Been awhile since I've posted. Again. But I had a pretty good day at work -- busy, but decent -- so I figured I'd tell yins about it.
When I got to work this morning, I noticed that one of the baby bearded dragon tanks needed cleaned, so not only did I clean it, but I gave them a whole new tank. They were in a 20 gallon high aquarium (12" x 24") and I put them into a 20 gallon long (12" x 30") so they'd have more room.
Around that point, I noticed that our Chinese Water Dragon's mouth was stuck to the cage carpet in his tank. So I figured I switch the carpet out for something less hazardous, and while I was at that, I gave him a whole new tank. I took him out of a ten gallon tank (12" x 20") and put him in the 20 high that the beardeds were in. Everyone was happy.
At the end of my lunch break some hours later, Erin told me she had a job for me. "I know you just did it, but we got a California Kingsnake, and I need you to set up a tank for him and make some room." (The reason here being the fact that other than Erin herself, I'm the only person there that isn't afraid of snakes.)
So the Chinese Water Dragon had to go back into a 10 gallon tank, the beardeds had to go in a 10 gallon tank, and I had to set up a 20 long for this four foot snake we just got in. I'd done most of it, and as I was setting up the tank for the snake, I happened to glance at the storage bin the people brought the snake in and found him hanging halfway out of it.
Snakes are quite the escape artists, as you can see.
Shortly after getting all that set up, someone came in that wanted to see the kingsnake. Now, mind you, he was perfectly okay with me handling him not fifteen minutes prior to all this, but when I reached into his tank and grabbed him, he snapped his head around and gave my hand a good stare-down.
So I said to the snake, "OK bud, if you're gonna bite me, you better do it now and get it out of your system." And I kept my hand there, still holding on to him (because jerking it away would have been a really stupid idea). He stared at it for a moment, flicked his tongue once or twice, then I guess he decided it was too much effort to bite so he let me lift him out of the tank and he was fine. He even seemed to enjoy being handled (though not as much as Mickey, the three-and-a-half foot ball python we have that bites everyone but me).
Also, earlier in the day, I got the bright idea to see if bearded dragons would eat goldfish. Being that they come from Australia, goldfish aren't exactly what you'd call a typical snack for your average beardie, but I was curious. And if you ever own a bearded dragon, let me just say, you should buy two feeder goldfish -- one, to see if your bearded will eat it, and the second because if he does, put it in his water dish. That's a good fifteen minutes of entertainment for both you and your beardie.
Of course, one of the beardeds was afraid of the goldfish, but when I reached in to pick it up, the beardie decided my hand looked a lot tastier. Fortunately, he went for the palm of my hand and didn't find any flesh to take a bite out of. (Yes, they have teeth. I would not like to find my finger in the mouth of a bearded dragon.)
And to end the excitement of the day, Brian found a black widow spider in the parrot food. Mind you, it was a male, which means its bite won't kill you, but it will certainly send you to the ER. Isn't that just splendid? It's bad enough that sometimes our crickets come with a notice saying "Caution: May contain black widow spiders," but now apparently so does our parrot food.
I just love my job.
So... an update? I'm not even sure I remember how to do this properly. Um, current song? Something like that? He he.
But anyways, I guess there's a lot to cover. Dad's been in the hospital, come out of the hospital, almost ended up back in the hospital. Now, I think he's pretty much done drinking but he's back to being an asshole again. Kind of how he was four or so years ago. From what I gather, when things aren't going well in his life, I get to be the verbal punching bag. Splendid, isn't it?
But enough of that, let's move onto happier things, shall we? John got a job working at Get Go (a gas station, for those of you that don't live around here). He pretty much hates the hours he gets, but likes most of the people that he works with, so that's cool. For his first paycheck, he took me out to dinner for the first time, which was epic. We went to a bar/restaurant thing in Monroeville, owned by this little old Italian lady who makes some of the best hoagies on the planet. NOM NOM NOM.
We're working on him and his sister getting their drivers' licenses. Both of them have got parallel parking pretty much down pat, and from there, the rest is simple. (And we'll ignore the fact that Bethy almost wrecked my car one fine afternoon by trying to switch lanes without checking her blind spot. We've all been there, one way or another.)
