Ultimate Conclusion

 I have weaned myself off books.

At least the physical ownership of them. Sort of.

Like a recovering alcoholic, it's a one day at a time approach. I WANT me some books, but I settle for Kindle. The last few books I read have all been on Kindle. And I keep downloading books to my tablet.

Not bad. Not a horrible tradeoff. Convenient. And the cats love to rub the sides of their faces against my tablet, so that's a bonus.

I was thinking this morning. Senility will be the ultimate conclusion. When my mind is finally completely gone, (and many feel I am well on my way), I will only need one book, which I will read over and over again. Drooling and clapping my hands like a delighted toddler.

Life's symmetry.

An Audible SNAP!

Did you hear that?

Loud. Conclusive. That was the sound of the umbilical cord to the last 37 years of my life snapping with authority.

I have been trying to break free since we moved up here on 10/31. But life is never clean and neat.

I had to work for a couple of weeks. Same job, same people, same job-related bullshit. But last Monday was my last day at that job. The cord got thinner.

But my car needed megatons of work - brakes all around, tires all around, inspection, oil change. I did not want to risk that at a new place. So when I got out of work on my last day of work...........................I drove to Henniker. Left my car overnight. Carol picked me up (over an hour and a half round trip commute for her).

The next day we drove back down to Henniker and picked up the Royal Transportation. You would think that would be the end of it. Nope. But the cord did get thinner.

Later that week my car decided to fuck with me. Trouble starting it. Five or six tries every time. Once it started 10 seconds after I took my finger off the starter button and my foot off the break. This morning the dashboard lit up as if the engine had started ("careful driving, don't read this while driving") - I could even shift into and out of gear - but the engine was not running.

Had a medical appointment in Concord this morning, which is half way to Henniker, so when I got out I drove to fucking Henniker, assuming the latest bullshit was somehow related to the work they did last week.

It wasn't. The starter was going. So I waited around for 2 hours while they got a starter delivered, pulled out the old and installed the new. And spent another $42,000 on my car.

But when I left, I left.

All I have wanted since we moved on 10/31 was to be done with my old life. 100%. A perfectly clean break. I wanted to start living in our new town, revolving every aspect of our life around the new home, the new town, the new people, the new businesses, the new restaurants. Today is 11/28. I finally have what I want.

Jubilation reigns supreme.

A Blissful Ride

Driving back home after dropping another $42,000 on my car today in supreme bliss.

At least after I passed Exits 15E and 15W on 93 North. Turning left onto 93 North out of Concord has been my secret bliss every time I left work. But I gotta get past 15E and 15W.

Exits 13 and 14 and 15 were exits we used all the time. But Exit 16 was no man's land - we rarely took Exit 16. So Exit 16 is meaningful to me in a deeply symbolic way. It signifies freedom, it signifies newness, it signifies a fresh start on a new playing field.

I passed 16 and 17 and grew increasingly happier. Exits 18 and 19 get you deeper into the boonies, small town America. You can see it. You can feel it.

But Exit 20, man - Exit 20 is the first of four that get you into The Lakes Region. Exit 20 is our exit. I love saying "The Lakes Region" - I love the sound of it. 

"Oh, Muffy - whatever shall we do today?" "Well, Bif - I would simply die for a chance to go to the lake!" "Well then, Lovey - I shall pack a picnic basket. Which do you prefer? The Silver Oak cabernet - or the 2018 Lancaster Estate cabernet?" "Dahhhhhling, pack them both, of course."

My soul was soaring as I turned onto Exit 20 today. I am finally free. Because I am never going back. 

I do not ever want to drive on Route 89 and Route 202/9 again. Ever. Living in Henniker, those routes were unavoidable. No matter where we went it took 202/9 and 89 to get there. Because Henniker is the end of the line, the edge of this flat earth. We did it 35,000 times in 37 years. As I was driving them this afternoon, escaping Henniker with my new starter, I was actually filled with loathing. I could not wait to turn onto 93 North.

