So, after I loaded my crap into my dresser, I went outside. The place was surrounded by big palm trees which gave shade to the nice front porch. Over the door there is a sign that says “His House” in hand-written script. It’s burned into wood, I think. I liked the homey look of it. And His House is not a bad name for a place, in my opinion. Substance abuse treatment centers have all different kinds of names. I think the worst one I’ve heard of was called “Joy Castle.” They made everyone etch their name onto a “Joy Stick” which was then planted in the front lawn during their stay, to communicate that could “go deep here” – awful. This alcohol rehab center was just a nice little house with a cozy window and lots of greenery outside. There’s even a view of what appears to be the Sierras or something from the front porch.
When I thought about the dirty duplex I lived in with my bros. My wingmen – I thought, hey detoxing from alcohol is a step up. I could live like this. I think this place even has housekeepers! Back in my parents’ house, I knew a certain quality of life that I haven’t managed to get for myself on my own. My mom and dad were good people and took care of us as best they could. Maybe they worked a little too much. I sometimes think if I didn’t have so much time on my own, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten sucked into the dry armpit life of the soon-to –be-high-school dropouts I knew. There was a time when I thought maybe I would want to go to school and do something like study art. Or be a writer.





