He offered to put in my air conditioner and I was grateful, but worried.
It started in March of 2020, during the Covid lockdown. At first I loathed staying in the house. I was bored and angry. I missed my friends and my job.
Then, I got used to it. I only went where I needed to go and over time, I was fine with it. The longer it went on, the more difficult it became to go where I needed to go.
It got worse the day I got the call informing me that my job had been permanently canceled. Instead of paying me to open a building and assist twenty people, it would be more cost effective to have one person do it via Zoom.
I felt lost. Yet, secretly loved my new found isolation. When friends and family called me on the phone, I didn’t say much. Then, I stopped answering the phone.
There were only three people I picked up for. I let the rest go to voicemail. Some days, I didn’t want to pick up the phone at all. I did it out of fear, thinking they’d be worried and come over here to check on me. I couldn’t have that! I tried to convince myself I was fine, even though I was slipping deeper into isolation.
Two out of the three people started to catch on. One of them did come by to check on me without calling. I was pissed! It felt like a sneak-attack! Deep down, I knew I should be grateful that someone cared, and I was.
After he left, I could tell he was concerned. Years ago, he told me about two people he knew that had agoraphobia. He knew it was creeping up on me quick, and so did I. We didn’t talk about it that day. He joked about how I looked fine wrapped up in a bathrobe. I was glad he didn’t talk about it that day, but I knew it was a matter of time.
I did not want to have that talk! I tried to snap out of it, but I couldn’t. Fifteen months later, it had gotten worse. Then, the heat wave came. I almost put it in myself, but the air conditioner was heavy and I was afraid I’d drop it out the window. During my isolation, I had become weak, from lack of exercise. My diet was poor. Some days, I didn’t eat anything.
The first few days I just suffered in the heat. I was exhausted and felt sick. Then, he called. I told him I might do it myself. That’s when he offered to help. I was really suffering at that point, I said “that would be great, thank you.”
He came, and after he put in the air conditioner, we had the talk. I thank God for him everyday. The other two that I thought were “key people” in my life moved on, but he didn’t.
I trust him, I love him and I will overcome this for him and for myself. For the first time in fifteen months I know I can do it. I know, because this time I want to do it. I miss the old me, and so does he.
********inner conflict sets in********
-will I miss the isolation? Yes, I will. Like any toxic behavior, it has it’s pay-off’s, but in the end, is it worth it? No.
I always tell the truth, even when it's not the popular thing to do. I never go along with the crowd, unless I agree with the crowd.
I do not care how much money you have. I am not impressed by fame, fortune, power or influence-
Too many people put a price on character, but I don't.
If someone is lying, and I can prove it- I call them out!
I have lost relationships by doing this-
with no regrets.
if you're wondering what I mean by "proof?" Most people do not know how writers deal with emotions- We write down details, the date and time, as well as our feelings. Most will never remember those details, but we do.
-Don't tell them
Maybe you had the perfect Dad, but I didn’t. Nevertheless, he was ‘my’ Dad and I miss him. Nobody is perfect.
When he passed away eight years ago, the whole family assumed I’d write the eulogy.
(I’ve written every eulogy & speech on behalf of my Family for decades. Weddings, funerals, graduations...ect)
This, was much more difficult. Losing a parent unexpectedly and at a young age (67) was a shock for me. My Dad was not sick. He was not in the hospital, he had a heart attack at home, sitting in his own recliner, watching the news on his big screen TV. He had plans to go out for breakfast with his neighbor the next morning, she is the one who found him. We got the news from the police.
My Family does not understand the creative writing process, and how thoughts either flow or they do not. I told them I did not want to participate in choosing Church songs and readings. I told them, I trusted their decisions.
This gave me time to work on the eulogy-
The truth is, I didn’t need time. My Dad’s eulogy came to me before I could even sit down to write it. Thank God, I had the strength to read my own words that day. I think Dad would’ve been proud.
Now, Father’s Day for me, is a trip to the Cemetery, prayer and memories.
We only get one Dad. Enjoy him while he’s still here. Please remember- if your Dad is not perfect, if he forgets your birthday, what grade you’re in and what school you go to- because he’s busting his ass so you can have all that you need, including those braces on your teeth-
Nobody is perfect.
“The Fake Brian”
Brian Harold May, was born July 19, 1947. He was the lead guitarist in the famous rock band Queen.
But I'm not related to the real Brian May. I'm related to the guy who pretends to be Brian May.
My Cousin Mike, is the founder of the famous Queen cover band-
If you live on the West Coast, you may have heard of his band. They have also done several shows in Las Vegas.
Mike was able to quit his day job at the health insurance company after Queen Nation had been touring for a decade.
I grew up with Mike. I remember when he was 13 and started taking guitar lessons. Now, he plays the very difficult songs written and once preformed by Queen. If you've ever heard "Bohemian Rhapsody" you'd know what I mean.
The reason we call him "The Fake Brian" is because when our children were younger, they kept asking "why is he wearing a black wig?" Someone in the Family said "he's the fake Brain" and it just stuck.
If you ever happen to see my Cousin Mike; as lead guitarist in his band Queen Nation, or if you know him via social media, please do not tell him his Family calls him "The Fake Brian."
If he texts me, and he's pissed that we call him "The Fake Brian" I'll know, that it was one of you writers, right here on the prose, that told him.
(Lol, but not kidding)
“The Rocket Man”
He's made of steel!
He's seen the stars!
When he speaks or Tweets?
He moves markets!
The other billionaires, steam with anger!
He does not care!
He is, the genius with Asperger's syndrome-
Nothing will stop him-
Nobody will get in his way-
He is a legend- He's going to the moon!
He is, The Rocket Man...
A tribute to Elon Musk-
Since I was eight years old, the dream of being published & paid for my work, is similar to a relationship with another human being- except, the struggle is within.
*has, come and gone
*crawled back- begging for mercy- with speeches that have earned me standing ovations.
A eulogy so moving- someone wanted to borrow it?
(weird, I know, but it happened in 1999)
My writing has brought comfort to the grieving, tears of joy to those achieving milestones and recognition to the humble, under appreciated and overlooked.
Although it’s been a long tumultuous relationship with my writing- after 4 decades, I wouldn’t change anything.
Still, unpublished and unpaid-
the deep emotion I can read on their faces...touch’s my soul.
To my disbelief, years later, they still remember.
I’ll never know why...
My writing, does not need me!
I need my writing-
(and sometimes? They do too.)
God Bless ❤️