(This is an excerpt from THE HOMESICK MINIVAN newsletter, sent on 4-13-15. If you would like to join the mailing list, please email me at email@example.com)
I wanted the first newsletter to be an actual letter, not an email. But this will have to do, for now. I swear to God, the next newsletter will be printed on paper. It will look like a high school newspaper and it will probably smell like me a little. It will probably involve lots of poetry that reads like a dirty joke, or maybe lots of dirty jokes that reads like poetry.
Here’s the thing. I have been really busy and I am the type of man that gets really grumpy about business. A month or so ago I was hired to work second shift at an assisted living community and it has taken a toll on me. I thought the job would involve nothing more than wearing scrubs and hanging out with old people and telling bad jokes. This is not the case. The job is intense. I wipe so many butts. All sorts of butts. I’ve seen things. I’ve seen strange and humiliating things. I think God is trying to ruin butts for me. But it won’t work. I will persevere. Never underestimate my loyalty to the almighty butt.
The first few weeks at the job were trying to say the least. But I have actually grown to love it there. There is something peaceful about the senile ramblings of the residents. I used to think of getting old and mushy brained and forgetful as the most tragic thing that could happen. Now I think of it as cleansing. Appropriate almost.
Not saying their lives are great. Or even good. After a long life, and with the money they are spending, they deserve better. They should be living in a palace in the middle of pinewood forest with creeks surrounding them. They should be getting their butts wiped by bikini clad body builders, not chubby bearded man children like myself. Their lives aren’t fair. Their days are boring as hell. But then I watch the other staff I work with on break, glued to their phones, eating Dairy Queen, bitching about their lame boyfriends who spend their days playing video games, and I think, fuck, their lives aren’t much better.
So this job has been an adjustment. And I have not put together the first newsletter. But I will soon. In April.
I would like to end this letter with a poem by Dan Nielsen. He is a poet from Racine I admire. His poems are short and strange and wonderful.
Pulling the plug
on my mother
was the hardest thing
I ever had to do
to save electricity.
Hope everyone is well.
Your best friend in the whole wide world