And That's Okay

I wished Billy a happy birthday today. She told me she’s thriving and sent a couple of pictures of her daughter—she’s adorable. I told Billie that motherhood was always where she belonged. She agreed, saying it’s given her a whole new perspective.

She also said she thinks of me often. I can say the same. We bonded through trauma, but these days our connection feels less about what we endured and more about acknowledging that we survived.

Since my divorce, I haven’t had many meaningful relationships. That’s why it matters when someone like Billy remembers me as a positive part of her story. Even with Tinkerbell, for all the chaos, there’s still a mutual respect and acknowledgment.

Gia was different. With her, I did everything right—or as right as I knew how—and still didn’t get the ending I wanted. She walked away and erased the relationship completely.

The irony is that Gia probably would have stayed longer in a messy, chaotic relationship. But I’m not built that way anymore.

And that's okay.

Searching Questions

One in twenty people will go to jail in their lifetime. I know six friends and several acquaintances who have spent at least a night there. I’m not sure what that says about my social circle. I’m not saying I haven’t done things that could have landed me in jail—I just didn’t get caught.

I don’t seem like the type of guy who would end up in jail. My tattoos might suggest otherwise to a casual observer, though.

Why am I thinking about this? I was searching for a post about the time Tinkerbell spent a night in jail. It was over a domestic argument with her baby-daddy at the time. They took her in just to cool her off. I’m sure I wrote about it back then, but searching through 2,000 posts without a tag is like fishing for a needle in a haystack.

It has to be out there. It was too funny not to record.

Funny

My twins text me occasionally things about my ex-wife. I don't really engage much with them about her. The twins like to complain, and I am sure they do the same thing about me. I did receive two texts that I found interesting last week.

This one was the day before Mother's Day. 

Twin A: Mom told me today is the day she divorced you.

It has been twenty years. I would even be able to guess the day the divorce was finalized. I do remember the day she filed for divorce. It was on my birthday. Why would she even remember the day?

Twin B: We went to Romeo today to meet Mom's cousin with Mom and Stepdad. (I am paraphrasing.)

I didn't mention to Twin B that his mom dated her cousin (same last name but distant enough) before me. I am sure she didn't say that to her now-husband, either. She seems to have a problem letting go of her past, and she tends to romanticize it. The first thing she did when she decided to divorce me was look up an old boyfriend she hadn't seen in 18 years. She dated him long-distance for about a year during and after the divorce.

I wouldn't be surprised if history repeats itself. 

The Scene Of The Crime

Four Years Ago

On a partly cloudy day, Billie and I drove to Sterling, Michigan, to go kayaking on the Rifle River with our friends Tink and Tech. Little did we know it would be our last trip together.

"She is cheating on me," I tell Tink and Tech as Billie headed to the bathroom.  The night before, I discovered incriminating text messages on her phone. All morning a growing pit of anger and despair was forming within my stomach. Unsure of what to do, I elected to go on the kayaking trip anyway. We booked the long route, which can take six hours or longer. Midway through the trip, the river became congested with intertwined inner tubes carrying inebriated campers, resembling oversized floating lily pads. Billie and I got separated from Tink and Tech. We navigated through the chaos without slowing and reached the end an hour ahead of Tink and Tech.

Last Weekend

I returned to the Rifle River at the invitation of Tink and Tech. We were joined by two other couples for a kayaking excursion. I had been jokingly referring to returning to "the scene of the crime" when friends and coworkers asked about my plans for the holiday. However, revisiting the exact location didn't evoke many memories. Once again, at the halfway point, where the river became congested with tubers, I lost sight of the rest of the group and finished over an hour before they did.

I won't be going back. I cannot stand the crowds of drunken partiers. It is not my idea of fun. That is Tech and Tink's. Although they are getting too old for that, in my opinion. Still, the Rifle River leaves me sour.

It is the fourth of July. I declined Sam's invitation to go to the annual party friends put on. I am not pleasant company lately, and I cannot shake it. Back in March, the Psychic said 2023 was going to be a dry year in the dating market. She indicated I am going to start wondering if there is something wrong with me, but not to get caught up in that negative energy. Even with that warning, I feel like that is exactly what is happening.

Hands Down

 Friday, I went to dinner with Jay and his wife. We went to a local pub and caught up. The discussion turned to music. Jay's wife said, "I like love songs. He doesn't."

Jay piped up and insisted he likes love songs and tried to prove it by pulling up the lyrics to a country song about a guy who loved his ex until the day he died.

"Sounds like a cautionary tale, not a love song," I noted. "I think Dashboard Confessional writes a good love song."

It was the same thing I'd said here before. Neither of them had heard of Dashboard Confessional. I wasn't surprised Jay's favorite band is U2. 

At dinner, I'd go into why I think so.

Breathe in for luck
Breathe in so deep
This air is blessed
You share with me
This night is wild
So calm and dull
These hearts they race
From self control
Your legs are smooth
As they graze mine
We're doing fine
We're doing nothing at all

My hopes are so high
That your kiss might kill me
So won't you kill me
So I die happy
My heart is yours to fill or burst
To break or bury
Or wear as jewelry
Whichever you prefer..Hands Down, Dashboard Confessional

His songs remind me of times with Billie. This isn't a sad post reflecting on the past with rose-colored glasses, though. It is just the truth. 

I watch you spin around in your highest heels

You are the best one, of the best ones

We all look like we feel

You have stolen my

You have stolen my heart... Stolen, Dashboard Confessional

I still listen to these songs. I like them. I like love songs. Stolen reminds me of the time Billie and I went to a local festival. Billie wore this long lyrca sundress that hugged every curve. 

I'm cuddling close to blankets and sheets

But you're not alone, and you're not discreet

Make sure I know who's taking you home

I'm reading your note over again

There's not a word that I comprehend

Except when you signed it

"I will love you always and forever"

As for now I'm gonna hear the saddest songs

And sit alone and wonder

How you're making out

And as for me, I wish that I was anywhere with anyone

Making out

And so I am.

I'm missing your laugh

How did it break?

And when did your eyes begin to look fake?

I hope you're as happy as you're pretending...Screaming Infidelities, Dashboard Confessional

Hands down, the best.

Found

I was looking through old posts this morning. I want to do a blog post on Peter Pan syndrome. Instead, I got lost in the past. I found these two entries. Due to editing down the number of entries neither made it into my book. I still think I was a better writer back then. I miss the larger audience I used to have. Back then, I would get a dozen or more comments from my largely female audience on every post.

