13

I was going to spend Friday 13 at home by myself.  I was looking forward to that.  It's time to start a new regimen, water, fruits and vegetables, reading, writing, arithmetic. . . the works.  

That didn't happen.  

I took my mother to the cardiologist mid-morning.  We were out by noon.  It was the last day for me to deal with a CD that had come due at the bank that hassled me about using my Power of Attorney status months ago.  I called the bank on speaker from the car with my mother to see if we could take care of things over the phone.  

Nope.  

Could I come in alone and do the deal?

The lady on the phone would have to check and call me back.  

I drove my mother to the drug store to pick up a prescription.  McDonalds was across the street. 

"Do you want a hamburger for lunch?"

I have eaten at McDonalds more times in the past few months than I have in the rest of my life.  I got a Big Mac, fries, and a coke.  

We took it all back to my mother's house and ate.  I knew I shouldn't, and afterwards came the regret.  

The bank lady called back.  She needed a copy of my PoA.  She would have "her team" take a look, and since the CD matured on Saturday, I would be able to come in Monday afternoon--afternoon only because they would need to prepare the documents--and take care of it.  

"You should have a copy of my PoA on file. I gave it to you last time."

"No, I don't have it.  Can you make a copy and email it to me?"

My mother doesn't have a scanner, so I said I'd have to photograph it with my phone.

"Oh, no . . . that won't work.  Can you bring it in for me to make a copy?"

Piss shit fuck goddamn.  These people have worn me out.  

"What time do you close?"

"We are here until five."

I was going to the gym from my mother's house.  I had my gym clothes in the car and I decided to change.  Big mistake.  The room had a mirror.  I looked like those pictures of old, fat men on European beaches.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  That Big Mac was sitting heavy in my gut. 

I sat with my mother until my cousin came back from shopping.  It was mid-afternoon by the time I left.  

Gym.  Home.  Shower.  I'd have to hurry to make it across town in Friday traffic to get to the bank before it closed.  

I was going to make pho for dinner, but I hadn't gotten to the store.  I stopped at the good Greek place for takeout chicken and salad.  But. . . . 

I got a text from my conservative friend.  He was in town.  Could I meet him for a drink? 6:30?

I got home just before eleven.  Friday 13.  

Now I am up and waiting for the delivery of sixteen tons of mulch.  I feel like shit.  I just want to go back to bed.  I think I need rehab.  

Tonight, though. . . home alone.  

It is notable that none of my nights out have been with women.  Think about that for a minute.  

The girl in the picture at the top of the page gave me her phone number.  She wants to make pictures.  Not that one.  The one with her back to the camera.  Yea.  I haven't reached out to her.  

Here's the girl I should have married.  I swear if we met, we'd have been a match.  I can just tell.  She could have ruined me.  I know exactly how it would play out.  I'm a sweet boy and would have gotten trampled all over.  Instead of me, though, she was with the dick playing guitar.  You can tell just what kind of guy he is.  You can tell just what kind of woman she was.  She left music and bought a coffee shop in Canada.  I thought for awhile about going there.  I wanted to meet her.  Just to see.  

I saw her in concert in a small place just after her first album came out.  Been obsessed ever since.