Twitter? Hardly. Help? Please!

So, I signed up for my first Twitter account yesterday.  Figured it was time, there is now ZERO chance of anyone thinking I joined up just to be cool (wink).  I signed up, chose my moniker, followed a couple of friends, and made one small, silly little tweet (said "guess this would be #myfirsthashtag.").  Probably not too original, but also not offensive by any stretch.  I sign on this morning to find THIS dangling over my now-SUSPENDED account:

Hey Krista XXXXXXX,

Twitter has automated systems that find and remove multiple automated spam accounts in bulk. Unfortunately, it looks like this account, @XXXXXXX, got caught up in one of these spam groups by mistake.

We apologize for this inconvenience. It’s possible your account posted an update that appeared to be spam, so please be careful what you tweet or retweet. You might also want to review our help page for hacked or compromised accounts://support.twitter.com/entries/68916. You will need to change your behavior to continue using Twitter. Repeat violations of the Twitter Rules may result in the permanent suspension of your account.

And that's that.  No more Twitter for me, I guess, because I have done the idiot "CAPTCHA" thing a dozen times to "recover" my account, but each time my page comes back up with the "been suspended" banner and I still cannot use the account.  So blow up, Twitter.  You're mean.

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Feeling bitter.  Been seeing all the uproar about the handsome, wildly tattooed felon, Jeremy Meeks?  The one up on weapons and gang charges?  The scary guy with the Esquire face?   Well, thus far, women across the country have donated over 100,000 bucks to spring him (his bail is a million).  

ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS to spring a member of the Crips gang.  A guy with a rap sheet replete with charges from gun offenses to identity theft, grand theft of a person (that's a step down from robbery) to drug charges.  $100,000 dollars raised to spring a dangerous felon because he's easy on the eyes (and he is), but here we are, scared to death we're going to wind up homeless.  Yes, a little bitter.

Because that somehow inspires charity and giving more than this:

I don't understand.  All I know is this--the guy up there stole, lied, and poses a clear threat to people.  And Charlie?  None of those things, but if we can't find a place, we may lose him.  Which would break my heart, break hubby's, too.  And it would shatter our boy.  

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We have found another place.  It's smaller than this, and the neighborhood's a bit dodgier, but it's certainly good enough.  No yard, and I'll miss my gardening, but we really can't be picky right now.  Fact is, it's a roof, and it's not a terrible one.  The rent is only 100 a month more than here, and, while 1600 a month is steep, it's not steep for the DC area.  In fact, it's practically low-budget.  

The scary part?  100 dollar non-refundable application fee, and having to tender the deposit in advance.  If they turn us down (which they might, our credit is in the solidly "fair" category, despite no delinquencies, no late payments, no judgments, and a pristine rental history),  that's weeks with that money tied up and inaccessible, plus the hit to the credit score for the inquiry, and we're out the 100 bucks permanently.  We are NOT where we can afford this, so the risk is terrifying.

Sadly, we're almost certainly going to lose it unless we throw caution to the wind and post the deposit and application fee without having the money to move in.  We'll lose it like the little house in Old Town; this is going to get snapped up by someone else before we have the money in hand.  Right now, we have the money for the deposit.  In a week, we hope to have enough for the pet deposit and the truck.  Which still leaves us down 1850.  So here I go again--please.  Please, anything you can spare.  If you've ever said to yourself "I wish there was something I could do," you CAN.  Ten bucks would be something.  It would help us.  If every person who reads my blog in a month gave a few bucks, we'd be that much closer.  If every person who reads my blog SHARED our link?

You'd be saving us.  Quite literally.

So please.  Please help, please share.  

Just a note--we made our goal, the donation campaign has ended!

And here it is

So, the move we can't afford and don't know where we're going is screaming headlong toward us.  I'm packing, even though I don't know where we're going and I don't know how we'll pay for it.  Our dear friends J & C lent us a grand, and oh, I can't tell you how amazing that is or how grateful we are.  We thought we were good, because a relative stepped up and offered three thousand.

