Saturday, November 26, 2016

I should have gone to work.

It's been a long day. 

I tried to take a nap after I took my shower, but I couldn't sleep.  For one, Mr. #6 was outside kicking the ball with the kids.  I looked outside.  His wife was gone.  I muttered to myself about clichés.  On the one hand, it is sweet, the kids will never be able to look at a soccer ball without thinking of their dad.  On the other hand, really?  Into my bedroom wall?  How hard is it to say "No, don't"? 

But it's "family time" so I try not to get hostile.  At least he is interacting with his kids, instead of abandoning them or raping them.  Positive, Heather.  Be positive. 

We lived in one place where you could hear the immigrant beating his wife; another where a woman beat her children. 

These kids are not psychopaths, they're just loud during the parties, and reckless about running into traffic.  Be positive. 

They did chase the cats, though, which I didn't much like, but the cats just learned to stay away from strangers. 

I had been playing with the idea of going out and getting some incense.  Maybe at the Fiesta.  But, I thought, I don't like the fact they sell a lot of Santeria stuff (devil worship).  Incense can play a part of that. 

Then I remembered the flea market.  I had been wanting to try it for a while, and I heard from another paratransit client they sell incense.  It was one local bus ride away. 

I got my bus pass and left.  Ron called after I left.  He was his sweet self.  I miss that man. 

I had a good time talking to him.  I got off the bus.  I was hungry, but not starving, and I didn't have my pills, which meant I'd have to eat a big meal later.  I got a small cheeseburger and put bacon on it, eating it with curly fries and a large diet root beer.  They had one of those Coke stations where you can pick one of 50 drinks. 

I liked the diet root beer because it's sugar and caffeine free.  I carried it with me to the flea market after I cleaned my table.  Ron called again. 

He was getting drunk, and playing loud country music.  I think I developed my dislike of country music due to that - Ron always likes to play country music "drinking songs" ("The Everclear song" "Time to take my drunk ass home" etc.) when he's drinking, and I have come to hate it. 

I tried to juggle my drink, the phone, and the door.  I failed to manage the drink and dumped ice cold diet rootbeer in my cleavage (I was wearing one of my standard, modest, oversized t-shirts).  Oh, that was unpleasant.  I hung up with Ron and looked around. 

Well, if I wanted a quince dress, "gold" (plated, more like) jewelry, fake perfume, or cowboy boots I had come to the right place.  I wasn't seeing any incense.  I found one shop off in the corner but they sold Santeria stuff.  I got chills just looking in the door.  God puts the Holy Spirit in all believers and it was screaming at me to get out.  I left.  I made a loop of the perimeter.  I found a nice Jamaican man with dreadlocks, selling incense.  And I didn't see any satan stuff either.  Good. 

Even better, he had a good quality product.  I used to make my own incense so I understand the process.  You can't be cheap with the fragrance oil.  I didn't want a repeat of the cheap stuff I had gotten the other day. 

I bought 20 sticks for $2.60.  He had a hard time making change.  Next time I might bring him all coins to pay. 

I got a text.  My cell provider couldn't process the payment.  [bad word]  I tried to call Ron (my phone still worked at least) and went to voicemail.  [bad word]  I left him a concise message. 

He called me back, roaring drunk, slurring his words and totally incoherent.  He was incapable of helping me.  I felt so hurt and betrayed. 

Not only had he screwed up somehow with the finances, now he couldn't even help me fix it.  I had two options, as I saw it.  I could go to the mall kiosk and try to make a cash payment, or I could do it online. 

I always keep a little extra "fun" money in my account.  Well, it wouldn't be fun but I could use that. 

But the debit card's at home.  I had to go home. 

You can imagine my horror when I rounded the corner to my house and saw a giant inflatable bouncy house flush against my bedroom wall.  #6 was apparently having another party.  [bad word]  I let loose an internal string of invective.  I could only see one advantage, since the bouncy castle (a lurid pink and purple) occupied the entire bedroom wall, they wouldn't be able to kick the ball into the house. 

More mental cursing when I came home and found Ron slurring as he listened to his country music.  It's inextricably glued to blackouts, now, in my mind.  I guess you'll never find me at a honky-tonk.  So much for being a Texan! 

I wanted to scream.  I had to get out of the house, away from the party, and Ron's drunken behavior.  I had to fix the billing on my cell phone. 

I stormed out of the house after grabbing my debit card.  I had a nice long wait on the bus.  I must have just missed it. 

I was going the other direction this time.  I would love a bench at my bus stops.  Oh, that would be lovely. 

