No blowups yet. Sis is relaxed and I suspect enjoying the opportunity to put off all responsibility for the maintenance of her kids on my mother. Mom lets her do it and I have no problem with the none-of-my-business thing. I someone wants to choke down a plate full of shit, who am I to tell them not to?
Rudy called. Claims he hasn’t smoked any crack in eight weeks. I’m thinking that eight hours might be a possibility. But eight days? Not likely. And eight weeks? With him getting drunk all the time in the meantime? Not a chance. Part of me sort of wants to go blow off some steam with him and his crew of undesirables. I’m jut not up to it physically. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever stayed sober simply because I wasn’t up for a bender, at least until now. I can feel the headache without even having to drink one of the inevitable 100 beers. Plus I like having a little money in my wallet. If I want to do something crazy, a good looking hooker and few days at a top-shelf hotel are all doable, and doable without chemical reinforcement. Am I getting better or just coming to terms with my diminished capacity for self-flagellation?
Anyway, so far so good. The kids aren’t near a horrible as I remember them being. I’ll give Sis a wide berth and Tuesday will be here in no time. (Yeah, that’s me whistling past the graveyard.)