Guest House

My cousin once dated this guy whose mother worked at a brick factory.

Tragically she was crushed to death at work, and that's all I know, however, until recently when I was contemplating this...which in itself is somewhat troubling, I considered the fact I just assumed she was crushed by a pile of bricks, but the reality is she could have been crushed by anything...well anything heavy enough at a brick factory to crush an adult woman.

She could have gotten caught in the machine that makes the bricks for all I know, yet in my head I always imagined the unfortunate woman under a brick pile, maybe a hand or foot poking out.

Its March and I have not published a blog this year, mostly because I'm getting divorced and its hard to fit it in between all the fighting. I am currently residing at 2105 Santa Rosa, the address of our guest house, which is no longer a guest house- but is now my house- and will be my house until a) we can find a buyer and b) this person can qualify for a loan, so my guess is a long fucking time.

In any event, those things will be worked out in time, if one of us isn't in prison and one of us isn't permanently disfigured.

The first tenant of the guest house was Julien and when he went away to a college Christian became the occupant, he did something terrible I can't recall what and was evicted and then Dylan took residence until he moved out. So although never fully confirmed prior to my tenancy the guest house was a hybrid hang out, fuck pad, hash den...

Last weekend I moved the couch to sweep and a hazmat team had to respond.

With my residency the guest house is now a hybrid kennel, kennel, kennel- basically it's a kennel.

After 8 weeks I had nothing in the refrigerator except for carmel sauce, and relish; left behind by prior occupants.

So understandably these days I find myself thinking about the mother of a guy my cousin used to date being crushed at the brick factory, and other things you don't necessarily want to share with others relatively frequently.

In the past I have been accused of focusing on the foibles of others in my writing and thus avoid revealing myself. This is actually true. So this is my new reveal. We got gay married and now we are getting gay divorced ...and we share two minor children...so theres that. .. but I allow myself to go only so far with all that...its a day by day thing for me.

In any event, today while I was with my mom at the Walmart I was crying to her (literally) about everything wrong.

"There isn't a problem I don't have, " I told her.

"You know what your problem is?" she said.

"You need to get your Mo Jo back."

And she's right.

Mo Jo is like pornography, you can't define it but you know it when you see it.

I bought the highest watt light bulbs I could at the WalMart and replaced every single one in my little house. I filled the refrigerator with a variety of beverages, as I don't know how to cook food so many of my meals are liquid, and I organized my book shelf... but I still don't feel exactly like me, which I guess will now be a hybrid of the new me, the old me and a kennel.