That Joyous Medication Ritual…

“Let’s sit outside on the porch and listen to the thunder,” dad said excitedly a moment ago. “I do hope we get some rain.  I am tired of watering the lawn everyday.  It is costing me a fortune in water bills.”

Dad placed two folding chairs on the porch and sat down beckoning for me to join him.  He was smiling – looking content.  I love it when he is like this.  I shouldn’t let others dictate my moods, but dad’s peacefulness and contentment was contagious.  I don’t think he realizes what a strong effect he can have on me.

“Oh, how I love a day off,” he said as he turned to me and smiled all the ever more. “I am getting too old to work all the time. I think I will retire soon and sell the store.  I don’t think I would ever get bored retired.  I would love it.  There is always something around the house or yard that needs doing.”

Dad and I are both weather obsessed and listened intently at the thunder in the distance.  I am glad dad and I have something in common for which we love as it always gives us something to talk about when the weather is active.  Sometimes, I can feel awkward around my father when the weather is mild.  We have little to discuss.  I am just socially inept.  You would think a father and son would always have something to talk about.

I took my medications and put my extra Klonopin in my pocket.  Dad handed me a diet Coke to wash them down.  He was drinking a glass of iced sweet tea wrapped in paper towel to absorb the sweat from the humidity.  I was excited to get my medications so early as it would make for a pleasant rest of the day.  I hate waiting until ten every night for them. 

“How is my royalty today?” dad asked smiling vigorously.

“Don’t call me that,” I replied good heartedly aggravated.

I always feel dad is mocking my social anxieties when he does this. 

“Well, are you receiving?  Are you having guests?”

“Nobody comes to see me,” I replied. “I am a social pariah.”

“You and your mother are royalty,” dad said chuckling loving this moment of good hearted jest.  “Your mother is not receiving today either.  She is in the bed.”

“Mom is always in the bed,” I replied scoffing, but it was the truth.  Her Zyprexa keeps her sleepy and complacent. 

It began to lightning vibrantly and dangerously chasing us off the porch.  A good storm was blowing up.  Dad escaped to the inside always scared of dangerous weather and I hurried home to get inside before the storm hit.  Now, it is raining softly and the thunder and lightning have subsided.  It is nice.  This is turning out to be a grand day. 

That Joyous Medication Ritual…

“Let’s sit outside on the porch and listen to the thunder,” dad said excitedly a moment ago. “I do hope we get some rain.  I am tired of watering the lawn everyday.  It is costing me a fortune in water bills.”

Dad placed two folding chairs on the porch and sat down beckoning for me to join him.  He was smiling – looking content.  I love it when he is like this.  I shouldn’t let others dictate my moods, but dad’s peacefulness and contentment was contagious.  I don’t think he realizes what a strong effect he can have on me.

“Oh, how I love a day off,” he said as he turned to me and smiled all the ever more. “I am getting too old to work all the time. I think I will retire soon and sell the store.  I don’t think I would ever get bored retired.  I would love it.  There is always something around the house or yard that needs doing.”

Dad and I are both weather obsessed and listened intently at the thunder in the distance.  I am glad dad and I have something in common for which we love as it always gives us something to talk about when the weather is active.  Sometimes, I can feel awkward around my father when the weather is mild.  We have little to discuss.  I am just socially inept.  You would think a father and son would always have something to talk about.

I took my medications and put my extra Klonopin in my pocket.  Dad handed me a diet Coke to wash them down.  He was drinking a glass of iced sweet tea wrapped in paper towel to absorb the sweat from the humidity.  I was excited to get my medications so early as it would make for a pleasant rest of the day.  I hate waiting until ten every night for them. 

“How is my royalty today?” dad asked smiling vigorously.

“Don’t call me that,” I replied good heartedly aggravated.

I always feel dad is mocking my social anxieties when he does this. 

“Well, are you receiving?  Are you having guests?”

“Nobody comes to see me,” I replied. “I am a social pariah.”

“You and your mother are royalty,” dad said chuckling loving this moment of good hearted jest.  “Your mother is not receiving today either.  She is in the bed.”

“Mom is always in the bed,” I replied scoffing, but it was the truth.  Her Zyprexa keeps her sleepy and complacent. 

It began to lightning vibrantly and dangerously chasing us off the porch.  A good storm was blowing up.  Dad escaped to the inside always scared of dangerous weather and I hurried home to get inside before the storm hit.  Now, it is raining softly and the thunder and lightning have subsided.  It is nice.  This is turning out to be a grand day. 

The Pig…

The trains just weren’t running today.  I saw only two long freight trains and one short local in the two hours of sitting on my favored bench behind the bank. I sat reading my Model Railroaders and smoking.   I did get to see an old dilapidated GP-38-2 from the seventies pick up a string of pulpwood cars in the wood yard. That excited me as the GP-38-2 is my all time favorite diesel locomotive.  Disappointed, I finally walked up to the Piggly Wiggly which is just up the street.  I parked on a bench, ate some cheese and wheat crackers, and began people watching.  There was an interesting little altercation when the police were called when a man had been found to be stuffing steaks down his pants.  I couldn't help but laugh and feel sorry for the young Hispanic man at the same time.  He must’ve really wanted a barbeque bad.  I can distinctly remember the look on his face as he stood a few feet from me handcuffed.  A look of being lost and bewildered. He feigned that he couldn’t speak English as the police officers questioned him.  There is always something interesting happening at the Piggly Wiggly.  It is in a high crime area. 

This morning reminded me of all the times George and I would sit out in front of the Piggly Wiggly drinking beer years ago.  Slop would be panhandling and Ferret would be up to his usual drunken antics.  Cap w/Tag Guy would be standing outside selling crack mute as always.  Clara would usually show up midday after drinking all night and sleeping behind the dollar store in her little nest of dirty blankets.  She would beg me for a few dollars so she could go inside and buy another bottle of cheap wine.  Sometimes, she would feel generous and pass the bottle around to us as we would take drinks of that acrid swill that is Wild Irish Rose.  George always called it cough syrup, but that didn’t stop him from drinking it.  Occasionally, they would chase us off saying we were loitering – the manager blustering obscenities at us calling us vagrants. I lived like a homeless person then, except I had a home.  Old habits die hard as they say.

I just called dad and asked for my medications early.  He said he would call me when he got home.  He was at Ponder’s nursery picking out new plants to line the edge of the fence in the backyard.  My father’s busyness astounds me.  He is twice my age and I couldn’t do half of what he does.  I would be lazily at home on my day off after working for days.   His days off are spent cleaning and improving the house and yard.

Dad and family are going to D.C for the 4th.  It is my sister-in-law’s birthday as well.  Dad told me last night he wished I was going and it shocked me.  Usually, they don’t want me to go as I can be hassle medication issues and all.  I have to take extra medications to make it through the airport and all that travel.  Dad will laugh and say they have to dope me up for the trip.

The Pig…

The trains just weren’t running today.  I saw only two long freight trains and one short local in the two hours of sitting on my favored bench behind the bank. I sat reading my Model Railroaders and smoking.   I did get to see an old dilapidated GP-38-2 from the seventies pick up a string of pulpwood cars in the wood yard. That excited me as the GP-38-2 is my all time favorite diesel locomotive.  Disappointed, I finally walked up to the Piggly Wiggly which is just up the street.  I parked on a bench, ate some cheese and wheat crackers, and began people watching.  There was an interesting little altercation when the police were called when a man had been found to be stuffing steaks down his pants.  I couldn't help but laugh and feel sorry for the young Hispanic man at the same time.  He must’ve really wanted a barbeque bad.  I can distinctly remember the look on his face as he stood a few feet from me handcuffed.  A look of being lost and bewildered. He feigned that he couldn’t speak English as the police officers questioned him.  There is always something interesting happening at the Piggly Wiggly.  It is in a high crime area. 

This morning reminded me of all the times George and I would sit out in front of the Piggly Wiggly drinking beer years ago.  Slop would be panhandling and Ferret would be up to his usual drunken antics.  Cap w/Tag Guy would be standing outside selling crack mute as always.  Clara would usually show up midday after drinking all night and sleeping behind the dollar store in her little nest of dirty blankets.  She would beg me for a few dollars so she could go inside and buy another bottle of cheap wine.  Sometimes, she would feel generous and pass the bottle around to us as we would take drinks of that acrid swill that is Wild Irish Rose.  George always called it cough syrup, but that didn’t stop him from drinking it.  Occasionally, they would chase us off saying we were loitering – the manager blustering obscenities at us calling us vagrants. I lived like a homeless person then, except I had a home.  Old habits die hard as they say.

I just called dad and asked for my medications early.  He said he would call me when he got home.  He was at Ponder’s nursery picking out new plants to line the edge of the fence in the backyard.  My father’s busyness astounds me.  He is twice my age and I couldn’t do half of what he does.  I would be lazily at home on my day off after working for days.   His days off are spent cleaning and improving the house and yard.

Dad and family are going to D.C for the 4th.  It is my sister-in-law’s birthday as well.  Dad told me last night he wished I was going and it shocked me.  Usually, they don’t want me to go as I can be hassle medication issues and all.  I have to take extra medications to make it through the airport and all that travel.  Dad will laugh and say they have to dope me up for the trip.

Late Night Journeys…

I am slowly growing acclimated to staying up all night and sleeping in the afternoons. It has been a slow and gradual process as I still grow very sleepy in the evenings after taking my medications.  The urge to go to bed after dad leaves is very, very strong.  That 2mg of Klonopin no doubt the culprit as it can be such a sedative.  I love being a night owl though – a creature of the night.  I have missed this lifestyle so much loving the dark of the evenings and the quiet calm it imparts.  The world is asleep and I am up and about exploring the town and my little environment around me.  I feel this is the only way I can deal with that anxiety that haunts me every afternoon.  It is helping I believe.  As I’ve said before, early mornings are always bliss for me mentally.  I feel so well from about 8pm to noon the next day.  My unorthodox lifestyle allows me to do this. 

