I handed the store clerk a $5 dollar bill to pay for my coffee and cigars.
"Do you need a lighter?" She then asked trying to make an extra sale.
"No thanks," I replied as she handed me my change.
It was a beautiful morning as I walked home. Very cool, but I must enjoy mornings such as these as the sultry days of a southern summer will soon be upon us. I passed the many houses along the way – the occupants just waking for another day. The Episcopalian church was on the corner and I marveled at its beautiful architecture. If I were a religiously inclined man, I would go to this church with its grand procession of Scottish bagpipes every Sunday at service's end.
I arrived home to the phone ringing. That sound causes my anxiety to skyrocket. I waited until my answering machine picked up. It was my father.
"Remember you have a psychiatrist's appointment at ten," he said. "I and your mother are going with you."
"Damn!" I thought. I was feeling agoraphobic today and not in the mood for some grand mental health adventure. I also don't like my parents going to the doctor with me because I cannot talk candidly with my doctor about the mental and family issues I am experiencing.
"I am going to ask the doctor to give you something for your nerves," he said.
"As long as it won't fuck me up and isn't addictive," I replied.
"I think I am going to ask him to try Klonopin," Dad said.
I sighed deeply and audibly.
"What's wrong?" my father asked.
"I just feel you all are trying to drug me up," I said. "If I wanted to be drugged up then I would drive down to Fat Albert's and buy a case of beer. That always worked wonders for my anxiety and schizophrenia."
"We will talk about this with your doctor," Dad said huffily and we got off the phone.
What he really meant is that I will sit there quietly while he and my doctor discuss what they think is best for me. I will have little to no input in the process. Oh well, it could be worse. I could be dead, homeless, or bat shiat crazy. Look at the positive, Andrew.