You read that correctly.  Three grand.  She offered, she wasn't asked.  She understood that it would take us a while to pay back.  She said that if you can't help family, what's the point?  I cried my eyes out in gratitude, felt part of this crushing weight lift.  It was the most amazing thing.

That was May 28th.  She said she'd have it to us the following Monday or Tuesday.  I last heard from her June 4th, and she was still very upbeat and reassuring.  Multiple Facebook messages, a post, plus text messages, and nothing.  Fifteen days of silence.  She's stopped even signing onto Facebook, and has not read even one of my messages since the 4th.  I don't want to believe that she's left us hanging, but I'm not sure what else to think.  In the meantime, the clock is ticking, and we're watching the few places we can get go to other people because we don't have the money to put down the deposit and rent.

And what if she does come through?  What if this is just a hiccup, and, because she knows we don't absolutely have to be out until the end of next month, she figures there's no huge rush?  What if she IS going to come through?  I want to believe that.  I love her, and I don't want to think that anything has gone wrong.  But the lack of communication is scary and I don't know what to think.  But what I DO know is this: we are running out of time, and every day that passes is another apartment or house that rents to someone else.

Plus my Mom offered up 800.  Again, that was weeks ago, and no show.  But my mom turns 80 next month, and sometimes she makes offers when she can't follow through because she really WANTS to be able to.  I love her, and I understand that. My Mom is almost 80.  Which makes me almost 50, and this is where I am.

At this point, my stomach is so bad that I am actually worried that the ulcer is going to go totally south.  I can't sleep more than a couple of hours, and I find myself gasping and sighing every time my mind goes there.  Which is often.  And our boy?  Oh, he is beyond panic-stricken.  He knows we may wind up far away from his friends at class.  He knows we may wind up in a place so tiny and so scary that our stuff all goes into storage and we wind up not being able to go outside for walks.  And he knows there's the very real risk of losing our dog.   Charlie.  Oh, man, just typing that has me crying.

And so, the crowd-funding page I set up back in May but never went live with?  Well, here it is.  I didn't go live with it because it looked like we were covered--between J&C and my relatives, plus what we can save, we'd have it.  But now we clearly don't have it, and we're not sure what to do other than this.  I mean, we are stuck, we have to be out.

So here's the page.  Anything helps.  Five bucks.  If every friend on facebook gave five bucks, we'd be okay.  We're not looking to get rich here, we're not looking to take advantage.  We're looking to survive, to have a place to land when this is over.  Anything helps.

We made our goal!  Donations disabled!



We made our goal!  Donations disabled!

This is embarrassing beyond words.  And the terror that my relative DOES mean to come through, but will see this on Facebook and withdraw the offer?   Indescribable.  But if we keep waiting, what if she can't come through?  What if something has happened and she's unable?  And we let all this time pass?  That's where I can't stop going--what if we just keep waiting and it turns out something's happened and she can't help?  Every day is a day closer to the deadline, and every day we wait is a day lost.

We didn't see this coming.  It's not an eviction, the landlord is giving us a glowing reference.  Says we're the "best" tenants he's ever had.  But he has to sell, and that means we have to go.  Being great tenants who always pay on time doesn't really count for anything in this situation.  Please help.  Please share.  And please, no mention on my Facebook wall.  Not yet, anyway.

Yeah, that helps.

So, the landlord never did call, even though the real estate agent told him to.  Hubby finally emailed (email is better, we then have a written record), and the landlord's response was "y'all can call me."  And then he left the wrong phone number.

Not promising.

Luckily, hubby had the landlord's number in his phone, so he called.  And left a message.  Because the landlord wasn't picking up.  And then, a few hours later, he called again.  Left another message.

The landlord finally called back around 9 p.m.

Says we must be out by August 31st.  Says we're "the best tenants" he's ever had.  Says we've taken great care of the place.  Says he really likes what we've done with it.  Says that, if he can't get the place sold by next summer, he'll let them foreclose.

