Get up!

God is the only thing holding the wheelchair together. 

Yesterday, my day off, I woke up with a "pretty bad" headache.  They can usually be resolved with Excedrin and a very cold, caffeinated beverage. 

I was wrong, as it turned out.  It was a migraine and I later found myself desperately swallowing my phenergan at the bus stop. 

Ron and I didn't have any trips.  When I got up, I found Ron sleeping in his bed, Pretty Girl lying next to his head.  I think she's claimed him as her special human. 

She loves me, but not the way she loves Ron.  She finds him wonderful, someone to cuddle, someone to pet her, someone who stays in the same position for hours (unlike Mommy).  I'll take her scraps. 

He is not giving her any treats, either.  We had a talk about that.

Ron wanted to go to McDonalds.  I had just taken the execdrin and went back to bed for an hour.  When I got up, around 8, I told him I'd go. 

We ended up leaving around 9:30.  As usual, we took his manual wheelchair.  The chair has suffered a lot of abuse in the last 4 years, but that's why we got it.  The Medicare wheelchairs are nice, but not very sturdy.  [cough cough] Paratransit [cough cough] can be pretty brutal on them because most of the cab drivers DO NOT tie down an unoccupied wheelchair, so it flops around in the back and gets damaged.  If we ask them to tie it down they either say they did, when they didn't, or they get a massive attitude, big sigh.  A lot of the big van drivers, especially the women, drop the wheelchair down the flight of stairs, rather than carry it down 4 steps or use the [cough cough] wheelchair lift.  Again, a big attitude if you ask them to be careful. 

It's like, Dude, they are paying you to do this.  I do everything I'm paid to do.  What's the BFD?  

So, we had lost 2 spokes on the wheelchair.  It's the big wheel, on the left.  It's very unnerving to turn a corner, pushing Ron in the chair, and hear a loud POP as the chair skids off to the side.  Yike. 

However, Ron said he felt fine riding in it, and he's the one who'd fall out if the chair broke.  We went to McDonald's, then Ron said he wanted to do that "on the way home".  AGH.  It is pretty difficult to hit it "on the way home" and I would have told him that. 

We agreed, in the future, before leaving the house, we would discuss each stop and the order in which we'd make them.  [rolleyes]  Communication. 

Ron was pretty cranky but we got over it. 

I decided to go to a Dollar Store.  I got some +3 reading glasses.  I am approximately a +5, I figured, God forbid something happen to my glasses I would like some way to read.  They work pretty well.  And, they're a Dollar.  The rest of the selection was disappointing.  No antibiotic cream. No real food items. 

I concluded, since he is in a high-traffic location, he has cut back on inventory selection in order to pay the rent.  Hm. 

The return trip bus stop was close by, but it's the mold stop.  The whole place reeks of mold.  Even if I didn't have a headache, I do by the time the bus arrives, and, like I said, I was working on a migraine. 

As I pushed him down the sidewalk, TWANG, shimmy - we lost another spoke.  The wheel began to wobble alarmingly, moving out at the bottom and scraping the armrest at the top. 

That's why I say, only God got us home.  Ron kept saying it wasn't a big deal, if the wheel caved we'd just call a cab (good thing we took a short trip!).  We did get home, thank God. 

I handed out 2 Bibles, which made me happy. 

I had 2 bus drivers cracking up.  The bus driver is actually a lot better about caring for a wheelchair client, than the paratransit.  They pulled up and extended the ramp.  I put my hand on Ron and told him:

"In the name of Jesus, GET UP!" and he got up.  The drivers died laughing.  Ron staggered on and found a seat, while I pushed the wheelchair aboard and folded it. 

I got the feeling, the bus drivers needed the laugh.  We finally got to our home stop (I live near some good routes) and I pushed him home.  God held it together. 

Then I laid down and curled into a ball for the rest of the day, only emerging to eat and take my pills, then back to bed. 

As usual after a migraine, I woke up exhausted. 

We went to work, did out end-of-the-month procedures.  The machines look good.  We made a little more than hoped, thank you God. 

We came home, then went out again.  One of the drivers had given us a tip about a thrift store selling good-condition used wheelchairs. 

Let's just say that didn't work out, but I did get some used books, and a gallon of milk at a gas station.  I've been making protien shakes for Ron. 

I use 1.5 scoops of whey protein (he likes chocolate peanut butter flavor) to cup milk, then blend it.  I was out of milk, though. 

The gas station sold the milk more cheaply than they sold the gas.  Ha.  And I never buy gas!  I had brought a cold bag for storage., and the milk was still chilly when we got home. 

We got home, I took my pills, and a nap.  I woke up and "my" cat is sleeping on Ron again.  They look so cute I'm not even sad about it. 

But I do miss her cuddles. 

Video Blog today

Some nice footage of a snuggle with Pretty Girl. 

Own it

Most of the time, I love owning a home. 

On a 95 degree day, with high humidity and higher bermuda grass, not so much.  Today wasn't that bad.  It was overcast and not very humid. 

Either that, or the Depakote gives me better heat tolerance.  Fat lady + medications + feels like 100 = not a good idea. 

I forgot my hat, and gloves, but I got out there. 

I was pretty pleased with myself. 

Since I have a pretty big (about 7 thousand square feet, minus one thousand for the house) yard, I have a lot of yardwork.  That wasn't much of a problem before my illness got bad. 

Now, it can be, especially with a pending inspection.  Our insurance company sends an inspector every year.  Last year, they found some problems. 

I'm fine with that.  I think it's a great idea to inspect the properties and keep the liability down.  For instance, years ago, Metrolift made a pickup at a home.  We had a "tropical thing" in the Gulf of Mexico, and the home was overshadowed by a huge, dead, pine tree.  It was clear anything above 50 mph would bring the tree down on the house, and maybe the neighboring house as well.  I have no problem with the insurance company saying "Get rid of that or we'll drop you". 

However, I was chided for "overgrown vegetation" - a nice way of saying an overgrown yard.  I want to clean up the yard as much as possible. 

I know I'm not a normal person, and years ago I threw out the normal stick.  I have been ducking this for about a week.  I knew I needed to get started. 

Today, I told myself "I'll go for one hour, or until I fill up the trash can".  The trash can is 95 gallons, the "hide a body in it" size. 

I went out with my clippers.  It could only happen in Houston: weed trees.  I kid you not, if I turn around, I will have a 5 foot aspen in my yard.  Or a mulberry.  I have two mulberry trees I really don't want, but they keep coming back when I cut them down.  Besides, the birds and all seem to love the berries. 

I had weed trees, weed shrubs, and a nice assortment of thorny blackberry vines, crawling around on the ground.  I need to wear my gloves!  The blackberries like to wrap around my ankles and trip me.  I wore longer pants and a t-shirt to do the work.  I drank hydration stuff, I think that helped (I really do feel fine).  I went out with my long handled clippers and started snipping. 

Pretty soon I had cleared a corner of the yard, and filled up the trash can.  Now, it's garbage eve.  I need to take them out.  So I did that.  The cats, by the way, "helped' by smelling everything and dancing around my feet.  Pretty came in with me, tired of the heat. 

All done!  Yay!  I can do that again tomorrow! 

I can't go out and do the all-day yardwork fest.  I would run out of trash can, anyway.  But I can commit to making small steps towards getting it done. 

I love my house, I want to "own" it, chores and all. 

I might even name it Bubba

I slept badly, got up late (I had already washed up in the bath last night), and looked out Ron's window. 

Lo and behold, it's a giant possum.  EW!  They look so ratlike. 

I shuddered and went to work.  The other vendor says I sound brighter.  Good. 

With God's help, I was able to fix a down vending machine.  I had made it a lot harder, in my head, than it turned out to be!  Thanks, God. 

I need Him in almost everything.  I think that's a bonus to being disabled.  I'm used to leaning on Him. 

We had a good ride home with "Mr Politics".  He was ranting about drug testing and disability.  He feels no one should have to take a drug test if they are applying for disability.  I told him I don't want my money going to support drug addicts. 

He kept going on about "getting MY money back".  I tried to tell him "his" money was long gone.  It's the people after him who will be paying his checks.  He didn't want to accept it.  He still thinks "His" money is sitting in an account somewhere, under his Social Security Number, waiting for him to start taking it. 

Not.  Quite. 

I got home, did some research.  Possums are fine in the yard. 

In fact, since they kill rats, I might even name it Bubba. 

Wet hair

Time to climb under my own hood for a bit. 

A lot of people don't understand how I can share so much about my thoughts and feelings.  How can I not?  It might help someone, or at the very least foster a little understanding. 

The Depakote has been a huge relief for me: no more mixed depressions.  They are hideous, wound up and despairing at the same time.  Galloping thoughts and hopeless.  Driven to do something, yet lacking energy. 

Now I'm back to an average depression.  You know what?  They still suck. 

They don't suck, like a mixed depression.  We'll call that an 8 on a 1-10.  This is more of a 6. 

It's still a 6. 

Right after my diagnosis, I came up with an elaborate rating scale, plus 10 to minus 10.  I've forgotten it now. 

I'm still walking around with a hole in my soul.  It's not infected, but it's there.  God will heal me, one day, in the meantime I slap bandages of medication and lifestyle on top of it and try to go on with my life. 

I got to thinking about this; because I didn't take a shower yesterday, and haven't yet today.  It's almost bedtime.  Clearly, I need to fix that. 

I was able to find my tea tree oil, so I'll throw a few drops in the bath before I take my shower.  I have a little skin issue. 

A lot of "civilians" think I just need the right medication, the right amount of medication, therapy, whatever, and I will function as they do.  No. 

