Living With My Mother

It’s been about 2 months since I’ve moved into my mother’s place. Some may wonder if I’m planning to live with her for the rest of my life. To that I say, no, but maybe for the rest of her life. I haven’t lived with my mother for 10 years but not because I wanted independence so badly but because location wise it was inconvenient. Also, when I first told her I was moving out temporarily she saw that as an opportunity to rent out my room. With a cross-dresser living in my room waltzing around in his French maid getup, it made moving back not an option. The first time I had met him he was eating a sausage with no bun.

In terms of my mother’s schedule, it wasn’t much different than it is now. She’s out the door at 9 AM and doesn’t come home until after 11 PM for 6 days of the week. Yep, 14 hours working at a restaurant like she’s been doing for the last 40 years. When I was a kid I would be gone to school before she woke and asleep before she came home. Now that I don’t have a mandated bedtime, I see her for 15 minutes before I go to bed. If I wanted to I could have cocaine and hooker parties from 11 AM to 11 PM.

Instead of parties though, if I’m not volunteering I’m cleaning and making improvements to the home like the good stay-at-home-son that I am. There’s also other duties that I tend to such as automobile, technology and English comprehension needs. I get the sense that she likes me being here and I think the dog feels the same way too.


Spoiled Dog



36-Year-Old Paperboy

You’ll always hear on TV how people are pissed off about not having steady full-time work available in their area. “We want jobs!” I’ve always been quite the opposite. My gripe has always been about the lack of part-time opportunities. A lot of places have part-time available but what that usually means is that you are part-time status with full-time availability without the advantages of a full-time employee. They want to stick it in you and have you clean it up too.

Periodically I will go on Craigslist to see if there are any desirable job opportunities that are not full-time. There’s not a lot out there when you don’t have any skilled training. My future might entail me jerking off in front of a webcam for perverted old white men who have a thing for naturally hairless chests.

One job that is always available is newspaper delivery which is really low on the social ladder for a 36-year-old adult who was born in Canada. If it wasn’t early mornings I would consider it given the advantages. It’s only a couple hours a day, 5 days a week, no supervisor and it pays around $400-800 a month. No matter how shitty I would feel at the beginning of the day, I know it will be over in a couple hours.

The other day I got a random call from a person I haven’t spoken to for a long time. She got a job at the Casino recently and told me they will be hiring for Slot Attendants soon. It’s not a bad gig given the tips but I’ll have to be there 10 hours a day for 3 days a week cashing out old people gambling away their kids inheritance. Plus I have to care about my appearance. I can’t just pop on a hat and a dirty uniform like I used to. I’ll have to shower and stuff, wear some button shirt with a collar and black shoes. Wah, wah, wah.

A 36-year-old paperboy who lives with his mother. I’m a modern day gladiator!

Like a Kid Again

People often agree that the childhood years were the most blissful times of their lives. I guess sort of the equivalent to a pig in shit. Once at a certain age we decide that life is gone and can never exist again as we become adults with bills and responsibilities.

Lately, I have been coming closer to the mind-space reminiscent of my childhood life and it has nothing to do with my mother tucking me in at night. To say as a kid you had no responsibilities or worries is far from the truth. You still had to at least go to school, do homework and worry about getting in trouble from the adults. What you didn’t worry about though was your future.

The future, if never confidently on track becomes a plague with no definite cure. You’re haunted by its mystery but also by the presumed certainty that if its not unraveled it will destroy you.

As a kid you also didn’t have much opportunity to mess up so badly that you sentence yourself to a life of gruelling commitments. “Legal age” can often mean you and the world have full permission to screw your life up.

At this point in my life, I don’t have that feeling like I always did that I had to secure some kind of permanent societal standard. The fear of being a “loser” washed away with the tide of people that I sailed away from. Maybe it’s to my advantage that the fear of being alone just isn’t that scary to me.

In short, it’s our expectations and what we think is expected of us that often run our lives.




Slowly Trimming to No One

The journey to solo life has been a slow processing application with no step by step instructions. In the beginning there were a whole bunch of ‘forever people,’ the acquaintances and Facebook friends. I’ve got it down to less than a handful of people that I sparsely communicate with.

Withdrawing from friends and family is apparently a symptom of depression which I’m sure it can be but those WebMD webpages should sometimes have disclaimers. What if your friends and family are part of a flesh eating cult?

I was trying to find a sweet spot, hoping I could maintain some level of positive relationship with long-time friends. It was too much for me to just abruptly sever ties with seemingly no justifiable reason.

The deletions on Facebook were many at first and then slowly trickled down to 17 friends, many of those 17 were people I met while travelling. I also started deleting phone contacts because I didn’t like seeing the names on my list.

Trying to separate yourself from flies while smothered with shit does not produce the best outcomes if your plan is to be maggot-free. Living and working in the old neighbourhood made it impossible not to bump into the people I was trying to avoid. “Hey, let’s go for lunch sometime” or even worse, “hey, come sit at our table.”

Although 20 years of making connections has an expansive reach that can touch my new area of isolation, it’s unlikely I will see anyone I know from the not so distant past. Technology makes all things possible in our era though. The internet likes to play Sherlock Holmes when you are on Facebook. “Do you know…..?”

