Right This Very Moment
yes, Dr. Lecter, the lambs are still screaming.
I haven't posted in a week, because the voices have been shouting and I'm not being very successful at shutting them the fuck up.
I don't even feel like talking about them cuz it won't change anything. It's not being canned that set them off, really, though it took me a day or two to get acclimated to the idea of "no job". Truly, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Those people sucked. But I have issues with being left, or not being picked and since I know this, once I got past not "being chosen" it was OK, I guess. The two biggest stresses financially are those friggin' student loans, and the rent. I tell myself it can never be as bad as it was when I was in school, trying to finish, and five months behind in the rent. That sucked. Really bad... I must have hit every place I could think of, looking for help, and ultimately it was the Upstairs Neighbors that came through. But in any event, if I can shut those lambs up for minute and think, I can hustle. I think.
UNN1 is holding on. I know she cries every day, and she misses Kip. We all miss him. I told her yesterday that I feel her "everyday". Sometimes, you watch other people's life events unfold, like pregnancy, or birth, or death, but because it's not happening to you, it seems to go fast. Your girlfriend tells you she's pregnant, and she's not showing yet, and then seems like the next day she's giving birth and you say "wow, that went fast!" although it didn't really. It only seems that way because you weren't living the "everyday". But with Kip, I feel the "everyday". It's been a month. Thumbelina has moved in with UNN1; Thumbelina suffers from a multitude of ills including an intense all-over crippling pain due to a nerve disease, and so she she's staying with UNN1 until a major, 11-hour surgery on Halloween that will paralyze the left side of her body, but also kill the pain. A lefty, she's teaching herself to write with her right hand. But since she's there, she can help to keep an eye on UNN1's 89yearold mom, and so they all seem to benefit from the arrangement. The best thing is that UNN1 isn't alone, and has something to help distract her from her "everyday".
I hung out with her Saturday morning; she took me to the liquor store for the booze I needed for my "Slumber party" (which was actually loads of fun. I've got really good friends and it was a joy to have them hootin' and laughing in my house. The tequila and the Toys and the girls made me forget my shitty life momentarily, but like a rubber band it all snapped back once the euphoria wore off, and the snapback stung like hell), and then to the supermarket. She talked about Kip, and I enjoyed hearing it. I envy her Great Love. In the meantime I had a text-message conversation with the SugarCube (aka Nene) that annoyed/depressed/pissed me off. For 100 different reasons, none of which I feel like sharing, even with myself.
The loss of The Job is one less distraction that keeps me from mulling over the mess that is my personal life. If you'd asked me 20 years ago how I foresaw my life, it wouldn't be this. 20 years ago, at 22, I was real full of myself, convinced I was in love with the psycho I'd marry in the next year or so. I don't do this relationship thing real well. I don't pick well. I'm not sure why. It's as if there's a flatness there, an emptiness that doesn't get filled, until I convince myself that it's filled.
I dunno. Once in a while it's genuine, but then those are the ones that pull the rug out from under me.
30 years ago I was about to move to Harlem.
I think I should go back to 30 years ago. Maybe I can figure out where the hell I went wrong.