Brain Stew

Authors note:

Yes, I took a few liberties with the interpretation of this song from Green Day but I won't apologize for that. It triggered some thoughts that ultimately expressed themselves in the form of this submission.

I always appreciate everyone who reads and/or comment on my efforts. I will admit to being a little mystified by those who, despite reading my warning that there is no sex in the story proceed to berate me in the comments about the lack of sex in the story.

Thanks Captains Obvious.

For the record; there is NO sex in this story. If that's what you're looking for, please move on. Or we'll see you in the comments section and scratch our heads in confusion.

Also there are no willing cuckolds (shiver, puke) and no cheating wives are burned at the stake.

If you have read any of my previous efforts, you'll know there is no reconciliation either.

I try to keep my stories close to real - the success of which I leave for you to decide.

I love reading stories about perfect husbands who go all CIA on their cheating wives and MMA on their paramours. Those paragons of virtue who, once cheated go on to meet and then marry even sexier, younger, better women (who it turns out have secretly loved them all along) and ride off into the sunset in a tricked out muscle car with scads of new found wealth.

I love reading them but I am incapable of writing them.

For your edification and entertainment (hopefully) I humbly offer my latest effort.

###

I'm having trouble trying to sleep

I'm counting sheep but running out

As time ticks by

And still I try

No rest for crosstops in my mind

My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed

Dried up and bulging out my skull

My mouth is dry

My face is numb

Fucked up and spun out in my room

On my own... here we go

Brain Stew

Green Day

###

My head was suddenly splitting; a quick searing pain just behind my eyes and spreading fast and rapidly increasing in intensity.

Fuck this hurt bad.

My vision blurred and my eyes ached as I sat at my desk staring at, but unable to focus on my laptop.

And God I was thirsty, my mouth was so dry. Parts of me felt numb but I couldn't really tell you which parts; my face, an arm? I couldn't be sure. I reached for my beer but missed it and knocked it over.

I couldn't process this. It made no sense.

And then it all made perfect sense.

I was feeling my brain functions slip away one at a time; I was as certain of that as I am of my own name; Jason Black.

Often, life, the cruel bitch she is, serves us shit sandwiches for lunch AND the twisted cunt manages to dupe us so that we ALWAYS take a bite!

Sometimes you get lucky and get away with only taking a small bite.

And sometimes you eat the whole fucking thing only to spend years trying to puke it out of your system.

At that moment I realized that I had just eaten an entire Dagwood Turd special!

In a flash there was a sharp, intense increase in the searing, white hot pain; I lurched forward, vomited and fell before everything calmed and went black.

###

I'm nothing special.

I am slightly above average in looks and intelligence and slightly below average in patience and social skills.

I was never a Navy Seal or black belt in any martial art. My short temper and above-average-but-below-genius level intelligence meant that I had enjoyed my fair share of fist fights growing up; I was too intelligent to put up with any shit but not smart enough to walk away from it.

I was never on the honor roll. I never started my own company, won the lottery, worked for the mob or opened a secret bank account in the Caymans. I was never a stand out in any way...ever.

I married a woman who, like me, wasn't anything overly special. Cathy is attractive, intelligent and mostly caring. She's not a walking wet dream, overtly flirty or a slut. She was attractive enough to me in all of the ways I deemed important.

We met, we married we had a son.

We had our share of ups and downs and mostly the scales balanced. We worked and saved, we fought and forgave and we raised our son. We knew balance and chaos in equal measure as only a long-time committed couple can. Sometimes we fought for a good reason and sometimes we fought because one of us was being stupid, selfish or just plain hard-headed. Sometimes we fought and found resolution; often we fought and simply agreed to disagree so that we might live to one day fight again...and again.

I smoke and drink too much and Cathy is a little self-centered and the poster child for passive aggression. Cathy argues her passive aggression is a result of my smoking and drinking and I argue that I drink and smoke because she's so damn passive aggressive. Round and round, on and on but somehow it all worked. Somehow we got along, loved one another and focused on our son, our relationship and each other.