I drove over to get my diet Cokes around 1am. There were a lot of people out and about walking the streets tonight. My fellow night owls.  Mom had a care package of another little note of encouragement, toilet paper, paper towels, cigarettes, cigar lighters, and Maggie’s heartworm and flea medications on the porch.  I stuck the Cokes in the freezer to get cold when I arrived home.  I then shoved them in my backpack and set out for a walk down to the park in front of that dilapidated cotton mill as I listened to my little Sony weather band radio.  Tonight on Coast to Coast AM they were talking about space and the cosmos. They also had Major Ed Dames on for the last hour.  A remote viewer which makes me laugh as he never predicts anything concrete. He just waffles around the questions asked by the host.  It was an interesting show. More along the lines of which I like best.  Not all that fantastical end of the world 2012 and government conspiracy stuff.  I sat in the park drinking my ice cold diet Cokes smoking cigarette after cigarette as the katydids sang over the din of my radio. It was a moment of Zen.  I felt all was right in my world.  I was imbibing in all the things I love about life these days.

For some reason, I am finding myself unable just to sit at home content as I normally would be.  I usually tend to be agoraphobic – afraid to leave the house for fears of an anxiety attack.  I want to be out of the house finding my usual routines of months boring. Driving makes me nervous so I find myself walking everywhere I go.  I have this strong feeling of wanderlust – this strong urge to be out of doors and exploring.   It reminds me of my mother when she has trouble with her mental illness.  She will sit in the backyard in the swing until dad gets home from work saying she can’t go inside alone – that the walls are closing in around her.  I have walked more in the past few days than I have in months and my legs are sore to show for it.  Maybe the exercise is good for me – the release of endorphins that improve my usual dour moods. 

There was a previously unknown to me dollar in change in my backpack this morning.  I was exuberantly surprised.  On the way home early this morning after listening to my radio show, I stopped by the convenience store and bought a candy bar.  The sugar rush was pretty awesome as I walked home past the poor neighborhoods the line the street up from the convenience store. It was either that or a .99 cent can of Steel Reserve lager.  I felt laden with energy.  I felt strangely empowered.   I am finding myself laughing giddily in my own little world a lot these days.  A more gentle sign of my mental illness.  There is a mentally ill man who works in the hardware store next to dad’s pharmacy and he will laugh like this for no apparent reason. He is always grinning lost in his mental illness.   I feel a kinship with him these days as I know what he feels.  Laughter is good for the soul even if it is mentally ill induced.  I have these strong moments of laughter and excitement that are intoxicating they feel so good.  Dad would call these manic bipolar phases. 

I am not far from soon setting out for a morning of watching trains.  I have to stay up until 12pm and then I will come home and go to bed for the day – sleeping the afternoon away.  I wonder what strange creatures I will see on the tracks today?  I love people watching.   I will live vicariously as the patrons of Kroger walk by with their plastic sacks of groceries and twelve packs of beer – wondering what their lives are like. 

Late Night Journeys…

I am slowly growing acclimated to staying up all night and sleeping in the afternoons. It has been a slow and gradual process as I still grow very sleepy in the evenings after taking my medications.  The urge to go to bed after dad leaves is very, very strong.  That 2mg of Klonopin no doubt the culprit as it can be such a sedative.  I love being a night owl though – a creature of the night.  I have missed this lifestyle so much loving the dark of the evenings and the quiet calm it imparts.  The world is asleep and I am up and about exploring the town and my little environment around me.  I feel this is the only way I can deal with that anxiety that haunts me every afternoon.  It is helping I believe.  As I’ve said before, early mornings are always bliss for me mentally.  I feel so well from about 8pm to noon the next day.  My unorthodox lifestyle allows me to do this. 

I drove over to get my diet Cokes around 1am. There were a lot of people out and about walking the streets tonight. My fellow night owls.  Mom had a care package of another little note of encouragement, toilet paper, paper towels, cigarettes, cigar lighters, and Maggie’s heartworm and flea medications on the porch.  I stuck the Cokes in the freezer to get cold when I arrived home.  I then shoved them in my backpack and set out for a walk down to the park in front of that dilapidated cotton mill as I listened to my little Sony weather band radio.  Tonight on Coast to Coast AM they were talking about space and the cosmos. They also had Major Ed Dames on for the last hour.  A remote viewer which makes me laugh as he never predicts anything concrete. He just waffles around the questions asked by the host.  It was an interesting show. More along the lines of which I like best.  Not all that fantastical end of the world 2012 and government conspiracy stuff.  I sat in the park drinking my ice cold diet Cokes smoking cigarette after cigarette as the katydids sang over the din of my radio. It was a moment of Zen.  I felt all was right in my world.  I was imbibing in all the things I love about life these days.

For some reason, I am finding myself unable just to sit at home content as I normally would be.  I usually tend to be agoraphobic – afraid to leave the house for fears of an anxiety attack.  I want to be out of the house finding my usual routines of months boring. Driving makes me nervous so I find myself walking everywhere I go.  I have this strong feeling of wanderlust – this strong urge to be out of doors and exploring.   It reminds me of my mother when she has trouble with her mental illness.  She will sit in the backyard in the swing until dad gets home from work saying she can’t go inside alone – that the walls are closing in around her.  I have walked more in the past few days than I have in months and my legs are sore to show for it.  Maybe the exercise is good for me – the release of endorphins that improve my usual dour moods. 

There was a previously unknown to me dollar in change in my backpack this morning.  I was exuberantly surprised.  On the way home early this morning after listening to my radio show, I stopped by the convenience store and bought a candy bar.  The sugar rush was pretty awesome as I walked home past the poor neighborhoods the line the street up from the convenience store. It was either that or a .99 cent can of Steel Reserve lager.  I felt laden with energy.  I felt strangely empowered.   I am finding myself laughing giddily in my own little world a lot these days.  A more gentle sign of my mental illness.  There is a mentally ill man who works in the hardware store next to dad’s pharmacy and he will laugh like this for no apparent reason. He is always grinning lost in his mental illness.   I feel a kinship with him these days as I know what he feels.  Laughter is good for the soul even if it is mentally ill induced.  I have these strong moments of laughter and excitement that are intoxicating they feel so good.  Dad would call these manic bipolar phases. 

I am not far from soon setting out for a morning of watching trains.  I have to stay up until 12pm and then I will come home and go to bed for the day – sleeping the afternoon away.  I wonder what strange creatures I will see on the tracks today?  I love people watching.   I will live vicariously as the patrons of Kroger walk by with their plastic sacks of groceries and twelve packs of beer – wondering what their lives are like. 

Another Night Owl Evening…

Dad left at ten after our medication ritual and Maggie’s food ritual.  He was kind of quiet tonight, but I didn’t take it personally.  “Tuesday’s are my hell day,” he said sitting on the couch as we watched the tail end of Hawthorne.  For years, we watched The Weather Channel during the medication ritual as dad waited for my medications to take effect.  The Weather Channel has fallen out of favor as far as our routines go.  We have both grown disgusted with their gross hyperbole and over-sensationalization of minor weather events.  I call it the death and destruction channel these days as they love to sensationalize disaster. Long gone are the days when meteorologists would report the weather in a sensible manner. And who in the hell wants to wake up with Al Roker?

“You have good taste in television,” dad told me complimenting me tonight. “You find interesting shows to watch.”

I took Maggie for a long walk through our neighborhood after dad left – grinning as I walked as I felt so calm and relaxed from my medications.  My limbs feeling like Jell-O.  My mind a serene marvel.  Maggie was just thrilled to death to go on this little late evening journey.  We walked all the way down to the elementary school and back taking the back roads to avoid the traffic on the main street that runs by my house.  I reveled in the katydids singing in earnest tonight – a signature sound of a Southern night.  It reminded me of all the times I would sit on my grandmother’s porch as the katydids sang before bed drinking iced sweet tea.  We would try to spot out of town license plates on busy highway 280 as a game as we talked about the day behind us. Dad’s mother was a very special lady who took life at her own special pace.  I still think my life would have turned out vastly different if she had lived longer and I lived with her on her farm in my late adolescence. 

I am about to sleep for two hours and then wake up so I can listen to tonight’s Coast to Coast AM.  I wonder what crazy shit they will talk about tonight?  God, I love that show.  It is so over the top and entertaining.  I am listening to last night’s show again right now.  They are discussing alien agendas and end of the world scenarios at the moment.  You should see the grin on my freshly shaven face. 

Another Night Owl Evening…

Dad left at ten after our medication ritual and Maggie’s food ritual.  He was kind of quiet tonight, but I didn’t take it personally.  “Tuesday’s are my hell day,” he said sitting on the couch as we watched the tail end of Hawthorne.  For years, we watched The Weather Channel during the medication ritual as dad waited for my medications to take effect.  The Weather Channel has fallen out of favor as far as our routines go.  We have both grown disgusted with their gross hyperbole and over-sensationalization of minor weather events.  I call it the death and destruction channel these days as they love to sensationalize disaster. Long gone are the days when meteorologists would report the weather in a sensible manner. And who in the hell wants to wake up with Al Roker?

“You have good taste in television,” dad told me complimenting me tonight. “You find interesting shows to watch.”

I took Maggie for a long walk through our neighborhood after dad left – grinning as I walked as I felt so calm and relaxed from my medications.  My limbs feeling like Jell-O.  My mind a serene marvel.  Maggie was just thrilled to death to go on this little late evening journey.  We walked all the way down to the elementary school and back taking the back roads to avoid the traffic on the main street that runs by my house.  I reveled in the katydids singing in earnest tonight – a signature sound of a Southern night.  It reminded me of all the times I would sit on my grandmother’s porch as the katydids sang before bed drinking iced sweet tea.  We would try to spot out of town license plates on busy highway 280 as a game as we talked about the day behind us. Dad’s mother was a very special lady who took life at her own special pace.  I still think my life would have turned out vastly different if she had lived longer and I lived with her on her farm in my late adolescence. 

I am about to sleep for two hours and then wake up so I can listen to tonight’s Coast to Coast AM.  I wonder what crazy shit they will talk about tonight?  God, I love that show.  It is so over the top and entertaining.  I am listening to last night’s show again right now.  They are discussing alien agendas and end of the world scenarios at the moment.  You should see the grin on my freshly shaven face. 

No $10 Dollars for You!

“Where did you get ten dollars?” my mother asked me as I handed her a check this afternoon on her grocery run.

She was sitting in her car with an astonished and worried look on her face.   She looked at the check in her hands and then looked back at me

“Nielsen called me and I took a television viewing habit survey.  They paid me and mailed me a check,” I replied.  “I just don’t want the temptation so I am giving it to you.”

