i SEE ; 6 Draft #4

That night required i have some one zip and button my fly, my fingers stoped working in that capasity. Bob and dental plan escorted me to and from the banyo and where else i may have roamed. The fact i was drinking at all dictated that i have my rig (catherter) with me or pay dearly, which would happen anyway.
One fatefull trip to the can, a clear plastic baggie with the rig and lube inside, fell out of my pocket and hit the floor. I had no idea untill Bob knelt down "The fucks this!?" Eyeballing the ground score. Bobs stair shifted from the baggy to Dental plan as if to say "Oh dear lord."
If anyone had any question how fucked up i really was, that night would clear the air for a dbouters.
"Thats mine" grabing it outa his hands. "Yeah dude im pretty fucked up now." As he began for the door "Hey man you aint gotta explaine nothin Chris, not fuckin  nothin man. You ok  by yourself in here Chris?" "Im startin to wonder, yeah i should be alright." " Hey Chris?" "Yeah?" "Not nothing man, remember that. Dont be affraid to holler if you need anything." "Thanks Bob."
He closed the doorand i waited about a minute. Then i made my yell for the calvary. "UH Bob!! Bob im gonna need a hand!!" About 5 seconds went by then a quick knock. "Chris, you ok buddy!? Ya need a hand!?" "Yeah man, you alright Chris?" Opening the door, with an expression of supprise. Seeing me standing nodbout. "Hey Bob, are your hands clean?" "I washed em about 5 minutes ago...." As i began working my fly down "I need your help holding this while i drain it." Holding back with all i could. Bob took a step or two forward, with a look of: I did'nt mean help wuth that. He got one more step before recognizing the masked grin i could no longer disguise. Then being met with a look of contempt. "Fuck you." "Dont worry Bob your secrets safe with me." "Fuck you Chris." I about lost my footing with laughter.
Getting back to setting up "the works".  Pulling the over sized folly sword from the baggy. It was a bit s;ipery due to past useage.
My wife was told by the ER nurse she was able to talk out of one. "They can be reused, just was it with soap and water after he uses it."
"So fucken septic" Applying lube and moving on to the next step. "Opperation swallow!"  Squeezing the cobras eye open, i began running the rubber sword down it's gullet.
By now we had broken down gag reflex. Reaching the PNR or halfway, without freeking myself out was a good sign. When the end taped into the belly of the beast im met with an eruption of the contence. When the gyser erupted, a release of anxity swept through me. Which cased me to ease my grip on the instument. Not realizing this untill pee bagan to rush out between the tutrbe and the "throat" fallowed by a projectile of rubber sword. Hitting the toilet rim and glacing itself tworads the out side of the bowl, finding a landing zone underneith the bowl. Coming to rest on the white turned grey area of tile was enough to make me sick.
Picking up the odd shaped surgical tube led me to further inspection of the floor. The closer my head got the more the srface began to change from grey to a greyish yellow with texture. "Oh man! I'll not b using this ever agian." As intoxicated as i was im suprised i acctually used some T paper to raise the pipeline and find the trash can. As logic would have it, the pee fairy made her pressents known. Fightig the feeling for like...5 minutes, i ran- stagard for the banyo. After trying with all hope. Ofcourse i was met with the same result, failer.
Its intresting how quickly a mind can persuade itself  to change when met with pain. "Fuck it, i dont give a fuck." Retreving the catherter out of its trash can grave. "Maaan!! this is so nasty! With the quickness, i wased it with soap and water then proceded on to drain it. "Man, i better not get some kind of penile fungus from this."
Around two in the morning i would perform, absolutely, the last gitmo technique. When i was met with the same result as earlyer but this time the tube chose to sleep with the Titanic and landed IN the toilet bowl. "Oh shit!!" To me it was a deth sentence. Agian i would put it in the garbage. Agian i would make a B line to take a leak. This time when i got to the banyo, the events of earlyer flashed through myhead peering into the waste basket. "NO DUDE! That's grosser than gross!! A mans got to know his limits!" This thought process would put me to the test. For about a half hour the pain was exscrewciating and then suddenly, just, went away.
Duane and i would make our way home as the Midnight turned a dark aquq marine. As much as the night was an element i thrived in, there is always someting i found about seeing the sunrise without sleep, wrong, depressing....sac religious? It's rough sharing your self with a creature of the night and a creature of the sun, one or both enevitably suffer.
Stumbling through troot door to sse my wife with Noah slurping down one of his many morning bottles. With a way less than thriled look on her face "Where'd you go...???" Continuing to the back deck "We were down at Myahs." Finding a seet on the back deck for  a smoke. After all the booze consuption from the night before, somehow i came home with a half a Bottle of Beam. Whithout any hesitation  i unscrewed the lid. As dark aqua began to give away to light aqua, "Down the hatch!"
After a night of mass consuption accompanyed with completely stupid philosophy and ideals, causes me to reflect the next day. But this time i was filled with thoughts of MS, thoughts of frustration. The fact that my time climbing, my mistress in this life was through, combined with the whiskie took me to some sereious dephs of dispare.
One smoke became two then three,one after another became quite a bit of the pack. With the wife steemed about my return to old ways, she stayed as far away as possible. So i sat there watching the sky go through its dayly metemorphsis doing to same with the bottle. Ofcourse i was overcome with emotion, tears had been running down my face for awhile, they evolved into an all out cry. Noone would talk to me....
At some point i did get a little bit of much needed company. My 12 year old son, Colby made his way to a patio chair, then made a stair at me. Not wanting him to see his Pa subcome to defeat and his spirit broken, i made an all for not effort to conseel my bubbering.
He would just stair at me, evey 30-40 seconds he would break his stair and look to the two by six's that made up the floor of the deck, only to return that inquisitive gaze.
Colby, a very curious little boy (Too much so at times) just sat outside with me for what must have been an hour. In that time he got to hear the customary drunkin banter. But this time, those eyes that seemed to peirce whatever bullshit one may front, seemed not of curiosity but more of concern and possibly sorrow? It sent me into an even greater tailspin. It dawned on me that all that little boy had ever known of his father was an absent workaholic that amounted to nothing but a drunk hit me, hard.  And as only a drunk father can, i warned him of the bottle and dope. More importantly i warned him 'The booze and dope are not the enemy. "The weakness in your head is the true enemy. People who understand moderation and understand there is pletty of time to have fun with all that shit as you grow older. But right now your a kid Colby.......for God sake be that kid for as long as you can. Dont grow up to fast, cause at somepoint your gonna wish you were young agian." Taking another big pull off the bottle, wiping tears and sparking another Boro. "Colby being a drunk is so lonely, and a complete waste of time. You'll never get in the history books for anything worth a damn, for being a drunk. Just look at me...What do you want to be rememberd as? A drunken tyrant or someting really inspiring? Do you know what the word legacy means?"