The Date 
Originally Posted, Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The date was a lunch date. I do not know why I always allow myself to be roped into first meetings involving meals. I should know better by now. It should always be coffee or drinks. Because at the end of the story, no one will be saying, "Well, at least you got a free meal out of it." 

I was dressed in my new work clothes, a bright blue button-down shirt, and dark blue pants. I even pulled out a pair of dress shoes. They are a little dated (squared toe), but I don't think she would have known. I felt I looked good. We arrived simultaneously and were immediately seated in the non-smoking section. She had shoulder-length hair, perhaps to shades above bleach blond, and was desperate for a hot oil treatment. Maybe she dyed her own hair and not just the roots when the gray became prevalent, whatever the reason something was taking a toll. The ends needed product. She ordered fish, and she has a thing for seafood. 

I would have guessed her late husband had died of cholesterol issues, not a car crash. I ordered the chicken Parmesan sandwich-- damn the cholesterol. I felt rushed with the meal. She finished quickly, though I asked the questions and allowed her to talk. We talked about our children, cellphones, and concerts (believe it or not), but there was no chemistry. We started talking about work, and she made a face and said she was happy being a stay-at-home mom. I couldn't help wondering who's hard work and death had given her that luxury.

She was religious, went to bible study groups, wine tastings, and went to concerts in limos. I am agnostic, hang out with strippers, and still abuse the occasion prescription drug (yes, most of those habits I could easily clean up). I was not what she was looking for. Which actually was a relief because I already knew this. I allowed her to link to me on Facebook. She was proud of her technological accomplishments over the last few months, like texting and Facebook. Once she viewed my tattoos and my friends, I figured that that would put any interest to bed. If I am 45 and she is a year younger than me, I'd say she would be more comfortable with a guy around 50 with a six-figure income.

*     *     *

Wendy's Tattoo
Originally Posted, Monday, March 29, 2010

Now that you think I am harshly judgmental and wouldn't want to go on a date with me either, I will continue with the rest of Thursday evening.

In every good Peter Pan story where there is a Tinkerbell, there is a Wendy. My Wendy lives an hour to the west of my major Midwestern City, so our visits are few and far between. Wendy and Tinkerbell (no I have not been talking to Tink) are like oil and water though they have never met.

After the date, I had already made plans to see Wendy later that evening. Wendy rents a basement room from her aunt. When I got there she was sleeping, which seems to be her usual condition when every I arrive.

The room was freezing cold. "Get in here and cuddle with me," she orders holding open the comforter, "I've still got six minutes before we have to leave for the bank."

I take off my shoes and oblige. I lie on my back and she snuggles in half on top of me. "What are we doing tonight?" I ask.

She explains her unexpected windfall for choreographing the local high school girl's flag guard and then announces her intention to get another tattoo.

"Sounds like a great idea!" I had been seeing her posting different tattoo ideas on her Facebook for the last couple of days.

She pushed out of bed exactly at the six-minute mark and we drive off to the bank. Her tattoo artist's shop is locked in the center of College Town. We had to park and set out on foot. I expected a night of drinking and playing pool so did not dress for a stroll in the 30-degree weather that decided to return for the evening. We were shivering by the time we entered her preferred artist's studio.

She showed him the pieces she wanted, disappointingly but not surprisingly he was booked for the rest of the night. She makes an appointment to get a tribal-style lion on her right hip for next Wednesday. We headed back out into the cold. Wendy pulled me into a Mexican restaurant around the corner where we eat while she culls her phone for referrals to other artists. She is determined to get something done tonight.

I described my date from earlier that afternoon to her. "See, you always do this," she rebukes me, "you go out a few times, say see I tried, then you end up back with strippers and floozys."

I haven't mentioned Rose to her yet. "So maybe I just like to know when I'm being fleeced."

She doesn't have an answer for me. She knows it would take someone in between to relate to me. When we get back to the car, I hand her the keys, not because I have been drinking but no matter how many times I come to College town and its cluster of nearby cities I refuse to learn my way around. It saves her from having to tell me which way to turn every two minutes. No matter which way she takes us it always seems like we are driving in circles to me.

Ironically the next tattoo parlor is next to a local strip club (no we didn't stop in). Wendy wanted to get a small moon and stars on her left arm to balance out the moon on her right arm. Don't ask, she is OCD that way. There was an artist ready and willing to do the work. While he drew up the piece, which was no bigger than a quarter Wendy and I argue over the quality of the tattoos in the various artist's portfolios.

Wendy's New Tattoo

She didn't flinch and it took all of fifteen minutes. After we went around the corner to have a few beers in celebration. The whole adventure has me excited to add to the tattoo I have on my left arm. I have to find my original sketches and figure out something.

Frogs

 They are digging holes in the lawn in several areas around the complex. On the way home from the dentists, I asked one of the workers what the project was for. He indicated they were running gas lines to the new construction going on across from my building. 

I am disappointed by this new series of condos being built. The original plans called for a small park across from me. Those plans were scrapped when the builder redivided the land. soon I will be looking at other condo units when I step onto my balcony. I might have to start getting dressed before walking in front of the window. 

I used to know it was spring when I could open the door-wall and hear the frogs chirping at night. I doubt they will be as loud this year. It reminded me of this post. I couldn't find the original date, but Max will be twenty-three this year. 

Frogger
Originally Posted (Unkown)

"Let's pretend we are biologists searching for a frog that can cure cancer."

"What's that?"

"It's an illness you don't have to worry about Max."

Max called me this afternoon wanting to come over for his extra day as he calls them now. I picked him up and we went frog hunting at the retention pond in the subdivision near my condo complex. It was a beautiful day. The rich smell of hot tar came drifting down from the wooden bridge over the drain. We made our way down the banks slowly. Max is a good frog catcher. At his home, he always has two or three in his aquarium. Today we had no luck catching frogs, though we saw a few. Max did find a dragonfly that didn't seem to mind being caught.

We came back to the condo without a frog so we decided to color some frog pictures instead. One thing lead to another and we ended up making our own origami frogs.

At the end is our first video. Our origami frog in action. That is Max's silly voice you hear in the background.

The Dragonfly

A near catch

Max and I

Closing the Door

I am self-aware. Firefly would say that I didn't understand her addiction, but that is not true. I am an addict in recovery. It's just that my drug of choice is a person. 

(Excerpt) It's Not Right
Originally Posted: July 10, 2012

 I can't explain my addiction to Billie. I try to write it off as only an attraction to the outside package, but that would be a lie, although I know every curve, every line, and flaw on the outside. There is also something within that draws me to her.
 
