Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Author: Jamez

  • The Trap

    I recently enjoyed a book by Lawrence Block called – A Drop of the Hard Stuff.

    It’s a story about a former cop turned unofficial private eye who also happens to be in his first year in AA. It centers on one of his childhood friends whom took a different path than he did and ended up in a life of crime and even serving time for something. That friend is also in AA, with a little more time than our hero and he’s out there making amends for the wrongs he has done (Steps 8 and 9) when he’s killed – shot once in the head and after once in the mouth – a clear message, shut up. Matthew, our hero of the story, goes out at the request of the dead guys sponsor (a gay jewelry designer) to see if any of the names still on his eighth step list would be viable suspects for the murder – it’s actually quite interesting.

    One of the suspects sets a trap for Matthew – when he returns to his room at the hotel he finds a glass of scotch sitting on the table staring at him – and a full opened bottle next to it. Not only that but the smell of that glass seems overwhelming. There are moments when we think this guy’s going to relapse right there the way the author is describing his mind. Seems the bad guy also dumped an entire bottle of the stuff on his bed too for the smell. That’s just not nice at all, but the killer knew if he could get Matthew drunk he’d win, knew the alcoholic obsession and a good bender would get him off the case.

    The whole book was good, but I found that particular scene really good and frightening.

    Reminded me of a comic book story that I read a while back – Flash Thompson is Spider-man’s biggest fan, but a bully to Peter Parker. He becomes friends with Spidey over the years and it becomes known. Flash is also a recovering alcoholic (so is Tony Stark a.k.a. Iron Man in case you didn’t know). Well bad guys decide to use Flash against Spidey and tie him up in a chair, force his mouth open and pout alcohol down his throat until he’s drunk enough to want to drink on his own again – I can’t recall how much time sober Flash had at the time, but it was a frightening scene for me when I read it. Damn that’s not a nice thing to do to an alcoholic.

    I have a wicked mind I guess and often think of horrible things – I think that spiking a punch bowl or the like at an AA round-up would make a great story, lots of little stories would crop up as a result of that one event and many lives stand the chance of being ruined for good – but there is also the chance for change and growth for people that were spiked. I wouldn’t do that, today, but it would make an interesting story and maybe someday I’ll write that.

     

     

  • Programs, Pamphlets and Power

    At a retreat recently a speaker shared something from one of AA’s pamphlets that I either hadn’t heard, forgot about or didn’t sink in when I read it. I loved it when he was saying it and it’s been floating around in my head for a few weeks now. What do you think?

    P-41 A Member’s Eye View of Alcoholics Anonymous

    Tonight, if I could find one fault with A.A., it would be that we have not yet begun to tap the potential hidden in the last seven words of the Twelfth Step: “practice these principles in all our affairs.”

    It occurred to me not long ago that whenever I am sitting in an A.A. meeting, I am never aware that I am sitting next to another white man, another Catholic, another American, or a Frenchman, Mexican, Jew, Moslem, or Hindu, black man or brown. I am aware only that I am sitting next to another alcoholic. And it seemed deeply significant to me that this feeling of common humanity had been purchased by me at the cost of considerable pain and suffering.

    Should this hard-won understanding of, and feeling for, others be confined to the meeting halls and members of A.A.? Or does it remain for me to take what I have learned and what I have experienced, not only in A.A., but in every other area and endeavor of my life, to lift up my head, and to assume my rightful place in the family of man? Can I there, in the household of God, know that I am not sitting next to another white man, another Catholic, another American, nor yet a Frenchman, Mexican, Jew, Moslem, Hindu, black man or brown, not even another alcoholic, and can I finally — at long last, please God — come home from all the wars and say in the very depths of my soul, “I am sitting next to another human being”?

    -from the pamphlet A Member’s Eye View of Alcoholics Anonymous

    There are days when I think about all AA has done for so many very different people and how amazing the transformations of their lives is. This program of action, to change and help others is really the key to what is wrong every where. Imagine a world where the everyone cared not just for themselves and their pocketbooks but for their common man – instead of reaching out their hand for another dollar for their war-chest they’d offer it to the new man and help pull him up and show him a better way.