It doesn't work that way, at least not for my illness.  I'd like nothing more than to live a nice, boring, life.  I'd like to make plans a week ahead of time and know I'll be able to accomplish them. 

Doc told me, years ago "We can manage the peaks and valleys, but you'll still go up and down".  When I'm manic, it's great.  I'm fine with being manic, at least where I am at the ideal lithium level.  I talk a lot, do a lot, and have to watch my spending.  I can do a lot of evangelism, housework, spend quality time with Ron and the cats, and catch up with all the family. 

Not so much when I'm depressed "I took a shower, went to work, and did a load of laundry.  The backyard looks awful and Ron's bored, but I did that." 

I credit my medication for the ability to work and do the laundry.  A good example, the bedsheets. 

This is not going anywhere above a rated G.  I have cotton bedsheets.  I like them.  However, I can't remember the last time I washed them - actually, I do.  A few days before Bubba died, he threw up a hairball in my bed.  I was manic, and easy to wash and change the sheets. 

That was a month ago.  Depressed, I've been sleeping on the same sheets every night.  They aren't apparently dirty, but I'm sure some of you are saying "Oh, yuck." 

Ron just woke up, and I talked to him for a bit.  His shirt was off, and he laid down in bed and rolled onto his stomach.  I was admiring his left arm and shoulder - they are nicely muscular.  All that stocking has made for a very manly arm and shoulder. 

I focus on the positive.  In fact, when he went to the doctor, I filled out the paperwork.  I completely forgot to mention his blindness.  I didn't even consider it a problem. 

So, I've got a load of brightly colored t-shirts in the wash.  When I get them in the dryer, I need to put the sheets in the washer, and put clean sheets on the bed (I have them, I just haven't "stocked" them).  I also need to take the clean stuff off the top of the dryer and put it away.  I'm missing some things I need and I know I washed the items. 

There goes the washer, and I'm off.  Wash the sheets, bath, let my hair dry, and go to bed. 

I hate sleeping on wet hair. 

All the nations

In the Bible, Jesus tells us to go out into the world and preach the gospel to all the nations (Matthew 24:14, Matthew 28:18).  Jesus tells us this. 

Jesus, the son of God, commands us to do something: I'm going to do it. 

So, to my way of thinking, all the nations means just that.  I could never work in overseas missions.  I have a serious health condition; a severely disabled husband.  However, God can use me here. 

All means everyone, right? 

So, I would like to know why I never saw or heard from the mormons, or the jw's, when I lived in the "bad" areas full of poverty, crime, and violence.  They need God more than anyone else.  If you're doing God's work, He will protect you; and even if He doesn't He will use the injury or death to further the gospel in that area. 

That's the way I see it. 

I just wonder how they reconcile preaching the gospel everywhere, to everyone, with their strict attention to nice neighborhoods. 

I find it sickening. 

"For your own good"

Human or feline, I hate having to do the "It's for your own good" medical stuff.  It's one thing if I decide I want to check my own blood sugar, maybe it didn't work, so I had to do it again.  I'm the only one "suffering" (with my lancet, I feel more of a tingle than a stick, when I lance). 

Some of the worst moments of my life were giving Baby Girl (the first) eye drops back in 2004.  She screamed.  She fought.  They hurt her.  It was hell.  I wished desperately I could find someone else to do it. 

But it doesn't just apply to cats.  Say I had to check Ron's blood sugars.  Can you imagine what it would be like?  It would be fun.  I imagine, if I had to check his sugars, he'd carry on quite a bit.  Maybe use the word "torture" because I had to stick him twice. 

Sorry you have lousy circulation.  Maybe I would have him wash his hands in very warm water, first. 

I sure wouldn't want to be that person.  Now, imagine I had other issues on top of that.  "For your own good, I have to do this"  "Are you finished yet?"  "Ow"  And I'd want to do a good job, not a rush one, because I love him and want him well. 

But I can't talk about it.  I can imply, walk around it, and that's about it.  I would love to put up a photo, though. 

I'm pretty sure he's fine with me saying he is no longer drinking any hard liquor, and no plans to do so in the future.  He realizes it is a choice between his health and his drinking.  Drinking (hard liquor) has lost the battle. 

Thank God for that. 

He is still drinking beer but it isn't affecting him negatively. 

Dance to it

Social media can be very useful for me.  It seemed like all my friends complained about a neighbor's loud party. 

I wasn't too surprised when #8 decided to turn up the music at 10:30 PM.  I wouldn't have minded it if it had been earlier, but, like Ron said "They're good and drunk now".  It continued until after 12:45 AM. 

It was interesting for me, laying in bed.  I hate acknowledging anxiety.  I hate it.  I feel like "anxious" people need lovemaking, a caffeine reduction, or a "mental" pill.  Ideally, all 3. 

However, I noticed, as I lay in bed last night - the music wasn't upsetting me the way it normally would.  I wasn't consumed with anxiety and frustration.  I have to credit the Depakote. 

I had thoughts like "How do they dance to it?"  That thought consumed me for a while, because it was not a danceable beat.  The music would stop for a couple minutes, and then start again.  I envisioned a drunken guy fumbling through his CD collection, trying to find "The good one" to put into the player. 

I wondered what all the other neighbors were thinking, particularly the family of 7 living between me and the noisy one.  The noisy one was renting, I wondered why, so often, in our neighborhood, the tenant really "brings down the neighborhood".   The other noisy people are also renting, but I think they have figured things out. 

It's been quiet today, and very hot, so we'll see what happens tonight.  Theoretically people could be having a BBQ today.  However, I think a lot of people will have to work tomorrow.  [shrug]  I don't, so it's not as urgent. 

Nothing beats the frustration level on a loud party nearby, and I have to wake up in 5 hours to go to work, do a Bible Handout, or both. 

I got a good nights sleep and tried to sleep as late as possible.  As a result, I woke up with a headache that evolved into a "worse headache".  Fluids seem to help, so I'm staying hydrated. 

Ron was a little worse, but in an overall good mood concerning his problem.  A while ago, I told him I assumed he had his own plan for taking his antibiotic.  He said yes and told me the times.  He needs some help with the issue, which he will not let me share.  I do what he can't, and I don't mind. 

I did what I could and he thanked me for it.  It's sad and scary: our health is so fragile, and so easily broken.  We just assume our bodies will function as well tomorrow, as they did today.  That isn't always the case. 

So, I'm keeping a sharp eye and trying not to worry.  After watching half an episode of "Criminal Minds" (probably my current favorite), I did my God Time. 

I feel a tremendous responsiblity for the recipients.  I know God is guiding them, He is the boss, no question.  But I feel, since I introduced them, I have a duty/obligation to pray for them every day.  I do, I take that very seriously. 

I burned some candles, and they aggravated my headache.  Not the best idea.  Oh, well. 

Then I watched more TV (today is my "off" day - where I do nothing), took a nap, woke up, found my cat lying on Ron, watched more TV, enjoyed Pretty in my lap for a while, ate dinner, enjoyed Pretty on the top of my chair acting like a headrest, Baby Girl came home, gave them both treats, let them out, and just trying to leave all my problems in God's hands. 

I could worry about a lot; starting with finances, and Ron's health.  However, I am choosing not do to so.  I put up a generic prayer reqest for Ron (he "allowed" me to say it was an infection) on Facebook, so I have others praying for him too. 

Tomorrow I plan to take care of the backyard and work on organizing the house.  I even have hydration drinks. 

Don't eat the fish plate

Don't eat the fish plate lunch.  I'm a little queasy. 

Man, I have a strange life.  It started out pretty normal, with a ride to the doctor, handing out a New Testament and Ron's "Don't take the Mark (of the Beast)" flyer. 

We got to the doctor, filled out the paperwork.  Ron whined about waiting.  I read a magazine.  It was supposed to be a fitness magazine, but it had ads for sex toys and some pretty graphic photos of a woman, in lingerie, lying on on a bed in provocative positions. 

I always end up horrified when I read magazines in waiting rooms, wondering about the formerly innocent children.  I am so glad I never had human children. 

Oh, I forgot: so, when I woke up, I found my cat lying on top of Ron as he lay in bed this morning.  "I only gave her one (translate - 6) treat, and she followed me in here!"  He thought I'd be mad, why? 

She's a lovebug.  She's got plenty of love for all of us, why would I begrudge him some cuddles with cuddle-cat?  Frosty loved me, but never cuddled with Ron.  I know he was a little envious.  With Pretty we both get "fed". 

I got him up, threw him in the bath, got him dressed, THEN we went to the doctor. 

Ron is kidding about letting me take photos of the problem, and put them online.  I will get a lot of hits, if I do. 

As I thought, Ron had an infection.  Doc went from "I've never seen this before" (?!?!) to "Let's get you started on an antibiotic."  We talked about allergies and intolerances, and Doc got him some Keflex.  Happily, a $4 prescription. 

I think Ron felt a little raped, after paying for my medication the other day.  I told him I'd pay him back but he only wants half.  He's probably just glad I take it. 

We had a great pickup and a straight ride to Walmart.  Bad news: Walmart, in the afternoon, on a holiday weekend! 

Happily, the pharmacy had the prescription ready in 20 minutes.  I think since it was one course of a common antibiotic, it was easy.  My stuff is "wierder" and I get 3-month refills. 

I shopped a little, and got some yogurt.  Ron has agreed to let me make him protein "shakes" - really a smoothie.  I have chocolate peanut butter whey powder, milk, plain yogurt.  You get the idea.  Lots of protein, decadent flavor, little carbs.  He can drink it as desired and really boost his immunity. 

