Besides, He’s No Crazy Chester

I moved in with my brother. 

I was officially homeless seven months. 

I’m not counting the two months I basically lived in my car and paid Chester rent coz my stuff was still in my room at the house he was leasing.

Chester was crazy. 

At least, I think he was crazy. 

But, that part about “state probation takes your soul from your body” and requires the probationee to “wear a gold mask and engage in spiritual warfare on the 4th of July” and petition “Pope Francis every three months to have the mask removed and be released from all legal restrictions” and “allow the soul to be returned to the body.”

That might be true.

Anyway, it all became too much for me when Chester took the $400 I gave him for lodging/utilities, spent it all on a weekend drunk and told the landlord I wasn’t paying my share of the rent. 

That’s when I officially moved out. Chester maintained I owed him more money but I refused to pay him despite his threat to have “evil spread through” my “brain and blood.”

“Not another penny,” I told him.

Being homeless wasn’t so bad. I had a friend who let me sleep in his office most nights. 

When his place was not available, I’d pull into Walmart parking lot and have a nice snooze.

I took my brother up on his invitation to move into his house when it looked like he’d be between jobs. 

I told him I could contribute some cash to help him through a rough time. 

He said,”Not necessary.” 

But, it was necessary for me coz my brother and I have had some tremendous arguments throughout the years, bordering on extreme violence. 

I did not want my desire to live under a roof to comprimise my freedom. I had to find a way to maintain a healthy distance from this man I call brother.

Being his tennant provides the space I need to live in his house and, at the same time, have my own life.

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About joefingas

I am a songwriter, poet, blues singer, and a boogie woogie piano player. I have a grandson but I have no children of my own. All my women have wised up and left me. I was a bum, a wino, a drug/alcohol counselor, a prevention/intervention specialist and a pretender. I have no more time to pretend.
This entry was posted in 12 Step Meetings, Blues, Co-Dependency, Denial, Love, Memoir, Money, Poetry, Relationships. Bookmark the permalink.

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