    The program of AA has been borrowed and adapted to many different fellowships – Alanon, NA, CA, SA, OA, GA… the list goes on and on. I know handfuls of people who – normal in every  aspect that I can see – who use our steps and traditions to guide their lives, they too say it’s life changing.

    So why aren’t we standing on the rooftops, screaming from the top of our lungs, opening churches and the like?

    In the book the Bridge Across Forever, Richard Bach and his wife get stuck traveling into different realities… in one of those realities they find a mystical book, seemingly dropped from the heavens with all the answers to lifes mysteries. Richard and Leslie want to take that book with them to share with everyone that here is finally the answer, here is something we can all agree upon. But the other Richard from that alternate-reality shows them what would happen if they did. Suddenly we’d have the War of the Book as people who interpreted it one way disagreed with anthers interpretation of it and people would die to see their way was followed.  Like the crusades of our reality the truth would be forced upon people or they’d be killed for not believing.

    That’s what comes to mind when I think about an AA church or of forcing this upon others, it’s not how were supposed to do it. Its about attraction, not promotion… I’ve had many religious folk ask me about prayer, meditation, helping others and resentments – I’m glad I can help, I’m glad someone else helped me to do those very things…. that’s the key, get out of self and help others.

     

  • David

    I found out that my first sponsee, David R, passed away yesterday. David was a real alcoholic, he struggled to find the answer in AA and was the kind of drunk who’d been in treatment centers and involved with the courts countless times. He was, for all intents and purposes, hopeless – that’s the kind of drunk you don’t think is going to make it and then BOOM they get it and their whole life is changed… but that didn’t happen for him. He had brief moments of sobriety when I knew him, and then the crushing fall back into the disease – it was hard to watch for me, probably a lot harder to watch for his family. I feel guilt – maybe I didn’t read him the right part of the book, or show him how good it would be or … I don’t know, a million things, but it’s not about what I did or didn’t do, I tried – I reached out my hand and offered a way out, the same way that was shown to me, that’s all I was bound to do.

    David is the guy I wrote about and got published in the A.A. Grapevine – ( Read story here ). I was working over nights at the Fahrman Center, a treatment center/halfway house, when David called and was suicidal. I talked to him for a good long time and eventually had the police get out there to get him – he was taken to the psychiatric unit at the local hospital, but not before he made me promise to come up and see him there and bring my fellow AA’s with me. That morning, likely before the sun came up I called all the guys on my list and a bunch of us went to see him. That phone call and follow up visits by AAs to him opened up an avenue for that hospital and the District to talk to one another, we started a pager program and started to carry the message to drunks up there – it changed things.

    But David didn’t stay sober, I don’t remember when he got drunk after that – but I know he was sober for a while and he seemed happy. He kept focusing on getting his family back and how he could get sober if he had them, but I knew from the book that wasn’t the case…

    “Let no alcoholic say he cannot recover unless he has his family back. This just isn’t so. In some cases the wife will never come back for one reason or another. Remind the prospect that his recovery is not dependent upon people. It is dependent upon his relationship with God. We have seen men get well whose families have not returned at all. We have seen others slip when the family came back too soon.” Alcoholics Anonymous, pp 99-100

    He wouldn’t, or maybe couldn’t hear that and he got drunk.

    The last time I saw David he had called me and was really drunk, he was staying at a little motel down the highway and I went to see him. He looked pretty bad, was still drunk as hell and was hard to understand. He started to talk about bad things that had happened to him as a child- but then he just passed out.

    I’d get reports once in a while from friends who work in the Drug and Alcohol treatment field once in a while – and I always hoped he’d show up one day at a meeting I’d get to when I was visiting, but it didn’t happen.