"Ever been close to someone, but miles apart? I've been there several times. You hold them tight as if you can force them closer until they whimper, and you realize you're hurting them. There's nothing that will span that distance." 

*     *     *

I wrote that ten years ago. I say I am in recovery, but every email, every text, every Firefly is just me chasing that high. I am in recovery, but once an addict, always an addict. It keeps me from getting close to someone.

And it won't matter now.
Whatever happens will be
Though the air speaks of all we'll never be
It won't trouble me
All I want is to feel this way
To be this close, to feel the same
All I want is to feel this way
The evening speaks, I feel it say...All I Want, Toad the Wet Sprocket 

Before I mentioned Billie, the psychic suggested I've been reclusive for the past couple of years. I have been. She told me I could be happy with someone like Ava, but I would always be looking for that missing passion-- that addiction (my words, not hers). 

Being in love is my addiction. Each time it happens, it is worse than before. The thought scares me, and so I avoid it. Sam says she has a good feeling about Ava. The psychic thinks I deserve to be happy. It's like telling an alcoholic, one drink won't kill you. I've said to Firefly there are many things in this world to experience. The only way to do that is to give up what you long for.

I am closing the door. Without fanfare. Without spoken truths. I have a weakness, but it doesn't make me weak, because I see it for what it is and I am not giving in.

Familiar Details

Tinkerbell is an internet sleuth. When I told her Firefly was arrested, she found Firefly and the boyfriend on the county inmate tracker during her lunch break. It wasn't a challenge. Firefly is in the county jail, which means she did not get arrested in Detroit.  They were probably pulled over on the return. Suburban police wait on the main roads coming out of the city to pull over suspected addicts.

Firefly is being held with a $20,000 bond. There is no 10% which means someone would have to post the entire $20,000 to get her out of jail until her court date. I don't see that happening. I actually think jail is a good place for her. If she survives detoxing cold turkey, she will be clean before her first court date on the twenty-first.

The boy has a $10,500 bond. $10,000 is from the current offense, and $500 is 10% of either a probation violation or a warrant out for his arrest.  I can only speculate. He looks like he was doing a lot of thinking in his mugshot.

For those of you who read my book, this all sounds very familiar.  Excerpt from my memoir, Lost and Found In Glitter.

Another Arrest (Recreated from Court Records and Memory)

Unposted: April 8, 2014

In the spring of 2014, Billie lived with her parents. LLL was out of the picture for good. He lost his house and was living with his parents. Billie worked the day shift at Penthouse. I went into the club to see her. She was a brat that day, but I could not understand why. She agreed to come back to my condo but tried to ditch me on the road. We ended up in a car chase through the city of Detroit and back to her parent's house. We were arguing outside their home when the police showed up. I am not sure whether her mom or the neighbors called the police.

Billie went inside the house. One office went to talk to her. The other spoke to me briefly and suggested it would be best if I left. I got into my Challenger and drove the hour home.

Later, Billie told me what happened next. She was sitting on her couch in the living room. The office saw her shove a baggy full of dope between the sofa cushions, and she got arrested. She couldn't avoid being arrested. She had a warrant for not obeying her previous arrest terms, but the dope added a second possession charge. This time there was no bail, and they sent her to Wayne county jail in downtown Detroit.

I was partially to blame for her arrest. She remained in the Wayne county jail for over a month. Billie felt like her parents weren't helping her. I got her a lawyer and paid off her outstanding fines. She was sentenced to probation and a drug rehab program, but she went to neither. The day she got out of jail, she used. She returned to stripping a few days after, but jail scared her, and things slowly changed. This was the turning point of our relationship.

*     *     *

Unlike Billie and me, this will not be a turning point for Firefly and me. I understand Harvey's question now. While I should have gone to AlAnon during my time with Billie, I am glad we had the time together we did. I needed it as much as she. Firefly, on the other hand, only benefits from being around me when it helps me. Unfortunately, I don't see that happening any time soon.

"We think we are out to find partners that will make us feel happy, but we are not. We are out to find partners that feel familiar. And that may be a very different thing. Because familiarity may be bound up in particular types of torture (from our childhood). We pick partners that make us suffer in the ways we need to suffer in order to feel that love is real." Alain de Botton

I feel I've come a long way just being able to understand that quote. I imagine the guy Billie is with and I would have a lot in common.

Steamroller

Dreams unwind

Love's a state of mind...Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac

Last night I went to Alexis' house to get my hair cut.  We spent a few hours sitting outside in her garage smoking vapes and catching up.  Alexis is happy with the election results and is poking fun at a guy she was hooking up with for being a sore loser.   Alexis wanted to hear all about Firefly and her return.

"So I hear your roommate is back.  What going on?  Spill the beans,"  she says to me.

 Alexis finds my relationship with Firefly unusual.  I find this a bit amusing.  Alexis is an alcoholic. She is having sex with multiple partners (including a married man) and she is not above using a man for his money.  To me she is no different that Firefly.  She is just thirty years older.  

Alexis doesn't understand why I don't look for someone closer to my own age.  It is pretty obvious really.  I don't fit with women my own age.  I am financially stable, but I am not rich.  I cannot afford, nor do I even desire to retire anytime soon.  So, I do not appeal to women my age looking for security.  I am still an adult child.  If I had to choose between a hot mess like Alexis or Firefly, I will always choose the younger hotter version.  I know where I fit.

She thinks that sex will become less important in a few years and wonders if I will just want a companion at some point.  I agree with her.  Sex will become less important, but as the desire for sex diminishes for me, so will the desire for a companion.  I told Alexis I want to take this long trip in December.  It is something I will probably never do again.  At least not with someone like Firefly.  

I am not a fan of the holiday season.  Growing up, the holidays were about family getting together.  This is also the narrative we are feed by society.  Picture perfect holidays ended when I got divorced.  I feel like these things go in cycles.  I long for the holidays of the past.  My son Max will probably struggle to create the picture perfect holidays he never had.

I feel like I am losing my way again.  My mind is in the past and the future.  Not the moment.  This time of year does that to me.  It comes on with the weight of a steamroller.  

In the stillness of remembering what you had

And what you lost.. Dreams, Fleetwood Mac

Sara

 Wait a minute baby

Stay with me awhile
Said you'd give me light
But you never told me about the fire

Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
But now it's gone
It doesn't matter what for
When you build your house
Then call me home

I only listen to Stevie Nicks or Lindsey Buckingham lead songs by Fleetwood Mac.  I think Christen McVie is overrated.

