Bike - Update

I got one a couple weeks back. It's bright red with black trim, has 3 speeds, balloon tires that cushion everything, a seat the size of leather armchair, and it goes. I've been riding almost every day, except when it is too hot. I love my bike.

She Texts

She is angry. She has a right to be. I was possibly the shittiest husband on record. But still, she is angry. One of the few benefits to being tossed out is that I don't have that anger in my face all day, every day. She usually keeps it to herself, and, I hope, her therapist. We can talk civilly about the kids and financial issues, even getting friendly once in a while.

But sometimes she boils over. And then she starts texting me. I don't mean the occasional "You're an asshole." Even daily would be within reason. But no. I mean she texts. 63 so far since 8, and she's still going strong. In the last month, 782 texts, all sent on 8 days.

I'm trying not to be an asshole. I'm making the effort to show her I am sorry for hurting her. But on days like this, I just turn off the phone.

I can't wait for this to get better.

Big Wheel Keep on Turnin'

I am going to get a bike, I think. My rehab course will be ending soon and I need to find some way of exercising to replace it. I can ride along the lakefront and do some light dumbells to keep my upper body in tone.

I test rode a couple today. It was a lot of fun riding around.

One life change down, a few hundred more to go.

The Thorazine Shuffle

It was after a couple weeks of seeing Ed on the corner, either when I went to the drug store or to Stella's that I had the chance to watch him. I began to notice that he had a route; he wasn't stationed full-time at the CVS. Ed marched his way up and down Broadway as far north as Addison and as far south as Diversey.

I also noticed that some days Ed seemed more mellow than others and some days he was positively manic. The slow days also revealed another clue about Ed. He walked in a stuttering, almost lurching way. That's when it hit me: the Thorazine Shuffle.

The Thorazine Shuffle is named after the well-known antipsychotic drug. It and its progeny have a suppressive effect not jusst on the parts of the brain that control emotion, memory, and cognition. They also have a significant effect on the physical brain as well. Imagine the dayroom in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Ed's just another one of the poor schmucks who can't support himself or live a normal life, but can't be institutionalized because of overzealous liberals. One of the homeless that greedy conservatives and smug libertarians walk by and snarl at because they could surely find some way to make a living and get off the public tit.

I need to do some thinking and reading now. More on Ed later.

Ed

I'd never had a homeless person introduce themself to me before.

He was just sitting on top of a newspaper vending machine when I came out of the CVS. I had the dollar in my hands from the purchase I'd just made and I tried to take care of the homeless whenever I could. So I handed him the buck and started down the street. Transaction closed. Let's move on.

"My name is Ed." He smiled at me, a big grin. "What's your name?"

"Sous Chef." I started off again. Again he caught me short.

"Thank you for the dollar." Ed smiled again and held out his hand to shake. I shook.

"You're welcome, Ed. Good luck to you, Man."

"Have a good day." Ed still had that grin.

Walking

I do a lot of walking these days. It's my primary form of exercise and also my main form of entertainment. I had forgotten how much I like wandering the streets and watching a million lives being lived.

In the suburbs, everything is driving distance. Just to run out and grab a bag of ice or a quart of milk is a three mile proposition. I used to spend so much time in my car, it's no wonder I felt cut off from everyone. I was.

I Saw My Shadow Chasing Me

I was at the train station last week, and I was just sort of letting my eyes (and my mind) wander. Suddenly, something caught my attention. My reflection was in the blacked-out windows across the street from me, clear as the real thing. But here's the curious thing. There were two of me in every window.

Behind and slightly to the right of me there was a second me. I wondered for a moment what the meaning of this curiosity could be. Speaking metaphorically, of course. Physics isn't my strong suit.

Was I  bearing witness to the end? I've lost my family, my job, my health, and my sense of purpose all in the space of a year. Through most of it, I've felt helpless, like an unwilling witness at my own fatal fall. I know that I overstate things here. I also know that I have to own the chaos and destruction I have wrought. I knew the choices I was making and the likely outcome of those choices. I like to tell myself it couldn't be helped. But I'm not easily fooled these days.

Perhaps it was the old me looking on as the new me turns a fresh corner. I am starting new in many respects. I need to learn to live without family. I have to find a new way to fill my days. I have pretty much given up getting a new job in my field. It seems nobody wants a middle-aged man with heart disease and no independent source of business.

Perhaps it was the good me, falling behind as evil me manages to shed the last vestige of my better nature.