I was looking at the picture of someone just busted for syringes and meth, and I can't imagine in my minds eye any male boss who would put up with a sorry puss like that. Our family doesn't put women in charge of anything like a crew at all kinda for that reason among others. But I wasn't raised hands on directly by my own family, and people like Lisa and Kathy run things very differently than I would even in a hypothetical world where anyone would ask my opinion.
All over the world though, many a bitter old whore lives life vicariously through a son of some sort, though this is the kind of thing that would infect only an area where the normal immune system has been heavily compromised.
Anyway, I was thinking this afternoon after my run that when Dad was helping me stay human during the ride home from Colorado and I was handed a driver's license to read it had his picture and the name Geoff Gordon on it. I was thinking about this because someone else uttered words to the effect at that moment that they just realized that is very close to the Spanish for Fat Boss, and I'm pretty sure he outranks Geoff Majors especially since that's a plural. Although saying there is only one Geoff Gordon kinda forgets about race car drivers and stuff (Rolland played a song around this time a lot about Jesus being a race car driver, but I'm not sure if that is relevant, but considering Whitey's fondness of crosses and angel wings I think Dad may have been saying Jesus is a lie and the Devil is real, and a better driver).
I was also thinking about Dad saying last night about some of the things that went on in our interactions that he had stuff to get out of his system, and so did I, as I figure. I think they were sending me to Philadelphia during that time when he was inquiring about how to make me a permanent member of his team, before I finished High School and then he got a bunch of weird answers and then I ceased to exist as we know it.
In fact that time I "dreamt" that I climbed over the fence at the C-Store and ran naked through Crestmont it was Dad who picked me up on 11th street. He's typically not too far away.
I don't remember exactly when that was, but I got to thinking about there not being much of Lauren left to find, and how people would mistake her for me, and how for awhile I was tracking that I was eating 1800 calories a day yet I was over 160 pounds, and my door felt greasy. I had suspected I was being dosed with prednezone or something similar in the anti rejection department, and this was keeping me artificially fat, I didn't think beyond the fat part because thinking towards the prep for organ harvest was pointless cause for anxiety. But the thought crossed my mind a few times. If I ever put energy into cultivating my relationship with Chis it was because he had a use for my brain, which is sorta hard to transplant in working condition. I had conversations with Bill about thinking people wanted to put me on a machine so I couldn't do anything on my own but give yes or no answers about matters that would never benefit me. He said no one wanted anything from my brain, no one who mattered anyway. This happened in broad daylight in 2000.
Anyway, I'm not entirely sure Dad was physically present at any of these times. He may have hijacked someone to pick me up who doesn't remember a thing about it, and the card I was handed in the van may have been blank.
*I'm also pretty sure I also bit off Gerry Garcia's finger*