“Thank you,” mom said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you for being so honest about it.  You know you can’t have money.  Your father would die if he knew.  It would worry him to death that you’ve found a new way to make money.”

I smiled.  I was just glad to get rid of the money.  It had been driving me crazy all day since I got that check in the mail this morning. It sucks having an honest streak sometimes.  I could’ve gotten really, really drunk tonight. 

“Tell dad to let it pay for my camera part,” I told her as a compromise.

She said she would and I began to unload all my groceries from her opened trunk.  Mom must’ve felt frisky today as she got me some interesting foods.  She got me the largest jar of Kroger peanut butter I have ever seen. She said they were on sale for six dollars.  There was also two bunches of bananas – something I love and haven’t gotten in months.  The thoughts of peanut butter and banana sandwiches for lunch made my stomach protest in eagerness.  I was just so starving by the time mom arrived.   Men just can’t subsist on toasted mayonnaise sandwiches alone.  Mom also got me a large extremely varied selection of Lean Cuisine Asian meals just like I had asked for when I called her earlier.  It was nice to have some more variation in my diet this week.  I had grown tired of the usual Marie Callender meals mom gets me.  You can only eat so much cheesy chicken and rice.

George stirs us all up… 

Mrs. Florene called me this afternoon.  She was frantic with worry.

“Did you get a depressing letter from George today?” she asked.

“It was pretty bad.” I replied with worry as well.

“He sounded pitiful in the letter he wrote me!”

I told Florene how much I’ve missed him.  George was my social life and my entertainment.  He was always busy with something and he always included me.  He might have had a ton of problems, but he was a good guy – a very good friend.   A friend that didn’t take no for an answer and got this hermit out of the house.

How are you feeling?

I’ve felt much better today than yesterday.  The anxiety only lasted for three hours around lunch then subsided.  I am hoping this is a sign that things will only get better with every passing day.  

Maggie’s brought me a ton of joy today.  She’s slept for most of the day by my Lazy Boy on the couch.  It has been comforting to look over to see her sleeping so peacefully.   It had this calming effect on me that is hard to describe.  She can make sleeping look so damned good!

No $10 Dollars for You!

“Where did you get ten dollars?” my mother asked me as I handed her a check this afternoon on her grocery run.

She was sitting in her car with an astonished and worried look on her face.   She looked at the check in her hands and then looked back at me

“Nielsen called me and I took a television viewing habit survey.  They paid me and mailed me a check,” I replied.  “I just don’t want the temptation so I am giving it to you.”

“Thank you,” mom said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you for being so honest about it.  You know you can’t have money.  Your father would die if he knew.  It would worry him to death that you’ve found a new way to make money.”

I smiled.  I was just glad to get rid of the money.  It had been driving me crazy all day since I got that check in the mail this morning. It sucks having an honest streak sometimes.  I could’ve gotten really, really drunk tonight. 

“Tell dad to let it pay for my camera part,” I told her as a compromise.

She said she would and I began to unload all my groceries from her opened trunk.  Mom must’ve felt frisky today as she got me some interesting foods.  She got me the largest jar of Kroger peanut butter I have ever seen. She said they were on sale for six dollars.  There was also two bunches of bananas – something I love and haven’t gotten in months.  The thoughts of peanut butter and banana sandwiches for lunch made my stomach protest in eagerness.  I was just so starving by the time mom arrived.   Men just can’t subsist on toasted mayonnaise sandwiches alone.  Mom also got me a large extremely varied selection of Lean Cuisine Asian meals just like I had asked for when I called her earlier.  It was nice to have some more variation in my diet this week.  I had grown tired of the usual Marie Callender meals mom gets me.  You can only eat so much cheesy chicken and rice.

George stirs us all up… 

Mrs. Florene called me this afternoon.  She was frantic with worry.

“Did you get a depressing letter from George today?” she asked.

“It was pretty bad.” I replied with worry as well.

“He sounded pitiful in the letter he wrote me!”

I told Florene how much I’ve missed him.  George was my social life and my entertainment.  He was always busy with something and he always included me.  He might have had a ton of problems, but he was a good guy – a very good friend.   A friend that didn’t take no for an answer and got this hermit out of the house.

How are you feeling?

I’ve felt much better today than yesterday.  The anxiety only lasted for three hours around lunch then subsided.  I am hoping this is a sign that things will only get better with every passing day.  

Maggie’s brought me a ton of joy today.  She’s slept for most of the day by my Lazy Boy on the couch.  It has been comforting to look over to see her sleeping so peacefully.   It had this calming effect on me that is hard to describe.  She can make sleeping look so damned good!

The Tracks as a Central Nexus…

The railroad tracks near my home run behind Kroger and several poor neighborhoods.  They are often used as a thoroughfare to between these neighborhoods and the grocery store.  A trail of sorts.  Often, I will see poor people walking the tracks carrying a twelve pack of beer from the grocery store on their way home including me as one of the poor souls this morning sans beer.  This morning was no different.  I sat on my bench around eight watching trains as one fellow walked down the side of the tracks.  I immediately put out my cigarette putting my pack in my pocket as they always ask for one and it is an awkward social moment for me. I am not exactly exuding cigarettes these days.   I was wrong today when the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lit up as he walked by.  Whew!   He didn’t ask.  Sometimes, you just can’t judge a book by it’s cover.

I studied the man closely as he passed. His face looked pitted and scarred from years of sun.   He was sloppily dressed in a tattered button up shirt and dirty pants. He had on a green John Deere cap that clashed with his clothes.  On his feet, were some very cheap generic looking tennis shoes.   In his hand was a twelve pack of very cheap ice beer.  This screamed alcoholic. I was tempted to ask for one in one of my alcoholic moments.  He was headed for downtown and I wondered where he was going.  The bridge across the Chattahoochee was near so he must’ve been headed for a neighborhood in West Point across the river.  He was probably going to settle in for a morning of drinking beer and either listening to music or watching TV.  I’ve done it many times in my life in similar circumstances.   

I left the tracks after watching several trains and walked the long walk up to Kroger.  I wandered the store growing hungry at all the food. I was starving and a glutton for punishment today.   Mom would be here around lunch with my groceries.  I was making a mental list of things mom could buy for me.  I was going to call her when I got home.  I was especially interested in the frozen Chinese food.  That sounded and seemed so wonderful to me.  Ah, orange chicken!  I also checked out this weeks Blu-Ray disc offerings.  Not much interested me.  Movies are terrible these days catering to the lowest common denominator.

It was about 10am when I left Kroger and headed for home.  I took a shortcut through the mill village ever aware of my whiteness in a black neighborhood.  Elderly people sitting on their porches watched me warily as I walked by through their streets..  Poverty surrounded me.  This neighborhood used to be so nice decades ago when the cotton mills were still running.  Now, there are no jobs and the  poverty is pervasive and systemic.  These people are just scraping by and the vagaries of yard care and house upkeep fall to the wayside.  

I arrived home to a big greeting by Maggie in the fence.  “Where have you been?” she seemed to be saying. “I’ve been lonely without you.”  I checked the mail and there was another letter from George.  This has gotten to be almost a daily occurrence on the weekdays.  I opened the letter and began to read as I stood in the yard when I was accosted by a man walking down the street with a clipboard.  He was a extremely nice looking young man – very athletic. He was selling home security systems. 

“Do you own your home?” he asked.

“My father does and he is not here right now,” I replied.

The young man thanked me for my time and headed across the street to my neighbor’s house despite the ADT security sign in their front yard.  I sighed in relief at the short amount of time it took for that social interaction.  I hate being solicited. 

“I miss momma’s cooking,” George started his letter with.  “My cellmate is a goober.  He talks all the time and never shuts up.  I just want to come home.  I am sick and tired of this place.  My only joy is playing basketball in the recreation yard.  I could die for a cigar.”

I felt so sorry for George and it made me thankful for my freedom.  I should be in jail as well with all the DUIs I got over the years. Dad would always get me off by calling the judge or hiring a good lawyer, though.  George didn’t have that luxury. 

The Tracks as a Central Nexus…

The railroad tracks near my home run behind Kroger and several poor neighborhoods.  They are often used as a thoroughfare to between these neighborhoods and the grocery store.  A trail of sorts.  Often, I will see poor people walking the tracks carrying a twelve pack of beer from the grocery store on their way home including me as one of the poor souls this morning sans beer.  This morning was no different.  I sat on my bench around eight watching trains as one fellow walked down the side of the tracks.  I immediately put out my cigarette putting my pack in my pocket as they always ask for one and it is an awkward social moment for me. I am not exactly exuding cigarettes these days.   I was wrong today when the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lit up as he walked by.  Whew!   He didn’t ask.  Sometimes, you just can’t judge a book by it’s cover.

I studied the man closely as he passed. His face looked pitted and scarred from years of sun.   He was sloppily dressed in a tattered button up shirt and dirty pants. He had on a green John Deere cap that clashed with his clothes.  On his feet, were some very cheap generic looking tennis shoes.   In his hand was a twelve pack of very cheap ice beer.  This screamed alcoholic. I was tempted to ask for one in one of my alcoholic moments.  He was headed for downtown and I wondered where he was going.  The bridge across the Chattahoochee was near so he must’ve been headed for a neighborhood in West Point across the river.  He was probably going to settle in for a morning of drinking beer and either listening to music or watching TV.  I’ve done it many times in my life in similar circumstances.   

I left the tracks after watching several trains and walked the long walk up to Kroger.  I wandered the store growing hungry at all the food. I was starving and a glutton for punishment today.   Mom would be here around lunch with my groceries.  I was making a mental list of things mom could buy for me.  I was going to call her when I got home.  I was especially interested in the frozen Chinese food.  That sounded and seemed so wonderful to me.  Ah, orange chicken!  I also checked out this weeks Blu-Ray disc offerings.  Not much interested me.  Movies are terrible these days catering to the lowest common denominator.

It was about 10am when I left Kroger and headed for home.  I took a shortcut through the mill village ever aware of my whiteness in a black neighborhood.  Elderly people sitting on their porches watched me warily as I walked by through their streets..  Poverty surrounded me.  This neighborhood used to be so nice decades ago when the cotton mills were still running.  Now, there are no jobs and the  poverty is pervasive and systemic.  These people are just scraping by and the vagaries of yard care and house upkeep fall to the wayside.  

