First, and I know, this bit is my own fault, I just couldn’t stop researching to go to sleep this morning. After I read some cool freebies by Alyssa Brio, and some crappy freebies by…let’s call this author Anonymous, and ultimately got a three second call from my British actor friend –Yahoo is beginning to seriously annoy me–I tried to sleep. (Who DID catch up with me later, as you’ll see)
I was in and out when my sister went off to work. Shortly after that, though, someone else tried to go to work and failed…their car complained strenuously.
A little later, the big bird–my daughter’s bird (I love the guy, and I call him mine when he acts like he loves me back)–well, he likes a little song and dance in the morning. I get that 9:00 AM is actually late for birds to get up. Still, it’s early for me. Regardless, I played a few songs he likes but weren’t obnoxious to my half-asleep self. I should tell you now that I’m bad company when I wake up, no matter when that is. Doesn’t matter to Banana, though. He wants me front and center until he gets sleepy again. So, no going to the bathroom! Only, that’s a must for me first thing. A MUST!
So, Mr. Big Green Bird and I settle our disagreement and move on with our day. All is well…until I decide to take a shower.
I won’t paint you a vivid picture here, but let’s just say, things fell apart. I use a wheelchair–no leg strength and perpetual dizziness. That chair–nearly new, top of the line, ultra lightweight–started to fall apart. The brake went sideways…I always have problems with brakes. The side guard seemed to shoot forward when I tried to move from chair to shower bench. And then! And then! The whole thing just shot forward in a tilt. Mind you, I’m transferring to a lightweight, aluminum and plastic (think Rubber-Maid) portable bench. It didn’t absorb the sudden shift in weight as easily as you’d think.
I’m so glad I installed that extra gripper thing on the edge of the shower wall.
Finally, after my shot–hit a vein, of course, so lots of blood *sigh*–the bathroom follies were over.
What follows here are bits and clips from various conversations that took place through the early hours of the morning until now (names have been changed to protect…somebody):
BonitaTx: Oh, girl! I knew it! I knew you’d start dating again!
Me: What? Hi. Dating? Me? What are you talking about?
BonitaTx: Tom! You know–that guy who brings you flowers and all. Tom! I saw it on your blog.
Me: We’re neighbors. Buddies. Close friends. And why didn’t you comment? Are you allergic?
BonitaTx: Guys don’t buy flowers for no reason. You’re dating. You bought him that cup.
Me: We’ve never gone anywhere together. We’ve never had a meal together. We’re friends. It was his birthday.
BonitaTx: Whatever, girl. You’re dating. Accept it.
Me: He’s a great guy. Considerate, lives nearby–unlike — oh good grief. We’re not dating. it’s none of your business, and get a life.
BonitaTx: You’re dating.
Phone 9:30ish AM:
“Hello, J.! Sleep well?”
>”You woke me up, Ed.”
“We start early around here. So…have you given any thought to that article?”
>”What article? No. No thought.”
“Oh, come on! It could do us a lot of good. The business would pick up, who knows what could open up for you?”
>”Ed. I don’t teach anymore. I don’t want things opening up. I want sleep.”
“Don’t try to tell me you don’t need money. You’re home all day. What do you do all day? That writing thing can’t pay very much. I don’t hear your name on the news.”
“J.? You there?”
>”You know what, Ed? Never call me again. Write your own article…”
“Look, don’t be that way. I’m sorry I demeaned your hobby…”
>”Ed. If you’re bleeding, call 911. If you’re dying, call your mother. Never, ever call me again.”
I went back to sleep.
Bic: All right, GiGi?
Me: 🙂 Bic! What’s going on in the exciting world of stage and screen?
Bic: Who’s this Tom? I thought he was your neighbor?
Me: He IS my neighbor. SO?
Bic: What’s with all the pressies? Flowers?
Me: Good lord. What, you just read my blog, didn’t you? From the beginning, I suppose? and no comment? What’s with that?
Bic: I had down time. It’s not like I can ring you directly.
Me: You could. As long as you don’t wake me up. I’m not human then.
Bic: Like that cockup this morning, I s’pose? What of this boyfriend?
Me: No boyfriend. None. Tom is a dear friend. He’s a great guy, and if I did have a boyfriend, I’m sure I couldn’t do much better.
Bic: Are you sleeping with him?
Me: In light of our years of friendship, I’ll answer that nosy, intrusive, none-of-your-business question. No. We are not.
Bic: What do you mean you couldn’t do better than Tom?
Me: What is WRONG with you, Bic? Are you having some kind of a tantrum? You and I are friends. Longtime friends, yes. Platonic, longtime friends. No mushy stuff, no boy/girl stuff Friends.
Bic: We’ve talked about sex.
Me: Yes. When you feel like being gay–because your significant other is annoying you somehow. That’s it. And frankly, that’s plenty.
Bic: No need to get shirty. I’m just pointing out that I’m equally as good a friend as this Tom. And I would make a fine boyfriend, if the circumstances warranted.
Me: What a baby! Yes, I’m sure you would make a great boyfriend. As for being a better friend, I can’t say. Tom visited me in the hospital, brings me plants and flowers, in spite of the fact that i kill them, every time…and I can talk to him pretty much whenever. You, not so much. Besides, this isn’t a competition. I’ve written you into several stories and a few longer books.
Bic: That last one, Metamorphose? I wanted to be Wynn, but you made me Rand. I thought you were going to change that.
Me: *sigh* You’re kidding right? They’re both British, you can be whichever one you wanted. If it makes you feel better, I’ve never written Tom into a book.
Bic: It does. Thank you.