What you are, we used to be...

It's been six months or so since the last post.
Odd. It used to be a daily occurrence. However, the content of this blog is the basis for the book I am writing.

A book, about me, my life as seen and lived by me. My memories.

They may not be yours.

Any of you.

I have a mere 130 pages so far, as I still have a day gig, my writing time is when I can find it, and it's the most honest effort I have attempted at if not understanding my life, but getting to a place where it could be of value to someone else. If nothing else, a cautionary tale. But it is not a primer on "bad behaviour." Nor a primer on "alcoholism", "addiction" or just being a selfish shit heel. It is simple, my story.

I've been sober almost three years and I find my self completely dedicated to writing this book. I am not a dedicated guy. At anything.


Yet I am focused.

I find myself writing in the weekly Motel where I've taken up lodging. I have every thing I need, as my belongings always were few, so it's a good fit.

Interesting place. Everyone living here, a couple of days, four months, whatever, is on their way to or from something.

Some are settled in waiting for the weird to wear off.

However long that may be.

I keep to myself,ask no questions, am friendly when spoken to, and pay my rent on time. I never have visitors. My made in India, 1980 Royal Enfield motorcycle sits in the first space next to the front door. This is an Indian owned establishment.

To them, I am the coolest American ever. Fathers and Uncles all had Royal Enfields, they say.

I am the Raj.

There is a cost to the dedication I am showing for my writing. It is costing me friendships, as I find I have to relive moments in my life to get them on page, and my behaviour may be affected.

This is not an easy book to write.

There are consequences.