Saturday, October 25, 2008

Of All the Things I've Lost - Volume 1

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I don’t pretend to be an expert on everything, but I do like to share my honest observations on the things that I think I have figured out. Today was full of observations and speculations on what I think I have learned, and reminders of what I thought I forgot. Who knows how close I have gotten to some answers but it all started with the rare trip to Maine to drop the kids off with their aunt. It could have gone many different ways depending on what way I chose to get them there and today I chose to get them there by driving through New Hampshire and then cutting over to Maine, instead of cutting over to Maine and driving through it. The answer to that is rather obvious as I hate Maine as if it were a living breathing entity unto itself, as many people know, so an extra half hour of driving didn’t seem like that bad of a deal.

Since it was one of those rare occasions where the kids were behaving themselves, and getting along I had the wonderful opportunity to let my mind wander the whole way, and it focused on just about every point of historical memory to me. I looked with feigned interest as we drove through Dover {Portsmouth for the sights, Dover for the smells} and was shocked to see that the city itself is well on its way to being far less of a shithole than a Portsmouth kid told everyone it was 20 or so years ago. Most of my historical points of memory have been wiped clean from the map, and that’s probably the greatest source of improvement possible. It wasn’t a wonderful stay along the highway of Jeremy’s life after all, and the places I would have been associated with, would have been associated with the lowest common denominator anyway. As a matter of fact two of the three places I lived in Dover don’t even exist anymore.

You’re barely even in the downtown area of Dover before you get to the apartment I was living in when my world officially crashed down on me. The scene of the last place I ever drank, where the usual party ending festivities of Jeremy being dragged away in hand cuffs. It stood out to most people because of the huge neon sign for the drug store out front that said “DRUGS” and the arrow seamed to point at my front door. The sign is no longer, and apparently the building that housed members of the three biggest bands {at the time} in that area {Future Villains, Stone Cold, and Chaotic Intentions} was equally as gone. The three bands and its members didn’t amount to a hill of shit, but the building apparently amounted to a medical complex with fancy gold lettering. We are going back nineteen years to be reminded of the fateful night that ushered me out of that building and later the next day, out of the city in general, so you would have to assume that something was bound to change one way or the other.

Getting through the city you come to the other end where the Somersworth border looms, and the site of the trailer park that I lived in and my two youngest children were born. It was the absolute pinnacle of how low my life had gone, but during the time I was fat dumb and happy with a pretty wife and three happy children, I did spend a couple of good years there. I also found out about my cheating ass wife there, and watched my children get swept out of that place and moved to the inner bowels of Maine, so that a two hour trip to visit them was an easy day. For some reason as I looked at the Hampton Inn and the Pub 99 that sits where it used to be, I managed to see the good of what used to be there, so I guess I may be growing in a twisted way. That park was an eye sore, and despite the inbreds that had to go and assimilate with the rest of society when it closed, I think the area is at the very least a hundred times better without it.

I made it through Somersworth relatively unscathed as I had no memories of life in Somersworth. Some would say that it shows that my life never really got that bad, but as I entered Rochester my memories wandered into the knowledge that it had gotten that bad. Rochester is still a dump, and it would take forty days and forty nights of heavy rain to clean that place up. Every convenience store still has the “we accept food stamps” signs out front of them as it is the most notable form of currency in Rochester, and sadly so, I was one of this city for a bit as well. As a matter of fact that apartment in Dover with the “drugs” sign was a huge step up when I moved out of Rochester and wound up there. My memories barely had any good in them aside from driving by an ex-girlfriend’s house {the one that ran away to New York to become a super hot Goth Model} but notably the apartment building I lived in there {studio apartment with two roommates should tell you the story there} which is still a hole in the ground demonstrating the fact that it wasn’t even worth rebuilding. Rochester holds no memories aside from my drunken logic and the gangs of bikers and CB radio rednecks I used to beer gag at until they kicked my ass thoroughly.

