Happiness is a Warm Gunner Hanson

Friday nights are my favorite nights and Saturday mornings are my favorite times of the week. Since I left my mom’s aftercare from my Heart attack and surgery in September at her house in Haddonfield (the house I grew up in from 8^thgrade to college graduation) and moved back to where I live now in Fairview in Camden (the town I grew up in from age 5 until 5^th grade). Both towns have changed through the years and I like the changes in Haddonfield much more.

I lived in Haddonfield from March 2009 to October 2010. The move was a wonderful and heartbreaking experience. I was financially distressed, just broke up with (dumped by actually) a yearlong girlfriend or whatever she was and a comeback from a short relapse to drinking after almost celebrating 17 years of sobriety. I was recovering from these factors and moving on and at the same time my adopted father (the one who raised me since I was 11) was sick with many ailments including the worst -Myasthenia gravis, an autoimmune neuromuscular disease leading to fluctuating muscle weakness and fatigability. It also lowered his immunities lowering his abilities to fight infections.

The three of us decided that it would be a great idea for me to move in to my parents house so I could help my mother with my father’s new needs and be an extra person in the house so she could relax once in a while. I was more of a back up and security than daily help. We thought despite his ailments he was to live many years assuming he continued with current treatments. Despite his surprising death from catching scabies that lead to a facial neuralgia similar to my own, I have happy memories due to the pleasure of getting to know him better than I have in my entire life. He died June 19^th 2009. I stayed on with my mom in what I thought was a support to her.

In May 2010 I lost my job and my relationship with her deteriorated slowly until September when I realized I had to move out. Mom didn’t like a reclusive jobless son living on her porch, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes on the computer day in and day out despite the fact that it was one of my most creative periods of my life. As if God presented it Himself I was offered an opportunity I felt I couldn’t refuse. Without my mom throwing me out I went ahead and moved to Camden because my good friend owned the house, it was a bargain, it was furnished and it was cheap. I also had a friend that was in a similar situation that was ready to jump on the bargain. I loved the place when we first looked at it. Our decisions were made. I had the money and my new roommate had the money.

On the day we signed the lease I had a bad feeling as I was driving through the neighborhood. I saw the boarded up houses and drug dealers on the corners. I made the commitment so I went through with it against my last minute objections.

Here it is almost a year and half later and I am full of regret. I’ve since ran out of my savings, and due to my low income of my last job my unemployment barely paid the rent, My various mental and physical disorders got worse, I applies for disability so even if I could get a job I couldn’t, I lost my license due to not affording the NJ surcharges, I gave up my car, I lost my unemployment, I replapsed again and luckily couldn’t afford it and got sober once again, I went on welfare and I even got mugged once.

A lot of time I blame my move to Camden so you can see why Fridays and Saturdays are my favorite days of the week. A twelve to 16 hour vacation from the “home” I dread. I spend the evening mostly alone in the TV room watching cable TV that I don’t have at home and write. My favorite TV show How I Met Your Mother is on 3 channels at 3 different times to keep me happy. I love Neal Patrick Harris and Alyson Hannigan since the Doogie and Willow days. I go to bed early creatively satisfied and entertained.

I wake up nice and early around 6:30 am and pray and meditate, write and watch reruns of a crime show called Female Force on a crime channel. The morning coffee and cigarettes even taste better in my Haddonfield house. I either take a walk to help my uncle with his business for a couple hours if my pain and metal state are in order for the day or try and help mom around the house. Then we do lunch and I go back to “home” only by name and back to my on and off terror of my Camden environment.

I love Friday nights and Saturday mornings. I feel almost normal when I’m here

Row Home Prison

I had a dream

Not like Martin Luther King Jr

Probably not

A nightmare

Did Dr King have nightmares?

