So DIE Already

"How are you doing with the alcohol?" Dr. L asks.

I know a bloodtest is just around the corner, I consider this, and she registers my pause. "What happened?" She asks. I tell her about Monday night, the drinking, the poetry, the works. "Hmmm, so this wasn't planned or anything was it?" Naaah Doc, it just happened to turn out that way. I went in, had a gin and tonic and left doing shots. "So what made you stop at, what? Five shots?" I ran out of money. I didn't tell her that I ran into a righteous doobie instead. "I see," she nods. "Well, you didn't decide that you were going in to drink, am I correct?" That's right, Doc. "So what's your plan now? Are you going to drink for your feature on Friday?" I know where she's going with this. I can dig it. She wants to see if I'm using alcohol to cope. OH no Doc. That's not the plan. But....
"But?"
Sometimes my brother and I stop for a 'portable'. She knows what 'portable' means. A pint of hard liquor in the back pocket.
"You think you'll be stopping for one tomorrow?"
That's not in the plan.
I tell her about my missing my WECARE appointment, and so I might have started the entire Fair Hearing process all over again. "You don't know that for sure," she says confidently. "Here, use my phone, call them up." I do so, and find out that I've been rescheduled for this Tuesday. A reprieve. No Fair Hearing if I make this appointment. Shit. That's one hurdle over.
"It's time for toxicology."
I give a piss test.

I run around, doing errands. I do the Post Office thing and send off my money order for my Internet Connection. I go to The Box and fucking wait for Anal Retentive to get my mail from the administrator's office. If she was there, it would have been an easy in and out, But ol' Anal has to make me wait like a bastard because he is just too busy. Not too busy to make his bagel and cream cheese though. That's why I hated The Box so, with it's self important people that lorded over you. They did good work mind you. They were dilligent and hard workers, but they were not always fair, and that's the only thing that I disliked most. I was happy to put The Box behind me once more and go through the only envelope that I got from them. A call for Jury Duty. Ain't this some shit. As soon as I get off the streets, they want me to perform my civic duty. When I was sleeping on the sidewalks civically I could go to fucking Hell. I wasn't a citizen then. But the second I get an address, here they come with what I owe the state. Not that I mind jury duty, It's just a little on the fuck me side if you ask me. Should I give a damn about them now?

I go to wait in a waiting room to take my bloodtest. I hate this shit. The needle is just too long, and they jab the shit out of you with the fucking thing. My arm is only so thick. The nurse works too fast for me, too fast for herself. She keeps doing double takes, dropping shit, missing this and that. Suddenly she says: "You'll also have to give me a urine sample. Can you do that Mr. Hobobob?"
It's time for toxicology.
I give a piss test

I make it to Madison avenue Starbucks with relief. Soon, I'm online and comfortable doing my thing, blogging and writing emails. I am in a good mood today. I have accomplished much. One could feel that it was a minor day, but this was a major move for me. I had knocked out tons of shit that normally I would have procrastinated over. Now, tomorrow, all I had to do was see Dr. A and show up for my feature. My brother soon arrives and we compute together. It's going to shape up to be a long night.

I wonder what I'm here to do now. My manifest destiny is not so manifest. I have the time and the means to better myself. I'm dangerous with a laptop. That's if I'm writing. I have to get back to writing, to finishing things, to moving on finally. Now that the haze of the month is over, I have to screw my head on right.

I have to get writing.

I'm working on my poetry resume now to put to our business plan that I had written some time ago. We're piecing that together now, knocking the dust off of it. It's time to get to work.

If you're not busy writing, you're busy dying.

I find two gray hairs in my left nostril today. Two. I pluck them the fuck out.

I'm busy dying.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/03/so-die-already.html
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