Hey abaaaaaaat. I’ve been a bad boy.

Drug Posts, Not Proof Read - 1st Draft, Personal Journey

2222 to the Some times,  even a kid that didn;t take risks and lived my whole life under the mantra,  please don’t yell at me. Even me,  managed to do some things Santa wouldn’t approve of.  In the undercurrent of…

Hey abaaaaaaat. I’ve been a bad boy.

2222 to the

Some times,  even a kid that didn;t take risks and lived my whole life under the mantra,  please don’t yell at me.

Even me,  managed to do some things Santa wouldn’t approve of.  In the undercurrent of the NOW,  you make a choice.  How likely is it,  Santa will find out.

I recalled today a story of cookies in my home.  My being hours always had cookies when I visited and when I asked my mother why we didn;t have cookies she stated because you’ll just eat them.

It was sound logic then,  and is sound logic today.  I do Jusy eat them.  A box could vanish in one sitting if they were the family Cooke.  The Peak Frean showcase shortbread cookie.  The only one to bear the PF name on every cookie,  thus adopting the nickname Perfect Flavour.

It was my Dad;s favourite cookie and the rule in the house was Dad always had to get at least one of the things he enjoyed before I’d eat them all.  That stood for the Peak Frean an the Bics baby dills.

It was hard sometimes.

U uaws Ro put he amounts of energy into sneaking one or two every so often and place the box back exactly where it was because nay be Mom wouldn’t bodiceIld found her new hiding spot.

I can still remember a Ver visual memory of that Flore house on a street with no others and the kitchen cupboards and wallpaper.  It was just like The Foreman’s except it didn’t move.

To This day,  there are a few cookies I enjoy,  and one in [articular I admit,  it has never lasted three days.  I eat a row at a time.

Sadly,  it seems to have vanished the same way many of my favourite foods did.   Well,  really I can Oly think of 3… Not 4.

Cadburry Maple Bud’s.  The greatest chocolate bar ever.

Franco American white Mac and cheese N  xab (similar to heinz)

Crazy Patagonia box invented by two ladies and popularized by Presidents Choice in Canada,

Apple Jacks

All gone,  along with my Dad’s did specialty I l; oved to share Booleans and Bredcrumbs.  I wouldn’t let anyone try to duplicate it.

I used to use that line when I’d get in trouble; We’ll I don’t smoke…  And that was a good thig.  I don’t do drugs…  Yet,  I don’t drink.  I don’t date.


I sometimes wonder if my parents died thinking I was gay.  From their perspective it must have been easier to understand than just being a never blower.


I ewmwmbwe the worst thing I ever did I think,  well apart from my anger stories.  The worst bad boy thing I ever did was really stupid,  Like crazy bad for bads sake with a 100% chance if being caught,

My accomplish was Rodd Laughlin.  My bad friend from a mile down the road.  His whole family were cool,  but somehow a bit shady,  and that made me like them. Rodd was the other kid who let his hair grow long.  We were not super vlose,  especially after the incident but you don’t pick and choose when friends are a mile away.

My family kept a long tradition of lower class damages moving on up in life.  We had an abandoned old car in the yard. It just sat there literally collecting dust.  It was a Volkswagen Fastback.  A slicker longer version of the beetle with the rear engine.  It was a really cool car,  dusty and fading away so the red paint was now lightish red.  Not pink,  lightish red.

I don’t remember the origin story clearly and who through the first hammer isn’t clear but I like to assume it was Todds and somehow he used his cool Fonz like powers to get me to join.

Smashing glass is a stress release,  It is incredibly fun and addicting.  <ore than a second potato chip,  we really had to smash more.  We broke all the mirrors and lights on the car,  and then smashed some old window frames out back of the house.

I must have been out of your mind,  but even then I realized,  it is wise to get in as much trouble as you can if the punishment will be harsh either way.