He'll let them foreclose, but he won't let us stay.  Because we're the best tenants he's ever had.

Okay.

We still don't have the money to move.  Thought maybe we did, but it looks like it's fallen through.  The person who made the offer has gone silent, and isn't answering messages.  We had one pair of friends come through in a pretty big way, but we'll still be drastically short.  So it may be back to the "crowdfunding" idea.  As much it shames me.

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On a brighter note, SEVEN people have ordered through my Amazon affiliate link!  In just a few days!  That's almost eight bucks.  I know, that doesn't sound like much, but I'm really excited!  So if you're looking to order from Amazon anyway, please use my link!  Here it is again (family and folks I've had dinner with?  That's a no-go, Amazon doesn't want "personal" orders through my links):

Kris's Amazon Link

Speaking of Amazon, they have a promotion right now--a thirty day free trial of Amazon Prime.  Amazon Prime doesn't just give you free 2-day shipping on most things, it also opens up a whole slew of movies and TV series for free streaming.  If you've been wishing you'd caught Deadwood, The Wire, or the latest Star Trek Movie, it's on Prime.  And yes, I get two dollars per sign-up.  But here's the thing--that's per FREE TRIAL sign-up.  You don't have to order Prime, you don't even have to stick with it for the entire 30 days (though you may as well--free stuff, right?).  All you need to do is sign up through the following link.  It's a heck of a deal, and you know what?  Amazon Prime might just be something you want to stick with!

Join Amazon Prime - Star Trek Into Darkness Available on Amazon Prime Instant Video

Join Amazon Prime - The Wire The Complete Series - Available on Amazon Prime Instant Video

And that's all of that.  I actually hate doing this, I've never been good at self-promotion of this sort, but we are in dire circumstances.  Anything helps.  Anything.

(Donation link removed--we made our goal!)

Here's this--it's a WIDGET!  Not asking you to order, but if you're going to order anyway, why not through this fancy widget?

Exciting News!

No, no, we haven't found a new place.  We don't have the money to move.  We ARE expected to be out in two months and have no prospects.  But still, I have two bits of exciting news!

Number one?  SOMEONE ORDERED FROM MY AMAZON AFFILIATE LINK!  They read my VeryHelpful.net review of my fancy Argon Oil Shampoo and Conditioner, and then followed the link and ORDERED!  They didn't order the product I reviewed, but that's okay!  They ordered under my affiliate link!  And yeah, I get PAID!  

Kris's Amazon Link

And the second exciting news?  

I've already forgotten.  In the frenzy of linking and writing above, I've totally spaced.  Have I mentioned how stressed and sleepless I've been?  Packing without knowing where or when or how we're going is scary.  What to pack?  How long do we have?  Two weeks?  Two months?  No more than two-and-a-half, we know that.  

Oh!  Oh!  I remember!

Do you remember THIS blog post?  Where I talk about the cemetery in Old Frisco, Utah and the nameless little boy whose grave has stuck with me since 1994?  

I FOUND HIS  NAME!

His name was Johnny Staples.  I've known the Staples part for years, but I finally found an old document online that showed the grave in slightly better days (the stone was still legible) with a caption from the State of Utah.  

From his stone:

"Tis a little grave, 

but oh, have care, 

for world wide hopes are buried here.  

How much of light, how much of joy, 

is buried with my darling boy."  

And if that doesn't hit you in the belly, I don't know what will.  Rest in peace, Johnny.  I'm glad I finally figured out your name.  

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I want to take a minute to talk about a ring.  Remember the locket?  The mourning locket I'll never find, but I keep looking?   Well, there's another piece of jewelry I keep turning about in my mind.  But this one I have.   I have, but I don't know as much about it as I want to know.

Here are some pictures:

The inscription appears to read "Ms. M. Hanna, March 14, '83."  It may say "M.M. Hanna" or some other variation.  The year is clearly 1883, and the stone is garnet, with multiple seed pearls embedded around the setting.  

