Note to self: Don’t use the WordPress android app to write the initial draft as simply switching to the dictionary program seems to delete everything you wrote.

I’m sitting in the members lounge at the Kaiser Permanente building in Springfield, Virginia. Brought mother here to attend her weekly insomnia class that will continue into early September. So in the following Tuesday mornings, I’ll have to bravely navigate us through Beltway traffic. It’s not that bad tho.

On the plus side, I have found that the cafeteria here makes a small, but excellent tasting Reuben sandwich, and that these classes are two hours long-Hence my making time to blog here now.

And now onto more pressing matters…

About two weeks ago, Saturday, 19 July I was asked to work a cashiering shift at Green Hell on the backup register. I’ve come to find out that on weekends there is no backup register-Like the main register, it is always active.

As I have noted in previous posts, I dislike-No, I just plain hate cashiering. Additional to my reasons stated, I believe in part now that I have developed or have always been a bit of a chrometaphobe. Perhaps the experience in bankruptcy brought these feelings to surface-But at times now, I get nervous looking at and handling money. Now that I think of it, all those years at Streetlight Records, I never felt comfortable dealing with money there either.

There was a couple moments during that shift where I was literally going to just walk out and quit. I was not at all happy or comfortable, and there were more than a few people/customers whom I would have truly enjoyed punching in the face. Somehow, I was able to get through it without doing anything regrettable.

Now here’s interesting bit.

My sister had asked me the day before to walk Kingston (her husband’s and her dog), around their place which I had agreed to. The landlord won’t allow quadrapets in the basement, so I’m happy to hang out with Kingston whenever.

After that horrible shift, I headed straight over.

Not sure where it began, but somewhere, somehow… I blacked out. What I mean by that is that for a moment (or longer, I honestly can’t remember), I had no idea who I was, where I was, or where I was going. Muscle memory alone probably helped with the motor skills in keeping me driving.

When my mind finally realised something was wrong and I woke up, I was in the action of making a turn somewhere. I hesitated and almost ran over the center island exiting an intersection. Thankfully there were no other cars around.

At this point I was in extreme panic, and pulled over into some residential road and parked. I looked around, just dumbstruck. “Where am I?” I looked down at my hands and questioned, “Who am I?” At the dashboard, “Who’s car is this? And how do I know how to drive?”

I started to fumble around my pockets and I felt my smartphone. “Oh good! Information.” It took a few seconds to figure out which icon to press, but I soon found Google Maps and I figured out where I was. “Burke… Virginia. What the hell am I doing in Virginia?!” As I was saying that, I caught my image in the rear view mirror. That’s when it all flooded back into me.

“Oh.” I took a deep breath and sighed. Have to admit that I was kind of disappointed when I realized who I was again.

According to the GPS, I was in the right area, just a few blocks off my usual course. I eventually got to my sister and brother-in-law’s place, got to walking Kingston, and everything has been normal since.

I believe my blackout was caused by the stress from that shift, along with home life (in taking care of mom), and my troubles with money (and lack of), and quite frankly just being me-Depressed and feeling wholely unfulfilled, completely ashamed, and confident that it will not get any better.

Yeh. My mind basically said to my body, “F-U, I’m taking a break. You’re on your own for a few minutes.”  

Haha. I wonder if I should get myself checked out. Maybe I’ll end up being some crazy old man with Alzheimer’s or some form of dementia-Happy-go-lucky and spinning vivid tales about my fantastic life that never actually happened.

That doesn’t sound so bad. If by then my mind is so far gone and removed, and I’m locked away from society-Maybe then I can believe such stories, believe in myself, and I could die happy and fulfilled.