I arrived home to a big greeting by Maggie in the fence.  “Where have you been?” she seemed to be saying. “I’ve been lonely without you.”  I checked the mail and there was another letter from George.  This has gotten to be almost a daily occurrence on the weekdays.  I opened the letter and began to read as I stood in the yard when I was accosted by a man walking down the street with a clipboard.  He was a extremely nice looking young man – very athletic. He was selling home security systems. 

“Do you own your home?” he asked.

“My father does and he is not here right now,” I replied.

The young man thanked me for my time and headed across the street to my neighbor’s house despite the ADT security sign in their front yard.  I sighed in relief at the short amount of time it took for that social interaction.  I hate being solicited. 

“I miss momma’s cooking,” George started his letter with.  “My cellmate is a goober.  He talks all the time and never shuts up.  I just want to come home.  I am sick and tired of this place.  My only joy is playing basketball in the recreation yard.  I could die for a cigar.”

I felt so sorry for George and it made me thankful for my freedom.  I should be in jail as well with all the DUIs I got over the years. Dad would always get me off by calling the judge or hiring a good lawyer, though.  George didn’t have that luxury. 

The Trials of Life, Alcoholism, and Mental Illness…

I can remember back in the early nineties when I was first diagnosed as schizophrenic.  I was strangely elated.  Most people would cry in horror at being diagnosed with such a devastating disease of the brain.   We now knew what was wrong with me – the strangeness with what I had struggled with since I was a child.  The paranoia.  The delusions.  There was the hope for help with a solid diagnosis.  I had answers and not some nebulous accusation of lack of character or laziness for the cause of my problems.  Medication after medication was tried with little absolution to my problems, though.  It was a time before the atypical antipsychotics were discovered or were still in clinical trials.  I grew depressed and drank heavier and heavier – my hopes dashed.  Beer my soothing mistress for my mental illness addled brain.  My father says it wasn’t until we tried Zyprexa years later that I had a breakthrough – the drug that had so helped my mother’s schizophrenia.  I was able to work a stressful prestigious job and I got married.  There were terrible side effects though.  I couldn’t wait to get home from work to get in the bed and sleep until the next day.  Bed was bliss.  Bed was an escape.  I was constantly sleepy and morose.  I didn’t realize it then, but I was terribly, terribly depressed.  Next, we tried Risperdal.  The side effects went away.  The depression lifted, but I began to drink heavier.  The Risperdal was more conducive to this and didn’t interfere with my drinking like the Zyprexa did.  I wasn’t sleeping all the time.  My marriage then fell apart.  I lost my job.  My then wife just couldn’t take the chaos that was my alcoholism.  I ended up homeless losing everything in the divorce – signing everything over to Rachel in a fit of drunkenness in a lawyer’s office.  Homelessness was a disastrous time of constant drinking and severe cold.  I lived in a tent in the woods like some modern day alcoholic Thoreau.  I drank so much I couldn’t afford an apartment.  Drinking was paramount then. I would go days without eating because it would interfere with the amount of beer I could drink.

I tried everything to quit drinking once my mother convinced my father to let me live in my late grandmother’s house next to theirs. There were conditions to me gaining a home and that was to straighten up and get sober.   I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.   I went through detox countless times often driving hundreds of miles to hospitals for which Medicare would pay.   I tried AA and would go a few times, but would end up drunk a few days later.  I looked terrible.  I weighed almost 300 pounds from drinking thousands of calories of beer per day.  My eyes looked yellowish and dim and often red shot.  There were black circles under my eyes.  I will never forget pacing the floor of my den as I drank my seventeenth beer of the night realizing I was going to die soon if I didn’t do something drastic to quit.  I had to get serious.

It was about this time that dad decided he had to do something drastic or his oldest son was going to die from alcoholism.  He got power of attorney over me and took over my Social Security disability account.  The money was cut off and we went through a tumultuous time of severe withdrawal.  Dad and I fought like cats and dogs.  Nights would be spent screaming accusations at each other as I would plead with him for a drink.   I would do anything to get drunk.  I was inescapably addicted.  It was then that I discovered mouthwash.   I read an online article about a man named Listerine Gene who would get drunk drinking his namesake.  Mouthwash was only a $1.09 a bottle at Fred’s dollar store and it would get you just as drunk as whiskey or beer.  It was terrible to drink, but the urge to get drunk overrode any inhibitions about the nasty taste.  I would somehow manage to scrounge up a dollar a day to get drunk. Dad was at his wit’s end with me. 

The chemical harshness of the mouthwash was what saved me.  I could no longer drink it.  I would take a drink and throw up violently – my stomach protesting. My sister warned me that I would soon develop pancreatitis.  I went into an ever deeper depression when I realized I could no longer drink.  I had exhausted all options.  I had no money.  I couldn’t work with my mental illness.  I finally got sobered up, but it was a shaky stasis.  My father had finally won the battle with which he had fought with a bulldog like tenacity.  He never gave up on me despite all I put him through.  I was going to live and possibly sober for a change.    

The Trials of Life, Alcoholism, and Mental Illness…

I can remember back in the early nineties when I was first diagnosed as schizophrenic.  I was strangely elated.  Most people would cry in horror at being diagnosed with such a devastating disease of the brain.   We now knew what was wrong with me – the strangeness with what I had struggled with since I was a child.  The paranoia.  The delusions.  There was the hope for help with a solid diagnosis.  I had answers and not some nebulous accusation of lack of character or laziness for the cause of my problems.  Medication after medication was tried with little absolution to my problems, though.  It was a time before the atypical antipsychotics were discovered or were still in clinical trials.  I grew depressed and drank heavier and heavier – my hopes dashed.  Beer my soothing mistress for my mental illness addled brain.  My father says it wasn’t until we tried Zyprexa years later that I had a breakthrough – the drug that had so helped my mother’s schizophrenia.  I was able to work a stressful prestigious job and I got married.  There were terrible side effects though.  I couldn’t wait to get home from work to get in the bed and sleep until the next day.  Bed was bliss.  Bed was an escape.  I was constantly sleepy and morose.  I didn’t realize it then, but I was terribly, terribly depressed.  Next, we tried Risperdal.  The side effects went away.  The depression lifted, but I began to drink heavier.  The Risperdal was more conducive to this and didn’t interfere with my drinking like the Zyprexa did.  I wasn’t sleeping all the time.  My marriage then fell apart.  I lost my job.  My then wife just couldn’t take the chaos that was my alcoholism.  I ended up homeless losing everything in the divorce – signing everything over to Rachel in a fit of drunkenness in a lawyer’s office.  Homelessness was a disastrous time of constant drinking and severe cold.  I lived in a tent in the woods like some modern day alcoholic Thoreau.  I drank so much I couldn’t afford an apartment.  Drinking was paramount then. I would go days without eating because it would interfere with the amount of beer I could drink.

I tried everything to quit drinking once my mother convinced my father to let me live in my late grandmother’s house next to theirs. There were conditions to me gaining a home and that was to straighten up and get sober.   I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.   I went through detox countless times often driving hundreds of miles to hospitals for which Medicare would pay.   I tried AA and would go a few times, but would end up drunk a few days later.  I looked terrible.  I weighed almost 300 pounds from drinking thousands of calories of beer per day.  My eyes looked yellowish and dim and often red shot.  There were black circles under my eyes.  I will never forget pacing the floor of my den as I drank my seventeenth beer of the night realizing I was going to die soon if I didn’t do something drastic to quit.  I had to get serious.

It was about this time that dad decided he had to do something drastic or his oldest son was going to die from alcoholism.  He got power of attorney over me and took over my Social Security disability account.  The money was cut off and we went through a tumultuous time of severe withdrawal.  Dad and I fought like cats and dogs.  Nights would be spent screaming accusations at each other as I would plead with him for a drink.   I would do anything to get drunk.  I was inescapably addicted.  It was then that I discovered mouthwash.   I read an online article about a man named Listerine Gene who would get drunk drinking his namesake.  Mouthwash was only a $1.09 a bottle at Fred’s dollar store and it would get you just as drunk as whiskey or beer.  It was terrible to drink, but the urge to get drunk overrode any inhibitions about the nasty taste.  I would somehow manage to scrounge up a dollar a day to get drunk. Dad was at his wit’s end with me. 

The chemical harshness of the mouthwash was what saved me.  I could no longer drink it.  I would take a drink and throw up violently – my stomach protesting. My sister warned me that I would soon develop pancreatitis.  I went into an ever deeper depression when I realized I could no longer drink.  I had exhausted all options.  I had no money.  I couldn’t work with my mental illness.  I finally got sobered up, but it was a shaky stasis.  My father had finally won the battle with which he had fought with a bulldog like tenacity.  He never gave up on me despite all I put him through.  I was going to live and possibly sober for a change.    

Spirits Lifted…

I heard the familiar honk of mom’s horn as I sat in the den a moment ago.  My spirits were immediately lifted.  I was so hungry for something other than mayonnaise sandwiches and the cokes would be a treat for later in the day when the anxiety subsided.  Maggie came tearing inside the house barking and whining furiously.  Mom said she could hear her out at the car from inside the house.

“Why don’t you get out and see Maggie?” I asked mom after walking out to the car. “She would love to see you.”

“Oh, I better stay in the car,” mom replied. “I don’t feel like walking that far.”

I couldn’t help but smile.  Mom and I are strange creatures.  We have our routines and it sends us into a tailspin when they are deviated upon. Mom was content to carry on our usual routine of the drop off. 

“How are you feeling?” mom asked as she usually does.

“I’ve had better days, but I feel better now,” I told her. “I am so hungry for a hamburger.”

Mom smiled and handed me the sack and told me to get my cokes off the backseat.  I watched as she drove away and I walked back inside.  It is going to be a better day.  I can just feel it.  It is these little joys that can so make life worth living.  

Spirits Lifted…

I heard the familiar honk of mom’s horn as I sat in the den a moment ago.  My spirits were immediately lifted.  I was so hungry for something other than mayonnaise sandwiches and the cokes would be a treat for later in the day when the anxiety subsided.  Maggie came tearing inside the house barking and whining furiously.  Mom said she could hear her out at the car from inside the house.

“Why don’t you get out and see Maggie?” I asked mom after walking out to the car. “She would love to see you.”

“Oh, I better stay in the car,” mom replied. “I don’t feel like walking that far.”