If you’re caugh in a crime,  it’s the perfect time to do more crimes.  I used that twqnique a few times in life.  You plea bargain down on the curfew offence and they forgive the fact you ate the whole box of Peak Frean before Dad had any.

I knew his plan.  He wouldn’t have any just so we couldn’t finish the bag.


I was trying to remember what other bad things I’ve done.  In a profile bio  once I stated I’d never been to the principles office or the back of a police car,  and I think that is true,.

I’m sad that drug use could make me a criminal.  My drugs use could put me in jail for decades,  because I often buy in quantities that appear to be for trafficking.  In reality,  it’s because I use a lot and hate being out.


My parents never found out about my drug use.  My sisters and close friends only found out about it in 2016, when some of the inner circle were concerned enough to cause a family intervention.

I had a moment of anger,  but logic won out and I apologized and made up over pizza.

I’m so happy when logic wins an argument before voices are raised,  As much as I have lived my life in fear of anger and loud noises.  My fear of being yelled at is deep and is a link to so much of who I am.

I was not my father.  I could not conceive causing that much stress on a little boy.  In a time before Attention Deficit Disorder was a thing we Lables,  kids like me were just disappointments.  I was acknowledged for my intelligence and special attention to some details and logic,  but I couldn’t learn by reading and my spelling was horrible.

I always had pride in my writing,  and even for the story from Mr.  Gilman who pulled me aside one day and said he really liked my writing,  but humour had no place in history essays.  I think I still have that purple three ring binder with that essay in my memory chest.

I hope I get to open that one day before I die.  Most of it will not make any sense to anyone else.  That chest is my card catalogue.  A physical trigger to many many stories,

I really should film me opening it like a YouTube unboxing video.

Idea: Instead of writing in the now,  recall the then and tell the stories.  Beam with pride as I reveal my writing back to age 16, where that was my career choice.

I needed to be a duo like Warne and Shuster or Burns and Shriners or The two Ronnie’s or Peter Smith an Dudley Moore’s.

I had three separate writing partners in high school,  but without discipline and a partner that calls back,  none continued past the point where we saw each other day in class.  Friends 16 miles away on dirt roads don’t interact much before the Internet or the BBS.

I hope I have the audio cassette from Norman Bourassa,  my best friend for a while.  I had nuns beds so friends who visited could stay the night and not need a ride home at night.

We HD a blast.  Most of my old time friends from that time period have 1 or 2 good stories I use when speaking of them.  Norman had the most,  right up to this day.  He owns a Harvey’s Franchise in a town an hour away.

Norman story highlights.

He taught me how to vurl my lip and wiggle my nostrils.

He thought me a really cool three finger [i[[et creature that also makes a cool sound when  you snap iy\t.

He is also the only friend to figure out the logic Pennie game 3 5 7 that I was infatuated with for a decade.  As a funny aside,  I met an odd older man at a bbq party a few years ago who by chance,  chose to make conversation about the game he’d invented that was apparently awesome and on it’s way to being a success.

It was 3 5 7 except with 16 pennies.

I crushed his joy. He had never met anyone who knew it,  and I beat him.  The problem with that game was always,  you’d learn 3 pile counts to shoot for and always win. It was not a fun game at all.  It was a slaughter for those who knew the trick to swindle those who didn’t.

Norman was the one who saw the 3 codes and started winning.  He shared with me,  and I never told a sole.  I had the power over 3 5 7. If you understand that by age 16, I had successfully failed at every single game I ever played.

All sports,  I was that famous last kid picked.  I couldn’t catch or throw.  I couldn’t run.

We were a game family.  We had a bunch of Milton Bradley’s and Parker Brother’s long board game boxes ain’t the hidden area behind the Dinette sets huge top facade.

I have flashing memories of Mousetrap,  Twister,  Operation,  Careers,  Clue with the original ugly yellow board and hand drawn Mrs.  White in the conservatory.

I loved those secret passages.  I’ve always wanted a secret package,  although when the Internet finally delivered,  I must admit I didn’t really want one.   Well…  I do,  but I can’t afford a house.

