Posts Tagged ‘old age’

The Ghost Of bin Laden

June 5th, 2017

My grandmother moved out Saturday. Or she was moved out because she is physically frail and needed help. She is nearly eighty, after all. Her scooter and her clothes and different utensils that she had accumulated in over two months with me. She already misses me. I know this because we talked on the phone yesterday before the Warriors-Cavs game. In Whitesville, she knew three people. Four if you count the old lady on the other side of the building who grew up with my grandfather. They sat together and talked a bit during these last few weeks. What a drag it is getting old.


Granny tends to gravitate toward to Fox News, as do many older people. I will never understand the appeal. There is so much fear-mongering that it would keep any one up all night clutching at the walls. So much of it is made up. You don’t need to make up stuff to scare people. Half of the news I get from Twitter scares me more than anything on any network. Reality is frightening enough.


Did you know there are people who think the answer to terrorism (Muslims) is internment camps? People like that Brexit rascal Nigel Farage. Why would anybody listen to that guy? Yet there he is on Fox News, given a platform for his toxic rhetoric. Who loves Nigel Farage? No less a turd than Donald Trump himself? The alt-right and authoritarian fringe want to remake many of the mistakes of the past, including those made in the Second World War.


Are the Republicans in Washington as worried as they ought to be? Are they okay with Russian-rigged elections from now on, so long as they are rigged in the GOP’s favor? The demographics aren’t good for them for future elections. Younger voters and women are furious at the GOP’s deference to the incompetent and sadistic Trump and their increasingly anti-human, pro-donor legislation. Not to mention their stonewalling on the Russia/Trump investigation. Is it worth ripping a country apart in order to maintain control of it?


And that’s how the ghost of Osama bin Laden wins, over sixteen years after the terrible attack on the World Trade Center and six years after his own death at the hands of SEAL Team Six. When our country’s most hysterical power-hungry opportunists and demagogues turn our country into the kind of place George W. Bush feared when we said “we have to fight them there so we don’t have to fight them here”. We will be there very soon if we aren’t already and it is this that drive me up the walls each night.

I Think I Sleep Here Now

October 19th, 2016

It is ten o’clock at night in Whitesville, Kentucky. Tonight, the third presidential debate was held. Whatever happened, I could not bring myself to watch it. After watching the first two and being left in a nightmare daze by what I saw, I thought better of it. Besides, one can hardly consider me a undecided voter. On November 8th, my vote for President of the United States will be cast for Hillary Donald the late actress Shirley Hemphill from “What’s Happening” Tom Bergeron, host of ABC’s hit series “Dancing With The Stars”.


Besides, my new bed is all set up and is ready for me to sleep in. It’s time for me to enjoy what for me is a truly luxurious bed. I’m the happiest boy in the world now and if I’m not careful I may sleep better than I have in about fifteen years.


In the dorm I used to live, I slept in a twin bed. It was a firm bed on a sturdy wood frame. I sacrifice privacy but I slept reasonably well. Then I moved into an apartment on Chestnut Street and began a streak of sleeping in whatever bed was available at the time that continued for a long time. This practice works fine if you’re twenty-three, perhaps. When you are young and your back is strong and you can burn the candle at one or both ends.


When I moved to L.A., I slept on a variety of twin-sized cots. No bed springs. Even as I worked on a dying cable quiz show, I did not spend my money on a bed upgrade. That would have only made sense. For nearly two years, I flattened out a cot until it was time to move back home, at which point I dumped it out onto the curb.


I came home and I moved in with my grandfather, taking the middle room in the trailer. Sleeping in whatever bed happened to be in there. And as I crossed into my thirties, a crummy futon mattress became the bed I slept on. Fortunately, I had some box springs and a wooden frame to hold it in place. Litter boxes looked more inviting than my bed. The stuffing fell out of the futon so I stuffed a couch cushion under it to give me some padding.


That college-age can-do spirit that I had isn’t there anymore. Which is a shame, as I often look at tasks through the eyes of a guy in his early twenties. But I’m not that guy. I’m pushing forty. There is so much I can’t abide by. Being young and impulsive, sometimes one has to scourge. But to try to do that in middle age?


I’m only starting to realize how many ways I shortchanged myself. Fortunately, it is not too late to set things on the right path. Also, I appreciate the little things. And a bed is one such thing. A good firm bed on a sturdy frame that you get good sleep on. It’s about quality of life, folks. But first I have to build some sort of life.

Too Much Right Now

July 29th, 2014

I am going through one of the most difficult periods of my life.



I took this picture right after I stopped crying.


I don’t want to cry. I don’t want it all to burst out of me. The way I handle these type of things is not healthy, in any sense of the word.


I have a lot of thoughts that I can’t deal with. I have a lot of feelings that I can’t express. That’s not why you came here. You came here for words. But right now I have things going on that are too fucked up for me to sum up in one blog or a subtweet.


I can’t even vague-blog my way out of it. I either put it all on the table or I keep it offline. But what if I said what I had on my mind? I would cross the line from self-expression to self-immolation. Or self-flagellation. Either way, some type of self-abuse (and not the fun kind you can snapchat to that special someone).