He agreed, he doesn't eat a lot of protein, and if he wants to fight this thing off he needs "soldiers".  He's a smart man; approach him logically and he will do the smart thing. 

While waiting in line to pick up the prescription, a wierd guy came up behind me in line and started putting his things in my cart.  He could see fine, but he asked me to read the expiration date on his vitamins.  I told him no, asked him to get his stuff out of my cart, and took it out, handing it to him, when he didn't.  He got a little huffy but I turned my back to him. 

Later on, outside, I was venting about "wierd guys" to Ron and another wierd guy came up, listened to me, and asked me for a smoke!  I don't smoke!  Go away!  I told him "Smoking killed my mother, do you want the speech?" and he left. 

I get a little irritable in large crowds, when I have the time pressure of trying to get out in time for our pickup.  I think that was pretty "normal" for me. 

I am doing great on the Depakote.  I love it, I can think better, and my mood is more level. 

Unfortunately, I got the fish plate lunch.  I am pretty queasy right now.  I'm blaming the fish. 

Ron had the chicken, shared it with his beloved "Varmit" (Baby Girl Kitten), and went to sleep.  I can hear him rustling around, he's up now. 

Tomorrow, we stay home (Ron shouldn't be out like this anyway) and take it easy.  I need that. 

"Don't play in the street!"

I brushed my teeth as I got ready for the handout.  I want to have a nice smile.  I did realize I couldn't do anything about the Dr Pepper breath. 

I love to drink my Diet Dr Pepper during the handouts. 

I had the signs, Bibles, snacks, drinks, you name it.  Ron wore a blue t-shirt.  We work in "Bloods" territory - but no one shot him.  I wore my usual loud orange t-shirt, safety vest, sneakers, and denim Bermuda shorts. 

Enough about that.  Our ride was late and she had a NASTY attitude, talking on the cell phone the whole time.  Then she wanted to let us off at the far corner of the parking lot.  She didn't understand what we needed until I got out and walked over, waving.  She left. 

No other driver has had that difficulty.  Ron put it under "spritual warfare".  I agreed. 

We got set up on the median, but it was pretty quiet.  Then a young man came running over, out of breath.  He thought the Handouts were great, we were great for doing them, shook our hands, and got a picture.  If I can, I'll put it up. 

I brought my "Free Bibles!   God loves you!" sign.  People seemed to like it.  I'd also brought the CD's, which were very popular with the recipients.  I gave away all 18 in about 45 minutes, along with Bibles. 

Well, I gave one to a young man who said he had a Bible.  I thought he might like some music.  He did.   He asked if he could buy one of my sodas, I gave him one. 

I was handing out 1-2 Bibles at a time,  ev ery few minutes.  It was overcast, muggy and breezy.  I resolved to use a headband next time to control my hair. 

It took a while, but it got interesting.  As always, Spanish was hugely popular and "sold out" first.  Happily I had brought my Spanish Gospels of John so I could give them something. 

I had gangster types, happy to get a Bible.  I love that.  They were very open when I offered it with a smile.  I told everyone I'd be praying for them daily, and I do.  They're prayed for before I even meet them. 

I had several people going the other way, who pulled over and waited for me to come to them.  I did, of course.  Ron stopped a large delivery truck while I was stuck on the wrong side of the street (someone wanted a Bible, and right as they got it, the light changed). 

As the cars honked furiously, I'd dart out of the way, hearing Dad in the back of my head yelling "Don't play in the street!"  Sorry, Dad.  That happened more often than I'll admit. 

I try to be careful and check the light when I run into the street. 

I had several pedestrians.  They're always fun. 

I had plenty of people who said no and made it pretty clear they didn't appreciate the offer, but that happens on every handout. 

I did have a wonderfully appreciative bunch of recipients, everyone said thank you, meant it, very appreciative, sweet, even the scary looking guys with the gang "tats" all over their necks and hands.  One lady got out of her car and hugged me.  I thought that was great.  Another couple tracked me down after the handout (that's happened on my last two).  They wanted to pray with us.  I thought that was great. 

"Keep up the good work" a few people told me.  I also had people honking and pumping a fist in approval.   One laid on the horn as they drove by in the opposite direction, a thumbs-up sticking out a back window. 

I had a lot of people, baffled, that I wanted to give them a Bible, but happy to take it.  I had people trying to give me money. 

One lady was very persistent.  I grinned as I told her:  "They'll arrest me, and who will take care of him?"  She laughed and drove away. 

And, I had something wonderful.  Two different women, came BACK for more Bibles.  One lady had friends come to visit.   "They were there when I got home, and I want to give them all Bibles".  Another, in a Lexus, came back to get Bibles for a friend in the car. 

I can just imagine that conversation  "Look, a crazy white lady gave us Bibles on the corner!"  "What?  I don't believe it!"  "Take a look, see?"  "Oh, that looks nice, I want one for myself!"  Well, she got 2, one for her, one for the boyfriend. 

We had started around 6 PM, as it got later things became more diverse, and I had more business.  I was finally down to my last 8 Bibles.  I told Ron "God can send someone to come get all 8 at once, if He wants."  Ron scoffed. 

I saw a repeat customer.  She rolled down her window.  "Can I get 8?" 

It was the lady who'd had the unexpected guests.  We were finished! 

Ron and I furtively rolled up our signs.  Once or twice someone has come by wanting Bibles after I gave them all away (I always hold a few back, now). 

We went to the gas station.  We had to wait an hour.  I'm pretty sure I smelled someone smoking something illegal.  It had a very bad, non-organic smell.  I also saw two drug transactions.  A day laborer tried to give us money. 

I love Acres Homes. 

It's sad.

It was a long, wierd, day, but a productive one. 

Our ride was a little late, but not too bad.  Then I found out it's the guy with the problem teenage daughter, who loves to relate every detail in her latest escapade, verbally pulling his hair out, etc. 

I wanted to tell him "You are not modeling a Godly life for her.  Why do you expect her to live to a higher standard than yours?"  I have also told him, for about a year now, she sounds bipolar, she needs to be diagnosed and medicated.  He always goes "Yeah, great" and the next time it's more drama and I didn't take her to the doctor. 

It's rather toxic and negative, and not any fun on top of a mixed depression.  I envied Ron, who put on his headphones and listened to his talking book. 

I guess I should have cried a fake headache, but I didn't realize it was him until we had been talking for a while. I wonder if he does this with all the clients, or just me?  I don't know.

Anyway, we finally arrived at Doc's office.  It's in a good sized building.  It has a 2 story escalator. 

I fell off an escalator when I was a little girl, all the way from the top to the bottom.  I basically landed on a "nice man" in a business suit.  For obvious reasons, I don't like escalators now. 

I'm OK "going up" but coming back down generally triggers a huge panic attack, which happened today.  Pretty embarrassing.  I FINALLY, after years of visits, figured out which elevator setting I need to get to the "proper" exit point.  I will be doing that from now on. 

Coward?  Yes.  Thank God I am not called to hand out Bibles from "heights" or tall escalators. 

We had gotten there early, so we hung out in the deli for a while.  I told Ron, later, it's a testament to my medication, manager came and sat next to us, chatting, for a while.  Finally it was nearly time for my appointment. 

Ron and I had a short wait.  Doc had a (medical) resident, and a medical student, helping.  He knows I am fine about "sharing my business". 

That's just what I did, after the initial greeting "I'm getting munched by depression... don't want to get any worse...Depakote?" 

He thought Depakote (the generic, actually, Valproic acid) was a great idea.  He called it "salting".  He's starting me at 250 (1000 is the standard adult dose), just to help out my other meds. 

Have you seen the commercial, where the antidepressant is trying to help a lady live her life, but can't?  Then the adjunct drug comes along and they do it together?  Same idea.  Except I have a little army of different colored medications, helping me out. 

I would laugh, if it weren't so sad.  There's something very sad about the fact, that in a given week, I need 7 antidepressants, 28 mood stabilizers, 7 more mood stabilizers, and 7 antipsychotics.  You should see me when it's time to get my refills.  I practically need a shopping cart for my medication! 

I thank God for every single tablet and capsule.  I know they are the only thing giving me any kind of "life".  I know I'd be dead without them.  I thank God for them, the people who make them, the wonderful people who dispense them, and the fantastic man who prescribes them.  I thank God for a husband who understands I am limited by the side effects, and is OK with the trade-off: stable mood - limited functioning. 

But it's sad. 

God made plenty of sparrows

I always have a hard time writing when depressed.  That's why I often to go a video blog instead. 

Today, Ron decided to reschedule the work week.  We work tomorrow after I see my doctor.  That's fine.  Then we go in again on Friday. 

He woke me up and asked if that was OK.  I was very happy to go back to sleep, although I need to watch it.  Too much sleep feeds the depression. 

We had a big storm front come through around 2-3 AM.  Ron made sure the cats were home and told me when I got up (yet again) to urinate.  My lithium acts like a diuretic, so I'm always going to the bathroom. 

I thanked God for a snug little house and a good roof, etc.  Prayed for people on Oklahoma.  Thanked God for the medication and good kidneys to process it. 

Ron is doing better, by the way.  I can't talk about it but he is improving and taking things seriously. 

I'll be glad when his head heals up (too much rum - a big crash in the bedroom - bleeding Ron - still don't know what happened for sure).  People keep asking him about it and giving me hard looks. 

If I were going to hit Ron, I wouldn't hit him on his head.  If I really wanted to hurt Ron I would hide his cat treats.  [snicker]  He loves to give the girls lots of treats, often, every day.  If he couldn't find his treats he would be devastated.  And it's completely legal. 

