I Live to Avoid and Void to Live

July 14, 2011

I live to avoid. I avoid to live. My Mantra. Was my Mantra. Not now. Not sure I have a Mantra. Right now. This moment.

It started when I lost my job last year. It was still livable.

I floated. For the first time in my life I had money in the bank. A savings. Comfortable. Unemployed and comfortable. Besides the creeping anxiety and blossoming agoraphobia I was comfortable living at home.

 

I move. I found a great deal. Bargain. A roommate. Money in the bank and unemployment checks. I was set for a while. A while comes fast my friends and enemies. I had enough money for a few months. The plan was to get a job when the money got low. Plan. Plans come and go. Low. Half assed job search. Job offer from a friend.

 

The face pain came back. Trigeminal Neuralgia. Over a 2 year remission it came back fierce. I lost the job on my second day of training. Pain held me down and kept me from working. Ego went down. Depression went up. The social anxiety got worse.

 

Since the end of 2008 I’ve been become more reclusive. More agoraphobic. More social anxiety. I was happy but didn’t . . . couldn’t go out much. I didn’t. I stayed home and felt better and worse. The money problems kept piling.

 

I applied for disability at the advice of my mother who is against people collecting disability. She read about bipolar disorder and trigeminal neuralgia. She understands it can be crippling and maybe just maybe I can’t work. I applied through an agency that takes a percentage of my retro pay if I am approved.

 

Somewhere along the line a few months ago I started feeling social again. I went out everyday starting off to save money on the air conditioning. Central air is expensive. Not cheap. Can’t afford. I’ve been begging and borrowing just to pay basic bills. Yeah. I was talking about socializing. I’ve been motivated to apply for other things, look for other ways of making money. I sell things. I sell my art. I do art for money. I sell my novels. I sell and sell and sell. Sold. I still have nothing. I have several web projects that will take a while to generate money. Nothing right now. Nothing. Nothing is my Mantra.

 

I neglected my car registration and a silly surcharge NJ issues if you get over 5 points in a year. I got 6 points on my license in 2009. Flukes. I’ve had zero points for over 15 years and now I am paying $150 a year for a surcharge. My insurance went up and up again because I live in a low-income town. Low income. Raise the premium. Makes sense. I was pulled over coming out of a store a couple weeks ago. I knew I had no registration. I figured I’d get a ticket for that and that would be it. I go get registered and bring it to court and pay a fine. Nope. My license was suspended for non-payment on my surcharge and it showed that my insurance was invalid.

 

I begged and borrowed the hundred to get my license and registration. The insurance company assured me that I was covered on the date I was ticketed. I went to court and asked for public defender just to have the date pushed because I have no money. Money. Ha. The Judge read each violation and told me the possible fines and threw in a possible jail time. Too fast for me to comprehend. I heard over $3,000 in fines and possible jail. I was freaking inside. I filled an application for a public defender. My next court date is in a week. No time to get money. Money. The even charge me $75 for the attorney. Isn’t that illegal? Should be. I have right to an attorney and if I can’t afford one then one will be appointed to me. Should I beg, borrow and steal to pay a real lawyer? Will it be cheaper? Run out of people to beg. Beg. Maybe Ill start panhandling. Busking would be better. At least I provide a service. A friend said to sell my body. Who would pay for me? Money. It all comes back to money..

 

Weird thing happened after I left the court house. I felt a rush of hope and happiness despite the stressful situation. Money situation. I still feel the stress and the usual anxiety but I am still in what I’ve been calling solution mode. I can’t come up with one. A solution. I might not but if I go down trying it’s better than waiting for more balls to drop. The balls. Drop. Life is problems and sorrow a lot of times and it’s my job as an American artist to work through them. Create. Produce. Sell. Maybe make money.

 

Today I am just worried about today. What can I do now? I’m doing it.


Nightmares and Dreams Video Experiment

July 9, 2011

Home.

Bed

Dream.

Smile. Dream.

Nightmare.

Fear.

Sexual delight

Frustration

Proactive


I Am . . .

June 29, 2011

I’m fucking riled up and irritated. Anxiety is creeping into my blood stream exploding in my brain and heart. Imaginary convulsions. Public anxiety. Private anxiety. What’s the difference?

 

I feel safe for a while then it happens all over again. One bad apple spoils the fucking tree. Fuck that apple and the tree and the branches and the roots. Fuck you too.

 

Question my capabilities. You threaten my art. You are nothing. What have you done? Who are you?

 

I am Rich Hillen Jr. I am an American artist. I am a dream. I am a nightmare. I am sick. I forget that sometimes. Why does it seem that people bring out the disease? Make it worse.

 

“Snap out of it.” “Force yourself to do it” “ Get over it” “Move on.” “Just do it” “Do this” Do that”

 

Fuck you.

 

I do what I can when I can the best I can and that’s all there is to it. You don’t like it then leave me the fuck alone. Go. Now.

 

I can’t take people’s opinions, advice, recommendations, suggestions, demands, orders or anything you have to say that doesn’t support what I am doing.

 

Look, you don’t know what it’s like to to be me. To be infected with several diseases. Inflicted for life. Like it or not.

 

Even with my problems, even with what you view as me being lazy or rebellious or whatever, I have done more than you can dream of. I’ve been a rock star, an artist, made more money than you, fucked more than you, lived, truly lived more than you ever will.

 

Through my inferiority I see that I am superior to you. I’m not going to let you destroy me.


Women. You Can’t Live With Them and Men Are Assholes

June 23, 2011

Women. . . You can’t live with them . . . . Men are assholes that fucked women up. The messed them up for guys like me. Maybe guy like you.

