Pilgrim in the Trailer Park

  Help! I need some writing, not just any writing… The well is running dry. Either that or I’ve got to dig a deeper hole…but how far down can I go? The famous poet Edna St Vincent Millay said “myself I think will never know/ how far beneath the wave I go.” Well said. So, it’s not so much how deep can I go — I could plunge endlessly — but how much is my audience willing to tolerate? And most of these amorphous concepts I can’t even get down on paper. They’re ideas or phrases or cool title ideas, but they refuse to flesh out. They go nowhere. I always think of that scene from Boondocks Saints where Greenley says to the fat dude lying by the dumpster: “you’re going nowhere! Nowhere!” Yeah. I have slightly more faith than that, like the gumption to take off with a broken wing and try to mend it along the way.  And then there is the writing I have deleted. Yes, deleted. Because I don’t like having too many drafts, and I figure if it was that important I’ll remember it later. My jou...

  The Super Bowl…a holiday I don’t celebrate, but I made a big plate of snacks that was beautiful and I’m very proud of. Although I probably consumed a half a block of cheese (! (the small hickory farms kind)). I don’t care to understand the game; the rules never sink in and the objective is lost. If it makes John happy, that’s cool :) Football is going to be around for a long time, so I better get used to it. I told John most of the commercials make me uncomfortable. It’s true. I’ve been making a “full pot” of coffee every morning (it’s only a four cup maker), and drinking it all throughout the day. I like this better than cup-to-cup (it’s not a damn keurig!), and since I’m going to drink as many, might as well (when I would protest John buying another case of beer he would say “you’re gonna drink it all eventually, right?” True).  I’m trying to ignore the commercials, but I couldn’t help but looking at a Budweiser commercial playing Free Bird , featuring a bald eagle soari...

 I just wanted to make a post with that title ( since I can’t put it on a t shirt ), and also a public service announcement. 

  “Drawn into the stream, of undefined illusion, those diamond dreams, they can’t disguise the truth…” — Level 42, There’s Something About You When I broke up with my boyfriend five years ago, he told my mother “I hope she finds herself.” At the time I had blocked his number at the request of a family member, but I appreciated that he reached out to my mom because he was concerned for my welfare and wished me well. But I was trying to escape, not find myself. But I was indeed truly lost. Well, I found Jesus, instead…and then I did find myself (Here I am!). No, really. I wasn’t being true to myself in that relationship (no offense to him). I think most women can relate to that. We try to change ourselves in order to be deserving of love. And we probably do shit that piss men off, like talk too long on the phone (and too much in general), take too long in the bathroom, etc. But it’s part of the package, just like we put up with them monopolizing the tv watching sports.  I’m bein...

 Sometimes I think the universe is trying to speak to me.  Not literally (hello, Universe? it’s me…). I can’t help but connect the dots sometimes.  I got a little manic after my breakup five years ago, and I started connecting all the dots I could think of, which led to some weird poetry and drawings (I tried to show them to my dad and he was like, get that shit out of my face! Lol, that’s my dad. So I would read them to him so he had  to listen. And then he made me go to the hospital. I digress…). Anyways, I’m a little more hinged now, so the dots don’t make me crazy, even though sometimes I think I am on the verge of a huge epiphany (did you know one time I thought Eminem was gonna discover me and buy my poetry? To quote Bell: “‘must have been some weed.’”). I appreciate the dots, wherever they are leading.  I got sober on Good Friday of 2024. That wasn’t the official day I quit drinking (it was sometime that same week), but it was the day I went into the hosp...

I think I am done with the Satan stories. What started out as a fun story about a “one night stand” gets really ugly. I realize that. I take full responsibility for posting this on the internet, but I dare anyone to judge me, for my poor taste in subject matter, to the choices I made, to the people I fucked over, for the reasons I drank, etc. If this story doesn’t resonate with you, then you’ve never been in the gutter, and probably consider yourself too wise to end up there. Then this story (and maybe this blog) is not for you. I’m lucky I’m alive to write these stories, and I take pride in my ability convey them, with a touch of humor, objectively and subjectively. I don’t write for the masses. If you don’t think John is the hero in all of this, then you can’t see the forest for the trees. Every alcoholic has to decide on their own to get sober, to “see the light” (or in my case, scared enough to get help), and make a commitment and keep that commitment (relapse is always possible. I...