Flip My House, Motherfucker

Where have I been?

I have no answer for that.

I am hopeful that my brain is re-calibrating. One never knows.

How the fuck are you? Happy? Healthy? Satisfied? 

I doubt you can answer yes to all three of those. None of us can. I know I can't.

You do the best you can and fake the rest, until the grave beckons. Then regret cracks open your skull with a vengeance.

Not a pretty picture.

I am picking up the pieces. 

Exercising regularly again, but at a much reduced pace and intensity. My body has been assaulted this year and I just don't feel right. I am trying, but I definitely feel old. I am too fucking young to feel old.

The booze thing is a hoot. I am consuming half of what I used to and I don't miss it. Who knew?

It all started with God. I was kneeling in desperation in a church 50 years ago. I explained that my life was only an imitation of what it should be and I felt lost and alone and directionless. I prayed: "What should I do, Jesus?"

His booming voice replied: "Have you tried whiskey?"

I was unaware at the time that he had a sense of humor. No harm done. The booze I have consumed over the last 50 years has served me well.

Shifting gears: We had plumbers over here last week. In conversation it came up that we want to dump this house on some poor, unsuspecting rube. An hour later the guy made us a cash offer. Pretty reasonable one. No inspection required. As is.We were stunned.

Of course we counter-offered.

Obviously, he flips houses and this house in this market is a good bet. They took a walk through the house and told us they would get back to us.

We immediately called our realtor. This is uncharted territory and if it happens, we need to make sure our asses are covered.

He was very supportive. He will walk us through the entire process, should it actually materialize, and make sure all the t's are crossed and i's are dotted. For a reduced fee, which we are happy to pay him. He is a good man.

This is the best possible situation for us. This house is a broke-down palace. An eye-sore. A boil on the ass of the neighborhood.

Going through the normal selling process will be long and painful. And we'll probably have to compromise the asking price considerably. A quickie sale like this to a guy whose only goal is to fleece some poor unsuspecting rube down the line (in line with our own philosophy) is the ultimate answer.

The odds are a trillion to one that this will go through. It came out of the blue. Hope is a dangerous commodity.

So Carol and I are cautiously optimistic but not unrealistically hopeful.

Kind of like the way you live your life.

We are waiting to hear back. Since last Thursday.

I mention it only to illustrate that our life is bouncing around like a red rubber ball. Up and down and all around. Fucking weird.

Still, I am fucked in the head, lost and distorted, and drifting aimlessly.

What advice you got for me now, Jesus?