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Ahh, Fuckit...I am back again. I read someone's batch and I am writing again. For what it is worth. I never understood that completely. Anyway, I was finishing up the April batch and the phone rang. It was my father telling me he has to have double bypass surgery next Thursday. I felt his fear, apprehension and general freak-out over the long distance lines. I imagined people driving by a telephone pole and looking at the wire and wondering what was being said. I assured my father I would be there, and everything would be fine. I love Dad.
What to write? Even though I am sure the last month's entries were rather redundant so to speak, I feel that it needed to be written. Whether or not it needed to be read, that is up to the reader. I don't care. I suppose the thing to remember is I can write what I want, whatever inspires me to write, however outlandish or ridiculous. I am not trying to be anyone else, live vicariously through some other individual. I am trying to explain me and my life to date, for anyone to see, for me to understand and comprehend.
I was busy today. Working on the house, trying to slow the aging process of its structure, revamping, reworking, refinishing. Always work to do and always there to do it. I worked extra hard today as my back hurts, my stomach is sore from bending, my feet ache, throbbing in my hands, and so on. It feels great. After eating a well prepared meal, I feed the dog, pet her and make her comfortable, see that she is ready for sleep. I then shower and shave, get into soft lounge clothes and sit my ass in front of the TV.
I woke up to rain, more dour cool feelings sweeping through my muddled mind. I drank a half pot of black coffee, which had no affect on my dysfunctional brain waves, and eventually got up and went out for some shopping. I surveyed the neighbor's yard, after the party the night before. There were plastic cups, beer bottles, a half blown over awning and numerous tables strewn with trash. One of the Tiki torches used for yard decoration was broken and lying in the street. I heard another thunderstorm coming , and after walking the dog, another all night rain ensued.
I awoke and being groggy, I didn't know what day it was. It was Monday. I was having a fine dream with my favorite 21 year old twin girls, one was blowing me, the other I was eating vigorously, and then the music broke my fantasy. I rose to stare at my erection and to ease the bad news to my penis that dreams can be nice and also cruel. I stroked it while I found the toilet, and then I went to the coffee machine. I cursed the Monday morning bastards who thought everyone should work on this day.
Nothing to report today that is anything revealing. I made reservations for the remainder of the week for my family. We will be traveling to be with my father while he has his operation later this week. It will be a different situation for me, because most of the family doesn't visit as regular as I do, so I'm the one to direct and inform. My brother will be staying with me at the hotel and he has no money, flat broke. His expenses have trumped any savings he had, or so he says. His over-indulgences have ruled his life.
I am getting things ready for our trip this evening. Doing all the necessary planning at the last minute. These things include preparing the car for a trip, boarding the dog, getting a haircut and going to the bank. Four days isn't a long time to be away, but all things need to be resolved before our departure, and the final and perhaps most important is talking to my mother and to assure her we are going to have mother's day. My mother's disgust for our leaving to be with our estranged father has made her poised for possible rejection.
I mentioned my father was estranged. He is to my mother, but to his children he is cherished and loved and kept dearly in thought. We see him as much as our insane everyday lives allow, and when we're together, he is tense, quiet. He loves to see the grandchildren, and having tried and failed thus far to bring any of my own children to the world, my father would love dearly to see grandsons from me. Our drive to see father was routine, me and brother and sister, all meeting father to be with him during his difficult illness.
This day, high emotions, taught thinking, praying for our father. Now, we wait. All day we wait. See other families wait, feel the pain of the blank stares of not knowing how the surgery was going until a brief conversation over the phone with hospital staff. At last, we see our father. He lies there, amidst the wires, monitoring equipment, a man just having his chest cut open, in the face of a foe that is death. We all arrive and file into the cramped room. Our eyes red with tears, thoughts shifting to memories of our past with father.
I went on no sleep basically. I was so tired I hovered between consciousness and slightly subtle sleep. There was no escaping the bleachy smell of the hotel sheets, the obnoxious light by the bathroom, nor the other annoying sounds of a restless night. Images of my father lying on the bed at the hospital flashed in my fatigued mind, and tears welled in my eyes when I thought of him lying there alone. I remembered times we had together, father and son activities, his dauntless repose, interested in my burgeoning awe of the world. His guidance reassured me now.
