Another fucked up day.
I gather up my gear and head to the SHOUT OUT, shaving time off my leaving so that I don't get there too early, and I get there right on time. Yeah, right on time. There are already poets gathered in front of Otto's waiting. Our Feature appears. Friends show, but not Cyndi Lauper. I'm scratching my head. It's already a quarter after 4:00pm. I do a head count of the people waiting...fifteen. That's great, and they all have questions as to who can we call, who is coming, when are they coming to open the joint, when are we going to begin.
Well, two of the poets find a cafe on the corner and come back to inform the rest of the poets to go there, although they want to read, the poets are like spastic horses. I'm trying to wait just a little longer. Wait for OBSIDIAN to arrive. Wait for any Bartender to arrive. It's already a half hour after the hour and the poets leave. The group needs a host so I split with them. I leave Ice, one of the poets, to be informer to anyone who comes to Ottos' as to where we are.
Apparently the owner of the cafe had nothing against walking about Nineteen people into the establishment. We go to the back, take control of tables and chairs, make a makeshift stage. It's far from Otto's but it's the best that we can do. I collect the sign up sheet, call out our first reader and OBSIDIAN appears, visibly upset that we started the SHOUT OUT in the diner. He comes to inform us that Otto's was now open. About time.
We started very late, but we started and the SHOUT OUT began with the open mic, my part of the show which went pretty good. I was less afraid of the audience. There were no uncomfortable pauses from me. The SHOUT OUT went through and was done with no problem. I have to say, I have never felt better. I want to even go and try it again. My social phobia seems to be against the ropes. I'm ready to deal. Afterwards, we partake of some ENDO outside. That shit hit me so hard that that shit made getting home hard as Hell. I was so paranoid that I was freaking out about EVERYONE. I was never so happy to get my high ass into my room.
I surfed while high which must be the funniest thing ever seen because everything is wild. Soon, I grew weary and crawled into bed, only to wake up at 1:00 in the morning. I got up, still somewhat high and surfed, probably this time more involved with what I was doing. Shortly I get tired and jump back into bed to wake up six hours later. I'm not getting a full night's sleep, but I'm at least getting pieces of one. This continues to go on, with me crawling back into bed, only to wake up an hour later.
Broken sleep. There's nothing worse. It just makes you more tired. Here I am right now nodding off at the laptop. I'm feeling it. Tomorrow is my MRI, which will be a load of fun I'm sure. The truth of the matter is is that I want to do ANYTHING other than go to the Roach Motel or my WEP assignment. That entire thing can blow me. I'm serious, I'd rather jab a pencil up my nose.
I'm getting to where we will soon part company. The Roach Motel and myself that is. That is what is interesting to me. I am surprised that I humored them this far. I know it's probably because of my meds, dangling that over my head like a carrot. I guess some would say that I'm caught by the balls. It's not a pleasant feeling. Those with that much power over your lives do not know when to stop turning the screws. It gets worse and worse, don't believe that it wont.
Well, I'm going to play their system against them, and do what I want to do until they catch up to me. That's my plan. Then when they FTC me, we'll be even. They screw me, I've screwed them. Simple as that. I'm still bootlegging excuses not to be there. That's one way I'm going to screw the system, the next is not be in the classes after signing in or out. Once I figure out how to do that, forget it. I'm the man.
Like I said, it's hard to try to keep someone that is such an inde- pendent thinker in such a confined space. I'm just going to get bolder and bolder until they catch me. Simple as that. Do I want to do this? No, not really, but I just know me. I can't keep being here in such a place, doing such a thing, for such as long. It's just like anathema to me.
It's the worst thing in the world to me.
Well, maybe the streets were worse.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/07/play-with-my-balls.html
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