Good Day but Stupid

Good Day but Stupid = August

Yesterday was a good day, and there is no reason I can give for it. I didn't sleep the night before, but I was somehow infused with energy and spent most of the day organizing my little house. I finally put all of the paperwork about Clint's will in some sort of order and filed it away so I didn't have to look at it every time I turned around. Each little task sent me off in a other direction and I ended up getting things done. Since I am always so willing to call Nurse and tell her how miserable I am, I called her to tell her how good I was feeling. I've been talking to Susan Smith at least once a day about her husband Prentiss. He and Clint were long-time friends and became each other's best friends during the last four years. Though the Smiths live in Baton Rouge, the two men talked on the phone at least once a week and many times twice. After Clint's first knee infection, Prentiss put his life on hold and came to Macon to be with Clint and give me a break from spending all my time in hospital. Every afternoon, he went to the hospital and sat at Clint's bedside for hours while I rested or did errands. He is far from a saint. In fact, he is hard to like, but he has always been a devoted friend to Clint - just one more member of his fan club. I believe that Clint stayed alive as long as he did so he could attend his 50th Medical School Reunion and then drive up to Baton Rouge to have one last visit with PE, his name for Prentiss. Now he's is in hospital himself in critical condition and likely to die soon. Susan has been at the forefront of my thoughts since she called me on Saturday with the news of his illness. Even dealing with that did not ruin my good mood. There was the occasional tear, but for the first time since June 8 at 6:33 PM, I felt like myself. At the Goose with the family, I saw Nancy Ford and Bill Action and some other people actually wanted to talk to. So I talked to them and laughed and felt a part of something other than emptiness and loneliness. Remember when I said someone stole my brain? It's still missing. I must have gotten drunk because this morning my body aches all over and my head has one of those mercury yolks in it. Remember Bonfire of the Vanities? Tom Wolfe's British character, the journalist? He described his hangover headache as the sensation having a giant mercury yolk rolling around inside his skull every time he moved his head? It's not quite that bad but I think I have Yolk Light Syndrome. It was stupid and careless (I had not eaten all day) to drink too much, but I'm not sorry I did it. I had a good time and want to hold onto the memory of it and try to remind myself of it when I wake up one morning wondering how I will get out of bed.