I couldn’t help but smile.  Mom and I are strange creatures.  We have our routines and it sends us into a tailspin when they are deviated upon. Mom was content to carry on our usual routine of the drop off. 

“How are you feeling?” mom asked as she usually does.

“I’ve had better days, but I feel better now,” I told her. “I am so hungry for a hamburger.”

Mom smiled and handed me the sack and told me to get my cokes off the backseat.  I watched as she drove away and I walked back inside.  It is going to be a better day.  I can just feel it.  It is these little joys that can so make life worth living.  

Midday Report…

I went to bed early this morning at 7am and awoke at 1pm and couldn’t go back to sleep.  I was so, so disappointed.  I walked into the den and started up a Coast to Coast AM show from last year and then put some bread in the toaster for lunch. I so wanted to sleep the day away, but to no avail.  Once I am up, I am up.  Maybe I will take a long nap later. I do hope so.  I wish I was like Maggie and could sleep on a whim.   Maggie’s on the bed enjoying the cool air from the fan on the floor.  It is eighty degrees in here – just like I like it.  I was hoping to sleep through that tough period I experience from around lunch till 7pm.  Sometimes you just don’t win the prize or bring home the bacon.

I can feel that anxiety creeping in despite taking my Klonopin after awaking.  I let the Klonopin dissolve in my mouth for a faster effect and crossed my fingers hoping for the best.  I could’ve used two or three today.  It is so disconcerting.  It scares me to death.  I am so afraid I am going to have one of my extreme, excruciating anxiety attacks.    The whole deal just exacerbates upon itself.  I feel so out of sorts.  It is like this extreme knot in the pit of my stomach.  I am hoping it will ease up later in the day as the day progresses like it normally does.  It makes it hard to take satisfaction out of my usual and normal routines of the day. I can’t get situated or comfortable.  I thought writing about it may help so excuse my whining.  Why couldn’t I sleep all day???   I am so sorry for whining and complaining.  I want to regale you all in good, positive tales.  Not tales of woe.  Things really are better when compared to a few weeks ago – the anxiety not near as extreme.  I just don’t know what to do and feel better writing about it.  My blog is like therapy for me. 

Mom brings fast food and cokes this afternoon.  It will be around 5pm when she arrives. She will blow her horn never getting out of the car and I will walk out to get the food and drinks.  Maggie and I both look forward to that. It will break up the monotony of the day and I am hungry.   I am out of groceries again – mom is just not buying me enough for me to get by on and I am doing so well on the bulimia front so I know I am not wasting food. I haven’t gained weight so I know I am not eating too much.   Grocery day is tomorrow and I will have to get by on toasted mayonnaise sandwiches.  That is all I have – mayonnaise and a loaf of bread.  This being without money really, really sucks sometimes.  I have four grocery stores in town and no way whatsoever to buy any food when I need it.  In a softer, gentler world, I would flip burgers down at a fast food joint.  Collect my paycheck every two weeks.  Be independent and go about my life in a normal, more mainstream manner.  Extended sanity would be the key to living this way. 

Positive Thought for the Day…

I have to remind myself how far I’ve come.  I was on the path to destruction.  Within months without dad’s help, I would have been just another statistic.  Another homeless mentally ill drunkard.  The not drinking is hard, though.  I miss it dearly.  Dad says I have been mourning about it for years now.  Today would be a prime candidate for getting drunk.  Any day was a prime candidate for getting drunk to be explicitly honest.  I have this insane urge to seek out feeling extra-normal and high be it Benadryl, caffeine, Klonopin, or beer.  Let’s just be glad with my father’s help I am able to stay sober most days.  I do think my life would be far worse off with the chaos alcoholism creates. 

I have expressed weakness with this post so it will probably garner a nasty negative anonymous comment as usual.

Midday Report…

I went to bed early this morning at 7am and awoke at 1pm and couldn’t go back to sleep.  I was so, so disappointed.  I walked into the den and started up a Coast to Coast AM show from last year and then put some bread in the toaster for lunch. I so wanted to sleep the day away, but to no avail.  Once I am up, I am up.  Maybe I will take a long nap later. I do hope so.  I wish I was like Maggie and could sleep on a whim.   Maggie’s on the bed enjoying the cool air from the fan on the floor.  It is eighty degrees in here – just like I like it.  I was hoping to sleep through that tough period I experience from around lunch till 7pm.  Sometimes you just don’t win the prize or bring home the bacon.

I can feel that anxiety creeping in despite taking my Klonopin after awaking.  I let the Klonopin dissolve in my mouth for a faster effect and crossed my fingers hoping for the best.  I could’ve used two or three today.  It is so disconcerting.  It scares me to death.  I am so afraid I am going to have one of my extreme, excruciating anxiety attacks.    The whole deal just exacerbates upon itself.  I feel so out of sorts.  It is like this extreme knot in the pit of my stomach.  I am hoping it will ease up later in the day as the day progresses like it normally does.  It makes it hard to take satisfaction out of my usual and normal routines of the day. I can’t get situated or comfortable.  I thought writing about it may help so excuse my whining.  Why couldn’t I sleep all day???   I am so sorry for whining and complaining.  I want to regale you all in good, positive tales.  Not tales of woe.  Things really are better when compared to a few weeks ago – the anxiety not near as extreme.  I just don’t know what to do and feel better writing about it.  My blog is like therapy for me. 

Mom brings fast food and cokes this afternoon.  It will be around 5pm when she arrives. She will blow her horn never getting out of the car and I will walk out to get the food and drinks.  Maggie and I both look forward to that. It will break up the monotony of the day and I am hungry.   I am out of groceries again – mom is just not buying me enough for me to get by on and I am doing so well on the bulimia front so I know I am not wasting food. I haven’t gained weight so I know I am not eating too much.   Grocery day is tomorrow and I will have to get by on toasted mayonnaise sandwiches.  That is all I have – mayonnaise and a loaf of bread.  This being without money really, really sucks sometimes.  I have four grocery stores in town and no way whatsoever to buy any food when I need it.  In a softer, gentler world, I would flip burgers down at a fast food joint.  Collect my paycheck every two weeks.  Be independent and go about my life in a normal, more mainstream manner.  Extended sanity would be the key to living this way. 

Positive Thought for the Day…

I have to remind myself how far I’ve come.  I was on the path to destruction.  Within months without dad’s help, I would have been just another statistic.  Another homeless mentally ill drunkard.  The not drinking is hard, though.  I miss it dearly.  Dad says I have been mourning about it for years now.  Today would be a prime candidate for getting drunk.  Any day was a prime candidate for getting drunk to be explicitly honest.  I have this insane urge to seek out feeling extra-normal and high be it Benadryl, caffeine, Klonopin, or beer.  Let’s just be glad with my father’s help I am able to stay sober most days.  I do think my life would be far worse off with the chaos alcoholism creates. 

I have expressed weakness with this post so it will probably garner a nasty negative anonymous comment as usual.

The Night Owl…

I went to bed at 9pm and awoke at 1am refreshed on just four hours of sleep. Maggie was curled up next to me sound asleep snoring softly and sighing in her sleep. Occasionally jerking from her dreams – her eyes moving wildly under her eyelids.  She looked so comfortable next to my arm curled up in a tight ball.  She must’ve been cold and couldn’t get under the comforter with me hogging it. I had it pulled tightly over me as I had turned the air down really low last night in one of my rare arctic moments.  I hated to wake her, but I was on a late night, early morning mission.  I immediately jumped up wide awake out of the bed to Maggie’s great chagrin, throwing on clothes, and excited to drive over to get my six diet Cokes for the day. And then to hurry home to start writing a blog post after my Cokes got ice cold in the freezer. Routines, ya know?  I take such satisfaction out of doing this routine.  My early morning bliss.  

Mom puts the Cokes out on the porch before she goes to bed around 11pm so I knew they would be out there by now.  Maggie heard me put on my shoes and the jingle of my keys as I put them in my pocket and went tearing outside barking up a storm to pave the way for my trip.  She does this every early morning without fail.  She is my supreme protector as always.  Dad was still up with every light on in his house when I pulled up in the driveway. I almost knocked on the door to see what he was doing, but I was on a mission that couldn’t be delayed.  I don’t know if he realized I stopped by or not.  He had been down at the pharmacy doing his usual quiet Sunday night of bookkeeping and bill paying. He has done this for as long as I can remember from 9pm to midnight every Sunday night. Charlie usually accompanies him and does the accounting end of the business. That was Charlie’s major in college which he fought so hard to obtain.  Charlie joined the military and was stationed in Thailand to pay for college on the GI bill.  He said he ate nothing but bananas the whole time he was there the food was so gross. Charlie is a very, very picky eater.     

1am is a cool, awesome time for me.  1am means Coast to Coast AM is on live until 5am. I am enamored with this show as you probably already know.  Tonight they are talking about autism.  George Knapp is hosting and he can be abrupt and brusque sometimes with the guests making things lively.  It should be an interesting show, but anti medical establishment as usual which can grow tiresome at times, though.  Everything can’t always be a conspiracy as is often the case on these shows.  I can already guess the issue of mercury in vaccines causing autism is going to be the highlight of discussion tonight. They can be very predictable.  George Noory, the usual weekly host, harped for months about the dangers of the H1N1 flu vaccine saying it was deadly.  His ignorance astounded me.  There were wild theories thrown about that the vaccine would be used to genetically manipulate us. lol  I guess I am going to turn into a mutant now since I got the vaccine many months ago.  I will believe my brother and sister, both accomplished doctors who say it is perfectly safe, over a radio talk show host who touts a spice, turmeric, as a cancer cure.

I know I am saying it a lot these days, but I feel really, really well lately and it is so damn nice. It bears repeating for the wonderful thing it is.  I felt so ill for so long.  For weeks, I felt like something drug out of a dank swamp – rising from the primordial ooze to another hell filled mentally ill day.  It is hard to sleep because you are frightened you will wake up back in hell land again.  I don’t ever want this feeling to end. I feel as if I am in a dream and I don’t want to wake up.  I always feel my best in the wee hours of the morning when my medications are still fresh in my body.  I am trying so hard to stay up as late as I can tonight so I will sleep all day tomorrow.  Around lunch to 7pm is always my hardest time with my schizophrenia and the anxiety.  I can only guess my medication levels drop and I grow tired both mentally and physically as the day grows long.. 

