No, I haven't been writing much lately. Trying not to keep the phone tied up. Ok, that's a sorry excuse, but it's the best I can come up with now.
I want to send a great big shout out to my sister, Linda, in California, and all of her children and grandchildren. I love you Linda. The memories I have of you are precious. Growing up, you brought much needed laughter into my young life, and I will always be grateful for that. I hope you feel better.
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So, things have been quite lively in the old neighborhood since the new year dawned. A friend I have, Missy, began working with a man, oh, let's call him Bob, doing home repairs. While Bob told her he was
always on call for the special forces, could speak
39 languages, and was good friends with
Doc Holiday, she continued to work with him, and also let her two sons go hunting with him. Bob decided that he was Adam to her Eve. His words, not mine. I imagine during some conversation she had with Bob she mentioned being upset with her boyfriend and would just
love to see someone kick his ass. Well, that is exactly what dear Bob tried to do for her late one night. I remember Chris, her real boyfriend came tearing in my house one evening about 11:30 at night wanting to use the phone. I just took it for granted that he was shirtless and didn't have any shoes on.
"Miss EJ," he asked, "can I use the phone?" "Sure," I said. "Did yours get cut off too?" (My neighbor Roger's phone got turned off.)
"No, that crazy M*******ck*r tried to choke me!" he exclaimed, and proceeded to call the PoPo, as we affectionately refer to them around here. "Then, I picked him up and threw him on the coffee table. That coffee table is totaled!" he went on. "I said let's take it outside, man, and, as soon as we got outside he grabbed a shovel, and said '
I'm going to kill you', and I ran..." I thought that was probably best.
At this point I am
wondering if Bob is going to burst through my door with a shovel, and I start looking around for something besides a cat to defend myself with, but, thankfully he stayed away. While Chris waited for the police, EJ called from work and got to hear the story first-hand. The next day, Bob moved in with my neighbor across the street, the one without the phone, and is pining for his lost love. Evidently, after chasing Chris with the shovel, he went for a swim in the swamp, came back, jumped in his truck, and pretty well totaled that too. His family has given up on him, and I suppose he has no where else to go.
Now, here's the rub: Bob is schizophrenic. And his medication isn't working. And he probably hasn't told his doctor. And he probably won't. I discovered all of this the hard way. He took me to the grocery store one day, and while we were driving, he spoke a few different languages and phoned his special forces contacts. He told me he could change his looks at will, and showed me one of his fake id's, that of a black man, who looked vaguely familiar. Bob is white. I found myself in a great hurry to get home, but kept my responses as neutral as possible. I started to wonder how in the world he got a driver's license. I started to wonder if he would let me drive.
EJ and Roger, the phoneless neighbor, were sitting on the sofa one afternoon, EJ waiting to go to work, and Roger killing time, when Bob came in and showed me some rocks. He told me they were diamonds and that he knew where the mine was. (If it were only true!!) EJ hid his face. Bob told me he had bought some new underwear and had checked in with the mental health clinic (and special forces) and he was good to go. While EJ and Roger hid their sorry faces, I tried my damnedest to be polite. But, God help me, I wanted to laugh. And its really not funny.
I am trying to stay aloof, but I can see me trying to help Bob, maybe even going to the doctor with him. But can I help him? And what is it like being Bob? He is always polite to me, and I have taken a motherly approach to my relationship with him. The cats? Roscoe runs and hides whenever Bob comes around, but Sasha loves him to death. I have found cats, at times, to be a good judge of mood. I do not like being choked.
While Missy says she is terrified of Bob, she has approached him since, trying to get him to admit to his wrongdoing. She doesn't seem to get the fact that Bob is wired a little different from the rest of us, well, most of us. All right,
some of us.
She told me, "Miss EJ, I just attract crazy people. I don't know why.."
The funny thing is I do too. I don't know why either.
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On a different note, someone called my landlord, here at the park, and told them I had committed suicide. Roger said Mrs. M, the landlord, had called his mother, and he got on the phone, and Mrs. M wanted to know how my son was taking my suicide. Since I had just taken Roger to the store, he was a little confused. He said he didn't know whether to put down the phone and run down the street or what. He said Mrs. M got a call from a reliable source. When I called her, which I hate to do, and asked her about my apparent demise, she said her source was
anonymous. I know this much, something is rotten in Smithfield and it ain't ham!
Just for the hell of it, I stayed up until after midnight and watched myself very closely.
Blessings!
