Laying in a pool of feces and blood Saturday night, it occurred to me that living alone may not be wise.
No family, few friends, I am a rock in a hard place.
My writing, which admittedly wants improving, may receive more nurturing elsewhere.
What else do I have here? My projects? My big goal was to help the activists I admire. To date my efforts here have failed. I can’t even get the attention of the people I want to help, so it’s time to rethink that goal.
I like my house, being alone in it is NOT bad, except maybe for the little prick, who as I’m writing this is under the almond tree just my side of the property line, doing what; who the fuck knows?
A few afternoons a month I get together with the girls for a movie or a swim in Glo’s pool; the remainder of the time I’m alone except for the kidz, sadly their conversations are limited.
In my life I've never had such a difficult time finding a handyman, a plumber that doesn't want to rip me a new asshole. Gee, my butt’s so sore I can’t bear to think of it.
All of the problems I’ve had since coming back I could have solved much more quickly. It’s one hassle after another.
I’ve been working hard to be positive, to not fall into depression. It’s been a battle. I’m not sure how much better, I’d be elsewhere or if I’m willing to give up what I love here.
Going places, doing things alone is an acquired taste. After a lifetime with my best buddy, the flavor is a touch strong for me. A year ago I couldn't stand the thought.
Most of the best friends I have are here. I just don’t have enough of a social network and I’m not really good at it.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do, but having my ass ripped open and hitting my head gave me something to think about other than how much I hurt.
As Kirt used to say, “When you’re going around in a circle, do something different even if it is wrong.”
Sorry to be such a drama queen.