Dear Roger: Religious or Not?

I finally found my stray yesterday, he had gone to ground for a a bit for some reason or another but yesterday he was back, huddled in his regular spot on the sidewalk, dozing slightly. I took him some stamps and envelopes as well as some paper and a pen so that if he wanted to write someone, he could. I don't know that many people who write letters anymore, but you never know, he might be one of them. I also gave him some more food, and as is his way, he was grateful and thanked me too much. I offered to buy him a hamburger, but he politely declined saying that he had enough and that I shouldn't spend my money on him. I fussed at him a bit, wanting him to have a hot meal, but he demurred, saying he might have some family coming through town in a couple weeks. That is great news! Hopefully they will take him someplace warm and safe. I gave him my cell phone number and told him if he gets into a bind, maybe I could help him out. I just want to know hes safe. 

My son was shaking his head and laughing at me as we were eating our sandwiches later, he said, " You say you aren't religious! You are the most Christian person I know! You call yourself a sinner who is dammed to hell, but yet you are the one is out actually DOING what those people I go to church with are supposed to be doing! They sit around and talk about it, you actually get out and do it. You are a Christian, quit kidding yourself."  That started a bit of an argument/discussion over my motivations for doing what I do and my beliefs and I don't think I managed to convince him of anything. He was on a rant yesterday, wanting to tweet to people about how they had "Lost their way and forgotten that music and friends are the only things worth having because the love of money is that path to hell." and he was determined to prove to me that I was religious even though he knows damn good and well I am not, I just believe in doing what is right. Maybe not what is always easy, but always what is right. It took me a lot of years to learn that. I was not always that way, in fact there was a long time I was all about me and getting what I could, but then I started losing people I cared about, then I nearly died a few times, then I had a life changing event and everything I thought was important was stripped away from me and I had to start over with the things that really were important. I've been down so low I had to climb a ladder to find the bottom and I realized that nothing matters except being a good person and doing good things so that when you are gone, people will say,"They were kind and thoughtful and they made a difference with their deeds." I remember people who were kind to me through the worst of it all and I remember those especially who were kind to my children. They helped to push the pain and misery back and helped us to climb that ladder to the bottom so we could begin our journey back to "Up". I have a debt to repay, and its a debt of kindness that is not even acknowledged anywhere except in my heart and head, but paying it back makes a difference to people. Its made a difference to my stray, and to the women who I helped to find shelter from their abusers, and to the family who I helped to find clothes and furnishings when they needed them, and then to the people they help, because one of the women went on to start babysitting children for other women in bad situations so they could begin the journey out. 

I explained to my son, who claimed he wanted to get rich and famous so he could use his fame to make a difference in the world, that every person has the power to make a difference. Every time you smile and show kindness to your neighbor, or better yet, you step out off your comfort zone and you ask that dirty kid huddled on the sidewalk,"Are you okay?" instead of walking past like the hundreds of other people, you make a difference. Every time you don't tolerate hate speech or behavior or bullying, you make a difference, every time you take a stand for what you know is right in your heart, you make a difference. I told him that I chose to go into public service, Law Enforcement, EMS and FireFighting, because I wanted to make a difference and for a long time I did. It led into things like teaching CPR and First Aid, and giving speeches to young people about why its a good thing to serve your community and your fellow man. I may not have helped tens of thousands of people like some rich celebrity might do by showing up and raising money, but by showing up at a car accident on the side of the road in the wee hours of the morning and crawling in amongst the glass and the blood and the dirt and reassuring the injured person inside that it was going to be,"Okay", I made a difference to them,  and their loved ones and their friends, and to me, that was just as important and a little more concrete.