I do

Not often that I recall

 

Incisive nightmares

I am a prisoner for a crime I never committed

Imprisoned in jails, institutions, and basements

I was a prisoner in a house

The house in Camden I grew up in

Didn’t grow up but lived there

Only access to the house next door where my cat, Betty

Was held prisoner also

 

I knew I would get out

I was innocent yet I felt guilty

Depressed and optimistic

My adopted mother was a prison guard of sorts

Not listening to me

Judging me

She always thought I was guilty

When other mothers said “not my son or daughter”

My mother would say “It was probably my son”

 

I was afraid and confident amongst fellow inmates

I knew from elementary school

From high school

From college

From the internet

And you were in the next cell

Laughing madly

 

I snuck next door in my Camden row home prison to

Visit Betty

She was happy to see me but afraid of getting caught

She gave me a kiss and hid under a bush

I was happy she was alive

My only love in this world had returned

I snuck into the house to find my valuables hidden in the basement

In a crawlspace

Rotted books, records, art and clothes

I held up a t-shirt covered in rusted buttons

For some reason I felt that I was being held against my will

As a result of my books, records, art and t-shirts

Contraband in some minds that lack freethinking

 

I woke up in the prison of my cozy bed

Sweating

Relieved

Until I looked out the window and the view

To the outside was the same

 

NOTE: HOURS OF VISITATION ARE FROM 12 PM TO 8PM WEEKDAYS AND 8 AM TO 10 PM ON WEEKENDS

 

Please drop by and bring cigarettes to trade for food

Joan or Arc, Joan Baez and You!

Joan of Arc

Joan Baez

And you

 

So young an beautiful in my mind as

You once were

 

Joan Hillen

Joan Marie Siani Hillen

Mother

 

Great mission                         from God

And country

Joan died                 for it all

So young

Brave

Young

 

“Love is a

Four letter word” Joan sang

Protested war

Civil rights

Entertained thousands

 

Joan brought me into this

World I am still figuring out

You spent years

In wards of hospitals

I never understood

They never understood                      YOU

 

Oh MOTHER. I understand now.

I love you now

Now that it’s too late.

 

Joan of Arc

Joan Baez and

YOU

Mom, Birthday, Mother’s Day & Love

I was going to post this yesterday on Mother’s day but I didn’t. Here’s a story about my car accident, mom’s birthday, and love.

A few weeks ago I was invited to my adopted mother’s birthday dinner celebration at a local semi-fancy restaurant. I drove up around 4:25 pm. I was 5 minutes early. The parking lot was empty and I pulled into the closest spot to the fenced in mini-outside dining area. I drive a huge car. It’s an old Lincoln Towncar. I’ve had it for over 3 years now and I still have trouble judging space. As I pulled in I heard a bang so I backed up and parked farther away from the fence surrounded by cement planters with plants and flowers in them.

I got out of my car mostly concerned if there was any damage to the fence. The fence looked ok but the planters were moved and there was a little red paint from my car on the cement. I moved the planter back in place and didn’t worry about it. I met up with my great aunt and uncle then my mom and we were at and had to wait for my mom’s friend and her mother who are always late.

Just as I settled down at the table the woman who greeted us came to the table and asked if I hit the fence outside. I admitted to it. Even if I didn’t have a conscience, I couldn’t deny it with the red paint on the concrete planter. I followed the woman (who turned out to be the owner) outside to the “scene” of the crime. She was quite upset as she pointed out the black painted metal fence was bent slightly and broken at the bottom where it meets the corner. I was full of guilt and apologized way too much. She was more upset about telling her husband (the co-owner) because there was an accident that broke another part of the fence recently. I told her I’d take care of it and give her my information. I went back to my seat and tried to get my mind off it since it’s my mom’s birthday and all.

Everyone eventually showed up and we ordered our food and I tried to have a good time. I got up and went outside to have a cigarette. I passed the owner and she said she talked to her husband and he was calm about it. He would be coming in soon and we’d work it out. Cool. I had my smoke and re-examined the damage. It looked fixable. Even though I was a little relieved I was broke and didn’t need this.

I went back to dinner and enjoyed the meal and the people. My aunt was pretty funny and so was my mom’s friend. We joked, small talked and some serious conversation. After the meal my uncle joined me for a smoke and on the way out the female owner stopped me and said her husband was at the bar.

I went over to him and introduced myself. He wasn’t the friendliest of people but he was polite and trying not to be angry with me. I apologized and told him that I’ll pay for it etc. I gave him my phone number. He told me how much it would be to replace the fence piece. $240. Yikes. He said the other one was destroyed and that was the quote he got for that one. I told him I’d be in touch and joined my uncle for a smoke.

