Excerpt from My First Novel Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non Don Juan

June 4, 2012

An Excerpt from my 2010 novel Yellow Socks- Confessions of a Non Don Juan

 

Skeleton Woman or Things Like Me Don’t Happen To You

 

Christ it happened again. Another notch in my “girls that want to be my friend” belt. It made sense. We were perfect friends and she was real cute too. I kept thinking that I was ok with it. I’d be happy just being a friend again. I keep turning to God for strength to accept my fate as “Friend to all women” that I’m attracted to. My acceptance level seems to be ok. I go to my happy place. I go to my cave. I say the serenity prayer over and over I am sure that I will be ok with this. Yes I will. (no I won’t)

 

Cut to a scene from Fight Club

 

TYLER

Stop it! This is your pain — this is your burning hand. It’s right here! Look at it.

 

JACK

I’m going to my cave. I’m going to my cave to find my power animal!

 

TYLER

No, don’t deal with this the way those dead people do. Come on

!

JACK

I get the point, ok, please!

 

TYLER

No, what you’re feeling is premature enlightenment.

 

Ok. I get the idea. Feel the pain. Feel the hurt. Feel the rejection saturating my heart until I bleed more than just these words all over the place and finger my open sore of a brain as it wants to dwell on her over and over again. Screaming and roaring her name with anger and grief and sometimes a slight relief that it’s done and I know that she will not reject me again unless I go back for more and more or less or a little bite of her cheeseburger and a sip of her Pepsi to tide me over until the next one comes along with better food and spirits for my, for me for. Four scores of seven years itch as I scratch the weathered tired out mongrel of an ego that was left stray years ago in a pound for wayward hearts and letches that can only love and never be loved.

 

The pain of being a friend. A friend. I’ve heard that “Let’s just be friends” millions of times in my life as I gargle a new mouthwash and toothpaste hoping my breath will be the answer to my problem. My problem is as follows: me, myself and I. We altogether are the problem. We want to be loved so bad that we give off the vibe that scares the shit out of women so they just want to be friends. Friends. Friends. I think to myself that will be fine. Friends is ok. It’ll do. I can accept that. Bullshit! Feel the pain I tell myself. Embrace it. the pain is your friend. To hurt is to be alive. I’ve never been so alive. I’m alive. So alive.

 

“Did you ever hear about the skeleton woman?” Morton asked.

 

“Was that a Glam rock band from the seventies?” I ask.

 

“Ha. Ha. Nah. It’s an ancient Indian story. This guy was fishing in the middle of a lake. He was totally into it. He was relaxed. Not a care in the world except catching the next fish. All of a sudden he feels a tug on his line and he yanks it up. A skeleton appears on his line. He doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line and he gets scared. He starts paddling his boat away from it but it follows him. He still doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line. He gets out of his boat and runs into the village and he is carrying his fishing rod and the skeleton is still right behind him. He jumps into his Tee Pee and it follows him in. He lies down and tries to hide not looking at it for a while. When he finally turns to look at the skeleton it has changed into the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is his. The moral of the story is that he was minding his own business doing something he enjoyed and that’s when the right woman came along. In other words when you are not looking for love is when it will find you. ”

 

“I know that but it’s so fucking hard to stay focused on other things without thinking about how much I want to be loved. Fall in love. Ya know?” I responded.

 

“I know. I know.” Morton said.

 

“We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.” Tyler Durden

 

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Mom, Birthday, Mother’s Day & Love

May 9, 2011

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/


Rich Hillen Jr’s Digital Art

February 6, 2011


This is the Way I Feel Right Now

July 12, 2010

I made this the other day but it best illustrates how I feel right now. Not bad or good. I just don’t feel like writing about it.


It’s Not About Me

June 25, 2010

“What do you mean it’s not about me?” I asked.

“It’s not about you man.” He said.