This ring was given to my now-80-year-old Mother who wore it every day from the time I was born until 1983, when the stone fell out.  I remember the day--I was moving into an apartment in Midvale, Utah, when she realized the stone was gone.  We turned the apartment upside down and actually managed to find the stone.  She took the ring and stone to Zales, but they said they couldn't fix it.  Here it is, 30 years later, and it's still in that little Zales envelope, and it's still in two pieces, setting and stone.  

Back then, my Mom told me that the ring had belonged to wife or fiance of a famous poet.  But I can't remember who it was, and, at 80 years, my Mom can't remember, either.  I'm not looking to sell it, but man, I would love to know more about it and who it belonged to.  We think it was given to my Mom by a Mrs.  Payson (Jesse?  Florence?  The wife of Horace).  I'm hoping to learn more, but not too optimistic.

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Speaking of optimism, we are so in need of help.  We need a place to live.  Someplace close enough to Manassas that we don't have to pull our boy out of his martial arts class.  It's the only place he has friends, and it would be heartbreaking for him.  Someplace big enough for our stuff, someplace cheap enough we can afford (think around 1,500 bucks a month).  Someplace that will recognize that our years of spotless rental history and income is worth something.  SomeONE who will understand that our credit issues are not lethal, and that, had we had the 15+ months to work with we thought we did, we'd have had those issues fixed.  

If you know anyone, please, please let me know.  I've never been in a position like this, and it's terrifying.

So much, but not a lot.

Spent the day doing parental maintenance.  My mom will be 80 this summer.  EIGHTY.  Damn.  She needs a new physician in a big way--her current doctor is a peer, and it's showing.  She was complaining about her hearing a few weeks ago (it's hit the point that her TV is cranked beyond gun-range decibels), and he said "Well, old lady, you're going deaf--you are getting up there!"  However, a trip to the local clinic showed that, rather than going deaf, she had a TON of wax impacting her ears.  Clinic blasted the wax out with water, and suddenly she can hear like a twenty year old again.  Unfortunately, she's also staggering around a puking like a twenty year old at a frat party.  Happens sometimes, and her balance is now completely shot.  Yes, she lives alone.  2,200 miles from here. Thankfully, my sister does see her most days, takes her to the store and spends time.  Without that, can you imagine?

Damn.

______________________________

Came across the concept of "Micronations" here in the States, and our boy was absolutely entranced by the ridiculousness of the idea.  In particular, we read about "The Republic of Molossia."  We were researching something else entirely when we came across a photo.  Just a patch of land, but I looked at him and said "That's got to be Utah or Nevada--no where else looks like that."  But the picture was labeled as some National Park in "Molossia."  Which, of course, I'd never heard of.  I was right--it's in Nevada.  And it is terribly silly.

Yeah, silly.  Its own post office (which serves Molossia), its own currency, an ongoing war with East Germany (LOL!), and the requiring of passports for those not citizens of allied nations.  Cute, but also very silly.  My boy, however, thought it was terrifically cool. So thank you "President" Kevin Baugh of Molossia for capturing my boy's imagination.  

The above image is a link to Molossia's website

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Heading up to Shenandoah tonight, it looks like.  If I can stay awake that long.  There's a brand-spanking-new meteor shower in town called "Camelopardalids," and they're promising from 200 to 1000 meteors an hour.  The meteors will appear to radiate from near the North Star, and we're in a prime viewing area. 

 Meteor showers have been a family tradition since our boy was very small.  We used to haul sleeping bags up to Pineview Reservoir in Huntsville, Utah and lie flat on our backs, looking up.  Heck, hubby and I used to do it even before there was a boy.   Since we have an annual pass to Shenandoah, the only thing this is going to cost us is the gas.  And that's more than we should be tossing out, but this is something new--a brand new meteor shower!  But the money aspect does bring me to my scary news . . .