    I’ve cried a bunch of times today – a few times for happy reasons before I heard this news – but mostly for David. I so want to grab a slipping newcomer and just slap him silly

    “Don’t you see, can’t you see this will happen to you to”

    “just do what we’ve asked, and you’ll see, it’ll all get better”

    but I know that won’t work… I used to hear in meetings “You can’t see until you can see and you can’t hear until you can hear” and it’s sadly so true. For some there’s nothing I can do to help them until they’re ready – and some sadly will never be ready.

    I was at my current sponsor Flo’s house when I heard about David today, I was helping him prepare a memorial for his first sponsor who passed a few weeks ago. And it was just the right place to be at the right time – I find it hard to cry in front of people, even my sponsor, and he left the room. Here we were, preparing to honor the man who had reach him only to hear about the loss of a man I couldn’t reach. That’s AA for you, I was where I was supposed to be today.

    The old-timers and the book say that even though David didn’t stay sober, I did and that’s a good thing – that doesn’t make me feel better at all. I want it all, I want David to be next to me at a meeting grinning at newcomers who can’t pronounce anonymity and shaking hands at the door. I want them all to get it and to have a better life and to see how a few simple rules can change the world.

    I believe in Alcoholics Anonymous, because it worked for me when I worked for it – I didn’t get it when I just stayed on the outskirts and watched others participate. When David was participating and shaking hands he seemed happier than I’d seen him before – I saw change in him. But our book says others are likely to see the change in newcomers before they see it in themselves, that may have been the case with David, I’m not sure.

    There is a solution, I’ve found it, it was shown to me by sponsors who had it shown to them by sponsors who had it shown to them by sponsors… it’s been working for over 75 years now. We have a lot of people to try to reach out to, I want to be the helping hand to show them the way out, I want to see them help others and watch a marvelous fellowship grow up about them. I wanted that for David, I want that for all my sponsees – the fellowship I have around me is so vast now, reach across continents, internets and handshakes – I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

    Rest in Peace David

  • 12th Annual "Any Lengths" Men's Retreat

    One of the first time I went to my new home group my sponsor invited me to participate in the Any Lengths Retreat committee meeting – what the hell, I thought, I enjoy AA business meetings and the like. At that meeting I started to hear about this retreat they’ve been putting on for 12 years now, and you could hear it in their voices and stories how much they loved this thing and were looking forward to it again this year. Honestly I was reluctant to go at first, I hadn’t even made it my home group yet, these were probably some flaky guys with screwy ideas of recovery and the first few meetings I was at were flukes… Thankfully, I was mistaken. My home groups meetings are consistently on message – step, book, hope based recovery. So I started to believe maybe this retreat was going to be a good thing.

    That was months ago now, I attended many of those committee meetings and having never been was unsure at times what they were talking about – the candle ceremony, the pins, the format… and golf, I guess some of them golfed. That retreat was this weekend.

    The retreat was broken down like so – golf, apparently people like that Friday, then a speaker on Step 1 Friday night. We did a sobriety countdown and the person with the most sobriety lit a candle that the person with the least amount carried to every meeting/event at the retreat – was pretty cool to see that candle there.

    Saturday speakers were broken down as follows, one guy did 2 & 3, another 4 & 5, another 6 & 7 and the last 8 & 9. After each session we counted off  and broke into small groups to share our own experience strength and hope. It was pretty cool – at each session you’d get to hear a different person’s experience and groups were different each time – you might get one or two guys you’d been in a group with before but that was nothing. It was an amazing way for everyone to get to know everyone else a little bit more and to learn… omg did I learn some incredibly useful tools Saturday that’ll help me. The guy for 6 & 7 had a handout and internally I groaned, but it was the best damn handout – it actually really took a good look at those steps and showed them in a little different light.

    Breakfast, lunch and dinner were part of the registration – after the steps 8 & 9 session we broke for dinner, more opportunity to get to know more folks.

    Then it was back to more sharing, we had two guys talk about fellowship and they were good – lots of laughs and there’s just a great group of guys that are core to this group. Afterward we had a guy share his ESH and he knocked it out of the park, great share with a balance of laughter, seriousness, hope and he showed us how he got here. Good stuff.

