copyright 2015 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
I called into the Doc's office. His office wasn't open long today but I wanted to touch base.
"I want you to continue with The Drops in the eye. But I want you to hit the eye with The Drops, and then hit it again in another hour," the Doc said.
"Yeah," he said.
My jaw dropped open. I wasn't happy. Some days I mused the Doc must be a closet Sadist because of the therapies he suggested. The therapies always worked to help the healing but some of them sure hurt like the dickens! I learned long ago that healing never came "pain-free". I didn't have to like it though. No sir.
The Drops already hurt like hell. Now I was going to do them twice, without much breathing and regrouping time. I could only guess how my eye would feel about it. Probably go on strike.
Later that day I heard the door to my Parent's former temporary house, the Glass House, open and close. Then I heard the sound of a car speed off down the road. I looked outside to see Alan, Nathan's assistant, driving away. When I walked down to refill the bird bath water at the Glass House there was a new notice posted on the door. My stomach was sick. Another notice. Wonderful.
It was an official Notice, letting us know we had a timeframe of fifteen days to get all our possessions out of the two houses on Parcel B, the Cabin and the Glass House, before the possessions were sold at auction. The Notice also stated we could attempt to buy them back at auction if we wanted. But we had to have the highest bid. We'd need a miracle to do that at this point.
I didn't like my life at all. I certainly didn't enjoy being evicted from my home.
I had wanted to move out of the Cabin for years, which I found slightly ironic now. Here I was back at living with my Parents again. Lovely. Joy. Joy. Joy.
I hated it. I hated everything about it. I hated the whole scene. It didn't feel like home anymore. I wasn't comfortable anymore. I wasn't in Kansas anymore. This couldn't be my life now.
And yet how could it not?
Because here I was living in it. I was back eating what they ate. I went to fix a meal and there were dirty dishes in the sink. The refrigerator was filled with rotten and old leftovers cluttering up the fridge because Mom couldn't handle throwing anything away.
"It's not bad [the food]," she'd say.
"That's not mold," she'd say.
"Just scrape it off," she'd say.
What the ever loving fuck is wrong with you woman?!
If I tried to throw anything away, and I do mean anything, Mom would go into a psycho Episode, full on. And the woman had become pretty damn unstable these days. I knew it was better all-around to pretend that there was nothing rotting in the fridge.
Their stuff was everywhere I looked. And now we had two cats in the house with the smell of litter boxes. I detested litter boxes. Nothing like the smell of litter in the morning, or the smells of fresh shit or urine from the litter boxes as you fix your dinner. I didn't live like this. But they did. This was normal for them.
I wanted to run into the forest and never come back. I wanted to run and scream and shred my soul. I couldn't take it. I just couldn't take it if I had to live like this. Of course I wouldn't get very far running because I could hardly fucking see. I needed relief but there was none in sight. Not anywhere. Not even a hint of it around the corner.
I went for a walk. It felt good to stretch my legs. The air was starting to cool down as evening was approaching. It was nice to walk but I was on constant alert for interlopers on the Farm. When I came back from my walk, I walked into the mudroom. I heard something that startled me. Skunk in the mudroom!
It was one of the skunk babies on a little excursion for the day. I motioned for him to get a move on out of the mudroom, which he did with a slight glance of suspicion. But I wasn't the one who didn't belong there. Course you would have never known that, based on his little skunk demeanor. Tough little arrogant shit.
We were having late meals. Trying to find things to cook was a problem. Once you had something, trying to find room to cook it was an issue. Then cleaning up after the cooking was yet another problem because the only working sink was in the master bathroom. We'd be lucky to have breakfast before 11 a.m. and dinner before 8 p.m. It was nightmare.
The house was a nightmare too. There were boxes everywhere, some piled up to the ceiling. Mom was famous for her "Grab and Go". She'd just start bringing stuff from the Glass House into the Main House. Stuff we didn't necessarily need or want or we'd even be able to use. But Mom wanted it here. She had to be surrounded by her stacks of stuff. I guess she felt naked without piles of useless shit around her. The more stuff she shoved into the house the harder the living conditions became. It didn't help my mood or my eye.
During dinner I just lost it. I broke down. I could no longer contain it. I was breaking a lot these days. I wasn't the type who would normally cry and get emotional. I really wasn't. I didn't cry at the drop of a hat. But these days, I should just walk around with a damn kleenex box attached at my hip.
I'd simply had enough of everything. I'd had enough of my eye. I had enough of the stress. I'd had enough of people driving up with fucking legal notices. I had enough of the postings on our homes. I'd had enough of rude people driving all over our Farm, people who were thinking about buying our property talking in loud voices about how they wanted to do this or do that with our land and our homes. I had had enough of it all.
"I know my joy is there. I just don't know how to get to it," I said to my Parents.
My voice was weak as it cracked with the intense emotions. Even though I could still breathe in the air, I was suffocating on my life. And the tears flowed down my face unobstructed.
"I'm just so tired of all of this. And I mean, I know we all are."
My Parents were silent.
What could they say?
Nothing. There was nothing to say really. We were all in the same boat. There was nothing I could say that they would be surprised at. And there was nothing they could say that was going to instantly change the reality of our lives.
I hated this new life. I hated everything about it and I hated myself in it.
It took a long time for the tears to stop but it would take much longer to stop hating everything I had become.
"He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."
(Abt. 525-456 BC)
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A TASTE OF DESTRUCTION Book 1 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
I woke up to a world crumbling around me. Our Family Farm was in the middle of foreclosure as an economic crisis rippled across America. Hope was fading fast and there was no end in sight to the chaos coming for us, ready to destroy everything we...