My job's the same as ever. I'm still underpaid, I still do more work than almost anyone else that works there, and I still don't get raises. Such is life. But then, with Dad morphing back into the asshole inside, I'll probably move in with John sooner rather than later and have to get a new job. Which hopefully will not be at a pet store because I'm tired of paying beaucoup bucks for asthma meds. Or at least if it is at a pet store, hopefully I get benefits so it all works out.
I had to get rid of my bearded dragons, which sucks. Turns out Dad was allergic to every form of bedding that I'm not allergic to. So I took them to the store and we put them up for sale. A guy I know bought Goliath. And interestingly enough, Sebastion and Ariel are two new breeder dragons that we're gonna keep at the store. So at least I get to see them.
My mom's pissed off at me, cus of the whole Mother's Day thing. My phone was dead and I couldn't get it to charge, so I couldn't wish her a happy mom's day. The next morning when I finally got my phone back on, I had a text message saying "Thanks for taking five minutes out of your day to wish me a happy mother's day." So I replied back "Thanks for assuming I did it to be an asshole." Now we're not talking.
Kind of sad that I said "let's move on to happier things" and here I am rambling about mostly unpleasant bullshit. Well, life kinda sucks right now. That's about all I've got.
Peace out, homies.
But anyways, I guess there's a lot to cover. Dad's been in the hospital, come out of the hospital, almost ended up back in the hospital. Now, I think he's pretty much done drinking but he's back to being an asshole again. Kind of how he was four or so years ago. From what I gather, when things aren't going well in his life, I get to be the verbal punching bag. Splendid, isn't it?
But enough of that, let's move onto happier things, shall we? John got a job working at Get Go (a gas station, for those of you that don't live around here). He pretty much hates the hours he gets, but likes most of the people that he works with, so that's cool. For his first paycheck, he took me out to dinner for the first time, which was epic. We went to a bar/restaurant thing in Monroeville, owned by this little old Italian lady who makes some of the best hoagies on the planet. NOM NOM NOM.
We're working on him and his sister getting their drivers' licenses. Both of them have got parallel parking pretty much down pat, and from there, the rest is simple. (And we'll ignore the fact that Bethy almost wrecked my car one fine afternoon by trying to switch lanes without checking her blind spot. We've all been there, one way or another.)
My job's the same as ever. I'm still underpaid, I still do more work than almost anyone else that works there, and I still don't get raises. Such is life. But then, with Dad morphing back into the asshole inside, I'll probably move in with John sooner rather than later and have to get a new job. Which hopefully will not be at a pet store because I'm tired of paying beaucoup bucks for asthma meds. Or at least if it is at a pet store, hopefully I get benefits so it all works out.
I had to get rid of my bearded dragons, which sucks. Turns out Dad was allergic to every form of bedding that I'm not allergic to. So I took them to the store and we put them up for sale. A guy I know bought Goliath. And interestingly enough, Sebastion and Ariel are two new breeder dragons that we're gonna keep at the store. So at least I get to see them.
My mom's pissed off at me, cus of the whole Mother's Day thing. My phone was dead and I couldn't get it to charge, so I couldn't wish her a happy mom's day. The next morning when I finally got my phone back on, I had a text message saying "Thanks for taking five minutes out of your day to wish me a happy mother's day." So I replied back "Thanks for assuming I did it to be an asshole." Now we're not talking.
Kind of sad that I said "let's move on to happier things" and here I am rambling about mostly unpleasant bullshit. Well, life kinda sucks right now. That's about all I've got.
Peace out, homies.
I gotta share this story with everyone. It might just be the funniest thing I've ever heard. True story. Lori (lady I work with) has a sister. Lori's sister has a son with a mental handicap. I don't know how old or anything, but I'd guess he's at least a teenager. They have to leave him home by himself while they're working (Lori's sister and her husband, that is), but he follows the rules (i.e., don't touch the stove, etc), and he has to call and check in every couple of hours.
Well one day last week, the kid's home by himself, and calls his mom to check in. He tells her what he's watching on TV, what he's been doing all day, stuff like that. And he says, "Mom, I caught a troll!"