When I did, my heart pounded in excitement. Bliss took over and escalated until I took Exit 20 and finally reached the state of being I have eternally aspired to.

Euphoria.

Thanksgivng (You Gotta Be Flexible)

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who is able to celebrate it and happy to do so!

To those who cannot celebrate Thanksgiving, I sincerely hope that things get better for you so that you can express joy next Thanksgiving. I truly want all good people to be happy.

Thanksgiving is the only pure holiday, and the only one that inspires genuine love for humanity in my heart. We are all the same. We are all in the same boat. We are all just trying to live a happy life.

If I were King of the World I would make it so.

Anatomy of Today:

The plan was to celebrate Thanksgiving for the first time in our new home with Eddie & Carolina, Craig & Amanda (and Jackson), and Keith and Krista.

Eddie and Carolina had other plans and I know they will have a beautiful day.

Krista and her family are from Lewiston, Maine - the location of that horrific shooting on October 25. Thankfully, none of her family were hurt. But she had not been able to get home for a visit since, so she planned on visiting on Thanksgiving day. Keith planned on spending the day with us.

But Krista's father just came down with covid, making it impossible for her to visit. Then Krista's roommate came down with covid and Krista caught it as well. So Krista is spending Thanksgiving with her roommate and Keith will be home alone. Since Keith has been exposed to covid he opted not to visit us out of consideration for Amanda, who is pregnant. That is the right decision.

As a father it breaks my heart for my son to have to spend Thanksgiving alone.

Thanksgiving here will be Craig & Amanda (& Jackson), and me and Carol. Do you know how that affects us emotionally to drop from six guests to two?

Not at all. We are excited. We are looking forward to today with unbridled enthusiasm. Cannot wait for Craig & Amanda to get here. We love them so much, they make us happy. We will have a blast.

We are lucky to have the family we have. We are so grateful. They bring us love, they make us proud, they make us happy. We will all get together in the new home when we all get together.

Until then, we want everyone to get healthy, we want everyone to be happy.

Thanksgiving is a day for Carol and me to think about our family in deep gratitude and appreciation whether anyone is here or not.

They are our life.

And our life is beautiful.

I Want Kliff Kingsbury's House

Do not misunderstand me.

I am sublimely happy in our new home. It is exactly what we need at this stage of our lives. More than that, turns out it is exactly what we want at this stage of our lives.

But there is always more. And more for me is Kliff Kingsbury's house. Kingsbury coached the Arizona Cardinals from 2019-2022, and now is the senior offensive analyst and quarterback coach at USC. 

First of all the house is located in Paradise Valley, Arizona. My dream destination. Second of all it is huge, open and airy.

I love space. Room to roam.

Cool fact: Towards the end of his tenure with the Cardinals, Kingsbury signed a contract extension guaranteeing him $7.5 million annually. Since he signed with USC, the Cardinals have to pay him the difference between the 7.5 million and what USC is paying him. America. What a country.

Google Kliff Kingsbury's house. It will blow you away.

When I hit Powerball it will be my house.

Then you can visit.

Ten Years Shorter

Life expectancy in this country is poor. Especially compared to other "civilized" countries.

Women live six years longer than men. As I turn 70 on January 1, fear should fill my soul. Male life expectancy is furiously short. Practically teenage. But in keeping with my current good fortune, I choose to keep exercising and believing in longevity.

I believe life expectancy would be ten years shorter if not for pets.

Had bloodwork done yesterday in advance of the yearly physical coming up on Monday. The woman who drew my blood had a picture on the wall of her hugging her dog - her arm wrapped around his neck, big smile on her face, love in her and her dog's eyes.

Everybody has pictures of their pets. Every stifling cubicle in America is decorated with pet pictures. Pretentious executive offices have framed photos of cats and dogs on the desk. The plumber has a picture of his dog taped to the dashboard of his truck. He also keeps a tattered picture of his wife tucked into his worn out wallet, right next to the 8 year old condom he carries "just in case."

