Big City Blues

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon here in Tiny Town. I haven’t left the house in a couple of days…haven’t been sleeping. Pain level is ridiculous lately. The only thing that really helps is having a drink, or ten. I have a strict rule: NO drinking and driving. Great rule. Sucks when applied, though.

I’m sitting at my desk. I made the small front bedroom into an office. This is the third time I’ve sat down to write since February, when I moved here. There’s a window in front of my desk. These few visits I’ve made to my office have been quite educational relating to what goes on ’round here. It’s very quiet, and I feel safe here. Although, I think I may be living in the hood lol But, allow me to be clear…the ‘hood’ here in Tiny Town is NOTHING like the hood in other places. In Toxic Town, this would be considered middle class. IF there is any sort of real hood type neighborhood in this town, I’ve yet to find it. But there are gangs and such. We have Crips here. I’m ok with that. I don’t much like Bloods, as they seem a bit more shifty to me. Not that I have extensive knowledge lol I’m just an old lady, after all.

The first time I sat down here to write, I noticed that there is a lot of back and forth going on around this place. Young men in do-rags always walking from here to there…that sort of thing. I don’t think there are many white folks here. That doesn’t bother me, either. I just wanted a place to disappear into, and I found it. In fact, only Jay knows how to find me. Nobody else in the family even has my address. If anyone gives my number a Google, they’ll find that it’s under the name of the husband of the crazy woman who had the phone number before me. That feels good, for some reason. Hell, I don’t even get mail here. I just enjoy being invisible…disappearing from anyone I don’t want in my life. Anyway, like I said, I feel safe here.

Uh oh…Cops are here. Hmmm…They just rolled through, it looks like. (‘Rolling through’ means pulling up, then doing at least a three point turnaround). This parking lot is so tiny they couldn’t be inconspicuous it they tried. I wonder what they were looking for. They missed the dope man. Good GAWD. I don’t know how that idiot stays in business. He usually rolls up on Saturday afternoon, bass rattling the windows. This skinny blond across the way, in the ‘condos’, strolls out, leans on his car, then starts tossing her hair from side to side and sort of shaking her scrawny ass. Every. Fucking. Saturday. He caught me taking in the freak show one Saturday while I was sitting in my car, getting all my crap crammed into my purse. I just smiled…he nodded. Whatever.

The only people here that bother me, (not physically…just…emotionally, maybe?), are the meth heads down the way. They live down by the mailboxes and dumpster. They sit outside a lot…they have kids. They’re very dirty, one and all.  You can tell the kids need things; clothes…food…a bath. I worry about them. I know what it’s like when your parents are fucking psychos, dedicated to their own misery; so much so that it spills over into your little life. Anyway, they’re why I always make sure that I mark through anyting with my real name on it. Tweakers. I’d rather they not know who I am.  I’ve had my identity stolen twice this year. That’s enough for me, thanks.

I just realized how paranoid I sound. Hmmm. Maybe I am a little paranoid. Maybe I just need my peace, as much as I ever have any. It’s powerful…taking control of your world…only allowing who you want into it. It is to me. Powerful, I mean. Because I’m just tired. I’m tired of having people in my life that I would rather just turn away from. I’m just here working on myself…trying to get from today to tomorrow and, maybe, on to the next day. I never really know how I’m going to feel about that, so I take it as it comes, I guess.

If you ever get to know my real name, it means that I puposely want you to know it. To know me. There are quite a few people on my FB that I’d like to tell, but haven’t had occassion to. I think they probably know who they are, anyway. People who are special to me know it, I think. I hope. I dropped off FB for a long while. I don’t really know why, exactly. I think it’s because I had nothing good to say. I’ve been torturing myself about Bennie’s death for the better part of 3 1/2 years now. It’s getting better. I think that I felt a lot of guilt because I didn’t force him to go to rehab. If I had, the last years of his life may have been happy ones. But you can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. Not even a lil bit.

Here lately, when I feel like crying over Bennie, I remember that he tried to kill me two weeks, to the day, before he died. He messed with my brakes like he was Tony fucking Soprano or something. Even Mr. Mike, my mechanic, still thinks he was trying to off me. lol! OMG! I wish I could resurrect him long enough to slap him upside his head! Yep…attempted murder….the stuff romance is made of! LOL! Seriously, though…it does curl my toes a bit. You know, right after I moved here, I found a card that Bennie had bought. It was very pretty. Iniside, he’d written a lil note. It read: ‘I don’t know how you’ll take this, but I can’t live without you. I miss you more and more every day. Lovya, Ben.’ At first, I cried when I read it. I thought he’d written it to me. But, he hadn’t given me a card in a lil minute. This one was brand new. Also, it was signed ‘lovya’. WTF? He’d given me a shit ton of cards in 32 years and always signed them ‘I Love You’. Also, I never called him Ben. I called him Bennie, and that’s how he signed every single card he’d ever given me. Ahhhhh….The light dawns. That card was to that bitch, Jenny. Yep, yep. Jenny Jenny Jenny. Soon to be the receipient of the ‘What The Fuck Happened To Your Teeth?’ award. She took time to school me on my marriage after Bennie, who she was fucking, died. That takes a shit ton of nerve in my book. In any case, I don’t hold grudges, but that card sort of put the Jenny situation over the edge. She doesn’t know that I know where she lives, works…etc. BUT, I know that she wouldn’t know who I was if I was punching her in the mouth with a pair of brass knuckles. Sooooo….there’s THAT. lol! OMG…I’m getting a lil ragey. Better make something to eat. You wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry….



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