About me
subject appears to be a white male, early 50's, pathologically tall/skinny. brain patterns show evidence of a life in alcohol - first swimming in it then running from it. fingers show wear from years of guitar playing. heart presents slow repair, through writing, from being broken by rock and roll.
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Almost West Virginia: The Revolving Doors of Perception Roll Once More
I'll dispense w/the usual appy-polly-loggy about being away for so long, I was working, 'nuff said and does anyone really care anyhow? Well, yes of course we do to one degree or another. Hey, you know what one of the greatest things I ever heard during my alcohol rehab experiences was? For those lucky enough never to have lived such a life as to require the rehab experience, let me open a little window: most mornings and afternoons are spent trying not to fall asleep in a little combination schooldesk/chair dealie while the same guy you listened to yesterday drones on and on giving essentially the same lecture each day. Repetition apparently works and is needed when trying to drill the obvious into that numbest of skulls, that of the drunken drug addict.
Well, this one guy, let's call him George 'cause that's his name (Hi, George!) had basicallt 2 riffs: A) "Healthy people aren't any better than sick people, they just have more power" and, my favorite B) "Do we really care about you here in rehab? Yes, just not much."
He had me w/the 2nd one. It had the ring of truthful sarcasm and, like any good trigger, made me think. 'Well, yeah," I thought," Folks do care in the sense that most would, were you on fire, put you out, but would leave the cleanup to the professionals. The 'nobody loves me' excuse gets lost when you really see that, well, nobody loves you, but we'll show you good things you could do so maybe you can love yerself, but really, Skippy, it's (as usual) up to you. NEXT!!!"
I bring this up because, let's see, oh yeah, my apartment. As noted above, the little ghetto I've been living in had become something of a madhouse. CPS still hasn't shown up, the kids are still running around all night, smells like they're boiling fucking ammonia in the apartment next door and syddenly the guy next door can't afford to feed the GOLDEN RETRIEVER he keeps chained up on a 3 FOOT chain and I'm finding myself supporting half the resident's animals while being continually annoyed by the other half, who just act like animals.
So, I'm torn between being judgemental (my specialty!) and trying to just bring a little good to the situation (3 burritos in the morning for the Retriever, a pack of cigarettes to his owner, maybe don't call the police one night etc.) when suddenly a third option opened up. Dig: when my house burned down 6 months ago, the old landlord rented me a new, smaller apartment for the same exact rent, guaranteeing me 1st shot at my old place once it was remdeled. That was, again, six months ago. In the meantime, he hired a drunk to fix my place who's 1st official act was to diamantle the shower in my new place. He was goi9ng to repair it, even had the new walls and fixtures laid out on my sidewalk. Then he gets the bright idea to 'wait until I finish yr old place' then he gets arressted. Twice. Then he leaves the state. Then the new landlord tells me it'll be another month. That was 4 months ago. The last straw came 3 days ago when the new landlord asks me if I'll help in move the aforementioned walls and fixtures from my sidewalk (they've been there 4 months now, remember) to a shed, thus assuring my shower will not get fixed and again promising me that he'll do it after I 'move back into yr place.'
Later that night the universe hooked me up w/the possibility of a rental house 3 blocks south of where I am now except this time I'll have a fenced yard for Buster and Sara, a full basement for Flashback rehearsals, a garage for a cathouse (and I mean actual cats, don't get all offended) on a dead end street surrounded by old people. Almost West Virginia. (It's a John Denver reference and I don't believe in heaven. Do the math.)
It's not a done deal and I don't want to jinx it, but it looks real good. In the meantime I'm figuring out a way to leave the ghetto gracefully (who'm I kidding, I want to crank Flashback up at 4 in the morning the day I leave, but I don't think I 'm really that immature. Or would be able to keep Dan or Kenny up until 4 in the morning!). I'll have to come back night after night, rounding up the straycats who love me and as such are those I cannot abandon. I really want to call the new landlord something dirty, but he is after all, a businessman and cares about me, just not much.
Wish me luck. It feels like a graduation. Between the upcoming move, the tree cutting job (and I've worked 6 days and haven't fallen out of a tree yet, so whoever lost the pool, pay up) and my actual job, Ima gonna be pretty busy and among the missing, but all in a good cause. Gotta go email the Envelopes and let 'em know I'm not dead. Keep whatever faith you like, buy "Fight With Tools" by Flobots 'cause it rocks and stay tuned for more adventures 'cause life just keeps rocking and rolling.
I wonder how much trouble one can get into for Grand Theft Retriever?
tb
Posted by: timbyrnes at 18:38 |
link | comments (8)
am for the exact same rent only