Pets release pure love from pet "owners" hearts. A simultaneously sublime and dangerous proposition indeed. Our hearts are not built to withstand pure love. We shield our hearts in lead to defend against vulnerability. Pets circumvent our defenses easily. Ain't nothin' to it.

And that's what it's all about. Pet love is powerful medicine, more powerful than morphine, more powerful than penicillin.

Your pet's eyes meet your eyes and you melt - you forget everything. There is a jolt of pure love transmitted between you that is akin to a nuclear detonation. You forget about your bills, your job, your aches and pains and broken dreams and you just are - you are fully human in the state of mind that should be natural but isn't, because you have responsibilities.

But your pets have no responsibilities. Except one. To keep reminding you of how beautiful life can be.

They are pretty fucking good at it.

Exciting Times

Very strange thing to be emerging from the womb again at the age of 69 years, 10 months, and 31 days.

Hello - my name is Joe. I was physically born on January 1, 1954 to muted fanfare. I was reborn on October 31, 2023 to fireworks in my heart and soul.

I am the same. I am very different.

A number of people have told me since the Second Birth that I am different - I seem happier, along with other unnamed qualities heretofore lying dormant.

It is all true. I feel different. I have a different perspective. It has been effortless. It just happened. Overnight. I did not objectively make any decision to be different. I just am. And people are noticing.

The only conscious decision I made is to make sure I enjoy and appreciate the sea change in my life. A nuclear bomb was detonated, everything changed, and just like that Carol and I have a new life.

I was born to diapers in 1954. My entire being is now focused on taking advantage of this renaissance before I am back in diapers. I feel good about my prospects.

These are exciting times.

Proof That I Am Diverse

 I prefer Ultra Soft kleenex and Ultra Strong toilet paper.

Simply, A Great Visit

 My brother and his wife came to visit yesterday; to check out the new place.

What a great visit. And how thrilling it felt to proudly welcome people into our new home. I have not felt that emotion in twenty years.

I vacuumed the whole house (for the third time already and unnecessarily) before they came. Revia lurks.

I enthusiastically gushed, more than once, about how much we love this house and how happy we are. The gushing of course is entirely justified.

However - more than once as well - I lapsed into complaining about how hard the move had been on us; especially the buildup to it. In those moments my brother gently steered me from complaining to gratitude.

No one is more qualified to do that than my brother.

His efforts were not lost on me. I am wide open right now, receptive to change and redemption. I am fiercely committed to transforming my entire life into something new. 

And that starts with me. The core of it all is the remaking of the hazy image of the personality I currently project, into a crystal clear presentation of who I really am. With no negative qualifiers. No limiting weakness.

We shared a special day with Eddie and Carolina yesterday. They made us happy.

It truly was a great visit.

Great for my heart. Great for my soul.

The Final Blowout

Worked my final show last night.

I was scheduled to work shows next Friday and next Sunday but was relieved of those responsibilities by Lorne, the Box Office Manager, who is a kind and considerate man.

The last three shows I worked were essentially sold out, including last night. Typically that is a recipe for sleepytime ease for me. Can't sell any more tickets, can't move people around - pretty much all you do is hand out Will Call tickets.

Unless there is a high percentage of assholes attending the show. The last three shows included a high percentage of needy assholes.

What was particularly galling about last night was the fact that it was a free show. Free tickets.

In 1952 a Concord woman left a legacy of $700,000 to fund a free concert series. The tradition continues until today. Each individual is entitled to four free tickets. Last night's audience was particularly needy, particularly problematic, and extremely annoying. People getting free tickets who are still fucking annoying? Amazing.

By the time I left I was furious. I got home and began to rant and to rave. Once more Carol had to endure my anger and frustration, which reached hysterical proportions. I know it pisses her off and I am wrong to do it. But she needs to realize the damage shows like that do to the nervous system.

