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.