My uncle was examining the fence when I arrived and lit up. He didn’t think it looked that bad and he makes a living fixing things. I told him how much it was to replace the fence and he said that was crazy. He could fix it close to nothing and they didn’t need to replace the fence. Then he went on to say how stupid it is to have an eating area right outside the front door and in the parking lot. I was thinking that the fact that it was hit twice in a month might be saying something. We went back in and my guilty feelings came back.

We left and luckily my mom had a great time and that’s all that mattered. I made the mistake of telling her how much it was to fix it. The next day she sent the restaurant a check for $240. She told me that she did it because she likes to eat there and I can work it off around her house. Weird. Most of my life my mom has no been the one to bail me out unless she really sees me working. We have a deal that I never ask to borrow and she never offers to lend. She’s been bending that rule lately but I never ask. She has made the effort to understand what I am going through and where I’m at and she’s been a big help. I don’t take her for granted but appreciate the help. God bless mom

My Mom is also a talented wriiter and published author.

Check out her Monday Morning Blogs at http://theresemarlin.wordpress.com/

Buy her book at

http://www.amazon.com/War-Distance-Therese-Marlin/

Live Reading from my Novel Yellow Socks & a Promo Video

 

 

Excerpt From the Novel Yellow Socks- Elvis, Hazel & Me

Click the pic to buy the novel or click here.

Elvis, Hazel and Me

 

The sign out front said Therapy. Therapy. Yeah. That’s exactly what I needed. I had to ring a bell at the second door. It was locked. I heard the woman’s broken English say ” Hode on, hunee.”. There was a peephole so she could see me. As the door opened my heart was racing. You never know what’s on the other side of the door. Especially at a place like this. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on here. Now I was ready to find out. Even if I wasn’t ready I was about to find out.

 

The door opened and this cute little Korean girl with glasses stood there smiling. She had a slim but round face and the glasses magnified her pretty skewed charcoal eyes. She was about five foot two inches or so and wore tan shorts and a loose fitting top. Nothing real sexy or revealing. She grabbed me by my arm. I only knew she was Korean because I was told later. I have trouble differentiating some Asians based on looks. I can tell a Japanese or Chinese usually but not always. A Vietnamese girl I once worked with told me that it’s hard for Asians to tell each other because a lot of them are mixed. The girl with the glasses made me follow her down a long hallway and to a room. The room was dimly lit and had a twin bed with a blue and pink floral design on the comforter. There was a nightstand next to it with a lamp, body lotion and a radio. The walls were empty except for a giant mirror next to the bed. No paintings or anything. There were three hooks on the wall to hang a coat.

 

“Take offa you close. Sum one be back.” she said and left me there alone.

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and took off my shirt first. I hung it up on the hook. It was my favorite Misfits tee shirt. Next I took off my pants. Hung them up. I stuffed my socks in my sneakers and left them on the floor under the hooks. I looked at my fat belly in the mirror then I shifted focus onto my new tattoo. It was a picture of Elvis and it said “The King” underneath of it. It was on my right arm just above my 4″ scar that wraps around my bicep.

 

I was hoping that the girl with the glasses would be coming back. I was still a little nervous. I’d been to one of these places once before. I was drinking back then so I didn’t remember anything except that I was there. The alcohol took the edge off of me back then.

 

The door opened. I was startled. It wasn’t the girl with the glasses. It was an older Korean woman in her mid forties. She stood a little taller than the other girl. Her face wasn’t the prettiest I’ve ever seen but she wasn’t ugly. Her somber eyes were possessed with sadness despite the forced smile she wore more out of habit then sincerity. Her cheeks were round and her eyes were wrinkled. Long black hair found its way to the middle of her back. Her tits looked healthy through her tacky Fredericks of Hollywood sheer lace camisole that went down to cover her pudgy belly just touching her matching black lace panties. Her legs were chubby but still nice to look at. She wore black heels that she could barely walk on. Well, she was better looking than any Therapist I’ve ever seen.

 

“What you name? My name is Hee- Jung. You call me Hazel.” she said.

 

“My name is Pete.”

 

“Pete?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You been heel befo? “

 

“No.”

 

“Okay. You give $60.00 for masharge and showerr. Pay now. Then we go.”

 

I gave her the money. She left the room. I waited again staring at myself in the mirror. I always look at myself in the mirror. If I am in a good mood I like looking in the mirror. If I am in a bad mood I tear myself apart looking for everything wrong with my body and face. I was in a good mood. Hazel, huh?

 

She came back and handed me a white towel to wear. It smelled fresh and clean. I wrapped it around my waist and followed her into another room. It was a huge shower. The floor was covered in white tiles with a drain in the middle of the floor. There was a table that looked like the one at my doctor’s office but without the incline option. It was flat and had a vinyl cover. There was a large container filled with water. It had a hose inside it to fill it up like a little kids swimming pool. Hazel took the towel off of me and motioned for me to lie down on my stomach. She placed a small soft plastic pillow under my head. I positioned my head towards her so I could see what she was doing and also to check her out.

 

Hazel took a plastic bowel and scooped out some of the water in the large vat like container and poured hot water on my body. My body stiffened to shock of the heat.

 

“Too hot?” she asked.

 

“It’s ok.” I said.

 

I got used to it. Hazel took a soapy sponge and washed me down like you would give a dog a bath or like a nurse when you are in the hospital. She was very stiff and methodic at first. She scrubbed my back. My arms. My legs. Then she spread my legs and washed my legs and balls. I’ve never had my asshole washed before. I’ve felt nothing in my life to compare it to. I think I liked it. I got a little excited so I must have.

 

“Turn over.” She told me.

 

I lay on my back and she was less clinical with her approach. Her touch felt good even though it was with a sponge. As she washed my arm she noticed my tattoo.

 

“That Ervis Plesrey?”

 

“Yes. The King.”

 

“You Rook Rike Ervis.”

 

“Thang you. Thang you very mudge” I did my best Elvis impersonation.

 

She grabbed my dick and washed it. It was getting a hard on.

“You Rung rike Ervis Too.” she said.

 

She finished up washing my feet and it tickled. I cringed and laughed.

 

“You tickrish?”

 

I nodded and she told me to stand up. As she dried me off she started talking a little more.

 

“You got wife?”

 

“No. I just got divorced.”

 

A melancholy look took over her face when she heard me say this.

 

“Me too. I just get divolced. He no good. He reft me.”

 

“I’m sorry.” I said.

 

Hazel led me into another room. It was the steam room. It was wall-to-wall oak in this little room. There was a wooden table about three feet wide and maybe six feet long long. I barely fit on it. She left me alone for about seven minutes. There were magazines to read. Mostly porno and chick magazines like Cosmo and Vogue. I looked through an issue of Vogue and a copy of Jugs. It put me in the mood for a massage. I thought about jerking off right there but decided it best if I didn’t.

 

Hazel popped her head in and grabbed my hand to pull me out of the steam room. She held my arm like I was her man as we headed back to the room I started in. I wondered if she went through my wallet or stole my money. She took the towel off of me when we got to the room. She put more towels down on the bed and told me to lie down on my stomach. I did. I always do what women tell me especially the ones who are about to give me a massage.

 

“You want dlink befole I stalt?” she asked.

 

“Uhh. No thanks.”

 

“It ok if I dlink a rittle bit?”

 

“Sure.”

 

She reached under the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam and poured herself a glass. She took a big gulp and put the glass down. She turned on the radio. It played some mellow shit I recognized but didn’t know who it was.

 

“You leady?” she asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

She started a regular back massage. She started at my neck and worked every muscle down to my toes. I never knew how good a foot massage could be. I’ve given so many foot massages but rarely received them.

 

“You want me tly a new massage I just reln?” Hazel aked me.

 

“Sure. Yes I do.”

 

She stood on my back and walked up and down cracking my bones. I thought of Lucy Lui in the Charlie’s Angels movie walking on the bad guy Tim Curry. I thought about how sexy Lucy Lui’s feet were. Especially compared to Hazel’s chubby toes. It was painful and relaxing at the same time. I didn’t know whether to scream or moan. I moaned.

 

“Ok. Tuln over. I do the flont now. ” she told me.

 

Luckily she just massaged my front with her hands. Her touch was comforting and relaxing. I wanted her to massage everything. Everything. But good things come to those who wait, right? I waited. She took a few breaks to drink some more whiskey. My body felt like it was going to sink into the bed I was so relaxed.