The ritual was the family would all sit down and play a game.  We’d see how long Dad would stay in it before flipping out,  calling it stupid and leaving.  I’m not sure why we always held out hope this time would be different,  but I guess all parties really did try.  I know what that’s like.

Years later I was asked if he was an alcoholic and I can;t answer,  but I do know he enjoyed a whiskey most nights,  maybe two all nights,.  I never really paid attention.  I just had a lot of Crown Royal purple bags with toys in them.

It kinda makes sense that his anger was exaggerated by a drink after work. Surely he needed a better temperament at work,  where he was loved and respected… At least whenever I was around.

The  thing is,  I never won.  I loved clue,  but never won.  I was always way too far behind to guess the lead pipe.  I never won any of them.  I was even embarrassed by checkers.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I lost at tic tax tow a few years longer than the other children.

I still loved games though. It was family time,  and smiles and I would be funny.  My Mom and I had a similar humour and she shared a different one with my sisters. We laughed a lot at that dining room table before my sisters moved away.

From age 10, I was an only child,  the miracle son that came later in life after two failed attempts.  My sisters are a generation older aged 7 and 9 years.

Because I failed so often,  being perfect the rest of the time was key.  I developed a personality to please.  From thise early days,  I stopped asking for things.  I stopped poking any bears.

I have built a life where I almost never have to ask for anything,  or make a choice that interrupts,  agitates or otherwise inconveniences anyone.  I am invisible until needed,  and then I come in ND create smiles.

As a consequence,  I have failed at progression.  I use 27 as the age it all started for me.  Learning A. D. D is real allowed me to carve out a life that worked for me.

A life in the NOW.  No planning.  No pre-thinking,  minimal post obcession analyzing.  I surfed the wave of a life on the cusp of now,  and went into sales and support.

I do nothing,  until somebody asks.

The commercial I had in mind for my sup[pony business was Superman walking around and he sees a customer having trouble with their laptop.   He rushes into the nearest phone booth and emerges Clara Kent. Clark’s solves the problem.

I’m happy nerds came back in the second quarter and got their praise.  Jocks and nerds have always been separate cliques,  but now the birds are the rockstar rich hero’s and the jocks are selling underwear and grills.

I’m coasting in the middle below fame and fortune and recognition,  but for the most part,  I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished riding that wave.  I used to give all the credit to luck,  and referrals that paid off,  but the truth is,  I had a [ersonality people liked.  My idea of stories allowed me to bond quickly and turn customers into contacts and long life friends.

Referrls happen because people true and respect you.

Darn.  This was written work an external keyboard and the horrid auto correct that changes entire words to completely different words.  This may be a challenge for whoever is editing this.

In my head,  I waved to you in the future.

NOW has time traveled.  I am writing in the moment of existence,  and you’re preceptors and realization could be days,  weeks years or- wouldn’t that be cool,  Milena.

It would be so neat if my writings were as famous as Shakespeare in the future.  Kinda sucks I’ll never know.

I remember the sad Vincent Vang ought episode of Doctor Who.  My fav episode and painting.  He died not knowing he would become famous.

I don’t want to be famous
I just want a few fans

Although –  confession time…  I’d love a few fans to pay my bills.  The cute webcam guilt I have spent money on makes a lot being nice to men.  The porn star I have a book crush on just got a Rolex from a fan.

I did get a few gifts Abd tips from loyal fans.

 

” I never ask,  but I like to say yes.”

Of course,  I like to say yes,  but I never did.  I became ask twice Jeff because I’d say no to any invitation.  Anxiety and undiagnosed lower Add symptoms meant I was always alone in a crowd,  I had self confidence inside my head but everything is perfect until you share.

I never thought I was good enough to compete with better friends,  so I befriended the oddities and virgin and nerds.  My school had the jocks,  the smokers,  the cafeteria lunches,  the library lunches and the seminar room.