I called my aunt and let her know what was going on. 

I had a great transfer to the mall bus, it literally came 2 minutes after I got to the bus stop.  I was glad I hadn't gone in and gotten a snack as I'd planned. 

I rode the bus to the mall and almost got run over in the parking lot.  Yike. 

I headed in.  The mall was very busy.  I hunted all up and down the concourse, and couldn't find the kiosk for my carrier.  They had every other carrier in the world, and one I had never heard of.  Oh, boy. 

I felt myself starting to unravel, just a bit.  I went to the map.  No.  It wasn't there.  My carrier, who signed me up at that very mall, had run out on me.  They had plenty of other locations, but I couldn't get to any of them tonight. 

I suspected, and was correct in assuming, I had to fix it today or face a suspended account.  I'm on the bus.  It's after 5 PM.  I had to go home and try to fix it on the computer. 

I left the mall probably 20 minutes after I entered it.  I headed back out across the parking lot and almost got run over again.  I got to the freeway.  I had to cross under the freeway to get to the return trip bus stop.  But I hate really busy traffic like that, it gets my PTSD twitchy.  Sometimes I have minor panic attacks. 

But I had to get home.  Happily I found a woman (I think God sent her, but I could tell she was afraid of me) about to cross at the same time.  We ran across together and then across the other feeder road.  Finally at the bus stop, but no bench.  She stood as far away from me as possible and we waited.  A young, light-skinned guy showed up too. I wasn't sure if he was black or latino.  Didn't care.  He wasn't a freak. 

The bus finally came.  About halfway to my destination, an older man boarded with a bike.  We have racks mounted on the front of the buses for bike storage.  The bike rider can stow the bike and then board the bus, without crowding the bus.  He asked the bus driver about the route I'd be taking.  I told him to follow me when we got off the bus. 

We both moaned in despair as we saw "our" bus race through the intersection as we waited at a redlight.  That's half an hour, waiting. 

I disembarked and my friend followed me.  He had Christmas lights on his bike, run off batteries.  They were cool.  He left the bike with me and went and had a smoke.  Then he opened up his 40 ounce beer and had some of that.  Oops!  I don't know how many rules he just broke! 

He alternated between beer and smoking, but he was harmless.  He told me he was visiting from New Orleans.  I didn't tell him he shouldn't say that in Houston.  We had a horrible experience with the refugees in 2005. 

This guy was harmless.  We chatted when he wasn't drinking or smoking.  I didn't reveal any personal information.  I mainly just gave him bus route information. 

I don't consider myself a bus expert but I do not a route or two in my direct domain.  So I played bus expert. 

He got a call and spent the rest of the time talking to his friend.  I worried about fixing my billing.

The bus finally came at 6:30, after half an hour of waiting.  He thanked me as I got off the bus, which I thought was sweet.  I walked through the subdivision.  Car lights illuminated the path in front of me.  Someone was cooking steak, and then something else I couldn't identify, maybe pho. Some people had already decorated with Christmas lights, it was pretty. 

I could hear childish shrieking two blocks from my home.  Wow.  It got worse as I approached my home, the pink bouncy castle clearly loaded with children, several cars parked outside in the street.  I don't know how many kids are next door, but I estimate between 10 and 18.  That's numbers, not ages. 

I went inside and tried to pay my cell phone bill with the computer.  It didn't work.  [bad word]  I was left with one recourse: calling customer service.  No!  Not that!  I hate doing things like that over the phone. 

I kept punching 0 but it kept asking me what I wanted to do.  I told it billing.  What about billing?   Change my autopay card.  OK.  Put in the number.  I did.  I had several more prompts but I got the thing input and it was happy. 

Hopefully it will bill my card tonight and I won't have any more problems. 

Worst case I call it tomorrow (it will always let you pay the bill) and make a one time payment, then the autopay takes over.  I'll be really happy when I get my confirmation text saying this is done. 

I went to youtube and pulled up and 80's and more playlist and played that, fairly loud for me (but still quiet outside the house) as I typed all this up.  I'm tired.  But I still have probably 3 more hours of party next door. 

Ron was very drunk when I got home, fell out of his wheelchair, and crawled around for a while before making it to bed.  I think.  I haven't actually seen him in his bed. 

He will be "sorry" tomorrow, I'm sure, and rail against himself, concoct some new plan to keep from getting this drunk again, until it happens again. 

What a day.  I should have gone to work. 

No comments:

Good news about the van

Several years ago, #6 bought a 13 passenger van.  Now, the mother drives a minivan and the father drivers a pickup truck.  They occupied the...