I won't, though.  It's very cute to watch Ron petting Baby Girl, "his" cat, as she curls up in his lap, on the bed.  She loves her Daddy.  It looks like she will be pretty petite, too.  She is only about 7-8 pounds.  Even at a healthy weight, Bubba was a good 11 pounds. 

Pretty Girl, "my" cat, loves Ron too.  We have found we can give them both treats in close proximity with no issues.  They might sniff each other's treats, but that's it.  No bad language, physical or verbal.  It's all happiness and enjoyment of petting and treats. 

Pretty Girl is a perfect fit for Baby Girl.  They get along great.  I was worried about that.  God brought both of them to us, and made sure they were compatible with each other, and us. 

Since I've been so depressed, I haven't been able to give Pretty as much attention as I'd like, but Ron is happy to love on her, too.  She likes him, but she loves me. 

She will not sleep with me, after a failed initial attempt she realized, as all cats do, I'm too restless.  I'm OK with that. 

I was pretty highly allergic to Bubba, and Pretty was given up "for allergies".  Amusingly, I have very few issues, even when she's lying on my chest right under my chin.  If I just pet Bubba and touched my face, I'd get congested and puffy.  Good thing Pretty's family didn't have Bubba! 

I still miss my Bubs.  The mockingbird babies hatched today, I found the eggshells under the neighbor's tree.  The birds love to dive-bomb the cats.  The cats like to "play" with it.  How close can I get? 

Bubba used to catch the mockingbirds and bring them home, in his mouth. Then he'd release them unharmed.  I caught many mockingbirds in my bare hands, and put them out again.  Bubba couldn't resist the sparrows, though.  If he caught one he'd always eat it.  Good thing God made plenty of sparrows. 

I have had some issues I would put under "sprititual warfare".  I am planning a Bible Handout.  Yesterday Ron appeared to have lost my work keys as I made the Free Bibles signs.  Ron holds my keys in case I get mugged again.  I don't want them to have access to work, and the machines. 

Happily, we found them.  They were stuck on the store wheelchair's hand brake.  Huh. 

Today, I tried to get "Where to look in the New Testament".  The clerks at the office supply store were clueless.  They could not figure out what I wanted (normally I can just hand over my papers and say "Here, I want this").   They used to have a great lady named Bea - well, she's gone. They were rolling their eyes at me, very rude and unhelpful.  I took my papers back and left. 

Next time, I'm going to Staples.  They knew what they were doing.  So, no tracts. 

Bummer.  I'll just use what I have, plenty of Grace and Truth tracts.  I even gave away one Bible to the door to door sales lady.  I'm glad she didn't wake Ron up. 

He likes to sleep about this time. 

Tomorrow, I see my doctor.  I'll let him know what's going on.  He's the expert, that's why I pay him. 

I just pray we have good trips. 

Divulge

Some of this may be TMI, so you're warned. 

I think my mood has finally leveled off.  However, a little drama on the Ron end - health issue - he refuses to even allow me to talk around it.  So, I won't.  I won't even hint at it, even though he is a part of my life and it affects me, but I don't have permission, so, nothing.   He was pretty vehement. 

It does not merit medical attention right now.  So, he's fine.  He's going to take care of himself. 

Pretty Girl came home with a dirty butt this morning.  Not the first time.  She was rather outraged when I went after her with a wet wipe (unscented baby wipe), and left.  Hey, if you won't clean your butt I'll do it for you. 

We'll see if she forgave me, when I see her again.  Sorry, but I won't have a dirty butt in my house.  Especially in my lap, on my couch, etc. 

We are supposed to get heavy rain tonight.  I'll get the girls in before it hits. 

Today was pretty quiet, we went to the warehouse club and got supplies, then went and stocked them into the vending machine at our secondary location.  I made up some Free Bibles signs.  Even laminated, they don't live long.  I did neons: green, orange, and pink.  They have high contrast with the black lettering.  I got some smaller boards, neons again, same colors plus a few - made them up for Ron.  A nice lady asked me about the handouts, I told her, and she paid for the laminating.  That was really cool, especially since I had just told her I hate evangelists who are always begging for mone - if God wants me to have something, I will, I don't need to go begging. 

She apparently liked that.  So, thank you. 

We came home.  I had some wierd health issues, digestive, and didn't want to leave the house.  That, I think, is mostly settled. 

See, Ron doesn't get how much I do divulge about myself.  He's a private person.  I am not. 
I ate (I could do that), took my pills, and had a nap.  I woke up with a pretty vicious headache.  I know it's bad when I'm dreaming about having a bad headache, even before I wake up. 

I took some generic excedrin.  It worked on the headache, and I'm not manic.  Good. 

I plan to eat dinner, do up some Bibles, and burn CD's for the handout.  I have permission from a couple Gospel rappers. 

Oops.  I almost typed that "raper".  Totally different meaning.  Time to go! 

Video Blog

Cats don't keep

It's my perception that people just don't like to hear from me, when I'm depressed.  I feel they find me 'boring, self-pitying, and whiny".  Then I remind myself it is most likely the illness talking. 

However, no one likes a whiner.  A negative, black-hearted person who just sucks the joy out of life.  I resolve not to be that person. 

I am battling a NASTY mixed depression.  Here's a link, sorry for all the ads.  Web MD mixed episode.  I'm not wild about the site in general, but it did a good job of phrasing in layman's terms. 

[break]

I got distracted by Cuddle-cat.  That's an interesting story. 

She (Pretty Girl, new cat) wanted some cuddles.  Ron, fresh from his bath, was lying in bed naked.  I got a handtowel and put it on him, then laid Pretty Girl on top. 

That turned out to be a problem when Ron's cat, Baby Girl, came home.  BG got up on the bed and PG hissed at her.  I removed PG before it got ugly. 

I like Ron as a man, you know?  I didn't need 2 cats fighting on top of him, mostly naked except for a handtowel! 

So, it appears PG will have to be "my" cat only.  She doesn't share.  That's not a problem for me.  I didn't even want Baby Girl when Ron found her.  She beat up Bubba on a regular basis, play aggression, but it left his ears looking like pincushions.  I found I could distract her with play, but she would still pester Bubba when she got bored. 

I was rightfully upset at Ron's kitten bothering my nice old man, who never lifted a paw to defend himself (at least not in my presence); and while I love her and find her cute, she's not mine.

If something happened to Ron I would continue to love her until one of us died, but she is completely Ron's.  I have never seen him cheerfully clean a litterbox, but he cleans hers regularly.  I don't even have to remind him.  He feeds her, checks her water bowl, and dotes on her. 

Pretty Girl (my cat) probably would be diagnosed with an attachment disorder.  I'm hers and she will defend her rights.  Her rights to my lap, petting, attention, etc. 

I'm fine with that.  If anything, I tend to be too grabby, too needy, with cats.  I finally found a cat who feels the way I do.  By the time she gets up, both of us are satisified we got enough petting and cuddles. 

However, I did try to introduce her, share her, with Ron.  She can't "own" him or she'll beat up his baby.  I told him he'll have to be a little rude to her if he wants to keep the peace.  Better that than a fight. 

So, she helps.  It's pretty hard to despair when I've got 15 pounds of rumbly, purring, lump lying on my chest.  Of course I can't do any of the things I need to do, either, but most of it can wait. 

What was the old saying "Babies don't keep"?  gotcha  Cats don't keep either.  Frosty, the white cat in the slideshow, was very old when he came to live with me.  If I'd known how old, I would have spent  a lot more time with him in my lap. 

That was my only regret when he died; "I wish I had spent more time cuddling him".  I resolved, if God ever gifted me another cuddle-cat, I would spend a lot of time appreciating the gift.  So, I do. 

God knows it can only help my problems.  She's just made of love. 

I have told Ron I need to line up some drinks beside my chair, so I don't get too thirsty.  I need to drink about a quart an hour, minimum.  Lithium acts as a diuretic. 

So, I'm pretty functional.  My (vending) machines look great, I've been a productive employee, and Ron's happy. I have been a little irritable but Ron would probably say he didn't notice/didn't mind. 

I'm just weary, tired of fighting, hanging onto my shield of faith, trusting in God (never tired of that).  I don't have an illness, I have a freaking war in my head, and ugly battles every minute of every day. 

I hope either things have improved by Thursday, or my doctor can give me something cheap and safe to help. 

A good day

I forget. Sometimes it's important for me to celebrate the "small" victories in my life. For instance, Metrolift was late so I got an extra-long cuddle from Pretty Girl. Later, we had an hour and a half long cuddle session, as she curled in my lap, purring.

I don't see how anyone could give her up; but I'm glad they did. From what I can tell, she was only a few days from euthanized when I adopted her. I told Ron that's probably why I felt such an urgency to get to the pound after Bubba's death.

Other victories: the trash is gone. I had some brush and an old plastic storage box out back. I got rid of them today, and they took it. They also took the contents of the trash can, and I put it away when they finished.

It rained. We need it. Thank you God. It was a nice steady rain.

My refills are ready, so I can take my medication.

I had a nice shower this morning with lemon-scented soap. I like it. It also seems to act as a bug repellent.

The machines looked great, and are making good sales. If there's anything going on at work, it is furthering our sales. Ron and I got it all done.

I finally remembered to take my value line items to work, just in the nick of time. One of them was completely sold out, 2 more were getting close to sold out. I also stocked several cases of canned soda. Ron stayed busy stocking bottled drinks.

Ron's head is looking better. He'll have another scar but he has plenty. He said I did the right thing keeping him at home, when it happened.