In times of weakness I would click on this person I knew and then see other people I knew. At the end of it, I would regret it like everything else that you engage in for easy stimulation but know you shouldn’t have. A few days ago I decided that was it…I’m not even going to go on Facebook with that account no more. Seeing the mass amount of identical profile pictures of people holding their babies/trophies and people on vacation standing in front of a famous landmark doesn’t make me yearn for more.

New rule in life…if I don’t care to see you then I don’t want to mentally download any new updates about your life either. Often we try to improve our life by adding to it, never thinking that less might be better.

A wise man once told me that if you want someone out of your life just lend them $100.




Incremental Misery

(Written a few months ago)

The realizations of the non-working life slowly make its way to my consciousness as the days go on. When I’m in a moment when I know I’m feeling good I stop to think why that is. I’m a complicated individual, I know.

After breakfast/brunch while I was drinking my green tea I concluded that the change of pace and not having to constantly worry about the time does wonders for the state of mind.


Organic eggs with SPAM is a bit of a contradiction

My usual mornings before would consist of waking up to the alarm at 7:30 AM, procrastinating leaving the dead man pose and juggling breakfast with getting ready so that it wouldn’t exceed 8:10 AM. For most of the day at work there were no managers present but there was always time management. These days it’s do whatever and whenever.

You can’t do this forever though. Probably not plus I wouldn’t really want to either. But I know now that small amounts of stress and misery every day compound over time so slowly that you can’t even recognize them as possible underlying issues for your half-miserable existence. Too much of a good thing can be bad but too much of a bad thing is always horrible.




Don’t Kill Your Wife

Lately, I’ve been watching Dateline NBC Murder Mysteries because I’m into that real life stuff. As a kid I was forced to watch adult oriented TV shows like the 6 o’clock news followed by Inside Edition, A Current Affair and then depending on the day, whatever was on from 8 PM to 9 PM(10 PM on weekends). Bedtime was 9 PM on school nights.

After about 5 episodes of Dateline, I’ve come to the conclusion that there doesn’t have to be any hard evidence to be convicted of murder. It just takes a jury to think, “yeah, it must have been them.”

If you’re the spouse of a murder victim and they can’t find any other suspects, you’re pretty much screwed. As the spouse you’re likely going to have the means, motive and opportunity. In all those cases I watched, the ones charged with murder were thought to be guilty and had to prove themselves innocent.

Most times there was no murder weapon, video or DNA evidence. It was often a situation where one was the beneficiary of a life insurance plan, rumours of a troubled marriage or something else that was circumstantial. It seems as though one could easily frame someone for a murder.

Prosecutors seem to just want someone to throw in jail so that they can get a tick on the win column and close the case. In their heads, if someone looks guilty enough then they aren’t going to hold back.

All the stories have similarities. Family members always take the side of their own blood, if found guilty the accused always claims innocence and there’s always a good reason to kill your spouse.

It’s also common for the cops to look through people’s Google searches and other types of technology which I think is also very circumstantial even when it’s suspicious. I do searches for some really obscure things sometimes and I write things just for entertainment purposes on this blog.

“In 2015 Mr. Johnson, you stated on your blog that you like to blow on the buttholes of dogs.”

“Objection! What does Mr Johnson’s dog butthole blowing fetish have anything to do with this case?”

“Your honour, it shows Mr Johnson’s deviant nature and lack of character.”

I would lose all credibility in a courtroom. From then on the jurors would look at my face and only see a guy who goes around lifting tails and blowing air into canine buttholes.

You have to have a lot of balls to orchestrate your wife’s or husband’s murder and hope to get away with it. At the very least you’re going to have to take a lot of heat. But I guess some people are very ambitious and driven.


Prisoner Joes

There are women out there who seek out the love of prison inmates without having ever met them. This tactic would seem to go against the survival instinct given the possibility of danger but I guess one person’s danger is another’s fantasy.

I don’t know if I can judge these women as I too seem to have a thing for prisoners. I don’t promise them sweet loving when they are released but I root for them. I drop my guard like a woman foolishly in love.

For the past few months I have been following a blogger named, Joe, who is fresh out of prison after a 7 year sentence and trying hard and creatively to turn his life around. He sounds legit and all but my opinion is obviously flawed.

In my rookie year of blogging on WordPress, I caught on to a blog written by a person who also called himself, Joe, who claimed to be a fugitive on the run in Sri Lanka. His story was that he was framed for a crime but managed to escape and could not be caught otherwise his life would be over. Those Nigerian email scams sound more believable but I bought it because when I came around to the blog there were so many others already offering support. I think because he was such a regular commenter on my blog it felt like he was more of a friend than some guy with an unbelievable story. Perhaps it was more that I wanted to believe it than I thought it was a true story. It’s really not like me to be naive.

The icing of this story was that I ended up sending him money. He didn’t even ask. I offered. There was also guilt that I felt for not reaching out. I think you have an idea how it turned out. Funny enough, when I think about it, I always laugh even though it goes down in my history book as the silliest thing I ever bought into. I blogged about it back then and you can read about it here…

How I got Scammed on WordPress

The current Joe also asks for donations via GoFundMe. If I had a job I would probably send him some money for his current projects because I like what he’s doing. Once bitten, twice nothing, I guess. You can check out Joe’s blog here…