I am very glad that I finally am returning home!

Yeah, I’ve been away. I’ve been dealing with headaches and woes, man. So some people did me, in my opinion, way wrong. And I had to go see a judge about it. It had major repercussions in my life financially and emotionally. I felt victimized for a bit. Then I stopped and realized that I’m not a victim at all. I’m a volunteer.


St. Francis, take me away! Wait, who the hell is he stepping on?

See, I put myself in the role of the persecuted. I tell myself stories about how fucked I am, how they fucked me, how unfair it all is, how hard my life is, why no one will ever understand me, and how I have to have some outside agent, some deus ex machina come and save me. Usually lotto or some weird twist of fate that will have me marrying rich. Both of which are equally unlikely.

But I’m not a victim. I stand in line and buy a ticket (“One victim, please”) and tell myself stories over and over again reinforcing how helpless I am. It doesn’t come as much from anyone else as it does from me. When I change my thought process and decide to take some action, I can be surprisingly effective, even when things seem bleak. I was in this instance. I rallied, and did what I needed to do. Even before the other parties didn’t do what they needed to do, I went in there feeling 65% sure of myself, as opposed to 15% a few days before. Before, I knew the truth and had no way of proving it. After, I could prove the truth, but I didn’t know what would happen. Massive improvement. They can still tell their side of the story, which they may very well feel is true, but things are looking up for Seer. As of this moment, it seems like I’m in the place I want to be. Even if I don’t get what I want, I know I’ll be okay.

And I’m moving! I’m moving out of my Hellhole. Yay! Fuck this place. You hear me, Hayward? Fuck you. By the end of July, I am outta here! With your gunfire and your tumbleweeds and tumbleweaves both. For reals for reals, there are large desert bushes and piles of fake hair in the gutters here. Tonight I was driving down the main avenue and had to pull over because I saw the flashing lights of the 5-0 on his way somewhere. Don’t, don’t, don’t go the same way I’m going, please. Yes, the officer did go down my street, thanks for asking! I’m tired, way tired of living here in the ghetto. Ginger says this is where we belong, but I want to escape. I’m tired of the fireworks and gunfire all year long. I’m tired of hearing people argue outside their apartments late about whether or not they should be singing at the top of their lungs along with BeyoncĂ© (the answer is no, but drug users have long-term memory loss and will start again in about 30-45 minutes). I’m tired of almost running people over because they don’t move out of the street when I am driving down it at 4 mph. I’m tired of the infestations of bird mites. I’m tired. Fuck you, Hayward. F you in the A!

I’m leaving the East Bay. I love the East Bay, but I don’t love Hayward. I do, however, love my new apartment. It’s in the West Bay, which doesn’t exist (ooh, a mystery!). It’s a fantastic deal, cheaper rent, brand fucking new, utilities included, an in-law with an awesome landlord, and it just all seems to be working out. I always get what I need. All I have to do is put one foot in front of the other and just keep on trucking and everything is always okay. I don’t always get what I want, that’s for fucking sure. I want lotto. I want to marry someone who will rescue me and take care of me and be perfect in every motherfucking way. I want to write bestsellers that are brilliant and start a whole new genre of art. But I won’t go hungry, I’ll always have a roof over my head, and I will always have people to love me and support me, if I just keep doing the next right thing. That’s what my experience tells me.

If anyone wants a sofabed, holla at a bitch. I’m getting rid of mine and would be happy to unload it on you. You gotta come get it (which means coming to the ghetto) and maneuver it down the stairs and into your vehicle. But it’s in good shape and it’s free and they still sell the slipcovers for it at stupid Ikea, so there you go. Ottoman included.

Eduard Khil–“Trololo (I Am Very Glad that I Finally Am Returning Home)” — (1976)


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