She's like "That's nice honey" or something along those lines, and they hang up. A couple hours go by and he calls back to check in again. He tells her everything's okay and all that. And again, "Mom, I caught a troll!"
"That's nice honey. Good for you."
The end of the day comes and Lori's sister heads home from work. When she gets there she hears screaming coming from the closet. Her son's there and he says "Mom, that's the troll I caught! He's in there!"
So Lori's sister opens the closet and a midget runs out. No joke. A midget. The son picks him back up and tries to stuff him back in the closet until his mom stops him, apologizing frantically to the guy.
Apparently, he was a Jehovah's Witness, who came to the door, and the boy, having never seen a midget before, thought he was a troll, picked him up, and locked him in the closet. Poor guy was in there for hours.
Just goes to show though--yet another reason why Jehovah's Witnesses should stay the fuck home.
Well one day last week, the kid's home by himself, and calls his mom to check in. He tells her what he's watching on TV, what he's been doing all day, stuff like that. And he says, "Mom, I caught a troll!"
She's like "That's nice honey" or something along those lines, and they hang up. A couple hours go by and he calls back to check in again. He tells her everything's okay and all that. And again, "Mom, I caught a troll!"
"That's nice honey. Good for you."
The end of the day comes and Lori's sister heads home from work. When she gets there she hears screaming coming from the closet. Her son's there and he says "Mom, that's the troll I caught! He's in there!"
So Lori's sister opens the closet and a midget runs out. No joke. A midget. The son picks him back up and tries to stuff him back in the closet until his mom stops him, apologizing frantically to the guy.
Apparently, he was a Jehovah's Witness, who came to the door, and the boy, having never seen a midget before, thought he was a troll, picked him up, and locked him in the closet. Poor guy was in there for hours.
Just goes to show though--yet another reason why Jehovah's Witnesses should stay the fuck home.
Edit: They've moved Dad out of the hospital in New Castle and transferred him to Allegheny General in Pittsburgh. They don't know why he's so tired, and Allegheny General has liver specialists, so they figure he'd be in better hands there. Plus Jameson (our hospital) sucks terribly. The general rule of thumb in town is if they say they need to do surgery of any kind, you say you wanna go to Pittsburgh.
But he's in better hands, even if that means that we can't visit him as conveniently as before. John and I are going to head down after work today to see him. Hopefully they can give us more info than the doctors at Jameson did.
Most of you are on my Facebook so you have some idea of what's going on, but I figured I'd make a post to fill in the gaps in case you were wondering.
Yins all remember the post awhile back about Dad hallucinating, yes? Well, something like that. Only worse. See, rather than hallucinating this time around, he pretty much turned into a zombie. Let me take you back...
Monday through Thursday of last week he was sick as a dog. Throwing up, cold sweats, general soreness and fatigue. He figured he caught some kind of bug.
Friday I have no idea. I don't think I spoke to him at all. I went to work, came home, got online, went to bed. He was in his room through all of this. I think that may be when the worst of it started.
Saturday I went to work. When I came home, Dad had been in bed all day. The dog was freaking out because he'd been ignored all day. I tried asking Dad about my car insurance, but I couldn't get a whole lot out of him. Basically, he was slurring his words together so badly I could barely make out what he was saying. Plus he was pretty much repeating my questions in sentence form. Later that night, he wouldn't talk at all. If I asked him if he was OK, he just stared at me. It was creepy.
Sunday, same deal, except I was getting more than a little worried, not only because he didn't respond to much at all, but also because I could conclusively say that he'd not eaten or drank anything in at least two days. Not eating in that long? Who cares? Not drinking in that long? A hell of a lot more important. So I went out and bought Gatorade and forced some down his gullet. I figured if he showed no improvement by morning, one way or another, his ass was going to the hospital.
Monday he was just as bad. He didn't know who I was, his eyes and skin were very yellow, and his urine was dark brown (and I know this because he stopped flushing the toilet--and aiming properly, I might add). So I called off work, and before I called an ambulance, I called Lisa just to check to see if Dad had insurance because I wasn't just 100% sure about that. Long story short, she talked to him and convinced him to go to the hospital, so my job was to get him dressed and in the car to go. That took awhile because his motor functions were iffy to say the least. But within the span of an hour I got him to the emergency room.