 

“Ok. Arr done.” she said.

 

Finished? What do you mean finished? I didn’t get my happy ending. I was uncomfortable about asking but I did anyway.

 

“You forgot to massage my ..” I said and pointed to my dick.

 

“Ohh. That extra. ” she smiled.

 

“Fine. Whatever.”

 

She reached over to the night stand and pulled out some lotion. She pumped the lotion in her hand and then took a firm hold of me. This was the happy ending I’ve heard so much about. I must say I was happy. Then she stopped and got more lotion. She put more than enough and worked it around her finger. What was she up to? Oh fuck.

 

“OWW!!” I screamed as she poked her finger up my ass deep. Too deep at first.

 

“You no Rike?”

 

“No.”

 

“Give it a minute.”

 

She was right. After about a minute it wasn’t so bad. It was good. I was happy again. All’s well that ends well. I finished. Hazel poured another drink.

 

“Can I ray down with you?”

 

She turned the radio off and cuddled up next to me.

 

“I so ronery.” she said.

 

She started singing I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You.

 

“You sing with me, Ervis, ok?”

 

We sang together. We cried together. I looked into her wet brown eyes as she sang to me.

 

“… only furs lush in. I can’t herp farring in rove with you.”

 

Loneliness brought me to her. Loneliness brought her to this job. Loneliness kept us bonded as we lay there together crying from our lost loves.

 

After another half hour Hazel helped me get dressed. As she was finishing tying my sneakers she looked up at me like she was really sad for me to go.

 

“Do you want to get married?” I asked her with semi sincerity.

 

“No, I wan you to reave and nevel come back.” she said as she opened the front door.

 

She stood on her toes to kiss me. I gave her my lips.

 

“I Rove you. Don’t come back.”

 

I walked out of there feeling so much better and so much worse.

 

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! That’s how I fucking feel right now. Panic. Stress. Anxiety. My un comfortable comfort zone. My thoughts race far beyond my own comprehension. Trouble thinking yet alone typing. Writing. Blogging. Shitting or whatever this precious intimate open hearted garbage is that I’m puking all over you the reader. The black letters on the white word docment page on the shiny screen. Mind going. Going. Gon . .nope. Not gone but cracked a bit. I feel it buzz down my spine as I try to get some of these thoughts out …

It started last Friday. No it started 2 weeks ago today I think. A Sunday definitively. I called Brian about the meeting we got to Sundays in Phila. H e said he couldn’t go. He couldn’t. Well he chose not to . Ya see he said he was busy. He said he was busy ficing the house he owned next door to him. His tenant moved out and he was getting it ready to rent. I asked. I had to ask. So I did it. I asked. Yes I did. I asked Brian. I asked Brian “ how much are you renting it for?” He told me a price I couldn’t. No wait it was I price I wouldn’t refuse. “how many bedrooms?” I asked I did. 2. 2? Yes 2. I told him I want it and I have aroomamate in mind already.  I did. I knew Seth was looking ot get out too. I wasn’t looking ot get out but I knew that living with my mother at my age with my habits was wearing on her and she was going ot be moving on and out and something. Biscuit? Pancakes.

Whew… Breathing is easier when I do it I did.

So. So Seth said yes let’s do it. Move in together. Wednesday we checked it out and told Brian yes we wanted it. We will take it. He was happy Seth was happy. My mom was happy. Everyone’s happy except for me. I like where I am at in life believe it or not. Change is a stressful thing for me. I have been nothing but productive since I lost my job the end of May. I finished my novel and published it along with the Best of  the Serial Killer Coloring book that I was thinking of doing for over 5 years. I write every day even if it’s trash or ramblings like this one or not.  I don’t know

Oh yeah. SO I am happy living with my mom. She’s a great roommate or house mate except she wants me to work. She understood me wanting ot get my book finished and out because she is a writer too. Now it’s time to move on. I decided that before I was pushed out. She’s leaving anyway in the next year or t2. Did I say that already. I can’t keep track. I’m even to wired and lazy at the same time to spell check or proof read. Can barely move. Except to the bathroom and tha’ts another problem I ha’ve been getting the shits almost every day or every other day for a 3 weeks .

