Monthly Archives: December 2011


I was watching a movie where a mother says she was proud at her daughter. That alone made me think. My mom or dad were never proud of me. And now they aren’t proud of me either. They can’t be anything anymore, they are dead. My dad past away of age, 84. I didn’t go to his funeral. By dying he left me so why would I? It’s not like I called him one day and told him I would come over so he could die. My mom, I caused her dead my family says. They say I was a difficult child. I made her brains explode. After 2 aneurysms within a period of 10 days, she slipped into a coma. 16 months later she decided to wake up, live in a wheelchair for several more years, and then past away after an internal bleeding in her stomach. She didn’t like me. And neither did my dad. I have a picture of each of them. They are somewhere in a pile on the floor of my apartment.

There isn’t much in my apartment besides that pile. An old couch, a tv that is not working well, a dining room table. And dirty dishes in the sink. Not that it matters. No one ever comes over to my place. Except for my kids, I haven’t had a visitor since I moved in three years ago. Why would they come over? Never had a visitor in the place before this, and the one before that.

It’s a sunny sunday afternoon, and I am siting on the old couch. It’s dark green and left over from my married life. The tv is turned off, the movie had ended and now I am just staring at the wall. It feels like the Sunday afternoons when I was little. My dad was sitting in a chair in one corner of the living room. He had a magazine with crossword puzzles in his lap. My mom is sitting in a chair in another corner of the living room. She is doing some cross stitching. The tv is turned off. I am laying on the couch in the living room. I don’t think they notice me. They are too busy with their own activities. It’s quiet. The silence makes me stare at the wall paper. I hear kids playing in the street. They are laughing, running, screaming, having fun. They didn’t ask me to come outside. They didn’t like me.

Today is a special day though. It’s Mothers day. My Mom and Dad are waiting for one of my brothers and both my sisters to show up. After they arrive, they will all sit down, have a drink, eat some snacks. Then later that afternoon, we all go out to a restaurant to have dinner. My Mom and Dad know how to talk to them. They always smile when they are around. They never talk to me, or smile when I am around.

One of my sisters arrive with her husband. I am told to get up from the couch, they need to sit down. They start talking, smiling. I am heading to my room. I hear several times the doorbell ringing, more voices in the house, more happy conversations, more laughing. I am in my room, waiting for my sisters or brother to say hi, laying on the floor watching the ceiling and the wall.

Suddenly I hear chairs moving, and the front door to open. Then I hear my moms voice. “Come down, get your coat on, we are leaving.” I get up from the floor. I join them to leave, hoping someone says hi. Mom says “hurry, where’s your coat?” I grab my coat, join them in the car, leaving for the restaurant. No one said hi, no one looked at me. I want to stay home, staring at the ceiling and the wall.


Another day, another disappointment

I walked into this pub and sat down at the bar. I was the only visitor. For some reason I can’t just stand the taste and smell of beer at this time, so I ordered a rum and coke. After she set down my drink, she picked up a magazine and started reading. An article about an uninhibited look into sexual lives. Like I know what that was. I, the one person on this planet that is deprived from sex for many years. I was sitting there. Perplex staring at the article, and then looking up staring at her. Why would she read that? And why in public? And why in front of me?

I often thought she was beautiful. Beautiful brown hair with a red glow over it. Not just plain skin over bone but not overweight, and very well build shoulders. Nothing lust, just plain beauty. But now all has changed, forever. She became a different person. A person that is no more or less than an animal. No intelligence involved. Only reading about and thinking about the drive for lust and sex.

Upset I finished my drink, and put a few dollars on the bar to pay for the drink. I left without saying a word, heading home. When I got there, I crawled in bed, covered up my head, leaving this awful world behind. Tomorrow will be a better day…

It just hit me…

Yesterday, it was one of these days. You know, you’re by yourself, enjoying a glass of wine and some french brie. Unfortunately, not a Brie de Meaux made from raw milk, but just the ‘ordinary’ brie made in France from pasteurized milk, the only one you can get in the United States, the land of unlimited possibilities. Except then for the possibility to purchase real brie. So, as we have that established now, it isn’t that unlimited. And then there was a small lemon pie as well that needed to be eaten.¬†But I digress.

Still, it was enjoyable, sitting on the couch, Vivaldi’s Le Quattro Stagioni playing in the background and my brains going 100 miles an hour, jumping from one thought to another. That happens often to me just because I am a kind of hyper.

I poured myself another glass of wine. It tasted much better now. For some reason, the first drinks didn’t taste that well but when I got used to the taste, it really was a great wine. I started texting some female friends to see if they wanted to join me in my battle with the bottle of wine. Not that I was going to share this one bottle, but there was an army of two bottles. I, for sure, was going to win this battle and this soldier wouldn’t mind to share this wine with some female company. I would come out as a hero, the one that conquered great bottles of wine.

But all my enthusiasm would fade rapidly. None of them were going to spend time with me. There were the ones that just plain ignored my text, and others that made me believe they had an excuse.

But what is the real reason they left me battling the army of wine all by myself? Why don’t they want to spend time with me? I am reasonable smart, have a decent job, love taking trips, love good food, good wine, but still, no one out there that even is remotely interested in spending time with me.

And then it just hit me… Women, with the exception of a few, aren’t good food critics. And I am not talking the ones on TV but the writing ones. Phyllis Richman is the only one I know that has a stellar reputation. And women aren’t good wine connoisseurs either. I can’t even think about one name in that category. Women just don’t understand quality. Hence, I am sitting on the couch by myself, finishing one last glass of wine, and moved onto Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D minor.

The second bottle stayed closed. The army of wine bottles declared their victory.