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Breaking Point

  One day I broke an ashtray. I didn’t just knock it off a table and accidentally break it. I smashed it into many pieces. As you can assume, I was not having a very good day. It was a Wednesday in May and my dad had just died on Saturday, and my emotions were all over the place.  I had just got back from a thrift store in New Smyrna Beach. On the way I stopped at circle k for a candy bar and a coffee, because I had been ignoring my hunger but I needed something junky to soothe it. I ate a butterfinger. They always get stuck in my teeth. The hot coffee washed it away. It was all I had eaten all day and it wasn’t enough at all. I just needed to do something with myself so I went to the thrift, one I knew and liked but didn’t always frequent. And I’m glad I went because I found a Van Halen t shirt, which dad loves, and I bought it for him even tho he was not here anymore (is that crazy?). But I was also mad at John for not letting me take my car; it was blocked in in the dri...
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Get in the Groove

  I work on the modest porch of a Florida trailer. They’re big porches, properly called Florida rooms. It’s split in two parts: the front part with the metal door, which no longer works— it got smashed in by a hurricane; and the back part which stores all John’s tools and paint stuff on shelves and tables. His bike is back there, plus a pressure washer and the washing machine.  I sit in the front part, at a small repurposed kitchen table with a chair. With a lamp and a radio, which I cannot plug in at the same time. If I want the radio I have to use a flashlight with a hook for light. I light a candle too. We’re nearing the end of September and it’s very windy right now but the temperature is perfect at 78 degrees. I love it.   My writing doesn’t necessarily happen at night, but I’m a bonafide night owl, so it’s bound to occur then. If I’m not “working on a piece” (I’ve heard that phrase has a different meaning), then I’m editing another piece or waiting for inspiration ...
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Electric Light Overload

 Help! The internet is taking over my life. I just realized how much time I spend on my iPad, and phone, every day. And it’s too much. From texting, to checking email, to blogging, to asking Google questions. It’s insane.  I was never like this. I was somewhat old fashioned for a millennial. I had a flip phone. I journaled in an actual journal. I read real books and solved paper crosswords. I could idly smoke a cigarette without “electronic stimulation”.  But John bought me an iPad so I could work on my blog (and not use his). And I have to be grateful for that. It has really come in handy, so I can work on Job applications (so where’s my job?). So I can have a “life.” Okay. And with this new phone — the big fancy kind that needs a case— I spend hours before bed scrolling you tube and playing solitaire. I had no problem with the solitaire on my old phone, but John says this way (the smart way) is better. Well, it’s nice, but it’s not necessary. It doesn’t help me sleep an...
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Finding A Good Book

 As much as I write, you would think I read a lot. That is not the case (unless you count me reading my old journals. Shame on me). I have a hard time finding books i wanna read. I used to go to the library frequently and I was reading much then, but it was hard to find the books. There’s a certain genre I’m into, like autobiography/memoir/ addiction and recovery/humor/basically anything creative nonfiction. It does exist. Like Love Warrior or Pour Me a Life or Sex Cult Nun (yeah I had to read that, the title was too intriguing). However, I could spend a good hour browsing spines and still leave empty handed.  Other good titles are Drinking: A Love Story and My Lovely Wife in the Psych Ward. Give me the hard stuff. For a while I was really into my religious and spiritual books.  I found all of them at thrift stores, and I had a nice collection, but after I absorbed their wisdom I donated them (except for Love Wins . Im hoarding that). The hardest one to read was an exeges...
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Hospital Wisdom

 I’d like to impart some hospital wisdom. I have a sheet of paper from one of my hospital says. It’s just a bunch of bullet points and sentences, but I’ve always liked the sentiment of its advice. This list is meant to help you take yourself less seriously, see past the negative experiences, and preserver. No doubt it is aimed at people who think that life is no longer worth living.  We got handouts in the activity room, which was a small common area where we ate our meals and had group therapy. There was a tv. You could go in there to color or do word searches, especially if you didn’t want to be in your room (I took advantage of leftover breakfast coffee). Most people stayed in their rooms to sleep. I keep this handout stashed in a recovery workbook called Living With Your Higher Power (it’s an AA thing), with other rehab and hospital papers I’ve decided to keep for some reason or other. It’s just a small stack now; I used to have a collection of folders from my inpatient st...
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Write a Letter, You’ll Feel Better

  I may actually be onto something. Five years ago I was having a little vacay at a local hospital. I was ending up in, as Lemony Snicket would say, in a series of unfortunate events. It wasn’t all horrible, but it was…damn freaky.  While I was there I met a guy in the activities room and we started chatting and doing crafts together. We were making collages; I think they were supposed to be “dream boards” (is that still a thing?). Anyways, he was nice and friendly, so when I got to rehab I decided to write him a letter. I hope I’m not breaking any rules by mentioning his name (I doubt you could identify him). Dear Randy, Well, I’ll write a letter to Randy, that guy from Mexico. It’s cold here and hard not to smoke but it’s ok maybe not for me, but we’ll see. Apprehensive and tense— always new faces after I get done with the last — I never know what I really like; I’m so middle road. I hope you’re okay and at the Days Inn until you find your Air b&b. I don’t know how...
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The Jasmine in my Mind

 Let’s take a trip back in time… I kept a journal when I was working as a pool monitor over the summer of 2017, as you may know. To my amazement, that was almost ten years ago now. I started the entries as letters to my mother, even though I never mailed them. I’d like to share one such letter. I wrote it in particularly nice cursive for some reason (my handwriting is always changing, to this day). Dear Mom, It is Friday June 9, 2017. I am here at Cypress Head pool. No one is here except for two young guys cleaning the pool. They come in a white truck. The landscaping guys were here earlier, with their leaf blowers and weed wackers. A man named Tim McDaniel introduced himself to me. Nice gentleman — did Navy Reserves. Told me to dip my feet in the pool. Good idea. One of these days I’m going to take a quick dip. Sometimes I wear my bathing suit under my clothes, just for the hell of it.  I packed a lunch today in the Rubbermaid lunchbox nana gave me: peanut butter sandwich, ap...
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