You may have read in this newspaper stories where I brag about having helped my father's demise.
Why did I do that?
Because he put his hands on me. Well not his hands. He was too big a weakling to do that after I got bigger.
But what he did do, was have the cops haul me out of my bedroom to the mental hospital. Out of my house. Out of my childhood sanctuary. For very selfish reasons.
He didn't like how I was acting.
It wasn't bothering me. How I was acting. It was bothering him.
Well he was the moron that had a son. I didn't tell him to add a younger male to his household.
He did it and there I was. In my domicile. Which was within his domicile. And he had me removed.
I tortured him for that. And he died, early. Mission accomplished me.
*****
That was an unexpected ending to our relationship because from the time I was three, my daddy was my guardian. Not legally. Parentally. From my Gestapo bred mother.
She has changed very little from then except I learned how to deal with her.
Rather, she has learned how to deal with me.
Naval intelligence training tells me my mom had a baby for the insurance. So she'd have someone who cared about her when she got old. A dog that talks and won't die before she does.
She certainly didn't have a baby for the baby. Because she immediately handed me off to a babysitter, Wilma, and went back to work.
The next day.
November 1, 1984. I was born the day before. She spent just long enough to acknowledge she had a son then resumed her life, as if I was an adventure, not a destination. Which is why I cried when Wilma handed me back to her that evening.
I don't know why parents have children but once had, they don't go away. Thus why I don't want any.
So now I won't go away, at present. Because I don't want to. Because this is still my house. It never stopped being my house no matter how many p!gs have made me leave it for various reasons at various times.
*****
Yesterday my mommy asked me if I needed anything. I am committed to doing everything myself including laundry and groceries, but having her pick up recreational drugs for me is a win every time it happens, so I asked her to get me some.
Then began one of her favorite games. She asks me open ended what I want. I tell her. And she then decides if she wants to get it.
I can't detail how many things I haven't wanted she has gotten for me.
Dozens, of times. Hundreds of times in my life I have arrived to find "presents" from me maw. Except I didn't ask for any of them. And often, said specifically "STOP BUYING ME X Y AND Z" and wouldn't you know, she "forgot" again, and spent a lot of money on crap I didn't desire.
And yet if I asked for exactly what I wanted at 1/10 the price of the garbage she got me unasked, more often than not the answer was "NO". Her favorite word in life. Which was why it was my first.
She likes the power over a man. The power of money. Since she had to mooch cash of my dad, she wants me to mooch it off her.
Yesterday I moved 300 pounds - three hundred pounds, of expensive clothing out of one of my back rooms into the other so I could have more space. Some of these clothes still have the sales tags on them. From four decades of decedent beyond description shopping.
*****
Backtracking. Yesterday she asked me if I wanted anything. I replied I did. Delta-8 THC vape cartridges like she has gotten me before. She said okay.
Then we got in an argument about a different topic. I asked her if she would please be willing to come to NYC and testify as a character witness for me in my upcoming trial "The Justice System vs Justice". She didn't say "sure Alex anything to help you against that girl who was mean to you".
Instead it was something argumentative. Why it was a bad idea, which it's not. Or why it's impossible for her to do it. Which it's not. Both I wasn't interested in hearing. I wanted to hear "sure Alex anything to help you against that girl who was mean to you".
That would be my mother playing against type.
For my part, trying to be a good son and not really needing her for that travel-errand at all except on paper, I was hoping testifying for me would be a reason to drag her bored butt back to New York. Where she's from. For the first time in 30 years, just so she would do it.
I don't like seeing my mom act the old lady. Thus I light fires under her ass.
And in return for being angry and hanging up on her because she wasn't going to just be a "helpful mother" - without demanding a pint of flesh - something my ex-mother-in-law was only too happy to do for me - she didn't get me the weed.
Thus I am almost out. No biggie. I'll walk over tomorrow. Or the day after. I still have time today but as I said, no biggie.
But the principle, of her slight, really pissed me off. As if a Congresswoman agrees beforehand to co-sponsor one bill, but then backs off because of failed negotiations on the next. That's poor political sportsmanship.
I don't even like vaping. I want real marijuana. All natural, smoked since Jesus never existed. This vape crap no matter how natural the local place tries. It still, ain't the healthiest. But vape doesn't smell. And my mom with her keen nose for what hippies were enjoying while she wasn't enjoying medical school, overreacts when she smells it coming up through the floor.
So I being polite and against my health desires, will vape here instead of smoke.
But in righteous anger I told her that when I came back from New York after this next hearing, I would fill the house with ganja in retaliation. That caused her to go where she should not go.
Threatening to not let me into my house. Down here. This apartment.
I am not going to elaborate on what I would do should she refuse me entry, beyond saying "she will enjoy her life a lot less with me as an enemy". She oughta remember that from the Before Time, when it was all out war against both of them.
But she forgets. She still thinks she owns me.
Or this basement.
She does not.
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