"Where are my pants?"
Ron was pretty obnoxious last night but saved the verbal abuse for God. I do find it amusing he called God a M-F-er. I mean, Jesus and all.
He got angry at me one point, looking for the toilet. Happily, he did not consider anything to be the toilet, that wasn't, he just couldn't find it. It must be hard to be very drunk, blind, and head injured, crawling around on the floor, looking for a toilet you can't find.
I verbally directed him, left, go straight, go right, he got it. Then he fell off the toilet after he finished and knocked a bunch of cleaning products into the bathtub.
He found his bed, cursing and screaming at God for a while, then passed out.
I slept OK. Surprisingly. I "went under" but had nightmares about him dying. I'm not stupid, he's killing himself.
This morning he woke me up asking for his pants. I told him he took them off, I didn't know when. He is wearing them now so he found them.
Now he wants to go out. We'll see how that goes.
I just wish he would only ask me "Where are my pants?" because I have put them in the washer.