    Then, an ice-cream social before the poker games – I played in the poker games along with about 12 other guys. It was fun – getting a bunch of sober “honest” guys together bluffing, that’s entertaining lol. I actually came out a winner, not just the money I took from guys, but getting to spend time with a great group. (I’m keeping their money)

    Then this morning after breakfast we did sessions for 10  and then 11, each separately and broke into groups again. I had folks I hadn’t had yet again.. and it was good. We closed the retreat with a wonderful share on the 12th step by a guy I’ve been getting to know for a few months, really wonderful share about helping others and “all our affairs”

    There was one thing that I didn’t like about the retreat – it went by too quickly.

  • The Journey – Bill's Story

    Several weeks had passed since Bill woke in this dimly lit room, the last thing he remembered before awaking here was his typical night at the bar, nothing out of the ordinary, he’d had too much to drink and the bartender cut him off again. He may have even gotten in a fight with Becky, but those memories were sketchy so he wasn’t certain if that was just what he wanted to do or what had actually happened, some nights out drinking his mind did that to him, made it difficult to differentiate between fantasy and reality – it’d been happening more and more. He remembered being on highway 53 on his way to the trailer – but that was it, nothing until he woke up here.

    The room he found himself in was rather large, smelled a bit of something he couldn’t identify, he’d almost gotten used to the smell but sometimes a whiff would just make his eyes water and give him a bit of nausea. There was a bed of some kind that he had sweated and shivered when the nightmares came, a few times he’d pissed the bed during extreme nightmares instead of making it to the corner he’d chosen to use as his restroom when nothing else had been available. Nightmares filled with strange creatures, people from his past whom he’d hurt and a feeling deep down inside that a drink would make it all better, but that drink never came. The nightmares from the war… or operation Enduring Freedom, as they called it, were always there, whether he drank or not, but when the alcohol wasn’t there they were less muted – more real. Memories he never wanted that kept replaying again and again – damn he needed a drink.

    He could hear guttural noises outside his room sometimes, unintelligible muted but barely he could hear them. For days he had pounded on the doors and walls but no one and nothing had answered – he’d given up. “Maybe this was hell,” was a thought that frequently passed through his mind – certainly withdrawal from alcohol had been, but that was days of agony and he was still here alone with no answers.

    When he’d wake up in the mornings he’d find food – nothing he recognized, but food nonetheless. Piles of brown and green that didn’t taste that bad after he finally worked up the courage to try it and always a glass of water. Half way during the day the tray it was on and the glass would just be gone, he always tried to see it happen but one second it was there and the next not so much.

    The noises, the smells and the strange food were enough to make him wonder where he might be – when the whole room would shake violently he started to think he was on a ship of some kind. But why and where he was headed he didn’t know. He always got seasick when he was a kid but wasn’t seeming to now – well, maybe the throwing up after the first few days were, but weeks had passed now and nothing like it used to be.

    Passing the time he’d talk to himself or sing songs he could remember part of the lyrics to – sometimes when he’d sing the noises outside his cell would stop and he’d get quiet and listen to the silence. He’d always imagine his old buddies laughing at the way he sang and begging him not to – maybe they were just beyond the wall about to say this had all been a huge prank, but he couldn’t see the humor in it no matter how he looked at it.

    A few days he screamed, for hours it seemed, until his throat was raw and his voice less than a mouse’s roar. Or cry, the tears would just flow for not knowing which transgression had given him this particular punishment and just how long he’d be here… forever it was beginning to seem.

    Through the screams, yells, tears and pounding on walls something’s remained the same – his food and water would arrive and disappear just as mysteriously each day and the room shaking violently enough to knock him to the floor sometimes and of course he was still there, that was the same.

    One day the entire room started vibrating, just a little at first and then more and more. He was frightened, the vibrations kept getting more and more intense – his bed, the floor, the walls – everything was shaking and a loud hum that grew louder and louder. He heard guttural noises outside his room and they were louder than normal but unintelligible as always. He thought that this must be the end of it all, whatever this had been now he was finally going to rest… but rest in peace. Just when he thought the vibrations and humming might tear him apart – it stopped. There was a peaceful nothingness, a feeling that everything was going to be ok crept over him suddenly, maybe I am getting into heaven after all – he thought…

    Thunk

    Or maybe not, he thought… just like that it seemed his room had returned to normal and the despair washed over him again. He just collapsed on his bunk, closed his eyes and hoped to die in his sleep.