I love the story of my dominance over the seminar room. A windows room in the library separate from the rest.  You could talk in the seminar room.

The yearbook crowd called it home,  and we treated it as our own.  We’d walk in, and others would leave or be stared down.  It was like the couch at Central Perk,  except plastic student chairs and plastic walnut tables.

I’m one of those kids that has a master key story about his school.  It was kind of wonderful when I meet new friends,  how many of them had master key stories from their schools too.  I don’t really have any smoker friends or jocks.

I love the yearbook.  It was my second idea at a career choice.  I wanted to make yearbooks for things other than school.  Any event where teenagers stay overnight away from home for a day or a week,  could use a yearbook.

Remember this was back when a colour photograph was a hobby and each print cost $4 or so.  One roll of 24 often HD SNOW pictures,  Valentine,  Spring,  Sports seasons and Christmas on the same roll when you finally took it away to be developed for a week.

I knew the power of visual memory triggers because I had loved my parents old photos.

As it turns out,  I think the advancement of photography might have the biggest impact on change for the next century than even the Internet,

Stories are being created and shared more today than ever before.  So much so,  we’re expanding so fast that choice is getting out of control.  Even the facts have several options to suit different demographics now.

The President in 2016 was Donald Trump.  He’s just a week into the position,  but he is dividing those United States so widely that they hve their own set of official stories and principles.

Donald Trumped L.  Rob Hubbard.  Sure you can rich and powerful inventing a Church for people to follow with your own origin story and set of rules you are not supposed to break for arbitrary reasons…  But doing it with half the country under their noses Wed rvrn Ballmer.

Whoever tells the best story wins.
Facts are irrelevant.

Jesus’s is tauight in schools,  supposedly along with the emotional background to call a suspension of disbelief “faith”.

The Donald lies about lies.  The last example close was Dr.  Will from Big Brother two or that naked guy that didn’t do his taxes from Season 1 of Survivor.

They both won on a campaign of lies.  They informed everyone in advance they would be doing so,  and then did so and people acted surprised.

Genius.  Donald does it even better because once you call the other story a lie,  who’s to say which is true.

A man with two clocks never knows what time it is.

Except my Dad.  We always knew what time it was.  Exactly.  Did you know the CBC Government owned radio station plays an official time signal signifying 1pm every day.

We’d gather around “screach”  Evey Sunday before Noodles and Breadcrumbs and count it down on our watches.  I remember how happy he was when my sister bought him his first quartz digital.  A second hand that clicked seconds was more accurate to the human eye than a skinny second hand.

Spinng

I have a pride point in that trait I picked up from him,  and it fits well into my personal.  The easiest way to impress somebody is to be on time or early.  It is surprisingly easy once you are willing to accept it means you will be the one waiting most of the time.

It is a gift of freedom and time to others when you are reliably on time.  In my family,  we started to worry at 3 Minutes.  I once predicted my cell phone’s ring as a magic trick while riding somewhere.

I said to my fried; That’ll be my dad,  and then the phone rang.  I was 3 Minutes late and he called.

When I started taking anti obcession pills at age 50, I slacked off a little.  I have been heard to say “around”  or “after 3pm” instead of quoting exact rime of arrival.  A big city always expanding makes traffic hard to predict and a 7 minute trip can be 2 hours without notice.

I always feel guilty.  I used to get physically sick in my stomach when I’d be running late,  especially before cell phones.  I hate waiting for unreliable friends,  I beer know when to give up,  and it’s usually way too soon.

I’m not a good waiter.


My life as a support [ersonality waiting for the universe to change before me and force me to react.  I do not control the wave,  I only react.  This means I have not been able to progress.

I have survived 30 years without a real Jon because enough people liked me to keep paying me and referring me to friends.

Now,  in my 50’s I’m lucky that my industry of choice has not yet been swallowed by three companies,  but it might be coming.  A good percentage of my clients no longer need me.  Either they picked up enough confidence over the years,  or they replaced me with a son,  or daughter or next door neighbour.

