As the story goes, as now he's taken that final step over the edge, shown his true colours, but then I expected as much. Aside from having no real friends of his own, I have seen how he so obsessively turns a partnership into a prison of futile paradoxes that can only bring out the worst in anyone. I'm not really sure whether it's OCD, ADHD or just plain narcissism that compels something so pathological. As far as I'm concerned, I am sick to death of it and would rather be far fucking away, than have to cover the damages of his shear lack of responsible judgement. Try to confront him with this and his response is "you could have left home back in the 80's you had such a good income". How conveniently he forgets the mess his first marriage got us into and how much we had to pay for that fiasco. I remember only too well those fraudulent dialogues between him and his first wife, loud enough to jar me from my sleep. What he tried to make me out as to her was utterly gobsmacking, as if I was the one holding him hostage and trying to manipulate his life. I was too busy trying to dodge the ploys and entrapments of some MK-Ultra spooks who seriously had it in for us civilian employees. So what does this idiot do? He falls in love with the very servicewoman they send to harass me and drags her right into our home. Then he tells me I don't know what love is. Like WTF?! Needless to say, the months that followed she made sure were absolute hell, scheming ever new ways to pit us against each other. It came to a head when she slashed up my brother's artwork and told him I did it. Of course he believed her. My mother got fed up and moved into a flat in town. Then my father got hit by a motorcycle, as he crossed the street to pick up my brother from work. While he was in hospital, those two remorselessly trashed the place. Fortunately, one of my father's friends had come home with me to bear witness to this scenario. No sooner my father got home, he kicked them out on their asses. My mother moved back in and peace prevailed for a while. When the time came for his wife to return to Canada, he suddenly wasn't on the boarding list and his computer files had been mysteriously deleted. So guess who had to sort out that mess at the command level? I was only too glad when the community social officer escorted him onto that plane two weeks later, say nothing of the shit that followed, landing him in a Halifax hospital with some mystery disease. I just sighed my relief when she got out of the service and they settled with her family in Hamstead. At least once again peace prevailed in my life, or so I had hoped.
About a year later, it was one of those ominously perfect days when suddenly the phone rang. Somehow we knew it meant trouble. Sure enough it was him phoning from the train station in Offenburg. By all accounts he came pretty close to being lynched by her family, though I'm sure there's more to it than he would ever admit. At least one good thing, he had consulted with a psychologist, who also had her blood tested for drugs. The drug identified was one only authorized to the CA research council so the Psyche wasn't apt to make a testimony for fear of losing his license but he did expediate a legal separation for my brother on the grounds of her schizophrenia. In the meantime I had done away with the MK-Ultra spooks by having the Militärische Aussendienst notified. After two weeks investigation, suddenly about 50 people got a 48 hour deportation notice, no questions asked. I don't even think it ever occurred to these spooks that they were violating the Geneva Convention regardless whose citizens we happened to be. The ten years to follow went far more peaceably with just the usual petty bureaucratic rivalries until the gov't shut down CFE once and for all. My brother continued to have his woman issues, like those two twats who got robbed in Spain, and then came his marriage to Susan on the whim it was going to secure his German citizenship. Unfortunately his living 30 km away from us was not far enough to prevent his perpetual scrounging, for a new car, back payments on his rent, electric bill, and countless other ends he couldn't meet and that aside the thousands he owed the bank. Yet despite the tremendous drain on every financial security we tried to maintain for serious emergencies, he still persisted. It was always all about him and nobody else, the old pity party come-on only to stab us in the backs once he had the goods.
Then my time with Zehnacker ended in 2001 when they lost the contract in Emmendingen. It was hard enough trying to find a job without running up against all the enemies my father made and all those drunken phone calls by Susan to every firm I tried to apply to. My father formed a new legion and of course stuck me with running it under the threat of kicking me out on the street if I didn't comply. "Don't you miss the Canadians?" No I don't, not this lot of cling-ons and their damaged families trying to drag down everyone with them for a few euros more to relive the stigma. The relentless phone calls of "where's your father?" like I should be privy to anything he was up to. That much my brother and his father had in common, always secretly dumping their personal baggage on you only to do a runner to avoid accountability. The job market was steadily drying up leaving only the worst possible employers. I tried my luck at a couple of local inns to no avail. It landed me with lower back problems that affected my leg coordination, and the next thing I knew I lost my footing on some cobble and shattered my ankle. Three months I was stuck on crutches with no one to help me, so I had to crawl around on my knees to get my shit done. My father was always away on legion business while my mother was always on the rampage leaving me to answer to the police whenever shit happened. As for my brother, he only drove me insofar as have me pay for his tank of gas, and that despite all the money "borrowed" that he never paid back. As fate would have it, I was scarcely off those crutches a week when my father had a stroke while opening a new legion in Holland. Do these people take him to a hospital or call his ADAC for an emergency airlift? No, they take him to me and tell me to deal with it. Like WTF?!
Well I called our family doctor to get the Red Cross and notify the stroke unit, and his friend Reg and I followed the ambulance there. He was still speakable at the time but the specialist told me it could worsen in the next 48 hours...and that it did. When I got back to him, they had moved him to neurology. Nobody notified me and I found him vegetating, unable to speak, half of his brain gone in a subsequent aneurysm. Again they didn't notify me of his transfer to the clinic in Elzach way up in the Black Forest behind Freiburg. They expected me to come every day, and seeing the state my mother was in, insisted I was legal tender by state law, despite having no car. Fortunately my BF stepped in, told them off and agreed to drive me there once a week. He knew the problem well, being himself stuck with caring for his mother and her sister because of his nursing profession, while employment was trying to saddle him with 1 euro jobs.
