Gut Rumbles

March 14, 2004

henry drank all my beer

I have a neighbor named Henry who is a disabled Vietnam vet who claims to suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome. I don't really believe in such a disease, but if it it exists, I've got it, too. I've been through a lot in the past two and 1/2 years.

Henry likes to visit with me. He usually comes over unannounced and asks, "do you have a beer?" I usually do, and I let him drink it. He ran through six this afternoon. Henry told me that I should plead insanity before the judge tomorrow. Yeah. That's how I'm going to regain visitation rights with my son. Just tell the judge that I'm crazy.

I know that I suffer from extreme depression and I am often manic in my behavior. Maybe I'm bipolar, too-- whatever the fuck that means. Henry offered me some of the pills that the VA hospital gives to him, but I turned them down. I have no idea what they are and I need to be sharp in the courtroom tomorrow.

I let Henry drink all of my beer.

I'm going to bed early tonight, because I have the fight of my life on my hands tomorrow. I don't know how I'm going to handle it, but I know that I have to be at the top of my game. I can't afford any mistakes. The courtroom is a dangerous place.

Clarity, focus, sanity and determination are my goals for tomorrow. That's a pretty high bar to clear, given divorce law in Georgia and my state of mind right now, but you can bet your sweet ass that I'm taking a jump at it. I either clear the bar, or I fall. But I won't fall because I fucked-up going in. I have too much at risk here.

I like Henry, but he's not a really good legal advisor.