Today marks 19 years since I moved from Atlanta to Indianapolis. I’ve lived here longer than anywhere. I have more connections here than anywhere. Yet, there is this eternal, nagging feeling that this is not home. I constantly question whether I’m doing anyone any good by being here. Two weeks in, I knew I had made a horrible mistake, but I was contractually obligated at the time, and by the time that contract was over, I was too broke to move back. That condition has remained the same ever since, and now Atlanta’s changed so much that I can’t see myself returning there. I’m not sure there’s anywhere now where I’m going to feel at home.
There is no way today is a good day. The rain kept me in pain, tossing and turning all night. I’ve had the headache from hell all night but I can’t take more pain meds until after 7:00. I gave up and decided to sit at the desk a little after 4. The dogs started pawing at me around 4:30, but I tried putting them off until at least 6. When they paw, they scratch, and my skin is fragile enough that it bleeds. So, at 5:00 I finally relented and let them out. When we came in, as per routine, I fed them and the cats. If I don’t feed the cats they get loud. Apparently, that was a mistake. The dogs eating woke Kat up and now she’s pissed at me.
The rain will continue to fall all day. My body hasn’t liked rain for years because of the arthritis. In my current condition, all pain levels are elevated. I can’t sleep. Eating is difficult. Walking is difficult. Sitting isn’t comfortable. There’s nothing about this existence that’s going to feel good no matter what I do. I’ve shut the door to the Recovery Room and will do my best to stay away from other people so that I don’t ruin the day for everyone who has to put up with me.
19 years ago, I was contractually obligated to be in Indianapolis on this date. That meant I had to leave on Ben’s 10th birthday. There was a big party going on in his grandparent’s yard when I had to say goodbye. He seemed annoyed that I was interrupting his fun. After all, it was his birthday. There were more important things than Dad leaving, right?
I didn’t get to talk to him yesterday. I messaged him, left him a voicemail, but his life still has too many other things going on. I hear from Ben the least. I’m not sure where he’s working or what’s going on in his personal life. From his perspective, it probably doesn’t matter. It never has. Even when his mom and I first separated, I’d call in the evening and after a couple of weeks Ben told me, “Dad, you know you don’t have to call every night.”
What I did get was a very attractive picture of Gabe, my third in line. His hair is about the same length as mine now, only more full, like mine was when I was young. He turns 26 next week. My leaving hurt him the most. He didn’t understand that I wasn’t coming back for his birthday. The phone call I fielded that afternoon still hurts me today. I wasn’t there for my baby. I should have broken the fucking contract and gone back.
Now, I worry how much I’ll disappoint G and Tipper. I need to find someplace to live where someone can take of me without being stressed, if such a place exists. I’ll be leaving two more kids that I love. Maybe they’ll be like Ben and it won’t bother them that I’m gone, that I won’t be here in the morning or when they get home from school. After all, they have their own friends, do their own thing, spend a lot of time in their rooms on the phone or in games. If I’m lucky, they won’t miss me.
Groceries yesterday totalled a touch over $330 including a 44-pound bag of dog food that I struggled to wrangle into the house. One of the issues with having groceries delivered is that it is only right that the shopper be tipped. A 15% tip on yesterday’s order was just short of $45. I would have rather paid a friend to take me and walk with me as I did the shopping myself. It would have been more productive. 12 items were substituted out of a list of 30. That’s over 30%. I have trouble believing that the only substitute available for frozen french fries was “potato puffs.” When I ask for a frozen family meal, an individual meal is not an adequate substitute. Isn’t that just common sense? Apparently not.
Food items and their costs are only going to get worse. There’s nothing I can do to stop that. Earlier this morning I was reading that more companies are looking for ways to reduce the amount of cocoa in their products, including candy makers such as Mars and Hershey. Global warming and disease are to blame. Resources have diminished so dramatically that it is not sustainable for companies to continue using high-price ingredients even if they raise the price. They know that there’s a limit to how much people are willing to pay for a 2.5-ounce candy bar.
The problem isn’t just with cocoa, though. Last year, coffee prices took a huge jump after supplies ran dangerously low. That’s why you’re paying $6 for a six-ounce cup of your favorite brew. Part of the issue is that competitive alternatives, such as mushroom coffee, still contain bean coffee in some form. By the time you add in the cost of the additional processing, the alternatives cost more than the original, making them not so much of an alternative for anyone who’s on a budget, and who isn’t on a budget? More and more of the things we at are being affected by the weather and the result is we’re paying higher prices at the store.
Of course, it would be insensitive of me to not mention that at least we can get to food. There are still millions upon millions of people around the world for whom food is a pipe dream. They keep hoping for relief and each day their hopes are dashed. The problem isn’t so much a lack of food, but a lack of desire to solve the fucking problem. As I mentioned a couple of days ago, billionaires could eliminate hunger completely by 2030. They just have zero motivation to do so.
There is no sunshine today, only gray. This has taken long enough that I can take more pain meds now. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep. I’m not expecting anything to be any better later in the day, though. Why would it? Life is little more than a string of pain punctuated by disappointment.