I blogged a while back about finding someone and about how I was trying to keep my felonious past on the downlow (See keeping it on the downlow September 9, 2015), but it turns out she was much better at it than I. I had no idea I was falling in love with a crackhead. I mean, she said she’d done drugs in the past but who hasn’t?
Felons are notorious for having low self-esteem, whether they are willing to admit it or not, and I was no exception. I was more than eager to overlook someone else’s skeletons since I had so many of my own. Even when the signs started popping up, I ignored them, feeling I didn’t deserve any better. Even when they hit me upside the head and screamed, “Get away from her!”, I shook it off.
As of the time of this posting, I am without a girlfriend—and a car—since she chose to steal it and go on a crack-smoking spree. Don’t know if I’ll ever get my car back. Don’t want the girl back.
Love the car. Hate the girl.
But all that aside, ex-prisoners tend to be resilient. You know what I mean. Get a big bit, keep on going. Parole board flops you, hey whatever. Parole gets extended, that’s life. I think it has a lot to do with that turning lemons into lemonade or God opening doors and windows and such, but whatever it is, we felons survive.
Well, one of those doors/windows opened for me and I’m now pursuing a relationship with one of my son’s mom. Too early to gloat about it, but it’s going a lot better than my last relationship. In that, I mean, she hasn’t stolen my car.