Shit.
My MRI was yesterday. I completely forgot about that shit. I completely forgot. Stone cold forgot. I have to shake my head about that. I just can't believe that shit. I didn't have to risk a FTC, I could have walked right in there got my shit done and... awwww, fuck. I throw a washrag around my room in anger and stomp around. I am pissed.
I went to sleep late last night and woke up again at 4:00am after sleeping on my arm and damn near killing it. I couldn't even move it and it felt like a rubber fraud. Slowly that familiar pins and needles feeling started to come back to the member. I got up cranky.
I'm tired, but I can't go back to sleep. I check email and blog.
What else is there to do other than bitch about my life. I'm stuck. Stuck like a fly in amber. But that's just the feeling that they want you to have at FEGS. They want you to feel as if you are locked in a solid substance, colored brown, hindering you from living, from life even, only because you are dependent on them. If I was a healthier man I swear to god I'd just walk. I would literally pack my bag with a change of clothes and take a motherfucking walk out the door.
Maybe pull up stakes and head South. To my parents...ha ha ha, do you want more jokes!! Now that one was one of my more funnier ones!! Going to live with my parents. My father would love that shit, as he's loading his shotgun. They want me down there like they are awaiting the arrival of swine flu. Plus me down there? Hell, my father doesn't even have to aim the gun at me, I'll swallow the muzzle all on my fucking own.
No. I have my life up here in the North. I have it to live. I have one helluvah week next week. Tons of appointments, all unsavory. I'd rather be filing my teeth down to biscuits. I'm also restless, as if someone has put the breaks on my race car. On top of that, I'm sweaty. It must be hot in my room. This is not uncommon. I stare out of my window at the brick wall outside, and I ponder the future. It's bleak baby. Bleak.
I have to get control of this mess. I'm too creative, too crazy to be in a hot mess like this. Or so I believe. Maybe I'm right where I belong. Going back and forth daily to a nut house. Yesterday was just too good to be true. I just hung out at home, something that I'm beginning to miss. Even though I missed my MRI it was nice just to be home.
I'm tired of beating my head against the wall. I'm tired of going into the Roach Motel. I need some days off. Although I took several days off just last week. If you can get a hundred days off from this place you're going back too soon. If I could sprout wings, I would fly off, but they would probably be those small, immature wings you see on vultures, ain't good for shit. Won't be able to lift my fat ass off the ground, that's for sure.
Today feels like a day where I should get my roscoe and fire up a tree, send my head into the strato- sphere, but, well, I already consider myself as having too much shit in my blood stream to begin with. Plus, I don't want this place to have me attacking my own head, because I if I do it once, I'll have to do it a million times. That's called an outside influenced addiction. Don't need to be hitting anything to deal with anything.
I watch the clock. It moves inexorably to the time where I'll have to get ready to go. I hang around on the laptop for about an hour and then crawl back into bed. I snatch up some more sleep. When I awake it is late again. I don't jump up but lay there. I listen to the old man outside the window cough loudly and phelmy. I roll over. I'm late again for a second day in a row. I'm FTC already. What's two or three?
I'm soon to be booted from the program anyway. You know the process: FTC, letter, Fair Hearing, sanction. Same process. But here it goes in a nutshell. I'm ready for it too. I think I will do much more for myself sanctioned for six months job hunting than being dragged into the Roach Motel daily. Do you know what's really sad about the Roach Motel? They have all of these invalid people forced to come in every day because they can do SOME kind of work. They'll drag anyone into that place on a daily basis just to continue to exist. That's their job.
Well, that's the FTC story for today. I'll be ready for my spanking soon. I wonder why they don't have vacation or sick days at the Roach Motel? Is it that they want to imitate a job, or something else. Something worse than a job, like a jail? Well, that's enough of this place. Very much enough. I'm tired of slamming my dick in the door. There's more to my life than the Roach Motel, although they would have you think otherwise.
I'll surf up a few job prospects from Craigslist. But I can't help it, when I search Craigslist, I look for writing assignments more than computer networking positions. What's up with that? Maybe a little deadline will get me on the stick, because, lord knows, nothing else is.
Maybe a little drama.
It adds spice to life.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/07/booted-in-ass.html
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