For years I pounded the pavement, figuratively setting fire to everything I touched. My life cycle had become a quest for just the right mixture of drugs, followed by crime, punishment and despair, over and over, again and again. I activated my get into jail free card, then started my new life. I understand it’s not a preferred method, but to steal a line from one of my favorite books, “half measures availed us nothing.”
I pounded the notion into my brain that it’s sober or die, so I climbed aboard for the ride. I learned a trade and have made beautiful things. I put the R back in fiend and learned how to be a friend. I can now hit the pause button and experience my own life. Great fortune has come my way—and I’m not talking about money—not by magic, but opportunity and hard work. It tastes pretty sweet to pursue my passion of the written word. Better than Nutra-loaf.
Next came nearly two decades of pounding nails, and swollen thumbs. I got a Band-Aid and built a sturdy little construction company from the ground up. Now I’m working on a platform. I married the woman I had been stalking (seems there are more I’s on this page than the intro to Crazy Train), an artist name Terrell, who shares my passion and tolerates my bad jokes. It’s turned out pretty swell so far.
And now, in Paris, pounding the keyboard and pounds of pastries. Acting as if, in my new gig as a dreamer. From Seattleite to Parisian, it’s been a wild ride. I’m filled with gratitude about this blip in time. And I hope if you’ve found me here online, you’ll be interested to see me discover new stories to tell. Or my book, Fixed: Dope sacks, dye packs and the long welcome back, which could always use some company. My current fiction project is finally coming together.
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