Today Firefly and I went up to Armada and road our bikes on the Orchard Trail.  It was an unseasonably warm day.  The trees lost all their color and dried leaves covered much of the trail.  I have avoided the Orchard Trail.  I have not ridden it since Billie left.  It still stirs up old memories of how things used to be.  

Riding is hard for Firefly.  Her hips are damaged from dancing and gymnastics.  She will probably need surgery when she is older.  I think she suggested it to please me.  Sometimes I think she tries to fill Billie's vacant shoes.  I don't want that.  I want to do different things.  Like this upcoming vacation.

Hold on
The night is coming and the starling flew for days
I'd stay home at night, all the time
I'd go anywhere, anywhere, anywhere
Ask me and I'm there, yeah
Ask me and I'm there, I care

Billie is on my mind.  I look at the progress Firefly is making and I wonder why Billie never made it this far.  Firefly has a long way to go but she is trying and she is making progress.  I wonder if Billie has?  Did she find a reason?  Something her old life did not supply? 

After a short ride on the trail we stopped at an apple orchard and purchased some cider and donuts.  It is past apple picking season.  There were no lines.  Firefly should be going to apple orchards with a boy her own age.  In a year or so she will.  That is why I say our road trip is a once in a lifetime experience.  I am getting too old and set in my ways to chase women.

I enjoy the new experiences.  I want to try new things but my heart still resides in the past..it always will.

Sara, you're the poet in my heart
Never change, and don't you ever stop
Now it's gone
No it doesn't matter anymore
When you build your house
I'll come by...Sara, Fleetwood Mac

We Do, What We Do, to Survive

You get mixed up with the wrong guys
You get messed up on the wrong drugs
Sometimes the party takes you places that you didn't really plan on going
When people see the track marks on her arm, she knows what they're thinking

No mother ever dreams that her daughter's gonna grow up to be a junkie...Against Me, Thrash Unreal

Firefly refers to the one-room motel where she is living as home.  If that is the case it will be the third or fourth home she has had in as many months.  I tell her she needs to consider getting a regular job.

"Yeah, but will regret not making the money I do now," she replies.  They all say that, but drugs and time have a way of closing those doors.

A true home brings some stability to a person. Firefly has not had stability in years and she is only twenty.  It is easier to spiral downward than to crawl out.  She reminds me a lot of Billie.  Except I don't see anyone there to save her.


Originally Posted Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Rock Bottom (partial)

Friday night I picked Billie and her new roommate (Lauren) up from the strip club after work.  We dropped Lauren of at the motel and Billie came home with me.  Billie was energetic.  She stayed up till 7:00 a.m. cleaning and primping herself.  Her actions and her fitful sleeping that night tells me she is using crack or coke in addition to heroin.  Billie was exhausted the next day even though I let her sleep in past 1:00 p.m. She even napped an extra hour on the couch after waking.  I took her back to her motel so she could work.  I tried to make her see the light during the drive back.  She was at rock bottom (or so I thought).  She wanted me to believe she liked living day to day.

  "When are you going to stop?" I asked.

 "When the consequences are worse than the dope,” she replies.

*     *     *

I should surround myself with different people.  Happy people.  Everyone will tell you they are happy but I don't think many are.

I can bridge the gap of wealth, age, and place with the people I am around.  Not many people would.  It takes empathy and wisdom.  Someone once accused me of hanging around girls like Billie and Firefly because I think to feel superior.  That is far from the truth and I think more a reflection of the one who said it.  I hang around them because I don't feel any different and I could see myself in their shoes.

Best of: Saturday Night

My youngest son came over Sunday.  We ate pizza and watched episodes of Space Force on Netflix.  He is twenty-one and is planning on going away to college next year.  He wants to go to Northern Michigan University in Marquette seven hours away. 

I do not remember much from my childhood.  I wonder what he remember.  There are times I documented.  Once I get done working on my memoir I am going to put together a collection of the posts from the past for him.  This is one.

Originally Posted: Monday, December 19, 2005
Saturday

It is past midnight. I sit on the floor in my kid's room reading "The Historian" by the glow of the bathroom light. The novel is a Da Vinci Code like search for Dracula. My youngest is sick. His stomach hurts. He has already thrown-up once. My time is divided between comforting him and trying to allow him to sleep. There is nothing more I can do for him. I have already plied him with the proper medications.

"When will it stop hurting?" He moans.

"I don't know honey."

"I think I have to throw-up again." He scrambles out of bed and kneels before the toilet. He begins a series of retching that turns my stomach and squeezes my heart. When he finishes, I hand him a glass of water, so he can rinse his mouth. I regard him closely, his smooth face is pale, his lips bright red, like the vampires of my book I absently think.

"Does your stomach feel better?"

His blue eyes peer at me from beneath his long brown bangs, they are large eyes with thick lashes, they stand out against the whiteness of his skin. He swallows hard and shakes his head no. At six years old, he is straddling the gap between being the baby of the family and a young boy. He doesn't whine, instead he handles the stomach ache with a calm maturity beyond his age.

I call him to me and hold him in my lap. We wait out the pain together. After a while I lay him in his bed and retreat to my own room. I finish the last few pages of my book. The story is long, the authors prose moves along slowly with just enough intrigue to keep me reading. In the morning, I find my youngest next to me. His stomach ache is gone. I feel his forehead. He has a slight fever but he is in cheerful spirits. I get him some Moltrin, argue briefly with him to take it, then we sleep some more, me aware that these times will soon be gone.

Nine Years Ago

Today I am stuck in the past.  It was nine years ago today that Billy and I first met.  An unplanned coincidence brought me into the Penthouse Club in the afternoon.  She was a dancer that only worked day shift. It was the Friday before Memorial weekend.  She was so young and pretty.   In a perfect world we would never of met, never loved each other and never left permanent traces of ourselves on each other.  I am at a loss of words to describe those nine years, but they changed me.

I found this in my achieves.  I wrote it just before I ended my last blog.  It was about the time Billy and I started living together.

Don't Look for Normal (Partial)
Originally Posted- Thursday, January 30, 2014

Shit I don't know anymore.  What is normal? 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

I was thrown down the one less traveled,

Like an infant down a well

Frightened, and lost I struggled to find my return

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

The years pass, the leaves grow well trodden by my passing

I was thrown down the road less traveled, by

And that has made all the difference.

