I Needed “Help”
Thanks to Rhonda
She Allowed Me to Discover ‘Love’ Again
Self-Pity is a worse disease than alcoholism.
I can ‘fix’ alcoholism.
Have not yet found a cure for self-pity or regret, or loneliness.
These plagues plague me.
Help Me Rhonda
Cred: Beeech Boyz
Then I Wronged Her
This ain’t Rhonda, but a pretty (really pretty) reasonable facsimile.
(Just like Rhonda)
Once Janet and I had escaped (In the middle of the night) from Nacogdoches, after having sold out and sold our “Aquarium World” Crud-Eater Tropical Fish Emporium to a young couple for not nearly what it was worth, we headed to Plano.
(Not sure why Plano)
Got there. Early in the A.M.
Just in time to find an apartment.
Found one, but we were near to broke.
West Plano—where all the yuppies and rich folk lived.
We managed to move in though.
(We were used to that)
After about a month, we got kicked out.
Because we were deemed to be “White Trash.”
We found a cheaper apartment in East Plano that was FURNISHED.
Janet announced to me one day that she wanted to be a ‘housewife’ for one year.
Considering what I had put her through and what a ‘trooper’ she had always been, I agreed.
So I got a job which paid shit, but just enough to make her dream come true.
We would manage.
The job was a ‘factory’ job for a Mom and Pop company:
They made gauges. Pressure gauges. Mostly for fire trucks.
I was hired as a ‘Calibration Technician.’
For the gauges.
(Yeah, with all of my fucking ‘math skills.’)
But I never missed work and so they kept upping my pay.
So it was easy for me to keep my promise to my wife.
Then entered Rhonda Jo:
More White-Trash Than Me
It was inevitable Love at First Sight–
I could read The Writing on the Wall
Throwing a spanner in the works of my marriage.
To be continued…