Day 153

This is day 153 of the year 2022. There are 215 days left. And I am here in the moment. En Route 66…………….

“Think of the life you have lived until now as over and, as a dead man, see what’s left as a bonus and live it according to Nature. Love the hand that fate deals you and play it as your own, for what could be more fitting?” – Marcus Aurelius

Buried at Sea

This is just a journal. Nothing more or less. Just words typed on a digital page. Important only to me.

After the funeral fiascos over the past five years, and the refusal of my two oldest sisters to relinquish funeral plots, after their bold embezzlements from my mother’s inheritance, I decided to be buried at sea. The ocean has been my refuge, my entire life.

The other day I had one of the worst days. It involved lifeguards, called Nippers.

I lost it. I couldn’t believe these little boys, which they are in my eyes, the same as they see me as an old lady. And they even name themselves small boys. They removed me from the water. I was removed from the water, by little creatures that nipped and bit. I just cussed.

I wish the best for them. I hope they “save” many people. I hope they “sell” many surf instructions. That was their mantra as they were asking me to leave the water. “I am surf instructor.” Hearing that, over and over, just did something to me.

I feel buried at sea, before my death.

I apologized to them for my behavior, but the beligerent boss, (short, red head) turned his back on me.

He had a assumed I was a rich tourist. He erred in his eagerness to possibly rake in 65 an hour, which is what they charge as “instructors.”

You know what they say about assumptions.

I love the ocean. I will just go somewhere they’re not.

That was the mistake in the first place.

A synonym for nipper is nuisance.

God Bless us All

They actually named themselves after a Mongrel dog. A little nipping terrier dog. I call that fitting.

If You Grew Up In Jacksonville

But you lived so far out in the woods, that no one gets it. I just joined a group by this title. I commented on a man’s question “what’s the big deal about your ability to crack a whip?” He might be from Jacksonville, but he surely is not a Floridian.

Someone called Dallas Thomas an evil man. There was some mention of corruption. Like it is a thing of the past.

I always liked Mr. Thomas and his wife Gloria. Yes, he was an embezzler, but the current Judge Dearborn patted my sister on her head for embezzlement. I think you get lessons in embezzlement when you work for the State Attorney’s Office.

She worked in a cubicle for 35 years. I went to her retirement party. She was complimented on giving all the local government attorneys their start. She should have been one herself. But our mother was more about secretarial work for women, even though she owned the largest non-union mechanical contracting company in the city.

If you grew up in Jacksonville, it’s according to where in Jax. Who were your parents? Who were their parent’s? Did you go to Dorothy Warren Willard’s School of Dancing?

Who shot who?

It was a blessing one great uncle didn’t shoot anyone trying to kill a fly on the butter dish. (that wasn’t there) He was high on cocaine. Which was common in those days, because you bought it at the pharmacy.

Survival Tips on Growing up in Jacksonville

Don’t fuck with certain people. (you know who they are)

Learn to throw a punch and duck.

Carry a gun in your pocket book.

Learn to drive a car, ride a motorcycle and a horse. (you never know when you will have to make a quick getaway) And it doesn’t hurt to fly a plane.

Know how to jump out of window and run through the swamp.

Keep your mouth shut.

Know those judges and embezzlers, and House Representatives.

Help them to get elected.

Be an Olympic like swimmer.

Ski

Praise the Lord

Keep you house clean. Lift the corner of the rug and sweep all dirt underneath.

Angele Dulin

My grandmother. Brought from Paris. (Suresnes, Hauts de Seine, Lee – de – France)

I want to know the story. More. I have scoured ancestry.com and discovered more than I wanted to know, at the time. She was sixteen years old and lied to, by my grandfather. She was a WWII war bride. She went from Paris to Bainbridge Ga. Her name is on the walls of Ellis Island.

I wish I had inherited those lips.

What a history my family has.

My father was born into poverty. Deep poverty. He was born into violence, as his father was. That was the excuse for his insanities. He wanted out and he got out. He fought his way out.

We are all still surviving.

My grandmother committed suicide in March 1957. The most popular song of that year was The People of Paris.

