Here is both an original post and a follow up reply I posted to a music message board earlier today..
He's back "in" again . We got his cat again. His mom is calling our house crying again. We might have to go clean out his apartment for him while he's away, and stick it all in our shed or garage, because he's getting evicted. That's what happens when you beat up your landlord for allegedly remote-control tasering you, and you only have a month to month lease.
I took the cat diretly to the vet this time, before bringing her in to my house. She weighs about 25 pounds (!) had horrible dandruff and matting, and her whole back half had to be SHAVED to alleviate the fur matting. So her whole back half looks like a giant, shaved rat. My eyes stung from being in the exam room with her and the vet. I was grateful they gave her the "medicated bath" I hoped they'd give her, just like on Animal Rescue shows.
His out of state mother also asked us to bring him a long distance phone calling card, so he can call her from the pay phone in the hospital hallway, which means one of us has to drive over to the county hospital and deliver it to him somehow.
And by "have to" I guess we could say no, but we're not.
And when it's not him, it's just someone else, isn't it.
This is my husband's best friend from college. He actually called on the phone yesterday morning. After pretty much spending the last 9 months accusing us of being in on or perhaps masterminding the conspiracy, he told me thank you for everything, including the cat care, and that for the last "month or month and a half" he knows he said some mean things to us. I told him we knew he was ill and that we didn't take it personally. I didn't tell him what an understatement 6 weeks was. Then he immediatly started blaming all his neighbors in the building for all his personal problems so outrageously it proved that although he was somewhat better he's still not better enough. Plus I've had this from-the-hospital phone conversation with him before. As soon as he's disdcharged, assuming they just kick him out the back door the way they have in the past, he won't remember any of it.
The cat can't groom its own hindquarters because it is over fed and not excersized at all, and weighs over 20 pounds. She's doing great now, and our kids run straight to the basement to play with her and pet her, as soon as we come home, any time we leave the house. She seems to enjoy the attention, and even rolls on to her back and lets us pet her belly. I've heard female cats don't normally do that.
Why would he put tin foil patches the size of my hand over just certain stragegic locations on his walls and ceiling, as if plugging leaks ?
We have found counless letters written to him by various law firms around town, stating that although they sympathize with his situation regarding the fbi and other government agencies conspiring against him, until those agencies take some kind of action, he has no legal case. And regarding the fact that no one else believes him, perhaps a written letter from a medical professional after a full medical and mental health exam would give him more credibility. It's tempting to mail one of these to "Found" magazine.
He had jars and jars of cloudy water, at first we were afraid they were urine. But now we think he may have been saving water samples to test for poison or something.
He had some home-made signs that read "Stop hurting people," and "You're running out of time." I told my husband I'll bet he hung them outside his apartment door, for his neighbors to read. My husband thinks he hung them on his refrigerator, for spies to read with their x ray telescopes.
Well about half his crap is in our garage, we're going back for the other half today. It's hard to know what to keep and what to toss, especially since we have no idea when he's discharged or where he will go. My husband and I only drive sedans and have no idea how we will carry a dresser or a desk, unless we rent a truck, or the building owner allows us to store it in the basement for a while.
I'm crabby and lacking in sympathy. The phone rang at about 11 last night, and , guessing who it probably was, I wouldn't even answer it. I'm the last person on the planet who does not have caller ID. I moved away from my hometown at age 18 never to return because other people's mental illness was driving me crazy, but it just seems to be everywhere no matter where I go.
Oh well, back out there.
Since I wrote all of the above we completed moving all we could and returned our friend's apartment key to his landlord. And during it all, another old college friend came to town for his class reunion. Lucky for us he insisted on staying at a hotel, even though we offered months ago for him to stay with us. So we met him for dinner at Green Mill, with our kids, brought him to our house for ice cream and tea afterwards, and again this morning for the Grand Old Day parade, you know, in between loads. It was a busy week end. I'll be glad to go back to work tomorrow.
