Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Drama

It's hard to start writing this because it is true and I want to tell a better "My Life So Far" tale so that someone will actually want to read it, but this isn't one of those type of stories and I can't promise anything. I will try to be brave, tasteful with my words, and use my sense of humor, and all the many good things my grandparents taught me. 

Though you may know someone who is going through some of the things I am experiencing, it's not their story. So don't ask them if they are writing their story on the net. No it's just me expressing life events on a backlit screen because I have no one to talk too.

If I have talked to people in the recent past, they just say if you don't like your life, only you can change it,,,,so do it! make some changes. In theory this should work, but in my real life experiences this is very difficult. Hoping this will change eventually, and I always keep working on my changes for the good.

And I do make changes and cant seem to sustain the changes because the other person in my story is as stable as a bowl of Jello left out in the hot sun on a concrete step in the middle of a hot, humid Georgia summer. No, I don't live in Georgia.

He has the stability of an irrational 8 year old turned loose with all his mama's plastic, out on the town,,,,no holds barred, buy anything he wants, treat the world the way he wants, love me love tantrums, tirades, and "tude", or you can go blankety blank yourself! Seriously this is his attitude proved by his behavior! How old is he you ask? 28? Nope. 18? Nope. 15? Nope. He is 65 years old. A bit older than me. Quite older, actually.

He is swilling down red cinnamon Moonshine in a fake plastic Mason jar, sitting in his recliner. 

Moon shine makes a man whine. I ask him why he drinks. He says he gets bored. Considering he spends most of his waking hours sitting in a chair, is it any wonder he is bored?

"Yah know, you should do something intelligent with your life," he says.

(This is so tempting). I say to myself., thinking of the many things I would like to try to do, but can't because he objects to each thing, predicting my failure.



I think carefully, though its a  bit difficult when I feel like saying all manner of beastly things to him which might every one of them be Gospel truth, but instead, I figuratively stuff a sock in my mouth, knowing I can't deal with him rationally because he's soaked to the gills in the "fightin' kind of moonshine". If his brain had an unlocking door whereby you or I could open it (without causing more damage than he has already done), the tiny room up there in his brain would be quite vacant. 

This is sad to have to write this, especially because I love this man. I've expressed this to curious, worried neighbors who don't know how I could possibly keep loving a man who is quite unlovable, sometimes a bit scary when he "expresses" how badly God and life has dealt with him by giving him a medley of physical injury, multiple surgeries and doctors appointments, along with new symptoms with fiery pain throughout his body in the various areas of injury.

But I try to remind him, God did not do this to you. A meth head grabbed a police officer's loaded gun and shot you into second story space onto your back. arm broke, leg bones shattered, back broken.

See how difficult this is? The situation. Soldiers get wounded like that and there is sometimes help for them. Not begrudging them, truly. It's just that I am having to deal with fallout, his behavior, because I am nearly the only one that gives a care about if he lives or dies. There is no assistance for either me or him.

Maybe he is just a grumpy old man now, but when I met him he was not the person he is now.

END of Chapter One.