Inspired by Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken

I was a married father with three children, big house, three cars and a six figure job.  I wasn't happy and I didn't really know what people were all about.  Ten years have passed since my divorce,I make less money, both my best friend and my girlfriend are strippers... still think I am better off.

The Past Intrudes On Trust

I am working on chapter six of my novel this morning.  I have been thinking about this post lately.  I know I dwell too much on the past.  I blame it on the quarantining. This is a pivotal moment in our early relationship.  This is three months after we first met and a month after Billy's first failed attempt at rehab.  These blog posts are ingrained in my memories.  Unlike events I did not record they remain vividly remembered.  The lesson I have learned is never stop recording my days.  I regret the not recording more.

Originally Post Saturday, August 27 2011

The Past Intrudes on Trust

Billy and I are sitting diagonally next to each other at a high-top table in her hometown, eating desserts. The people around us all sit across from each other. The restaurant is crowded and a din of cacophony fills the air but we are focused on each other.

I take a break from my ice cream cookie to look at her. Her chin is resting in her palm and she is staring back at me, our postures are symmetrical. "Sometimes if you knew what I was thinking when you weren't around, the thoughts that go 'round inside my head, I'd have to apologize before even speaking them. I have seen to much. I have been hurt to often, " I say.

"What about me? I'm might be young but I am not used to a guy treating me good."

* * *

The past leaves it's scares. The worms of paranoia still slither in my head during the lonely hours of the night, questioning. Shadows linger...

Memories.

Tinkerbell and I lay close to each other in bed. It has been two months since she has moved in with me. I am reading a book by the light on the night stand. Tink was furiously texting a boy from her phone. She has caught him in a lie. It doesn't matter that everything she has been telling him was a lie. He thinks she is a dancer, living with the T-Rex at a sister's house.

I put down my book and suggest she ditch the liar. Boyfriends and girlfriends were against the rules of the house. Monogamy was out of the question, Tink was like a guy, she couldn't keep her dick in her pants. Tink crosses her naked thigh over mine to pacify me. Her skin was soft and warm. It was a calculated move on her part, all her moves were calculated but it appeases my need to be close to someone.

Months go by. The boy gains importance in her life and soon I am the one being fed the lies. Tinkerbell starts dancing again. She switches visitation times with the T-Rex's dad so she can spend more time away from my home. I feel the change, so I ask her to leave. She says she is ready to go anyway. Still I think it is a surprise. It is for me.  I always thought we would be together in the end.

* * *

Later Billy pulls up to the pumps of the gas station. She is driving-- again.  I am looking at the girl, not the road. A strand of blond hair has fallen into her eyes. "What is this?" What is going on between us?" I ask her, waving my hand between us.

She understands what I mean. "When I talk about you, I say my boyfriend, Bathwater."

"You do? " I smile in surprise and motion for her to come with me. I walk around to her door before she gets out and lean in the window. "I talk about you all the time, you know. I want to be your boyfriend. I want you to be my girlfriend."

Distant Past "Warning Some May Find This Disturbing"

It is late Friday night. I am sorting Lego and listening to 90's alternative music.  The songs remind me of the past. I don't feel like lying in bed.  This song is playing and I knew there was an old post tied to it. This was originally posted during the height of Billy's addiction.  I think the writing is superior to half the stuff I write today.

And We Are Broken

Originally Posted:  Monday, February 18, 2013

I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Goodbye...

I watch Netflix episodes of Alias off my phone in bed.  I watch the pounds creep up on my bathroom scale.  I have been reading, searching for a place for my voice among other novels-- still, I strain to put anything new together here.

My inner circle comes and goes from the condo.  I even went out with Jay and Alexis for a night of drinks at the bar.  They reminisced about their childhood sexual experiences together.  It was awkward. 

Alone in the darkness of my room, thoughts of being content with the limited perceptions of sight, taste, and sound without the pains of a physical body start to become appealing.  It can't really be called depression.  In accent times, it was one of the original seven deadly sins that affects me-- acedia. 

I get that text message, "Hey."   One word--

I'm packed, and I'm holding.
I'm smiling; she's living
She's golden. She lives for me
She says she lives for me ovation. She got her own motivation
She comes 'round, and she goes down on me
And I make her smile
It's like a drug for you
Do ever what you want to do
Coming over you
Keep on smiling, what we go through
One stop to the rhythm that divides you
And I speak to you like the chorus to the verse 

It is Saturday morning, and Billy wants to hang out, and I agree-- to all it will entail.  I pull my Challenger from the garage.  The weather has kept me from driving it the last few days.  The sky is clear, but a few light snowflakes float on the wind.  I haven't checked the weather, but I don't feel like switching vehicles and suffering the hour-and-a-half drive to Billy's house and back in the truck.

We talk on the phone as I drive in her direction.  I am anxious to see her; she is anxious for other reasons.  I tell her so.  "You feel the same way I do right now.  There is anticipation running through your skin, except not for me. It is for your drug of choice."

I make good time till I get into the city.  I hit a snow squall.  The roads turn slick, and visibility is reduced to a quarter mile.  The Challenger's 22-inch wheels and low-profile tires are like pontoons on icy pavement.  I am reduced to twenty-five miles an hour in the slow lane.   There are cars spinning out around me. 

The snow is not the kind that will accumulate into inches on the roads.  That would be better for the average northern driver.  The freeways remained slick, slowing traffic and causing the heat from the undercarriages to make the roads icier.  My hands are clenched around the steering wheel.

When I arrive, Billy comes to the car carrying a large purse and two bags filled with clothes.  "Have you been kicked out again?"  I ask her.  

"No."  When I express my doubts, she assures me.  "You can call my mom if you want."

Physically she looks good.  She is the heaviest I have ever seen her.  I can tell her mind is not clear.  She tells me she is on Xanax and that her stomach is in knots.  She has been using another person to acquire heroin, getting them hooked, then piggybacking off them to get her own by pretending the cost is higher until her patsy went to the dealer by himself and figured it out.

The snow in the city has gotten worse.  I'm sliding around the streets of Southwest Detroit in parts of town we have no business being. Billy cannot remember half the stuff she is told or does when she is high, but she knows every street in the ghetto.  We come to a stop in the middle of a snow-covered street.  Cars line both sides.  I look out my driver-side window.  A burned-out home and an abandoned house are on my left.  Several houses on the right don't look much better. 

Billy steps out of the car and meets the dealer on the sidewalk.  This guy has sold to us before but has never seen my car.  We usually buy from one of his runners on a different side street. She is back within seconds.  I catch a glimpse of a black guy walking back into a house.  I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up.  I am not sure I could get back to the same location.