He's back "in" again . We got his cat again. His mom is calling our house crying again. We might have to go clean out his apartment for him while he's away, and stick it all in our shed or garage, because he's getting evicted. That's what happens when you beat up your landlord for allegedly remote-control tasering you, and you only have a month to month lease.
I took the cat diretly to the vet this time, before bringing her in to my house. She weighs about 25 pounds (!) had horrible dandruff and matting, and her whole back half had to be SHAVED to alleviate the fur matting. So her whole back half looks like a giant, shaved rat. My eyes stung from being in the exam room with her and the vet. I was grateful they gave her the "medicated bath" I hoped they'd give her, just like on Animal Rescue shows.
His out of state mother also asked us to bring him a long distance phone calling card, so he can call her from the pay phone in the hospital hallway, which means one of us has to drive over to the county hospital and deliver it to him somehow.
And by "have to" I guess we could say no, but we're not.
And when it's not him, it's just someone else, isn't it.
This is my husband's best friend from college. He actually called on the phone yesterday morning. After pretty much spending the last 9 months accusing us of being in on or perhaps masterminding the conspiracy, he told me thank you for everything, including the cat care, and that for the last "month or month and a half" he knows he said some mean things to us. I told him we knew he was ill and that we didn't take it personally. I didn't tell him what an understatement 6 weeks was. Then he immediatly started blaming all his neighbors in the building for all his personal problems so outrageously it proved that although he was somewhat better he's still not better enough. Plus I've had this from-the-hospital phone conversation with him before. As soon as he's disdcharged, assuming they just kick him out the back door the way they have in the past, he won't remember any of it.
The cat can't groom its own hindquarters because it is over fed and not excersized at all, and weighs over 20 pounds. She's doing great now, and our kids run straight to the basement to play with her and pet her, as soon as we come home, any time we leave the house. She seems to enjoy the attention, and even rolls on to her back and lets us pet her belly. I've heard female cats don't normally do that.
Why would he put tin foil patches the size of my hand over just certain stragegic locations on his walls and ceiling, as if plugging leaks ?
We have found counless letters written to him by various law firms around town, stating that although they sympathize with his situation regarding the fbi and other government agencies conspiring against him, until those agencies take some kind of action, he has no legal case. And regarding the fact that no one else believes him, perhaps a written letter from a medical professional after a full medical and mental health exam would give him more credibility. It's tempting to mail one of these to "Found" magazine.
He had jars and jars of cloudy water, at first we were afraid they were urine. But now we think he may have been saving water samples to test for poison or something.
He had some home-made signs that read "Stop hurting people," and "You're running out of time." I told my husband I'll bet he hung them outside his apartment door, for his neighbors to read. My husband thinks he hung them on his refrigerator, for spies to read with their x ray telescopes.
Well about half his crap is in our garage, we're going back for the other half today. It's hard to know what to keep and what to toss, especially since we have no idea when he's discharged or where he will go. My husband and I only drive sedans and have no idea how we will carry a dresser or a desk, unless we rent a truck, or the building owner allows us to store it in the basement for a while.
I'm crabby and lacking in sympathy. The phone rang at about 11 last night, and , guessing who it probably was, I wouldn't even answer it. I'm the last person on the planet who does not have caller ID. I moved away from my hometown at age 18 never to return because other people's mental illness was driving me crazy, but it just seems to be everywhere no matter where I go.
Oh well, back out there.
Since I wrote all of the above we completed moving all we could and returned our friend's apartment key to his landlord. And during it all, another old college friend came to town for his class reunion. Lucky for us he insisted on staying at a hotel, even though we offered months ago for him to stay with us. So we met him for dinner at Green Mill, with our kids, brought him to our house for ice cream and tea afterwards, and again this morning for the Grand Old Day parade, you know, in between loads. It was a busy week end. I'll be glad to go back to work tomorrow.
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