Reminders

8/8/07 Wednesday
Yesterday was not a good day. It wasn’t slowdowns, didn’t have any bad ones. It wasn’t physical, my pain level was fine. It was the reminders. Things have been going so good. Through the generosity and compassion of others we have air conditioning, a new kitchen, the weeds will get cut down, and mostly friends. Things are looking up and hopes are renewed. Then I have a day like yesterday where the fact that I do have brain damage is thrown in my face. It is something that I try to forget, something I hate to recognize, and when things are going well I do forget it or at least dream of things as if I don’t have this disability. Yesterday was a fight to do what used to be simple and then there was the letter from Mt Sinai Hospital. That just brought up the fact that I finish little I start out to do. It makes me feel stupid. The analogy of being a drunk or on drugs holds true. I can talk a good game, sound intelligent and all that, but that seems to be it. Yesterday wasn’t just depressing, it was demoralizing. I don’t keep up with much of anything. There is a garden full of melons that are probably rotting away for I don’t know when they are ripe, don’t pick them, and don’t know what to do with them if I do. The squash is easier for it turns yellow and doesn’t go bad quickly. I am thinking of taking a load to the first church of Stanton but in my mind fear they will reject any gift I bring. One of the things I looked forward to with this garden is blessing people there with these fruits of my labor. You can read that in the earlier entries of this journal. I thought that maybe that will open some doors. But this inability for me to get along, this lack of social skills, is just another reminder of the brain injury. Thank God though for those in Midland who have opened their hearts and accepted me. There is a fear in me, based on my past experiences since waking from the coma and moving to Stanton, that I will say or do something to cause these doors to slam closed.

So this morning I bear the disillusionment. I am sure I will work through it as I must and have done so often. I never went to Big Spring and never fixed the garage door yesterday. What I did was grab a hoe and chopped down some of the seven foot tall weeds outside our bedroom window. This is something basic and simple that I won’t screw up and the physical labor helps vent frustration, at least in theory. The hoe I bought at Home Depot because it had a longer handle more suited to my 6’2” frame and seemed heavier duty is a made in China piece of crap with the blade repeatedly bending backward.

We will go to Big Spring this morning. It is better that I do this with Cherie along. I’m not real confident of handling navigating the urgent care clinic and answering doctors questions alone. Then maybe I’ll fix the garage door and finish cutting wood for the cabinet. It’s what I am thinking of doing but can’t count on it. This won’t be an easy day for Cherie as I am not in a good mood. The puppies already heard from me when they pushed the gate to their room open this morning. Hope I can lighten up.
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I’m doing much better. We got to the VA hospital at around ten thirty or so. Because the pain pills are a narcotic the doctor needed to approve renewing the prescription so that meant waiting till one o’clock or later. Now we have two hours to kill so it’s time to explore this town I grew up in. I had driven around it when we were coming down to visit with my grandmother and stayed in a Big Spring hotel. The entries you can find in the early part of this blog talk of how I got lost as I sought the memories brought up by seeing something familiar. As Cherie and I drove today I would tell her stories of those days. Showed her where the foosball, pool, and video parlor was and how I would pack my mustang with people and we would smoke dope till we couldn’t see. How I would flip off the police while on my motorcycle just to get them to chase me. Of doing donuts on a mesa flinging up so much dust we couldn’t see and then stopping to see how close to the edge of the cliff we were. I found the high school but it didn’t look familiar at all as far as the exterior goes. Couldn’t figure out which Baptist church I went to, the one I was baptized in. There were a few on the road but nothing looked familiar at all.

So much is lost from the brain injury but there are still fragments left that I can grasp. I chose a road to drive out of town on. There was the mobile home factory I worked at. Just for a few weeks for in those days I never held a job long. Keeping on the road I saw where my grandfather, Rudy, would take me shooting. Cool, that brought back some good stuff. I stayed on this road but now there was nothing remotely familiar. But we had two hours to waste so I kept on. We came to an intersection of a road named “Moss Lake Road”. Moss Lake? That’s where Lee and Rudy took me many times. We camped out there, we fished there, I remember now. The old tin boat, another item stolen from this house, Rudy and I had taken on this lake many times. So I turned onto this road figuring it will take me to the lake. Didn’t know so just guessed which direction to go. I don’t remember the road but I remember one of the times we were going to the lake in the old light blue pickup. I kept changing the station on the radio despite Rudy telling me not to. Finally he got fed up and smacked me upside the head. I cried like a baby but it straightened my snotty ass up. Needed that. At that time I needed a lot more than that. This was after I had run away from my dad’s home because I was tired of being beat and they sent me to live with my grandparents. I was a mess psychologically and the undiagnosed Asperger’s syndrome didn’t make things any easier.

So Cherie and I drove, wondering if this road would lead to the lake. It did. Coming to a valley we suddenly saw the lake. Now it was time to recover many more memories. I drove around the rustic roads that followed the lakes edge and we both enjoyed how beautiful it was as I said things like “I think this is one of the areas we liked to fish at”. Wasn’t really sure but it felt right. So we drove till we couldn’t drive anymore. Turning back it was time to head to the hospital.

The prescriptions were ready so we grabbed them and headed home. Stopped to pick up the mail on the way. I didn’t get to talk to the VA about the mysterious lack of their letters being delivered to our mailbox. I’ll bring that up on the fifteenth when my next appointment is. They tell us the letters are sent but we haven’t seen them.

I decided to stop at the first church of Stanton on the way home to see about bringing melons and squash to them. The youth pastor, who’s name escapes me despite having heard it many times, was the only one there. He said to bring all I wanted and it would disappear. That’s what I wanted to hear.

When we got home I had to lay down for an hour or so. It has been a busy day and the mental fatigue thing sets in around two or so, especially if there is a lot going on. After the siesta I hit the garden to harvest stuff to take to church. The Ein Dor melon I have been waiting to harvest has disappeared. Just vanished. We’ve been told that coyote’s know when melons are ripe and have been known to steal them. Between that and our puppies much of the melon patch has been destroyed. I clipped several honeydews who’s vines were dead. I don’t think they were ripe yet but regardless are done growing. Hopefully some are good.

I loaded the truck and headed into Stanton. The youth pastor’s wife was there along with the church secretary. I asked where they wanted this stuff and after finding out how much she cleared off a table in the big room across the hall. The youth pastor and his wife (They both told me their names but I can’t remember. Sorry) helped unload the truck. We talked a little afterwards. I shared our story and also brought up how disappointed and bothered we were that after nine months no one had visited or really opened up to us. How we had looked forward to being part of the community and getting involved. So we went to the church in Midland and it is a night and day difference. I told them that one of the things I had looked forward to with the garden is sharing it’s fruit with the friends we would make in Stanton. We may not have found any real “Friendships” but I am sharing anyway. I invited both of them up to the farm. She said that might include their three kids. “That would be great. They are more than welcome and our puppies need to be around kids” I said. I look forward to them coming and truly hope they will.

With that all done I came home and went to work in the garden, hoeing down the voraciously growing weeds. Unfortunately in my exuberance I once again chopped one of the drip feed hoses in half. It’s hard to see where they are under a jungle of three foot tall weeds.

I ran to Walmart to get repair parts for that and then to HEB to pick up some stuff for when Wally and Eric come tomorrow to brush hog weeds and help me do some things around here that I can’t do by myself. Things like dragging the two telephone poles into the melon patch garden.

It’s after midnight so I need to call it a day. Night all. I’m doing much better as far as the depression goes so don’t worry.