With all our hopes of an independent future dashed, The BF and I soon learned that we were not alone, but others of our generation are stuck in the same futile dilemma, while the gov't introducing the euro without consensus, swallowed what was left of our nest eggs. As my brother so irreverently calls, "living off the state" is actually the opposite, namely running us into poverty so the nanny state can dictate what we get or don't. It would never occur to him what it would cost to stick his mother in a nursing home, until he gets the bill, insolvency or not. There's just no way around it. When my father died, the woman at the family court implied it should be my brother's responsibility to care for my mother. I only shook my head as she had no idea that it would be like expecting a wolf to look after sheep. It was bad enough when I got back from the hospital after a heart attack/anaphylactic seizure last summer to find the place in a horrible mess, and my mother's bed sores in such a state, only now they are finally beginning to heal. And this is aside my own lack of clothes or amenities when I got out of intensive care. Funny though he wasn't too busy to spout his BS on my computer to his two-faced FB friends about such unforeseen burdens in his life, day in and day out. I warned him about his bogus "poor me" episodes on FB, and as I might expect he couldn't resist the urge to do it again instead of dealing with the real problems in his own life, responsibly. This time he made that fatal move of blocking me on FB to persist in this stupid sham, assuming there's nothing I can do about it. Well, think again you self-righteous asshole, you have taken a course of action that makes my decisions at this point only too easy, and believe me, they don't include you, no matter what your excuse. You need money? Go ask your wonderful FB friends. Don't even dream of dumping your wife on me without the police being up your ass. I am so done with you.
Then my time with Zehnacker ended in 2001 when they lost the contract in Emmendingen. It was hard enough trying to find a job without running up against all the enemies my father made and all those drunken phone calls by Susan to every firm I tried to apply to. My father formed a new legion and of course stuck me with running it under the threat of kicking me out on the street if I didn't comply. "Don't you miss the Canadians?" No I don't, not this lot of cling-ons and their damaged families trying to drag down everyone with them for a few euros more to relive the stigma. The relentless phone calls of "where's your father?" like I should be privy to anything he was up to. That much my brother and his father had in common, always secretly dumping their personal baggage on you only to do a runner to avoid accountability. The job market was steadily drying up leaving only the worst possible employers. I tried my luck at a couple of local inns to no avail. It landed me with lower back problems that affected my leg coordination, and the next thing I knew I lost my footing on some cobble and shattered my ankle. Three months I was stuck on crutches with no one to help me, so I had to crawl around on my knees to get my shit done. My father was always away on legion business while my mother was always on the rampage leaving me to answer to the police whenever shit happened. As for my brother, he only drove me insofar as have me pay for his tank of gas, and that despite all the money "borrowed" that he never paid back. As fate would have it, I was scarcely off those crutches a week when my father had a stroke while opening a new legion in Holland. Do these people take him to a hospital or call his ADAC for an emergency airlift? No, they take him to me and tell me to deal with it. Like WTF?!
Well I called our family doctor to get the Red Cross and notify the stroke unit, and his friend Reg and I followed the ambulance there. He was still speakable at the time but the specialist told me it could worsen in the next 48 hours...and that it did. When I got back to him, they had moved him to neurology. Nobody notified me and I found him vegetating, unable to speak, half of his brain gone in a subsequent aneurysm. Again they didn't notify me of his transfer to the clinic in Elzach way up in the Black Forest behind Freiburg. They expected me to come every day, and seeing the state my mother was in, insisted I was legal tender by state law, despite having no car. Fortunately my BF stepped in, told them off and agreed to drive me there once a week. He knew the problem well, being himself stuck with caring for his mother and her sister because of his nursing profession, while employment was trying to saddle him with 1 euro jobs.
With all our hopes of an independent future dashed, The BF and I soon learned that we were not alone, but others of our generation are stuck in the same futile dilemma, while the gov't introducing the euro without consensus, swallowed what was left of our nest eggs. As my brother so irreverently calls, "living off the state" is actually the opposite, namely running us into poverty so the nanny state can dictate what we get or don't. It would never occur to him what it would cost to stick his mother in a nursing home, until he gets the bill, insolvency or not. There's just no way around it. When my father died, the woman at the family court implied it should be my brother's responsibility to care for my mother. I only shook my head as she had no idea that it would be like expecting a wolf to look after sheep. It was bad enough when I got back from the hospital after a heart attack/anaphylactic seizure last summer to find the place in a horrible mess, and my mother's bed sores in such a state, only now they are finally beginning to heal. And this is aside my own lack of clothes or amenities when I got out of intensive care. Funny though he wasn't too busy to spout his BS on my computer to his two-faced FB friends about such unforeseen burdens in his life, day in and day out. I warned him about his bogus "poor me" episodes on FB, and as I might expect he couldn't resist the urge to do it again instead of dealing with the real problems in his own life, responsibly. This time he made that fatal move of blocking me on FB to persist in this stupid sham, assuming there's nothing I can do about it. Well, think again you self-righteous asshole, you have taken a course of action that makes my decisions at this point only too easy, and believe me, they don't include you, no matter what your excuse. You need money? Go ask your wonderful FB friends. Don't even dream of dumping your wife on me without the police being up your ass. I am so done with you.
Enough is enough I say.
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