One guarantee at a sold out show is that you will have a steady stream of people coming to the window for at least an hour - often times longer. No relief. I have developed an enjoyable trick to steal seconds of peace between customers. When I am done with one I look the next one in the eye....................and turn my back on them. I toss the ticket stub from the previous customer in the trash, then calmly and slowly turn around to face the next idiot. It's particularly enjoyable when they start to speak before I turn my back on them. Great good fun.

It's called survival, folks.

Anyway, by the time the onslaught is over I am wound up and ready to kill. Can't shake it, cannot come down. Even with a half hour commute I am psycho. So Carol bears the brunt. BUT last night was the last show I will ever work. THANK GOD.

Interesting aside: Last night's show was the 39th Army Band. They don't just play marches. For instance, last night when I was in the bathroom they played Play That Funky Music. It sounded exactly as you would expect - like a fucking march. It was horrible. My flow stopped mid-stream in protest.

They should stick to marches.

P.S. - Please read the following post detailing the toll this horrific job can take on the human mind.

A Fanciful Incident

I don't remember if I told you about this or not and I am too lazy to find out.

If I did, go grab yourself a beer and sit down to another episode of The Price Is Right.

The first fucked up show of the last three happened a few weeks ago. A sold out show. I was cranking, dealing with the assholes one after the other after another.

And my laptop crashed.

That has never happened to me in more than six years at this job. I have endured every other kind of fuckup and problem and glitch imaginable, but never of that magnitude.

I froze. I had a line of people in front of me that stretched through the lobby, out the doors and down the walkway. And the person in front of me got testy. I called Lorne and restarted the computer - which takes some time. Lorne came up the street, got everything up and running again - I walked back to the window.

To face the asshole who woudn't shut up. I started to process her order - she said something sarcastic to me.....................and I replied with sarcasm and poison. I don't even know what I said, but I know it had nothing to do with peace, love and understanding. Lorne gently grabbed my arm and asked "Do you want to take a break?" He manned the window.

I walked into the back room for a few minutes seeing red -  furious beyond belief and shook up by the laptop crash. After a few minutes I left - the building. I grabbed my jacket, walked to my car, and took a ride. And never went back.

This happened before we moved to our new home but after the purchase was approved. Strangely I drove to the new house. There was no thought process involved - I was still seeing red. I did not think "Gee whiz, I think I'll go take a look at my new house." I just got on the highway and drove.

Half an hour to the new house. In the meantime Lorne texted me, and called me twice. I did not respond. I stopped in front of the new place and meditated. Drove around the circle and stopped in front of it again - this time at an angle from which I could shine my headlights on it. It gave me peace. Fortunately no one called the cops.

I drove back to Henniker and said nothing to Carol. That was a Friday night. On Saturday morning I texted Lorne to ask if I still had a job. He responded that we would talk on Monday. We did talk it through and he let it go. He is an amazing, empathetic, and forgiving man. That night, knowing I still had a job, I told Carol the story.

It was a genuine, psychotic, fucking insane meltdown.

I survived it.

And lived to tell the tale.

Peppadew for You

 My recliner now sits directly next to a picture window.

Just across the living room/dining room are sliding glass doors. There are skylights in the kitchen. When the sun shines, this house shines.

I love it. It is uplifting, and inspires meditation and appreciation.

Even when the sun does not shine, our home remains bright. No room for depression here.

Snow was falling when I woke up this morning. I felt no hatred or despair. The cats were in the windows marvelling at the magic falling from the sky.

They love the windows in this place. Emmy Lou spends a lot of time sitting on the roof of the tall cat edifice that stands next to the glass sliders. Both Patsy and Emmy Lou spend reflective moments in the bedroom windows, the window in my office, the kitchen window, and the picture window next to my chair.

The windowsills are wide. Built just for them.

I don't have to work today. I am ecstatic.

Gonna find me a tasty recipe that includes peppadew peppers.

Our taste buds will be singing tonight.

Seems Sad to Me

 The lonesome sound of daytime tv......

That's a line from a book I'm reading. It resonated with me because when I stretch in front of the kitchen door in the morning, usually around 6:30, the person in the home across the way is always watching tv.

