Yeah, yeah, yeah. I
haven't posted anything in what, weeks? Months? I've been busy. And if you
notice the title of this post, you should be able to figure out
exactly what's been going on. It hasn't been fun, not by any stretch
of the imagination. But at the end of the day we're safe and secure,
and that's what really matters. But since you really want to know –
or maybe nobody's actually reading this other than the occasional bot
or meth addict, and the audience I'm being so conversational and
chatty with strictly in my mind – here's what's been happening.
Things got rolling about
four months ago, when Joy found out that my now former little brother
– more on that later - was sneaking into our room to steal things.
At first it was little things, paint brushes and such. But then Joy
noticed that some of her painkillers were missing. We went to my
mother to let her know what was going on, and she ignored us. Joy
demanded that I put a lock on the door to our room, and I found one
at the local Wal-Mart. A month later, the little bastard noticed the
lock on the door and ran to his mother. I got a text message
demanding I remove the lock from her, and barely half an hour later
another message came, this one calling me deluded for believing my
wife's accusations. A third message simply ordered me to move out.
Now.
Did I fail to mention
that I was in Nevada at the time, in the middle of a gig with Steppen
Stonz at the Atlantis in Reno?
They've refused to answer any of my phone calls or text messages
since. And with me eight hundred miles away and unable to do anything
to rectify the situation, I told Joy that I'd do what I could when I
got back to town.
She
wound up in the spare bedroom of a friend of ours, and I stayed with
her there for a week or so, until my next run to Nevada. I spent that
time trying to make arrangements for a more permanent place to stay,
and we got my father to agree to buy a fifth-wheel trailer for us
that we could move to a local RV park. I'd have to quit the band and
get a real job, but by now I was angry enough that I was willing to
overcome my general antipathy towards the normal workaday world and
join in for however long was necessary. The fun part would be
actually finding a job in a county with an effective unemployment
rate still around fifteen to twenty percent. But more on that later.
I
still had one last run to Nevada to make, and ties to sever as gently
as possible. A week in Elko came first at the Red Lion, and that went
pretty well, other than our keyboard player Chris deciding to bail on
us at the absolute last minute. Jef Derderian came back to help us
out for a few days before a new player came in to play the last night
of that gig. He's a nice kid from Las Vegas named Dominico – sorry,
I don't have his last name. He was another friend of Jef's,
continuing that strange line of players that have passed through the
band since Mike and Arthur sent Cliff packing. Miguel, Alex, Jef,
Chris, and now Dominico. That lack of consistency must be driving
Mike and Arthur nuts. And my impending departure wouldn't help things
any. After Elko, we had a few days off before heading to Minden for
three nights at the Carson Valley Inn. I set up the pop-up trailer
and settled in for a few days to recover and plot a strategy to break
the news as gently as possible to the guys while we were in Minden.
A
string of thunderstorms was passing over Northern Nevada the day I
headed up to Minden. In hindsight, I should've recognized the omen
for what it was and stayed in Reno. Arriving at the CVI, I found out
that I wasn't expected – nor were the rest of us. Simply put, we
weren't on the schedule. I did my best to contain my shock and anger
and told the manager that came down to inform me of the situation
that there had to be some sort of error, and I'd let the rest of the
guys know what was going on, and I told them that while I was
disappointed, I wasn't angry with them and that they were doing the
best they could to help a confused drummer. The manager told me that
she'd give Stew Stewart a call, and I told her that I'd call Mike to
see if there was some way the gig could be rescued.
Mike
didn't take the news well. Y'see, he's very neat and organized when
it comes to the band's calendar. Stew had given us this particular
week on the schedule back in December – something I'd told the CVI
– and he wrote the dates down in his calendar as Stew gave them to
him over the phone. He called Stew, and the response he got back was
either a study in ignorance or pure chutzpah
– we were supposed to be playing John Ascuaga's Nugget that
weekend. Either way, his response was total bullshit because the
Nugget had closed its cabaret, new ownership deciding to move the
sports-book into the cabaret's new location while the space that held
Trader Dick's would now become a Mickey Gilley's Honky-Tonk, part of
said new ownership's goal to move the Nugget to a country-and-western
theme. Regardless of the tack of Stew's line of bullshit, we were
still out a gig. And this would continue to haunt me – and it still
is, and will likely do so for at least the remainder of the summer.
