1992-3ish

It occurs to me that sitting at my desk, working, is the time when I do most of my thinking. Coming up with the next thing to say, the next memory to document. Once I enter the door of my house it is on. No time to worry about what went wrong. No time to dwell over the past. Life is abundant in my home.Puppies greet you at the door tales a wagging looking for the first of the attention to be given that evening. My son is always coming up with some new experiment to try. God help us. Entertaining is the thing he likes to do. Jokes and underarm farts are a common thing when he is around. My youngest daughter, the artist, always has the latest masterpiece to splay in front of me daily while I prepare dinner. In walks the hubby to give that kiss I am ever so grateful for daily. I feel like a 50's housewife working in the kitchen, things are smelling good and in walks your husband gives you a "hello,dear" and a peck on the cheek.

Uh..wait a minute..

I worked 8 hours today . Snap out of it. Moving on. I could never be bored at home with the constant love and attention they give me. I hear I love you from them in some form every day sometimes all day. Whether it takes the form of a song or a picture or simply a big squeeze and kiss. I am at my best when around my family. Point being I am grateful for this time I have at work to think about me and my life and pick it apart. Only keeping the best of the best that will keep me healthy and happy. So let's go there...

Austin, Texas 1992-3ish. I have to admit I lost track of time in those days. I know it was summer. When you don't have to know what day it is, you don't. Fridays meant nothing to me I was out 7 days a week. I had no job. I was a hairstylist and wanted to do MAD hair. Well, I found out very quickly that punk rockers do there own hair. Literally with the cheapest product you have ever seen. We lived a few apartments down from 2 punk rock guys and I wanted to do their hair. Their names-Turtle and Dave. Dave was a character, his hair was as red as cherry kool-aid , colored his teeth black with sharpies and wore a band-aid on his face. His clothes were torn and dirty. He smelled. Looks can be deceiving because he was a very nice kid. So I introduced myself and wanted to know where he gets his hair done. Quickly informed he did his own and was able to see it first hand one day, as he poured Clorox in his already bleached hair, then when it was bleach yellow he put cherry kool-aid in it. Wow. Can you say, over processed? Well that is an understatement. Having met several of his friends all of which didn't have a dime and all did there own hair, Elmer's glue for the mo hawks and most had a jar or two of manic panic for color. I could see I wasn't going to make a dime in Austin trying to do punk rock hair. I went to the drag one day to find a job. Just one day.

My roommate on the other hand had a full time job and was diligently working and being responsible. She was serious, she was here to live. The love of her life was here and she wasn't going to mess it up. I,on the other hand had just lost the love of my life and didn't give a rats ass about responsibility. I was here to party. Party I did. I never even made it out of the house to go out each night until around 11pm. Months went by and I was not a contributor to our living environment in any way. Food stamps and checks from home were the only thing that kept me above water.

My looks had changed dramatically,I was no longer the pretty girl that was engaged to be married that same year. I had cut my hair off, very very short in fact it at times was shaved in the back and sides leaving hair on top to prove I was a girl. I colored what hair I had purple and wore the same thing over and over. No jewelry other than beads and rubber bracelets, army fatigue shorts with a men's v-neck white tee with army boots given to me by a friend who had been in the army. Most of the time I wasn't very feminine. Leaving a club at 3 am alone and having to walk to your car is not the time to bring attention to yourself. Only people out at that time are the homeless and the leftovers like me.

My routine for months was the same. I really don't remember when I slept in those days.I know I did but it wasn't my biggest priority. Found a club right off 6th street named Mercado Caribe that would allow me to enter for free. Still don't know why they did because I never talked to any of the people who worked there. Can't begin to guess but they also let me drink frozen sangria's for free every night. Thinking about it all I can come up with is the guys from the band that I followed. We had all been in there together a few times at gigs and sitting in the back smoking dope before the shows is my best guess as to how they knew my face. Didn't matter I got in free and that is what I did . I went to listen to music only. I rarely socialized with anyone other than to smoke dope. I spent most of my time in those months on acid. Cheapest and longest high I could find. I never had money for pot but I know I smoked it every day. It was abundant. Parked in the alley behind the club went in and sometimes drug a few stragglers back to the apartment to hang out until morning. Needless to say my roommate who had to work the next morning did not appreciate my friendliness.

What went wrong? Couldn't tell you. After months of the same thing, not ever finding work always bringing home other drug addicts, feeding them our food and being disrespectful I came home one night to an empty apartment. She had moved out with her boyfriend. The gig was up. Rent was not paid had no money to pay it. No money to buy gas or cigarettes anymore. Had burned my acid dealer because I would eat all of his acid instead of sale it. Running out of options for the most part. The last straw was when my car broke down. Stuck all by myself in that lonely apartment. Realizing what I had done never entered my mind. My dumb ass was in the hole I had dug, and couldn't get out by myself. The friends I had made over the past 6 months were just as bad or worse off than me. The last memories I have of the apartment were laying in bed watching the koresh davidianship burn to the ground. It crashed and burned with all the lives that were taken and I was this selfish lost person watching it with no feeling at all about it. I remeber not being affected by the travesty. I was gone..a waste.. fried.

My parents came to get me...I was going home. Loaded my car on a trailor and I went back to the place I had run from in the first place. Going back to Brenham having been on drugs for 6 months straight and looking like someone else was bound to be a problem...right?