    When he woke the next morning he was reluctant to open his eyes again, tired of the same walls that were there every day and tired of the disturbing ramblings of his own mind. As he took a deep breath and prepared to sit up – he coughed and hacked and his eyes flew open – that smell he thought he’d gotten used to was somehow much more intense and he found himself in a coughing fit, bent over hand to mouth coughing away. It took his brain a few seconds to realize something else was different, and when he looked up he didn’t know what to think.

    One of the strange creatures from his nightmarish detox dreams was there in the room with him – it seemed real. He scanned his memory to see if he’d somehow gotten drunk or if maybe the whole experience had been a hellish nightmare from the detox dream.

    The creature wasn’t moving… well not towards or away from him anyway, it was just there – he could see minor movements near it’s grayish head, what must be eyes looking here or there about him and openings he couldn’t imagine the purpose of. He looked at it for a minute, still trying to determine if this was indeed the nightmare or if something else, more sinister perhaps was going on. Perhaps this was hell after all, and this was one of the many demons employed there.

    The alien demon thing seemed to brighten, it’s entire body changed to a lighter shade of brown and Bill’s eyes opened a bit wider, that’s interesting. He made a decision, if this is another hallucination I’m going with it wherever it may lead.

    It swept out a tentacle from it’s left side and motioned towards a door.

    Holy shit! Bill thought, a door; instincts took over – he broke for it. He ran out that door and to the left and stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him was a vast array of other… creatures; different sizes, shapes… his surroundings truly alien, odd noises, lights and fear overtook him. Where do you run when all around you is chaos and the stuff of fevered dreams. He dropped to the ground… just sat there astounded at the site before him. A few things seemed to stop and look at him, but he couldn’t be sure.

    There was a tapping on his shoulder and he flinched at the tentacle he saw there. When he looked up he saw the same alien he had woken up to, a different shade of gray now, almost a charcoal… he again motioned with his tentacle, but this time in the direction opposite to where Bill was looking. He stood shakily, tentacles seemed to help steady him then guide him – let them lead Bill thought. Certain he was about to be probed, Bill started crying openly… the thing next to him shimmered and changed color again, this time to a muted red.

    Hours passed, Bill had been sitting in a busy area, fear all encompassing as the different creatures bustled around. It almost seemed like a busy office, conversations between individuals and movements around him just made him think that’s what it was. But he just sat there, no one tried to communicate with him and he was starting to get hungry, what he wouldn’t give to be back in his cell knowing soon piles of green and brown would soon appear. If he were home after an experience like this he’d drink himself into unconsciousness… yeah, drink would make it all better, a small part of him hoped this was all some nightmare, but he was starting to know it wasn’t.

    Looking around the room he was in he tried to determine how many different types of creatures there were… about a few handfuls of the type of creature that brought him here were visible, but at this point he couldn’t find the one that had… if he or it was even here anymore. There were some short green rolling blobs that seemed to interact with others, maybe a dozen or more – Bill wasn’t sure if they were alive or come contraption, seemed they interacted briefly with all the others but if there was communication he couldn’t determine it. Odd looking was what they all seemed to be, surely something that looked closer to human had to be here somewhere, but everywhere he looked it was just strange and stranger.

    The focusing on those around him was disturbing, he decided to look at what kind of room he was in, maybe a photo or sign of some kind he cold recognize or help him to find a way to communicate… he was mostly sure he wanted to communicate, to at least find out where he was and maybe see if he could get home.