He and I argued and debated back and forth for quite awhile about this topic and my reasons and motivations for what I do and why I teach my kids the things I teach them, such as the manners and respect and values, but also why I send them to church when I dont go myself. He knows I am somewhat spiritual, but he considers my beliefs a weird amalgamation of Buddhism, Secular Humanism, Catholic faith, and Native American religion, but to me, its just a way of being and a code of values. I don't put a name on it, I don't even try. I am working to balance the scales, atone for my sins, pay forward the kindness, honor the sacrifices of my elders, and just be a damn good person who eases the burdens of those around me. I think I pretty much covered it, but I don't know if that is religion, its just doing my best to be a decent human being, and about half the time its questionable if I succeeded or not.  

Dear Roger: Weak

I had been doing good, in fact I had made it almost a full month without going back to any of the old haunts or  looking him up or even sending him an email. I wasn't listening to too many sad songs, and in fact I was busily pissing people off by questioning things that they thought I should not question because the things I had learned from him had taught me to be aware that things were not adding up and I should be asking questions.
Life was going on. I was sitting on the couch, talking to my son and a couple of people online, arguing with my dog who was trying to shove me off the couch, and considering canceling my trip to Las Vegas, when my phone rang. My son grabbed the phone because I was trying to keep my computer from falling off the couch and he looked at the number and said,"Who would be calling you from Arizona?" My heart began pounding. I knew right away. I guess the look on my face said it all and my son got angry and wanted to cancel the call but I grabbed the phone. I caved. I talked to him. God...it was so good to hear his voice. Ive missed him like a junkie misses a fix. He had missed me too. We talked about a lot of things, mainly about the fact we have been friends too long to stop. I felt better after I talked to him, in fact, I felt empowered, like some of the old me had crept back in and I took that the next morning and I didn't just tweet my questions about the issues that were concerning me, oh noooo! I posted a question, very publicly on Facebook, asking the people in the know, what the hell was going on and why no one was communicating with the fans about the lack of announcements regarding the band and such for the concert I was supposed to be going to at the end of the month, the concert that I had a chunk of change invested in because I have a non-refundable ticket that I cant even give to anyone else and that to even change the date on costs more than the ticket is worth,so when my gut instinct started telling me that something is not right, I was pre-law when I dropped out of Grad-school, I have been around the block a time or two and I know how things get, so when the went radio silence on the fans, I knew the feces had impacted the fan and it was getting ugly. I asked a very respectful and for me, tame question, and I actually got a fuckton of people messaging me and thanking me for having the balls to ask it, and I was met with  a bit o hostility and snarkiness and then BOOM! my post was erased and my ass was booted from the club. Fuck you very much. Its fine with me, I was quitting the same time I was getting booted so I think we crossed each other in cyberspace. I didn't follow the chick on twitter so I had no idea she was being snotty about it on there, which is fine, and probably a good thing, because as it was, my son made me go take a walk outside so I would quit pacing and ranting. I guess I said,"Bitches be crazy" a few times and ranted about how women fuck up bands and such, but hes heard all that from me before. I cant believe I made it that long being polite as I did.If you cant ask a question without people freaking the fuck out, that tells me a hell of a lot, and it told a few other people what they needed to know, so thank GOD I manged to save a few other folks the hassle of getting plane tickets that are worthless to them now. So I wont be celebrating my birthday again this year? Big freaking deal, its the same as the past decade or so. I've decided Ill just be 29 for the 14th time and rewind my life to that point, but keep the kids.
My stray was missing yesterday. I worried about him too. I want to help him soo damn bad. I don't know what to do other than to keep feeding him, try to make sure hes okay when I see him and offer what help I can. Hes usually dozing when I see him. I don't know if he doesn't sleep well at night or if its horse. I hope its just because hes not sleeping well at night. I'm taking him a notebook, pen, envelopes and stamps, today if I can find him, along with the food, that way if hes got some other family he can write, maybe they can take him in. I tried to find out if the airline ticket I have would transfer to him in case he wanted to go someplace warmer, but its not transferable at all. I would just worry about who was watching over him down there anyway.

