It was supposed to be my Year of the Pig. Instead it was Monkeys.

As I have read through by last Year's blogs, I can see the depression. Not so vague, am I. I am simply Hemingway, without my great novel. Ahhh, to live on an island, far away from people. He was very smart, smarter than most of us, smarter than me.

I've taken this last week off from work. Maybe to think about getting my shit together... the older I get, it's harder to recover from the lasting affects of the rages of depression that I go through. I am mindful of the last time I let this go to far...I fuckin' broke my leg. That was the universe telling me to stop, and it really hurt like hell. And still having the recent surgery to remove the metal that was in my leg, that didn't seem to stop me. One really cannot get a bigger fucking hint than that.

The fact of the matter is that I have no place to be the weirdo that I am. I feel restraint all the time. I once found myself with purple hair and tattoos. But, there isn't a place for me in the world of corporate culture looking like that. And I need the insurance. No wonder the country is messed up. I cannot be the only lost soul. I'm thinking that I need to get back to myself. It's going to be a long haul. I've gained a ton of weight, I'm trapped in a dead end job. Oh, there's room for promotion, but if you could see the likes of the people that I'm working with, well, I'm not sure that Up is really the New Down.

What this lack of behavior problems has left me with is an obsession with buying made for T.V. exercise equipment, a credit card to Lane Bryant, big flabby boobies, a lack of sex drive, a need for cookies (all the time), and a huge cable Movie Channel bill. Yes, I have been rolling around in my self pity for a long, long time.

I am; however, very fortunate. I didn't do one god damned thing for any of my friends this year, and yet, they still produce. They still come through.

My birthday was upon us. And my friends gathered for drinks at the usual spot. I brought Christmas Gifts for everyone....just silly things. Maybe my favorite was the tiny plastic monkeys I included in everyone's packet. I like monkeys and gorillas. Frankly, they have gotten the hole thing exactly right. And we're going to kill them all for it. They stayed in the forest, naked, with the green food and the rain. Very nice, indeed. So smart, smarter than us. Humans can't sit still. We we're given this great green planet, and we can't wait to fuck it up, and move to the next one. There's not an antibiotic to cure the planet of us.

Once having dispersed this packets, I opened my own. There was lots of silly things, which, I loved. Then there were two small packets of chocolate covered candies. Nice, I thought, but weird. They just looked weird, sitting there all by themselves. Not to worry, I was told, I would see.

Then came the biggest, best present of all times. The cake. And not just any cake, mind you, the fucking most awesome cake that anyone has ever gotten in the history of cakes. Even better than "let them eat cake" cake.

The cake stood about two feet tall. Delicately, and personally decorated. The eyes of the character seemed to beckon me, and the little toes and fingers made of icing did not want to be eaten, they wanted to jump and scream, and make a scene. One arm of the character stood straight up in the air, as if to ask, "Does this armpit smell bad to you?". Yes, it was bad, very bad. Bad Monkey. It was a Holy Monkey. A Holy Monkey Cake. But, it didn't stop there. Much to my delight, the arm gently rocked backwards, and was to be armed with the chocolate covered nuggets, that I had received earlier. Once the hand of the monkey was armed, one had to let go, to watch the choco nuggets fling through the air like a hail of bullets on one's unsuspecting prey or target, if you prefer. This cake was a Poo-Flinging Holy Monkey Cake.

Can you imagine? No, you can't. No, you can't. Or there would be thousands of these cakes made. Everyone would have one. And even if you get one for yourself, which you totally should, my friend Raina would have thought of it first, and given it to me first.

Raina had to find the specs on the Internet. Then she took it to a wedding cake bakery. I would have put their website in this blog...but they didn't seem it fitting to put my cake on their website, so, no go. They did agree to make the cake, and she kept getting delightful calls at work concerning the cake status. When the gearman was there, they called her to ask just how far she wanted the poo to fling. What a wonderful call to have at work. Raina's face lite up with such glee as she recanted to story. She works with lawyers.

The tables around us were filled with the norms. The norms of people in their bedazzled, holiday wear. Their sweaters, their baseball caps, all in boring normal colors. Jesus, the norms. I couldn't even get away from them at a fucking bar. But, as we all took turns flinging poo, something awakened in me. Something that I had kept to quiet, and held in the dark for too long. That need to be silly. That need to have the weird hair, and the weird dress, and to eat lovely weird things. Why have I let myself stray so far?

The Norms stared first in curiosity, then in envy. Then some of those Norms made the face. You know the face. It's the face that every God Fearing American makes when a Muslim walks into the room. That repressed face of anger with a twinge of "I just masturbated to Super Porn in the church bathroom, before I got here, but me and Jesus hate you.", face. We've all seen it. Hell, most people seem to live by it; their faces contorted permanently. We should have listened when our mothers told us if we made that face, it would stick like that. But, we just shot a few poo pieces their way. Awesome poop.