I am not spying. The homes in this community are close together, but not in an obnoxious way. Still, all of our lives intersect.

I stretch in front of the door because I love having a new view. Yesterday a guy walked by with his little dog. The funny thing was that a cat was following along behind them. Maybe ten yards behind. Leisurely, unconcerned. Maintaining the same pace.

I don't know if the cat belonged to the man and the dog, or if he was a neighborhood cat. Whatever the reality was, it was fun to watch.

I pride myself on not leaning on tv for comfort. I will always choose a book first. Maybe a bottle of whiskey. And silence.

The person across the way appears to live alone. Always only one car in the driveway. We have not seen this person outside. Not once since we've been here. But that seems typical for this community. Very few signs of life. Kind of strange.

I never see any movement in the house. The only thing I see is the tv. Always on at 6:30 in the morning.

Seems sad to me. But maybe this person is happy.

I hope so.

Take This Job and Shove It

I ain't working here no more.

Gave my 2 weeks notice yesterday. 

My last day of employment at the Capitol Center for the Arts is Monday, November 20, 2023. A momentous date indeed.

Feels so good to get that monkey off my back. Another tumbler falling into place in this, my new life.

I do not have another job lined up. You say "Oh my God, Joe - whaddya gonna do?" Relax, positive momentum is on my side. That and cash. We banked a chunk of change when we sold the old place, which added to our existing balance gives me comfortable breathing room. If a month or two goes by, panic is not in the cards.

My top priority is to land a job with dignity. And a healthy paycheck. I am taking aim at security. There is no doubt that I will "pass" before Carol does. And when I do, I will leave her somewhat vulnerable, financially. I cannot live (die) with that. I put her in this position, I will get her out.

Since I semi-fucking-retired in 2016 I have settled for menial part-time jobs that were so far beneath me I was commuting to hell. My thinking was I would tough it out until I found my calling. I blew it instead. Got nowhere, accomplished nothing.

I will chase whatever dignified employment makes sense to me. Simultaneously, I will keep myself apprised of whatever lowly jobs are close by. As much as I lust for dignity and $, the truth is I am 69 years old. Most employers would rather I die than hire me.

I am taking a bit of a risk. Who knows, maybe I am chronically unemployble. Maybe I will crash and burn. But you know what? Contrary to lifetime appearances, I am a risk taker. I should spend 75% of my time standing in front of a craps table in Vegas. It is in my nature. That aspect of my personality got smothered by responsibility. I got careful. I had a house, I had a family, I owed money to bloodsuckers - I could not make a move without somebody monitoring my whereabouts.

I am reviving the risk taker. I am confident, I got luck on my side, I got a little room to breathe.

"You better not try to stand in my way as I'm a-walkin' out the door"

Let Me Flesh This Out For You

The old place became the proverbial albatross around my neck.

It embarrassed me to have my own family visit. Friends too. Even the cable guy, or plumbers. After a couple of decades, anyone who walked into that house humiliated me.

Because the abysmal condition of that house reflected directly on me. It's run down appearance labelled me a Loser.

I am not a handyman. If I pick up a tool, blood squirts out of me ears. So I was not capable of "making repairs." In addition, I worked for chump change my whole life. When I should have been earning $150,000/year, I was earning $30K - a fucking joke. I just never made the effort. So I could not afford to hire a handyman.

One more thing - an intangible. I never believed in the life I was living. I don't believe in chaining myself to a mortgage, I never really wanted to. I never wanted to do the shirt and tie thing and work a predictable job. So I kind of didn't care. I did not look at the house as an investment that needed my love and care - I looked at it as a burden.

Which is why it is so ironic that the house ultimately saved us. Fate, baby - who knew?

That is why I keep going on and on and on about how happy I am. That 20 ton weight has been lifted off of my back. I am starting over with a fresh, blank canvas. And no mortgage. Living in a home I am proud to show off.

And now that I am acutely aware of what happens to a house when you neglect it, I am primed and ready to stay on top of everything.

I love this home. Carol loves this home.

