not sure

"Welcome to my world."
"What happened to my rope?"

talk to people

I move on but slowly from Sal in Do the Right Thing being blown out the window by Public Enemy to this Sunday morning listening to the Pick and Bows Bluegrass show. That does not mean I am not ready. I awoke at 2 a.m. last night with my door open to the bathroom night light and digital bars of illumination from my clock radio. A howling came from the woods. Not necessarily an animal - dog, coyote - but maybe a drifter. I swam out of bed and felt for my chair already angled to the window. I listened, anticipating large stick snaps. Maybe a change in the backyard light. Nothing like that happened.

I did not schedule this engine explosion into my weekly calendar next to a couple phone calls. I realize - just see - now that I did not schedule a day to buy oil either. Would I have bought 5 quarts had I safely driven that last 1/4 - 1/2 mile to Sears Optical? Or would I have risked it again until Saturday when I would be in a shopping center? The distance from Sears Optical to Wal-Mart is one I could throw a hammer from parking lot to parking lot. Part of my problem is how I figured Wal-Mart was the only place to buy oil. Like Dalton didn't have a Napa store.

I believe that without this little circumstance I would have dropped a couple things from my pocket into my car, walked to Wal-Mart, bought oil and returned. Again, I try to say it without influence of the present. That 2 for $99 deal raised to $280 not including a $60 eye exam and I didn't care. In fact, awesome. Two pairs, with 2 year warranty, clean, spotless lenses. Plus, baby, I still have the pair I wear that I would wear at hard places.

Do you see what I mean? It's not that I was beginning to put pieces in the right places it's that I was on a winning streak of round peg in round hole, etc.

Money. It felt good to have after earning it the last six weeks, but it felt better spending it on my terms. I bought-to-own at an auction, that memorable Goodwill visit and I paid in advance for a movie ticket.

Drum roll please. It is the whole engine, it is a lot of money and they don't throw in brakes, A/C, a front windshield, a passenger's side window motor and lifetime car washes.

I just have to say this last thing because in one sentence this is how I've thought about it. I didn't need this reinforcement to shape me up. Did I tell you more about that talk I asked to have? How it was for my long term emotional health? I would love to tell you the many positive reinforcement of the last six weeks but they would also be too long to list.

(Deep breath) It's okay. I was asked, "But you are okay, right?" And I am. And I didn't injure anyone else.

Haha, oh goodness, yesterday I sweated to soaked with a workout.

beaten up, no bruises

Here is what I did today and I am already sorry. On the third day of a check oil light, I actually drove the speed limit and a little above while checking my mirrors for police and looking ahead for white and brown cars with a full grill. I left Shady Lawn and wanted to keep my 12 p.m. appointment at Sears Optical. I laid the gas on and was beautifully confident I'd pull my car to the parking lot with enough time to circle for the shadiest side. This morning I passed in the left lane for - knowingly - the second time in a year.

I normally drive 5 below the speed limit. The RPM gauge is the one I really pay attention to. Above 2000 and I begin to back off. I don't make many friends on the road that way, I know.

Onto Burbank Ave., less than a change in a song away and the road inclines slightly and my car suddenly can't handle it. (GASP)(GASP) Gas tank is full after filled on Sunday. The oil - "the lifeblood of a car" - is causing a heart attack. Is the lack of power my reluctance to push the gas now that I know I am going to make it to Sears on time? Push a little harder and I'm not getting a response. There is a light up ahead and it's red.

Right here is where hindsight could blind a prairie wagon driver before he leads his horses off the edge.

At the next light I made it to I had all reason to be t-boned because I didn't stop at the red light. That SUV must have seen my emergency lights. A gas station with parking spaces on the corner was more than just logical. It was bleedin' needed. The engine kicked off as I tried to square up my parking spot. Made pretty good time.

I am now at Jason's house. I have the need to talk a lot tonight and listen to anything about his life. He's watching the basketball game. He laughed at something right as I typed, "Made pretty good time." I know I quickly did get over it. Chugging it to the shade of an overpass and hugging your knees on a cool concrete pad will unwind a stomach.