I also received a fantastic piece of art from my friend Ric Williams. www.ricwilliams.com

I now have been blessed with two pieces of art from this man. And I own his book. Which is signed. Oh, you say, signed. Well, if I know him than why did have to have him sign it, you say. I'm no fool. I have watched for years as Ric has blossomed into his own, as he's blossomed into our own. He has the balls to share this with the rest of the world. And once I'm long gone, my child with know that his mother once stood in the presence of, and hung out with, human greatness. That's the purpose of having the book signed. And of course, should my child ever get in desperate need of money, due to bad gambling debts, or medical bills, practically the same thing, he can sell it. Ric would understand that.

He's the top dog when it comes to scanner art. Oh, you haven't hear of that? Yes, it's new.

This year, the bar and the cake, and the friends, was really less about me. I'm not sure that I made that point clear. I'm always a show. But, it wasn't about me. It was about all of the people that were at that table. The finest of humans humbled me. Their knowledge, their thoughtfulness, their badassness....it humbled me. The drinks were shit. We all agreed on that. I think that the Po-Po's got to the bar, maybe they were fined or something, but the drinks were shit. We'll have to move places next year, for sure. But, I'm one lucky son of a bitch.

This time of year really does stick it to me. My birthday, the birth of Christ, the New Year. All of them periods of reflection, and it all happens within a month. It can be powerful, I suppose; or crushing. I sleep a lot. Perhaps, at some point, I will awaken from my long hibernation to seize the power of it all, maybe. Maybe.

I also watch a ton of T.V. Reminded me finally of that Welcome to the Jungle song and video. Just sitting in front of all of those T.V.'s gathering shit. I did notice that Comedy Central has a ton of wonderful stand up comics. All of them seem to be men, though. I'm not sure that we have gotten to the point that women can be that crude and still respected in the comedy world. That's a real shame. I'm very crude, and very funny, but not sure that I could make the kind of money that the boys do. I had to wonder if this was Comedy Central's way of paying back for the lack in pay that all those Male Models get. It's widely know that beautiful women make more money that beautiful men. I think it may just be that type of conspiracy. If you're not pretty, Guy, than you can be funny. We'll help you. If I really thought they'd give a girl a fair shake, I could think about sharing some funny shit with them.

This is only a point because I'm thinking about breaking out. Really breaking out. I've got to get my butt in gear though. I can't decide if I should quite my job or not. Usually, I'm good for about two years at any given job. It's been two years. And since the company got bought out by an even bigger, stupider company, it's a tough call. The new people that I work with are very ignorant, and quite lazy. Two things that seriously make my skin crawl, and I do think that I have received brain damage just from the staff meetings alone, already. Seriously, they are mind numbing. The bosses come in with their lists of things to talk about, and it does drag on, and they could have just sent a fucking email. We have that now...some people use it.

I was ready to quit. Then, I thought, perhaps I could use this to my advantage. Maybe I could slow it down a bit. Not be some dedicated to things that I don't care about. Even if I took it easy, I would still be light years ahead of the fucking rest of them. But, I'm not positive that I can stick it out though. I'm really going to have to buckle down.

What I mean by this is I'm going to have to introduce small facets of myself into their world. Maybe just secretly. Well, it would have to be secretly. They can't handle the truth. I didn't want to be on the office birthday list, and this woman wouldn't let it go. It just stopped her completely. Why wouldn't anyone want cake with a bunch of people who don't give a shit about you in the first place? Why or Why?!? She really did try to talk me into it, too. It was about a ten minute conversation. Then she finally resided herself to having a cake with everyone without me. Now you're getting it. Great. No problem. Awesome. When I didn't relent, you could see the face. (see above for the "face" description.) Frankly, had I known about the Holy Poo-Flinging Monkey Cake, perhaps I could have suggested that. She really did get so bad that I almost told her that I was Muslim, just to get her off my back. I think that might have excused me from a ton of office crap. But, in clear mind and heart, I couldn't do that to my Muslim friends of the world. I could have told her that I was raised Southern Baptist and if she let me out of this, let me break the rules and behave badly, I would just give her some money to make it all go away. But, I didn't think of that until later. I was slow from the brain damage the meeting had inflicted.

Yes, Little things. Must bring in tiny things, like smelling of foreign cigarettes and incense. Taking breaks were they can't get to me, find me, reading in the bathroom; without having to poop. I'll have to find a coffee shop and maybe buy a new laptop where I can keep my secrets and blog about them publicly. I wonder if I can Sage Stick my cubicle based on my religion. They would have to let me, right? I should get Raina to ask her lawyers.

Oh yes, can you feel it? The New Year's Resolution List is forthcoming.