How to Create a Character *

You have one man, with volcanic rage, simmering below the surface of his skin. You have one woman who is iron clad and formidable, prepared to protect the family at all cost. Each has their own story, steeped in alcohol, violence and money. Smiles would turn to grimaces – smile, frown – smile, frown – it was a dodge ball game. You would eventually get slammed.

Then take the kid. Twelve years old, eager to please; anxious to get every detail correct.

The man had given orders, “Go saddle up my horse”. Continue reading How to Create a Character *

Ocean Educated

My mother would drive us out of the swamp, to the ocean once a year. Then in 1966 she bought the beach house. – she kept one hand on an oak tree and the other on a palm – thank you Mama – Now I get to pass it on. It’s not for everybody. Thank God ~

Costa Rica!!!

An international tourist destination. The once, lonely planet spot on the map, that people were scared to go to, is now a place that people, will sell everything they own sight unseen and traipse down here. Convinced they have found paradise. The tropics.

I had the smallest snake in my shower with me. I killed it. Then I had a tiny scorpion on the shower curtain. I killed it. This was in the last week.

As I am beginning to write the monkeys have started to howl. I love that.

I have my Red Bull. Red Bull and monkeys make the world go around.

Continue reading Costa Rica!!!

Complicated/Simple

They say keep it simple, stupid. Which I think is stupid.

If you can live your life successfully and make it look simple, you are a hero. Life is tough as hell. First your born and maybe you have the good fortune of having doting parents. But most of us don’t. You get kicked around. Filled with anxiety.

Bukowski has a repeated line in one of his poems’ – people are not good to people – people are not good to people – people are not good to people. Reading this, I felt I knew exactly what he meant. People were not good to me. I was a little fat. I could not speak up for myself. I became prey.

Continue reading Complicated/Simple

Bukowski

I’ve seen his name many times. I’ve seen Bukowski quotes often. But yesterday, I saw him on you tube.

I have a lot in common with Bukowski. And that was why his writing became so popular. People could relate to his life. We have many differences as well. Who knows, after all it was only about an hour long interview. So, how much can I really compare. He doesn’t like people. He liked a solitary existence and he liked to drink beer. He said his childhood was a hell.

A big difference between him and I was; he wrote. And he worked. I worked here and there, but he was more successful at keeping a job than I was. He would write about his experiences. I couldn’t do that. Until I finally did. Also, he said his only concern was for himself. I have been entirely too co-dependent in my life to make such a statement.

And he always wrote in first person. He didn’t write for “success”. He wrote to stay alive. (check)

He drank a lot. It looked like his choice was beer. (check)

I no longer drink beer. I quit at thirty one, by going to AA. (Let’s get real. AA is no longer an anonymous society) When I came in, it was a different time. A different world and I loved it. It’s had it’s rocky moments. But I overcame them all. – Then the judges started sending in all their D.U. I. people. And in the early nineties, people began to substitute psychotropics for their inventories.

Now I have tremendous conflict in meetings. I have fat boys, that don’t like what I say. Good Lord they need to look in the mirror and while they are at it, they should record the stupid shit that they are saying.

I was all well and good with the conflict. I have always heeded to the last paragraph on page 19. Respect everyone’s share. Then started the attacks. I have been verbally attacked in the past, but this was a barrage. Fuck that. It’s because I have become old. They look at me with my grey hair and choose me as prey. They have no idea.

For example: One guy looks like Homer Simpson. He says that only the first eighty eight pages, in the Big Book count. He is disparaging of women’s shares. He wanted to buy a 5000 square foot house. And he wonders why he can’t get along with his wife. He was in meetings for 14 years and never worked a step. Now he has and he is on fire for everyone to be like him. FMD — One meeting, I was sharing my experience, of my first sponsor being Buddhist. He screamed at me, “This has nothing to do with Buddhism.” blahblahblah – The other fat boy is just fat and he thinks he’s good looking. He cut me off. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say. He obviously thinks he is interesting.

My thoughts behind this is – What would it have been like if Bukowski came to a meeting.

WOW

I am so inspired by his words. Because I know they are true. But in a meeting he would be a challenge. It might be a better option for some people to just stay home and write.

Who needs fake authenticity.