*a flashback before I move on to telling of my recent stint in Rehab. If nothing else, this might demonstrate that I’ve been struggling with this for awhile.I found this in a notebook sometime in November… (Honestly, these blogs will get lighter, I swear.)
Tuesday, March 4th, 2008— What, was I sleeping? Why don’t I lay the last twenty years out with pretty broad strokes, and then I’ll give you the last one rapid fire. That’s pretty much how it’s felt, anyway. I was crawling along. Have you ever come upon a snail… and you can see the long trail going all the way down the driveway? You’re on your way to work or whatever, so you don’t give him a lot of your time. But maybe as you look down at him, it occurs to you that his current rate of progress is about as fast as he goes. So you think “Wow, how long did it take him to get all the way over here?” And you kinda feel a little bad as you shovel him up and throw him over the fence. Except not really, because you know that assuming you didn’t just seriously injure him, you just launched him on an adventure that would’ve otherwise taken him a month and a half. Well, that story doesn’t really apply here. But I seemed to have slowed to a snail’s pace in my mid thirties, after a good 15 years full of adventure. And now the last couple of years have been going at breakneck speed. So… it does apply, kind of. Here comes the shovel.
Sunday, March 9th – I’ve got a new buddy. That’s his name right now, and I think that’s his name to stay. I picked up Buddy, a six month old Black Lab, yesterday and he’s now the center of my Universe. I met him a couple of weeks ago. He was somehow found wandering around East Syracuse. When I came across him, was sitting in a cage at the pound. Because he’s such a handsome devil, they had him on hold for a week, while they waited for somebody to call looking for him. I went there every lunch hour to hang out with him. I couldn’t even take him out of the cage, due to the “hold”. I was reminded, repeatedly, not to put my hands in his cage. Usually when I was already in the cage, shoulder-deep giving him a one arm hug, heads together on either side of the bars. Sitting on the floor in a suit. But I was careful not to get attached. He’s just a dog I barely even know. I’d hang with him for a few, and I’d say, “Awright, Bud. If I don’t see you…” Sometimes a dog will end up there because he just wandered off. I’m sure there are people freaking out about their lost dog and are so glad to find them there. I don’t want t take someone else Buddy. I want them to be re-united. Because it feels so good. So I kept my distance, mentally. Well, that call never came. Instead, I got a call saying I could stop by anytime to take him outside… check him out… pretty much give him a two arm hug test-drive. I had to do it soon, as demand was mounting for an animal of such appeal. I was there a half hour later. I’d been throwing a rubber cong off his kennel walls for a week and a half.
He’s awesome. He’s my best friend and I just met him.
I am only now realizing that I kept my last dog around too long. And I am the last one to know. She was pretty limited for some time. I was (probably willfully) oblivious to everybody else wanting to pull the plug on old Sadie Dog before me. But, who cares? It wasn’t up to them. I didn’t mind lifting her in and out of the car and up and down the stairs. It was part of the routine. And as long as that dog was looking at me saying thanks, she was more than welcome And we keep ridin’, same as we have for 10 years… I had her back. I traveled the Country with that dog. “Limbs aren’t workin’ at all anymore, Doc? No problem. Take em off. I’ll put her in a backpack… Long as we can get her to Cheyenne by nightfall.” We were buds, and she would’ve done the same for me. God, I loved that dog. You know what question I always got caught up on? “Is she still enjoying life?” My Vet would always ask me that. “Well, does she seem to be enjoying Life?” I don’t know. I mean to the point where she doesn’t want it terminated? Yeah. I believe she is. Then he’d say, “Well, if she’s still eating…” Is she eating?! Mornings it was a struggle to get her to go for a walk, but she could catch a french fry from across the room before it hit the ground.
Why am I thinking about Sadie? Time to talk about Buddy.
Sunday, April 6th – I don’t know what kind of Sadie nostalgia craziness I delved into the last time I wrote. And I’m not going to look back. There’s plenty of heavy stuff going on right now to keep me occupied. I just got back from Jersey a couple days ago. I went down to have, what I imagine will turn out to be, one last conversation with Oscar. He’s in the hospital and not doing well. I got the chance I needed. I sat with him alone. (Well, minus a little Asian guy who was monitoring Osc’s dialysis. He was very nice, but still made me a little self conscious.) I knew the conversation would be one-sided, as my old friend was completely unconscious, but it was a conversation I was determined to have. So I sat there… oh shit. I just accidentally eavesdropped enough on the people sitting next to me to figure out that they’re on a first date. I wish I didn’t know. Now I can pay attention to nothing else. I am now going to start typing random keys so I look like I’m still writing but can fully dedicate myself to this.