I
retreated back to the pop-up and hunkered down for what would now be
two weeks off. After some frantic searching and e-mailing, I found a
buyer for the trailer. A polite young Hispanic couple handed me a sum
of money that I split with Michelle and Bill before driving away with
the trailer the day before I started what would be my last gig with
Steppen Stonz back at
the Atlantis. I informed the guys of my situation that week, and I
think they handled it pretty well. I told them that I didn't want to
quit the group, but I had no choice. They let me know that should I
ever come back to Nevada, my chair would be waiting for me. Maybe
I'll be able to take that offer up someday. But I kinda doubt it.
Upon
my return to Port Angeles, my father confirmed that he'd buy us a
trailer, though it'd likely be an older one that needed repairs and
cleaning. The weekend after I got home, he purchased a particular
trailer that an old friend of his had for sale, and he and I did our
best to clean it up and make it fit for human habitation. Then we
found out that it needed a new refrigerator and some work on the
floors do to water damage. At the end of the day, he admitted to me
that he should've bought a different trailer – any money he'd saved
in the original purchase was long gone, and that he'd spent twice the
purchase price on repairing the thing. And after a few fits and
starts, we found a place to park the trailer.
We're
living in the Peabody Creek RV Park now, just above downtown Port
Angeles. And our home is an old Alpenlite 32' fifth-wheel. No cable
or internet, but we're dealing with that as best as we can. My drums
are stashed at my father's place for safe keeping. And after six
weeks of searching, I found a job, working for a company associated
with Safeway. Eventually I'll be merchandising stores in five
counties, working overnight for $12.50 an hour and mileage. I
actually start my orientation tomorrow, a regional manager driving up
from Portland in the morning to do the deed. It's still only
part-time work, but our bills are modest enough that as little as
twenty hours a week should cover things nicely. We'll still require
government assistance, but hopefully things will hold at least
through the winter. By then, we might be in a much better situation.
Joy's
attorney here in town was able to get Social Security to hear her
case again – though I think a letter to our local Congressman may
have helped as well. The hearing is at the end of September, and a
positive result could put a not insignificant sum of back SS/D
benefits in our pockets by the time her birthday rolls around, and
around seventeen hundred a month in our bank account for the rest of
her life. And where we go from there is up to us. Staying in Port
Angeles is an option, but not my preferred option. After my mother's
decision to believe whatever story her drug-addict criminal subhuman
child over the truth of his criminal behavior and kick us out of the
house, I chose to disown them – and I've even gone to the extent of
removing pictures of myself from their house, systematically writing
myself out of their history. And Joy and I have a few other surprises
in store for them. Nothing illegal or physically damaging, mind you.
But it will be painful to them nonetheless.
I've
done my best to remain positive through all this. It isn't easy. But
nothing worth having ever is, as the old saying goes. But there's a
light at the end of the tunnel now. I have a job. I have a home. I
have the woman I love at my side. And with luck the future will
become a lot brighter in the near future. I should let go of all the
anger I have towards my former family. But it's hard to do so. I want
to punish them for their stupidity and arrogance. But I think
watching my mother and stepfather descend into senility with only a
shiftless lazy punk to look after them, a phony hipster with no
desire to do anything other than sponge off of them – I think
that's revenge enough for me. I have more important things to worry
about. I have a family. I have Joy, her children and grandchildren. I
have my friends. I'm still trying to get a local band together,
though that may never come to anything really fruitful. I even got
the opportunity to play a sort-of reunion with Powerlight last
weekend, and that could lead to future gigs if my work schedule
allows it.
But
what's most important is that I need to put my nose to the proverbial
grindstone and work hard to maintain what I have in front of me. I
have to put the past behind me and move forward.