The landlord.  I feel like I should type that in all caps, you know?  Like so:

THE LANDLORD

< insert ominous chord here >

emailed last Thursday.  In his usual way, his greeting was . . . hang on.  I need to start from the beginning.

You may remember that last September, our lease expired.  Reading over the lease in advance, I found a clause stating that, if either party intended to not renew the lease, at least 60 days notice would be required.  Well, I gave almost 90 days notice that we DID intend to renew, and he gave no notice whatsoever.  Which was scary, but when the lease expiration date came and passed, we figured we were okay.  Then, a few weeks ago, a flurry of snail-mails showed up, addressed to him, from various mortgage companies.  That was scary.  We bundled them up and mailed them to him.  And then he emailed.

Now, back to where I was.  The landlord emailed, with a jovial "Hey, there!" greeting in the subject line.  The kind we've learned to fear, because this guy is only jovial when there's something he wants us to do to his benefit.  He's otherwise either silent or somewhat unfriendly. So the very title shook me just a bit.  I opened the email, and oh.  Hell.

He announced he's looking to sell the place.  Wants to know if we want it.  There are a few problems with that:

1. We don't want it.  We're looking to move in 16 months, when the lease is up.
2. We can't get the financing.  Not without a down payment, and we do not have a down--in fact, we have no savings whatsoever.  
3. Our credit is still a disaster from the move out here--no delinquencies, and our rental history is pristine, but our "available credit to debt" is a mess--not enough available credit.

That third one (along with the no savings) is what's possibly going to land us homeless.  Literally.  See, we have no money for a deposit on a new place.  We have two grand of deposit in THIS place, but even if he did give that back to us, that's months after we leave here, which doesn't help at ALL.  This place is in as good a shape as when we moved in, but he's requiring we have the chimney professionally swept (even though it wasn't when we moved in), the carpets professionally cleaned (even though they weren't when we moved in), and the place sprayed for fleas (even though there are no fleas--the dog is on meds to make sure of that).  In other words, he wants us to drop 500+ dollars we don't have to get back our two grand.  So we have credit that'll get us turned down by potential landlords (never mind the pristine rental history), and no money.  

I don't have to tell you just how terrifying this is.  And once I told him we didn't want to buy, he fell silent.  Utterly silent.  It's what he does when you don't give him what he wants.  

I know, right about now, you're probably saying to yourself "But you have a lease!  No worries!  You're protected from this sort of thing!"

Well, it turns out not really.  Because, you see, hidden deep in that lease is another clause.  One that reads something like this:

"Should this lease be renewed, either party can end it by giving the other 60 days notice."

Yeah.  I didn't spot that one.  I'm not a lawyer.  What I am is an idiot.  So fact is, he only has to give us 60 days notice.  Plus, he can send real estate agents and potential buyers through here at any time.  

You're probably thinking we're stupid for not having the money to move.  What can I say?  We expected to have 16 more months to save up for a move.  And in 16 months, we'd have had the money.  What we really need is a consolidation loan for our bills, which would take our payments down from almost 900 a month to about 300.  That extra 600 a month would enable us to save money hand over fist.  Of course, no one will lend us that money, so it's pure fantasy.  

So, here's where we stand:  No money for first and last plus deposit and rental truck (between four and five grand).  Possibly as little as two months to find that money (and no way to do so--we don't even have four grand worth of stuff to sell).  No one to float us a loan or act as guarantor on a new rental (if we COULD come up with the first and last plus deposit and truck).  

Our boy is scared to death.  What if we can't find a place that will allow our dog?  No exaggeration, I fear for him if we lost our dog.  Hell, I fear for me.  For my husband.  What if we cannot find a place to live?  What happens to people who can't find a place to live?  I'm almost fifty years old, this is not how life is supposed to be.  I am terrified.  