Second chances, baby. Miracles.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote: "There are no second acts in American lives." He was wrong. This is my second act.

I intend to go out to thundering applause.

Seems to Me

 In Bull Durham, Crash Davis ( Kevin Costner) says: "You be arrogant, even when you're getting beat. That's the secret. You gotta play this game with fear and arrogance."

Seems to me that is damn good advice for how to live your life.

The Next Time

 The next time somebody tells you to go fuck yourself, respond: "Been trying all my life."

 That might shut them up.

Less of an Asshole

Carol sleeps in our bed. I sleep in my recliner.

I get up at 7:00. Carol gets up at 9:00.

Our new home is all on one level, which is heavenly for old folks like us. Especially me with my fucked up knee.

When I wake up I walk by the bedroom. I peek in at Carol sleeping and tears appear. Tears of happiness (tired of this yet?)

Carol is as happy as I am in this new house. Her happiness makes me happy. In addition, I am less of an asshole now. Which intensifies her happiness. And makes me feel good.

I have always been the drawback to her positivity. I was so unhappy, that my mercurial moods, which tended towards negativity, had an effect on her. She could be happy in the old place because Carol is an adult and can be happy anywhere, but she could not be as happy as she should have been, as happy as she deserved to be, because she had to deal with and respond to my moods. Inevitably.

Why the hell she never kicked me out to marry the pool boy with the washboard abbs and gymnastic pecs is beyond me.

Still, here I am. Actually contributing to Carol's happiness.

I am feeling more whole than ever before.

A Prediction

 I will take the opportunity I have been given and spin it into gold.

The Death of Resignation

I used to sigh all the time in the other house.

The sighs were fueled by depression, anger, self-loathing, resignation - resignation that I would die in that house as a failure. That I had blown my life.

I sigh a lot in the new home. In disbelief. And happiness. I exhale hope and gratitude, over and over again. I cannot believe this has happened. It shouldn't have. There was probably a 1% chance things would go the way they did. But they did. And I know exactly what I have.

An opportunity. A chance to understand the beauty of all this, and a chance to build upon it.

I have had many opportunities in my life and blown every single one. 

In 1985 I was laid off from Wang Labs and given a generous severance package that gave me months and money to change direction. An opportunity to flee accounting and do something meaningful. I wasted it and remained an accountant for twenty five more years.

In 2002 (I think) Keith and Craig moved out. We should have sold the house then and made more sense of our life. We didn't.

In 2016 I semi-fucking-retired, from then until now working only 20 hours a week. Giving me ample time to save my life. I wasted it.

But now I know what I have. The Final Opportunity. THE chance to get the happiness that has eluded me for so long. I know it in my heart, I know it in my soul, and I understand the gravity of procrastination. I have no time for that. It is now or never.

Jackson Joseph Testa gives me magic to work with. This beautiful new home gives me magic to work with. The fresh perspective of a new town gives me magic to work with. That is such a great place to start from.

I am armed with an abundance of magic and an abundance of determination, and something new. The confidence to make it work. I know I am going to remake my life in the image it was intended to have.

An image that will become my reality and release my soul to fly.

I have been waiting 69 years for this.

I am not going to fuck it up.

By Way of Comparison

I had to work yesterday for the first time in a week.

Worked in the box office from 2:30 to 6:00; worked a show from 6:00 to 9:00. The customers who attended the show formed a parade of selfish, whiny assholes with special requests and complaints. Slimy, no good, jerkoffs.

It was as hideous, as painful, as soul-suffocating, as vile and as revolting as being submerged in a cesspool up to my chin with only a straw to breathe through, while Beelzebub dropped large rocks into the sewage for the sheer joy of creating waves.

It fucking sucked.

By the time I made my escape at 9:00, I was furious and incredulous. From 5:00 pm on Tuesday through the end of Thursday I was blissful. On Friday morning I woke up with hints of the typical work day dread, which eventually became unbearable by the time I fell into my car for the commute. 

