Talking with-between the window of wisdom and foolish joyous anticipations. Its 8:20, time for all to partake.
The cocktail of Ambien, Algram and Clonopien hit me early. I was a bucket of boiled flesh and not strapped in the seat correctly.
Andy took a sharp turn and I left the chair rolling in a dream-like sequence till i ended up curled into a ball in the corner of the van thinking, "What the hell just happened?"
Got rescued by the emergency van and a sheet and immediately was transported to dialysis and the cocktail kicked back in and I was asleep.
I dream as I lay dying. I die in a dream about living.
I never thought I would become one of those blubbering fools crying the night away missing my loved ones. Of course I am also in a your fucked position with just two people to fall back on. They will never know how grateful I am. Words, my words will never speak in the volumes of appreciation. Never...
I Lost it for a brief moment this morning. It is biscuits and gravy first Thursday of the month. I look forward to this day.
I found myself rolling down the 100 hall screaming that this was now the sum total of my life.
My favorite aide Carole' barked at me that I was more than that and I immediately settled down. I wonder if she realizes the power that she yields. Oh great Carole'!
You know, haven't we played this game long enough? OK you got to be the pres, now step aside and give the job to someone more qualified, but of course those who are qualified, wait who is qualified?
The boy is eighteen. I have been there through it all. For both boys. Our run is through as their run is just beginning.
The run for my grandson is just beginning and I can only pray that I get to run with him.
Time moves through it's phases there sits my daughter with her son. She gave him the greatest birthday any boy has ever had.
I am an old man in so many ways and just beginning in so many other ways. Her joy is original, unique.
It"s easy to get all pent up om our own misery and forget about the struggles of the nurses and aides. The corporate fucks of a nursing home are true bean counters.
They're primary motivation is money, profit most of the time.
The real people are hard to find but they do exist.
Sandy's primary function here at the nursing home is to cry, gag and stay hermitted in her room. I can't stand the sobbing. Just like the gagging it's all fake. To get negative attention.
The amazing thing about growing old is that most people's behavior and nursing homes become high school all over and I hated high school. Finding the perfect woman and getting her pregnant isn't going to work this time.
And what became of that perfect woman? She's a grandma to my daughters son Wyeth.
Life is beautiful.