Rainy nights and The Beatles keep me going

The shutters were catching the light from outside when I woke up.  My stomach ached and the apartment remained cold although it is mid-June.  My calendar says May and the candle next to it tells me I lit it on fire last night.  My glasses now fixed on my face tell me that I was too close last night because there are smear blotches on the lenses I look out through a blur.  I don’t know think this skews my vision, but it does effect my sight.

The floor is cold and I was up at 6 am.  The walk to the door made me think of how I was going to get back to sleep because, you know, once you are up you tend to have a hard time getting back to sleep.

My stomach was full from the night before.  I slept all right, no bad dreams, but I had different hormones and chemicals within me than usual.  I put on my favorite sleep soundtrack and lay down.  I don’t remember falling asleep and I never really understood how it happens so to me sleep is a phenomenon.  I used to get more sleep.  I used to think sleep was essential and the more I got the better I felt, or I think of the old saying, “people who sleep more make more money”.  I know dead people who sleep all the time and they aren’t making a dime.  I have been alive for 24 years and I am making more than a dime, but less than being able to quit in a year, or now, or never work again.  I guess, but I still keep guessing.

I drink white wine in the summer, chilled to a crisp cool, and I should drink more red wine because it is better for your heart.  I think my heart is okay, but it was broken a few times.  It wasn’t broken enough to kill me just enough to make me understand that my emotions were strong.  I felt that the lack in commonality has been replaced with familiarity, and I don’t know how it happened, but you were right.  I listen to The Beatles.  I Play videogames, and I think drama is boring unless the actors involved are up to par cognitively.

Yesterday my father put his favorite dog to sleep.  I went over to his house after my sister told me what was going on.  She was pretty upset, Kelly gets upset when others lack the courage, and she told me to go to Dad’s and comfort him.  I showed up twenty minutes later only to witness my father cleaning up what looked to be some sort of brown and green bile.  I do not like the presence of sickness and tried to avoid contact with anything that might have been infected.  Maybe I would get sick.  Maybe my kidneys would fail too.  The dog look emaciated, it had not eaten in days, or only very little, a diet of pills and water.  The dog’s appearance was that of silver fur draped over bones, rib bones, legs, and a spine.  The dog would later be put to sleep yesterday, June 11, at 10:15 pm.  My father told me I could write about the dog and how people were stupid to pay for purebreds and have feelings.  I thought I was being insensitive because before my idea was why did my dad go through so much for this dog?  This dog was like any other dog; however, this dog was way more than any mutt at the dog pound and was trained to hunting perfection.  This dog probably, with all of its knowledge, was smarter and wiser than most old dogs, so it really did get all there is to offer out of a dog’s life.   I told my dad I would not write about it and I told him that he should tell me a story about grandpa.

My dad told me that one night grandpa was out dancing at The Commodore Club and he came home wearing his dancing shoes.  He got out of his car Lincoln and slipped, falling down the steep hillside in between my father and my grandmother’s house.  He insisted vehemently that it was his dancing shoes, and not his drunkness that made him fall down the hill.  The end.  I told my father to tell me more stories about grandpa.  I called him on the way up and asked him to tell me more, he said he would, but he was driving to Mabel to pick up the twins and we would talk later.

I called my father yesterday to talk to him about the dog.  He was pretty upset.  I felt bad again and then I understood that I don’t really have it that bad.  All the drama, all the assumptions of me, and all of what I do, added up could not put me in the same emotional state as my father.  I did feel that way when my grandfather passed, though, I was there.

I woke up today and tried to remember a good thing about that dog.  The dog was big, the dog was licking everything, and the dog was kind of weird looking.  It was a “Silver Lab”, though I had never heard of this type of dog before.  This dog was my dad’s friend and I will never understand the relationship they have because I have not lived with my father in at least 9 years.  Everyone tells me that he loved the dog more than his wife.  I sort of believe that, but he must have really loved that dog.  Rest in peace Diva.

 

I was raised on Al Bundy and Ritalin.  I think I have some problems with reality that is safe to say.

 

My night consisted of movies, Nintendo, beer, and vinyl.  Pictures and a rainy walk through the park.  Bubbles of light and fast moving clouds, the ground was wet and reflective.  The greens were lush and collecting their payload.  They would be hydrated for days.  A bridge, a kiss, and very little sound existed together in time.  Hardly any witnesses; except for the pedestrians walking fast on solid ground.  Hands interlocked forming a vortex that might take us places, maybe back in time, maybe to nausea, maybe nowhere.  My apartment, the refuge from the weather, created sound, laughter, and light.  Understanding and acceptance take time.  I figure I will just go with the flow.  I am sick of being told what to do.  I will listen but I won’t hear a word.  I will see but I won’t remember your face.  That night I had friends, and family, and everything on my mind.  I woke to get ready for work.  I woke to take in the city for a minute before I was inside all day, taking everything in with me.  I keep my phone on silent at work because I know either way technology should not play a part in fixing or breaking my emotions.

 

I have good co-workers and a good atmosphere to go to.

 

 

Work is my safety.  I can’t believe I just said that.

 

 

I think you think I don’t think.  Have you thought of that?

 

 

I told the guy at the counter holding flowers and condoms to make sure he didn’t pull out the condoms first.  Everyone in the store started laughing and we left.  Someone told me I should be a comedian.  I thought I should be honest more often.  That was pretty funny.  I didn’t buy anything and I left the store.

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About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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