Jdkekdkfhreoddudhaldjfhtufjtialrpqieoorjutillospowrite. OHMYGOD they’re talking about herpes. The word is being thrown around like nothing. I swear to god. Jskwkdhdnfjrjejq ieid jd jk. I shouldn’t be listening to this. I can’t believe I’m hearing it. I really wish the girl behind the counter would turn down the music, so I could hear them better. These are two fifty something’ s and I think the dude is throwing it right out there… or at least dancing around it. Are they both survivors of the Herp? Is that how they met? Ewww. This guy disgusts me. That’s somebody’s Mom he’s sitting across from. Probably somebody’s Grandma, you sick bastard. Yep… He’s the one that keeps bringing it up. He’s telling her a story, on their first date, that he dated a woman that had herpes. Are you kidding me? Run lady. He’s got herpes. I need to get away from this and find another table or I’m going to scream it out loud. RUN LADY.
Where the hell was I? Oscar. I had to wear a full smock, gloves, hairnet, and a mouth thing, just to go in. …Who’m I kidding? There’s no way I can ignore this. Hsjdweei ee tret ajtk htueree odnt surla fhtiwtrt showutghy ht. 9fee0s fhtwruqqwod. Jtislfjepwer. Htisd., rhtisjr. Hr. Okay, now they’re on to past relationships. They met on match.com. He’s asking her if he’s being too forward. You think, you slob? THE BLENDER?!?!? ? I SWEAR TO GOD. SHE JUST ASKED HIM IF HE’S SLEPT WITH A LOT OF PEOPLE. AND THE FUCKING BLENDER WENT ON. I’D LIKE TO CUT THE POWER TO THIS PLACE RIGHT NOW, BUT THESE TWO WOULD BE NAKED IN THIRTY SECONDS. Are you shitting me? This guy is a pervert. Here they go. She just told him she thinks he’s very attractive. Now he’s pouring it on her. But he won’t stay on her. He keeps drifting back to other past disappointments. Would it kill you to give the old broad a compliment before you try and give her herpes, you sick animal?
So, I just visited Oscar. I got a chance to say goodbye. It’s hardly the first time I got more out of a conversation with the man than he did. But the thing is this. I made a quick turnaround on this trip. I left Thursday around noon, got back early Saturday night. By 8 o’ clock I was shitfaced again. I’m currently (I’d like to put it in past tense, but I know I can’t yet) drinking an insane amount. I’m talking an 18 pack of beer and at least a half pint of Jack Daniels, three or four times a week. (The reason for the lack of consistency in my drinking schedule is due to the fact that the days in between are spent in the throes of massive hangover.) Oscar’s condition awoke something in me.
I stood in the middle of the field behind my house, breathing the same life-giving air as him. (Of course we were 800 miles apart. And I was breathing mine through a cigarette, his through a tube.) Still, we were sharing the same life source. While I was standing there, finishing off a bottle of Jim Beam and I thought about words he had said to me over a year ago. I was at his place for Hanukkah Diner. (My first one, incidentally. Far surpassed any Hanukkah expectations.) I had recently come to the decision that I had to stop drinking. Enough was enough. Despite my hanging around the town well into my twenties, I was not in College anymore. I’d finally decided it was time for me to stop living as if I was. A few months later, I woke up in the middle of 81South, in my truck, upside down. That’s another story. I had sat down to talk with Oscar, My brother Jeff’s Father-in-Law. Not only a man who was fast becoming my close friend, but a medical Dr. for over fifty years. One of the things he said to me was, “What you’re doing if you’re actively abusing something, is… you’re not only robbing yourself of the life you deserve, you are robbing the people around you of their right to enjoy you. They deserve the right to you as you really are.” I’ve remembered this ever since he said it. Except for those times when I’ve forgotten it. Completely.