 

We are all a result of our personal experiences in life. Most of us stick with what we experience in life early on and it seems we stop changing in at a certain age. Look around. You can usually tell how old someone is by what they wear, their hair styles, how they speak and their interests like music and television. You know the types. You can tell when someone grew up in the 80’s, 90’s etc.

 

Ahh…. The mysteries of the male and female relations. It’s never been solved but I have my theories and opinions.

 

In my dating experience and the older I get I find that I am less and less of a commodity and I gather more and more baggage. The same goes with the women I encounter or date. It’s been a while but I have been paying attention to other people’s relationships. So when I date a woman I am also dating her last boyfriend/husband/fiancé, the one before that and the one before that. Each experience she has changes her in some ways. This seems to go against what I said earlier about people staying in certain mentalities from early life. It’s been my observation that each man they date reaffirms her attitude from early life rather than changing it especially the women that have had traumatic experiences with men in childhood, teen years and early 20s.

 

So, the reason I was thinking about this is because my friend is having guy troubles. She’s been dating a guy that grew up in the same city neighborhood with the same friends and family dating the same type of girls his entire life. My friend grew up in a backwoods environment and transitioned to the center city life and has had different types and tries to let go of her past relationships when entering a new one. They are only a couple of months in and he didn’t realize how many male friends she had. I hung out with her last night and she let him know she was going out with a guy friend. He started to get jealous. She even called him while we were out to assure him it was cool. His jealousy got worse and worse.

 

Today she posted a photo of us on facebook and he freaked out with even more jealousy. She’s not used to this. Even in her wildest times of her youth she never cheated on a boyfriend. Apparently he has or he has experienced girls cheating on him.

 

It got me thinking about the line from when Harry Met Sally (yes I watched it several times and I’m proud) when Harry says “No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.” I found this to be fairly accurate for me personally until I hit my late 20s and early 30s. Sex became less important and friendships become more important.

 

I suspect that my friend’s boyfriend still has that mentality in his mid 40s. My friend is a pretty tough bitch sometimes and she won’t tolerate it. She’s still upset about it.

 

The other code I cracked a while ago that I don’t always follow or live up to is the “women are bitches” and “men are assholes” mentality many people seem to have. It’s pretty simple to me.

 

Women are attracted to confident men. In many cases men that appear to be confident are actually cocky. There’s huge difference between cocky and confident. Cockiness is fake. It’s a way of overcompensating for insecurities. These men are usually assholes and dickheads. Men that are nice and accessible appear to be weaker and unconfident and a lot of them are. A woman gets the cocky guy and he turns out to be an asshole. Then she is either a victim or a bitch.

 

Men are attracted to confident women. The louder and more aggressive women turn out to be bitches because of their insecurities. The nice accessible women appear to be weaker and too easy so he turns to the cocky woman and she turns out to be a bitch. It’s a vicious circle for some of us.

 

Due to my personal struggles and variety of women I’ve dated I have been an asshole, a nice guy and a confident man. I’ve had the most luck being nice and confident.

 

I’m not even going to address my thoughts on love. Let’s say, for now, that I have no opinions on love.

 

Love ya.


Jolly Holly

January 25, 2011


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

November 2, 2010

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.

 


Want What I Have?

September 29, 2010

“I had a person say to me “I don’t want what you have” so I said “How do you think I feel?”” this guy shared at a meeting once. It was funny yet it made so much sense to me. Sometimes I don’t even want what I have. Ya know? Do you? I think most of us live in between happiness and unhappiness. It’s as if everyone has a little bipolar disorder in them. Not literally but everyone has ups and downs in life. Some if us have it in extremes.

If you ask me how I feel right now I’d tell you that I am a fucking mess. I’d list my problems that I’ve mentioned in previous blogs. Well, depending who you are. If you’re the mailman, next door neighbor or the guy that works at 7-11 I’d tell you everything is fine. Actually once I’m in public I feel ok but then I feel bad when I am alone again. I’m also sick of talking about it with most of my friends because I haven’t been good for a while. You might even be sick of reading about it as well. Are you?

Overall, I am usually a positive spiritual person with a deviant warped sense of humor and odd interests. It is a struggle lately to balance my spirituality with my mental breakdowns and anxiety. I start every day with prayer, meditation and medications. The first hour or 2 start off find and I feel fairly spiritually fit. Then reality kicks in and I panic. I choke. I find it hard to function on a daily basis. Every day is a slow progression to a freak out. I get a few things done towards moving. 2 days left before I have to clear the house. As the day goes on I feel more anxiety until I can’t take it anymore. The next day is a little worse.

The part I hate about everything right now is that I feel all alone. I try to talk to people about it and they either pretend that they understand or change the subject. The other thing is a lot of my friends offered to help me and then when push comes to shove they don’t. I had 3 different people offer to help me move heavy furniture out to the trash yesterday and they all bailed. No one wants to help me move or pack and I can’t blame them. They’ve helped a lot in the past. I did it myself. Today I moved all of the heavy furniture to be moved downstairs from my 3rd floor bedroom so when and if my one friend comes on Friday it’ll be easier. It also cleared the floor so I can finish packing. I know this isn’t a big deal in real life but in my head it’s overwhelming. Ugh.

Seems like I can write all I want about it and the feelings don’t change. Usually writing helps but it’s just a momentary distraction like everything I do.

My point is that I have no point. Ha. Actually, I’m trying to say that I don’t want what I have right now so it’s tough to talk or communicate with people and function at all. I know in my heart that it will all pass. This too shall pass. I have to go through with the feelings and move on through it. I know there’s a spirit of some kind with me at all times but I’m just not feeling him right now.

Tune in next time when the writer says “Life is grand. I’m happy joyous and free.”


AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

September 27, 2010

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 1st 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

September 17, 2010

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 9th. 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 1st.  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

September 10, 2010

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.

Order Books Here.

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.


%d bloggers like this: