I went to sleep at 7:00 this morning.
I wake up at 10:00. Don't ask me, I dunno. My entire leg hurts. What the fuck is this about. It's weak and aches. The other day it was numb. I mean completely numb. It walk like trying to stand on a rubber leg. I struggled to my chair using my hands and arms and the feeling slowly started coming back to it. What the fuck could that be from? The meds? Old age? My fucking bed?
Another day without going to FEGS. I faxed them nothing. No excuses, no notes. Nothing. One, big, fat FTC, blowing like a chewing gum bubble in a child's mouth. Soon it will burst and the fun will begin. They'll punish me for such insolence. Fuck them.
This time I stay online. There is very little activity in my email, so I stay on IRC. There is a lot of action there. More than I want. I step away to make lunch and watch the conversations from afar. SWCT and BOJACK baiting LILY while DRWOODY looks on. Same here. Me and DRTYTLK come and go in the conversation. The water pill keeps me running back and forth to the bathroom, and as I do that I pour out my cans o' piss. What felt like 12:00 was actually 3:00pm. Fuck, I was going to take that needed shower to go to see my therapist today. This is like the fourth time in a row that I've snubbed her. She'll also give me an ultimatum soon. Until then I don't give a shit. I'm as comfortable as a bug in a rug.
Do you blame me for being a homebody ... roombody? I've not had a home in three years. I've not had a place where I could close my door and shut out the entire world. I can shut out everyone so completely that I can take off all my clothes and not have anyone look upon my melted body. I'm free to walk about happily. I don't have to hear voices. I don't have to see faces. I don't have to do anything. I have space in a city WITH NO SPACE. It's suffocating after awhile not having any privacy. I'm just being greedy now. I'm just living it up because soon it all might be taken from me.
Yeah, like they say: "easy come, easy go." There is no salvation coming for me in the very near future. So I'm just going to write, surf for a job and fuck with WECARE, or HRA, whichever one wants to fuck me in the ass first. That's understandable. I'll be a thorn in their side soon.
I get tired of fucking around on IRC, although I keep my window open and listen to the pleasant beeps of people talking in channel. I crawl into bed and the beeps lull me to sleep. I catch up on all the sleep I missed last night. I sleep like a fucking baby. I get up to eat dinner and then I'm right the fuck back online on IRC again, fucking around with DRTYTLK and DRWOODY. Time seems to melt when I'm fucking around with these people.
I work on my novel on the side, churning through papers, I'm already at about a hundred pages. Not too shabby. I still feel that the story has legs and can go much, much further than a hundred pages. That's pretty awesome to have a story that rich with characters and plot. It's a good feeling. If you feel good about the story, normally a reader will.
Night falls hard. I throw out more cans of piss. Yeah, that's right, I got a lot. So what? I don't feel like running down the hall to take a leak every time just because my water pills are working me like a crank.
I need a plan. I realize this tonight. I realize this and it gives me a sense of elation as well as a sense of defeat. I need a plan to get out of this situation. I don't have one. If I got a plan, things would be better, but I'm reacting to my enemies. I have to become proactive instead of reactive. I'm going back and forth, but the source of every plan is knowing that you don't have a plan. I don't have a plan. Conventional aims seem to have dead ended. Finding a publisher, finding a job, working on the SHOUT OUT, speaking before college classes at BMCC, finding a sponsor for our poetry. Nothing seems to be picking up steam. Those are pretty conventional ways...now for the unconventional.
I'll have to move sideways if I can't move forward and I refuse to move backwards. Uncon- ventional would mean something unexpected. Something unexpected would mean something unknown. How can I do something unknown if I don't know what it is? Back out into the streets? No, that's moving backwards. Shit.
I sigh from frustration. I'm a fly in amber. Maybe my Section 8 will kick in and I'll be moved to my apartment. Then I'll be out of the clutches of WECARE. Then maybe my doctors can lower my meds, so that I'll have less of a financial burden to keep myself with enough pills to do the job of keeping me alive. Then I can get a job anywhere. Lastly, maybe the country's economy will take a major enough upswing to get the jobs to come back.
Keep dreaming. I close my IRC window. I've got a tough future. Kinda grim if you ask me.
I shut down my computer and leave the Internet for the night.
It's screen turns black.
Ominous.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/08/dreams-and-plans.html
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