"I know I'm being a pain in the ass"
As you know I didn't get any sleep the night before last. Last night Ron woke me up accidentally.
I was exhausted this morning, but my mood was OK. Just tired. I got my shower with a nice new bar of goats milk lavender soap I got from Swanson Vitamin.
I dressed in my shorts, quarter crew socks, and a performance t-shirt. Of course underwear and my steel toe sneakers.
We went to the warehouse, they had water. I bought 10 cases per Ron. I didn't have much room for snacks after getting all his drinks, but I did what I could.
I loaded the truck, unloaded the truck (Ron helped a little, as much as his back would permit - which was sufficient), got everything on hand carts, and into the building. I did my stocking and helped Ron with his.
Pretty soon we were done.
I took Ron out in the wheelchair, which he appreciated. He isn't up for walking more than, say, 20 feet at a time.
As a result, I am glad he keeps his alcohol in the kitchen, a good 45 feet away from his bedroom. He has to be sober, and very motivated, to go get a drink.
We came home, I had a short nap. That helped.
We got up and decided to get some BBQ. He called our driver, who came (Ron paid him and bought his dinner).
Ron was pretty stiff, so I brought the wheelchair. That worked pretty well for Ron. I just had to fold it and put it in the truck bed, then unfold it and take it out. It was harder getting it in than it was getting it out.
Actually, it slid around in transit. It was hardest getting the wheelchair moved back by the tailgate. I had to reach over, grab something, and manually drag it backwards to the tailgate (which was closed), then open the tailgate and remove the chair.
But I know, if our roles were reversed, Ron would do it for me. He had an easy time as a result and even went through the line with me.
I wanted French Toast. Now the BBQ place will serve some breakfast items for dinner, but they don't always like to.
"I know I'm being a pain in the ass" I started, then ordered the French toast. They were seemingly happy to make it although I'm sure the line cook in the back had a few things to say about me.
The cashier was happy to help carry the tray to our table as I pushed Ron in the wheelchair. It has been my experience, as a disabled person, and loving one, that most people are very nice if you ask them for help.
I'm getting better at asking for help.
We had a good meal. Ron worries about his digestion and problems, so he didn't eat at the restaurant until I started feeding him bites of chopped beef off my plate. It was cute. He was peeping like a baby bird and I was feeding him. I had already eaten all I wanted, apparently 1/4 of a pound is too much to eat when I had a plateful of French toast (which, by the way, was perfect and delicious). The driver left, I think a little sickened by all the "cute".
We finished and went out to the vehicle, but the latch on "Ron's" door was broken. Great. Ron had to get in behind the driver. The driver had to move Ron's 3 bottles (a gallon and a half, total, I believe) of vodka. Ron had sent him to go buy that a few days ago.
"I wish" I responded "You had bought him gin, or anisette, or something nasty like that - something that tasted so bad Ron would never want to drink it." I just left it at that slightly humorous remark and didn't get upset.
Ron's going to find someone to buy him alcohol, that's a given. Before this guy, Ron had a cab driver going out and buying it for him.
Ron got loaded and I got the wheelchair into the back of the truck, closed the gate, and got in on "my" side (front passenger). He parked on the far side of our driveway, so I had to unload Ron into #6's lawn. I felt a little bad about that but they were gone, and I'm not the one who parked there anyway.
I would never do that. But I don't have the keys.
Ron held the alcohol, like a baby, cradled against his chest. We got in the garage and he put it in his walker (it has a carrying pouch), then went into the house and put it in his "liquor cabinet". I don't know if he drank anything but he went back to bed.
I would have done the blog a lot sooner but Torbie got on me. She got her last steroid pill tonight and is much better. She sat on the couch and stared at me with her big green eyes. I could tell she wanted a cuddle, so I sat down on the couch and spread something over my lap. That is her sign to climb aboard, and she did.
I held her even after my left arm started twitching like something out of a bad zombie movie, but when I adjusted her to kiss the top of her head she got up and left. I guess that was too much. She sniffed my hand in approval (I smelled right, like Torbie, now), and left.
Biscuit likes to sleep on the floor of the computer room when I'm in here. He has a paper bag, he's very fond of it.
I would never get rid of that paper bag.