South Beach

July 10, 2011 - 9:30 AM

Parrish has gained weight, probably the result of taking Zyprexa for his schizophrenia.  He is more calm than I have seen him in many years.  God, if there were only a guarantee that this medication will continue to be effective.  He admits to racing thoughts brought on by the anticipation of my arrival here in Miami.  He is not perseverating and constantly talking about his appearance, fishing for compliments.    

Yesterday, as soon as I got here, I took a cab to pick him up, and we went to Bayside for lunch at Hard Rock Cafe.  We had great food and lingered to listen to rock and roll and peruse the exhibits.  I even bought myself a Ringo Hard Rock pin.  It’s very cool - even has “Peace, Love” on the front.  Since the Beatles came to the US in 1964, I have been in love with Ringo.

But wait.  This is not about me.  It’s about Parrish.

I expected his behavior to make for great fodder for my blog and inspire me to write poetry.  I have a hard time writing poems about happy things, as most of my regular readers know.  There’s too much happy going on here for me to be inspired. 

I have been asleep most of the the time when we were not out and about.  Yesterday afternoon, I took a two hour nap, and after we ate the pizza we called out for last night, I went back to sleep at 9:30, and only got out of bed one time until 8:30 this morning.  It reminds me of how many hours I slept when I arrived in Aix in May.

There I go again, making this about me.  Maybe I should just let it be about me.  That’s the directions this entry is pulling me.  One thing is clear, and that is that I don't get enough quality sleep in Macon.  Why else would I lapse into a coma when I leave town?

3:40 PM 

We went to South Beach for brunch at News Cafe, a Miami institution since 1988.  Well, I had brunch and P had a hamburger.  I had Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon instead of Canadian bacon.  It was completely luscious and rich and satisfying.  Then we walked along Ocean Drive in the humid Miami heat (90º/humidity 60%), window shopping and taking photos of some of the old Art Deco hotels.  Parrish is still manic enough that it is impossible for him to stroll, so I either chased him, ten feet behind, or I stopped whenever I wanted to take a photo and let him come back to me.  

We passed an establishment called The Palace.  The sign out front says it all.  "Every Palace Needs A Queen."  We were across the street, and I tried to take a photo of the Drag Queen dressed in gold lamé ruffles who was strutting back and forth on the sidewalk, singing and dancing.  I failed.  Cars and other onlookers created a curtain around her, and I only got glances of the Queen.  

We grabbed an iced coffee at Starbuck’s and sat in the cool for while, sipping and chatting.  If it had not been so blazing hot, we would have walked over to Collins Avenue to get more photos.  

I continue to be amazed at Parrish’s steady and even demeanor.  With the exception of the speed walking, he is the polar opposite of the man who came to visit me last December - unfocused, perseverating, manic, hallucinating.

A large part of this change is probably due to his new medication, but I still believe that when I come to see him, he does better than when comes to my house - for primarily one reason.  He carries so much guilt and shame about his behavior when he lived at home, he gets caught up in that web of guilt and his psychosis rears its ugly head and takes over.  It is a tragic thing to have to watch.

This, on the other hand, is fun for both of us.  I may just go home refreshed and relaxed.  Who knew?