On occasion, I’ll walk outside in the morning and notice one of my neighbors sleeping in his car. I don’t know his name – also, he speaks like a paralyzed muppet – so I never bother to ask if he needs any assistance. That answer would always be a stupendous “YES”, and then I’d be stuck with helping him. There are literally people for that type of thing, they’re just on hiatus right now.

It’s hard to help those who don’t see that they need help; I was that way a large chunk of my life. This particular dude is totally a crackhead, and mine was alcohol. Which is worse?

Crack is some evil stuff, made from the crystalized sweat of Satan’s sweaty ball sack, but it’s an illegal substance. You must jump through some hoops to get it, unless you’ve managed to secure yourself a clean spot to lay your head in the neighborhood sin den. You have to find you, and who am I to tell you who you are? Your life’s ambition is to be a crack head, then by god you go forth and be the best damned crack head you can be…just stay in your f’ing lane.

I’m a bit of a ‘toke a joke, sling a word here and there, song strumming, super step-dad, cool-ass grandpa, and husband of the century, and I stay in my lane. Crossing the line on my life’s highway is probable cause to pull you over and kick the shit out of you. Read that last line in one mental breath, and you’ll know the severity of my convictions.

The crack head is a smart guy. We don’t know each other, but we know each other. He can tell who I am from a distance, same as I to him. Confidence is visible to the sure among us, like a super power. I can tell who someone is the moment I meet them. It’s a trait only shared by the fearless.

The way I carry and present myself to others says I am all of those above things, without question. The way he carries himself tells me he’s had it rough, accepts his demons, and plans on being exactly who he wants to be until the whole shit house goes up in flames. Also, he only wears the same Dallas Cowboys jersey from day to day. If you’ve reached that level of lowness, just step aside and let that man pass. Long live the Dallas Cowboys magic from the mid-nineties. Man, what a ride.

Only with acceptance in your destiny can you see the lines of the highway, and he and I drive this metaphorical road unscathed. He stays in his lane, and I stay in mine. Animals do this, or die. Humans have laws.

But laws are just words. Those who can see the lanes fear no words, and accept the consequences of such actions.

That’s why he’s the crackhead in the car, and I’m the wake-and-bake writer.

Now, the question I’ve been dancing around since this piece’s inception…

Back story: this crack head has a car to sleep in. It’s actually a nice car; runs and everything. All the lights appear to be in working order and the registration is current. He has a condo next to me, and I have a NICE condo. It’s not Graceland, but dammit it’s ours. He has a wife and a couple of family members who share it with him, and there’s never any noticeable shenanigans. Sometimes, he just sleeps in the car.

Now, I’m not quite sure if he’s pissed someone off in the home – as an eighty year old looking crack head (he could be thirty-five for all I know), what could you possibly do to piss off a close family member? They’ve seen it all before, and on several occasions.

No, I think he does it because he knows who he is. When he offends others, he has the honor to remove himself from the situation. Like the alpha dog he is, he goes to his corner and lies down. Tomorrow is a new day. He stays in his lane, pays his ticket when he’s caught, and drives on till highway’s end. Respect.

The “ghost hunting and horror author” thing was someone else’s life. I did what I did, I saw what I saw, and I wrote what I wrote until I couldn’t no more. I’m an amazing writer, I’ll boast that until my dying day, but I struggle with fiction. I avoid it like a punishment.

I do so because it was my soul driving someone else’s highway; someone who couldn’t drive their own. Couldn’t? Nah, wouldn’t, at least from my obsessive point of view. There are no heroes in life, only the least villainous. Just like my Starving Zoe novella.

I continued to drive their highway in amazement only realizing as of late that I’d strayed from my own journey. No fault; the path was beautiful, there were things I enjoyed, and friends I’ve found.

It wasn’t my path, though.

My blinker is on and I’m merging. I have misplaced memories from my destined journey, and I hope they were and will be enjoyed by future generations, perhaps becoming legends in their own rite or right; both.

I’m glad you’re here to see this, because I’m back in my lane. Gonzo Wolf’s barefoot romp through The Shire’s of madness continue, and no one knows where this path leads. Goddammit it feels good to feel grass between my toes again, if you know what I mean. Metaphorically

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. I promise to tell the truth, make it fun, and continue to do what they say can’t be done: become someone of no one. I’ve hit cruising speed, placed on the phony-baloney cruise control thingee that never seems to work correctly, and unclenched my buttocks. I’m back in my lane. Those fifteen-year detours are INSANE!

Sam casually asked, “have you ever thought about collecting a bunch of your random thoughts you waste on social media and compiling them into a book?”

SNAP.

Holy snap and crap! I did that once upon a time. It just so happened to be about ghosts because that’s what I was doing at the time. My muse (then) told me my gonzo ramblings were narcissistic and I should concentrate more on horror. In hindsight, it was her deflecting narcissism onto me, and I spent fifteen years squeaking out a horror career.

I mean, being married to a writer is like opening your own life to the masses, in small doses. Not a good lifestyle for a dealer of lies, but I digress.

What a long, strange trip it’s been, and I hold no grudges, but there’s no room in what’s left of my life for driving someone else’s highway.

I want to go places I’ve never been, and so I shall.

Literally and literarily.

I’m feeling saucy, so I shall dip.

In a world full of long division, it’s a plus.

I’m smiling, just like I used to do.

Stay out of my lane.

I’ve never been here before.

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