.

“What else can I get you?” He then asked me as I placed the Coke upon the counter by the register.

“I need a carton of Smoker’s Choice little cigars,” I replied as I reached for my wallet to pull out my Visa card.

“$11.76,” The shopkeeper said as he held out his hand to grab the card and then asked me if it was credit or debit.

I left the store and walked on up past the Chicken Stop restaurant into the old part of downtown that is about dead these days. I decided to take a shortcut through a very rundown neighborhood that would prove to be a bad decision and a scary situation later.

The time was getting close to 4am when I walked down that dark street in one of the worst neighborhoods in town. Up ahead, I could see a house brightly lit and loud rap music emanating from inside it. About six people were out in the front yard drinking malt liquor and talking and hooting loudly. I walked past several condemned houses as I crossed the street to give me and these party goers a wide berth. They started to hurl racial slurs my way as I walked past.

“Hey honkey, what are you doing in this neighborhood so late?” A young African American male catcalled at me fueled by the bravado that alcohol can impart.

I pulled my backpack tightly upon my shoulder and soldiered on making sure not to make eye contact. The noise of the party faded into the background behind me and I sighed relieved to had escaped danger as I finally trudged up the last few feet of that road as it emptied me out into a much nicer neighborhood not far from my home.

As I arrived home, Maggie was sitting at my backdoor looking out. They say dogs are a man’s best friend and I would have to agree. Maggie always greets me as if I have been gone for weeks. I rubbed her head, scratched her back, lit up a cigar, and sat down to write this. I will soon climb back into the bed to get a few more hours of sleep after breakfast and morning meds. I hope you all have a great Saturday and that you enjoy your weekend. Good day. I am off, once again, to the land of dreams.

An Oasis in the Night

Street lights glared and shone with a harsh glow as I walked the city streets two hours past midnight this morning. Once again, I am having trouble sleeping. A good friend of mine with a mental illness is in the same dilemma as well. I guess we are kindred spirits these days. Great minds think alike I just thought facetiously. I kept thinking a good, long walk would make me grow sleepy and tired.
I sighed relieved when I checked my back pocket for my wallet finding it there fearing the officer would check my I.D. We live in such an overly sensitive and alert world after 9/11; very much akin to the government police state described in Orwell’s 1984.
2am found me standing in the all-night convenience store. I had scraped up enough pocket change from my car to buy a 20 oz Coca-cola. I am now officially broke until my next disability check arrives. Being penniless is an awkward feeling that I am not used to. I feel totally helpless with so little money to my name.

Monday mornings are a hard time for me as they start selling beer again at 2am. I thought of George as I stood in the back of that store surveying the beer offerings like one of Pavlov’s salivating dogs. I kept expecting him to walk in any moment to buy a case or a twelve pack and offer me one. It was good thing I only had a dollar and 35 cents in change in my pocket. That twelve pack of Steel Reserve high gravity lager just looked too tempting and I would have loved to have gotten completely sloshed drinking twelve of those high gravity brews. Luckily, I didn’t have the required $5.99 plus tax to buy it which was my saving grace. Too bad they don’t have after midnight A.A. meetings. A meeting would have been an oasis in the night.

I left the convenience store as I drank my Coca-cola on this cool morning. I walked up in front of that grand old abandoned cotton mill and sat down upon a bench in the little park out front. I put on the headphones of my little Sony radio and tuned the digital tuner to that station out of New Orleans. Art Bell was pontificating overly seriously about imagined ghosts and ghastlies that go boo in the night.

A lone police car came slowly driving by giving me a good and hard look. 2:30 am in the morning is an unusual time for a citizen to be up and out listening to a radio and drinking a Coca-cola in that little park in the dark. I know I looked suspicious. I sighed relieved when I checked my back pocket for my wallet finding it there fearing the officer would check my I.D. We live in such an overly sensitive and alert world after 9/11; very much akin to the government police state described in Orwell’s 1984.

I finally yawned sleepily as I pulled on my backpack after putting my little radio away. I trudged back down the sidewalk to complete the mile before reaching home. I locked my backdoor and crawled into the bed only to find myself once again staring at the ceiling in the dark, sleepless. Disgusted with myself, I once again turned on my bedside lamp, dressed, and sat in my den drinking hot tea and smoking cigars. Oh, how I wish I could find my oasis in the night; my own little secret place to crawl into, comforted, to go to sleep. Reality thought otherwise.