I'm considering crowd-funding.  Yes, that's begging.  I am horrified.  I am so ashamed and embarrassed.  But we're caught.  I'm trying not to completely down myself because we DID think we had 16 more months to have this saved up.  But ultimately, I feel totally responsible.  And I don't know if we have any option other than crowd-funding.  

I need to call my Mom.  Tell her I didn't mean it when I said I was considering taking a dive off a rooftop.  

Even if I did.

Woids Fail Me

I've been struggling with bursitis in my right knee for a few weeks--it's improved markedly, thanks to this amazing product:

That's a Smart Temp Reusable Hot/Cold Pack, and holy cow!  I asked hubby to pick up some Icy Hot or something on that order, but he came home with this, and I couldn't be more glad.  I use it as an ice pack--it straps in place, it molds to the knee (or whatever body part), and it works like a dream.  If you've got joint problems, a sore back, arthritis, bursitis, or any injury that requires heat, cold, or alternating, this is the thing! Seriously, and it's CHEAP, too.  Check out my review here:  

SMART TEMP HOT/COLD PAD: TOOK THE SMARTS RIGHT OUT OF MY KNEE!

I can't recommend this hot/cold pack highly enough.  For a measly 12 bucks, it's done more for my pain than steroids, NSAIDs, and PT combined.  Give it a shot, you won't be sorry.  Use my link to do so, make us both happy!

I'm "working" for a new writing site--Veryhelpful.net.  Basically moderating, doing spam control, etc.  No pay yet, but I'm hopeful.  It's a terrific site, the gentleman who put it together is marvelous.

And that's about all.  Hoping to visit a few cemeteries out west of here next weekend.  Supposed to be over 80 degrees, so I'm not sure how much fun it's going to be, but we'll see.


Oh, did I tell y'all about the goats at the last cemetery?  One of them fell utterly in love with our boy--followed him everywhere, it was beautiful.  Here's the goat (a girl) who loved our boy:

And here's her pal, Ben, who was jealous of anyone who paid her attention:

An update here:  the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate.  This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference.  But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that.  Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness.  Truly.  So please.

Please.

Rock God Revisited

I want to tell you a story about someone.  Someone I was once very close to.

Sean was a friend once.  Hell, he was more than that.  We met on campus in 1992.  He approached me to tell me that my pro-choice button on my lapel sucked . . . but that he admired the guts it took to wear in Mormonville.  It wasn't long before Sean was giving my then-husband guitar lessons in return for tutoring in algebra.  My husband never did master the guitar, though Sean did teach  me the following fancy Allegro (no, that's not Sean playing):



My ex did manage to drag Sean through Algebra--a good thing, as Sean had already failed it twice and had no hope of finishing his degree without it.

When my husband and I separated in 1993, Sean and I embarked on what we affectionately called our "three month stand."  So called because there was no way we could have ever maintained a long-term relationship, so we went into it knowing it was only for a while.  Our politics, our world-views, and especially our relationship with intoxicating substances--none were compatible.  But Sean was fun, smart, impossibly tall, and had long, bleached-blond hair halfway to his ass.  Hey, it was the very early 90s.  Hair was still in.

Before you get any ideas about me, Sean was my THIRD partner.  The other two had been HUSBANDS.  He was my first AND last "fling."

For three months, Sean and I were together almost every moment.  I often blame my car accident, which really did do a number on my "impulse control" and ability to make rational decisions.  No doubt, that was part of it.  Sean had an ex-girlfriend, a toddler, and was only paying 25 bucks a month in child support while his ex (later his wife, even later his ex-wife) was living with (and being supported by) her hyper-disapproving Mormon parents.  We tangled often about that--about his being able to afford smokes and beer but not child support.

I remember one day, the ex showed up at Sean's (he was in a roommate situation with four other college students at a condo owned by the father of one of the students).  She was always nice to me, but always looked utterly wounded by my existence.  She considered me gravely, then said wistfully, "I wish I could be you--then he'd love me forever."

That poor girl.  Sean really did put off a shine that drew you, a warmth that made you feel you needed to be close.  I doubt it ended that way, but for a long time I think she was helpless to resist the draw.

