November 19, 2009
Just a day
Originally published June 19, 2004
I haven't felt good today. I've not been physically ill; I've just been down and depressed. I mowed my lawn, but my heart wasn't in it. Once upon a time, I would have been very proud of the grass I've managed to grow on this sandpile where I live, but it doesn't matter much to me now. I just cut the grass to keep the neighbors from thinking badly of me. I never did find that loudmouthed frog in the back yard.
Henry came over and gave me some squash and cucumbers from his garden. I ate them this afternoon while I watched the US Open Golf Tournament on television. I really should wipe the cobwebs off my clubs and start playing again. I used to be pretty good at that game. I THINK I miss playing, but I miss other things a lot more.
I took all of my guns out today and cleaned them. I like the smell of gun oil. According to the court order Jennifer has hanging over my head, I'm supposed to get rid of every one of those weapons before I can see Quinton again. I don't understand that. Jennifer has at least one gun that I know of, because I BOUGHT IT FOR HER. And if I wanted to kill her, I would have done it a long time ago. It's just more bullshit from a vindictive bitch that I made the mistake of marrying.
I bought my single-shot .22 rifle for Quinton. That's the same kind of gun I learned to handle when I was young and I don't see anything wrong with a father teaching his son to shoot and handle a firearm safely. In fact, I believe that it is a DUTY. A single-shot .22 rifle is perfect for the job, because it makes a person think about every shot. Plus, the ammo is cheap.
I'm not giving up my guns. I will NOT be an unarmed citizen expecting government to protect me from footpads, goblins, rattlesnakes, rabid raccoons or barking frogs. I want to be able to shoot first instead of calling 911. I don't give a shit what a judge says.
Let HIM come live where I do for a while. He'll buy his own goddamn guns.
I am in a rebellious, shitty mood. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired and I've had enough pure bullshit heaped on my head to last for a lifetime. Tomorrow is Father's Day and the closest I can come to seeing my father or my grandfathers is a visit to the cemetary, which I won't make. I want to see my son, but I doubt that possibility, too. It'll just be another day for me.
I'll go see mama tomorrow. She always makes me feel at home.
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