I posted about being up all night and then mentioned I was off to get my head shrunk. I have to drive an hour and forty-five minutes, one way, to see my therapist.
I left early enough to be there on time and actually had a few minutes to spare so I decided to drive by the “old homestead.”
The little narrow streets on the way were crowed with cars, most of them parked the wrong way. There were never any cars on the street when I lived there. I passed the ever familiar “five points” where only one building from my childhood still stands and I could picture the old woman who worked in the bar as well as remember the smells that permeated the entrance.
I drove by the church where mama played the piano. It has a different name now but I imagine it still has the same asshole preacher.
It always brings back such powerful memories when I dare to tread where I spent most of my youth. None of the trees I used to hide in (and where a lot of the “switches” came from) are still there. It always seems so much smaller than I remembered it when I was growing up and it has never gotten any easier to gaze on the surroundings.
It was time to drive away.
Off to the therapist I went. I got there and I was still a few minutes early. I decided to go on up the stairs to get away from the wind that was cutting through me like little knives. Just as I was ready to ring the doorbell, my phone rang.
I almost didn’t answer but I got it out of my purse and looked at the name. It was my therapist.
He was calling me to tell me that he was sick.
I sat in my car for a few minutes before I hit the road. I decided to just take it in stride. When had anything in my life actually worked out?
As I was leaving my beloved mountains, I was as awestruck as ever. The scars on the sides of them, where they had been drilled into and blasted away seem to still weep. There is always a trickle of water running down them, that look like tears flowing endlessly. Now and then, they show their anger by throwing a boulder onto the road so as to say “look at what you did to me. You broke me into pieces. You cut me in half.”
Loser shares the love of mountains albeit secondary to the beach. His “land” is on top of some mountains in S**** C*******. That’s where he wanted us to build a house (well, he wanted ME to build it, and I mean literally build it, while he drank.) I had only been there once and it was just a bunch of trash pine trees and rocks. It was so isolated and I knew I would be afraid up there alone (why would anything be any different up there?) He said he would get me a gun. Yeah….that’s what I needed…a fucking gun.
When it became clear to him that WE were never going to have a house up there, he finally told me that it had long since been rumored to be haunted.
The last time I went up there (to help him cut up a tree that had fallen which was blocking the entrance which made it necessary for him and his WTC to have to walk a distance when they were camping) I noticed that in the height of summer, not one mosquito bit me. I attract mosquitoes like lonely, old, wealthy men attract gold-diggers.
There wasn’t a squirrel within shootin’ distance nor were there any birds. There were no critters scampering along the leaves. It was spooky scary.
As soon as we stepped off of the property, the trees were full of birds and squirrels.
The little demon sitting on my shoulder that didn’t get vanquished due to my therapy, was laughing as it said “good. Maybe something like the Blair Witch is lurking in the woods…..just waiting for a couple of immoral scumbags to feed on.”
Time to open my cans of black-eyed peas and greens. At least I’ll get that right….unless of course, the house catches on fire. LOL.
So…is it fuck 2016..at least for the beginning?