For a few months, I hung out with the band Sean played with, learned how to run their sound board.  I don't say "Sean's Band" because it wasn't--they'd lost their guitarist and he was a hired gun.  They were called "Genghis Khan," and holy cow, they were derivative.  They practiced at an old farmhouse in the country.  Place was crawling with hundreds of ferel cats and kittens.  The vocalist was a Tom Keifer wannabe (vocally--looks-wise he was more a Sam Kinison clone), the other guitarist was so wasted most of the time it was impossible to get much out of him, the bassist . . . wasn't (they had no bass player), and the drummer . . . was sober and so much better than the rest of them. He and Sean should have started a band, left those losers behind.

Instead, he slogged along and fell deeper and deeper into the booze and drugs.

One day, Sean said he was really wishing he was back together with his ex, the mother of his lovely little boy.  I said he should go for it.  And he did.  Sadly, Sean had some serious impulse control issues.  He went back to his ex, I hooked up with my now-husband, yet Sean kept trying to get back with me.  Not for a long-term thing, but a "friends with benefits" arrangement.  He really just never could stop himself.  Something that haunted him all his life.

Finally, his advances became so enraging that I cut off all contact for years.

When we reconnected, it was via Facebook.  He'd gone through years of addiction, had flipped hot and cold hard-core religious (you know how the addiction thing can do that), but his politics had taken a hard swing left.  He admitted to barely remembering me--turns out, he'd been utterly addicted even then.  Most of that time was a blur for him.  We palled around on Facebook for a couple of years, but then he and his latest wife (not sure how many there were, at least two) fell apart.  It started with him taking responsibility, admitting it was his temper, his sarcasm, his drug use, but, as he always said, one of his greatest talents was turning things around on folks, and it went from being his fault to her being a faithless whore in record time.  It was all played out very publicly on his wall, and it was horrible to see.  Like a train wreck of meanness and deceit.

And then, because (he later admitted) this is what he did when things got rough, he turned on me.  And, to be fair, his other friends, too.  There was nothing special about me.  Because addiction circles so often fall into the "higher power" trap, Sean, seemingly out of the blue, went nutty on me over my atheism.  It was insulting, immature, unreasonable, and really quite shocking.  Like I said, "out of the blue."  My response?

I smacked him down so hard my hand is still stinging.

His reaction?

Shock.  He was stunned that I had come back on him.  Said that people usually just took it from him because that's how he was.  That was, in fact, the backbone of his apology:  this is how I am when things aren't going right in my life, and I am helpless to stop myself.  No promise to never do it again, just a wow, sorry I did that, I was out of line, but this is how I am.  Get used to it, because it's sure to happen again.

No.  No, I refused to "get used to it."  And I told him so.  Told him that I was sorry, but that, at my age, I didn't have a place in my world for someone prone to spontaneously erupting on me like that.  I didn't have what it took to tolerate abusiveness or drama.  I didn't NEED to tolerate it.  If he couldn't assure me that this was never, ever, EVER going to happen again, I was going to have to walk away.

He couldn't, and I did.

That was a couple of years ago.  Today, I opened the paper to come across Sean's obituary.

I gasped when I saw it.

Says he died of a perforated ulcer, and I'm sure that's true.  But what he really died of was a life of alcohol and drug abuse and an inability to get his act together in any meaningful way for any real length of time.  Apparently he'd just gotten a new job, was very happy, very optimistic.  But that was Sean--the same scenario played out again and again.  Like he was trapped, doomed to repeat that pattern until . . .

Until now.

Poor Sean.

And my son?  Well, he still plays that old white Ibanez (gone cream-colored with the years) I bought from Sean all those years ago.  Sean had two of them--he kept one, and the other wound up being my son's.  Is there some meaning there?

Probably not.

An update here:  the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate.  This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference.  But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that.  Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness.  Truly.  So please.