After most of the family left, I saw my remaining sister one last time while visiting our father again. He was looking much better, and eating some too. We chatted some and he would get drowsy, close his eyes and reawaken to look at the television. My sister and I would ask him if he needed anything at all, and he would say no, in his tired lethargic voice, and repeat the same act of getting drowsy, drifting off, coming back momentarily. I told him I loved him and left him in the hands of the nurses and my stepmother.
I had called my mother the day before, wished her a happy Mother's Day, and told her I was home alright after the trip to see our father. She was compassionate and understanding of the belated Mother's Day wishes, and I promised we would resolve that issue. I went to work feeling every bit exhausted as I had the few days before, and jumping into my work had eased my mind a little, and beckoned me to forget my father's illness. It was a nice day, cool in the morning, a little warmer in the afternoon, a great day indeed.
I called my father today, and we spoke some. He was tired and weak, not very happy, and just sick of the hospital. I wished I could be there to comfort him, and see that he had what he needed, and talk to the doctor. It is not easy to do when we live so far away, and when father feels this bad, I feel bad too. I called my sister and talked to her about things we need to know, how to get in touch with the doctors by telephone, if that is possible. It's the communication breakdown blues.
Well, the world was brighter today, less obnoxious, more in tune with our prayers and hope. Father may leave the hospital in a few days, if all goes well with his illness and no more problems arise. I got caught by the hayfever bug today and spent the day either sneezing or reeling from the antihistimines, which always lulls me into a slightly ‘High' feeling and sometimes hallucinations at night. I dream strange things, see things that seem to move around, and trip til dawn. Most of the time I am thinking clearly because I can't trust the other world.
My father went home from the hospital today and that coincided with my emotional conversation with my sister about our dysfunctional family. On the day of my father's surgery, my brother lashed out his hatred for me after I had asked him to cool his attitude about something my stepmother had said. I haven't spoke to him since, but he has some emotional problems that need to be addressed. I had some too, I addressed them but it takes time. My father knows nothing of my brother's outburst nor the reason. He is very weak, but doing well, Thank God.
I had a dream last night that I was tattooed all over my body. I have a rather average body and in the dream, my body had three tattoos. One was of a large dragon with a snake's tail, another was of an eagle with wings spread and the last was a woman with long blonde hair and a nice set of tits. I looked at the tattoos in the mirror and remember thinking I can't live with these on my body. No woman would ever look at me now. Tonight, maybe I'll dream of tossing salads with Brittany Spears.
I was thinking today of a friend I used to know who was the epitome of a cool guy. He was a cool guy because he could do what he wanted and didn't need to work real hard at a mediocre job or take care of his obligations. His gold digging mother married some available rich man. She taught him the values in which he beholds today, and that is use someone for your needs and then move on once they have been used up. I thought this friend was a good friend, but I realize now he never was.
I was hoping to write something introspective today, but I was in some pain last night from the surgery four months ago and I zonked out with a pain pill. I awoke with a mean headache and made coffee which I am now drinking. Today will be another day in which I will spend alone, doing not so exciting things, getting older, staying isolated from everyone. I remember about twenty years ago, I tried to steal a bottle of whiskey from a grocery store but got caught. It was more an embarrassment than a crime. I had shamed my family.
I have relegated myself to keeping things simple, and that is always difficult for me. Today I worked, saw some people who couldn't care less if I was alive or not, came home and played good neighbor. I walked the dog, making sure she shat on the telephone company's property, finished dinner and just killed a tiny bug crawling on the door jamb. I cannot wait until tomorrow when I do this all over again with the simple redundancy of a pacing caged animal at the zoo. It became apparent to me today that the future is pretty much predictable.
Normal behavior. What is it and how does one arrive at it? I see some people out and about, doing normal things. Walking the dog, jogging, mailing letters. However, when you meet these people, sometimes the facade of normalcy crumbles into a human nature display of negativity. Perhaps it is because I work for a certain company which people do not like. Perhaps it is because I am a strange man in your presence. Or perhaps, it is because these seemingly normal people are not so normal, just living in imaginary fear, being created by their higher power. Just maybe.
My neighbor told me her tenant is moving to Washington, D.C. She recently got her ‘masters' degree and is hitting the big-time of the east coast. I am pretty sure she will succeed at first, and then realize that leaving home isn't what it's cracked up to be. I really wouldn't know. I am just speculating because I'll be stuck in this fuckhole of a city for a long time. I will breath its disgusting shit air, serve its filthy rathole inhabitants, live amongst the vermin and drug-snorting dead people roaming the streets. I just know she will miss it.
