goodbye

The goodbye letters and packages have been sent.  The shop is empty.  Hot Wax Unlimited is history.  The loose ends have been tied.  Nothing left to do but the doing.

I can't help but think of all the people whose lives my departure will affect.  My mother, absolutely.  The law officer given the task of informing my mother.  The person who discovers me.  The folks who'll have to handle me.  The family member asked to ID my body.  My sisters, who'll have the difficult task of trying to console my mother.  They'll also have to speak the words, "my brother killed himself."  To all of you, let me apologize in advance.  I am deeply, deeply sorry.

They'll say I was depressed.  I've read depression defined as "anger turned inward."  I'm not angry.  I'm just...finished.  I've done what I could with what I was given.

They'll call me things.  Loser.  Quitter.  Wimp.  Pussy.  All true.

They'll say, "But, he was so good at _______."  Well, being good at things hasn't made me rich, hasn't made me happy and doesn't get me laid.  What's the use?
 
Thirty years ago, a shipmate said to me, "You have trouble dealing with life."  I didn't want to hear that, especially from him.  He was right, of course.

I am grateful for my twenty-four years in the DJ business.  I routinely saw people at their best, enjoyed following pop music and got paid to do something that I would have done for free.  I was put on the Earth to be a DJ, and I've done it.

I'll say it again--I've become someone that the world can do without.  I'm an asshole that no one likes, and I can't deal with that any longer.  I'm tired of being alive.

This blog amounts to little more than a bunch of whining.  If you choose not to read any further, I'll understand.

Thank you for stopping by.

Peace out!
Jeff Fluker

one week

long sigh...(lots of those, lately)

I have one more week on this Earth.

Things seem to be working out.  I have just enough money to rent this hotel room for my remaining days.  I've enjoyed the shower, bed, A/C, TV and Wi-Fi.  Sleeping in the van was kind of a bummer.

I spent today assembling a cheer mix.  I like the finished product, but the editing gave me a headache.

For my last DJ gig ever, I will play at a wedding this Saturday.  Nice couple.  The bride is a real stunner.  Turn-and-stare gorgeous.

Sunday, I'll assemble and deliver the sound systems for my Mardi Gras float customers.  Monday, I'll finish clearing out the shop.  Tuesday, I'll send the goodbye letters and packages, and then...sayonara.

the thought

The thought has moved to the front of my mind--I'm planning something awful.   I'm scared.

Mr. Fix-It

When I get a call, I rarely hear "Jeff, let's hang out.  Jeff, let's go get a drink.  Jeff, I'm bored.  Jeff, I'm lonely.  Jeff, I'm horny."

I usually hear, "Jeff, I need your help."

I've always been good with my hands.  I can do stuff.  I can build stuff.  I can fix stuff.  I understand how things work.  I have tools, a van, a hand truck and fair-to-middling physical strength.  I'm the guy people call when they have a problem.

Being Mr. Fix-It is my lot in life, and I try hard to accept it.  Some people pay me.  Some say thanks and try to return the favor.  Often, there is no reciprocity, especially when doing favors for women.  After allowing several females to take advantage of me, I finally learned a hard lesson--being her "bitch" will not spark attraction.

I'm done being the handyman no one wants to socialize with.  Mr. Fix-It is retiring.  Permanently.

stuff

I've spent the past few weeks going through my stuff, deciding what to sell, what to send to folks, what to give away and what to toss.  I've been brutally unsentimental.  In the end, it's all gotta go.

These things are not just things tho...they're artifacts.  Timepieces from each phase of my life, with  attached memories, usually of some person.  Photos.  Newspaper clippings.  A perfume bottle and pair of panties.  Concert ticket stubs.  The pen-and-ink master Hot Wax Unlimited logo.  Navy discharge.  College diploma.  So much stuff.  So many memories made with so very many people.

A story of my grandmother, Miss Olga Jones, comes to mind.  After sorting through the many belongings of her late sister-in-law, she began a purge her of own "stuff," stating firmly, "I ain't leavin' all this shit for someone else to have to go through!"

Her words have stayed with me, and I'm doing my best to follow her example.  Clearing out the shop.  Closing accounts.  Getting rid of everything.

Saying goodbye.

like father, like son

Much like me, my father was a hating-life S.O.B.  Moody.  Violent.  Frustrated.  Impatient. Used-to-be jock and wannabe artist.  Socially impaired.  He had a sharp tongue and a big mouth.  He liked to fist fight.  He drank.  He couldn't keep a job.  Abusive husband.  Wholly unfit parent.  He couldn't get along, couldn't deal with life, couldn't figure it out.  He was tremendously unhappy.

He should have offed himself, no question.  Maybe he didn't have the guts.  Maybe he thought that course of action unmanly.  Perhaps he didn't realize that he was the problem.  It might be that the idea of "early check-out" just didn't occur to him.  Who can say?

My mom has told me that I'm a lot like him.  I inherited many of his personality traits.  Like him, I don't mesh well with this world or the people in it.  Maybe I've always been someone that the world can do without.

cats

I miss my cats.  During Eviction One, I took them to my sister's place in Poplarville, MS.  They freaked out, peed in every bed, got tossed outside and disappeared.  I hate myself for allowing this to happen.  They trusted me, and now they're gone.

I have loved and cared for many felines, beginning with a black-and-white tuxedoed stray that I named Velcro.  She had four babies--Amos 'n' Andy, Patches and Junior Kitty.  Mavis (from upstairs) moved in, and had an adorable little boy kitten that I named Boo.  A vagabond that I called simply "Mommy Cat" had four precocious male offspring--Noodles, Copper, Fluffy and Bottle Brush Kitty.  Baby was euthanized...cancer.  Another mommy cat showed up and gave birth in the days after Katrina, giving us the gorgeous but aloof Grey Kitty, and affectionate lap-cat and loyal friend of seven years, Tabby.

No cats, no connections, no future.  Tired of the isolation.  Tired of crying.

I am SO outta here--two weeks from today!