As I wrote before, I know I will never be truly happy. Not after sixty plus years of being nothing but a burden to anyone close to me in this life. Not after spending the last decade as an online bully, ignoring my dying wife so thoroughly that after she died her son ran me out of the state. So, the best I can hope for is to abandon all things familiar, to slink away to a place where I can at least pretend one of my relatives visits me, to hope the army of enemies I’ve created someday forgets about me, and to die alone without being forced to face the consequences of a lifetime of horrible decisions. And we’re well on our way to our self-imposed amputation from civilized society.
I love this apartment. It’s the only one on the floor that locks from the outside. Good thing the stove is electric. All I need now is some wall hangings of naked Cub Scouts, an area rug or two (light colored to hide the mayonnaise spills), and we’re good to go. I have my little radio station set up here in the recently soundproofed bedroom where no one will hear me crying myself to sleep. Widescreen in the living room with a recliner to sit in and a loveseat to stare at because no one ever comes to visit. Small but functional kitchen with a big poster over the stove that reminds me “HOT!!! Don’t Touch!!” Magnet on the refrigerator with Domino’s number. And a roomy bathroom with all sorts of safety features, but thankfully, nothing to prevent me from feeling up the Bigs that land there when I make it to the toilet in time.
Now that I have the cable and phone hooked up, I also have one of those “I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up” wrist bands. Let’s hope when the time comes, I land really hard on my soft face and never regain consciousness so I can be spared the shame and embarrassment of admitting I forgot how it works.
TJ is doing well as far as I know (he changed his phone number), and I couldn’t be more proud of him. At first I was shocked when he kicked me to the curb, but then I remembered he’s a grieving son who owns a lot of guns and he scares the hell out of me. The trailer is paid for, so it was a simple matter for TJ to forge my signature on the deed. What could I say? “I never sign my name the same way twice, but that doesn’t look like mine?” That’s just stupid. He did the same with the car I was gonna “give to my sister” and the other stuff I couldn’t fit into a 30 gallon Hefty bag. I didn’t question – I just shuffled away as fast as my sore old nutfeet would carry me.
I pretended my sister came by today and we went to Target to get some stuff. (Actually I took the shuttle.) Just when I think I have everything I need, all of a sudden I realize that there’s something else that would come in handy. Shackles. In Cub Scout size. Can you believe Target doesn’t carry them? I had to order parts from Home Depot. I hope the welding torch doesn’t violate the terms of my lease.
It’s interesting living alone. I find that since I’ve left Maryland, the Showplace Tincasa and my precious puppies behind, I’ve been able to wean myself off the Zoloft, which makes the Johnnie Walker taste A LOT better. In fact, the only medicine I absolutely can’t do without is the Clownazepamalam. I don’t take it for anxiety (that’s just an added benefit)… it handles the REM Sleep Behavior Disorder (it makes the bad dreams of getting fired from every job I ever held go away).
All and all, a bit more than two weeks since leaving Maryland, things are going better than expected. My little neighborhood didn’t have much to offer other than solid wi-fi, but this place has grandsons running up and down the hallways the livelong day! This has been a horrible summer for me. Not only did I file and abandon yet another Failsuit in Maryland, but to top it off, my wife died while I was busy on the computer and I didn’t get the chance to catch it on video! But things are looking up for Fail. The Packers open up the season with the hated Bears, and if they score first, who knows? I might get a chance to use this little wrist thingie after all!