After all this time, my number one dream came true. I got my own place.
My own place where I could:
- Afford the rent.
- Stay in forever, if needs be.
- Make my own, as in decorate.
It’s a variation on the original plan but, that was when it only involved me.
That was when I thought I’d never see my kids again.
That was when I was immortal.
The time was a mixture of sadness, destitution, recklessness and, new found, narcissism.
To stay there forever would have been my doom.
But, fuck! I enjoyed it.
Back to now. Things change. I’m laying in MY bed. With purple cotton sheets. Clean, but in urgent need if an iron.
I’m running a tight ship, so far.
Louis, when he is awake and not involved in some teenage drama, is towing the line. As well as any teenager could. It doesn’t matter though, I’m enjoying the change of pace/house proud attitude.
I told him on day one, “LISTEN YOU LITTLE PRICK! WE ARE NOT LIVING IN A SHITHOLE. WE DON’T BRING ANY DRAMA OR TROUBLE TO THIS FUCKING DOOR!………”
I went on for a while longer, but you get the picture.
My friend, 20 year work partner and right arm died of a heart attack last week. It was sudden. Unexpected.
I still can’t fully take it in.
I have been back to work since but it’s surreal. He has always been there, or just down the road at another job.
It’s going to take a lot of getting used to.
Christ! This year! What a shithouse. I’m sure it could still get worse and I wouldn’t be surprised if it did, but I hope that’s all for this year.