It Came From The Porch : Journal Index

10 May 1999:

I have got TONS of stuff to post here. Stories of this weekend, pictures, all sorts of stuff. Bear with me while I (ahem) get it up.

Dogwood threw me a party down on Dog River on Sunday. Was much fun and very relaxing.

This is everybody. Almost. From the left: LouAnne, John, L'il John, Christy, me, Jason, Buffy, JB, Cathleen, Bill, Julie, Ray, Ashley and Harriet.

Thanks guys - I had a great time.

It was so pretty out there. That's Ray and his little boy Michael. Michael liked the boats. "Boat, daddy! Boat!"

This is what we saw.

This, apparently, is what Bill saw.

More pictures here, kids.

I'm still working on getting the Causeway pictures up. You get the Dog River pix quicker cause they were shot with a digital camera and I don't have to scan them!

More soon.

10 May 1999:

Sid and Chris cuddlin'

Trey was the very tired Trey Sunday night. The exhausted Trey, really. Shortly I was the comatose Trey.

My journal entries are gettin' a bit jumbled, but oh well. It was an eventful weekend, and hard to keep it all straight. Here is what I wrote on Sunday, talking about all the stuff I did last weekend. The journal entries for the eighth and tenth touch on this stuff, but this is a little more extensive.

I wore myself out this weekend, but it was good. I guess I'm trying to cram in some good life experiences. I'm headed up to Birmingham for the preliminary work-up tomorrow, and I do not want to go. My entire goddamn family is meeting me up there, and I guess that should make me feel good or something, but it doesn't. Most every time I've been anywhere near my family recently, I've spent the time with my gut in a knot and left hurting worse than when I showed up. Anyone here ever hear of Skinner? Negative reinforcement? Well, I don't wanna push the little lever marked 'family experience' anymore. I'm tired of the electric shocks. Why couldn't I be in that experiment where they fed cocaine to the rats?

Speaking of substance abuse, I guess I've still been drinking too much. At least I'm not binging anymore, though. Thank the more-than-mortal-beings that-may-or-may-not-exist in-a-plane-somewhat-above-us for weed. It helps. Period. So does the darvocet. Ooops, speaking of which, time to eat the big green and pink hydroxyurea. Woopee, nothin' I love better. Uh-huh.

My hostility is growing to embrace Tanya, I guess cause she represents what I know I have to do. I don't mean to, baby, really I don't. And you certainly don't deserve it. I'm also getting a little burnt on Christians who want to do more than wish me well. Look guys, I know your creed says that you're partially responsible for my soul - but guess what.

You're WRONG.

Back off.

I feel like going off on some innocent and unsuspecting Christian with everything I've got, everything I've saved up from a lifetime of well-read cynicism and exploration of WHY humans feel that they have to believe in some higher being, some higher order. Guess what kids, life's just a bitch, ok? Fucking deal with it, accept that you don't know. Why do you settle for something comprehensible to your little minds when you're stating at the same time that God works in manners INcomprehensible to you? Why should God live by rules that you can COMPREHEND, much less ones that benefit YOU? Do you understand what I'm saying here?

Why is it so hard to just say "I dunno, but I'll find out when I die. Meanwhile, I'm gonna try to be nice to other people."

Is that so hard?

Ya know, this may be stereo-typical reaction to a bad illness, but that beats the hell out of a lifetime of stereotypical weakness and reliance upon some vague idea of someone who actually DOES know what's going on, since you don't.

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