Restoration

Man, bad news travels quick. But then, I was the dumbass telling everyone I’d be graduating with my doctorate all summer.

It’s funny that way,
you can get used to the tears and the pain

One of my younger sistersr came to visit me the other day, which NEVER happens. I guess my family was worried I slashed my wrists or blew the back of my head off with a shotgun. All of my immediate family lives in the suburbs. I’m the only one who lives in Detroit. Why? I don’t know. The hippies are taking over my neighborhood, which reminds me…

You never loved me…

I may be able to buy my dream house (again). My county is having an auction next week. The strange thing is that I looked at the house with a realtor in May, but the owners wanted more money. Now the house is owned by the county because the owners didn’t pay the taxes. There was an auction in September with a minimum bid of 10K, but it didn’t get a single bid. Now it’s up for auction one last time with a minimum bid of $500 bucks, cash only. I’ve got more than enough money to pay 10k in cash. I suspect that all the investors and regular house hunters are too cash poor now. If I don’t get it, at least I still have Plan B, building my own house. But I like Plan A, the original idea, better. Buy an old house and restore it.

You can’t hurt me now,
I got away from you.
I never thought I would.

I emailed a close colleague from Penn State who happens to be a well-known scholar. In fact, he wrote an acknowledgement to me in one of his books because a conversation we had inspired one of the chapters. He couldn’t believe what happened at my grad school, and told me that he’ll write any letter of recommendation to any university I wanted if I wanted to start over. But let’s hope that doesn’t happen. I’m on my last appeal, an appeal to the Provost. It’s a Hail Mary. My advisor said to be prepared in case the Provost gives me the extension, but I’m cynical. Nevertheless, I’m making final revisions and finishing the conclusion. No matter what happens, I know I finished it.

Maybe someday, I can look back
and be able to say
you didn’t mean to be cruel
somebody hurt you too.

I have a dear friend. A friend I’ll call “Andy”. We are friends who were buddies on some internet forum back in 2000. We were both writers. Andy was a writer and an IT guy…and an alcoholic. He stopped drinking to numb the pain of getting his heart stomped on by a girl he thought was the love of his life and wanted to marry. It’s interesting how lives change. He still writes but now he’s a magician, so he writes a lot about magic. He doesn’t make a ton of money, but he’s happy. He does cards tricks on the streets of Vancouver. He gave up IT. He can drink now without being an ass. Well, he can be sober without being an ass too. He would agree with me. I might visit him over break. I might let him saw me in half.

You can’t make me cry.
You once had the power;
I never felt so good about myself….