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Avoiding a Pickup

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Okay, it’s been five days since my last entry. I increased the Depakote dosage to 1,500 mg at bedtime and I called my shrink to inform her of such action. To those who might be worried, I am not wonky anymore. My mind has entered that dead state of drugged submission. Unfortunately, my new book has ground to a halt at ten chapters.


I don’t know if you can imagine not having any creative abilities, but that’s what happens when you choose to be drugged vs. being totally wonky. When I was wonky (i.e., not taking mind numbing drugs) I was writing around a chapter every three days and it was some good stuff, too. Now, I’ve hit a wall and it’s called sanity. To continue with the new book, I will have to write in a sane state of mind, which can be quite difficult when you’re used to being totally wonky.


Tonight, I was at the local Mexican restaurant sitting by myself at a table for two next to a table for four. I was drinking one of my favorite single malt Scotches, 10 year old Laphroaig, with a glass of Bohemia Mexican cerveza as a chaser (it has the body to stand up against any single malt Scotch whisky other than Modelo Especial). For those of you who are not aware of single malt Scotch, Laphroaig it is the premier Islay single malt Scotch; although, I’ve heard that the distillers at Ardbeg will differ with that opinion. (Quite frankly, Ardbeg is very good, only it’s not as good as Laphroaig. And, Laphroaig is officially one of Prince of Wale’s Scotches. Hey, anyone who’s willing to walk around in a skirt, certainly has to be trusted on his opinion of excellent Scotch whisky.)


Anyway, at the other table there were three gentlemen of questionable sexuality. I’m not saying they were gay, though their talk certainly bordered on a close relationship not likely found among “best buds” of the heterosexual persuasion. I don’t know, maybe two men can talk of sharing a bed in a purely heterosexual context is okay, but I have yet to encounter such a male-to-male heterosexual relationship. Plus, they seemed quite content in their mutual relationship.


For observational purposes, one gentleman was tall like me (I’m 6’5”) and had a comparable overhanging middle-aged gut, though his was not as pronounced or overhanging as mine. Hey, I don’t have anyone to look good for. His “partner”, although admittedingly older, was shorter and not as full amidships. Their “local” guest (who kept trying to get them to stay the night), was quite handsome, in a middle-aged sort of way. Okay. I admit it, he was attractive; but, since I’ve been medicinally castrated since 2003, who am I to say who is cute.


Finally, when I’d had sufficient Scotch, I got up, arranged my attire to leave, and proceeded to the cash register. But, before I left the immediate vicinity of the two tables, the partner of the taller gentleman said, “Have a good evening.”


Fuck! What was I going to say to this other than, “You, too.” How lame can you get, but what else could I say? He was with the other guy and I was certainly not looking forward to spending the night with a man I hardly knew. Plus, I had to get home to let Nana out to go pee and feed her at 7:30. I had responsibilities and they did not include this gentleman from downriver.


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