A coworker, works for the other blind vendor, said his cats loved the (unwanted by my girls) canned cat food. He was even happier to get the treats.

I'm healthy, albeit a little queasy from medication. Ron is doing well, too.

Yes, I'm still horribly depressed. Today it wasn't as mixed, thank God. Just depressed.

I started my cycle, not fun, but expected. Someone I know is convinced my depression is hormone related. I'll say this - it is probably a little worse, due to hormones, but that's not the driving factor. I was able to down an Aleve before the cramps hit, so I won't be in pain.

Oh, I get horrible cramps.

We had good rides today and I handed out some Bibles. That always makes me happy.

It sounds odd to say when I am clinically depressed: but I had a good day.

Feeling lazy, so I did a video blog

I did not want to type it all out. :) 

Don't mess with Texas blind vendors in a wheelchair

Ugh.  I hate drama.  Drama overload.

Since they closed the deli (for poor sales, and that's when the economy was doing fine), various people have brought in meals to sell.  I'm not wild about it, but I understand that's going to happen. 

It's a free market society.  Some people would rather have a warm piece of meat and mashed potatoes, than a cold sandwich and a bag of chips.  I turn a blind eye, if you'll pardon the pun.  We can't stop everyone.  Most people try to cater meals, realize it isn't worth the trouble, realize no one wants to pay what they'd have to charge, and give up. 

However, BJ took it a little too far.  She formed a "secret" Facebook group years ago.  Nothing wrong with that.  It's mainly her personal forum for politics and who died.  She complains, a lot, about politics and puts up "new agey" stuff.  About a year, year and a half ago, she started promoting her "Barbeque" business.  She and her husband bought one of those big smoker trucks. 

I hate it when people let emotions color their testimony, so I will keep this as matter of fact as possible. 

She started by doing "Charity fundraisers". One employee got sick and needed money to pay for living expenses.   That was her introduction to selling her BBQ plates at work. 

Now, in a perfect world I woudln't care about the meat.  Assuming I knew without a doubt the meat was cooked to standards, and I know for a fact it is not.  It is seasoned and cooked, but the foodhandlers don't wear hair coverings, etc.  It is probably time/temperature abused FDA link on pathogens  - that can come back onto us. 

However, I was still willing to overlook because it's going to happen, they're all adults, and if anyone is dumb enough to buy a sandwich from someone who doesn't understand food safety, they can enjoy the result. 

Cynical but honest.  Then a neighbor boy accidentally killed his brother in a gun accident.  She did another "fundraiser" for the family.  About that time people started asking, in the group, about future sales. 

That's what I believe she wanted.  I believe that was her plan the entire time.  I was STILL OK with it. 

Until she started making "combos", and using the group to promote. 

This is a good time to mention her husband works there too, and at minimum, they make at least $70K a year.  That's far more. 

So, I checked with Ron.  At the end of the day, it's his baby.  He was pretty upset, and told me it was fine to write her a note asking her to stop. 

I did just that.  I started by asking how much money she made, then stated how much we made.  Then I got into some details - we only operate a few machines, etc.  I went to how her "business" is hurting mine and we really need the money.   I told her I understood she didn't like God much but could she please at least consider what "karma" might bring if she took business from a crazy woman with brain damage and a blind man in a wheelchair? 

I told her Ron wanted to report her to sales tax and the health department (she later claimed she had papers from both - which I doubt because of the photo she posted of her daughter violating several food safety rules while "seasoning" the meat), but we weren't willing to do that yet.  Yet. 

She sent me a message - oh, I had leftovers from this weekend (EW!  Time temperature abuse!).   I have papers from sales tax and the health department.  Sorry business is down.  Nothing about stopping. 

I also had the bitter thought, if she had leftovers then why is she marketing them with chips and a drink?  You have to go buy the chips, chill the drinks, etc. 

So, I told her, I am copying all this to our supervisor.  I will ask you point blank, are you going to keep selling these combos, in violation of the contract? 

It took her about 10 minutes to reply "no". 

Our supervisor is still reporting her to plant management. 

Edit: she unfriended me.  Good riddance. 

Click here

I'm not the naive kid who first got online. 

My first email was from a nice person who said they remembered me from high school.  Didn't mention the school, and looking back I realized a few other things.  "Click here" it said, so I did, and boy I got an eyeful. 

The last professional report written about my prospects stated "Heather is extremely naive and trusting, due to her disability".  It made me very angry, but in all honesty, true.  I've had to toughen up over the years, though. 

For instance, the alcoholic who kept bothering me after the Bible Handout - I ignored him because I will not promote addiction.  If I won't escort my own husband to the liquor store, why would I share my hard earned money so you can go buy another "40" (ounce beer)? 

I don't operate that way.  I see myself as fairly cynical.  I don't click on links.  I give to organizations, not people. 

However, something tonight truly shocked me.  I looked up a meme (photo with a funny caption) on google.  I found it, and also found an X rated one depicting a sex act.  I even went back later to verify that yes, I had seen that. 

Well, I thought, maybe my internet search filter is off.  I clicked on "safe search".  You know what's sad?  I got MORE hits for the porno meme than I had in regular search. 

I closed that window, literally, happy I do not have children.  It would be very difficult to keep children pure and innocent in this world, where a harmless search for a catchphrase produces a filthy image. 

I have no problem with sex.  God created it for the marriage bed, not the internet.  It's supposed to be one aspect of a lifelong commitment, not a quick jolt with a stranger. 

I don't watch porn.  It ruins lives.  I am sure a lot of men enjoyed the image, and some women, too. 

I don't often agree, outright, with Ron's "The World is going to hell" philosophy, and I avoid the news. 

Tonight, though, I got a big slap of reality: this world is filthy. 

Glad I don't have kids.  Glad! 

Venial

Ron "rode" the phone last night with the police, making sure the wild party got the music down.  It was so loud I could feel the floor vibrating under my feet.  I live in a ground floor house, two blocks away. 

I will say this, they did shut up eventually, and they kept their friends over so no one drove drunk.  Smart. 

Today it's pretty quiet, so enough about that.  I will say I do envy the deaf sometimes, when neighbors are having a loud party, Ron is yelling at me (not last night), or I'm having an auditory hallucination. 

The blog has been good for me, I'm a lot more open about my illness and pretty honest about it.  Which brings me to yesterday. 

Ron and I, for a lark, went to Walmart after work.  I am out of soda and have been drinking the instant mix tea/punch/lemonade packets.  I like pretty much all of them EXCEPT strawberry.  I loathe strawberries. 

I don't have a lot of cups.  I am nervous about glasses with a blind man in the house.  I had some plastic cups but they got old or ruined, and I never got more. 

I have considered going the old school southern way and getting some quart "mason" canning jars, drinking out of that.  If you watch Duck Dynasty you know what I mean. 

However, they are glass, and I'm back to the blind man in the house.  I'm not always graceful, either. 

I hunted up some nice one quart plastic glasses, 88 cents each.  I got 3.  I basically just reuse the same one over and over and over, like I was doing with those takeout cups, but they got pretty gross.  I remember I finished a drink and got ready to make another, opened the lid, and actually looked inside.  It had some mold.  I threw them all out. 

I put the glasses in my cart and headed off to checkout.  I paid and left, sitting outside with Ron.  Ron wanted to know the price on an item I'd paid for, so I looked at the reciept.  I don't usually check my reciept unless it's for work. 

Oops.  They only rang up 2 cups.  I admit it, for at least a minute, I sat there thinking "Walmart can afford it" and "I don't want to get back in line".  "No one knows".  "It is her fault for not ringing me up".  And then I thought about God.  He knows. 

I also read something in one of my devotionals, it basically said little sins lead to big sins.  I got up and went back in the store.  When I explained, the cashier gave me quite the look.  I told her, "I have to answer to God, and I don't want to steal."  She thanked me, I paid, and I went back out with my now legal cup. 

Am I tooting my horn?  I'm so holy?  No.  I'm an imperfect sinner, and will remain one until I'm glorified by God, either death or rapture.  In the meantime, it's my job to stomp out sin when I catch it. 

I sin.  I make mistakes.  But I will not sin if I can avoid it. 

"You have no power over me"

I'm feeling brutally honest tonight. 

I never cared much about "heritage".  After all, if my own mother didn't want me, why look any farther back?  Both my grandfathers were dead (both served in WW2, and only one came home).  One grandmother hated me. 

However, I do have to wonder about my DNA sometimes.  I have some Scottish ancestry.  I don't really "see" it in any way, but one:  bagpipes.  I love bagpipes. 

Most people, from what I hear, don't really find them inspiring.  I do. 

Now, to be honest, from what I have gathered my mother's side is English, if you go back a ways.  I do love tea.  I used to spend my allowance on little 10-packs of imported teabags, paperwrapped bags wrapped in cellophane.  I would reuse the tea bag over and over until I had wrung it dry. 

My love of tea became a little bit of a family joke, but a loving one.  My younger brother used to give me a metal tin full of imported teabags every Christmas (the tins were lost in a move).  I have had some tremendous teabag manias - where I bought literally every variety of tea available. 

Then, during other manias, I'd purge it.  During my last purge, I took all the teabags out of their boxes and combined them in a large plastic zip top bag, freeing up tons of space. 

I prefer a foil wrapped teabag, it can live in the pantry for a few years and still taste great.  Paper?  No.  Not in Texas, at least. 

[whispering]  We have roaches in Texas. 

That's the problem with some of the imported Asian teas.  They are delicious, but have paper wrapping.  I don't really do looseleaf - I have enough things to manage. 

