Day 129 – Single Gray Tote

I turned 40 almost a year ago and since then it’s like my body has decided to die. Currently I have a pinched …..something..located….somewhere in the back, neck, eyeball area of my body,  some sort of situation with my stomach/intestines and my right ovary hates me.
As I lie in a hot Epsom salt bath, doped on anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers I write this post.  (Lord hamercy)  My ceiling has seam-lines where whoever redid it, sucked.  It’s part of its character I supposed.  My house is 60+ years old, it has a LOT of character. Hahaha…
As bad as I feel today I will drag my loopy ass out of this tub and out of this house for a walk.  I know that if I don’t move around today that I’ll feel worse tomorrow. Ain’t nobody got time for worse!!!     New classes begin tomorrow.  It doesn’t end.  I think my courses need birth control.  Seriously. It’s like, I go to bed with 2 classes to go and when I wake up, there’s a whole litter.   Good grief.  Even with my dying body and shitty old house I’m happy.  The physical and emotional pains I feel.. they let me know I’m alive-  I was blessed with another day.   I do not think this is how my step-brother feels.

I had the not-so-pleasure of dealing with him this past Thursday.  Remember when I told you he was back in jail and how I was going to visit him so I could sever the ties? Well that never happened because he cancelled my visit.   When he called from jail I answered. He told me he was being released and had to get a ride up to Louisville to a halfway house.  Normally I would have told him to screw off; I don’t want the drama in my life, BUUUUT I couldn’t.  My dad and his mom were out of town for two weeks and I didn’t want him to rob their house (again) He has caused so much financial and emotional damage to our parents-   with them gone I had my chance to get rid of him.

I picked Earl up around noon.  While I waited for him, the jailer came out. I told the jailer straight up that I would take him where he needed to go, but if he tried to run or tried to give me any shit, I’d shoot him.  I wasn’t kidding. I wouldn’t have shot to kill but I would have shot to stop him.  He has caused too much grief in everyone’s life and he wasn’t about to cause it in mine. Before we left for Louisville I brought him to my house for a few hours while I waited for my partner in crime (Kayla) to get off work to ride with.   When she got off work, I loaded my gun and we headed out.

The trip was crazy. With interstates closed down and every town between here and there under construction, the would-be hour drive turned into two.  We ended up in a part of Louisville just past the security of the city lights.  The side street we turned down was dark and seemingly abandoned.  After passing the halfway house I did a u-turn and pulled over to the curb. Earl got out while kayla and I sat there with the car running and a loaded ruger. The allies were full of men as were the lower floors of the glass front buildings.  They were smoking and chatting it up-  they’d sometimes push carts with personal belongings across the dark, empty street.  Earl finally came back and took a single garbage bag of clothes with him.   I pulled out and didn’t look back.

The next day I had to remove two trashbags of clothes from the trunk.  They reeked of smoke and karosene. I took them to my basement and laundered them.  After folding them and placing them into a single tote I stopped.  I couldn’t believe how a 41 year old man’s entire life could fit into a single gray tote.  A man who began working at 15 so he could buy Nike Jordans. A man who graduated and had and good paying job at Hostess. A man who once had a wife and a daughter to come home to. A man who had a place to live and a car…he even had a dog. 
It was all gone and what was left was a single tote of jeans and tshirts,  few nice button downs, a belt, a hat and a pair of shoes caked with dried mud.  That’s all.
How does ones life end up in a single tote?
How do hard working, good people turn into drug addicted assholes?
I am truly heartbroken for the man Earl use to be, for his momma and for my dad.  It’s like Earl is dead, except he isn’t and I can’t mourn him properly.

That single gray tote downstairs bothers me.  I hate what it represents.


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