We were happy.

Neither of us ever worked-out regularly but we have always been active and reasonably fit. We have always tried to eat well but we've never said no to a pizza because we worried about saturated fats.

Everything in moderation.

No one was ever going to write a love story about us. We were in love with each other but not obsessed with one another.

Our bedroom was never on fire - we did what we enjoyed as often as we enjoyed doing it.

No more, no less.

Early in our marriage we probably had sex 2 or 3 times a week but we never had any marathon sessions; once we both got off, that was it until the next time. Neither of us had a ton of experience before we met but neither of us were virgins. Her number of previous sexual partners was a little higher than mine but that never bothered me. I had never had trouble attracting women but I had been choosy about who I shared my bed with. Odd for a young man, I realize but that is how I was wired. I had to be into you to bed you so the fact my number wasn't higher was by choice not circumstance. As I said, Cathy was no slut so her slightly higher number simply didn't matter.

We fit well together, enjoyed one another and neither felt they were short changed.

Cathy had a very difficult pregnancy and birth with our son John and was left with a lot of vaginal scar tissue afterward. He was born at just over 10 pounds which proved a little much for Cathy's 5'3" frame.

There was a certain amount of pain involved with sex after that but we managed. After 28 years of marriage we still made love but never more than 2 or 3 times a month. Cathy was just as likely to initiate sex as I was and we rarely turned the other down when approached so I am certain that we had as much sex as we each wanted.

We were always affectionate with one another; that never waned. We still frequently held hands out in public or cuddled while we watched a movie.

We had a lot in common... and a lot of differences; we shared the same values and goals, enjoyed the same music and while we both enjoyed reading we never read the same books. Cathy hated television and rarely had the patience to sit through an entire movie and often as not we struggled to find something we'd both enjoy. She loved cooking and while I loathed cooking I didn't mind cleaning up. We both loved the outdoors and camping but while Cathy enjoyed bird watching, I wanted to fish or hike. We were alike where it mattered and our differences allowed us to embrace our individuality. It worked.

Becoming parents changed us both for the better.

When our son was born, I stretched my patience and worked on developing better social skills while Cathy became a little less self-centered and tried to be less passive aggressive where our son was concerned.

I joined Scouts with John while Cathy joined the PTA. We all attended church together and we made sure John was always active, happy and loved. Cathy was the disciplinarian while I provided measured guidance. We taught John the value of hard work and honesty, empathy and loyalty, and hope and faith in self and God.

And we were proud of the results.

We weren't perfect but we seemed to function perfectly together.

###

"Mr. Black, can you hear me? Mr. Black?"

I slowly scanned the room for the voice trying to lick my dry lips. Where was I? What the hell is going on? My eyes, out of focus, settled on something, or someone just to my right.

"Mr. Black, my name is Doctor Taylor. Do you know where you are?"

"brogggmmmthh." I slurred in response.

There was a pause.

"Mr. Black you have suffered a stroke. A Hemorrhagic stroke. You're in the Presbyterian Hospital. Do you understand?"

"graamannth"

What the fuck? My mouth wasn't working. I nodded my understanding.

"Good. Don't worry about your speech, Mr. Black. It appears you're suffering from a form of Aphasia as a result of your stroke. You've suffered some damage to the right side of your face - there is a slight drooping. At this point we can't determine if you have any other damage or if the Aphasia is a result of brain damage or because of the muscle damage to your face. When you regain some of your strength we'll be able to determine the extent and nature of your deficits and provide you with a more complete diagnosis and prognosis. It seems you are able to understand me though so I am hopeful..."

The doctor droned on for several more minutes about the surgery I underwent to isolate and stop the brain hemorrhage that he believed was responsible for my stroke.

I tried to focus my eyes on him. I tried to process what he was telling me. I tried but I simply drifted back off to a dreamless sleep.

###

A few days Later I awoke to find my son John sitting next to me in my hospital room.

I was still unable to focus my eyes enough to make him out clearly but I knew it was John. A Father just knows.