Stress? Maybe I don’t know.

Yeha, My Dad died last year in July, <My adopted dad. Mu adopted Grandmom died in January this year. Death… Family. It brought me closer to my mom and the rest of the family but it fucked me in the head so I repressed it. I do that. I’m good at that repressing

SO I am totally unmotivated and paralyzed with fear, anxiety, depression, and  motivated with diarrhea. That’s it. I’ve barely packed. 4 fuckign days I have to be out of her eand in the new place by Pctoer 1^st and I have to hace to to/ to clean thehouse and clear my dead dad’s stuff ourt of one of the rooms I live in. 10 bookshelves worth of giant books, cds some records and whatever else… Get that shit done my shit done. I’m throwing out my bed tomorrow so I sleep on a couch for a few days. Who cares ?   I’ve done that beforooore.

OFund out the other night my friend died. My old employer. Jana banana. I jope toget my head toghteher enough to write somethingnice about her eventually. She was great. I am also good friends wit her brother. We haven’t talked for years and we did finally the other night. I went to the wake. It was fun. She was the owner of the Singing Banana Telegram company . tha’ts why we called her Jana Banana. They had a singing banana come out and sing to the dead Jana. It was more like a comedy roast than a viewing or wake or wahtaever. I don’t evenknwo the difference.

My ex-wife showed up. Weird… I called her and invited her but didn’t expect her to show up. I went years hating her and we’ve been pretty civil that past few years and she was friends with Dave the brother and we were at Jana’a last wedding and Jana was at ours. It was weird to see that she looked good. I neverthought I would think or feel that about her ever again. She had plastic surgery before I left her and I hated it. I talked to her and we had a good time at the viewing. Weird. Wird for me and .

ok. My head won’t stop. Whish there was a button I could push on my forehead to stop my thoughts.

I also remembered an old friend of Jana’s that no one got in touch with. I remembered that she goes to a coffe eshop on Sunday nights for a sewing or knitting circle thingy . I called her after the viewing and mademy friend and future house mate Seth waiting bored in my car while I told Jana’s friend and my old friend that Jana died over the coffee shop phone. We talked and caught up. Now we’re re-connected.

All of these reconnections are overwhelming me with the pressures and anxieties I already had and I was am are is. . .  confused about it all. Dave. Myex-wife Cindy, My old friend Cindy, …Jana. RIP

Then I came home to the wonder ful facebook and was friend requested by some guy I didn’t know and I haven’t been that picky so I accepted him and immediately received a facebook invite to my High School reunion. Then he came back to me and and. . I sort o remembered him. My 3 yeaars on facebook I was only requested by one person I knew from high school. Now more memories… good and bad. I started looking at his friend list and saw all of these people I sort of remembered but not quite. Weired weird … freaky weird. Shut up. Ok yeah then I saw someone that has always hated me but was friends with one of my old friends and we used to tolerate each other. I got upset and thrown off by that too. He spread the rumor that I was gay years after high school because my friends and I messed with his homophobia. I hate homophics. Most of them. Not you. Or you. But him. Yeah

Then I started this paranoic rampage of the mind about me going to the high school reunion and having people come p to me and I don’t remember who they are. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve seen or heard these people. It’s not til November so fuck it. I guess. But it was just one more thing..

Oh yeah then one of my facebook “friends” that I don’t even know left a comment that my friend that died is going ot hell. That was just another thing to add to my overwhelming anxiety and racing speeeding thoughts and stress and blah blah blah. . . etc ya know…

He followed it with a “you’re going to hell” directed at me. So I deleted, blocked and reported him as a fake profile because he had not info and only cartoon pics of himself.

Today facebook took me off and signed me out and said my account was suspended for suspicious activity and to prove it was really me I had to identify my “friends” pictures. Luckily most were people I know personally. They have a real hang up about it being a friends and family site but what if I want to make new friends? Fuck it. Least of my worries.. Just one more thing to make my head throb and speed.

I’m also talking to a girl who I know is fake because she has one picture of herself and 34 pictures of her friends and I recognize some of them as porn stars. Not that I look at pron or anything.. haha. Ok . you know already..vShe doesn’t bother me I just go along wither talk about liking me etc.. Any female attentio is good right? Even it’s a fake girl. Probably a dude or one of my friends. Haha.