    The walls were mostly bare, here and there were spaced windows and when he looked out he could see the complete alien landscape, buildings and creatures walking around. He was probably safer in here, a contained amount of weird was safer than a vast unknown. One wall had something similar to a bulletin board, Bill rose and walked over toward it – no one seemed to notice him these last few hours and they didn’t seem to care what he was doing. At the board he slowly looked at the alien languages and photos and nothing seemed to strike him as familiar at all except a triangle inside a circle. At least basic shapes were the same.. well except bodies.

    tricircle

    A new tap on his shoulder made him jump, he turned to see a new hulking figure towering over him, it grunted at him and motioned for Bill to follow. Looking around, no one seemed to be paying any attention to either of them so Bill thought “what the hell, it can’t get any worse” and followed the hulking figure out the door and into the alien world.

  • When I End Up in Prison

    When I start to plan on what I will do when I end up in prison I think on it fondly… maybe I’d get solitary confinement, think of all the quiet time I’d have to read books I’ve been meaning to read, just lie there on a cot and read book after book after book… especially in solitary – all that aloneness, singing songs off key, talking to myself about the secrets of the universe….

    and then I remember I don’t really do things that are likely to get me in prison… so it doesn’t matter. That quiet alone time with some big muscle daddy in our own cell, so much easier to meet that kind of guy in prison rather than bars and night clubs… yeah, that’s not going to happen, I stay out of trouble now.

    then I think, what if I ended up in witness protection program, that could happen… anyone can witness something dangerous just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time… a strange town working some job I never applied for and having to meet new people and make an entire new life… that sounds awful and wonderful at the same time, they’d probably try to get me to act differently and keep a low profile …

    But what about AA? could I still go to AA meetings? how do you work an honest program living a lie…can you really trust your sponsor and do a fearless and thorough inventory? Maybe he’s a plant put there by the Feds to test me or working with the mob out to kill me… round ups and conferences would definitely be off the table, I’d be trapped in some small town with crappy AA BAH! I couldn’t do it… just shoot me already!

    I’m probably better off here, working a job I like most of the time… going to AA meetings I love and keeping my loved ones foremost in my mind… yeah, I’ll do that for the rest of the day…

    Tomorrow though, maybe I’ll get abducted by aliens… now that would be fun!

  • Time

    I had dinner tonight with an old friend – we both talk about the rapid growth of gray hairs in places we still have hair (that’s old) – and his daughter who might be coming out this way to go to college. He now lives in Maryland, but he’s a friend from WI high school, when I moved to DC it was nice to have him there and even though I didn’t get to see him all that often, when I did I always enjoyed it. Tonight we had some small talk, a good meal, and some laughter; it was just nice.

    It does make me reflect on how quickly the time goes now. Back in high school it seemed we had eternity to do all the things we wanted to do, but looking back now (some 26 years later) it seems like it just flew by and we missed it all. We didn’t of course. He spent 20 of those years in the military and I wasted six of those years in drugs and alcohol before starting a new life sober. He created families and I created new friends, he continues to cheer for the Green Bay Packers and I knew better…

    But tonight sitting there with him, pausing before I say his name (I want to call him his high school nickname, but it doesn’t fit so much anymore) each time, I see my old friend with his black hat and blue car in Galesville just living and doing and being. It’s nice to have friends like that, I’m fortunate that I have him, and others, that I think of in that way.

    –

    Last night I had dinner with another friend – from Washington, DC. I know him from the rooms of recovery. He’s a great guy and comes out here at least once a year to visit other friends. I can expect to see him pretty regularly I think. It was nice to sit with him and talk about old times and current times and fear (I asked him about steps 6 and 7).

    I spent 15 years in DC but that time seems to just crawl at times – not necessarily in a bad way.. but like I was there for a year or so and driving by the Pentagon I was struck by where I lived, and the significance of that place… I had driven by several times before and even been in for an interview, but that one day just stuck out and grabbed me.

    But I can look back at helping Gary to set up the dial-up internet at the house and how exciting it was, and the next day there was DSL (that didn’t work most of the time) and then cable the day after… and all that happened in a blink of an eye and the longest of years (trying to connect with dial-up or diagnose a DSL issue took decades).

