It Was a Long Night

Without sleep. I've taken a rare day off. The guilt of it weighs heavily upon me. How government leeches and parasites live their lives firmly attached is beyond me.

She just stepped from the shower and yelled, "Well, let's at least make a run to Costco."

Replied, "Yes, Dear."

She further explained we need to shop for new family room chairs, big ones with ottomans - leather. I explained we're deep into a depression and cannot afford them.

She flicked my ear.

So now you know.

Stephen

Bumps In The Night

For several weeks now I've felt not quite myself. As many of you know I do not sleep well. I roam the darkness. Catalog the song of owls and spend time down at the river with my rear firmly planted on the dock with my feet in the water. My waking hours nothing more than a daze.

Now, I feel like a fool.

Several months back, after a long conversation with my family doctor, he prescribed an anti-depressant. I dutifully had it filled. When I arrived home with this new medication I carefully read the accompanying instructions and was taken aback by all its possible side affects. Then Sweet Wife read the same and since we both agreed the side affects too dangerous I agreed not to take this medication. I chucked the bottle on the kitchen counter and forgot it.  

The seasons change. Spring into Summer and now Autumn. Somewhere within the fabric of time I began to change. I did not notice this change within myself, but Sweet Wife knew something wasn't the same. I ignored her warnings.

My energy was gone. My will to care left me. I just flat didn't give a damn about life. I worked as normal and each afternoon locked my shop and drove home, and sometimes, made dinner. Often I'd just stop along the way and grab fast food. Weird.

One afternoon I awoke to find I'd been standing in place with a framed photograph in my hands. I wasn't aware of when I'd taken the picture from its place nor how long I'd held it. Very unsettling, to say the least.

Then, one day I dropped by the pharmacy for my prescriptions. Returned home and placed them, as I normally do, on the vanity. Later, went to bed. Same routine. Stare at the ceiling, think, toss and turn, glance at the clock, moan and mumble, again and again. Then, for some odd reason, I thought of my medications. I remembered the bottle tucked away in the kitchen. Where was it, I asked. Maybe, just maybe, it would help. The moment slipped away but some slight fragment of this brief thought remained the next day.

I'm uncertain if I searched the next morning or a day later. It doesn't matter for eventually search I did indeed. The bottle had disappeared. Forgot about it.

One night recently I'm about my routine of popping pills. I reach and take yet another bottle of medicine and for some odd reason read the label. Turned to Sweet Wife and asked her if she'd remind me why I'm taking this medication as I can't remember to save my life. She reads the label, repeats out loud, 'Citalopram.'

"Oh,"

She said.

I'd been taking the medication all along....for all these months, I'd without awareness, altered my brain chemistry.

I'd become a Zombie. The bottle of poison had magically made its evil way into my nightly routine and had each month been refilled by the pharmacy.

And, here's the sad part. I can't just quit. There is no cold turkey. I must slowly over a period of time reduce its hold over me, at least so said the doctor.

We'll see.

Isn't Fall best of all.

Stephen





  

Bits & Pieces

Beautiful day here....warm, light winds. Tropical storm dinking around out in the Gulf. As with all things in life if you want to make God laugh tell him your plans. We have a long weekend planned at Cedar Key. We leave tomorrow morning. What the heck, rainy days make for fine reading.

Tomorrow is Sweet Wife's birthday. She'll be twenty-five. (I bet she smiles if she reads this post.) Anyhow, a few days later we celebrate our anniversary. This weekend is my gift to her. She needs a break from her routine. It's been a rough year and her tears have left tracks on her cheeks which will take years erase.

I will post from Cedar Key between nap sessions. It'll be the first trip in many years without our Little Bit. She'll be missed.

******

Last weekend I joined my friends for a day out at our Boar's Nest. Spent some time on the range. The little (and very heavy) Detonics Pocket 9 functioned flawlessly. I'd been told she would have an awful recoil, a hurt your hand kick. Bullhockey. Her weight absorbed and she fired like a dream. I like her. She'll now replace my backup carry piece in my satchel.

I did order a spare magazine for her which are as rare as hen's teeth. Took me a while to find one but finally came across a little shop out in Kalifornia. Place called Gunclip Depot.. The final tally was a wee bit over forty dollars. Hate it when people refer to a magazine as a 'clip.' If you think you're a member of the gun culture and walk around calling a magazine a 'clip,' go buy a pair of clogs and walk a poodle......

I also wrung out my new to me Para P-12 .45. Again, flawless performance and quite accurate. Not a single hiccup.  Well worth the money paid. I love a good gun deal.

Isn't she pretty....

*****

A few days ago my good friend, Duke, came by the shop and gave me a gift of a bag of his fresh homegrown tomatoes. Most of the bag held yellow tomatoes. Sweet, with a sharp fresh acid taste....remember the tomatoes your grandparents grew in their backyards...yeah, that kind. I took the yellow tomatoes and made a big salad last evening. So good. Thanks, Bubba.

I still have a few left over and hope to pack them down to Cedar Key. They're too good to waste and I'm the kind of fella that enjoys a good tomato with nothing more than a shaker of salt.

*****

Business is slow this morning. Excuse me while I jerk another cup of coffee.

*****

I took a walk this morning. Must have been around three. I have many sleepless nights of late. Anyhow, I eased down to the river and walked out to the edge of my neighbors dock and listened to the crickets and a school of mullet flip and flop from the water. I stood there, hands in pockets, for close to twenty minutes then slowly walked back and took a seat on our front porch and listened to an old owl sing a haunted song until the light of dawn.

When you hear of people speak of lonely it's not easy to relate. I believe I understand, now. Sometimes lonely hasn't a cure. It can become a permanent part of ones life. As of yesterday I'm sure my loneliness became fixed, branded on my soul.

Within the next few weeks I shall make a decision. Is life worth living without a heart....or should I simply thank God for what I have and toughen my soul with the loss and plug forward empty of happiness.

I'm weary.

P.S., Sweet Wife will be 'over' fifty tomorrow. The twenty-five was a joke....

Stephen

Gray Day

I hear thunder. Our weather is overcast, gray. I like thunderstorms; it's odd how they gentle my mind.

I've just built another pot of coffee and am giving due consideration to a granola bar I've stashed for just this occasion.

Business is slow which doesn't help my awful depression.  I can't allow my thoughts to turn inwards. I need to stay busy. Black thoughts would lead to trouble and will not help with the situation. I know this, yet, it takes all my willpower and self-control to just wait, and wait, and wait.

At one point, this morning, my keys were in hand. At the last second I called Sweet Wife. She said, no. I obeyed.

I read a few chapters in my current book, rise and throw it down and pace. Its words hold little value for me. I turn to the window and stare.

This thunderstorm should help. Then again, its nothing more than a bandaid.


Stephen