I got a wild hair up my butt and moved my computer desk from my computer room into the den.  It was a spur of the moment thing.  It looks cluttered and ungainly and dad is going to complain, but I like it so far.  I like the convenience of it.  I like being able to keep up with Twitter as I watch TV since my new laptop died a few weeks ago. It took a good thirty to forty five minutes to hook everything up and get back on the Internet. Now, my command center is complete.  Everything is at my fingertips. The HDTV.  The home theater.  My computer.  I don’t ever have to leave my den again!!! lol   I am writing this from the comfort of my Lazy Boy in the den with my keyboard in my lap.

For weeks, dad has been promising he is going to order the part I need to get my camera working again.  I am getting extremely frustrated which is unlike me as I am usually very laid back.  I called him last Monday to remind him and he assured me he would get Tricia to order it.  It still hasn’t arrived.  I don’t understand dad’s obfuscation about this.  Does he think it is going to cost a lot of money?   I want to get ugly and exclaim that he can drive to Alex City and take my sister furniture then why can’t he just order a $16 dollar computer part for me?  If I had money, I would just drive down to Best Buy in Auburn and easily purchase the part.  I have missed my camera so much.  I feel like I have lost a friend. Maggie has missed being captioned as well. hehe

Dad still believes I don’t need to be attending all the AA meetings I go to.  He feels it is too much pressure on me socially and mentally.  “You just can’t do all that,” he will tell me.  “It is just too much pressure on you to drive all that way and sit through all those meetings.”  It shocks me when he will say this.  I don’t understand this and it is just completely, absolutely strange.  He told the same thing to my psychiatrist as well to my psychiatrist’s raised eyebrows.  He thinks he alone can control my drinking through the lack of money and watching me constantly.  He says he can see signs when I am about to drink or abuse Benadryl.  It is a fool’s errand in my opinion.  I think AA is about the only way I am going to be able to garner a viable social life successfully these days.  I love the camaraderie and the way everyone sticks together and supports each other.  It is probably the only way I am going to be able to stay successfully sober for any length of time as well.  I still have some misgivings about the religious overtones of the program, but my brother’s wise words echo in my mind when I  have doubts.  “You’ve got to believe in something,” he told me. “Why not God?  It wouldn’t or couldn’t hurt.”    

The Night Owl…

I went to bed at 9pm and awoke at 1am refreshed on just four hours of sleep. Maggie was curled up next to me sound asleep snoring softly and sighing in her sleep. Occasionally jerking from her dreams – her eyes moving wildly under her eyelids.  She looked so comfortable next to my arm curled up in a tight ball.  She must’ve been cold and couldn’t get under the comforter with me hogging it. I had it pulled tightly over me as I had turned the air down really low last night in one of my rare arctic moments.  I hated to wake her, but I was on a late night, early morning mission.  I immediately jumped up wide awake out of the bed to Maggie’s great chagrin, throwing on clothes, and excited to drive over to get my six diet Cokes for the day. And then to hurry home to start writing a blog post after my Cokes got ice cold in the freezer. Routines, ya know?  I take such satisfaction out of doing this routine.  My early morning bliss.  

Mom puts the Cokes out on the porch before she goes to bed around 11pm so I knew they would be out there by now.  Maggie heard me put on my shoes and the jingle of my keys as I put them in my pocket and went tearing outside barking up a storm to pave the way for my trip.  She does this every early morning without fail.  She is my supreme protector as always.  Dad was still up with every light on in his house when I pulled up in the driveway. I almost knocked on the door to see what he was doing, but I was on a mission that couldn’t be delayed.  I don’t know if he realized I stopped by or not.  He had been down at the pharmacy doing his usual quiet Sunday night of bookkeeping and bill paying. He has done this for as long as I can remember from 9pm to midnight every Sunday night. Charlie usually accompanies him and does the accounting end of the business. That was Charlie’s major in college which he fought so hard to obtain.  Charlie joined the military and was stationed in Thailand to pay for college on the GI bill.  He said he ate nothing but bananas the whole time he was there the food was so gross. Charlie is a very, very picky eater.     

1am is a cool, awesome time for me.  1am means Coast to Coast AM is on live until 5am. I am enamored with this show as you probably already know.  Tonight they are talking about autism.  George Knapp is hosting and he can be abrupt and brusque sometimes with the guests making things lively.  It should be an interesting show, but anti medical establishment as usual which can grow tiresome at times, though.  Everything can’t always be a conspiracy as is often the case on these shows.  I can already guess the issue of mercury in vaccines causing autism is going to be the highlight of discussion tonight. They can be very predictable.  George Noory, the usual weekly host, harped for months about the dangers of the H1N1 flu vaccine saying it was deadly.  His ignorance astounded me.  There were wild theories thrown about that the vaccine would be used to genetically manipulate us. lol  I guess I am going to turn into a mutant now since I got the vaccine many months ago.  I will believe my brother and sister, both accomplished doctors who say it is perfectly safe, over a radio talk show host who touts a spice, turmeric, as a cancer cure.

I know I am saying it a lot these days, but I feel really, really well lately and it is so damn nice. It bears repeating for the wonderful thing it is.  I felt so ill for so long.  For weeks, I felt like something drug out of a dank swamp – rising from the primordial ooze to another hell filled mentally ill day.  It is hard to sleep because you are frightened you will wake up back in hell land again.  I don’t ever want this feeling to end. I feel as if I am in a dream and I don’t want to wake up.  I always feel my best in the wee hours of the morning when my medications are still fresh in my body.  I am trying so hard to stay up as late as I can tonight so I will sleep all day tomorrow.  Around lunch to 7pm is always my hardest time with my schizophrenia and the anxiety.  I can only guess my medication levels drop and I grow tired both mentally and physically as the day grows long.. 

I got a wild hair up my butt and moved my computer desk from my computer room into the den.  It was a spur of the moment thing.  It looks cluttered and ungainly and dad is going to complain, but I like it so far.  I like the convenience of it.  I like being able to keep up with Twitter as I watch TV since my new laptop died a few weeks ago. It took a good thirty to forty five minutes to hook everything up and get back on the Internet. Now, my command center is complete.  Everything is at my fingertips. The HDTV.  The home theater.  My computer.  I don’t ever have to leave my den again!!! lol   I am writing this from the comfort of my Lazy Boy in the den with my keyboard in my lap.

For weeks, dad has been promising he is going to order the part I need to get my camera working again.  I am getting extremely frustrated which is unlike me as I am usually very laid back.  I called him last Monday to remind him and he assured me he would get Tricia to order it.  It still hasn’t arrived.  I don’t understand dad’s obfuscation about this.  Does he think it is going to cost a lot of money?   I want to get ugly and exclaim that he can drive to Alex City and take my sister furniture then why can’t he just order a $16 dollar computer part for me?  If I had money, I would just drive down to Best Buy in Auburn and easily purchase the part.  I have missed my camera so much.  I feel like I have lost a friend. Maggie has missed being captioned as well. hehe

Dad still believes I don’t need to be attending all the AA meetings I go to.  He feels it is too much pressure on me socially and mentally.  “You just can’t do all that,” he will tell me.  “It is just too much pressure on you to drive all that way and sit through all those meetings.”  It shocks me when he will say this.  I don’t understand this and it is just completely, absolutely strange.  He told the same thing to my psychiatrist as well to my psychiatrist’s raised eyebrows.  He thinks he alone can control my drinking through the lack of money and watching me constantly.  He says he can see signs when I am about to drink or abuse Benadryl.  It is a fool’s errand in my opinion.  I think AA is about the only way I am going to be able to garner a viable social life successfully these days.  I love the camaraderie and the way everyone sticks together and supports each other.  It is probably the only way I am going to be able to stay successfully sober for any length of time as well.  I still have some misgivings about the religious overtones of the program, but my brother’s wise words echo in my mind when I  have doubts.  “You’ve got to believe in something,” he told me. “Why not God?  It wouldn’t or couldn’t hurt.”    

The Quest for Klonopin…

I was over at mom and dad’s at lunchtime when Charlie pulled up in dad’s Ford  F-150 truck which was filled with antique furniture.  I was standing outside knocking on the backdoor to no avail.  It was as if no one was home. I knew they were there. I was on a quest for Klonopin and my daily medications.  I didn’t want any anxiety whatsoever today and was going to nip it in the bud by taking my medications early if I could convince dad I needed them. 

“You can never get them to the door of that big damn house,” Charlie said excitedly and emotionally. “Here, let me try to call your father to get him to the door. He better answer that damned phone of his.”

Charlie’s cell phone rang and rang with no answer from dad.  Charlie started to bang on dad’s bedroom window anxiously and impatiently.  I went down around the side of the house to ring the doorbell several times.  All their cars were there.  The BMW was in the garage along with mom’s Honda Civic, and dad’s Honda CR-V was parked outside in the driveway. 

“What are you doing over here?” Charlie asked me patting me on the knee affectionately as we finally sat on the back porch hoping someone would finally open the backdoor. 

“I’m here for my medications and I hope it doesn’t piss dad off,” I replied. “I’m treading dangerous waters I fear.”

“Why would he be pissed?” Charlie asked looking stymied. “It will save him a trip tonight before going to the pharmacy.  You would think he would be glad you want your medications for a change without being forced to take them.”

“He just gets perturbed when I ask for them early sometimes,” I replied. “It’s like he doesn’t want to be bothered with it.  I never really actually know how dad is going to react. It all depends on what kind of mood he is in.”

Finally, the backdoor was opened.  Dad was very glad to see us, calling us the welcoming committee, and walked out to his car with me to get my medications.  He wasn’t pissed. Just concerned that I wanted them so early.  He felt I would take too much Klonopin all at one time having taken my lunchtime dose.  That was my goal.  I just wanted to relax today. I wanted that mellow gold feeling that only three Klonopin can impart. 

“I’ve been cleaning crystal in the front of the house and didn’t hear all the commotion,” he told me as we walked back up the driveway to the house. “That’s something Helen doesn’t do well. She leaves streaks.”

“Goddammit John,” Charlie exclaimed and stammered when we got back inside the house. Charlie was standing in the den looking red faced.  “Answer your goddamned phone!  And answer the goddamned door!”

We all laughed nervously at Charlie’s candidness.  Charlie was just a little pissed.  He says this happens all the time to him.  Dad and Charlie will often argue like close brothers would do. 

