Nixon. Again. I am so sick of that crook and his scandals. Joe, till his dying day, was a Nixon man, an Agnew fan. He never believed all the news stories. Not his Nixon. He also believed he'd live forever. Said so in the Good Book. I used to think I could feel his presence round here, sitting on that broken down easy chair in front of the television, the scent of beer still heavy in the air. But it was just wishful thinking, an old woman's delusion. This is it. All there is. I know that now. But sometimes.....sometimes, late at night with I hear those footsteps, or the slamming of doors, my belief in disbelief starts to falter just a little.
Woke up this morning to the sugar canister knocked over in the kitchen. Damn ants were on it quicker 'n a jack rabbit. My hands were shaking pretty badly this morning, I didn't get much sleep the night before. Kept thinking about Joe. Agnes Pendershaw keeps telling me I need to get out more, come to BINGO, meet some new people. I keep telling her she needs to keep her fool thoughts inside her curlered head. She has invited me over several times for dinner, but think she's finally got the hint. I haven't seen her for several weeks now. Good. She's just a gossip, anyway. Probably wants to tell everyone that poor Glennis looks terrible, Poor ole' Glennis' tremors have gotten worse. Not gonna give her the satisfaction.
Made myself some eggs and toast. Didn't make the tea since all the durn sugar's on the floor. Went to bring a forkful of scramble up to my mouth, and BANG, one of the doors upstairs slammed shut. Damn drafty house! Cant never get no one on the telephone to come out and look at anything. Even the line to the dang television repair shop rings and rings. I'd give the dang blasted thing away, 'cept I like having it on sometimes in the background. When it works properly. Makes me feel less lonely.
I walk over to the stairs and am greeted by a familiar scent...it smells like cut grass and lemon zest. Cologne. Joe's cologne. That sense of Joe's presence was so strong, came upon me so overwhelmingly fast, that I had to sit on the second stair, my eyes blurred over with tears. How I wish I could believe there was something in that Great Beyond. It would be easy to delude myself into thinking so. But I've got to avoid that trap...I cant live looking forward to dying. I don't have that much more livin' left in me, and I intend to hand onto it as long as I can.
Sunrise. With shaking hands, I raise a cup to my lips and watch as the first rays of the sun creep out from behind the houses, the streetlights winking out one by one. I wonder what ole' Agnes would have to say about my insomnia? Poor ole' Glennis, she just hasn't been the same since her husband died...I hear she's barricaded herself inside the house and talks to herself all day, bless her little heart. She's REALLY let her lawn go. Well....at least that part is true. My lawn has swiftly turned into a jungle since the neighbor boy hasn't been by to mow. I've gone over and knocked on his door a few times, but no one ever answers. They must've taken a family vacation. Fine time, too, right in the middle of a school year. Kids these days take education for granted. I was never allowed to go to school past the 6th year. Papa said no man will ever marry a girl for her brain, and all's I needed to learn was how to cook well and to how to keep a house in proper order. I was never a great cook, and the house will never be featured in House Fancy magazine, but at least my Joe never complained.
Fell asleep in Joe's easy chair after breakfast. I sat down to read the newspaper, and was awakened by the blaring television. Some obnoxious children's program was almost the death of me. I could imagine my own obituary in tomorrow's edition - 'Mrs. Glennis Gunnoe, 87 of Springfield, died this afternoon due to the malfunctioning of an on/off dial on her television set. Said television turned itself on of its own volition, causing Mrs Gunnoe to go into cardiac arrest. In lieu of flowers, Mrs. Gunnoe requests that you egg the television repair shop.' That damn thing has been increasingly 'on the fritz', as they say. And they think they can land a man on the moon when they can't even get a television to work right! Well, no more lolligagging....I have work to do.