Dear Roger: Feeding Strays

My homeless boy was back in his spot yesterday, huddled on the sidewalk looking exhausted and starved. I asked him how he was doing as people walked by and looked at me like I was crazy for talking to a homeless kid while I had two of my kids with me. He grinned up at me and said,"hey! Its the 100 Monkeys lady! Its good to see you again. Thank you again for those donuts, they were great." I asked him if he was hungry again, and he said,"Yes, ma'am." looking ashamed. I nodded at him and told him I would be back. He smiled and put his head back down and huddled back up.
My eldest son, who was with me, was shocked that I knew the kid. He was even more shocked that I had obviously fed him and communicated with him beyond a simple nod. I told him that the boy was someones baby, hes young, hes not asking for money or anything and he looked like he needed help. When I was walking along that day with my ear buds in listening to my music, the Mechanical Peoples "Faith in the Will" and such, it just reminded me that I had been down before and hundreds of thousands of people had walked past my bruises and never truly asked if I was okay. They had never taken a moment to see what they could do and then acted, until one person did and it changed everything. It was that first rung on the ladder. When I had asked him if he was okay, he didn't sound convincing with his ,"Yes" that was why I asked if he was hungry. If I had had extra cash, I would have taken him to a restaurant and bough him a hot meal.
Yesterday my son loaded up a hand basket with bread, peanut butter, jelly in a squeeze bottle, chips, cookies, and some fruit in a snack pack. He looked at me like he expected me to object, and I just added another box of donuts. We walked back to where he was and I thought the boy was going to cry. His eyes lit up and he must have thanked me a dozen times and then he stood up. Hes very, very tall, and heartrendingly thin. He asked, "May I hug you?" I told him I dont typically hug people, but I made and exception and I hugged the boy.
Yeah, call me a sucker. I don't care. Hes a kid, hes on the streets and hes skinny and pretty and alone and this is a bad place to be those things. Meeting him upset my son quite a bit and I think he realized a few things, including how damn lucky he is. We walked down to another store and my son bought him a coke and asked me to take it back to him. I said I would but I told my son, "You do realize he is probably a drug addict?" My son said, "I don't care. Hes not that much older than me! His situation is not that different than mine!" And there we had it, my son realized that,'There but for the grace of God go I" moment. I've had a few of them. My son took my daughter and went home and I went back to take the boy his coke. He was gone from his spot but a store clerk was there. I asked her about him and she told me he was legitimately homeless, often very hungry, and didn't go to the shelters too much because he was scared of them because of a bad experience. That crunched my heart. I saw him walking back up the sidewalk and he sat down on a bench a little further down, so I walked up to him and handed him the coke. He said,"Ma'am, this is too much. You don't have to keep doing this." I asked him, "Did you have something to drink with your food?" he said, "No ma'am" so I said, "Well then." He thanked me again and I told him not to worry about it.
I told him that I wasn't going to pry into in business because that is not my business, but I wanted to know if he was safe and if he needed anything else.
He told me his name finally and that he had been on the streets over a year after leaving Spokane due to abuse and problems at home, he had come here to live with his grandmother, things had been good with her until she died, then the house had been sold and he was told he couldn't come home.
I don't know if its true or not. I know hes very young, Most of the homeless around this area are hardcore older drunks and heroin addicts, and most are mentally ill. He seems sane and able to carry on a polite conversation and he has impeccable manners. He knows im not rich. He fussed at me for spending my limited resources feeding him, but he is a kid and hes hungry, how could I not? He told me that hundreds of people had walked past him for days and days and never spoken to him, and he wondered why I had? I told him that I had been reminded that paying it forward is what keeps the love going.
We don't have a lot, but ill be watching out for my stray while hes around and making sure he got some food in his belly. He was open to hearing about some resources to help him get off the street, and maybe that will work, maybe not. To him Im "Jen, the 100 Monkeys lady" and hes my Lost Boy.
Id like to find his parents and find out,'Why? What is so bad about what he is to make you subject him to huddling on the sidewalk in a strange city so far way?'