Contrails in the Sky

My radio is softly playing in the background. A hot kettle of water just got finished whistling loudly at a boil and I added a tea bag and set my timer for ten minutes. Maggie is lying on the floor after going outside for a bathroom break and is crunching on a pig’s ear and thoroughly enjoying the warmth of my gas heater. I have just finished washing my dishes after a breakfast of cheddar cheese grits with crumbled bacon, two bananas, and a large glass of ice cold whole milk.
We got off the phone after I talked to my father for a short while. He is just ecstatic about the new baby and is so proud. My father has his faults, but he is undeniable family man and adores his children and grandchildren.
Once again, I was up well before dawn as I completed my daily hike. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I walked back into my neighborhood. The contrails of jets crisscrossed the sky highlighted in pink by the early morning sun. All was well in my little world.

I talked to my sister on the phone for a long time yesterday evening which is rare for me to do. We have probably talked less than three times this year.

“The baby has a full head of jet black hair and a tan,” My sister said sounding surprised.

I and my sister are fair haired, fair skinned, and freckled which explained her surprise.

“Does she cry a lot?” I asked.

“She tends to cry between 11pm and 2am,” My sister said as she laughed. “That would be just my luck as we are going to bed.”

“When do you start your oncology fellowship?” I asked.

“As soon as I get back from my five weeks of maternity leave,” She replied.

“Well, I am proud of you,” I said earnestly. “I still can’t believe I have a brother and sister that are both doctors.”

“Thank you,” She said. “Well, I better get back to tending to the baby. Dad is holding her now.”

“Let’s don’t go so long before we talk again,” I said.

“OK,” My sister replied. “I will call you again soon.”

We got off the phone after I talked to my father for a short while. He is just ecstatic about the new baby and is so proud. My father has his faults, but he is undeniable family man and adores his children and grandchildren.

Kaleidoscope of Shadows

Blearily, I woke up early this morning and set out on my daily hike. Mile 4 found me walking by the all-night convenience store. I stopped and walked in to buy a drink. The cashier was busily mopping the floor and I apologized for walking on it.

“Good morning,” He grumbled as I walked by towards the cooler in the back.

A myriad of choices greeted me as I tried to decide what to drink. Milk? Gatorade? Coca-cola? I reached in and finally pulled out an ice cold Gatorade.

“Kinda quiet this morning,” I said trying to make small talk as I stepped up to the counter.

“Yeah, we don’t see much business this time of the day,” He replied nonchalantly.

A grungy looking fellow then came walking in and headed straight back for the beer cooler. The shopkeeper warily watched him as he pulled out a twelve pack of Budweiser. I had smelled alcohol when he walked by. He reeked of it. The fellow then took his place behind me in line.

“Have a good morning,” I said as the shopkeeper handed me my change and I headed out for the rest of my hike.

The shopkeeper grumbled something to the effect of, “you too.”

Mile six found me walking to a steadily falling drizzle. My hair grew wet and my pull-over grew damp. Luckily, it was very warm this morning so I didn’t have any fears of catching a cold or getting sick. I pulled my collar up close around my neck and soldiered on. I kept thinking as I walked that this would just be a minor setback when I was homeless. I have walked through much more adverse conditions than this.

Mile seven found me walking up my driveway with my legs sore and balking. The rain was now falling at a steady rate and I made it home just in time to avoid a warm and raging downpour. I stretched as I pulled off my now soaking wet pull-over and then walked into the bathroom to blow dry and comb my hair. I looked in the mirror at the many weathered lines on my face. Each line had a story to tell about the hard life I had lived. I felt so old and as if I had just arrived home from the longest journey of my life. I sighed as I turned off my bathroom light and walked into the den to sit down by my heater as Maggie jumped up into my lap.

“I love you, girl,” I said as I petted her in the quiet still of the early morning as my mind jumped around to various topics and thoughts.

I felt so old and ancient as if I could be that ageless oak stalwartly guarding my driveway in the front of my yard. I’ve seen and experienced so much in 34 years.

“I feel so damn old,” I said aloud as all my various experiences in life weighed down upon me heavily. I feel so damn old.