Several of the older ones gave up and migrated to using phones or iPads.  Still,  more of them have died. I miss them.  They were friends.

More than I care to admit,  I worked for free,  or at a loss…  At least financially.  I worked for the smiles and pride points.

The negative voice inside me tried to convince me I’m nothing special.  When you compare my skills to anyone else in my field of peers,  my knowledge is severely lacking.  Entire basic segments of networking and ocomputers are things I never learned.

You don;t have toi be an expert.
You just have to know the answers when they ask
Or have the confidence to figure it out

At times,  I felt guilty for charging for the simple answers,  but like that old technician joke about the guy complaining his furnace repair man just kicked the furnace to fix it,  and billed $400

Youre not paying for the kick.  You’re paying for the training and experience that knew where to kick it,  and the confidence to know it will work.

I know very little about computers,  Just more than my fans.

I;ve only recently come to terms with that being not only OK,  but special.  I never overworked.  People like me.  They really like me.

Another lesson I was shocked and amazed to learn,  was that people don’t expect quality or [romp[tress and they are shockingly OK with horrible service and missed deadlines.

I can get away with way way worse service than my low self esteem used to think I was giving.  I’m fucking awesome at making my customers happy,  even when I accidentally delete their book.

This story went all over the place,  including Dina’s airs of course.  I did however have great fun and pride while writing it

My negative voice pipes up; but you know it’s having in the file like the rest of them,.  Unedited,  fulled with the wrong words that make me look like an idiot,  and mentioning drugs.

It is perfect as long as I don’t share.

This blog is my best work ever,  at least until your opinion matters.

Ponder: is it better to be famous among strangers or friends.  I like being a hero,  but fame comes with both opinions.  My positive and negative voice coming in the comment section from other people’s judgement.

Sharing will be hard.  I could be crushed.  I could be laughed at.  Mocked.  My perfect reputation soured if I appear too crazy.

I hide.

I don’t want to be famous
I just want a few fans.
All I need is one.

OOOO..  I like it.  Callback to my other prose about all it took to reverse a life of self hate was for a stranger who’s opinion I respected to say yes.  You don’t suck.

I could never trust a friend’s [raise.  Friends are there to praise you.  You build you up and make you smash all the mirrors on the car your father then told you he was going to give that car to me when I turned 14. My next door neighbour had an old 60s pickup truck and we cruised the farm fields in it,  That would have been awesome.

Oh well.   I deserved that punishment.


As I draw to a close,  and the sun rises out my window,  I think ahead,  to a time when I am still alive,  and have found the right significant other to meld with me and keep me reacting.  A time when maybe my writings will be organized and reworded into something #prideworthy

I’m ready.  I’ve had the secret all along.  I live in a reaction world of NOW.  I love the Jeff that exists and interacts with the Universe,  It’s the pre and post obcessive anxiety that comes when I think about NOW.  That Jeff is great,  but I don’t trust him,  and apron reflection,  I still say a lot of stupid and insensitive things before I hear them.

I talk at the speed of my thoughts in the NOW,  and then apologize later.

However,  even without u irks my long life has taught me that I can create my own story and seeing how the world loops over and over has given me wisdom and insight.

It is so much fun learning new things and I feel no embarrassment admitting ignorance in many areas.  I am loving growing old,  and hope to do so without suffering for as long as I can.

One day something will give,  but it would be neat to learn at the end of it that being a good person helped.  I have lived without anger by reframing that frustration and being empathetic.

I am not angry because it is ugly and scary and unfair to those in front of me,  even if they’re the ones making me angry.

Sometimes it happens.  Too fast to change the story before I’ve yelled,  but I have a pretty good record.  I’ve lost my temper to extreme only three times,  and each story ended in tears and writing.

When all else fails,  make sure it’s a great story.

I hope mine is.

End of Part 2.

 

 

 

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