Billy directs me in a series of right and left directions that get me back on the freeway while she unwraps eight foil squares the size of your index fingernail and pours the off-white powder onto her phone screen.  

The amount of heroin looks small.  The effects, combined with the Xanax, can be seen immediately.  She snorts the powder.  Within minutes she is 'nodding.'   It takes an hour to get out of the city and the snow squalls.  Billy appears to be sleeping for the ride, but I can rouse her with a nudge.

Chop another line like a coda with a curse
Come on like a freak show takes the stage
We give them the games we play
She said
"I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life
Baby, baby
I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Goodbye..."

When we get home, I put in a pizza.  Billy gets comfortable.  We make a pot of coffee.  Outside, the snow squalls have caught up to us.  Big puffy flakes fall in a whiteout of snow.  Looking out the windows from the couch, the scene is picturesque.

We eat and play video games.  Billy talks of quitting next week. Her movements are slow she has no concentration.  Watching her is like watching a person trying to keep from falling asleep during everything she does.  It is sad to watch. 

I ask her if she has ever seen herself before.  She says no.  I start recording her with my phone while she is eating.  She doesn't notice.  I want her to look at the video tomorrow when she is straight.  She is compliant and happy when she is on dope.  Her mind shuts down, and she has a heightened sense of touch.

Billy snots another bump.  When it kicks in, there is no use trying to play video games.  She suggests watching a movie, and I agree.  We lay on the couch together.  I let my hands drift over her soft skin while the movie plays.  She gets lost in the sensations of my touch.  Billy turns to me, and we kiss.

I let my hands drift down between her legs.  Her eyes are closed, and her lips are slightly parted.  She is awake, and he breathing reacts to my movements.  She begins to rub me.  My need for her becomes urgent.   We are spooned, with me lying behind her.  Both of us have on light pants.  I pull them down and enter her from behind.  

It has been weeks since I have had sex, and I can control myself long while I am inside her.  I cum quickly.  Billy is asleep before I get back from cleaning up.  I take up my position on the couch and hold her close.  I drift in and out of sleep with her while she snores.  I'm sure she doesn't remember we even had sex on the couch.

The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Some place back there
Smiling in the pictures you would take
Doing crystal meth
Will lift you up until you break
It won't stop, I won't come down
I keep stock
With a tick tock rhythm
A bump for the drop
And then I bumped up
I took the hit that I was given
Then I bumped again
Then I bumped again, she said
How do I get back there to
The place where I fell asleep inside you
How do I get myself back to
The place where you said
"I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life 

I wake her after midnight.  "Billie honey, let's go upstairs."  

She apologizes for falling asleep.  "In my defense, I usually am in bed by nine at home.  I have nothing else to do."  

Billy does her final bump before we go upstairs.  She takes off all her clothes.  I follow suit.  In the dark, during foreplay, she comments, "You are not videotaping me, are you?"  As if she had some disjointed recollection of my taping her earlier.

"How can I be?  The light is off."

We have sex earnestly in the dark.  I pound into her hard from behind, feeling my body slap against her soft ass with each thrust.  She moans with each stroke.  We finish facing each other and fall asleep tangled throughout the rest of the night. 

I believe in the faith that grows
And the four right chords could make me cry
When I'm with you, I feel like I could die
And that would be all right
All right
And when the plane came in
She said she was crashing
The velvet it rips
In the city we're tripped
On the urge to feel alive
But now I'm struggling to survive
Those days you were wearing
That velvet dress
You're the priestess. I must confess
Those little red panties
They pass the test
Slides up around the belly
Face down on the mattress

The next morning I have to take her home.  I have Tinkerbell, Max, and The T-Rex coming over that night.  Billie is still involved with the other guy.  We don't try to figure anything out.  We have time for breakfast.  She picks a diner close to her home.

The drug haze is gone.  She is thinking clearly.  I show her the video of her from the day before.  She is not happy with what she sees.  She doesn't think she is always like that.  I assure her she is.  I tell her I could not believe her mom didn't know she was on Xanax yesterday.  This is the Billy I like. The Billy that is fun to be around but not using.  The morning after Billy.  She is not high, but she is not yet affected by cravings or withdrawals.  For a few moments, she is normal.

One, and you hold me.
And we're broken
Still, it's all that I want to do
Just a little now
I feel myself heavy on the ground
I'm scared I'm not coming down
No no
And I won't run for my life
She's got her jaws just locked now in a smile
But nothing is all right
All right

She asks the owner of the restaurant if they are hiring.  She charms him into allowing her to apply for an opening that doesn't officially exist. She tells me that she will go to her doctor on Tuesday to get on Suboxone. If she can't, she is willing to go back to rehab again this week.  I hope she does.  She should never quit trying to quit.

I clean the house when I get home, erasing all evidence of her presence before Tinkerbell arrives.  I don't want to answer any of her questions.  When Max arrives, we make replicas of the perk-a-cola bottles for every perk they offer in Call of Duty.  This morning I weigh 4 pounds less. 

The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Some place back there
In the place we used to sta-a-a-a-rt.... Semi- Charmed Life, Third Eye Blind

About Me- A Brief Synopsis

I have not driven away from the house in ten days.  It is getting harder to remain home.  There is very little new to report.  I have been digging into my achieves for interesting posts.  I have 1700 old post to choose from.  I have debated opening up those old blogs but maybe it is better those times are left in the passed.

For new readers I thought I would fill in some of my past.  I was a family man for 13 years.  In total, between dating and marriage, my Ex and I were together for 18 years.  When her father died and left her a large sum of money she decided she no long wanted to be married.  I was devastated and single at 39.

I found myself living a new life I didn't understand and having a lot of free time on my hands.  Friends introduced me to strip clubs, something I never did while married.  The girls were young and pretty.  They talked to me and found my stories funny, and me innocent.

That was where I meet Tinkerbell she was 19 and a single mother.  We dated briefly but it was more an arrangement of convenience.  Tinkerbell and I became good friends.  I was the adult constant in her life.  The one person she could count on and she was my escape from boredom.  Tinkerbell, her young son the T-Rex and I would go everywhere together.  I loved Tinkerbell but my feelings were never returned by her.  The best way to describe it is to say, that is not what she needed from me.  Though we would fight and try distancing ourselves we always ended up back as friends.

