Sorry, I haven’t been around but after thinking about, I’ve come to the decision that I might need to increase the spoonfull of serotonin to a scooper full of serotonin.
I’ve been feeling really sad again – unnaturally so. I know it’s normal to be sad about aging parents. It’s normal to worry about sons who marry bipolar nut-jobs who think it’s cute to shave their one year olds beautiful blonde curls into a Mohawk. It’s normal to cry about our youngest son who is living in a den of iniquity with other college drop-outs and smells like alcohol every time I see him.
But I’m back to worrying about everyone. I worry about the old woman crossing the street while gripping her walker – should I stop my car and make sure she gets across safely?
I’m terrified that one of the 4-year-old twins who live on my street will be hiding behind my car one day when I pull out of the driveway so I’ve gone back to walking around the back of my car before I start it – just like I did when my kids were little.
Speaking of worrying, I never told you the story about the drunk who called me a sanctimonious whore!!
One night last month, I was driving on a heavily travelled road after leaving my hairdresser. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and noticed a man stumbling and ricocheting off of the trees directly across the street. Suddenly he fell into a ditch right next to the road. I immediately threw my car into park, punched on my flashing lights and ran to his side. He looked to be about 40 years old; he was wearing clean clothes and was clean-shaven. He was totally incoherent – he couldn’t answer any of my questions – so I immediately called 911.
In the meantime, another man pulled up and I could see that he was talking to “Ricochet Man”. The Good Samaritan came over to me and said, “He’s just really, really drunk. I hope you didn’t call 911”.
“Of course, I called 911!” I shouted! “He came stumbling out of those woods, and if not for that ditch, he would be splattered across this highway right now!”
Ricochet Man is now doing his best imitation of a pole dancer as he tries unsuccessfully to hoist himself to a standing position by holding onto the street lamp. G.S. helps him stand and then told R.M. that I had called 911.
Well, all hell broke loose!! R.M. started shouting at me. He screamed (among other things), “Why the fu@k did you call the cops? Listen, lady, I’m just a drunk – I’ll always be a drunk! You sanctimonious whore! I guess you think you’re better than me, you stupid biotch!!!!” and on and on and on.
The funny part was that I just kept ignoring him. He was red in the face – screaming and spitting and I just stood there with my arms crossed in front of me. After growing up in a big Irish and Welsh family overflowing with drunks, I’ve seen much meaner drunks than him!
The G.S. told me to leave and I said, “I’m not leaving until the police come.” G.S. told me that I couldn’t stop this guy from getting drunk tomorrow and falling into the same street and I said, “No, I won’t be here tomorrow, but I am going to see this through today and make sure this man gets help”. (Of course, I can always use the good Karma points, right?)
The police came and the man quieted down and asked to be taken to the hospital. With one muttered, parting salvo in my general direction, R.S. was taken to his next stop. Wouldn’t it be nice if it was the first step to sobriety?
………….Yep, we can always dream.