I really like the two pairs of frames I bought at Sears Optical. Eye exam included, I spent three hours in there. Thought about the car some but mostly tried to open my eyes more and a little more. You know, I brought two pairs of my glasses included the ones on my face. The other I put in a pot of steaming rice and vegetables because a couple scratches were in my direct sight line. Those lenses ate the dust.

I bought 5 quarts in Sears' backyard Wal-Mart. I also bought those sun shades for the front windshield. I pleaded that buying it would be a present to my car. And it's a Toyota Camry. I never forgot that. That it could haul and handle my stupid ass.

I unbuttoned my shirt and hung it on the hanger I keep. In my tank top I popped the hood and the opening guzzled all five quarts with thirst to spare. I am going to close the hood because I have done my part. These are the skills I have. It's going to work and I am going to drive away or I am already parked and I'll ask a cashier for the station's address to tell the tow truck.

IT'S WORKING! IT'S WORKING. I told you what these Toyotas can do. It sounds like my car. Motor as loud as an overworked Xbox. I sat with my door open blotting with water three spots from my pants I thought were oil. Ah, that's the damage, pants I bought two weeks ago and am wearing for the first time. I would use them for a rag at this moment.

Five minutes at idle and let's get to it. Reeved it and reversed it. I think I had my window down leaving the station. Turned on a green light and, man, I told you what these Toyotas can do. Back on schedule. Been a good day, really. One pair of brown frames and one pair of black frames. Spent two and a half hours at Shady Lawn visiting Catholic senior citizen residents. I settled a concern with Gladis who three weeks ago gave me $15 to give to Marie in the beauty salon. She was out and I left it at the front desk. I missed the last two Thursdays. Gladis may have thought I put in three months of weekly visits only to rip her off for $15. I knocked and introduced myself to Ralph for the first time. Gladis calls him a flirt. Lois says he took her place at dinner. I didn't see a bed in his room. I don't know where he sleeps.

I started a YA audiobook yesterday. Listened to the first disc while trimming four palm-like bushes.  Scratched myself on every exposed piece of skin but lived with it because they surround the pool and that's where I was headed. Swam with Amelia, dried in the sun, dropped my trunks and returned with disc two to my room. Dropped the towel and laid down. This I did: I set a flashlight on my sternum. I have a crease there too. It felt like those relaxing black rocks of a massage package. I fell asleep and woke up two hours later with my flashlight and wanting more day.

The car didn't survive long on route 30. I can't tell you if at that point I worsened the damage. I went to the emergency lights and the shoulder quickly. C'mon oil, circulate! At some point with a stop and go again and about 10 mini horsepower, I vowed to make it to an overpass, car willing. I would stop there.

I mentally removed the tire iron from the trunk and broke 10 toes and five fingers. I did what I was asked to prevent. I have owned the car for eight years. I have come to love the car. Love it for it's year round heat. Love it for a lot more.

I composed myself within five minutes of straight sitting. Before that there was five minutes of in and out of the car and walking in the grass and not a bar on my phone. I looked up from between my legs and looked at my blinking car lights. I was not waving for help and no fellow drivers stopped. It was first a surreal, "How did I get here?" and "Why me?" That came while I was composed. But then I composed myself better. I did it on money terms and quickly accepted the thousand place minus one.

Brad from Rohr's Towing helped with composure. "We all make mistakes." That means this isn't the last one I'll make. My teeth haven't been rattled lately. A mechanic does his work and I'll pay my bill.

12/13/11

The date I now see stamped on the bottom of an empty bag that once held 50 lbs. of oatmeal. I ate it all single-mouthedly.

Here's something else: a mustache is a good thing to have on face.

or and but

Am I going to be all right Doc or my last session with Dr. Karger.

a talk I asked to have

My tape recording is playing back at one squealing speed. I never knew I sounded like such an animated chipmunk! Toggling between the 2.4cm and 1.2 cm speed is doing nothing when it should be doing exactly its function. I recorded it on 1.2 cm speed and have tried re-playing it and now flipping the cassette back and forth and any other up and down button pushes.

