Maybe that's why I don't have kids.
I could have. I could have many right now. Fucking around with the baby mama drama. Fucking up their lives by fucking up mine. Kids deserve a better father than what I could have been. A child deserves more. I wonder what my youth was like. I really don't remember too much of it. I think I burned out all of those synapses with my alcoholic delirium. That's why I see fucking things. Even now in the gloom of the kitchen I see shadows flitter past. I know it's just my overactive imagination in the dark, but that's the motherfucker that conjures up hallucinations. It just doesn't know when to stop.
Yeah, I burned out the memories of much of my youth, a lot of my marriage, my higher functions like history, math, aerodynamics. All that shit I learned in school...all gone. But did I really burn out the memories? Are there patches for some other reasons? My doctor says that there's a chemical imbalance in my skull. That I'm missing some component that causes me to drink. I'm trying to replace this missing factor by the use of CH3CH2OH. Maybe there is a chemical that causes me to forget too? Causes bad memories to vanish. Erases what I need not bear for a lifetime? Is that chemical in all of us, to some extent more or less?
I think about being home. I stand outside in the drizzle, and sky like a smoky haze and I wonder, what am I running from? Where am I running to? Are we all running, or just standing still, because either that or something is moving past us at an alarming rate. I look at my parents home from a distance and it appears farther for some reason. More distant. I am not home. This is not were I can live. I realize that now. I love my parents but I love me more.
OR what little of me I'm in love with. But one thing is for certain. Three years ago I was faced with eviction and I had a choice, that's what the radio producer called it, a choice between the streets and 'going home'. I realize fully now that I had no choice. This was not a viable option. I can't live with my parents. That's why I left them when I was eighteen, and then again at twenty six. I've already 'came home' once when I was younger. I regretted it then.
Sitting back behind my baby, out of the fucking cold of the outside, I stop this senseless retrospection. There are no answers here, just decisions. There was never any choice. I'm pleased with the decision that I made to go into the streets. It's separated those that called themselves my friends from true friends, it removed the hounds that were released on me, it brought a new world to view, a larger world. It's made a new family of friends for me. People that I never knew, that now are close to me. Moving into the streets changed my life completely.
I'm not beating a drum here people. I'm not crazy. I am pleased with myself for the first time in three years. I am not saddened by the hurtful path that led me here. In fact, it wasn't all that hurtful. Looking back at the pages of my blog I see good times and bad. But shit, that's life isn't it?
I'll be honest with you, I waited patiently for three years to get here to be with my parents, but all children must grow up. I can't wait to go back to my tiny room and crawl into my familiar schedule once again. I'm not hating. I'm going to hug the shit out of these two people and love them with all my heart and stay loyal to them. But you'd better believe me that I'm getting the Fuck out of Dodge. This is the single most toughest environment in the world for me. If I don't hate myself now, I really would have hated myself spending three years down here. I can't be perfect for these two people, I can't. I can't live up to their dreams for me, I can't. And I can't be the butt of jokes no matter how 'innocent humor' you label it.
Time for the hobo to lift up his stick with the little bag on the end of it, drape it over his shoulder and hobble off into the sunset children. All you kiddies that missed me at being a dad, well, I missed you too. But here's the good thing. This one has one more day here. One more, and then I'm gone again.
I would have been a bad father anyway.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/12/eyes-burned-out.html
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