I think that sums me up . my mind up.. my anxiety stress etc blah bluck poo faa haa gaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sirll there . Here. Might not stop butIknow it will eventuallllyy Next weekI’ll be crying over something different. Maybe tomorrow, who knows? All I know is that I will survivie. Isn’t that right Gloria Gaynor?

The Pains and Pleasuresof Moving On

It’s starting to hit me. The feelings and emotions associated with leaving the nest all over again except this time I am sober and a lot older. I’m talking about moving out from my adopted mother’s house. It’s been a great year and a half or so but an opportunity came up and I had to take it at the last minute. One months notice.

I moved in here in March 2009. It was mutual need at the time. I was having trouble with my rent and my adopted dad was sick and needed extra attention. I was a slight mess )total mess to be honest) and my mom needed the extra help with my dad. I moved in. It was goal to get closer to him while I was there and we accomplished this goal just in time for hs death in June 2009. To be honest, it’s taken a long time to recover from that. My mother seemed to recover faster.

My mother and I have had a great relationship and made great house mates. I help around the house but she asks little of me. It was discussed that I was going to have to leave within the next year or so. Then I lost my job. It’s been a blessing and a curse.

I hated the job and I had some money away and collected unemployment. This afforded me the time and energy into finishing and publishing my novel and 2 other books. After 2 months of just writing and working on my books, my mom was tired of me sitting around the house all day and wanted me to look for a job. The one I have my heart set on is an Alcohol and Drug counseling job that requires you to have 2 years sober. Because of my brief relapse in 2008 I am not eligible until October 9^th. To be honest I’ve been kind of putting off looking for work because I want that job that I’m not guaranteed to even get.

Its been a rough month and my mom has been on me abut looking for a job. Luckily, my great aunt’s boyfriend put me to work very part time cleaning offices with his business. It was enough to keep my mom happy for a little bit. I had to apply for a couple more to make her happy. I really want to be a writer full time but that will take some more practice and writing and promoting. I also want the counseling job and I guess I’m putting all of my eggs in one basket but that’s what I do sometimes.

So I am set to move into a 2-bedroom house that my friend owns. On October 1^st.  I’m moving in with a friend I’ve known for years. Meanwhile my mom is going on a 2 week cruise to Europe this Saturday and won’t be back until the day I move. Today is the last full day of us officially living together. Tomorrow she is leaving. We went out for dinner as sort of a goodbye and a celebration of our new lives the other night. It didn’t hit me until now that this is the last time I’ll see her as a resident of the house. Sad yet happy.

She wants me to move on but she’s worried about me not having a job yet. I’ll survive. I always do. I just need more people to buy my books, get a job and start anew business. I haven’t done that in a while and I usually do well when I do it.

It’s nice to know that I’m leaving on good terms this time instead of her throwing me out because I drank too much when I was younger. It’s a positive experience but I still have to go through the pains, sadness and anxiety that go along with it.

More Excerpts from my Novel: Yellow Socks

My publisher, LuLu, is having a September sales contest and I am trying to win it so I get featured and promoted. It’s been tough promoting this by myself  tryng not to get on everyone’s nerves. Please spread the word and and help me win this contest. Hell, you might even enjoy the book. Oh yeah. They are offering an incentive by giving you 10% off your purchase if you enter the code ‘ AUTUMN ‘ at check out. Thanks.

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Here’s an excerpt from Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan:

Mom

I drifted in and out of contact with my natural Mother my whole life. My Mother had disappeared for years and eventually turned up living in Germantown PA. Outside of Philadelphia living with a black couple named Sam and Sondra.

As it turned out, during her last disappearance she was living on the streets of Williamstown, NJ. She was homeless. Sam found her while he was running the Williamstown Community Center. He helped get her cleaned up, medicated and put her up in a motel. He was a friend with everyone in the community including the Mayor and a motel owner so Mom was taken care of. He even put her to work in the Community Center cleaning.

