Pouring rain.
I found out today that the rain does not like me. It doesn't Actually, nothing does, but the rain is worse. That fucker. You see, I don't use umbrellas. Never. Simply because I lose the little buggers. I really do. So I got smart. I got a big, huge, obnoxious umbrella. Damn thing looked like a UFO was hovering over my fucking head whenever I walked down the street. People jumped out of the way when I came down the block. When it was closed it came up to my sternum.
I LOST THAT SHIT.
At that point I realized that I and umbrellas don't work. We just don't work.
So, today, I'm walking about the city much, and the rain was just a drizzle. As soon as I get out from under the awning at Grand Central, the shit starts coming down. I never run through the rain for fear of slipping on something metallic, like a manhole cover or a grating and busting my ass in a downpour. So I never run. I walk briskly to where I'm going and as soon as I get to the door, the rain subsides. I'm not lying. It chokes. Fuck you rain.
After lunch I had to run an errand at the Post Office on the East Side of Grand Central. So off I go walking and it is drizzling when I come out of the building, and no more than three feet from the building, down it comes. Like a motherfucker. Pounding the Earth like Muhammad Ali punches. Motherfucker! I take off on a fast ass stroll and duck into Grand Central. I take a shortcut right through the terminal to the other side where the Post Office is, and can you believe that when I get to the exit it's drizzling? And coming back...the same fucking thing. Drizzle, downpour. The fucking rain hates me.
Now lets talk downsizing.
I was downsized. A fucking hobo. I'm no longer needed at the hours I'm working. I'm needed a lot less, a lot. Well, fine then. That just leaves more hours for me to get into more mischief. Plus, I have things to finish before I'm dumped into a job farm. Now, it's imperative that I go to the farm, simply because my sole source of income has been quartered. I've had the legs blown out from under me. No MRE's no medicines, nothing. Maybe a bottle of asprin, Excedrin or something. So there you have it. The recession is reaching all the way down to us semi-homeless fellas.
A fucking down-and-out downsized. Now I've heard everything. And you guys think you have it bad.
Well, those are the breaks. Not only does the rain hate me but even money. Even cash. I'm going to move onward on this impossible journey though and see where it takes me. I sit in Starbucks, pissed and tired. I'm pissed at Social Services, who makes it hard to live without that damn job farm. I'm also pissed at the recession. But what the fuck can you do. You're going to get the dick up the ass anyway. Just pray that it has lube.
I walked past a window, and my fucking image was reflected back at me. My fucking image. I am one enormously fat man. I'm as big as a house, and I don't know how I got here. Eating, that's how. Not exercising, that's how. But shit, I've been eating this way my whole life. Is it my fault that my metabolism slowed down? I burn calories more efficiently, conserving, saving them, in the form of fat. I don't feel like exercising like I did in my twenties and thirties. I just don't. Should I be punished for that? This is fucking ridiculous.
When I was homeless, I had to walk every- where, up and downtown every day for food and clothing. I knocked off so many pounds, it was great. But the minute I stopped all of that insane walking and started having money to ride the subways, I gained weight. Fuck. This is going to be a tough summer. Without my little side affair that I had, there goes some cash that I had. Cash that I used to ride up and downtown on. Shit, I live a long way away from midtown. I can see myself traveling down there less and less to see my brother. It's just not affordable to me. This summer I'm walking more. Much more. We'll see what happens.
I'm fucking pissed at my size. I'm just generally pissed today.
When I walked out this morning, Snow White stopped me in the hall: "Hobobob, I have something for you." How did I know that it was not money. "I have this survey...completely voluntary...for you to fill out. I also need to inspect your apartment." Yeah, sure, I say. Again? How often are they supposed to do this? Monthly? Weekly? What are they looking for, WMDs? IEDs? A hot chick with no clothes on? What? What? What?
I shake my head....
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/04/entitlements-on-holiday.html
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