Our relationship, at least as it unfolded on the blog, was the kind that makes for great TV shows. We were the couple that everyone wished would get together but if we did it would mean the end of the show because the drama would be over.  I had a much larger following back then.  People would comment that it was like watching a story unfold.

Then Billy came along.  She was also a stripper when we first met.  She was so beautiful.  I fell for her hard.  The blogs quickly became about the drama between Billy and I.  Billy is an opiod addict.  During the first few years of our relationship she was the worst.  My addiction to her and her addiction to drugs made for a lot of drama.  The blog was full of stories of overdoes, rehab, near death episodes for us both and she became the villain of the story.

Billy settled down.  She moved in with me and our lives became somewhat normal.  She stopped dancing and became an electrical apprentice.  She never stopped using, but she became a functional addict and we were happy.  The last year of our relationship it was getting harder for me to ignore what the drugs were doing to Billy but she was feeling more confident that she was not going to die at a young age.  Living with me gave her stability.  It gave her a hope that she could live a normal life and she fell in love with someone else.  Someone closer to her own age.  That is where this blog picks up the tale.

Massage Story

I reached out to Rose Monday.

Me: You want to hang out sometime?

Rose: Yes, please.

Me: Do you have anything in mind, or would you like to just hang out?

Rose: Want to get a couples massage with me?

Me:  Yesss! That sounds like a perfect idea.

I made some last-minute calls and scheduled a couples massage for the next day, two days before Valentine's day. Most places were booked. I scheduled time at a place neither of us was familiar with.

It is a small place located in a strip mall. The waiting area is decorated in dark, peaceful colors. Four or five chairs fight for space with a silver reception desk. To the left of the desk, a brown curtain divides the front from the back area. The back area consisted of five small rooms.

When I arrived, the receptionist handed me a three-page questionnaire to complete. Rose showed up on time. I give her a quick hug when she enters. She smells strongly of weed. She receives her own questionnaire and finishes it just in time for us to head to the back. Two masseuses lead us back to the farthest room, where two massage tables were strategically positioned diagonally opposite each other.

Rose's masseuse is a tall male in his mid-thirties with a shaved head. He is dressed in pants and a tee shirt. My masseuse is a pale young female in a hoodie. They leave us a moment to undress and get under the covers.

Though we are not a couple, Rose and I are comfortable getting undressed in front of each other. She is wearing a midriff-baring tee shirt over leggings.

"Don't judge me," she says while we get out of our clothes. "I didn't have any underwear on, so I had to grab a pair out of my gym bag and stuff them in my pocket."  I just shake my head.

I don't stare at her while she undresses, not that she would mind. I do catch a few glimpses. Her body is perfect. She fell on an ice patch and has been away from the gym for a few weeks. It has only improved her figure, giving it a softness the weight lifting takes away.

Rose enjoyed her massage. "I almost fell asleep," she tells me.

My masseuse had the boniest fingers I have ever felt, and I like skinny girls. She dug her spikes into me, creating pains where there were none before. When she got to my left shoulder, I had to tell her to back off. I did not enjoy it at all. I would say it was the worst massage I have had. Every time she started a back and forth motion, the table would wobble.

The good thing is they were not expensive. I have paid more for one massage than both cost me. After, we went to a Qdoba-style eatery and caught up. I updated Rose about dad's death and the latest with Billie. We talked about Rose's younger sister, who is about to have a baby.

After the quick meal, we sit in the Jeep and continue our conversation. Rose says she wants to hang out more. I am unsure if she wants to hang out as friends or something more mutually beneficial. It is hard to tell with her. She is never straightforward, and I don't ask.

I like Rose. She is mindful and socially responsible, but she thinks differently than most people. I want to say she is a sociopath (she denies this) or perhaps just emotionally damaged. She has a fondness for me, rooted in my positive impact on her years ago when we met in the strip club.

 "I will never forget what you said to me once,"  She says, then recites back words I said to her long ago. "Rose, your life is a book full of blank pages. You write what you want the story to be."

No Need to Lie

A commentor suggested I was fabricating finding a pack of fentanyl under the couch.  They suggested I practice better fiction writing.  I took offense to this.  I have had my share of mean comments before, but never have I been accused of lying.  Is it this new age of internet trolls?  Why would I need to lie to a handful of strangers on the internet?

For the record a pack of heroin/ fentanyl is the size of your fingernail.  When you you purchase in bulk the way Billy did $300 to $400 at a time at ten dollars a piece, occasionally some would go missing.  Billy never knew the value of a dollar.

This is what it was like dating Billy in the early days of our relationship.

Originally Posted February 18, 2013
And We Are Broken

I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Goodbye...


I watch Netflix episodes of Alias off my phone in bed.  I watch the pounds creep up on my bathroom scale.  I have been reading, searching for a place for my voice among other novels-- still I strain to put anything new together here.

My inner circle comes and goes from the condo.  I even went out with Jay and Alexis for a night of drinks at the bar.  They reminisced about their childhood sexual experiences together.  It was awkward.

Alone in the darkness of my room thoughts of being content with the limited perceptions of sight, taste and sound without the pains of a physical body start to become appealing.  It can't really be called depression.  In accent times it was one of the original seven deadly sins that affects me-- acedia. 

I get that text message, "Hey".   One word--

I'm packed and I'm holding 
I'm smiling, she's living
She's golden, she lives for me
She says she lives for me ovation, she got her own motivation
She comes 'round and she goes down on me
And I make her smile
It's like a drug for you
Do ever what you want to do
Coming over you
Keep on smiling, what we go through
One stop to the rhythm that divides you
And I speak to you like the chorus to the verse 


It is Saturday morning and Billy wants to hang out and I agree-- to all it will entail.  I pull my Challenger from the garage.  The weather has kept me from driving it the last few days.  The sky is clear but a few light snow flakes float on the wind.  I haven't checked the weather but I don't feel like switching vehicles and suffering the hour and a half drive to Billy's house and back in the truck.

We talk on the phone as I drive her direction.  I am anxious to see her; she is anxious for other reasons.  I tell her so.  "You feel the same way I do right now.  There is anticipation running through your skin accept not for me, it is for your drug of choice."


I make good time till I get into the city.  I hit a snow squall.  The roads turn slick and visibility is reduced to a quarter mile.  The Challenger's 22 inch wheels and low profile tires are like pontoons on icy pavement.  I am reduced to twenty five miles an hour in the slow lane.   There are cars spinning out around me. 


