When first I got sick, it was not on my mind. I was profoundly ill and the pain I was in preoccupied me. My first psychiatrist got me on my feet and I returned to school. I was young and had several brief encounters. Then I became an adult and the encounters were fewer between. I moved to a small town in northern Wisconsin to be near my parents. The romantic pickings were slim. I was widely known as a young man with mental illness who clung to his parents for support. I attended their parties but no one else’s. I was not popular in the party scene of the younger crowd. I hung out at the bar. One resident of the town said I did nothing else. That was my life, golf with my parents, a lackluster performance at my father’s lumber yard, and dinner parties at their home. I was protected by my mother. I was 35 years old. I had two or three sexual encounters in the twelve years I lived up north. When I came back to the Cities, after my father’s death, I grew up. Suddenly, I had to love the woman to consummate the relationship. My love life went further to Hell. I had sex once in the last seventeen years. I loved her. Right now, with a book being published, I am too busy for a girlfriend. After two heart attacks, I am no longer the total package. The girl would have to be very understanding.
Published by Christopher G. Bremicker
Special Forces medic stationed at Ft. Bragg NC from 1968 to 1970. BA English and MBA, both from University of Minnesota. Fisherman, grouse hunter, downhill skier.. Plays handball and reviews theater. Present job at Walgreens in St. Paul MN is forty-sixth job since high school. Hometown is Cable WI. View more posts