Almost five hours later, they moved him into the critical care unit, drugged him up because he wasn't being nice when they were trying to run tests, and I went home, then left shortly after to go pick up John because I needed the company.
Nearly five days later, here's where we're at. Dad has alcoholic hepatitis and cirrhosis of the liver. His ammonia levels were sky high, which is the main reason for the confusion on his part. They've got that pretty much fixed, but he's still pretty yellow, meaning still has jaundice really bad.
A lot of what put him in there were those detox meds he was taking combined with alcohol withdraws. But now, while he's mostly 'better' except for the jaundice, he just wants to sleep all the time. When we visit him, he knows who everyone is, but the only way to engage him in conversation is to ask questions and shake him to make sure he's awake enough to hear and respond. They really can't do anything with him until he starts waking up enough to move around. So when we visit him, we have to keep nagging at him to stay awake, which in turn, pisses him the fuck off.
As far as the rest of his recovery is concerned, provided they fix whatever else is wrong with him, and he summons the willpower to stay awake, they can fix his liver enough that it won't get any worse. It may get better, it may stay the same, but his condition won't worsen, as long as he stops drinking for good.
If, however, he continues drinking, he's pretty much done for. If I hadn't taken him to the hospital when I did, his liver would have shut down completely and he'd have been dead by now.
That's where I'm at right now. Life pretty much just sucks a whole lot this week. Happy Fucking Easter.
But he's in better hands, even if that means that we can't visit him as conveniently as before. John and I are going to head down after work today to see him. Hopefully they can give us more info than the doctors at Jameson did.
Most of you are on my Facebook so you have some idea of what's going on, but I figured I'd make a post to fill in the gaps in case you were wondering.
Yins all remember the post awhile back about Dad hallucinating, yes? Well, something like that. Only worse. See, rather than hallucinating this time around, he pretty much turned into a zombie. Let me take you back...
Monday through Thursday of last week he was sick as a dog. Throwing up, cold sweats, general soreness and fatigue. He figured he caught some kind of bug.
Friday I have no idea. I don't think I spoke to him at all. I went to work, came home, got online, went to bed. He was in his room through all of this. I think that may be when the worst of it started.
Saturday I went to work. When I came home, Dad had been in bed all day. The dog was freaking out because he'd been ignored all day. I tried asking Dad about my car insurance, but I couldn't get a whole lot out of him. Basically, he was slurring his words together so badly I could barely make out what he was saying. Plus he was pretty much repeating my questions in sentence form. Later that night, he wouldn't talk at all. If I asked him if he was OK, he just stared at me. It was creepy.
Sunday, same deal, except I was getting more than a little worried, not only because he didn't respond to much at all, but also because I could conclusively say that he'd not eaten or drank anything in at least two days. Not eating in that long? Who cares? Not drinking in that long? A hell of a lot more important. So I went out and bought Gatorade and forced some down his gullet. I figured if he showed no improvement by morning, one way or another, his ass was going to the hospital.
Monday he was just as bad. He didn't know who I was, his eyes and skin were very yellow, and his urine was dark brown (and I know this because he stopped flushing the toilet--and aiming properly, I might add). So I called off work, and before I called an ambulance, I called Lisa just to check to see if Dad had insurance because I wasn't just 100% sure about that. Long story short, she talked to him and convinced him to go to the hospital, so my job was to get him dressed and in the car to go. That took awhile because his motor functions were iffy to say the least. But within the span of an hour I got him to the emergency room.
Almost five hours later, they moved him into the critical care unit, drugged him up because he wasn't being nice when they were trying to run tests, and I went home, then left shortly after to go pick up John because I needed the company.
Nearly five days later, here's where we're at. Dad has alcoholic hepatitis and cirrhosis of the liver. His ammonia levels were sky high, which is the main reason for the confusion on his part. They've got that pretty much fixed, but he's still pretty yellow, meaning still has jaundice really bad.
