Things are happening; I have already started to pull out every box and crate stored in my garage; in order to sift through and keep only what’s truly necessary, I must touch each thing.

It’s almost comical…how all of the things I have nearly killed myself in order to hang on to for so long will soon be thrown out. These things turn out to mean nothing; and to serve no purpose at all…outside of painful reminders to me of a former identity that’s become a bitterly recalled ghost. Things are changing; big ideas are being rolled into balls and set into motion around me – and I have been called off the bench to get into the game. I intend to play like never before once I get on the field, believe me…

But Life is funny this way, isn’t it? At last, I have lost everything; I don’t mean that in a pitiful sense, either. I mean to emphasize how I have nothing to lose anymore – no child to set a good example for – nobody to financially support or look after – no career left – no social life or REAL friends nearby. I am finally unbound from the courts and the juvenile delinquent joke-of-a-system; I have no warrants out for my arrest, no news anchors left to stalk me from my front porch, no family (besides my brothers and theirs’, of course).

I have had no drive or motivation; I have been feeling essentially hopeless and as if my Life has been winding down to its final scenes, somehow. Things have been exceptionally dark and dreary here in my world – and any of my regular readers know how and why this has all come about; it’s almost just a natural result of the absolute deflation attached to Boo, and my former identity’s faith in her “recovery”. Either way, the word STAGNANT comes first to mind when I try to search for a fitting descriptive word…yes, I have been quite stagnant.

All that being said, I have recently become the (un)secret winner of the (un)secret lottery; and things are beginning to open up, for lack of a better term. I am now fully planning to make an enormous shift – like to a different continent and country – to a different time and equatorial zone – to a new beach and ocean with different animals and an unfamiliar salinity in the water…I am finally leaving this Gods-forsaken shit-hole of a “life” in my dust…and the actuality of the whole thing is beginning to sink in with me.

I have, at last, told some people that matter to me such as two of my brothers, my mother, and my former boss – a big step in the process. I have emotionally shut myself down to the negative reactions; and have perfected my responses to inevitable arguments; I guess the point is that it’s finally starting to move a teeny bit, all of it. And, for the first time in so fucking long, I have a curious level of hope…hope for my own days to come.

An unexpected and uncharted chance; at …something good and wholesome; something meaningful and fulfilling to the broken spirit I harbor…something like “home”.





Sunday Night Smoothies.

Sometimes it’s easy for me to lose sight of my blessings in life – because I often feel so very overwhelmed by so much bad; and that’s not cool…
“Home is where the Heart is.”
I have seen and heard this saying my entire life: my grandmother kept a little hand stitched pillow that sported it, my Papa used to say it – followed by a huge sigh of relief – every time he returned from having traveled abroad, I’ve received countless greeting cards donning the sentiment across a cabin-esque scene in the woods…yes, home is, indeed, where the heart is.
For all the years after I recovered from surgery and the shock of my former marriage and its ending, I had no home – despite never having been homeless. I was like the pity-pot anywhere I hung my hat for a while, like a patient who everyone thought to be too fragile to live at all. That was uncomfortable and altered the ways that I perceived the world around me, I’m sure.
I rushed through Physical Therapy and Reconstructive Skin Grafting in order to be able to live on my own with Boo finally – a piece of my timeline that is one, big blur of doctor’s offices, pharmacies and Staph Infections in my memory. When I was able to move out to a place of our own, it was located in the ghetto that I grew up in – an element that actually brought me comfort and a sense of comfort, somehow. Nobody else approved of my decision though, nobody felt like I was stable enough physically or psychologically to be doing the single mom thing in the Hood.
I didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought – I was hungry to begin my own independent life’s new story at that point in time – I was excited to experience anything on my own and without the fear and dread that I had previously lived every moment inside of. Boo thrived as well, though admittedly it was a ‘round the clock’ job and brought on a whole new appreciation of single motherhood quite rapidly. I dove into Boo – to her class activities – to the PTA at her school – to her entire existence, anew. Those were the best years that Boo and I had together: the ones leading up to her eventual arrest and first court initiation into “treatment” for her increasing behavioral issues. A lot went on for both of us in growth and discovery – and I feel like I made the very best of as much of it as I could…I harbor little regret against that period of time, and will always treasure the memories of getting to be her Mom, as short-lived as it was. After she was gone, I became rapidly unstable and even suicidal/homicidal before ultimately finding my own way into legal trouble and serious mental relapse. It was after my release from jail for being found in repeated ‘Contempt of Court’, that I decided living alone wasn’t the best option for me any longer – and chose to do the roommate thing.
I went through slews of horribly strange and even dangerous situations for about three years before a longtime friend (Dice, my current roommate) said he had a room for rent in his home. Of course, I jumped on it and even forfeited the first, last and deposit I had invested in the apartment I was renting alone before coming here in order to be here – I knew it was a blessing at the time – and I still know it was a blessing, to date. It was.
Evenings like this one, which include BBQ, mashed potatoes, Vikings on the obnoxiously huge flat-screen in the man cave, real fruit smoothies for dessert, good conversation, kind weed, and a generally easy-going mood…well, to put it simply:
These are the times when I am so very grateful to have a home.
To have a place that I feel safe and secure.
To have a house mate that isn’t a psychopath or out of control asshole;
someone who puts up with CPTSD bullshit and accepts me as I am…
This is all shit that I can’t allow myself to ever take for granted, personally. It means too much.



“I have your answer.” he says through the satellites;
The answer – to a question…that I asked him tonight;
A tickle to his Wizard brain –
A thought, one driving me insane;
He is the winner playing on this field;
He breaks the records, he owns the game;
of my bullheaded difficulty, against his grain.
“Look inside of You.” And his words ring true – to my bones;
“This is me, is this you?” heartache gone…Let’s go home;
A tickle to my inner-ear –
A touch, a truth, I long to hear;
His are the hands that carry gently,
my evidently beating heart, he knows my name;
he holds the stones and feathers of the home from which I came.
“There’s nothing broken about you.” He’s all business in his tone;
Over and over and over…until the message starts hitting home.

Let’s Go Home.

lets go home