Dear Roger: Its All About Sex

Today was grocery shopping day, so I got the younger boys headed off to school, went and did my job a for a bit and then I came home, gathered up my eldest son and youngest daughter and we began walking to the grocery store. Its a good 2 mile walk, but considering it was a rare sunshiney day, we didn't mind, in fact we really enjoyed being out in the sun and fresh air for the first time in months and months.
We took a quick break and stopped at McRaes for french fries with gravy and lots of katsup as well as some iced tea, and while we were there my son noticed I was looking at a cute guy that was sitting in the corner of the restaurant. We had actually been making fairly regular eye contact and occasionally smiling at each other, and it really seemed to disturb my son. He got irritated at me for not paying attention to his talk about the lack of adequate sports teams in Portland and the constant rain, in order to stare at the cute man.
"Mom! Pay attention! I swear to God all you think about is sex anymore!" He was referring to the fact he had caught me writing a sex scene last night for one my stories. I don't usually write very graphic scenes, but it was very R  almost NC-17 rated and its actually pretty hard to write that kind of stuff with kids wandering around talking to you.
He started complaining that everything seemed to be wrapped up in sex. I explained to him that next to money, it was the most powerful driving force in the world. People make life changing decisions over sex, destroy friendships, business partnerships, lives and marriages, even themselves for it. A few moments ecstasy can cost a lifetime of misery or it can be a "For the Win" gain, it all depends on how you play the game. My daughter was not paying attention to our conversation, as she was jogging ahead and talking to her monkey  after we left the restaurant, so we weren't scarring her ears with our topic of discussion, but it is something she is well aware of, as it is all around her. Sex is everywhere in our culture, even aimed at young kids, and she is remarkably adept at picking up on the subtle cues and even the double entendres that I thought went over her head. She has even commented a few times about certain songs or singers that she knows they are for,"Adults" and that she has to cover her ears and leave the room when she hears the opening chords of certain songs because she knows what is coming is not approved for her to hear.
I do try to shield my kids from some of it, but I am also very much into making sure they understand the reality of what its all about. My eldest son has had the,'Safe Sex" talk in both the straight and gay version and maybe that is why he says he is waiting for marriage or that he may never? I talk to my daughter about the fact that she doesn't need a man to be a strong and powerful woman. She has seen that a man can be more of a burden than an asset, and she knows in spades that men can be unreliable, untrustworthy and will forget you in a heartbeat, so she is learning to do the same. Maybe its harsh, but I don't want her to have to count on anyone, so I brutally honest with her about everything and I am preparing her to be a leader. She is already worked more than two weeks ahead in her schoolwork, is pushing to get her French lessons going faster and is writing her own story and she is teaching herself,"Smoke on The Water" on the piano by ear. She is fierce and brave and tough and she is also learning to watch other women so she knows how to walk and act like a lady. At this point, she sees boys as pretty useless and helpless and I dont mind if she continues to have that attitude for the rest of her life if it makes her powerful.
Her brother is not thrilled with that but he has not been the best at proving to her any different, especially when he does things like abandon the family all day on a holiday to be with his girlfriend. Its okay, I understand, but his little sister doesn't and to her it was just another example of a man who is unreliable and only following his pecker.
My son and I talked about a lot of things on our walk, including why some women make the decisions they do to date the men they do, and that on really drove him crazy. I told him about how when I was in college I had dated a really nice guy, a Dallas, rich boy, prep school kid who was headed into the family business and who was steady, reliable, sane, (as a rich kid could be), and he had a lot to offer me. We had a great time together and we dated for over a year, and I really liked him and he really liked me, my parents really liked him too. I dumped him.  I dumped him for a mercurial, temperamental, good-looking, jock who barely had two dimes to rub together and who my parents couldn't stand. It was a horrible break-up and I wasn't even nice about it, I broke his heart and it one of my biggest regrets. My son was shocked because he knows I always do my best to not hurt anyone, but as I told him the rest of the story I explained I was 19, stupid and shallow and not even thinking of what life would be like in the future. Now I am one who believes that no one should make life altering decisions until they are 30, but then hindsight is 20/20 and I hope that by giving him a view of what I had done in the past, I can help his future and prepare him for the insanity that is dealing with young adult women.