The snow is not the kind that will accumulate into inches on the roads.  That would be better for the average northern driver.  The freeways remained slick slowing traffic, causing the heat from the under carriages to make the roads icier.  My hands are clenched to the steering wheel.

Billy comes to the car carrying a large purse and two bags filled with clothes.  "Have you been kicked out again?"  I ask her.  


"No."  When I express my doubts she assures me.  "You can call my mom if you want."


Physically she looks good.  She is the heaviest I have ever seen her.  I can tell her mind is not clear.  She tells me she is on Xanax, and that her stomach is in knots.  She has been using another addict to acquire heroin, getting them hooked then piggy backing off them to get her own, until her patsy went to the dealer by himself and figured it out.


The snow in the city has gotten worse.  I'm sliding around the streets of Southwest Detroit in parts of town we have no business being. Billy can't remember half the stuff she is told or does when she is high but she knows every street in the ghetto.  We come to a stop in the middle of a snow covered street.  Cars line both sides.  I look out my driver side window.  A burned out home and an abandon house are on my left.  Several house on the right don't look much better. 


Billy steps out of the car and meets the dealer on the sidewalk.  This guy has sold to us before but has never seen my car.  We usually buy from one of his runners on a different side street. She is back within seconds.  I catch a glimpse of a black guy walking back into a house.  I would not be able to pick him out of a line-up.  I am not sure I would be able to get back to the same location.


Billy gives me a series of right and left directions that get me back on the freeway, while she unwraps eight foil squares the size of your index finger nail and pours the off white powder onto her phone screen.  


The amount of heroin looks small.  The effects, combined with the Xanax, can be seen  immediately.  She snorts the powder.  Within minutes she is 'nodding.'   It takes an hour to get out of the city and the snow squalls.  Billy appears to be sleeping for the ride but I can rouse her with a nudge.


Chop another line like a coda with a curse
Come on like a freak show takes the stage
We give them the games we play
She said
"I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life
Baby, baby
I want something else
I'm not listening when you say
Goodbye..."


When we get home I put in a pizza.  Billy gets comfortable.  We make a pot of coffee.  Outside the snow squalls have caught up to us.  Big puffy flakes fall in a whiteout of snow.  Looking out the windows from the couch the scene is picturesque.


We eat and play video games.  Billy talks of quitting next week again. Her movements are slow she has no concentration.  Watching her is like watching a person trying to keep themself from falling asleep during everything she does.  It is sad to watch. 

I ask her if she has ever seen herself before.  She says no.  I start video taping her with my phone while she is eating.  She doesn't notice.  I want her to look at the video tomorrow when she is straight.  She is compliant and mostly happy when she is on dope.  Her mind shuts down and she has a heightened sense of touch.

Billy snots another bump.  When it kicks in there is no use trying to play video games.  She suggests watching a movie and I agree.  We lay on the couch together.  I let my hands drift over her soft skin while the movie plays.  She get lost to the sensations of my touch.  Billy turns to me and we kiss.

I let my hands drift down between her legs.  Her eyes are closed, her lips are slightly parted.  She is awake and her breathing reacts to my movements.  She begins to rub me.  My need for her becomes urgent.   I am lying behind her we are spooned.  Both of us have on light pants on.  I pull them down and enter her from behind.  

It has been weeks since I have had sex and I can control myself long while I am inside her.  I cum quickly.  Billy is asleep before I get back from cleaning up.  I take up my position on the couch and hold her close.  I drift in and out of sleep with her while she snores.  I'm sure she doesn't remember we even had sex on the couch.

The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Some place back there
Smiling in the pictures you would take
Doing crystal meth
Will lift you up until you break
It won't stop, I won't come down
I keep stock
With a tick tock rhythm
A bump for the drop
And then I bumped up
I took the hit that I was given
Then I bumped again
Then I bumped again, she said
How do I get back there to
The place where I fell asleep inside you
How do I get myself back to
The place where you said
"I want something else
To get me through this
Semi-charmed kind of life 


I wake her after midnight.  "Billy honey, let's go upstairs."  

She apologizes for falling asleep.  "In my defense, I usually am in bed by nine at home.  I have nothing else to do." 

Billy does her final bump before we go upstairs.  She takes off all her clothes.  I follow suit.  In the dark during foreplay she makes the comment, "You are not video taping me, are you?"  As if she had some disjointed recollection of my taping her earlier.


"How can I be?  The light is off."


We have sex earnestly in the dark.  I pound into her hard from behind, feeling my body slap against her soft ass with each thrust.  She moans with each stroke.  We finish facing each other and fall asleep tangled throughout the rest of the night.

I believe in the faith that grows
And the four right chords could make me cry
When I'm with you I feel like I could die
And that would be all right
All right
And when the plane came in
She said she was crashing
The velvet it rips
In the city we're tripped
On the urge to feel alive
But now I'm struggling to survive
Those days you were wearing
That velvet dress
You're the priestess, I must confess
Those little red panties
They pass the test
Slides up around the belly
Face down on the mattress


The next morning I have to take her home.  I have Tinkerbell, my youngest and The T-Rex coming over that night.  Billy is still involved with the other guy.  We don't try to figure anything out.  We have time for breakfast.  She picks a diner close to her home.


The drug haze is gone.  She is thinking clear.  I show her the video.  She is not happy with what she sees.  She doesn't think she is always like that, I assure her she is.  I tell her I could not believe her mom didn't know she was on Xanax yesterday.  This is the Billy I like, the Billy that is fun to be around. The morning after Billy.  She is not high but she is not yet affected by cravings or withdraws.  For a few moments, she is normal.


One, and you hold me
And we're broken
Still it's all that I want to do
Just a little now
I feel myself heavy on the ground
I'm scared I'm not coming down
No no
And I won't run for my life
She's got her jaws just locked now in a smile
But nothing is all right
All right


She asks the owner of the restaurant if they are hiring.  She charms him into allowing her to apply for an opening that doesn't officially exist. She tells me that she is going to go to her doctor on Tuesday to get on Suboxone, if she can't she is willing to go back to rehab again this week.  I hope she does.  She should never quit trying to quit.

I clean the house when I get home, erasing all evidence of her presence before Tinkerbell arrives.  I don't want to answer any of her questions.  When my son arrives I we make replicas of the perk a cola bottles for every perk they offer in Call of Duty.  This morning I weigh 4 pounds less.


The sky was gold, it was rose
I was taking sips of it through my nose
And I wish I could get back there
Some place back there
In the place we used to sta-a-a-a-rt.... Semi- Charmed Life, Third Eye Blind