    It’s hard to believe that I was there that long but at other times it seems I just got there and felt so scared and alone in the big city and before I knew it I was gone, off on a new adventure on the other side of the country.

    I want a time machine to go back and advise myself to

    enjoy

    taste

    savor

    risk

    live

    love

    hope

    dare

    forgive

    forget

    cry

    and maybe not to get one of my tattoos… maybe.

    I think as time goes by I become more of an old softie… all I really wanted to be was a curmudgeon.

    Time and friendships… never enough of both and especially together.

  • Step 5 – Exact Nature of My Wrongs

    I shared my inventory with my sponsor tonight – I think this is the fourth time I’ve done a 5th step in 20 years. I was raised in AA that, or at least I heard, we do one 4th step and any other inventory is covered in step 10 – this could bring about a ton of debate about what’s right or what’s wrong, suffice to say I can’t go back and change any of that, and it worked for me…. until it didn’t.

    The first time was at RTC, a treatment center in LaCrosse WI. They had me fill out some booklet of questions about the worst things I had done or something along those lines, I didn’t really understand it and when it was time to share (Step 5) the religious minister/priest whatever they had come listen to it with me wasn’t all that engaged with me. He said when I was done “Is that it? Do you feel better now?” and that was my 5th step. I didn’t feel better, was still pretty confused and wasn’t at all comfortable with the robe wearing guy. (more…)

  • Rage

    *I don’t know why but this was stuck in my head and had to get out*

    Another long day at the office, he missed the sun again – in before the crack of dawn and out after sunset, and for what? So that asshole boss can point out his shortcomings again and again. If that supervisor had come to his desk one more time he would have throttled him. There’s got to be a better way to make money, there just has to… been at this job for ten years now, think they could treat him better.

    At least the commute home has less traffic at this hour, the last thing he needed was to sit in that shit for hours – horns blaring, idiots shifting lanes back and forth like that extra inch is going to get them any further.

    The bills are still piling up, even with this extra over time. The wife’s going to be nagging on him again about needing more for this or more for that. Who knew feeding three kids could be so expensive – especially the teenager, and now she has a car – jacked the insurance rates right up, never mind additional gas and worrying about her – always damn texting and talking on that expensive phone. both of them could get a job that paid something instead of their lazy ass part time jobs… probably won’t even be dinner on the table when I get home

    The radio station keeps playing the same tunes over and over or it’s commercials, all the damn stations have commercials on at the same time – where’s the good rocking tunes that he really needs to help him unwind after that shit day?  Back when he was a kid there was good music, not this crap they play all the time today – what he’d pay for a good station that knew what to play and when. But nah, they’ll try to sell us more crap and different cars that are all crap and cheap manufactured music that makes him want to vomit, fuck where are the good tunes?!?

    That asshole is right on his bumper and the lights glaring in the rearview, did he just flash his high beams? Fuckin’ asshole, I do not need your shit today – he thinks.  He starts to speed up, just to get out of that guys reach, some people are just assholes.

    The car keeps up with him, flashes it’s high-beams again and again at him. He taps on his brakes, that’ll teach that mother fucker, he thinks. Then he hears the horn and the brights are on him again… son of a bitch  – he seethes, knock it off fucker

    For miles this continues and the hate just brews inside him, the fury grows to the point of no return, he opens the glove box and draws out the pistol – this fucker is going to pay, and pay good, he states.

    He slams on his brakes and jumps out. The car behind him comes up just short, tires screeching, he pays not attention and goes straight for the drivers window, raises his pistol and pulls the trigger

     

    BLAM

     

    And in a brief moment before the noise can even register in his brain he sees his daughters face on the other side of the glass – horror stricken then shattered glass.

  • One Year Later

    A year ago tomorrow I moved to Phoenix from Washington DC., can’t believe it’s been a year already, time just seems to have flown by.

    I feel at home here… it’s not the weather… ok, it’s partly the weather…  They turned on the AC in my apartment complex this week and just a week or so ago turned off the heat as it was too hot … yeah, I don’t miss winter in DC or WI. IMG_3331 (more…)