The Bostonian Abroad

The only one who gets it will get it, which explains things. Ba-fucking-oo. I just wanted to share a thought with the universe. Nothing deep or meaningful. I don't know who the fuck I am supposed to be. I can't be who I used to be --for various reasons. Who I was might very likely get me thrown in jail nowadays. Plus, who I was seems to have worsened into some evil asshole anyway, so I can't be THAT anymore. And on this medicated existence, I feel, but not really. It's like I am watching my life and not really in it. I don't really know how to describe it. Tourism? I feel things, but not with any depth, which is probably good, given that I'm a prick when at full-bore. Most of my non-work life is spent sleeping or lounging. I just do not have any desire to do anything else. I've gained a medium-sized pygmy in weight, so my cardio-vascular health is probably none-too exemplary. So here I am, 42, fat, drugged, and happy, sort of. I kind of f

He would probably not want me to do this, but too bad. I'm alive and he's dead. He was my grandfather. He lived from around 1905 to 1973. He was born in the Boston area and had siblings that he apparently had to raise because his dad died. When he married my grandmother, Helena "Edna" Francis, he had already basically raised a family and had no interest in having one of his own. My grandmother had different ideas. She was a force of nature, so he relented and my mother was born in 1937. The war broke out for the US in 1941, and he went down to the war department several times, begging to be accepted. He was old already, but finally, they let him in. He went into the US Navy. He ended up in Hawaii. He was stationed, I'm told, aboard an aircraft carrier, and he saw action in the Pacific theater. The only stories I have of this period of his life are 1. He watched helplessly as his best friend was killed in a Kamikaze attack, allegedly seeing the plane hit his fr