Crossing into Maine at the East Rochester border {every shit city has a section of it labeled with a direction so the rest of the city can point to it and say “that is the bad part”} I was in Lebanon. Lebanon Maine isn’t much better than Lebanon Middle East. It’s no more than a demilitarized zone between Rochester and Sanford {a real hole in the earth} which looks like every Stephen King novel’s back drop. Like just about every cross over from New Hampshire to Maine, there is a crappy looking restaurant with beat up cars filling the parking lot. I don’t even know the name of this one, as I never felt it necessary to stop in Lebanon for anything. The kids were still getting along so I allowed my mind to wander about and think of all my former in-laws family that lives within a urination of where I was driving. Of course none of them are worth a urination of visiting so I tried not to think about them too hard, but driving into Sanford on the other hand spilled out more interesting memories of days gone by, when I lived in Wells.

Sanford is a dump as I had stated before, and still to this day looks like the place where they test the bombs. This was the place though where I spent the first half year of what would form the last nineteen years of my life. The sober years were kicked off by ending up in an abandoned A-Frame in Wells that a friend let me have so I could get back on my feet. It was easiest to hitch-hike into Sanford for whatever I needed so I ended up there quite a bit. I used to look at everything around me and pray that I would overcome that cesspool and who would have thought that I would marry into the family that made up roughly half of the population of the city. It just goes to show that what we do when we are “young and dumb” is nothing compared to what we do when we are “old and dumb” and think we know things. Driving through Sanford is almost like driving through Rochester in the way that it takes up a ton of land, and all the roads meander, but shooting out the other end brought me to Alfred which was one town over from my final destination before turning around and going home.

Alfred and Lyman really are something out of a Rockwell painting. Those that romanticize Rockwell paintings probably haven’t noticed that I am talking in the literal sense of the word. The buildings are all poorly constructed, and falling in. They all could use some paint and even the businesses {for lack of a better word} look old and shitty. You don’t see people out and about around here because there is no place to be out and about to. My former sister in law lives in a slightly better hovel with her five kids {and one on the way} and {this will sound confusing} my ex wife’s ex boyfriend’s kid {told ya} but she is a good mother and does her best. The only memory here is when I pass the Alfred Prison where I attempted to get the Sherriff to go and get my kids away from my ex-wife {he wouldn’t} with the court order that he was supposed to. That of course is a longer story and simply a small fraction of the many reasons I hate Maine.

All the niceties were exchanged at this time. The kids told me that they would miss me {they won’t} and I told them that I would miss them {yeah right} and I made my way back towards my own domain with hopes of not having to go this way again until next year. On my way back to my large home in probably the most expensive community on the east coast, my house being a fifteen minute walk to the beach, I really should take a moment to realize that I have come a long way. I get pissy a lot because my ex-wife is a loser, incapable of taking care of her kids or supporting them in any way. I drone on and on about how I never get a life to myself {and even these rare occasions where my kids are away it ends up being spur of the moment and impossible to plan anything for my free time} and more often than not, I don’t have enough spare cash to do anything anyway. The reality of it though is that these little “trips” down memory lane remind me that I have had it worse and easily could again if I don’t keep my back strait and fly right. Some people live by the adage of “it’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there” and I prefer to look at these things as a “been there, done that, and you can keep it” ;8o)

Other Crap This Weirdo Publishes... Mental Notes & Random Musings {Daily Blog} The Crow's Nest {The Homepage of Jeremy Crow} Jeremy Crow on Multiply {For Community Types} Blogaholics Anonymous {E-Mail Blogging Group} Itching For Coffee {Community Blog}

Nothing that was printed here was intended to offend anyone, and if it did, screw ya, you begged for it. If you believe that there are some measures that can be taken to change me, then please feel free to pray for me, and while you are at it yourself, because you read this far, and if you hated every minute of it, then you are an idiot, not me, or the other people who like what I have to say! .. Jeremy

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