Most of the day I was groggy and guzzling coffee. I am being barraged by allergies and go through each day anti-histamine laden. I'm drifting between sleepiness and hyper-active brain functions that squirt random thoughts everywhere. One minute I'm laughing about something on the radio, the next I am thinking about something that happened twenty-five years ago. I seem to coast while I am at work. Never really getting into a groove. My boss doesn't give a shit. I shot back a question today at him during a meeting, and he ignored me. I wasn't sure that was me talking.
Two weeks ago, my father had his surgery. While we were waiting at the hospital for word on how he was doing, my brother copped an attitude about something my stepmother said. I asked my brother to drop it and he told me to go to hell. I asked him again not to do this today of all days. He rose from where he was sitting and came over to where I was and the argument got worse. He was ready to start punching me when I told him I was going to get security. He walked out stomping angrily.
I watched this movie on tape my brother lent me before he snapped a few weeks ago. It was called "THE CORNDOG MAN." After working all day around the house, I sat and watched this curious movie. It basically is a revenge movie, and has racial subtones that drive the characters to do what they do. I found it to be quite a stretch in conviction, not at all the raving success my brother anointed it. I know that my brother wrote a letter to my sister about his beliefs in fighting racism. However, his beliefs are all too contrived.
I spoke with my father today and he was a little down. I was hoping to cheer him up but he didn't seem responsive. He was really depressed about his heart condition and the fact he couldn't enjoy life as he did before. I feel bad because I can't just drive over to see him as he is hundreds of miles away, but I can visit which I plan to do later this week. I hope when I do visit, he'll be a little happier, and I plan to bring him some scotch oatmeal cookies. I hope he likes them.
It has been so cool lately, not really May like weather. I saw the car of the woman I dated a few months ago in March. It was parked at the restaurant we met at. I imagined she had another date. I was in a K-Mart recently and saw a young girl, about 16 and she had a tee-shirt that said "Porn Star" emblazoned across her tits. I thought, well when I was 16, you couldn't mention ‘Porn' at all, let alone have a shirt that said you were a porn star. It's all a part of rebellion and maturity.
Well, today was a fucking kick in the head. I woke up thinking it was Monday, of course, and dreaded the whole week ahead. But it is a short week. I will be leaving early to head to see my Father again, and try to cheer him up, talk to him, help him, listen to him. It sucks not being able to do the littlest things in your life. We take everything for granted when we are young, but your body will start to go, so will your mind. I wish I could stay 18 forever, what a nice idea.
I'm on drugs. I have been taking these pills to alleviate my hayfever symptoms. I am floating like a feeble fleet of far eastern fruits on a fantastic mind bending trip. I drove to a gathering of rusting old folks, jumping up and down in cartoon fashion, waving their fists at me. I was beaten into submission, which thrilled me at first, but later, felt like warm dog-doo in my asscrack. I drifted off into a haze of mean citizens, cursing loudly and gnawing at my tender flesh. I fell down, and the last thing I saw was orthopedic shoes.
How do people sit and take the same shit day in day out? I know a guy at work who has 29 years in the books, and he tells me, "One more year and I have 6 weeks vacation", like that really matters. Life is all about what you are worth to someone else, what your net value is after you have been trained and taught to do the things you are worth doing. I have found that some people are married for one reason: What they can extract from their spouse, either sexually or materialistically. Isn't life grand? Yes?
Leaving home again. Seems odd to leave again when so many things have not been resolved. So I drive away, not looking back. In front is the flat formless road; never ending black ribbon. Ahead of the horizon, who knows, who cares. An existential road trip to dump my overloaded and wearied brain. I thought about the road for hours. How it invites you to run, to hide and to never look back. I thought about the future and how it's a part of the road. Always a way to a new beginning. Just follow the signs and the road.
So Lisa-Rene bends over and takes my penis from behind, farts and keep pumping harder. I ram my penis inside her while she is so drunk she can barely stand up on her hands and knees. She tries to gain composure, but the alcohol is too much and she falls again. Her ass wobbles, and I hold it steady as I again guide my penis inside her from behind. Finally, I get a rhythm going and start pumping hard again, but Lisa-Rene falls forward off the bed and onto the floor with her ass in the air. She passes out.
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