All I got was this lousy bottle of vodka, not even Grey Goose

 

I remember little other than that I decided, on impulse, to veer into the alcohol section of Winco on the way out and purchase a bottle of vodka. I asked for Grey Goose, but the lady running the section said they didn't have any. I asked for the next best thing and she directed me to a bottle of Keitel One or something like that. It had the fancy Celtic writing on the bottle, which was supposed to guarantee it was going to be upscale. I took a swig right there in the store and noted that seemed smooth enough. 

Later on, I was on my way to visit my friend Martin at a honey factory, where he was rehabbing from some injury or another. I was told he wouldn't want to see anyone and was quite mad. He might get combative and take a swing at anyone who he came into contact with. 

Me and another person decided to chance it. I have no clue as to the identity of the other person, but sure enough, as soon as Martin was let out into a small holding area, he began to tussle with the other person, wrestling around on the ground and pummeling them. 

He had incredible upper body strength from whatever workouts he was getting in rehab. I was waiting for my turn to talk to him, watching him smile as he pounded the other guy. I never got the chance, as I woke up, my usual dream spoiler being that I had to pee. 

---

It's cold in my house and my vision still sucks in my right eye, though I swear the eyelid always looks better when I first get up and look at it. I see Facebook flashing a notification that Lesa has messaged me. I wonder whatever can it be. 

Did I mention that I'm feeling (that's an odd word to use these days, but I'll go ahead) pretty down these days? Holiday loneliness, existential hopelessness and of course, disturbed about my vision being crap. Nothing left to look forward to, might as well kill myself, kinda of a thing going on. Like, I'm just this collection of problems that nobody would want. I'll never experience love again, who would want this 124 lb bag of nothing? 

I'm staying alive because of a mixture of laziness, fear and obligation. I don't want to disappoint my few friends who I feel might be upset if I checked out of here prematurely. Like leaving the restaurant without paying the bill, I guess I just feel it wouldn't be an admirable thing to do. Like that matters, really. 

People who admire me don't really know me that well. They think they do, but it is my front, the Fakebook persona, that they think of. No one sees me, day in and day out. They don't see the wraith I've become, empty of emotion, except for the occasional sadness, or outburst of frustration when I'm picking up cat vomit. I can't even muster the right response to my cat being sick. 

I stick around for them, too. Who'd take care of them and give them the run of the house like me? They'd likely get adopted by Gina, my wife's hospice nurse. But at this age, they shouldn't have to compete with other cats, as new kids on the block, in some strange house. 

So, I'm here. I have a tin of cookies, left by my neighbors in my mailbox. No, I don't have neighbors living in the mailbox. I'm just too lazy to go back and edit the stupid sentence for correct language and usage. So, the tin of cookies is way off the list as far as my paleo diet is concerned. Or my diabetes, for that matter. But if I'm going to kill myself, why not binge on some sweets instead? It wouldn't kill me, and if I don't give a damn about myself or my health, why not prove it by eating the nice treats? 

I should go all out and have an indulgence-fest, replete with all my favorite naughty items. Booze, caffeine, cannabis, hey, maybe take a whole bunch of mushrooms. What's the worst that could happen? That I die? Maybe I'd have a psychotic break? Would that be so bad? I need a break from my psychosis. Perhaps a massive sugar rush or a bad psychedelic experience would jar me loose from the grip of this depression? What is not working is, everything that I'm doing so far. My routine. 

So, let's go see what Lesa has to say. I figured I'd get all this crap out of me, so I can clear my pallet. It is Saturday, and I should be excited for my weekly ritual of permitted caffeine and cannabis. I may even have a cookie.