I waited my thirty minutes for my medications to take effect.  Charlie was talking a mile a minute about some antique furniture he wanted to sell dad and my sister. Dad wasn’t too impressed with what was on the back of the truck.  I called Charlie Sanford and Son and he laughed.. I was also just glad to be sitting in mom and dad’s cool house as the ceiling fan above blew down upon us – a safe, comforting zone for me.

On the way home, I ran over a squirrel.  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I realized I had taken a life.  I don’t know why I got so emotional.  It was just a damned squirrel.   Maybe it was the medications coursing so newly through my veins.  I felt better when I arrived home and Maggie jumped up in my lap as I sat down in my Lazy Boy.  Maggie’s been extremely abnormally affectionate today and it has warmed my heart. I love it when she gets like this.

The rest of the day has been a relaxing day of weather watching, TV, Internet, and Coast to Coast AM.   I am so sore from last night I didn’t feel like doing much today.  It hurts to move.  Getting out of this chair is laborious..  Charlie really worked the shit outta me last night and yesterday evening.   

The Quest for Klonopin…

I was over at mom and dad’s at lunchtime when Charlie pulled up in dad’s Ford  F-150 truck which was filled with antique furniture.  I was standing outside knocking on the backdoor to no avail.  It was as if no one was home. I knew they were there. I was on a quest for Klonopin and my daily medications.  I didn’t want any anxiety whatsoever today and was going to nip it in the bud by taking my medications early if I could convince dad I needed them. 

“You can never get them to the door of that big damn house,” Charlie said excitedly and emotionally. “Here, let me try to call your father to get him to the door. He better answer that damned phone of his.”

Charlie’s cell phone rang and rang with no answer from dad.  Charlie started to bang on dad’s bedroom window anxiously and impatiently.  I went down around the side of the house to ring the doorbell several times.  All their cars were there.  The BMW was in the garage along with mom’s Honda Civic, and dad’s Honda CR-V was parked outside in the driveway. 

“What are you doing over here?” Charlie asked me patting me on the knee affectionately as we finally sat on the back porch hoping someone would finally open the backdoor. 

“I’m here for my medications and I hope it doesn’t piss dad off,” I replied. “I’m treading dangerous waters I fear.”

“Why would he be pissed?” Charlie asked looking stymied. “It will save him a trip tonight before going to the pharmacy.  You would think he would be glad you want your medications for a change without being forced to take them.”

“He just gets perturbed when I ask for them early sometimes,” I replied. “It’s like he doesn’t want to be bothered with it.  I never really actually know how dad is going to react. It all depends on what kind of mood he is in.”

Finally, the backdoor was opened.  Dad was very glad to see us, calling us the welcoming committee, and walked out to his car with me to get my medications.  He wasn’t pissed. Just concerned that I wanted them so early.  He felt I would take too much Klonopin all at one time having taken my lunchtime dose.  That was my goal.  I just wanted to relax today. I wanted that mellow gold feeling that only three Klonopin can impart. 

“I’ve been cleaning crystal in the front of the house and didn’t hear all the commotion,” he told me as we walked back up the driveway to the house. “That’s something Helen doesn’t do well. She leaves streaks.”

“Goddammit John,” Charlie exclaimed and stammered when we got back inside the house. Charlie was standing in the den looking red faced.  “Answer your goddamned phone!  And answer the goddamned door!”

We all laughed nervously at Charlie’s candidness.  Charlie was just a little pissed.  He says this happens all the time to him.  Dad and Charlie will often argue like close brothers would do. 

I waited my thirty minutes for my medications to take effect.  Charlie was talking a mile a minute about some antique furniture he wanted to sell dad and my sister. Dad wasn’t too impressed with what was on the back of the truck.  I called Charlie Sanford and Son and he laughed.. I was also just glad to be sitting in mom and dad’s cool house as the ceiling fan above blew down upon us – a safe, comforting zone for me.

On the way home, I ran over a squirrel.  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I realized I had taken a life.  I don’t know why I got so emotional.  It was just a damned squirrel.   Maybe it was the medications coursing so newly through my veins.  I felt better when I arrived home and Maggie jumped up in my lap as I sat down in my Lazy Boy.  Maggie’s been extremely abnormally affectionate today and it has warmed my heart. I love it when she gets like this.

The rest of the day has been a relaxing day of weather watching, TV, Internet, and Coast to Coast AM.   I am so sore from last night I didn’t feel like doing much today.  It hurts to move.  Getting out of this chair is laborious..  Charlie really worked the shit outta me last night and yesterday evening.   

The Weed Whackers…

I was furiously pacing the floor when Charlie arrived at my house late yesterday evening armed with all things to trim and cut shrubbery.  I have my own yard care arsenal under the house as well that dad bought me when I moved into this house and I brought them out reluctantly.  It was a surprise visit.  I watched warily as he unloaded implement after implement from the trunk of his Chevrolet and sat them in the front yard.  He was just laughing and carrying on -- making jokes and being his usual acerbic self.  I was a little apprehensive at first – worried he would have to do all the work and I would have to sit on the sidelines. I was so worried I would have an anxiety attack from our exertions.  These are the kind of fears I am going to have to overcome to live a “normal” life. I keep having to tell myself that no one ever died from having an anxiety attack. I would just have to quit and come inside to lie down.  This, too, would pass.   

“Let’s get your shrubbery shaped up,” Charlie said handing me a plastic sack of diet Cokes as a treat as is his usual custom these days. “You’re going have the nicest yard on the block. I want to outdo those neighbors across the street.”

“Well, they just whacked down their shrubbery to the nub!” I replied with an air of astonishment.  “They were using chainsaws!”

“We won’t go quite so far,” Charlie replied laughing with raised eyebrows.

Charlie did this out of the goodness of his heart.  He is such a kind hearted and good soul.  He could have spent his time doing a hundred other things he liked on his Saturday evening.  Instead, he spent his Saturday evening doing a tedious and dirty job for his best friend’s son.   He knows I have trouble motivating myself to do such things and his help was the one trick that got me out of the house and working.  We worked for hours trimming shrubs, pulling weeds, and cutting down fledgling pecan trees.  It was dark as we finished and sat in my den both sweaty and tired watching our British comedies.  There was a huge pile of debris and cuttings up by the road by the time we quit.  We laughed jovially at Mr. Humphries antics on Are You Being Served? – our favorite character as we cooled off.   Charlie then drove to Arby’s to get us both the #19 special, a turkey sandwich with Italian dressing, for which we are both obsessed with these days.

As we sat in my den eating our meal, Charlie talked of his son, Randall, who is retarded and autistic.  Randall is a year older than me and the doctors said years ago that he would never live this long.  Charlie really opened up to me about his problems with Horsefly, his pet word for Randall, which is uncharacteristic of him.  Charlie’s not one to burden you with his problems.  Charlie could easily put Horsefly in a group home, but dad says you would have to kill him first. 

“He keeps choking when he eats,” Charlie said. “It worries the shit out of me.  This is a new development.”

“Is he still sleeping in the day and staying up all night?” I asked.

“Oh, hell yes,” Charlie said laughing. “He is just like his father.  We don’t sleep.  We are an odd bunch.”

“I am a lot like Horsefly,” I told Charlie empathetically. “I can be so obsessive compulsive. I can understand his strange thought processes.”

“You brought him out of his shell as a child,” Charlie told me gladly. “And I will never forget it.  You could set off dynamite next to his head as a child and he wouldn’t even flinch.  You would actually play with him and he would just laugh and laugh.  I am forever in your debt.  He would have never learned to talk and interact without you.”

“Is Horsefly still bowling and going to the movies?” I then asked Charlie.

“Oh yes,” Charlie replied as he wiped more sweat from his bald head and brow. “You know we can’t disrupt our routines.  The same routines we’ve had for years.  He will bowl so fast he is a sweaty mess afterwards and he will watch the worst movies in the theater.”

Charlie then got up to go turn down my air conditioning telling me my father could afford it. I laughed and smiled. “Shit! It’s hot in here!” he said.  This, of course, made me freezing cold.

Dad soon arrived with my medications later in the evening.  He was in a super duper mood – so excited about our exertions being so keen on yard care.  I watched from the window in my computer room as dad walked around my yard looking at what Charlie and I had accomplished.  I felt this extreme feeling of pride. Nothing makes my father happier than to see something like this.  

“Goddamn, that looks good,” dad said of my yard as he walked up my steps to come inside. “Charlie said he was going to get you up and working and he did.”

I stood at the door and welcomed him in as Maggie went completely bonkers at Poppa being here. 

“I had to take lots of breaks, though,” I told him. “You know me and my heart rate.  I have to be careful about those anxiety attacks.  There were a few times I felt shaky and Charlie brought me water and told me to sit on the front steps.”

“Charlie can work like a dog,” dad told me smiling. “He can outdo me.  You both did good.  You’re doing better, son. Yard work is good for the soul.”

Before bed, I turned on all my outside lights and stood out in the yard marveling at what we had accomplished.  It did look so good and I was so proud.

Dad then made an assessment of the inside of my house for cleaning.  I had cleaned the other day, but we are both determined to get things cleaned up better and Charlie’s help was just the impetus we needed.  I sometimes get down and out that my house is not as clean as mom and dad’s, but then I remind myself that mom and dad have a full time housecleaner in Helen as well. 

“The only thing I really see you need to do is mop and clean all your hardwood floors,” dad told me of his assessment. “And get up all of Maggie’s dog hair.  The couch needs vacuuming and your tub and stovetop need scrubbing as well.”

I made a mental list and will get started today.  Sometimes, I just need help with things like this – help to just get started and motivated.  I can be kind of oblivious at times about such things being a single guy without a lot of house guests.  To be honest, I just haven’t felt like doing this stuff for months and now feel able.  That extra medication is doing the trick as far as my crippling anxiety is concerned.  It is a new beginning I think and I am excited about it all.  The chaos that was my mental illness addled life for months is starting to get organized.        

The Weed Whackers…

I was furiously pacing the floor when Charlie arrived at my house late yesterday evening armed with all things to trim and cut shrubbery.  I have my own yard care arsenal under the house as well that dad bought me when I moved into this house and I brought them out reluctantly.  It was a surprise visit.  I watched warily as he unloaded implement after implement from the trunk of his Chevrolet and sat them in the front yard.  He was just laughing and carrying on -- making jokes and being his usual acerbic self.  I was a little apprehensive at first – worried he would have to do all the work and I would have to sit on the sidelines. I was so worried I would have an anxiety attack from our exertions.  These are the kind of fears I am going to have to overcome to live a “normal” life. I keep having to tell myself that no one ever died from having an anxiety attack. I would just have to quit and come inside to lie down.  This, too, would pass.   

