Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Work's doorstep

I am starting to dread days off.

Ron starts drinking the minute he gets up; and last night ended with a terrible blackout.

When I went to bed, he was sweetness and light.  "Don't worry, I'll be quiet, have a good night!" 

Shortly afterward, the crash, he had fallen on the floor.  "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine".  I offered two more times, as I saw him struggle, both times politely declined. 

I knew, when he's that drunk, he's not getting up on his own.  I left him on the floor. 

I think I mentioned I bought a new cat toy, a squeaky mouse.  It squeaks when you tap it.  The cats love it. 

Ron kept listening to them play (not a lot of cat toys for a blind man) and thanking me for buying them the present.  Well, they're mine, too. 

Anyway, I heard the mouse going nuts, and Ron shouting in horror.  I got out of bed to find him delusional: there was a (live) mouse in his bed.  I moved it, and told him it was gone.  He kept shouting his bed was hard, what was wrong with his bed, etc? 

I tried to explain he was on the floor, in the front room.  No, he was in his bed.  He reached under the couch, finding my shoes.  Why were there shoes in his bed?  He began throwing them.

[sigh]

I went back to bed.

He woke me up a couple other times.  I finally lost my temper somewhere around 1:30.  I told him I was trying to sleep, so I could work tomorrow.  I didn't know what he was doing, but that was my goal.  He was keeping me up. 

He just didn't receive it.  I lost my temper.  You're on the floor because you're drunk.  You're so drunk you think you're in bed.  You're not!  You're on the floor, drunk! 

Not so proud of that.  But I think understandable.  That kind of escalated Ron but he wasn't getting off the floor.  I figured he wouldn't remember, anyway. 

[sigh] We'll see. 

I went back to bed, taking my personal bag with me.  It was way too close, in my opinion, to Ron, and could be in trouble.  I guess I need to just hide it in my bedroom, every night.
He was shouting about needing to urinate but I figured he could clean it up tomorrow.

Apparently my directions (the bathroom is behind you) slowly sunk in, and he began heading in the right direction.  I heard a lot of cursings and thumps, but he made it to his bed.

Then I lay in bed, listening to him rattle the tylenol bottle, wondering if he was overdosing.  I figured if I tried to intervene in that, he'd get combative and abusive.  I decided God could regulate him, because if I tried I'd probably get a black eye.

The only reason he doesn't hit me during blackouts, I don't give him a chance.  I always stand far away with an escape route.  I never get close to him when he's belligerent.

I learned my lesson on that.  Yes, he was "very sorry".  He would (usually) never touch me in anger when sober... but he's a beater.

I could make a comment about apples and trees.

Ron has such loathing for his father, the "alcoholic".  Ron just drinks, he's not "that" bad.

No, worse, I'd say.

So, I finally went to sleep, only to have him wake me up an hour and a half later.  He was "giving me the day off".  I told him the day was already shot, might as well work, but he said his leg hurt (I bet!) and he was taking the day off.

Next week, I will be able to walk out of my front door and take two buses, the last of which will deliver me to work's doorstep.  That's what I would have done today.

As it is, I woke up at my "sleeping in" time of 8 AM, and got online.

Now I'm going to go do my God Time.  



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