It hasn't rode with me many places lately but it did three weeks ago to Wooster. With a lot of directed excitement, I have the picture in my head of recording before merging on the highway. Because I only had two sessions left and if I was going to finish with something, I would have to bring progress to talk about.

High speed or low speed, I can hear the sound cars left across the side of my car when they passed. What sounds like rain might just be me switching the the tape recorder between hands.

But I don't need to transcribe it anymore. I initiated a talk with my parents last night. No notes, just questions I have asked myself a lot, questions I asked to Dr. Karger first and most questions that I asked with calm inquiry and one question that took at least 60 seconds of silence of a mouth as torturous to open as a trapped door.

I imagined this talk could be the pre-wedding scene in "Late Spring" or the eruption in "Death of a Salesman." Yes, I would have liked ... to have said I put it more eloquently of my heart but after my short list of questions I needed reconciled, what I am thankful for is too long and still not completely realized.

looks like the aftermath of duct tape

BEST APPLICATION OF SOUPY CALAMINE LOTION ON POISON IVY EVER! THANK YOU PRISM SHAPED BLUSH THING!

brown eyed shoe

You wouldn't believe the length a size thirteen dress shoe with an extra inch of rubber sole combined at stern and bow and a size twelve Doc boot add together and leave little room when placed under a twin bed. Split up four other pairs of shoes and you have the under-bed space I work with for footwear. Accessible from both sides of the bed, the rows of three line up an inch or two behind the rail because my toes tread deliberately in my room and use the space up to my ankle and shin. So the shoes are pulled out, you see? Leaving a narrow hallway underneath for a seventh pair of shoes. Single file down the the carpet, my new bought brown shoes have their one place to go. If something would ever happen to me and they came flipping over mattresses looking for the loot, they'd peer past the woods slats and see those shoes, folded pants my hangers are too weak to hold and flat and square anythings against the back wall. They'd think, "Neat guy. He stacks his pajama pants on top of his chappy-like pants and piles his jeans separately."

An instant-found use for the packaged cushion insert soles. White, with breathing holes, requiring no trimming at the perfect size 12, there are actually two pairs per package. As in, four separate slips all kissing each other in the package. OR there is one pair of extra thick soles. At a buck a pop, I double up and insert slips white up and white down.

The shoes I bought are a brown. They cost $6. That's $3 a shoe. The story of a gently used pair of size 12 (US) Florsheim shoes is there. It has to be. Some man took care of these. Not a junior whose feet kept growing. I was looking for shoes. I think I am always looking for $10-$15 shoes. That's a pretty tight squeeze with no room for spender blisters, I know. I find them when I can and pay more when I have to.

Like a babies' accurate age, I am learning by sight to say, "Too small; foot won't fit." From the top see-through-to-the-other-side-to-see-a-woman-reading-the-twice-quantity-of-shoes shelf, pulled down, toe angled and looking for a number, it was the only pair I would have wanted to wear. I had time in the afternoon. I switched two boots for two shoes and gave them an honest try circling the furniture. Feel good. A little different feeling in the right shoe like he'd been on crutches for three months. "They are $6. I have bought Florsheim before."

I bought pants that were not ironed before someone bagged them, two steals on badly needed belts, Kenneth Branagh's four hour Hamlet and Steve Martin's 130 page Shopgirl. I'm not really the kind to imagine how two characters would meet. 

The court side announcer asks, "Is it the shoes?" I'm telling you it is. When your foot fits into someone else's once shoe - a man who possibly dragged his left leg a little or clipped it sweeping it inside his car door or sticking it out and getting stepped on.

It's the soles that make them mine. The white against the brown reappearing as I spin a shoe in my hands. They were tight last night, but I wore them until I slept and they're looser. Over the last months I have been using small things I own that have been hidden - Gold Bond, a bed sheet and spare keys. Newly put to use is a shoe horn. N-ever used before. Necessary now.