My mind was screaming in horror and disbelief.

The contrast between that torment and the previous bliss resulted in supreme motivation. So ultimately, the fact that I had to work yesterday was a good thing. It woke me up, it shook me up, it solidified in my brain what has to be done.

That job is toast, baby. 

Once that is dealt with, I may just empty out my bar. I won't need alcohol anymore.

Never mind. That's not going to happen.

That would just be stupid.

Happiness Realized

Carol and I are in our new home that we love.

I am experiencing happiness. Very strange.

Just experiencing happiness is an exotic thing. It is so rare of an emotion for me that when it occurs I stop dead in my tracks and wonder "Am I dying? What is this?"

Walked into this place for good Tuesday evening around 5 o'clock. I was overwhelmed. With gratitude, disbelief, and.....................happiness.

Carol and I were exhausted. Practically dead. But we are proud of how hard we worked on the move, especially at the age of 69. We are tough motherfuckers and I will never let anyone else tell me otherwise.

It is a miracle that it even happned. Every stage of the process had to fit narrow miraculous parameters, and they did.

So I am happy. 

I am also noticing that I am experiencing happiness at an intensity that is exponentially more powerful than it has been for the last 20 years. It is stunning. I pick up Emmy Lou or Patsy and almost cry with joy. I hug Carol, I kiss her and I feel alive! For a very long time I felt much closer to dead than alive.

I am dancing around the house. I was singing to myself in Market Basket yesterday.

It is fucking amazing. I FEEL SO GOOD.

We have a grandson on the way. Jackson Joseph Testa. We are in a beautiful new home that we love.

The next step is to resolve my humiliating employment torture. And I will. Oh you better believe I fucking will. Very, very soon.

I will either be working from home or working someplace close by. And making more money. Period. End of story. We have had so much luck lately that I know it will carry over to this nasty, rancid, piece of my life. And when that happens I will have a completely new life. Which is what I crave. With every fiber of my being.

A clean break. A new start. A fresh perspective.

Correction: I just said "we have had so much luck lately". There is a bit of luck mixed in, but we deserve this good fortune. We have earned it. We have worked hard forever, we are 69 years old, Carol has defeated breast cancer and a brain tumor, I am beating prostate cancer - this is our time.

And I am focused with extreme prejudice on making it all work, on making it better and better, on making Carol happy. And on appreciating and basking in my own happiness.

 I am alert, I am alive, and I am grateful for my awakening.

I Am Revia

 It started when we got a new vanity installed at our old house in the upstairs bathroom, and a new sink installed in our downstairs bathroom.

The vanity was shiny. Every morning after my morning ablutions I would wipe down the counter, the faucet and the sink. Left it all sparking. This was not normal. I had let the old house go so far down that the whole place was like an overflowing port o' potty in my mind.

Cleaning was not a strong point for me or Carol. Fot me it was probably a backlash to the tyrannical way my mother ran things. My mother was Revia. Or it could be that I am just fucking lazy.

My mother kept our house spotless. Absolutely spotless. Unfortunately she turned me, my brother, and my father into her personal cleaning torture victims. She beat us, refused to feed us, whipped us with bicycle chains, until every speck of dust, dirt and grime was banished from the house. Even the imaginary ones, and she had plenty of those.

But she never had to scramble when company was coming over. The place was antiseptic. As opposed to me and Carol, who would have to "clean" for 9 hours anticipating company. Even then the house looked like a place strategically demolished by dynamite.

After the movers left the old place on Tuesday I went in to clean up after them. I was horrified. Did you know that dust even accumulates under things? Fucking house was a mess. I was standing alone in my old house and I was embarrassed. It took me hours to sweep, vacuum, and pick up miscellaneous trash like cat toys, corks, loose change, papers etc

We are in our new home. I am Revia.

Today is Day Three and I have already vacuumed the kitchen and put together a plan for regular vacuuming and cleaning. I made toast this morning and I wiped down the entire counter before I ate.

Strangest part? It feels natural.

Thanks, Mom.