Julia Must Wait

Julia will have to wait.

I'm dog-tired. If ever you've seen a dog after a long hard walk or a brisk romp in the park, you know what I'm saying. The way they seek the cool spot on the tile floor and plop down, stretching limb to limb, fr-o-ont to ba-a-ck, and pass out. My grandpup tries to become one with the floor, arching her neck in a lean line, her bat-ears flopped back over her head. She twitches spasmodically, whimpering and barking as the star in her puppy dreams - doubtless chasing orange cats and snapping at winged insects daring enough to buzz her 80-pound tower-of-power self. Her breathing is a series of snuffles, snorts, and sighs. Funny. Jimmy says when I slumber under the influence of an intensely exhausted state that I, too, twitch and snuffle . . . only he has the audacity to call it snoring.

Gary rang me tonight. His hearing is this Thursday morning at 8:15AM. We took awhile to establish a rhythm in our conversation, me too tired to instantly focus, him distracted by the erratic racing of his mind. By the time the 14-minute warning blared in our ear, "You have ONE MINUTE remaining in this call!" we were in high-gear, only to be abruptly cut-off before we were ready for the disconnect. I heard him shout that he was calling again; I tried to yell back that I couldn't answer another call tonight. He didn't hear me. Tried back twice. It is closing in on 11PM here; everyone is in their beds, save for me. Gary does not always think of such things. This is not his world. Yet. Though I knew he was fine, refraining from pushing the TALK button, two times in a row, was still painful. He wanted to talk. He wanted to talk with me. But, I accepted one call on Sunday, the call today, and there will be another on Thursday. Sad to say, I must be aware of the money. It angers me to have our relationship boiled down to dollar signs.

If any of you have easy access to your siblings, take the time to sit on your back porch with them and enjoy the simple presence of being. I carry an image in my head of me and Gary, chatting and laughing about absolutely nothing and everything, convalescing in our rockers while sipping on ice-cold micro-brewed beers straight out of the bottle. (Not the best thing for his liver, but it lends itself well to a mental picture.) Even long-distance, through concrete and glass and wire, he's a keeper of a brother. In a letter from him that I read today, he told me he hopes to one day prepare special meals and desserts for me from scratch with oodles of love, the same way I do for everyone else. My descriptions of food and family dinners and parties are a source of great pleasure for him. He's lost a great deal of weight in the past 9 months. He is hungry much of the time. I'm losing no significant weight. If I was to gain the amount of weight Gary lost within a 9-month span, it would indicate that I was about to deliver a whale of a child! I eat whenever I want. Sometimes, I'm not even close to hungry.

My head is heavy and my eyes refuse to do other than droop. I discovered I'm able to type fairly well while half-asleep. However, I feel mildly nauseous from the ibuporofen and my writing is less than stellar. This entry may be a bit of a bust, but i did manage to 'pen' a few thoughts on a variety of topics, ranging from dogs to Brother Gary. Midnight is around the corner; I don't want to collide on this night.

We'll see Julia again. I promise.