FUCK. A. BUNCHA. KARMA.
For the few of you who don’t know, I’m finally, after 22 years of allowing evil cocksuckers to punish me for telling the truth, now I’m trying to prosecute the piece of shit who stole my life from me before I was 2 years old.
Made the 122-mile round-trip back to Klan Central (the parish/”county” where I grew up) on Thursday to fill out the complaint in person, to be verbally abused and accused by the senior detective in charge, to be given the bum’s rush outta there faster than you can say “sexist pigs.” Granted, the detective who “handled” my case was a human being, but his boss… I haven’t been spoken-to like that by anybody outside of the abusers in my so-called “family,” he was even worse than the no-neck ‘roid-rage talentless-hack punkin’-headed baby-eating troll shoulda been living under a bridge, gnawing on a goat’s neck “boss” at that gawdawful oldies station in Metairie.
And guess what, as I’m trying to get my few remaining possessions off of THEIR property and get my guts together to type-up the criminal complaint (the arthritis in my hands makes longhand almost impossible, especially a story that is that long and complicated), guess how karma rewards me for finally getting off of my ass and off of my martyr cross to DO THE RIGHT FUCKING THING?!?!?!?!?
Karma (and regular oil changes and over 134,000 miles) has destroyed the oil pump in the GMC pickup that I thought would last the rest of my fucking life.
So, y’know, all of the shit that I’ve ever done because I thought that it was the right thing to do, in hopes that maybe, by my next life, I could be finished paying for whatever horrors I committed in my last life — all of the shit that I’ve done in hopes of racking-up some karma brownie points? Yeah, that, like my trip to Klan Central, was all for fucking NOTHING.
Not that I’m not going to pursue it, not that I’m letting those cops or the predators off of the fucking hook, because I’m not. After having everything that has mattered to me (except for my friends, the only family that I’ve really got outside of Oldest Niece) taken away by these motherfuckers, all of my fucking life, THEY WILL NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME. I will not be robbed of this. They will not fucking win.
But that truck was the last thing that my Nannie was ever able to do for me, and I promised her that I would always try to take care of it, even if it is filthy and smells like feral cats, I NEVER missed an oil change, dammit, and I kept the air filter clean and did everything that I could do to take care of that truck, and this is how karma fucking rewards me. And no, I’m not begging anyone for any fucking thing, because after all of my fundraising fuckups, nobody should ever trust me again anyway. I’ve wasted all of y’all’s money on all of the wrong people (after the Katrina missions, that is) and there’s no way that y’all should ever feel like I’m telling you this shit because I’m begging from you. I tell y’all this shit because that’s what I know how to write, what I know. Never have been worth a shit at fiction (my three paperweight screenplays are prime examples of this), so I write what I live.
And there you have it. Even fucking karma is a fucking myth. There is no hope to be gained from even that. It’s not a reason to give up, or to not do the right things, but it is a reason to stop hanging your hopes and your hearts on a myth that will never come true.