Nervous Typing… Hospital Thoughts

When I’m nervous I start writing. This evening my grandmother isn’t feeling all that hot so as I sit here in the hospital and crack half jokes to keep her smiling I find myself thinking about odd things.

What is it about a hospital that makes you extremely hungry? Is it the fact that you know that you’ll be in one spot for an extended period of time when visiting a loved one, or is it the thought of the cafeteria closing right after you feel that last pain of hunger?

In my family we get worked up much differently than most people. If we’re stressed out we just stay awake and toil. Grandma was in here last week and I don’t think any of us got a solid hour of sleep. However we spent more time laughing and telling stories than we ever do on a normal occasion. There’s something about the idea of things changing that causes us all to turn up the positive energy… but in doing so we never deal with the emotions that are stirring under the surface. I can appreciate the front that we all give one another, but it makes for a tiresome private recovery.

Vinyl furniture only makes sense here. There shouldn’t be any other place that has vinyl furniture, but they just keep selling it to people for them to put it in their homes. Somebody should pass the word on that.

One of my aunts just loves to be the one to tell us the news. It’s almost like a badge of honor that she gather and disseminate the stories of doom and gloom. I’m sure everyone knows someone that just can’t wait to tell it. I’m getting to the point that now when my phone rings I prepare myself for the highest level of catastrophe so that when I hear it I can withhold the dramatic reaction. That’s my own sick way to pay back her running down the dreary news. We love one another dearly, I think we just get a kick out of being weird to each other.

Why don’t they get the people that make the chain restaurant food in the hospital to do the cooking out in the real world? Or is it the isolation and lack of options that makes everything taste like they got the recipe from Emril?

There’s something extra special about how we rally behind one another in our time of need. We come from far and wide, rearrange our work schedules and stay late. I love my family, and in all honesty I’m nervous, but I’m glad that we’ve stayed close over the years and can still come up with new ways to make one another smile when things are a bit crazy.

#Love

OCD and The Box

There’s a random topic that’s been on my mind, and it’s not appropriate for anything else I write so I thought I’d bring it here. As many of you know, I started this blog as a way to get out my frustrations without the consequence of having said the things that float around in my head to people that I love and care about.

With that established I must assert that there will be no giving or receiving of ass or any other sexual act in a house that is not clean. Cohabitation is not easy, and the biggest hurdle to ascend is the bachelor pad mentality. But dirty sex is for prostitutes, the homeless, and meth heads. I’m not saying that the entire house must look as though it’s ready to sell, but there has to be  clear and defined line of acceptable appearance.

Ladies, you know how growing up you hold those conversations about sex on white sand, then you grow up and try to attempt some of the stuff you thought were fantasies and end up with a bug bite or sand in an inaccessible location and abandon the thought? I believe that’s what’s happened to me in the realm of, just burst into the house and throw our clothes on the floor… etc. That shit is ridiculous, why? Who exactly is going to be expected to clean that up? The thought of having a task to perform aside from falling asleep and waking up to some juice makes the whole thing sound like it needs to be skipped.

Usually people with OCD end up in relationships with people that do not have it because it’s hard to find someone with the same ticks, and in that sacrifice comes the sentence to life without control. Some may say that I’m wrong for putting the box up for ransom, but I bet that sweeper gets a few laps around the living room this evening.

-I couldn’t say it out loud, but I’m glad I got it off my chest.

4.10 Happy Birthday Big Buford :)

On April 10th over 80yrs ago God gave the world a beautiful gift in the package of a man that would grow no taller than 5’5″ and have the heart of a giant. That man would one day meet a woman named Margaret and years later he would make her his wife on that same day…

Thank God for Buford Hocker. We miss you Grandpa. RIP, as we celebrate your birthday/anniversary this weekend may we all learn to love beyond the surface and see each other as God sees us, worthy of love and in need of inspiration. You taught us how to smile in spite of pain and care without regard for circumstance. Thanks Grandpa…I love you.