It's funny.
Maybe even strange, but last night I stayed up until 3:00AM writing, editing, writing emails. I was busy, but I started yawning. I was tired. So I crawl into bed and stayed awake for a few minutes, trying to get to sleep, and when I least expect it, sleep hits me like a club. I dream of children, lots and lots of children running around and playing everywhere, making me crazy. It was an invasion of hyperactive pixies. I was in a state of panic.
I sleep like a fucking bear. I chomp down large bits of sleep, huge, and then I wake up. I'm awake. Hell, that was some night. I get up and go to the bathroom and when I return, now fully awake, I stop to look at the clock. 5:30AM... 5:30AM!!! What the fuck?? I look around as if the rest of my sleep was misplaced. What the Hell? How in the world did I pull that one off? Ohhh, I know what it is. It's been happening to me lately. I'm going to call it 'First Morning'.
First Morning, that's when I get up, but go back to bed again to get the rest of my sleep. Like sleep in really two halves. I believe this is what's going to happen. I make coffee and a SPAM and cheese sandwich, boot up my computer and get ready. I know what needs to happen. I need to eat breakfast and that will cause my body to draw blood from my brain to my innards to digest the food, which will make me tired and knock me out.
That's the deal. So I eat and drink and when done I'm blogging, and I'm wide awake and pissing my ass off. My damned waterpill overnight is working like a motherfucker the next morning. It pumps water from my system like a fire hydrant. So, I'm waiting to go to sleep and using the bathroom left and right, which is not conducive to being tired. Today I have a very big day. I have Charliqua Lovebisquit who has me scheduled to meet her at 2:30PM. This is going to be fun because I'm changing mental physicians right in the middle of her assessment. Tough break. She'll probably freak and give me one order after the other, or maybe start FTCing me before I even get back to the vocational center.
I don't care. Their made up rules and regulations are wearisome to me, and I find them oppressive and annoying. What more can I say. I'm sick of them, but until I find a job or sell this book, I'll have to deal with them. That's the sad thing. I cannot rid myself of them until some miracle comes my way. Until my ship comes in, which is a phrase I remember hearing numerous times in my youth from down and out men with cockamamie schemes, waiting for them to hatch.
Maybe I'm nutty. Maybe I'm waiting for a scheme that will never arrive. I'm just dreaming in incorrect colors. Purple horses and green tigers and shit. Well I have her shit to deal with today, which I am seriously thinking about blowing off until she sends me a notice in the mail. But I don't know about all that. Just best to get it over with, no?
Later on in the evening I have dinner with Charlie. I don't know how I'm going to pull this off because that damned can opener broke me. I told you that fucker was expensive to poor people like me. Now I'm scrapping up pennies to have money left over today to at least cover my expenses for the evening. Twelve dollars is a fucking appetizer. I could have gotten away with eating just one appetizer and then hoist a few and that would have been that.
I'm nodding my head to New Order's, Crystal and my eyes start to get heavy. This is getting good. In a few minutes I'll be ready for Second Morning. I feel it coming on now. I need my beauty sleep, partners. I crawl into bed and don't feel anything until 10:30, where I rise and deal with the world. I'm tired when I wake this time, without the energy and get up and go as the First.
This is called Second Morning. The tired, lethargic rising onto your feet. My computer is already on, so I take a seat, my coffee is already up, so I make a cup, and then I start answering e-mails and editing my novel. Page count 901. Not bad huh, with over 1,100 pages, I'm only two hundred pages away from completing my first edit. I feels good. I'm not going into a deep third edit after this, just enough to find the tough spots that may have been overlooked. Very shallow.
And then I will be done. I will be free to find a publisher. I hope I can do this. I need to win this one. I need to hit the ball somewhere, in the park, out of the park, somewhere. I can't stay here. No.
With that being said, I blew off that damned social worker, Love- biscuit. I just had enough. Make her send me a notice in the mail. No, it isn't anything important. She's just going to sit down and tell me what I should be doing and then 'goodbye' with a smile. They just want you to get up, make the trip all the way down there to see their lovely faces. That's what the entire thing is about. WEKARE is only aping human life. A poor facsimile.
Well, let me get off KNEECARE and get ready to see Charlie; the high point of my day.
Take care everyone,
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/11/disintegrating-value-system.html
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