Mirror Image Presentations, 2018, Alan John Mayer
I started volunteering with a team at St. Thomas Episcopal church in West Hollywood, California, making sandwiches, and delivering them to homeless HIV patients at U.S.C. Medical Center.
“They’re only for HIV patients” the Sandwich Team Leader told me, as he showed me how I could save time by dropping dollops of mayonnaise and mustard on the slices of bread, rather than spreading it evenly “Beggars can’t be choosers” he said “Trust me. I have been doing this twenty-three years.”
Wow! That is an accomplishment, dolloping mayonnaise and mustard for nearly a quarter of a century. I do commend him for his work. In spite of the “D” rating I give the kitchen, unwashed hands, trays, and utensils, items dropped on the floor and not thrown into the trash, sneezes, flies, and a visit from Jimmy Cockroach, — R.I.P. Bless you in your next life.
I smeared every slice of bread with love. After an hour at the U.S.C. Medical Center setting up, organizing, serving, and breaking down, I left with the team, feeling very blessed to have been standing on the serving side of the buffet tables.
I am an HIV survivor, on HIV medications since 1991. I am one of the ‘lucky, healthy’ ones. My viral load has been undetectable for twenty years now, and my T-Cells consistently hover around seven hundred. In 2003, after the ‘family’ fiasco of taking care of my 80 year-old mother, moving her back to Aurora, Colorado after having fallen into a trap, doctors diagnosed me with P.T.S.D. My psychiatrist added Lexapro, Prozak, Wellbutrin, and Zoloft to my list of medications. Over the years, one at a time, I weaned myself off these medications, when I realized more medication was not the answer to my problems.
I do not understand, now back in Aurora, Colorado, living in my late father’s house, how one foreigner’s hatred and discrimination can run me, a quiet, compliant disabled senior citizen, out of town. The answer is fear, greed, and money, — the way of the world.
I could end up living in a cave, or in my car, again. My animals know something is wrong. I turned into an ogre. I leave so I can smile, and laugh. I force myself to laugh.
The Mayer family Executor, of a different name, Mother’s granddaughter lawyer, and acquisitive daughter have now been placed as Executor of my late father, George Jamers MAYER’s estate, set a restraining order out against me so I have no access to my now 100 year-old mother, or my late father’s estate. Mother’s mind has been hijacked, and with it, my late father’s estate. A realtor, she even sold the house from under my feet, put me on the street, and pocketed the $210,000.00 I am told the house sold for.
Upon closer inspection, editing on August 24, 2018, I have deleted several paragraphs here. Deleting is forgiving. Rather than tell the story one more time, in deleting, I erase it from my consciousness, though in my experience, consciousness never wanes.
I now create a miracle out of poop. Thank you for reading.
Der Mann im Himmel
AmerIcanValuesRestored 