party-time wasting, one year later
I will never forget last 4th of July, even when I die & return to the Source -- beware the Dark Side of the Source!
Anyway, pop-cult allusions aside, yeah, last year we had a big party, as I was determined to give Trish some kind of 4th while she was laid up in a chair following her foot surgery. This year, Ed & Denise are gone, maybe I should invite Dan, Jeffer probably couldn't make it -- nonetheless, I am taking the food stamp card to Albertson's & will be picking up some pic-a-nic foods. Esp. hot dogs, buns, Pringle's, potato salad, & of couse Diet Mr. Fruity.
Yesterday, after I let Trish borrow one of my Seroquel, it worked a little too good: she didn't respond to the alarm clock. Once she was up, I fixed some pancakes with refrigerator water: pipeline was still busted from the nite before. I guess that I didn't put enough of our dwindling supply of refrigerator water in, or maybe it was because it was cold; whatever, they turned out gummy.
When Trish left for work, I tried to work on Noc-Lar, but only spent a couple hours on it, then split for the Soup Kitchen, & some yogurt & Gatorade at Albertson's. After that, I tried to nap -- I'd awakened at 4:00 AM again -- but Trish called (she was off work early, 'cause the dishwasher repairman arrived), Monty called (more car title problems), so I didn't nap enough during the day & wound up once more falling asleep in front of the TV.
Before that, though, we went upstairs while Trish was still washing clothes, in order to fix supper -- chicken -- & then when Trish was working on chores I called Hope, who, it turned out, was on the phone to her kids & called back. She, too, is on Seroquel & Risperdal, & fuck Scientology!
I slept soundly last nite, save for waking up at 3:00 to use the toilet, eventually slept until 5:30. A few minutes ago, I heard Trish talking in her sleep. I hope the Seroquel doesn't have a paradoxical effect & make her more agitated. With her racing thoughts, it seemed the ideal medicine for her -- not a (Karen Relationship) herb, not a (Scientology-fucking) tin can.
Brad still hasn't sent me the next chunk of his novel. I'll remind him when I finish this blog entry, & hopefully I'll be back to reading the book soon.
Anyway, pop-cult allusions aside, yeah, last year we had a big party, as I was determined to give Trish some kind of 4th while she was laid up in a chair following her foot surgery. This year, Ed & Denise are gone, maybe I should invite Dan, Jeffer probably couldn't make it -- nonetheless, I am taking the food stamp card to Albertson's & will be picking up some pic-a-nic foods. Esp. hot dogs, buns, Pringle's, potato salad, & of couse Diet Mr. Fruity.
Yesterday, after I let Trish borrow one of my Seroquel, it worked a little too good: she didn't respond to the alarm clock. Once she was up, I fixed some pancakes with refrigerator water: pipeline was still busted from the nite before. I guess that I didn't put enough of our dwindling supply of refrigerator water in, or maybe it was because it was cold; whatever, they turned out gummy.
When Trish left for work, I tried to work on Noc-Lar, but only spent a couple hours on it, then split for the Soup Kitchen, & some yogurt & Gatorade at Albertson's. After that, I tried to nap -- I'd awakened at 4:00 AM again -- but Trish called (she was off work early, 'cause the dishwasher repairman arrived), Monty called (more car title problems), so I didn't nap enough during the day & wound up once more falling asleep in front of the TV.
Before that, though, we went upstairs while Trish was still washing clothes, in order to fix supper -- chicken -- & then when Trish was working on chores I called Hope, who, it turned out, was on the phone to her kids & called back. She, too, is on Seroquel & Risperdal, & fuck Scientology!
I slept soundly last nite, save for waking up at 3:00 to use the toilet, eventually slept until 5:30. A few minutes ago, I heard Trish talking in her sleep. I hope the Seroquel doesn't have a paradoxical effect & make her more agitated. With her racing thoughts, it seemed the ideal medicine for her -- not a (Karen Relationship) herb, not a (Scientology-fucking) tin can.
Brad still hasn't sent me the next chunk of his novel. I'll remind him when I finish this blog entry, & hopefully I'll be back to reading the book soon.
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