I awake from a dream I can’t remember. How do I know I had a dream? I remember the end of it where I’m standing outside a bar. That’s it.

I’m thinking life sucks. It’s two am and I can’t get back to sleep. I’m old. Fuck it. While I’m laying there a memory comes to me. This memory pops into my conscious for no dammed reason. A found memory. It’s like a crumpled dollar bill I found in the grass. It’s not worth much but it still spends. Crazy how my beat-up old mind works…

Anyway, in this memory I’m at my Aunt Liz’s memorial service. My favorite Aunt. This had to be twenty years ago. The church is packed. Packed to the gills. Aunt Liz had a lot of friends. I’m sitting there, me, my Brother and Mom. Both are dead now. But this weird ass memory brings them back. We’re sitting in the back of the hall. Anonymous in that crowd. Okay, I’m remembering details. Judy, my cousin, Aunt Liz’s daughter, she’s at the podium. She’s talking about how Aunt Liz would make her go out into the back yard and pick a branch off the tree and bring it back so Aunt Liz could beat her with it. She tells us how Aunt Liz always put her down in front of other people. And then when she complained Aunt Liz beat her for disrespecting her elders. She beat her four or five times a week. Often for no apparent reason. “I wanted to love my mother,” my cousin Judy pleads to the crowd. “I wanted to love her. Maybe she didn’t know any better. I need to believe that’s why she beat me all the time…”

Mom’s got that look on her face. She’s shaking her head.

“Why did she need to bring all that up?”

“Revenge.”

My brother gets up and goes out for a smoke.

That’s what killed him. A smoker’s cough. He had a coughing fit and the old heart froze. Mom just gave up and died. My cousin Judy? I don’t know what happened to her. Could be she’s still alive.

Scruffy’s Foredeck

I can’t be remembering stuff. I need to think positive.

I eat a little yogurt, drink a cup of real strong coffee. I could be an alcoholic if I push it a little. I’m already a coffeeholic. There’s no hope there.

I step out onto the deck and find the tarp I wadded up after the storm winds shredded it. I left it there like a big wad of dead shit.

I find Old Salt perched above the wad of tarp like he’s reviewing the remains of my failed life.

Fuck’n bird…

Useful Items

Okay, so I’m walking down the dirt road to the corner where my car’s parked. I see a bright object on the ground. Right there in the middle of the road. Like it’s been waiting for me. A coffee tumbler. Not just any coffee tumbler. A Yeti! I telling you, man. This is a bad ass thermal cup. I pick it up. Look around. It’s early. Nobody’s around. Maybe it rolled off the back of a car. Well, my Karma sucks anyway. I stick the Yeti in my bag and keep walking.

Did I tell you I’m a coffeeholic?

The sun’s blinding me. An 8 a.m. death sun. I’m digging around in my glove box for my sunglasses. Okay, I find them. But what else? I’ll be damned. My good knife with the locking 4 inch blade. I thought I lost it. I looked all over hell for it the other day. Here it is. It’s telling me, “you dumb fuck. I was here all along.”

Okay good. I got my knife back. Not my life, my knife. An Old dude like me needs a weapon. I was never good with my fists but I was young. I had energy. Nowadays you gotta have a weapon. A baseball bat is cumbersome. A stun gun? That’s on my christmas wish list. Nobody but my girlfriend Joan is buying me christmas gifts. I can’t depend on her to purchase a stun gun. So for now this knife will do. I can also use it for boating purposes, whatever those are. I could use it to slash my wrists. Maybe I’ll wait a while for that…

My Pal’s Novel

I pull in at my favorite Starbucks. The one in Strawberry. Didn’t I tell you about this place? I call it the office. People go there and grab a table and do computer business like they own the place. I used to do the same thing and feel guilty if I didn’t at least buy a cup of their suck-ass coffee. But then I chanced upon their bylaws. They have a policy at Starbucks where they allow people to come on in and sit for free. You are not required to buy anything at Starbucks! Isn’t that nice of them?

A corporate monster that cares about people!

I love Starbucks.

Anyway, I’m switching my computer from the case with a ripped bottom to a spare case I find lying on the back seat of my car. What’s this? Within this spare case I find the novel I lost a while back. All this time it’s been tucked away in this spare case.

This is a great novel. Written by my friend Stewart.

It’s been a while since I talked to Stewart. Maybe a couple weeks. He needed me to take a few hundred books off his hands. Books he had stored in his girlfriend’s garage. She needed him to get the books out of there for some reason. I didn’t ask. None of my business. But I couldn’t take his books. I live on a boat. A boat that is now naked to the wind and rain after the storm shredded the tarp all to hell. I wadded up the tarp into a hideous wad and left it on my foredeck.

Scruffy’s a 36 foot boat. How’s he gonna hold 7 or 8 hundred books? I told Stewart I had no place to put the books. I understand how he feels. It’s a bad situation. You’re a PHD in Linguistics, for christ’s sake. Books have been of paramount importance in your life. You love books. You love books even more than I do. I understand that these books are like your children. Somebody is forcing you to get rid of your books. But I have no room for them.

Yet I do have this one book. I thought I lost it but here it is.

Okay, so I’m afraid to call my Pal. I know he’s out there. I’m hoping he’s okay. He told me he was ill. I’m afraid to call him because I’m afraid of bad news.

Hey Steward. If you’re reading this. I found your book. The book you wrote. Sorry I couldn’t take those other books. I hope your doing okay. Give me a call if you like.

You’re a true gentleman and a scholar, Stewart.

You’re a better man than I am.

The Moral Of This Post

There’s no moral to this post!

I need to get this idea of a moral out of my head.

It’s like I’m a failed christian or something. I can’t be a failed christian because I was never a christian to begin with. What was I? A Hindu? A Buddhist? A Zoroastrian?

I could be a failed Zoroastrian. (I’ll pretend I used to be an active Zoroastrian.)

If I was an active Zoroastrian with energy to spare I might go on a pilgrimage.

One Last Find

I’m digging through the spare computer case for a pen. Wait a minute. What’s this? A snapshot. Tucked into a sleeve of the spare computer case. A photo of a dick skulpture. The kid owns my failed Window Company found purpose in his life by making these sculptures. Read my post, Rat Race Revisited, for details of his metamorphosis. This Dick is a wine holder. Why did I single out this specific photo? Damned if I know. Maybe I saved it because it seems to be defying gravity.

I’m tossing it.

I’m out of work. I need to look for a job.