He went on to explain that it’s about being a decent human being and working with other people that need help. In a sense, in order to maintain my own spirituality and well being I have to lose myself in helping others. Give to receive and that kind of shit. That was a long time ago and every day just trying to do what I want to do is a reminder that it’s not about me.

I got up early this morning because my mother needed my car moved so she can get out and do her volunteer work with Meals on Wheels. It’s not about me. I like to relax on the porch with my coffee and cigarettes and write in the morning and the landscaping service shows up. I can’t stand the noise and my allergies get aggravated. It’s not about me. Our neighbor is painting the windows in the house with a friend of his and they are in and out of the house and I hate to have strangers or any outsider around especially when I am trying to relax on the porch It’s not about me.

I stay aggravated half the day because everyone seems to be interrupting my plans and what I expect. It’s not about me.

I get a phone call from someone trying to get sober that I’m not always real crazy about because I’m not sure if he’s serious or not. He wants a ride to a meeting I committed myself to that I don’t even like. He calls three times so I call him back and say that I’ll take him. It’s not about me. I have to leave early for this meeting and pick up hot dogs every week and I don’t even like the meeting. It’s not about me. I get a phone call from the only other dependable member of the group for that runs this meeting saying she won’t be there tonight. I have to do most of the other responsibilities tonight. Once again, it’s not about me.

For the past year or so the theme of my life has been that saying and I still need and get a daily reminder that it’s not about me. It’s about doing the right thing, helping others, taking actions against my will and trying to conform my will with God’s.

It’s not about me.


He Pushed Me Away

June 3, 2010

I wrote the following on Sunday December 13th 2009:

I was paid a visit by my former self. The one from a few years ago that was constantly creative and productive and full of life and charisma and confidence. He looked amazing in his cowboy hat and wife beater and jeans and boots. We sat down and had some coffee and smoked cigarettes and chatted for a while. The meeting started with small talk like “what have you been up to?” and “How’s your family and friends?” and things like that.

Then we got down to the nitty gritty.

“Why did you leave me?” I asked,

“I thought you left me.” he said.

“No, man. You pushed me away when you started seeing a Psychiatrist and taking medications.”

“That’s when I thought you ran away to leave me to deal with this shit on my own.”

“You further abandoned me when you started abusing the pain pills and went to less and less AA meetings and working your AA program.”

“Really?”

I thought about this for while sipping my hot coffee and taking long drags on my cigarette. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I did leave him. Maybe with everything that was going on I just gave up on him and wanted less and less to do with him.”

“You turned into the walking dead, man. All drugged up and barely making it to work or anywhere else. I’m surprised you still have friends and family.” He said.

“Hmmm. I did lose a girlfriend and almost lost my job.” I said
“See. You left me in the dust, Rich.” He said.

“What do you think I should do about it? Do you want to come back to me? Be together again?”

“Nah, man. Not yet. You’re not ready for me yet. You’ve got bills out of your ass. You’ve got too much anxiety and depression for me to handle. You have issues with women and sex. You just got a year sober a little while ago. You need some heavy duty work before I’d consider being part of your life again.”

“But I miss you terribly sometimes. I don’t feel complete without you sometimes.”

“Well, if you don’t take care of your sobriety and mental health properly then there’s no chance of me getting involved with you again.”

He had so much energy and confidence in what he was saying and it hit me hard. He’s right. I do need to work on myself harder. Work the 12 steps in my life more. Settle my debts. Get a decent Psychiatrist that’s not going to Zombie me out yet help me with my depression and anxiety and Bipolar disorder. I need an emotional, physical and spiritual over haul. I agreed with him.

“You deserve better than this. You deserve to have me back but you’re not ready yet. Yet.” He said.

He left into the rainy day like he was never here. Yet, I thought. At least there was a glimmer of hope in voice.

So, here I sit smoking and drinking coffee contemplating the conversation. I think I’ll pray on it and see what tomorrow brings. Meanwhile, I’ll be the best new Rich I can be today. Just for today.


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