Not to mention, what's hitchhiking in that box? 

So, most often, my "tea" is a stick of powder mixed into a glass of water.  I'm OK with that. 

As I've said in my header, and many times in my blog, a huge part of my life is coming to terms.  Coming to terms with the fact that I have an illness with a high mortality rate.  Knowing that if I go off my meds, I would be dead in months. Dealing with medication and it's side effects, knowing I must endure. 

Accepting the fact that good symptom control (and really, after Ron's blackout how many times would I have raved and raved, instead of moving on like I did today?) means less energy, less intelligence (the typo rate is up, and the grammar has gone down), more fatigue, and fewer interests.  I remember one reader lamenting the fact that I "used to be so interesting, always had a project and working in the garden". That is SICK. 

SICK - I may look like fun on the outside, but inside I just want to die.  Well - well, I had very little sleep last night, and a lot of drama.  I went to work, worked pretty professionally, and got it all done.  I took care of Ron - which can be very hard to do when I'm angry at him.  But I got it done because I needed to do it: I like that about me. 

I like that I am a practical person.  I like that my emotions don't rule me anymore. 

To quote the movie: You have no power  over me. 




That, friends is worth ANY price.

The cats made a real man out of me

Well, today went better than I expected.  I got up at 5 and got online for a bit, did my shower and got dressed. 

Ron couldn't find his cell phone.  Later, I was able to help him figure out the location (a very odd place), based in his last location when talking on the phone.  If he was in the hall, it must be in the hall.  I prayed on it, too, but all that happened later. 

Last night, the neighbors decided to play loud music.  I tried to be understanding, it is Mexican mother's day.  I understand that in some cultures, they like to party with a lot of food, alcohol, and very loud music, all night long if possible.  But I still prayed for God to please let me sleep. 

These particular people like to play the music on car stereo speakers, with the house door open, and the car doors open.  It's very ghetto. 

I was thrilled at the thunderstorm around 11 PM.  Needless to say, they shut up everything, the music, the car, and the house.  By the way, that house had a terrible odor the one time I did go over there, asking them politely to please turn it down, I could hear it blocks away and had to work very early the next morning.   They were very rude, and did not. 

I found out they are renters, and based on that odor the landlord could stand to do an inspection.  Worst case I will write the landlord a letter, not mentioning the music, and suggest they do an inspection. 

Ron was pretty rowdy, so I didn't sleep much.  I got both cats in the house and had a nice cuddle with Pretty Girl, a very wet cat in my bed.  When I let her out again, she smelled like a very wet cat.  She groomed herself and is back to her usual gorgeous self. 

I also had a nice cuddle with Pretty this morning, while waiting on Metrolift.  I sat out on the porch. 

I had more cuddles with her, later.  She's an awesome cat. 

We went to the warehouse, and got the supplies we needed (I needed Pop-tarts, and the strawberry flavor move the best).  Ron needed soda. 

We had a good ride to work.  The other client was pretty demanding, which always reminds me what it looks like.  It's awful.  I don't want to be that ugly person. 

So, when, after work, our ride was very late, I really tried to be understanding.  Someone could have peed in the vehicle, and they had to clean it up (happens a lot).  Someone could have gotten sick and they had to call an ambulance.  We have a lot of car accidents on our freeways, maybe he got stuck in traffic. 

Ron asked the dispatcher.  "Oh, he passed you up and made an unscheduled drop off and pickup."  He was playing cowboy.  I was pissed. 

I told Ron, as we waited over an hour, I could punish him with lots of kitty cat chatter.  That can really aggravate the kind of guy who makes up his own schedule.  He can't tell me to shut up, either. 

I did, a little, but only for a couple minutes.  I could tell he hated it. 

When he finally did show up, Ron asked him point blank "What took you so long, you are an hour late?"   He told a half truth, he "had" a pickup in the other location.  No, he didn't have it.  He had it after he dropped us at the house. 

Ron just set his face and was very quiet.  I was very polite, which for me is pretty much screaming.  The last time I was polite to the driver they started asking me what was wrong, and apologizing for being 2 minutes late (that day, I had a headache).  I am a very outgoing, cheerful person.  I have been called "Bubbly" even when I am depressed.  I did a little cat chatter but he started glazing over, and I didn't want to end up in the emergency room. 

He was a skillful driver, but you can't keep clients waiting for over an hour, in the ghetto, because you want to make up your own schedule.  He may be fired today.  Obviously dispatch was onto him.  There is a line out the door - people who want that job. 

The drivers work hard but make a very decent salary.  I have had many drivers tell me they thought about quitting, but then realized no other job could compare with pay. 

So, I'm home.  I helped Ron find his phone.  I got some laundry started, and then we went to Walmart.  I was found, again, on the porch with Pretty in my lap. 

Walmart was pretty hectic.  It makes me realize how many people make a really big deal about Mother's Day. 

Mother's Day was always a tough holiday for me, because I was abandoned by my mother.  I was raised by an unofficially adopted stepmother who had 3 of her own kids.  That's not a cut on her - but she didn't need me.  My own mother was this awful family secret and I never even heard from her on my birthday, most years.    So, it's a rather wierd holiday for me. 

I don't feel like "Oh, I have to go out and buy" who?  My birth mother is dead, my stepmom has 3 of her own kids, and 4 grandkids - a present! 

The cats helped me loosen up.  One year, Frosty brought me a brown dirt snake  It was between 15-18 inches long - I didn't stretch it out and measure!   It was alive and unharmed.  It was squirming, on the floor, at my feet.  I was pretty horrified, but I had to man up, get the dustpan, and scoop him up.  Then it twisted around my hands until I dropped it in the dustpan and evicted him (I locked the cat door for a couple hours so he could get away).   They are nonvenomous (can't hurt me). 

Another year, I'm pretty sure Bubba brought me a dead rat.  It was large and very stiff.  Just what I wanted.   It wasn't on the day, but a little before or a little after. 

Those cats have made a real man out of me.  I only lament Ron's blindness when the cats bring me a "treat".  I have to deal with it. 

Just like I have to deal with the other issues in my family. 

Drinking has made you a selfish person

Well, that was ugly.  Ron had another blackout. 

Even though he isn't vain, sometimes I think he is a narcissist.  He got very upset when he couldn't find his cat yesterday.  It was pouring rain, a thunderstorm.  We had guys next door with a weed-whacker.  When she finally did come home, I found her bothered by a stray poodle mix.  Of course she was off hiding somewhere. 

Ron chose to receive it as "She doesn't like me anymore".  He got out the alcohol, breaking his rule (never before 12) and said "I'll probably have a fugue state" (fugue is just another word for blackout but I think he finds it more dignified). 

Fast forward, I told Ron I needed to take a nap, could he please be quiet.  I laid down for a while, and it was apparent he would not comply with my request.  Most of it was the usual behavior.   Shouting at God, trying to "help' the cat with burrs in her tail (kitty made it very clear that was a no), banging things around, falling on the floor, mysterious crashes... a little more sober "What did I do?  Why is my room like this?  What happened to my head?", and then back to the liquor cabinet again. 

Apparently he landed on his forehead during one of the falls.  I feel fine sharing this because there is no way to hide it.  Most of the time, Ron falls and the bruses/laceration/whatever is covered by his clothes.  Rarely, just a couple times, he has hit his head when falling. 

He will probably "joke" that I hit him, which will freak everyone out.  He didn't see the looks I got the last time he did that.  I'm really tempted to say something bitter like "Or maybe you're a drunk" if he does.  I will probably just smile and say "If I hit you, I won't leave marks". 

He was sure acting like his usual belligerent self, didn't want medical help, so I left him alone.  I can hear him snoring right now. 

I told him, several times, it was very important for him to let me sleep.  LET me sleep.  Like I have to get permission. 

I told him, during one of his declarations of love "If you really love me the best thing you can do is go lie down in bed and stay there". 

"I'm just trying to sleep!" he replied.  How is it, when he doesn't drink, he sleeps fine?  But when he does drink he has a 12 hour blackout, awake, and then sleeps for 12 hours after?   He even told me, himself, he sleeps better without drinking - he "did an experiment" and would be drinking less.  That lasted one day.  One day. 

I guess it's a good thing I didn't believe him.  He kept me up, all night, like he did when Bubba died.  It is sad, when I really need my sleep, he chooses to drink until blackout and then acts like a victim.  "What did I do?  You have to help me!  I am a victim here!" 

I told him, bitterly, last night: Drinking has made you a very selfish person.  He was so shocked he asked me to repeat it. 

"Unavailable"

Some days find me strong and able to handle anything.  Other days find me wishing I could crawl under my bed. 

Yesterday was pretty uneventful.  Ron went to the dentist, I accompanied him.  Today found Ron looking for "his" cat.  He called for hours.  She came home very wet, miserable, and pursued by a stray dog. 

Ron calls me Mama Bear.  I got Mama Bear on the dog and it left.  Baby Girl, grateful, actually got into my lap when I brought her inside.  She never does that - I think it's been beneficial for her to see Pretty Girl snuggling in our laps. 

"Huh, that looks like fun".  I'm not as grabby, either, being the properly medicated .6 lithium level.  So, she gave it a try. 

Ron got a little jealous and tried to lure her with treats.  That didn't work very well. 

I should add, both of us, over the last couple days, got lots of cuddles from Pretty Girl.  She loves to cuddle. 

Other than that, today has sucked.  I can't talk about some of it, for various reasons.  Mainly self protection. 

I'm battling depression.  I think the nausea is just stress. 

I can say I asked for peace and quiet so I could take a nap, and realized, after half an hour, that would not happen, so I got up.  I had a frantic search through the house for something that has vanished.  Something I need. 

Ron is, to put it politely, "unavailable". 

I will say he did warn me. 

Letter from hell

If you're not saved - unreached - agnostic - atheist, whatever.  I want you to watch this and think. 

If you are saved, I want you to watch it and tell me why you aren't sharing your faith.

A busy week

So, after deleting two anonymous comments, how was my week? 

My strategy paid off: I had stocked up on diet soda and TV dinners when I realized I was getting depressed.  Tonight I was able to throw a frozen pizza in the oven and feed us both. 

Happily, Pretty Girl is not interested in people food.  She only wants the dry, grain free cat food. 

Monday was a long day at work, then Ron kept me running all day.  Tuesday, another long day at work, errands, and a Bible Handout.  Today I had off, sort of.   Working from home, we did the accounting report and filed it.  I had a good nap, watched some TV, and did laundry.  I also had some nice cuddles with the cats. 

I do "let" them out (they have a cat door), but they mainly stick to the backyard.  It is interesting and private, safe, no one in there but the meter man (I noticed they had altered my gas meter). 

A few weeks ago, I bought an automatic spray air freshener, it has a timer and "squirts".  I got the "fresh linen". 

I am a little concerned, I don't want to associate a certain fragrance with grieving for Bubba, so I bought "Fresh Linen".  Ron found it pretty horrifying.  We plan to use it to freshen the trash can. 

Monday, I bought a Hawaiian cartridge,  I was a little reluctant, though.  When Ron was in the hospital, he liked to use air freshener when he went to the bathroom.  One day, I walked in at the wrong moment and he maced me with Hawaiian Breeze.  It was in my mouth, nose, and eyes.  It smelled and tasted ghastly.  I already had a headache and sinus trouble. 

It was hideous.  I never bought it again.  That stuff would have made an excellent defense weapon. 

But, that was 10 years ago.  I was certain they had improved the fragrance, and this is automatic.  Ron won't be spraying. 

I really like it.  It's more a vanilla with a little fruit.  Ron got the Apple Cinnamon, but he says he likes "mine" better.  I have it in the front room.  That's been a nice surprise, and a lot cheaper than the plug in air freshener.  I bought the generic.  The one with the orange cap, at Walmart. 

I'm pretty happy I got everything done, in spite of a bad depression.  Ron is thrilled he got pizza for dinner instead of heating up his own TV dinner.  The cats are happy.  I like to watch them meowing at each other. 

We only had a little trouble when Pretty was in Ron's lap, and Baby Girl went after her tail.   Ron said she hissed in a way that set clear boundaries, then settled down for more petting. 

The girl loves petting.

Varmie

I've had a very interesting relationship with Ron's cat.  Well, my cat. 

She lives with both of us. 

Back in September, Ron found a small brown kitten in the bushes.  He was immediately drawn to her.  When I fed her, she meowed while eating.  Ron told me "I want to pet it". 

I knew we would be adopting her, but I didn't want another cat.  I had promised Bubba, after Frosty died, I would not get another cat unless he brought it home. 

That's how I got Frosty, Bubba brought him home to live with us.  Frosty was a wonderful, loving cat, but very old.  I was happy to get 4 and a half years with him. 

When Frosty died, I entered a month-long depression.  I wasn't ready to have my "heart broke". 

Bubba had also proven he didn't like kittens.  He was friendly enough when we were around, but they never stayed.  One small kitten urinated in Ron's pants, as he used the toilet, then climbed into bed with me and peed on my covers.  We were pretty unhappy. 

I saw kittens as small, annoying pests that peed where they shouldn't.  However, Ron had fallen in love. 

I watched Bubba closely, and he seemed OK with her.  After about a week we brought her in the house.  I put a litter box in every room (except the bathroom and laundry room - 2 bedrooms, study, and front room).  One of my readers deried me, but "The Varmit" as we'd nicknamed her, used them all. 

No accidents.  OK.  We have followed rule #1.  Thou shalt not piss. 

Rule #2 was a little more difficult.  Thou shalt not bite.  She adored Bubba's ears and tail.  Poor cat looked like had gotten piercings, but he put up with it with surprising good humor.  He wasn't afraid to cuff her if she got too wild.   I think Bubba also knew he was dying and wanted to train a replacement. 

One of my fondest memories is Bubba coming home, calling Varmie, and giving her a live lizard.  She was so happy to chase it all over the house as he watched indulgently. 

She was wild.  I figured out I could redirect her with play; and we did.  We have various teasers, "Fluffy" and "Stringy".  We have the paper bag.  We have various balls.  She loved to bat plastic bottle caps on the floor.  She still enjoys all her toys but the bottle caps and the crazy circle.  Apparently, those are baby toys.

I used to fall asleep to the sounds of Varmie attacking the crazy circle.  It bled off a lot of the wild energy. 

If a friend is right, Ron and I actually adopted a Bengal.  She acts like one, looks like one.  No one reported her missing and it seemed clear it was a dump job, putting her in our yard. 

It's obvious, when you drive past my house, I have a cat door.  I have a very fat and happy cat in the driveway.  That might be a good spot to get rid of the last kitten.  They were right. 

She's ours now, but boy I fought it. 

For one, I was far too grabby in the beginning, picking her up all the time.  She doesn't like that.  She's been a little aloof. 

I also rolled over on her, one night, when she got in bed with me.  A 2 pound kitten versus a 200 pound woman - I heard a horrible squeak.  She stopped sleeping with me, except the night Bubba died (she laid by my head for a while).  I took care of her, but I didn't like her much. 

For whatever reason, brown-eyed cats have always given me the creeps.  She was the first "brownie" too.  I held that against her. 

However, she won me over, particularly the night Bubba died.  She knew he was sick and stood over him, meowing sadly as she watched him struggle to breathe.  She slept by my head - remember the last time she got in my bed, I mashed her - so that was a very big gesture. 

Afterwards, she clearly grieved as much as we did.  After a period of getting acquainted, she happily accepted Pretty Girl into her home, realizing PG fills the snuggler role. 

As I lay in bed today for my nap, I thought to myself, I can tell how much I love something by the names I have for it.  I call her Varmie.  Varms.  Varmalicious (Ron's favorite), Baby Girl (my name for her), and Little Girl (Ron's name for her). 

Whatever I call her, she's a good, loving, baby, and I'm glad she chose to live with us. 

If you can't take the faith, get out of my blog

I chose not to publish two comments I put under "offensive attacks".  Attack me if you must, attack my husband even, but do not attack my God.  Don't tell me the Bible is full of lies and then pretend you know His will for my life. 

Here is a question for the one comment on the Bible Handout - what if I'm right?  Because I am.  I always have more pain, grief, stupid arguments with Ron, injury, illness, drunken blackouts, whatever, when I am doing handouts.   I have tracked it - anyone can by looking at the blog.  Type "handout" into the search bar.  I remember one night I was up all night hearing a plumbing issue I could not fix.  I couldn't turn the water off, Ron had been pretty vicious so I didn't want to wake him up, and I felt very alone and hopeless.  My normally quiet neighbors have all night parties.  The cat brings home a live rat and lets it loose in my bedroom (I still miss him, though).  Agonizing migranes, horrible mixed depressions, it would take me the rest of the night to type it up.  Sometimes the attacks start when I just mention the handout, before I have even done any prep work.  Othertimes it may come a week or so after the handout.  But it comes. 

See, I know why you want to minimize it - if the devil attacks people who are working to share God, that means the devil is real, and, by extension, so is God.  If God is real the Bible is real and you are a sinner in need of salvation. 

We are all sinners.  All of us.  I don't care who you are, if you don't know Jesus you are going to hell when you die.  You need to think about it. 

You may be pissed at me.  That's OK.  You would be a lot more pissed if I didn't warn you and you went to hell.  But now, having warned you, it's up to you to make a decision.  

I am a huge fan of letting the Bible do all the "preaching and teaching" to the unreached. 

I can't give you a Bible but I can give you some reading plans: 
Survey of the Bible - 60 days - key highlights.  http://www.biblegateway.com/reading-plans/survey

Read the Gospels in 40 days - just what it sounds like:  http://www.biblegateway.com/reading-plans/gospels-in-40-days/today?version=NKJV

If you want another plan, here's a link:  http://www.biblegateway.com/reading-plans/

That's why I hand out Bibles.  I want to share my faith.  I want you do have what I do; the knowledge that no matter how bad it gets, God can and will use it for good.  He has my back.  He died for me.  When I die or get raptured, He will wipe away every tear.  Peace and happiness forever. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me. 

I don't know if anyone has a relationship with God, and I've handed out thousands of items.  I have no idea.  A few people have told me they "are reading" the Bible.  But, as far as I know, no one has gotten saved. 

That doesn't keep me from praying for them.  If anything, I pray harder.  I see it as a sacred obligation to pray for the recipients, and you guys, every day, even if I have a vomiting migraine. 

I think if "I" had a lot of salvations (God gets all the credit for saving these people, I'm just a tool), I would have a horrible, bloated, ego and become useless.   Jesus said, in Luke 17:10 "¹⁰ So likewise you, when you have done all those things which you are commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.’”

I am well aware I battle the sin of pride.  God has me working in a way that I won't know until The End.  I'm sure I'll be surprised, one way or the other. 

I'm happy God chooses to use me.  I see a very broken, damaged, woman.  God sees a woman with the guts to stand out there on the corner with a Free Bibles sign. 

I don't know your political beliefs: but the day is coming when they will not let me do Bible handouts.  I will be arrested, fined, and jailed for sharing my faith.  (You may think that's a great idea)  I am very careful to obey the rules (don't take money, don't touch the cars, don't impede traffic), but one day the rules will be changed.  I will be considered a "bully" speaking "hate speech". 

I know that day is coming.  I plan to hand out as many Bibles as possible in the meantime. 

Bible Handout

I broke my toe 2 days after a Bible Handout. 
My house was robbed 6 days after a Bible Handout. 
My cat died 10 days after my last Bible Handout. 
I was a little twitchy about this one. 

We seem to have the same driver for the same type of trip.  The lady who takes us to work.  The guy who takes Ron to the liquor store.  The guy who picks us up from Sam's Club. 

Today, we had "The guy who takes us to Bible Handouts".  He has taken us to a couple.  He liked my shirt.  After dropping us, he watched for a little bit and then left. 

Our ride was half an hour late.  We were supposed to get there at 4.  We ended up there at 4:35. 
I didn't have a lot of Bibles, "only" about 50, plus my Spanish Gospels of John.  They are very compact and pack easily, and if I run into a Spanish speaker I can at least give them that. 
I had 4 whole Spanish Bibles, too.  Boy, those were gone muy rapido.  Within 3 minutes - poof! 
I had some fun recipients.  A very professional, aloof-looking Asian guy - but he signalled so I ran over there and gave him a Bible.  He said thank you. 

I never know who I'll encounter.  I had some of my favorites  "The SUV is full of people and everyone wants a Bible".  I had people with reading age children, asking for one Bible, and I'd give them two, one for them, one for the child.  I had some very lively young woman who all wanted Bibles. 

I had a couple people who wanted to give me money.  One had a Christian Fish on the back of her car.  I asked them to pray for "everyone who got a Bible today" and they were happy to help.

One SUV rolled up the window, quickly, as I approached, treating me like some kind of toxic cloud.  I thought it was funny. The Gospel should be infectious.  If it isn't, I am failing as a Christian. 

It is sad to see the people who say no to a Bible.  Some of them already have one, they make a hand gesture or tell me so.  Some are very apathetic and shake a head slowly.  It reminds me of the demon "Apathy" in "This Present Darkness"  Some glare at me while making a "get away" gesture.  Some ignore me completely, so still and rigid, facing forward, I know they see me but they aren't ready yet.  Some are so into the handheld they never even see me.  Some laugh at me, but kindly, and then wave me away. 

Most of the people who point, laugh, or both do take a Bible.  Small price to pay.

I also had some people crossing the street.  I was able to give each of them a Bible.

Pretty soon, I was done! 

Yay! 
I pushed Ron over to the gas station (he always uses his wheelchair).  One of the recipients tracked me down and asked for another Bible, but I was O-U-T out.  He was nice, but asked me if I was sure.   I did dredge up a Josh McDowell testimony booklet and gave them that.  He finally "let" us go. 

I left Ron outside the gas station as I went in to get a snack and soda.  While I was in there, a woman attempted to give him money!  Of course he said no. 

Then I took him to the fried chicken place.  He's happily gobbling right now. 

We had a great ride home. 

Now, it's my favorite time: Time to pray for the recipients!

Otherwise

So, how do I cope, when Ron's being difficult, I'm battling the depression from hell, and my cat is off on classified cat business? 

My faith. 

Does Ron exasperate me, hurt me, and make a difficult childhood look pretty good in comparison to living with him?  Yes. 

I don't know the clinical term, but he is very selfish and wants things to revolve around him.  It's just frustrating, I think "I'm bipolar, but you're the guy who was rubbing my shoulders and 10 minutes later ranting about hating me." 

It's not the head injury, he was like this before.  I can concede "not entirely the head injury".  I can concede he has a shorter fuse since the accident.  But the way he "reacts" when we disagree has not changed much at all. 

Sometimes I do see the Holy Spirit working in his life.  He will come out and apologize, and mean it.  Generally if he has not been drinking much. 

Other times I get the cold shoulder, he verbally abuses me, and expects me to apologize for not telling hin something 51 times, instead of 50.   Someone termed it "crazy making". 

Which brings an interesting question.  Ron always had the ideal, "Normal" woman.  She was a good housekeeper, sociable, professional.    She didn't have any emotional or physical issues.  She could drive.  He used to go on and on for hours about how I had "kept" him from her. 

So, what would have been my ideal man?  I don't care about physicality, but I do get tired of leading Ron around, so he can see, he can drive, he doesn't have emotional issues.  He is saved, a strong faith, and would never refer to God as "torture man".  He would encourage and support me in my faith instead of picking at it and tearing me down when I do my God Time. 

I think, for both of us, the ideal mate was more what they weren't than what they were.  But everyone has issues, and whatever issues are probably just as painful as the ones we face now. 

Ron, for instance, told me he could never enter a serious relationship with a woman who wasn't a believer.  I had told him the same thing. 

Of course, we followed our own plans, not God's, so we had a lot of pain and consequences as a result.  Don't slide into immorality. 

I got into a dispute with an employee at a grocery store.  He told me "Common law is just as good as married".  I disagreed, politely, and told him how I had suffered after Ron's accident because we were not married. 

The man got upset and actually walked off. 

People get offended by the truth.  I decided, one day, in tears, very frustrated I couldn't make any choices for Ron - I would use this to warn others. 

I know at least one couple got married after I told them about my experiences, so I'm glad I could use it for good. 

And Ron sortof apologized "If I said anything that hurt you", and I forgave him. 

I just hate the drama. 

Looking at a timeline, I find it interesting that Ron's drama (drinking) went up very shortly after I got medicated.  My drama went down, his went up. 

I just hope he can rely on God the way I do.  It's an awful way to live, otherwise. 

It's not worth it!

Ron is raving. 

I hadn't planned to do a blog today but I have more energy now. 

Ugh.  There he goes in the "liquor cabinet".  He drinks a lot more when he's upset. 

What started all this?  Well, the guys want to paint our house. 

[I haven't said a word to him in ages and he's still raving.  I wish I could say it is a head injury thing but he did this before the accident, raving at me for long periods of time whenever he got upset.] 

So, anyway, I told someone about this.  She mentioned "Oh, you have to tell the homeowner's assocation" 

I told her, no one in the subdivision gets "approval" for their repairs/paint.  The guy next door is a hoarder.  His yard is 3 feet tall, growing around all his piles of junk and trash.  The guy next door on the other side illegally converted his garage into 2 bedrooms. 

They do inspections every month, driving past the hoarded house.  It still looks terrible.  Do you think the "converter" submitted it for approval?  No.  Absolutelynot.  I'm sure he didn't even get city permits, either.  Good luck with the insurance company on that. 

The house behind us was flipped and rented.  They painted it a ghastly cafeaulait brown.  It had been a nice white.  Now it just looks gloomy, dirty, and depressing.  Did the flipper get approval?  No. 

Another house a block away was painted a loud mauve.  Was that approved?  I sure hope not.  It looks awful.  It is cute for about 10 seconds (and I love purple) then it's like "Get it away from me!" 

Ron was very fearful "they" would "get" us, so he called.  Now I have to submit paint chips, request for improvement, etc.  It's very aggravating.  I have to contact the guys to get a paint chip.  I would just pick one at random but they might bring it out and compare after we did the work. 

Agh. 

I find it frustrating, and I told Ron "I wish you hadn't called them for approval".  "Don't do it" he replied. 

Ron, I told him, I can't.  You have alerted them that we will be making improvments, they will be looking for it now, and we have to do it your way or they will get us in trouble. 

It's like calling a store and saying you're going to rob it. 

I told Ron, I'm frustrated.  If you hadn't made the call, I wouldn't have to email the guys.  I wouldn't have to drag your printer up here and print up the form.  I wouldn't have to fill it out, with photos no less, and mail it.  Then we wouldn't have to wait a month to see if they "would" approve it, or with what "restrictions". 

Ron got angry, threw the word "lazy" around.  That's not it.  He decided I had trapped and tricked him because I didn't tell him 50 times, I thought it was a bad idea to call the HOA.  49 times doesn't count.  I didn't say it enough different ways to make the point, either.  Only a dozen times and all weekend long. 

Huh.  If I told him something had broken he would hear it the first time. 

I don't like submitting myself to other people if I can avoid it.  The way I see it, and I know I'm wrong on this, no one else gets approval.  They let pretty much anything go.  Why should I put myself under them and give them a chance to ruin things? 

It's not like they're going to help! 

"Hey, Heather, we heard today was the big day so we decided to bring you a pizza". 

So, I got the link, sent it to the guy coordinating all this.  Asked, nicely, for a paint chip, which I will probably get on Sunday. 

I just hate dealing with petty tyrants, my husband included. 

I think the worst thing, even beyond the addiction issue, is his "I feel like you hurt me, you wounded me by disagreeing with me, it's on and it's warfare" He warps and twists simple things that really don't bother me, into a massive personal attack, akin to adultery or something.  Then he goes to war and drags out every hateful, ugly, blow he can throw, throws them all, screaming at top volume.  The only thing I can do is ignore him. 

AA says "never argue with a drunk".  I would never talk to him after 12!  He gets so much more easily upset and offended when he's drinking. 

It just baffles me that anyone would willingly put that poison into their bodies, knowing what it does.  It's like being addicted to eating drain cleaner.  It has horrific effects. 

I'm not really upset because Ron has to answer for this.  He may very well lose rewards in heaven because he treated me badly.  I don't want that for him. 

I just want him to simply agree to disagree without going on the warpath. 

It's not worth it! 

I shouldn't flinch when I hear his door open.