I’ve been looking for a project since 2013~since my kids left the nest, and I sold the house I almost lost 19 times during the recession, since I broke up with the second to last narcissist in my life; that toxic relationship in the form of the contractor I hired, even while alarm bells went off meeting him in person, with his charm, good looks and charisma, because I wasn’t paying attention to the universe trying to shield me of the forthcoming drama, packed with his lies, countless mistakes, and disrespect. All this from the very person I hired and was paying; hence, innumerable sleepless nights, lack of housing, potential lawsuits in my future, all neatly packaged with anxiety and unhappiness to the power of 10.

I made it through all of it, barely breathing, barely moving, getting fatter, carrying the surplus pounds in the area of my middle~wiggly, jiggly pounds I have to this day. I survived the bitter cold, the loneliness, the bears, the frozen winters, the gut wrenching stress dealing with deliriously stupid bldg. dept’s, that function at such a low level of care/expertise, as if the bar needed to be lower, with thousands of rules, laws and codes, that change too slowly or too rapidly whilst no one keeps up, causing multiple mistakes, costly to me, the homeowner person, in terms of time and money. me, who was sadly trying to comply with the “law,” and the “codes,” while they’re cozily protected by “govt.” cushions as to never, ever, be found guilty or liable for the stupidity they shell out.

Outdated Codes and Rules. The bane of my existence.


I’d sold the house I almost lost 19 times during the recession and moved to the broken cabin in a winter wonderland, soon chock full of blizzards and bears and ultimately, mold and hazmat suits, and immediately sold that very cabin, once it was declared safe and habitable for humans. I drove straight to Southern California, to find the sun again, to get out of the cold I’d come to dislike so much, far from the pristine Sierras, that had kept me prisoner in my home, unable to conceive, yet again, of digging myself out from piles of snow slammed against my door. 

I began the sublet route, first with a crazy, alcoholic who stayed in his bedroom 23 hours a day, watching TV reruns, and barfing loudly when he drank too much. I could hear him retching from my room next door, and while I worried he was dying on the daily, he’d eventually appear and venture out for food, cheerily acting as if all was well, and asked me to move out a week later, so his mom could move in, after assuring me I could sublet for two months.

I landed in another sublet where two gay women were like cats and dogs, in the way they loved and couldn’t stand one another, and gave the word dysfunctional a whole new meaning, and one of them felt I was a threat, and ranted and raved, and acted out her craziness on me, until one of her cats was eaten by a coyote and I never saw her again, just heard her pitiful wailing and grieving, that seemed to go on non stop.

Then, to an apt. which housed a giant rat trap in the living room, and cupboards full of booze I was welcome to, with the most comfortable bed I’d ever slept in, rat trap notwithstanding, and I was at peace. Alas, my car was hit by a neighbor, who left a note admitting guilt, clearly a Christian, poor as a churchmouse, so I said f*ck it, and she gave me a few hundred bucks, paid out in 3 installments, and I wrote off the several thousand dollar body job, cuz, did I really care? That was a good thing. I made someone’s day. Finally.

I started Crossfit, as my current rat trap, sublet landlord owned a Crossfit gym and was a nice guy and encouraged me to, while he was off training movie stars in the Bahamas, who were on film shoots. I was in LA after all, where how bodies look and move are the very things that make a living. This same Crossfit was the thing everyone said I shoudn’t ever try or do, because i was clearly too old, or it was dangerous and everyone gets hurt, or injured, or whatever, but f*ck it, I hated most rules by now, and anyone telling me what I can or can’t do, and liked the idea of booty shorts at the age of 65, though I immediately noticed there was NO ONE over the age of 40 in any of these gyms~youth alone seemed to dominate the strength training clubs, the epitome of the buff crowd, and if you were over 40 you may as well be dead.

So here we are. I f*cking hate the fact of being in the twilight zone of aging and everyone I know who’s old, or my age is slowing becoming like everyone else, afraid of everything; of falling, or losing their minds, wondering if they’re forgetting things, fearful of lack of money, lack of health, lack of insurance, lack, lack, lackity lack, and they’re all at once getting hip, or knee, or shoulder re do’s on the daily. WTF?

Why is everyone so afraid?

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