A lot of what put him in there were those detox meds he was taking combined with alcohol withdraws. But now, while he's mostly 'better' except for the jaundice, he just wants to sleep all the time. When we visit him, he knows who everyone is, but the only way to engage him in conversation is to ask questions and shake him to make sure he's awake enough to hear and respond. They really can't do anything with him until he starts waking up enough to move around. So when we visit him, we have to keep nagging at him to stay awake, which in turn, pisses him the fuck off.
As far as the rest of his recovery is concerned, provided they fix whatever else is wrong with him, and he summons the willpower to stay awake, they can fix his liver enough that it won't get any worse. It may get better, it may stay the same, but his condition won't worsen, as long as he stops drinking for good.
If, however, he continues drinking, he's pretty much done for. If I hadn't taken him to the hospital when I did, his liver would have shut down completely and he'd have been dead by now.
That's where I'm at right now. Life pretty much just sucks a whole lot this week. Happy Fucking Easter.
Current Song: 'Wheels' by the Foo Fighters.
John finally has a house. And by that I mean he really, truly, honestly, veritably has a place to live, and I don't have to worry about that anymore. It's in Monroeville, which is about an hour and a half away from here. Not the nicest drive, but Punxsutawney was farther.
And best of all, I don't have to drive all over western Pennsylvania anymore. Seriously, I've driven from New Castle to Butler, to Kittanning, to Punxsutawney, to Midway, to Fox Chapel, to New Kensington, and now to Monroeville all to either pick John up or drop him off. Check this out...
And now I don't have to do that anymore! But I digress...
His new house is a cute little ranch house with a pretty nifty view of the hills surrounding Monroeville. He has a semi-large yard, a puny little driveway, and concrete steps from hell leading up to the main entrance.
I spent the last three days down there helping them get all their shit out of storage and into said house. That, ladies and gents, was a bitch. I'm sore, achy, and exhausted.
Nonetheless, I needed a break from Dad.
I drove to New Kensington to meet him and his mom on Monday, so we could go to storage and load both vehicles up. Then we pretty much spent the next few days moving shit around and carrying it up those god-forsaken steps.
But pretty much all their shit is in the house now. One of the last things we did was to put the appropriate mattresses in the appropriate rooms, so now everyone has a bed and John and I didn't have to sleep on the floor any longer.
I woke up at 8 this morning, after a wonderful five hours of sleep and drove back here to go to work. Since I'm still sore and all-around miserable, today was not a fun day at work.
Dad just got home a bit ago. He's drunk. But he seems normally drunk, so hopefully I won't see him sitting on the couch talking to someone who's not there.
So things are better. Not perfect, but better.
John finally has a house. And by that I mean he really, truly, honestly, veritably has a place to live, and I don't have to worry about that anymore. It's in Monroeville, which is about an hour and a half away from here. Not the nicest drive, but Punxsutawney was farther.
And best of all, I don't have to drive all over western Pennsylvania anymore. Seriously, I've driven from New Castle to Butler, to Kittanning, to Punxsutawney, to Midway, to Fox Chapel, to New Kensington, and now to Monroeville all to either pick John up or drop him off. Check this out...
And now I don't have to do that anymore! But I digress...
His new house is a cute little ranch house with a pretty nifty view of the hills surrounding Monroeville. He has a semi-large yard, a puny little driveway, and concrete steps from hell leading up to the main entrance.
I spent the last three days down there helping them get all their shit out of storage and into said house. That, ladies and gents, was a bitch. I'm sore, achy, and exhausted.
Nonetheless, I needed a break from Dad.
I drove to New Kensington to meet him and his mom on Monday, so we could go to storage and load both vehicles up. Then we pretty much spent the next few days moving shit around and carrying it up those god-forsaken steps.
But pretty much all their shit is in the house now. One of the last things we did was to put the appropriate mattresses in the appropriate rooms, so now everyone has a bed and John and I didn't have to sleep on the floor any longer.
I woke up at 8 this morning, after a wonderful five hours of sleep and drove back here to go to work. Since I'm still sore and all-around miserable, today was not a fun day at work.
Dad just got home a bit ago. He's drunk. But he seems normally drunk, so hopefully I won't see him sitting on the couch talking to someone who's not there.
So things are better. Not perfect, but better.
Current Song: 'Angie' by The Rolling Stones.
