I wanted to see if anyone would notice that I didn’t post. And – someone did. Well, several someones. I feel that I owe you an explanation about why I have been remiss in posting lately. It’s very complex, but I will try to boil it down to as few words as possible.
It’s because I’m lazy.
Anyway, I went to NJ to help out Eric today. I get a phone call like this from him yesterday:
Eric: I hurt my back. Can you come over here and get my mail, and maybe get my bag from work?
Me: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
He wasn’t. I figure – what the hell. I wanted to see an old work friend, Tejal, since this was her last day, so it was an excuse to be there anyway. I went over there, calling about 5 minutes before I got there to give him a head start on opening the door. I get there and stand out front with my thumb up my ass for about 10 minutes. I’m figuring he’s inside playing World of Warcraft, and I’m about to call him again when he comes out the door, taking little mincy faggot steps down the hallway. This, of course, makes me laugh. But when he’s about half way down the hallway, I kind of start to feel bad. He’s obviously in a lot of pain. He gets to the stairs, and he’s hanging off the bannister while he slides on foot onto each step. His keys are in his mouth, and I’m figuring if he falls, he’s fucked and I’ll just go home.
He didn’t fall, and we limp back to his apartment. My man has really hit bottom. He’s got his couch folded out and set up flat (its a futon) and he’s been lying on it for days. He’s got this loaf of white bread that he appears to have been gnawing on. He’s been peeing in the shower since he can’t lift the toilet seat.
So I go out and get him some peanut butter to put on his bread, some juice and some straws so he can drink juice without pouring it over his face, and some Clorox bleach to spray in the shower so it’s not a bacteria farm. He told me that yesterday he tried to get up for about an hour-and-a-half. He got to the end of his bed, and kind of slumped over and was stuck. The phone was on the other side of the room. He lay there, he said, figuring that this was how he was going to die.
When I left he was pondering how the hell he was going to get to the bathroom and take a shit. Our friendship only extends so far.
So it looks like he’s going to miss the annual Jamie shindig this weekend. What a shame. I’m sure he was really looking forward to driving around a bunch of drunk, fat, thirty-something assholes at 4 in the morning. There’s always next year!