Mr. 23 years called me today. I thought he didn't want to talk to me after reading my blog. He says he reads it when he can, but his computer is broken. He has no problem with what I'm writing he says it's what it is. I told him about my health and how every time I go to the doctor I'm diagnosed with something else, I said it in such a cavalier attitude that he laughed and wondered why he's so healthy. I told him it must of been all the drugs he did. He told me he missed getting high, but know the consequences. I told him that his drug habit messed up both our lives, including the childrens'. My fault to I was an enabler. He knows he can't get away with getting high now, he'll be on the streets for real, his wife won't put up with it. She wouldn't let him live with her unless he married her. After I tell my story further you'll understand that she did that, more then likely to spite me.
So back to my story. Mr. 23s' friend asked if one of his brothers could rent my project apartment, I agreed. Him and his wife moved in with their I think five, six or more kids, I don't know how many, it was a lot. They were suppose to pay the rent. I should of went and collected the rent from them. They didn't pay the rent and got me evicted from the project and incurred a bill of over two thousand dollars. One of the sons is playing for the NBA, you'd think he would pay me back the money. Yes, I paid the bill because it was garnished from my payroll. I don't do favors no more. I give and never get. That's why I knew I wouldn't get anything from the SLE Lupus Foundation. When I was going to group therapy one of the women was talking about family that was staying with her and not paying any rent and eating her food. She said they moved out and wanted to come back. I told her don't do it. Everyone thought I was funny when I went ballistic talking about people will take advantage of you. Mistaking your kindness for weakness. When they get on their feet and are doing well, they forget about you. I kept saying don't do it, don't!
Yes you want to help your family and friends, after all it's the right thing to do. Not! In the end you are the one who ends up losing. All the help I've given over the years has me in this situation that I'm in today. I don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I went in debt helping other people and come this March I may not be able to afford my medication when Medicare kicks in. Ain't life a bitch and then you die, for fucking real. Oh! I'm still okay just a side track vent there.
We moved into my family house. The house I grew up in. Where my sister and I played between the wall of windows and under the table, while Gran cooked dinner and watched her stories or Mike Douglas. The house where I use to sit on the couch in the living room and let my boyfriends finger me and feel my titties. The house where my family use to get together for holidays and share good meals, drinks, and laughter. The house where my aunt, who won the house in a palimony suite in1928, died a year before I was born. Her body was laid out on the porch, and my grandmother stayed up all night watching the body. This is the aunt I was named after, my middle name. The house my uncle who had lung cancer use to smoke and cough all night, after coming in from the VFW Post, drunk. He died in the arms of my aunt, his sister, in his bed. Where the same aunt for years use to read her Dick and Jane books trying to learn to read. The house where my mother, after putting the trash out went and layed in her bed and had a heart attack. This was the house, and forever will be the house.
This is a description of the house I grew up in: