All the sleep I can get.
I tried to take a nap, it didn't work out. Torbie did get on my chest and give me cuddles, though.
I took a shower and got dressed in my quarter-crew socks (a little over the ankle), baggy cotton shorts (knee length), and a baggy black t-shirt. I brought my bus pass holder, minus my debit card and work ID. I brought a little cash, my pocket knife, and my cell phone. I wore my cheap $10 sneakers, that look like exactly that. In the ghetto, you tend to be rated on your footwear - the more expensive your footwear, the higher your rating on the social scale and the more likely you are to be mugged.
My most expensive footwear consist of a pair of steel toed sneakers I wear to work. $30.
I decided I wanted some Pupusas. There's a place near our house, the first place I had them, and as I recalled they were awfully good. It would be a little bit of a trip getting there and returning, requiring 3 buses, but I figured it was worth it to get a good meal and some peace and quiet away from the house.
I walked the half-mile to the bus stop, it was so hot I had sweat running down my legs into my socks. I had my "foldover" sunglasses, that go over my regular glasses, to prevent headaches. Seems to have worked. I got to the bus stop and had a short wait. Then it came.
I got off at the pupusa place and the waitress wouldn't serve me at first. She thought I was some - character, I suppose. But her husband, the owner, knows me, came out, greeted me by name (I gave them a very good Google review), and asked about Ron. I told him Ron's back was bothering him. True enough.
To her credit, it is a pretty rough neighborhood and they're right next to a liquor store. So much for peace and quiet, though, she had her kid at the restaurant and he kept bugging her. "Mommy! Mommy!"
I left a good tip anyway. My meal only cost $6.
I decided the pupusas in Acres Homes, at De Soto and Antoine, were better. They had more cheese and a crunchier crust. They had more filling overall. I think they were bigger. I liked them better. Of course I didn't say anything, but the next time I want a pupusa I will just go there instead.
Besides, I would only have to take 2 buses there as opposed to the 3 I was faced with now. The restaurant was on a very busy street served by 3 bus lines. The street always has a high-volume of traffic. I have seen, literally, no shitting you - two, two people run over by cars on this street. Let me tell you, the sight of a person clutching their clearly broken leg, screaming their lungs out, is not something easily forgotten. And I already have issues since Ron's accident.
No way was I going to walk across that street. No, I was going to ride the bus until it crossed the street, get off at the first stop after that, cross that street, and wait for the return bus.
I did just that. Again, I didn't have to wait long. The bus driver agreed with my philosophy. And she drives that street every day.
I got off and crossed the 4-lane street. I went into the Vietnamese grocery store and got some cookies and cold drinks (Oolong tea, and a can of Diet Dr Pepper). I paid for all that and decided I would treat Ron as though he wasn't having a blackout and get him some eggrolls from Timmy Chan.
TC is a cheap, fast, greasy kind of Chinese food. It is fast and pretty good, though. I had already eaten (not that I loved it), so I just got Ron 2 orders of eggrolls. I have never seen Ron turn down eggrolls.
I had a pretty long wait out in the hot sun but eventually I got the same driver who had taken me across the street. We chatted. I told her a little about Ron, something I realize now may not have been a good idea: just that he was blind and having some health problems, and I wanted to get him a treat.
I forgot there are other people on the bus.
Someone else rang the bell for my stop as we approached the intersection. A man got off with me (black, if it matters) and began asking me very rude and intrusive questions. I answered the first one "Are you single?" I told him no and left it at that. Then the guy tells me a man shouldn't make his woman ride the bus, he should drive her a around. Then he asked if I was blind, to which I said no. I didn't want him to think I couldn't ID him (he was probably confused by my sunglasses, which are occasionally worn by blind people with light sensitivity). Then he told me he was unemployed, I didn't respond to that.
I finally stopped walking, forcing him to go on ahead, and then to make it completely clear I crossed the street and walked on the other side from him. He went on ahead, looking back occasionally.
I waited until he was WELL ahead before checking the mailbox (junk mail) and heading into the house. I thought that was bad.
I came in the house to a partially nude, very drunk, Ron on the floor, mumbling. He was pretty belligerent. I tried to give him the eggrolls but he said no, put them in the fridge. I found a half-eaten sandwich on the floor, in a plastic bag, and put that in the fridge too. I helped get him on his walker and to the bathroom.
Then I tried to lie down. Torbie got on me again for some more cuddles. Eventually I slept for about an hour, but #6 apparently came home from some sort of outing and spent half an hour slamming their front door, again and again. I don't think they realize how intrusive it is.
Their old door was much quieter, I never heard it. But after our cheap wood door was kicked in during a robbery, a door shop owner at the church donated a door to us. It is very pretty. Not to be outdone, #6 went out and bought a similar door, but much larger and more elaborate. It also clashes with the color of his house - the door is deep red and the house is pink. I guess she picked the house and he picked the door.
Ugh. So now, whenever they leave or come back, I am faced with loud door-slamming noises - it is very near my bedroom wall - another thing they don't consider. I don't know what they think we have at the back of the house, but they sure don't act like it's a bedroom.
Sometimes I debate telling him "You know this is our bedroom, we can hear everything that goes on outside this wall." I remember one time a friend of his came over around midnight, banging on the door, in some kind of crisis, and they had this whole conversation about it, for half an hour, practically leaning against my bedroom wall. If I knew better Spanish I would have had a lot of gossip. Very annoying.
I have enough problems within my house, I don't need more problems out of it. I do thank God we are not in an apartment because Ron makes so much racket during his blackouts, he would disturb all our neighbors.
[sigh] I'm just exhausted. Ron is finally sleeping peacefully and I can't. I'm going to try again, though, because I need my sleep. If Ron has another blackout tonight I'll need all the sleep I can get.