Dear Roger :Battle Weary

Yesterday was a stressful day around here. I realized that I have been the last line of defense between a small child and an angry man for the last 10 years and it has had a dramatic effect on me. I don't know how to deal with normal sibling rivalry, and I am afraid my kids don't even know how to have it. All 3 of my boys are older than my daughter, and all three of them are jealous of her. She is the baby, she does get a lot of attention because she is very outgoing and vivacious most of the time now, and she is friendly. She is also smart and cute. My boys are also smart and cute, but they tend to be reserved and more withdrawn. Its not their faults, they had to be that way to stay out of trouble at home before we escaped. My eldest son learned to be a ghost so we didn't get in trouble because if he disturbed the ex, then he would evoke his wrath, and I would jump in to protect him and then I would face the brunt of the anger for whatever transgression had taken place, such as awakening him from his nap in the middle of the living room or disturbing whatever tv program he had blaring. We learned to be quiet and out of sight and not,"Silly or ridiculous." 

My two other boys are the same way, they were raised in it their whole lives so that is all they know is being reserved and quiet, though I have been working very hard to bring them out of it with all kinds of random silliness and things like,"random dancing" and singing for no reason, but their older brother rarely joins in and cuts loose and its sad. 

My daughter is the rare exception to all of this, she was somewhat lucky in that I got her out in time. She was just a little thing of 4 when I got him sent to prison and while she remembers the straight razor and all that, she has been recovering and her natural exuberance has survived, especially with her love of her little band and all that accompanying silliness. 

She has made a lot of friends in the virtual world and she tries to reach out and make friends everywhere, because she knows the danger of being isolated and what that can lead to, but her brothers are not as eager to make new friends or reach out and often they resent her for her friendships and the attention she gets.

Her oldest brother sometimes seems to feel like he has to compete with her for attention and that she should be less outgoing and friendly and more like everyone else in the family, reclusive and reserved, but she resists that and it makes him angry. 

Yesterday he became upset with her and it was like my ex husband was standing in my living room, yelling at my daughter. He said things that my ex had said. His posture and attitude were the same and it was like a switch was thrown in my brain. I love my son with all my heart, but I will not see this cycle continued. My daughter will not grow up to be me. I stepped between them and sent her to her room to play with her brothers and I sat him down on the couch and we had a talk unlike any talk we have ever had. It went on for a couple of hours and I used every tool at my disposal, including guilt. 

I told him that like it or not, he is her male role model since everyone else has abandoned her. He is her example of how men act and how they treat women. He is it, a formerly abused child himself who has never had a male role model that didn't denigrate him or abuse him, is her only example of how a man is supposed to act. He was horrified and terrified. I asked him if he wanted her to grow up thinking that its acceptable for men to call her a,"Stupid Bitch" and shove her around or worse. I asked him if he wanted her to have low self esteem so that she would end up either thinking she deserved to be used and abused or that she should abuse her body with drugs and alcohol. I told him stories from my own past, and I made him cry. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but by the time I was done talking, my ex was gone from his eyes and I didn't hear him in is voice anymore. 

I told him that I had been the last line of defense between a small child and an angry ogre for over 10 years and it was time I got to stand down and have some peace in my life. We are finally together and free. The pain and anger and horror that was our lives is gone and it needs to stay that way. 

I think he finally grasped it, I hope so. Its been a long war and its taken a toll on me, Im weary of the battle.

Dear Roger: Explain Yourself, Weirdo!