When he noticed I was looking at him, he took my hand, sniffed and tried to choke a few words out.

"Dad, I..." He sounded tired, defeated.

I simply nodded, squeezed his hand and looked away. What could be said?

The only other people I had seen were my boss, 2 colleagues and the hospital staff.

Three days later John and I were in a Mexican standoff, glaring at each other for several minutes. I wasn't happy about him being here and he wasn't happy about a lot of things.

"Dad, you're going home tomorrow. How the hell are you going to manage on your own? There's no question that I'll be there to help you. You can't drive, you can barely walk, what's your plan?"

He had me there.

"John, I love you. I appreciate you and I appreciate your concern but you just started your new job and shouldn't be taking time off to help me. I'll be fine."

Of course, it didn't sound like that at all. I had made progress on my speech but it was still slow, labored, heavily slurred and often only barely above a mumble. John was one of the few, aside from the hospital staff, who was able to make sense of my slurred mumblings.

"This isn't up for debate, Dad. Since Mom..." He let that thought die on his tongue.

"You can't be on your own. At least not for a little while. Who the hell else is going to help you? My boss has been very understanding so stop worrying. I can stay with you, work a few less hours at the office while I shuttle you around and make the rest up working remotely from the house. It'll be fine."

My prognosis was good; Aside from the aphasia I had partial paralysis in my right arm and leg. A little physical and speech therapy, some blood thinners and a lifestyle change and I should be able to regain most of the use of my leg and arm and reduce the drooping in my face significantly. Doctor Taylor felt that I would have a slight limp and my facial droop would hardly be noticeable. Thankfully, for me the aphasia seemed more directly related to the muscle damage in my face and mouth.

"Okay, John. Thank you." I sniffed-slurred-mumbled

"I love you Dad!"

I was going "home", or what was left of it. Shit, fuck, damn!

"I love you too, John."

###

There were no warning signs. I didn't know I was about to lose my wife and she hadn't given me any clues.

We had been married for just over 25 years when it happened.

Cathy worked as a Director for a non-profit while I was the Director of North American Sales in a division of a large international software company. I know, what's a guy with poor social skills doing in Sales? Well, the truth is that the worst salespeople are the guys with the gift of gab; they simply are incapable of listening. If you want to sell a complex software solution to a Fortune 500 company you've got to be able to listen. The executives of these large companies don't want to be your friend but they do need to trust and respect you professionally. They might want to have a beer or play a round of golf with the talkers but they'd much rather work on their business issues with the listeners.

I made excellent money and while I was good at my job, I had always been a great salesman, I was never outstanding - never one of the very few guys who made 7 figure commissions. But I always met or exceeded quota regardless of the economy and my consistent performance had earned me my current position and the respect of many colleagues past and present.

I was not a hard-nose prick with my team but I expected you to achieve quota most of the time. I worked with my reps to help that happen and in all of the years I managed salespeople, I had only had to fire a handful for performance issues. I would argue (and have regularly) that they were hiring mistakes, which often happens in an up-economy - when you have to relax your standards a little to fill the open positions. I had always argued against such hiring but was frequently pushed into it by senior management. Reps can only write so much new business while nurturing their existing customers and let's face it, some guys are great hunters while others excel at farming.

Management solved that by splitting territories. I always thought that was shortsighted and lazy; I wanted to separate the two – have hunters' hunt and farmers' farm.

For years I was told that was unworkable, unprofitable and unwise but that all changed recently when we switched to a SaaS (software as a service) delivery model. Our licensing had changed to a subscription base and suddenly farming became hugely important.

I could finally set my hunters loose and put my farmers in a fertile pasture.

Initially, some of the hunters hated the idea of giving up the low hanging fruit of a subscription renewal but ultimately realized that they enjoyed their work more and with properly adjusted quotas were still pulling 250k on plan. Eventually, everyone was happier.

I spend a good deal of my time dealing with other people's problems; I enjoyed that. I loved solving problems for my reps, our customers, my company. I could almost always find a win-win and that made my work enjoyable.