This is a very difficult night for me. All in all, it's not really that bad. It's just difficult. I'm sore and tired from work, but that's the least of my concerns right now.
John and I have been fighting a lot this past week. I was down there from Saturday until Monday, and everything was fine then. They're moving to Monroeville, so I helped them load up Nick's truck and John's mom's van with stuff and bring it over to their house. It's a cute little ranch house.
But they're still moving and I have to work the rest of week, so I can't help. That's causing a lot of problems for John and me because I said I would help. I just can't justify calling off work when I have about $300 worth of bills that need paid in the next two weeks. I wouldn't be able to afford the gas to drive back and forth if I still want to pay said bills.
So that's why we're fighting just about every day. He texted me today at work to say we should probably take a little break from one another while we both do what we need to do in our lives. I don't really want to, but I think he's probably right.
That, and we're both tired of fighting.
So that's on my list of concerns for the evening too. But more than both of those is my dad. I've mentioned to most of you that he's an alcoholic. Well, it's gotten a lot worse in the last few years. To the point now where even he admits it. He gets headaches and nausea and shakes so badly he can't even write when he doesn't drink. The other day, he went to the doctor's office to see about getting detoxed. They gave him pills to help him with it.
Yesterday was his first day taking the meds and they (combined with not drinking) made him feel so miserable that he had to make a drink and sip at it all day to keep the nausea at bay. This morning I asked him how he was feeling and he said he felt a lot better.
I went to work, came home, and Dad's pretty much incoherent. I don't know how much he drank or what all he did, but he can barely walk, can barely talk, and he's hallucinating.
He wasn't home when I got home from work, but not long afterwards one of his friends (who's probably the biggest pot head in town) pulled in the driveway in Dad's car and called me while Dad was stumbling into the house. He wanted to warn me that Dad's pretty out of it and to not let him drive and to keep an eye on him.
The fact that this guy, who's baked every time I see him, felt he needed to drive Dad home and call me to let me know, should tell you something right there.
And to elaborate on what I mean by 'hallucinating', I was watching and episode of Penn & Teller's Bullshit on the computer and Dad was wandering around the kitchen talking. I couldn't hear him at first, but then I heard him say, "Is that John?"
I said "No, it's a TV show." And he replied with "No, not that. In the living room."
I told him he just walked through the living room and there was no one there. He insisted there was, so I stopped the video and told him there's no one here but us. He asked if there was a 'male' in the house anywhere aside from him. I said no. He didn't believe me, so he staggered into the living room to see for himself. No one there. The TV was off.
Stuff like this has been going on for the last two hours. It's uncomfortable and I really wish he'd just go lay down. I don't know what the fuck he did while I was at work--whether he smoked a joint or just drank too much or both--but he's in quite a state and I'm concerned.
So that's my evening. I wish it would end.
EDIT - 12:54 AM
So he wrecked his car now. He was all dressed to go to bed (in his skivvies), after asking me to make him soup then denying that he ever wanted it. Not long after, he was dressed and up and grabbed his keys. I asked him where he was going and he said to the store. I told him he shouldn't be driving, but he insisted he was fine and just needed to run up the street. He left, and was back in the house 30 seconds later.
"Slip on a pair of shoes and come outside with me."
So we went outside because he wanted to show me how to add oil to a car (as if I didn't already know). Then he left. About two minutes later, he was back. Only one headlight was shining. Turns out he thought he was waving at his pot head friend, and drifted right into a telephone pole. He's okay, but his car's not.
"Aren't you supposed to get a rental car, Steph?"
"Why would I be getting a rental car?"
"Because they're gonna do the paint on my car tomorrow and I'm going to need a vehicle."
That's when I asked him to just go to bed and we'll figure it all out in the morning. He handed me the video camera and asked me to record him so he can see 'how wild' he really is.
Fifteen minutes later, he runs to the door because he insisted that someone just was in here and said they were going to go dancing. He's been thinking there are other people here all night. So we went to the door and I had to assure him that no one was here, no one has been here, and no one is going to show up.
I don't know what's going on in his head right now--he just asked me if the dog was still in here playing when the dog's been laying down for quite some time now--but possible updates to come, as much as I hope they don't.