I'm homeschooling two of my kids. What the hell was I thinking? The youngest one was a fairly easy decision, shes gifted out the wazoo and the school systems idea of Gifted curriculum was to have her help teach the slower kids. She was getting held back, stifled and slowed down and because she is a bit of an dramatic and odd child, she was beginning to get bullied, and shes not one to take it passively, she was fighting back. I saw the writing on the wall when her monkey,"Jackson", got knocked out of her hands and into a puddle by an older kid, and she went for blood. I didn't need her getting suspended or arrested, so I did what was best for her and found an online program that would help support us and now she does her work at home where she doesn't have to deal with anyone doing foul things to her monkey other than her brothers, and if she does things to them...oh well, its all part of the education process.She already been jumped up two grade levels and she taking things that she never would have gotten in the public schools.
My other home schooler is my oldest son and that is the one that is the biggest trial to my sanity. He over-thinks everything, procrastinates, and questions every damn thing there is to question. He screwed around until he was almost 100 lessons behind and now he has been racing though them to catch up with everything. Hes doing good on stuff, when he actually works on it, but he tends to distract himself from the task at hand with a myriad of things like his guitar or his computer.
The one thing he is really battling with lately is having to write. I don't get that, just like I don't get how math comes soo easily for him. I love to write, it flows out of me at times and if I cant write, I get anxious and my skin feels tight. He likens it to torture for himself. He also is not too fond of reading, though he will. I don't understand that one, I read to him all the time when he was a baby, and he was surrounded by books growing up. My youngest daughter and youngest son Stubby, are prolific readers, to the point that both of them are reading waay above grade level and devouring books at speeds that some adults only dream of. Stub has special permission from his school to check out more books than most kids his age because he reads so much and so fast, and daughter is wading through the Harry Potter series like there is no tomorrow. I give my eldest books to read that I think will make a mark on him, teach him things about our culture and society, and he looks at them, sets them aside and forgets about them until he finds the movie or what not. I've tried to explain to him that quite often the movies do not do the books justice and even change things about them, citing the Clive Barker,"Dread" incident which still irritates me to no end. Not just for the fact I don't like seeing a pretty boy die,(though he did  it quite convincingly), its just that Clive Barker is one of my favorite authors and taking poetic license with one of his stories is akin to taking a crayon to the Mona Lisa.
Explaining this to him was as effective as him falling asleep with his head on the book. He watches me write each and every day and it seems to irritate him at times. In fact he makes fun of my typing style because he says I seem to be enraged at the keyboard, too harsh and aggressive. I do wear keyboards out pretty quickly, often wearing the letters off the keys within a year and I have odd places on my hands and wrists where the rest on the computer, but it is my one thing...my hobby, my passion and my solace. I write everything and anything just about and that seems to bug him as well. He needed an example of a descriptive narrative, I read him one of mine and asked him if he could picture the person and the place and he said that it was like he was standing there with them. He needed an example of humor, I had it, tragedy, I had it. I write everything. My grammar and mechanics may not be perfect and I need an editor so badly for some of my stories that the thought of the butchery and laughter alone is what keeps me from handing them over for an attempt at publishing, but I get it out of me, and I don't understand how he finds it to be such a struggle .
Last night I was writing a chapter of my latest story and the banter between two of the characters was of a sexual nature. Its a little difficult at times to go from writing the joking conversation of two 20 something year old men who are talking about sex, to answering questions from my teen son about MLA style, but I was doing my best. I caught him looking over at my computer screen and he asked me, "What the hell are you writing?!" So I gave him an abridged version of the story. I was struggling with what the two men would consider a reasonable wager over a contest and he surprised me by saying, "Well, if the younger guy likes the other guy, then he would  want something to do with sex, don't you think? They are young, healthy dudes, its obvious they kinda like each other and if it was a dude and a chick, that would be what was up."  I told him I thought it was too soon in the relationship and he looked at me like I was old. "Mom, get with the program. These are modern times. I'm a weird guy because I believe in waiting for marriage. Most of my friends hook up with a couple dates." Point taken, and for future reference, I think I aged 20 years during that conversation.
He still hassles me about my writing a little, but its not because I do it, now its because I wont try to publish it yet. Hes pushing me, especially over one of my stories I wrote that he read and loved. Its a fictionalized account of  growing up in East Texas. Ive been editing it and correcting some things and mulling it over, so maybe...just maybe.