“Let’s get your shrubbery shaped up,” Charlie said handing me a plastic sack of diet Cokes as a treat as is his usual custom these days. “You’re going have the nicest yard on the block. I want to outdo those neighbors across the street.”

“Well, they just whacked down their shrubbery to the nub!” I replied with an air of astonishment.  “They were using chainsaws!”

“We won’t go quite so far,” Charlie replied laughing with raised eyebrows.

Charlie did this out of the goodness of his heart.  He is such a kind hearted and good soul.  He could have spent his time doing a hundred other things he liked on his Saturday evening.  Instead, he spent his Saturday evening doing a tedious and dirty job for his best friend’s son.   He knows I have trouble motivating myself to do such things and his help was the one trick that got me out of the house and working.  We worked for hours trimming shrubs, pulling weeds, and cutting down fledgling pecan trees.  It was dark as we finished and sat in my den both sweaty and tired watching our British comedies.  There was a huge pile of debris and cuttings up by the road by the time we quit.  We laughed jovially at Mr. Humphries antics on Are You Being Served? – our favorite character as we cooled off.   Charlie then drove to Arby’s to get us both the #19 special, a turkey sandwich with Italian dressing, for which we are both obsessed with these days.

As we sat in my den eating our meal, Charlie talked of his son, Randall, who is retarded and autistic.  Randall is a year older than me and the doctors said years ago that he would never live this long.  Charlie really opened up to me about his problems with Horsefly, his pet word for Randall, which is uncharacteristic of him.  Charlie’s not one to burden you with his problems.  Charlie could easily put Horsefly in a group home, but dad says you would have to kill him first. 

“He keeps choking when he eats,” Charlie said. “It worries the shit out of me.  This is a new development.”

“Is he still sleeping in the day and staying up all night?” I asked.

“Oh, hell yes,” Charlie said laughing. “He is just like his father.  We don’t sleep.  We are an odd bunch.”

“I am a lot like Horsefly,” I told Charlie empathetically. “I can be so obsessive compulsive. I can understand his strange thought processes.”

“You brought him out of his shell as a child,” Charlie told me gladly. “And I will never forget it.  You could set off dynamite next to his head as a child and he wouldn’t even flinch.  You would actually play with him and he would just laugh and laugh.  I am forever in your debt.  He would have never learned to talk and interact without you.”

“Is Horsefly still bowling and going to the movies?” I then asked Charlie.

“Oh yes,” Charlie replied as he wiped more sweat from his bald head and brow. “You know we can’t disrupt our routines.  The same routines we’ve had for years.  He will bowl so fast he is a sweaty mess afterwards and he will watch the worst movies in the theater.”

Charlie then got up to go turn down my air conditioning telling me my father could afford it. I laughed and smiled. “Shit! It’s hot in here!” he said.  This, of course, made me freezing cold.

Dad soon arrived with my medications later in the evening.  He was in a super duper mood – so excited about our exertions being so keen on yard care.  I watched from the window in my computer room as dad walked around my yard looking at what Charlie and I had accomplished.  I felt this extreme feeling of pride. Nothing makes my father happier than to see something like this.  

“Goddamn, that looks good,” dad said of my yard as he walked up my steps to come inside. “Charlie said he was going to get you up and working and he did.”

I stood at the door and welcomed him in as Maggie went completely bonkers at Poppa being here. 

“I had to take lots of breaks, though,” I told him. “You know me and my heart rate.  I have to be careful about those anxiety attacks.  There were a few times I felt shaky and Charlie brought me water and told me to sit on the front steps.”

“Charlie can work like a dog,” dad told me smiling. “He can outdo me.  You both did good.  You’re doing better, son. Yard work is good for the soul.”

Before bed, I turned on all my outside lights and stood out in the yard marveling at what we had accomplished.  It did look so good and I was so proud.

Dad then made an assessment of the inside of my house for cleaning.  I had cleaned the other day, but we are both determined to get things cleaned up better and Charlie’s help was just the impetus we needed.  I sometimes get down and out that my house is not as clean as mom and dad’s, but then I remind myself that mom and dad have a full time housecleaner in Helen as well. 

“The only thing I really see you need to do is mop and clean all your hardwood floors,” dad told me of his assessment. “And get up all of Maggie’s dog hair.  The couch needs vacuuming and your tub and stovetop need scrubbing as well.”

I made a mental list and will get started today.  Sometimes, I just need help with things like this – help to just get started and motivated.  I can be kind of oblivious at times about such things being a single guy without a lot of house guests.  To be honest, I just haven’t felt like doing this stuff for months and now feel able.  That extra medication is doing the trick as far as my crippling anxiety is concerned.  It is a new beginning I think and I am excited about it all.  The chaos that was my mental illness addled life for months is starting to get organized.        

A Train Kind of Day…

Yesterday, I sat all day in the hot sweltering sun down at the railroad museum next to the tracks watching trains.  I did have some shelter and shade from the tall wall behind me as the sun hung lower in the sky as the day progressed.  I was all set for a day of train watching.  I had sunscreen.  I had a little mini cooler of ice cold water.  Lots of Model Railroader and Wired! magazines to read while waiting on trains. Plenty of cigarettes. And I had packed a lunch of ham sandwiches, granola bars for snacks, and potato chips.  I sat on the bench behind the bank where Ferret would always sleep in the summer when he was homeless years ago.  I kept thinking of Ferret as I sat there wondering whatever happened to him.  Last I heard, his grandfather had gotten him an apartment and he was on Social Security disability for his mental illnesses.  I wonder if he ever got sobered up?  He was an irascible drinker.  So was I.  I could probably out drink Ferret on one of my good days.

My psychiatrist said earlier in the week I needed to try and get out of the house more to overcome my anxiety and agoraphobia, and I took his words to heart.  It was a gamble that I might have an anxiety attack, but I soldiered onwards and left the house.  I saw many long, varied trains and was overjoyed.   I would watch with anticipation as the signal down the tracks would slowly turn from green, to yellow, and then red signaling a train was on the way.  I was finally chased away from near the museum when some really big storms blew up which also thrilled my soul.  These were some nasty storms yesterday knocking my power out for an hour.  The lightning and thunder was almost constant.  The rain torrential.  My grandmother would call these heat storms and would say it’s “coming up a cloud” at the sound of all that thunder.  I was glad I had plenty of Coast to Coast AM shows loaded onto my iPod for that hour of idleness.  I noticed a lot of Union Pacific engines yesterday which are usually only seen in the West and Midwest.  I wondered if CSX, the railroad that owns the line near my house, had a locomotive exchange program with that railroad. I was lamenting the fact that my camera is still out of action.

“Coffee, baby?” Florene asked me as I sat in her kitchen after all the storms had passed. 

You could still hear the rumble of thunder distantly as I sat at the kitchen table.  I had driven over to take care of George’s two cars.  To crank them and see if they needed gas or their batteries charged.  George had written to me in a recent letter from jail pleading with me to be sure and do this for him.  He knew I would forget.  Both cars needed washing badly, but I just didn’t feel up to all that yesterday.

“I can’t have so much caffeine,” I replied, waving off the mug of hot coffee she had poured for me and handed my way. “I am honestly trying to cut down. Anxiety, you know?  I get the nervous jitters.”

Mrs. Florene had just cooked a pot roast she was going to save for Sunday dinner with her sister’s family and it smelled wonderful in her house.  She is always cooking it seems.  The house also had the wonderful smell of caramelized onions and it made my stomach protest.  I was hungry.

“Your lasagna was absolutely fantastic,” I told her trying to make small talk feeling socially awkward without George there. “I ate every last bit of it and Maggie liked it as well.”

“Did you really like it?” Florene asked, beaming with pride as I told her I thought it was some of the best lasagna I had ever eaten.

Last night found me feeling extremely, extremely well.  I paced the floor slowly as I watched TV – a nervous throwback from my less than stellar days when I would pace nervously for hours wracked with mental illness.  I felt wonderful, but still felt like pacing.  My mind works in strange ways sometimes.  I watched Medium – a show which I am also growing to love.  I would laugh giddily I felt so well as I paced in the den – a stereotypical maniacal madman it seems.      

Dad and I took my medications late, late last night.  He didn’t arrive until after 10.  He was in good spirits and extremely glad to see Maggie.

“Why are you smiling so?” dad asked looking amused as I sat in my Lazy Boy.

“I feel so freakin’ good,” I exclaimed. “That terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach has gone away.  I  don’t have any anxiety whatsoever.”

Dad looked wary – saying he was wondering if I was on a manic high much like my mother will do.  I just smiled and told him I loved him and that I was okay.  I just felt good for a change and it was a magical, wonderful thing.  We then did Maggie’s food and water ritual.  I wish you could see her as we do this.  Dad pours out her day old food and refills her bowl with fresh Purina One.  I pour out her day old water and refill it with clean.  Dad makes sure I pour the water outside and not in the sink saying dog’s stuff doesn’t need to be mixed with people stuff.  Maggie watches on, vigorously wagging her tail as we do this – waiting impatiently to eat and drink.  She has become spoiled by this little ritual.

I lay in the bed sleepless until 1am last night feeling the effects of my medications coursing through my veins and body.  I kept thinking of Kevin “The Homeless Guy” Barbieux and his life.  He is such a tortured soul.  He seems to spend all his time in McDonald’s using their Wi-Fi to protest modern culture and politics. I feel we have some parallels to our lives in that we were both homeless and mentally ill causing me to feel a lot of empathy for him.  He had recently written on Facebook about dismay with his life even though he has a home and an income now – all things he had been trying to obtain after decades of homelessness.  “Can some people never be happy?” I thought. “Am I like that?”  I don’t mean to be that way.  I can be happy most times when my mental illness allows me to be so.  I am very appreciative of all I have.  A wonderful house.  A car.  My Mag dawg.  Plenty of good food to eat. The Internet. Alcoholics Anonymous.  I have all the basics for a good life covered.  The only thing lacking is a more vibrant and active social life which I would probably complain about if it got too active.