This is a very difficult night for me. All in all, it's not really that bad. It's just difficult. I'm sore and tired from work, but that's the least of my concerns right now.
John and I have been fighting a lot this past week. I was down there from Saturday until Monday, and everything was fine then. They're moving to Monroeville, so I helped them load up Nick's truck and John's mom's van with stuff and bring it over to their house. It's a cute little ranch house.
But they're still moving and I have to work the rest of week, so I can't help. That's causing a lot of problems for John and me because I said I would help. I just can't justify calling off work when I have about $300 worth of bills that need paid in the next two weeks. I wouldn't be able to afford the gas to drive back and forth if I still want to pay said bills.
So that's why we're fighting just about every day. He texted me today at work to say we should probably take a little break from one another while we both do what we need to do in our lives. I don't really want to, but I think he's probably right.
That, and we're both tired of fighting.
So that's on my list of concerns for the evening too. But more than both of those is my dad. I've mentioned to most of you that he's an alcoholic. Well, it's gotten a lot worse in the last few years. To the point now where even he admits it. He gets headaches and nausea and shakes so badly he can't even write when he doesn't drink. The other day, he went to the doctor's office to see about getting detoxed. They gave him pills to help him with it.
Yesterday was his first day taking the meds and they (combined with not drinking) made him feel so miserable that he had to make a drink and sip at it all day to keep the nausea at bay. This morning I asked him how he was feeling and he said he felt a lot better.
I went to work, came home, and Dad's pretty much incoherent. I don't know how much he drank or what all he did, but he can barely walk, can barely talk, and he's hallucinating.
He wasn't home when I got home from work, but not long afterwards one of his friends (who's probably the biggest pot head in town) pulled in the driveway in Dad's car and called me while Dad was stumbling into the house. He wanted to warn me that Dad's pretty out of it and to not let him drive and to keep an eye on him.
The fact that this guy, who's baked every time I see him, felt he needed to drive Dad home and call me to let me know, should tell you something right there.
And to elaborate on what I mean by 'hallucinating', I was watching and episode of Penn & Teller's Bullshit on the computer and Dad was wandering around the kitchen talking. I couldn't hear him at first, but then I heard him say, "Is that John?"
I said "No, it's a TV show." And he replied with "No, not that. In the living room."
I told him he just walked through the living room and there was no one there. He insisted there was, so I stopped the video and told him there's no one here but us. He asked if there was a 'male' in the house anywhere aside from him. I said no. He didn't believe me, so he staggered into the living room to see for himself. No one there. The TV was off.
Stuff like this has been going on for the last two hours. It's uncomfortable and I really wish he'd just go lay down. I don't know what the fuck he did while I was at work--whether he smoked a joint or just drank too much or both--but he's in quite a state and I'm concerned.
So that's my evening. I wish it would end.
EDIT - 12:54 AM
So he wrecked his car now. He was all dressed to go to bed (in his skivvies), after asking me to make him soup then denying that he ever wanted it. Not long after, he was dressed and up and grabbed his keys. I asked him where he was going and he said to the store. I told him he shouldn't be driving, but he insisted he was fine and just needed to run up the street. He left, and was back in the house 30 seconds later.
"Slip on a pair of shoes and come outside with me."
So we went outside because he wanted to show me how to add oil to a car (as if I didn't already know). Then he left. About two minutes later, he was back. Only one headlight was shining. Turns out he thought he was waving at his pot head friend, and drifted right into a telephone pole. He's okay, but his car's not.
"Aren't you supposed to get a rental car, Steph?"
"Why would I be getting a rental car?"
"Because they're gonna do the paint on my car tomorrow and I'm going to need a vehicle."
That's when I asked him to just go to bed and we'll figure it all out in the morning. He handed me the video camera and asked me to record him so he can see 'how wild' he really is.
Fifteen minutes later, he runs to the door because he insisted that someone just was in here and said they were going to go dancing. He's been thinking there are other people here all night. So we went to the door and I had to assure him that no one was here, no one has been here, and no one is going to show up.
I don't know what's going on in his head right now--he just asked me if the dog was still in here playing when the dog's been laying down for quite some time now--but possible updates to come, as much as I hope they don't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
