Something interesting happened the other night. Its significance was lost on me until earlier today, when for no reason I can reverse engineer it crept into my mind.

I bumped into Aleks, and old friend from Sunswick’s glory days. I was really happy to see her, and it seemed mutual. We were never buddies but we had some good conversations. She was there with her husband. They were waiting for Madelaine’s mother. Madelaine is a woman I’ve mentioned here a few times. I never knew her. She died a few years ago and all I ever heard about what happened was that she fell down in the shower. There is now a small monument for Madelaine at Sunswick, on a shelf at the end of the bar.

The somewhat eerie thing that happened was when Aleks said she was here to see Madelaine’s mother. Her smile suddenly slipped away, and she gestured toward the cabinet which holds the monument for the woman who died a few years ago. If I had had the presence of mind I would have asked Aleks what happened, was it really just a fall in the shower? But I didn’t put the two together, partly because I always heard her referred to as Maddy, or Maddie. Th gesture Aleks made toward the monument just did not register with me until a couple of days later.

I thought about her recently, when I hit my head again and there was blood. It’s not lost on me that falls like this can fucking kill a person. But there passed my chance to ask more about what happened with that woman who did die from a fall in the shower. Maybe that chance will come again. It would be weird to reach out to her just to ask about that.

The way Aleks gestured toward the shelf with the memorial on it was chilling. I almost got a sense that she did not like it being there, as if it was a cremation urn with Madelaine’s ashes.

There will likely be no monument for me on that shelf.

…

At the Windmill a little later than usual. This is my fun activity for the night, since I won’t be drinking. I had to take a panic pill an hour or so ago. I’ve been in worse straits before taking a pill but this was pretty bad. I’m surprised how long I went between pills, though. My supply has been a concern since the trip to Florida, where 5 or 6 pills turned to dust for being shaken in the overhead compartment of the plane. I mean I think that’s what happened. They are pretty delicate pills. I am just glad they work I had managed to calm down when anxiety hit a few times recently, but this was not looking good and believe it or not I don’t really feel like drinking anyway. Going to get the prescription refilled tomorrow, so I can have a supply and start tis whole nonsense of sobering up for a while then return to drinking all over again. I would like to stop. I know I should. But why? At this pont it’s only on account of anxiety and how I can’t drink after taking a panic pill.

I spent a small amount of time at the piano and listening to old audio I made in 2010. It was a trip to the 181 and through midtown. I don’t think I said a word except to a postal worker at the 181. Lately I’ve taken to speaking as I walk, warming up again for the podcast that never really was. But I tend to do it only as long as I feel like, gratuitously, even. Putting together an hour of material is not easy. I already knew that but it is more evident to me now than ever.

OK, the others here at The Windmill are getting raucous. I should head out. It’s a beautiful evening.