The Bloody Doors Off

Seems I’ve got to have a change of scene
Every night I have the strangest dreams
Imprisoned by the way it could have been
Left here on my own or so it seems
I’ve got to leave before I start to scream
Won’t someone lock the door and turn the key

Feelin’ Alright, Joe Cocker

I can’t turn off my brain.

I’ve tried.

Various ways.

It. Just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

And it’s nothing serious.

It’s trivial shit.

I caught myself searching report covers for work, while I listen to the Jays in the background.

That’s the problem, working for yourself.

You’re your own worst boss.

I need a distraction.

Baseball isn’t cutting it.

My head hurts.

I haven’t had many headaches lately.

Fortunate.

I had cluster migraines as a kid/teen, and in my 20s.

Had to be shut away in a dark room, no lights, no sound.

A cold cloth over my eyes.

Sometimes I would find relief if I vomited.

Not that I wanted to vomit.

That choice wasn’t mine.

There goes the brain again.

Random memories surfacing.

Twenty-odd years ago. I had a pot cookie.

(I never said I was a role model.)

It was at a friends’ party. I obviously took too much.

I remember getting home. Somehow.

From Leslieville to University and Dundas.

(Like I said, twenty-odd years ago).

I was so damned high.

I was physically ill.

There’s a flash of memory, hugging the porcelain god and making promises.

Then waking up at St. Michael’s hospital the next morning.

With no shoes.

No idea how I got there.

This was after Suzi, and I was between roommates.

And the cats refuse to learn to dial 911.

Luckily I had my wallet, and cash.

Took a cab home.

My shoes were inside the door.

Willow and Roo were indifferent.

(These were my cats before Hannah and Izzy.)

Now I’m thinking about my first cat, Tigger. (This is why I got Roo later. Gotta have Tigger and Roo, amiright?)

Got him while I lived in a house on Annette Street with two roommates.

He was a stray that hung out at my brother Wayne’s house in Whitby. They couldn’t take him in, and I jumped at the chance to adopt him.

I was just starting to see Suzi then.

He was a mischievous boy. The typical tabby: loved people, loved knocking things off the dresser.

At 3am.

Because he could.

And it always woke me up.

Poor guy developed crystals. He had surgery and was fine for a while.

But they came back.

Nothing the doctors could do.

He was the goodest boy.