After months of getting to know my Mom, Sam took a strong liking to her. He thought it’d be better for her to move in with him and his wife so in she moved. Germantown, PA. Sam was also responsible for getting Mom back in touch with the family,

Every so often I’d visit her. The first time was with Rebecca, my Aunt and Uncle and Cousin for a Christmas dinner. Sam and Sondra were there and so were their daughter and grandson and Tonya’s brother. The family was delightful. The food was delicious. It was the first time I ever tasted soul food. They served catfish, collard greens, lima beans (which I normally hate) and black-eyed peas. It was much easier to deal with Mom with the people and food as a distraction.

Some of my visits were by bus. Some by cab. Sometimes I would bring a friend or girlfriend. I usually arrived hours later than I promised and stayed as little as possible. As I’ve said before, when I don’t want to deal with something or a conversation I get very tired almost to the point of narcolepsy. I would make an excuse to leave as quickly as possible when this would happen.

After I stopped drinking the end of 1991 I started visiting my real mother every Christmas. Easter was at my “adopted” parents. Thanksgiving was at my real Dad’s house. I visited her every Christmas from 1991 until She died in 2000.

I spent time with her on every Christmas day for almost ten years. I was definitely no the ideal son but then again she wasn’t the ideal Mother. Every year I would get very ill. There was always some kind of cold or virus going around. I’m sure my subconscious desires to avoid my mother entirely helped my sickness deepen.

So every Christmas eve I kept myself busy and usually stayed up all night. I would wake up late on Christmas day and put off the visit as long as I could. She became a family member to Sam and Sondra and I always felt welcome at their house. They loved her like a sister. Sam and Sondra treated me like family as well. An outsider would wonder why I get so reluctant and stressed out over the visit when everyone is so nice. My mother has been a certifiable nut since I was eight years old so I didn’t want to deal with the guilt, the anger, the sadness, and the hatred.

Excerpt from my Novel Yellow Socks – Atlantic City

“Everything dies baby that’s a fact

But maybe everything that dies someday comes back

Put your makeup on fix your hair up pretty and meet me tonight in Atlantic City” -Bruce Springsteen

Mom was really going off the deep end. She started reading the Bible day and night reciting passages mostly to my Dad. She was telling him he was a sinner. Her personality was getting meaner towards him. She snapped at him on many occasions and threatened to kill him. The next day she would cry and apologize and beg him not to tell her parents. When she wasn’t mean to him she was too nice. She had conversations with people that weren’t there. She was convinced at one point that Dad was Jesus Christ.. He was the son of Joseph. He was the Son of God. He was the Son of Man. He was born on December 25^th, Jesus’s birthday. He dismissed it. He thought she was just over worked with raising me. All we needed was a vacation. We went to Atlantic City for the weekend.

One of the nights we ate at a boardwalk restaurant called Captain Stan’s. We left the restaurant and took a family walk on the boardwalk. It was really dark. Not many people around. We watched another couple standing near a rail looking at the ocean. They were interrupted by a group of three black men and were beaten near death. I watched through my wide child eyes as this couple was beaten with pipes and a chains. They robbed them and ran off. My Dad called the police. Mom and I went to see how they were. The woman was a blonde. Her eye was swollen shut. Her entire face was covered in blood and she couldn’t move her arm. The man was tall and had dark hair. His head was covered in blood. They were hysterical. The police and ambulance arrived shortly. We were questioned while the couple was taken away in the ambulance. I have never seen so much blood in my life since except the horror movies I later grew up with. Mom told the police her theories.

“It was Jesus Christ’s will for the black man to kill them. The black man is the devil’s tool to take down the white man. The couple were racists and deserved it.” She told the police.

“Sorry officer. She is in shock right now. She is taking nerve medication.” My Dad told the police.

Luckily, I wasn’t paying attention to my Mom. I missed all of her off color comments and insane rants. I usually blocked her out when she was acting strange.

My Dad left when I was six years old. He took me to a movie before he left and explained to me that Mommy was sick and he couldn’t take care of her anymore. He said that Grandma and Grandpa would take care of us. He told me he loved me and would never forget about me. I don’t remember this. I didn’t see him again until I was twenty-two years old. Mom told me he wasn’t home from work yet. She told me this everyday for the next year. It took me even longer to realize what really happened. He left me with a crazy woman.

Order Yellow Socks : Confessions of a Non-Don Juan at LuLu.com