Dear Roger: Monkey On My Back

I have an addictive personality. I've known it my whole life and I have really worked hard to steer myself away from the more truly destructive passions, but there are a few things that I have allowed myself because they are, for the most part, harmless. The longest addiction I have had is to coffee. My West Texas granny gave me my first cup of it at her table when I was 8 years old and I drank it from then on. Its the one constant in my life. I tried to quit it once and those around me suffered as if I was a heroin addict trying to go cold turkey. I was irritable, mean, sick to my stomach, and outright hostile until I finally gave in and began drinking it again. When I was a cop I averaged 6-8 cups a day, and not the weak, Folgers dessicated stuff, I bought the expresso beans and ground my own and made it strong enough to stand a horse shoe up in.
This morning I was out of coffee. We tend to run out of groceries from time to time due to transportation issues or too damn much rain, and with me being sick with whatever crud it was that I had this past week, I hadn't been anywhere and consequently, we had run out pretty much everything, including my coffee. I am at the tail end of a horrible cold that had left me feeling like hell, weak as a cat and barely fit to be around by human or dog, and then you add in no coffee and I was not fit company for man nor beast. I tried re-running the grounds that were left, but that was less than pleasant, though I did drink a cup or two to try and soothe the caffeine beast that was rearing its ugly head. It didn't work and my irritation with with the world at large soon was evident.
My eldest son was soon shoving me out the door and telling me to go find a coffee shop and my civility. It took awhile. I ended up going to work and listening to music, and then walking over to a small coffee and donut shop and buying my morning fix.
As I was walking back home with my bag of coffee beans and a couple boxes of donuts as peace offering for the kids to make up for my crappy attitude, I came upon a young man huddled on the sidewalk. He looked up at me and smiled and said,"Hey, I like your hoodie. My little brother liked the 100 Monkeys." He was obviously homeless, dirty, thin and they type of drawn up that speaks of having saddled the horse, but he had a beautiful smile and I stopped and talked to him a moment. I asked if he was hungry, and he said he was. I gave him one of the boxes of donuts and talked to him about good music and hopes for good weather. He thanked me and because it was all I could do, I asked if he needed any other help, and he said he was okay, so I told him to take care and I went on towards my home.
I have never had much patience for drug addicts. Maybe because I was able to resist them and I have a holier than thou attitude? I don't know. I know that they junkies do a fuckton of damage to all those around them and I hate to even have passing contact with them , but it hurt my heart to walk off and leave him sitting there huddled on the sidewalk. Thats not how I am cut. I was a cop and an Emt for a reason, not to hard ass people, but to help and because I was an adrenaline junkie. I still am an adrenalin junkie. I crave that rush of the sudden burst of it racing though my veins, making me feel ten foot tall and bullet proof, either because I was facing down a psycho with a knife, racing code three to an unknown scene balls to the wall, or standing in front of over 300 people about to give a speech or perform one of my poems from back in the day. The rush was amazing and I often miss it, so I get the desire to keep the feeling going, but I never could grasp the weakness that drove people to fall into taking drugs to find it. I did enough drinking in my day, in fact I could out drink more than a few of my male friends in my heyday, but all it got me was alcohol poisoning  that left me with the tolerance of a one beer drunk and the regret of knowing that I wasted a lot of potential good times by being blitzed out of my mind, and I also took a hell of a lot of risks that I was lucky to not end up regretting.
April is looking like the beginning of a good month for me. I got another of my damn wisdom teeth pulled, and it was like immediate relief! It was in such a bad place, the dentist who worked on me was amazed I had lived with it for over a year, impacted and infected, impinging into the hinge of my jaw! She commented it should be a surgical extraction, but times being what they are;hard, she just shot me up with extra numbing stuff, which was quite the experience in itself, because apparently there was an abscess that got punctured by the needle and it drained, not only tasting but smelling horrible. The relief once it was pulled was immediate and I think I smiled the entire walk home I was so happy and relieved.
I turn 43 this month and I've got a lot going on. Im rather philosophical about it and hopeful that it will be the start of an amazing year, its starting off with a bang as is my style.