Bags Stop Rocking

The time came.


Just like they had said, the van arrived and picked us all up. The three of us and two of the coordinators. We packed the back of the vehicle and said our goodbyes. I just had one that I knew well. Long-tall-skinny. Can you believe it? I really felt that I would miss him. The rest were goodbyes, like good lucks. I wish them a bright future, but I know I would never see them again in this life. Well, maybe I will. One never knows, do one?

I sat in the van, staring out at the new Luxury Condo- miniums sprouting up along the West Side Highway as we zipped along uptown, and before I knew it we were unloading into the same conference room that we waited in before for our interviews. Believe it or not, the building managers themselves dispatched workers to carry our shit up to our rooms. So once again, I was proved wrong. Here I thought that I would have to lug those bags on the subway and up and down stairs, and I barely had to move shit on my own. I'm forced to eat crow again.

Soon, we signed a battery of papers, said goodbye to the coordin- ators, and were handed our keys.
Just like that. I found myself standing alone in my new home. All alone. I closed and locked the door and looked about at my surroundings. A bed and desk on the left, a window just ahead, and a sink and cabinets on the right. Small, spartan and clean, it welcomed me with a sense of openness that I found pleasing. I smiled. For the first time in three years I had a place.

There was also a reluctance in me. This seemed wildly untrue. Too good to be true. There seemed to be no need to unpack because at any minute, any day now, I will have to leave. There will be some mistake, some stupid rule or regulation, some dumb assed person, something, that would spoil the entire thing and I will have to pack up my baby and leave.

And roughly, like I said earlier, that's all I would take. I'd leave all this shit behind and return to the streets. But now there was no need for such stupid thoughts. I had to unpack. First things first. My health. Since I was given all of my meds from the nurse's office I had to check and see what I had a supply of and what I didn't. Then I separated the prescriptions accordingly and headed out to Duane Reade down the block and across the street.

Also, I bought some food. Micro- waveable Meat Pasta, White Castle ham- burgers, and Buffalo Wings. Also, milk, orange juice and vitamin drinks. Some crunchy snacks came next and I was done. I returned to the room and found it hot. Quite hot. It was like it was summertime outside. I had also turned on the refrigerator in the room to get it cooling, and found that it was barely cool.

Well, there goes the ice cream that I bought to celebrate.

I began to unpack. Slowly picking one bag after the other, emptying it and stowing it away. I stopped after three of the seven. Of course one of the three had to be my printer. I just had to see if she worked. The table in the room accommodated the printer AND the laptop, which was good. I printed from it, and then I copied the page that I printed. It was perfect. No damage during the move.

Then there was the surprisingly large box in the room with the words: 'Starter Kit' written on it. I opened it to find inside a bedsheet set, a blanket and pillow, a garbage pail, a microwave plate, a dinner plate, fork, knife, steak knife, spoon, plastic cup and coffee mug, towels, washcloth, dish cloth and towel, can opener and ice trays. They gave you everything that you needed to basically furnish and make the place livable.

I found out that this is called, by the state: The One Shot Deal. One chance to better yourself. One shot to shoot for the moon. The last chance gas station.

I had better make the best of it.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/11/bags-stop-rocking.html
Visit i dont want tobe anything other than me for Daily Updated Hairstyles Collection