Trust me on this one. Those phone calls suck ass. Big time. I've been there. I've done that. I've got WAY too fucking many t-shirts!!! Those calls are the Exit to Hell... And they all end in a cul-de-sac. You're trapped.
If my phone rings before 7 AM or after 10 PM somebody better be dead. And they usually are. I'm 58. You think I would have learned not to pick up the phone at this point. But I haven't.
"Mr. Colee, this is Doctor Headupmyass. Did I wake you? I just wanted to give you your HIV test results. You are positive. Please call my nurse if you have any questions. Click." I called in sick, drove to the coast and spent the day getting puking drunk on champaign and throwing rocks at the seagulls.
"Hi, honey, this is your Aunt Jeanne. Please sit down, I don't know how to say this. Your dad is dead." I kind of remember dropping the phone.
"Donn!!! OMg!!! Turn on your TV!!! The Trade Towers have been hit!!!" I will never, EVER forget that wake-up call as long as I live. What I watched unfold that morning is burnt into my memory.
"Donn??? (Long pause...) Grab a chair. I have bad news. John Geske just died in Mexico." I dropped the phone. Again.
Then there was the dead body in the basement in the middle of the night. Oh, yeah, that was a delicious roller coaster ride. 2 AM. Dead body. Basement. SO not a pretty adventure. I spent over an hour "sanitizing" that house before I called 911. There where drugs everywhere. And fingerprints. Mostly mine. And a dead body in the basement. With dildos, a tank of nitrous oxide and duct tape. A suicide is never pretty. Crunch the freaking numbers.... I was totally fucking boned. And not in that good way that I usually like. I chained smoked and drank bourbon out of the bottle for the next 10 hours while I was being interrogated in the dining room. Can you say "homo-cide"???
We have all been gob-smacked by these things. They are like a bowling ball to the back of the head with enough force to leave a crater on the surface of the moon that is visible from Earth. Cold cocked is an understatement. Uncomfortably numb doesn't even come close. It's like being fucked up the ass, raw and dry, in an alley in the middle of the night next to a dumpster. It's "short, sharp and shock" in the worst way imaginable. And there you are. On your knees. Thinking about what the next chapter may hold. And finding yourself afraid to turn the page... You just don't want to know what the next intersection may hold... Perhaps a train wreck. Which, considering the cesspool you find yourself in at the moment, just might be a welcome relief of sorts...
There is an ancient Chinese curse. It goes "May you lead an interesting life.". It is SO not Zen it just hurts. It's all about living your life like water. Don't try to overcome obstacles, go around them. Again, a closet full of t-shirts.
Yet, I keep going down that highway. In the middle of the night. Over driving my headlights. And nervously giggling behind the steering wheel. Just waiting to see that deer in the headlights that I am about to smash into that just stands there stupidly. Somehow, ready for the impact that is about to happen. That is a reality that I know all too well. I hate it with all of my heart.
I have lost too much, too many and too soon. And always with a phone call. And usually in the middle of the night. My knees are damned near 6 freaking decades old and have been knocked down to the concrete more times than I care to count. If I see one more casket I swear to god I'm taking out an McDonald's with my bare teeth and a plastic butter knife!!!
I could write a book...
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