Sunday March 22, 2009
There were two small short-lived showers of snow this morning.
Out of the sheer boredom of being restricted to near wood-stove warmth, I picked up the pile of papers that you dumped on me here last year, from your Seattle years into the transition to Methford. I read through them all, culling about half of them in the process. ¶ Got angry all over again—after three or more years of believing that I had gotten all my sense of anger and frustration off of my chest, so to speak, in the filling of three formerly-blank-paged books' worth of venting on the subject of what I still insist and will unto my grave are grossly-false accusations of unthinkable behaviors on my part toward the women of our familial unit—from reading of your commentary on this in that pile of letters, political commentary, and song lyrics; within which were two comments upon this very sad and misguided NON fact of really stupid stuff that was supposed to have been instigated by me THIRTY long long ages ago, and in a vastly different lifetime and mindset from that which runs my affairs today. I feel pissed when I think of how wrong it is that Fran And Jade could just continue to be writing me so totally off, when I know how much I could have added to our lives, had I only been allowed to continue trying to assemble a decently-grounded familial unit, as is the only real responsibility worth anything in life. And add some more sense of frustration to know that I still am able. Ready (?), willing and able, but for some antiquated female reticence to re-engage or just plain engage, because of stuff they have grossly disremembered about stuff that is nearly a third of a century out-of-date, already. Doesn't the new century demand some sort of adjustment? I'd think so. Geez: I could be such a nice fellow . . . and am. Yeah: I have some lower class issues residue, but it is only residual, now. ¶ Another mention I saw in your papers was a reference to (your also mis-assumed) my methamphetamine usage as if it were the major cause of the disappointing turn of events that squandered Francine's and my dreams of a family grouping. I must have mentioned how I learned, very early on, of the serious danger to my sanity and ability keep taking care of my continuum of, call them, survivability chores, and survived in the maelstrom of those times by sniffing the least corners off of the lines of speed on the mirror and passing it on to the guy who was hungering for two whole lines of the stuff & I never went looking to spend vital grocery money for more of it. Enough was offered, as it was, by the crowd of our music-band groupies who would always come swirling around my place an hour or so before our next music-making was to go down and laid out the lines because, I guess that they figured I would be a better performer on the speed. But, I also found, early on, that any more than the slightest amounts would have me concurrently playing three songs at once, which made great sense to me, but not to my bandmates. It's strange how one learns lessons sometimes. I learned my meager limits because my urge to do good band music-making was far stronger than my weakness for the drug; and do not feel that I was ever addicted. So: I would suggest that you are not doing yourself or me any favors by even mentioning me and speed in the same sentence—please? Thank you. I hate to say this but it was your dear mother who went nuts on the stuff and was jeopardizing your health by the lack-of-regard for the well-being of others (including you and your sis) that speed & heroin usage sponsors. She was dealing speed to get the price of heroin, & got busted for her troubles, which is when the only even partly-sensible adult in your lives then, decided to remove you both from further exposure to this disgusting scenario. I did not “tear” you guys away from your mom as much as I was only being eminently sensible and acting responsibly with respect to a parent with decent intentions and motivations on behalf of his or her children by disassociating you two from any further exposure to this badness. She had you living in a squalor that I have never allowed, and with criminal drug-addicts types of very-questionable nature; and in more than one circumstance, and with more than one man. God, I hate to even write this out . . . like me, she is not who she was, then, either; & I'd never deign to hold this out-of-date knowledge against the her-of-today, just as I'd encourage others to think in the same, and far more realistic vein—golden rule type stuff, you know.
Finally: Your continuum of comment about backbones' worries, discomforts, and sorenesses has elicited the following thought which may be helpful:
As I didn't feed you guys very much fish, you may be in need of some fish oil, which you must know is a joint lubricant. Buy some and try for a week or two. If you buy capsulated oil: Then you must chew-to-break the oil out of the capsules and spit the capsule material out, because it is not made from a human friendly material. When I was a kid, we had a bottle of the (cod liver) oil to spoon into kids; probably more for punishment than for our health, because the stuff does have a taste that is hard to get past. Or if you can find yourself in the company of some fairly fresh fish, you can gnash your gums on some of it in its raw form to get the oil . . .
FISH OIL, FISH OIL, FISH OIL!!!!!'s worth a try . . . yers is me: dadam him
(who was born, by the way, as Adam Nicolas Hulquist, not Nicolas George . . .)
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