There was a lot of stress though; you still have to hit your numbers. In sales you can't rest on your laurels; you're only as good as your last quarter and that means you're always moving.

I traveled a lot. Every week I was on the road somewhere; sometimes just overnight, sometimes as long as a week. It wears you out, is hard on your personal relationships and your physical and mental health. Hobbies helped my with the stress and Cathy supported my career wholeheartedly which also helped reduce the stress I might otherwise have had worrying about the state of my home life. I tried damn hard to be available every weekend for her and John and mostly succeeded.

I held my sales meetings (conference calls) mid-week which was a little unusual but I wanted the start of the week open to allow us to react to whatever happened over the weekend and I wanted to give my reps at least a little time to act on any suggestion or corporate directives we covered during the sales meeting. It worked for us.

As I sat in my office going through my mail one Wednesday afternoon immediately following our weekly sales call, I picked up a plain white envelope postmarked Dallas with no return address. It was about as nondescript as it gets yet opening that envelope changed my life; setting it on a new, dangerous course that I would never fully recover from.

"Oh, Cathy!"

###

Peter Sellers was a happy little guy despite his line of work. Pretty average in the looks and size department which I suppose was an asset professionally.

Our initial meeting was short and did not inspire much confidence.

He asked a lot of the questions one would expect but he also asked a lot of questions that seemed pretty damned irrelevant to me.

Some of his comments were outright queer and he was annoyingly upbeat about everything. Still, he came highly recommended and if I am going to be honest here - I didn't know shit about this kind of work.

I answered his questions, asked him a few questions in return, gave him the little information he wanted, filled out some forms, paid him and it was over.

"Give me two weeks Mr. Black. Let's plan to meet again in 2 weeks - sooner if we can wrap it all up before then. Try to get some sleep; you look dead tired and ready to drop."

I agreed; mumbled something about being tired and someone dropping dead and left.

At our second meeting just under two weeks later I didn't find Peter Sellers such a happy, queer little guy.

###

My, what a week it had been. We've been so busy at the office these days that I barely have had time to think. I finished my latest project today and was looking forward to a hot bath, a nice meal and a quiet evening with my husband, Jason.

We'd both been working a little harder than usual lately - our schedules were off and we hadn't had any meaningful interaction for about 2 weeks now I guess.

Usually I don't have to put in the kind of time I have recently and am able to work around Jason's monster schedule but this project had a tight deadline and Jason seemed even busier than ever.

He told me about a delivery something or other which meant a reorganization of something that seemed important...oh, and a new business model of I don't know what requiring a new success meter or some such.

Mostly my eyes glazed over a little when Jason spoke about his work. I don't get technology - it's all so much Charlie Brown's parents to me; "wha wha wha wha wha!" But damn, it made him happy and I loved him happy so I tried to listen, to understand!

I love my husband.

I love supporting him and being supported by him. I love our life together and our plans for the future.

Jason provided a great standard of living that would allow us to set our sights on an early retirement. We hoped we'd be in a position to enjoy life a little more in just a few more short years. With our son, John out on his own, our house paid for we were saving money hand over fist. We often just sat with a glass of wine, well Scotch for Jason, and planned our near term future. It was all so exciting and within grasp that I couldn't help but be supportive of the hours Jason worked to make it happen.

God, I loved my man!

I wished he'd quit smoking and cut down on his drinking. When you combined that with the stress he was always under I worried about his health and our future. He always joked that he'd quit smoking when I learned to confront a problem head-on. I had a habit of avoiding conflict and worked through my anger by being passive aggressive with Jason. Using sarcasm like saying "just joking" after telling him off or expressing my anger covertly by not sharing with him, withholding sex, the silent treatment or taking pleasure in his mistakes if I was right about something. "I told you so!"

Jason hates that. He's a problem solver, tackling things head-on when they come up. He never puts anything off that needs to be dealt with and he doesn't shy away from conflict – instead he welcomes it as a means to resolution. He will say what's on his mind and hopes the same from me. He doesn't get that of course but oh, well woman's prerogative!