Living Proof

While opening my fortune cookie after I had Chinese take out, Confucius say, “The mightiest oak in the forest is just a little nut that held its ground.” A little nut? That’s an understatement. Piles of bottles of wine and a ton of empty beer bottles thrown into the recycling bin had one garbage man asking if we were holding a bar & grill out of our home. I don’t blame him. Who could believe we drank that much? Especially when my relatives come over from Brooklyn—empty bottles of Dewar’s are thrown into that pile as well. Memories of events held at my home always included alcohol. Uncle Tony pacing around with a tumbler full of scotch on the rocks in his hand, telling detailed stories of Brooklyn in 1952. It would always be followed with the street location. In fact, all of his stories revolved around the year of 1952. He never told a story without his ‘personal beginning’-- the date, then the location. It’s like Norton on the Honeymooner’s playing Swany River on the piano before ...

There was one particular summer day, where all I wanted to do was go home and sleep. I was tired. I was working for a telecommunications company in their call center. I used to take calls from nasty customers who wanted to know why they had a three cent mark up in their tax section on their phone bill. I would tell them to take it up with their congress. Little biddies that would call up yelling , because everything is so damn complicated. “It’s not like the old days when all you had to do was dial an operator and get a live person.” And then give me the “big hang up” on her old rotary phone. Our boss always offered “E time”. This meant, “excused time”. If it wasn’t busy, they would let a number of people go home —but without pay. This day, I didn’t care if it was without pay, I needed my bed. Other employees wanted to take advantage of the great weather. Not me. It was 3pm, and I was ready to take a long needed nap. Madelene was still working, and I had three hours to myself to jus...

Sunday and Mondays are fun for me, because Madelene and I are off, and we both get to spend some time together. Every other Monday, I usually have to step into my psychiatrist’s office for a little useless chitchat. Now, here’s my problem. Madelene and I love to go out for dinner and drinks after my therapy appointment—which ends at 4pm. Oh yeah--we go for the ‘early bird special’ like a couple of old retired bats. I like to dress up and do my hair more, because this is basically our date night. Now, when I walk into my doctor’s office, he sees me all dressed up with my hair done and perfumed sprayed. My demeanor is happy, because I’m excited to be going out with Madelene. This is not good when you’re trying to tell someone you’re stricken with anxiety attacks numerous times per week, and then thrown into a hole of depression after these episodes. How can he believe me? “Doc, I keep having these anxiety attacks more frequently these days, but my concern is the depression that follow...

Here’s the deal. I’m losing another friend. Yep. I’m losing her to good sex. I mean, how can I compete? Good sex is better than a good friend any given day! But, I totally understand. Here I am, sitting with Madelene, dialing my buddy up. “Jen?” “Uhh…….yeh…….what’s up?” “Hey! How are you? What are you doing?” I start blabbering on like a fool. “Umm, Deb….can I call…you….(giggle giggle)….back?” “Oh. Sure. You okay?” “Oh…I’m just fine!” She says, in this tone that told me, “Hey! I’m getting laid!” So this is good. My good friend who was looking for love has finally found it. In fact, she is coordinating her time and schedule for her love fests. Isn’t love grand? That feeling of anticipation of ravishing your loved one? It’s almost magical. The grass seems to be greener, the birds are singing louder, and the air smells nicer—everything around you is pure bliss. Love does that. I get a call. “Deb?” “Hey! How are you? Sorry about last night when I called…” “Oh no problem. Yeah, about la...

Is it me? Or were all creative writing teachers in high school hot? I always fell for them. Was it their deep intellect that went beyond numbers and figures? And believe me, their figures were nice. Was it their romantic side spewing out – believing every word as she says, “Where for art thou?” Except, she’d be directing it to Romeo. For the love of God—half these teachers weren’t even considered ‘hot’ by any means if you were to see them in a grocery store or any public place. I was in awe with their minds. Wow. I never thought the day would come when I would ever say that. Okay, back then, everyone and anyone was smarter than me. I was too stoned to notice. My whole memory of high school was a complete blur. Priorities remained in the dime bag we smoked before school, and the bell that rang at 3pm. That was it. If we were lucky, we’d be scramming down the school’s lawn to cut out at noon and go to a friend’s house to party. “Debbie……….Debbie?......... Debbie!!!” My teacher shoute...

You truly have to wonder if there is a God sometimes. Circumstances and other factors can leave you stranded seeking answers. Even people with the strongest faith sometimes go through a struggle of discouragement. Do we ever stop looking for answers when we don’t get the answer we want? Is it okay to only have faith—if it applies to rules only ‘you’ accept? Sometimes we hate to hear the word ‘discipline’ and ‘action behind our faith’. I believe a lot of people seek out religions that fit their lifestyle—or no religion at all. Have our flaws and imperfections scared us away from God? Remember, God loves each and every one of us as His own. He knows we’re human—He was here as ‘one of us’. We sometimes go through trials and heartaches; we get depressed or have anxiety about life. There are times when trouble comes our way, and we think God isn’t there with us—to help us get through it—but the truth is, He is. “How can God let this happen? Why isn’t God helping me? Why am I so depressed?...

Is it true? Have I become ‘one of them’? Those friends who are way too busy to even give you a phone call to see how you’re doing? Am I the type of person who’s way too busy with a bunch of nothingness to even send an email? Chatting is a waste of time and energy—a bunch of text all crammed in a little box telling one another lies about how ‘good’ everything is. Or is it? When I worked twelve hour shifts at a conventional job, it was like I had all the time in the world. I always had time to hang out with a friend after work for a beer, or go out for dinner—and now, it seems as though my motivation to even keep these relationships alive, have me somewhat puzzled. Consumed in my writing and getting my book out has become priority to me. Even when I’m done thinking I’m complete with my editing, I have Madelene go over it. A second pair of eyes is always good. I have her consumed as well. Madelene sometimes gets off at 8pm, and I’m still working in my office. We meet one another in t...