1. Clean House.

2. Buy laptop.

3. Get Comedy Central.

4. Eat better food. (Throw Out Cookies.)

5. Finish bigass art project, that's been sitting on the porch for a full year.

6. Exercise. (Use at least one if not two things bought off T.V.)

7. Loose Weight. (By combining all of the above.)

8. Combat work related brain damage with humor and foreign smokes. (Maybe fling poo.)

9. Dye hair respectable funny color. (Respectable to me.)

10. Get out in the Public Eye. (Maybe an Open Mic or just the Grocery Store.)

Yeah, shit like that.

Beauty and the Beast...Not Completely Sure Which Beast

Thankfully I received a bunch of painkillers after my surgery on my leg. And the Doctor used the same scar to cut into me. I thought that was pretty thoughtful. My body is already riddled with the scars of my personal history. Sometimes making me proud, sometimes making me embarrassed...just depends. The past few weeks have been a ride. Oh hell yeah. I have enjoyed the clarity that the pills have offered me. The need and the time for them is almost over. But, I can understand why people get hooked. Yep, I can see that....with the special clarity that I currently have. So, despite the pain in my leg and healing they have helped me with, they did offer a slight vacation. Oh sweet legal drugs....and their blessed, convenient, euphoric powers.

The vacation wasn't without costs though. My car smells...it smells bad. I currently have junk stacked inside of it that competes with any trashfield. The sweaters, the food tins, the notes, the coffee mugs...you name it. And I haven't done my laundry either. I've been using sprays made for the couch and drapes to fight of the B.O. and washed underwear out in the bathroom sink or in the shower (if I've taken one), and put them in the dryer with the spayed outfit. I fear that it's really starting to show. I haven't worn make-up and I have had some pretty creative hairstyles, and stopped wearing anything open-toed. I have a pack rat nature anyway, but bad health and good painkillers do help to magnify this attribute. Maybe this weekend, I think this weekend, I'll start on the mountain of shit that is me. I'm going to need more smokes and way more coffee, but I think I can make it happen. Like I said the pills are just about out, and I might want to save them for another occasion of real need. My real need is just about over. Oh, the sadness.

I'm not sure that I have taken a breath in the last couple of months. I went and did a charity golf tournament. The likes of which the women are scantily clad, the men drunk and stupid, and the charity that's picked is usually politically motivated. I met a man before the tournament. I still needed players, and stupid goodie bag items. I asked him if he would play. There was amazingly no hesitation. There would be marketing benefits for him. He told me the story of his daughter that died of cancer, early in life. They had a charity. I made him no promises. I was a peon, but he was so nice. And I know that I couldn't do that kind of work if my child died. I would just die, too. I would. It would be slow, but I would die.

I suggested his charity. Not so much response at first. I told him if the committee selected him, he would probably get a tiny amount. We most of the committee did select him. One of the committee members had lost a child, as well. Do you call that luck, fate...what's the word?

The golf tournament came. The BBQ afterwards came. I hated all of it. The man in charge, when I pointed out my charity man, told me that the charities hadn't been formally announced.

I spoke to the committee member who had lost his own child. He told me, fuck that. He teared up, and publicly announced my charity guy and his story. There was NO WAY to politically back out now. I smiled, a real smile, maybe for the first time in weeks.

Not only did they select my charity guy, but, they gave him an unprecedented amount of money for the tournament. I saw the check and the letter. Everyone's name was listed on this, but mine. Sure, at first I was angry...then I realized the opportunity. Doing something well, it should look like you've done nothing at all. The little secrets that sometimes I can keep to myself, I found one. And most of you don't know me, so the secret is still safe. And, the man was so thankful. I stopped him. I explained to him, how I did the stupid golf tournament every fucking year. I did it, and never got anything out of it, other than it helped the corporation that I worked for be seen. But, not this year. This year, he and more importantly his daughter had tied me to the work that I was doing. It gave this work meaning. Meaning that was meaningful. I had really needed that. So, did he understand the gift that he gave me?, I asked. Do you understand that? Your work gave me purpose. That's not something he needed to thank me for, I was truly the honored one. We smiled, that's what we did. We just smiled.

Then, the company I work for was bought out. The craziness has ensued. All the training, all the conflicting personalities. All the pay changes. Just so you know, I made and 86% on the test regarding Sexual Harassment. How did I even pass with my pottie mouth. Really, only God and the Fates know that. They guided my fingers to the answers, because it certainly was my fucking idea to pass that dirty-brown butthole of a fucking your sister test.

Everyday it's a new political ego mess that I have had to sooth, navigate, stop in it's tracks. We never leave the playground. We never stop not sharing or dominate that need to over-dominate, or that need to extra kill, make sure things are extra dead. I'm not sure there are prayers that can answer this. Look around, it's on a bigger scale. As if there are just fucking huge waves of selfishness, giant waves, to and fro, back and forth. Can't you feel it? If you said no, I don't believe you. Only tiny incidents of goodness or happiness, seemingly unrecognizable because we all run out of breath and time. And not those fake ones they show on any of the news channels between the murders, the economy and the wars...not those, those don't count...they're only there to make sure you stay awake and stay tuned to their chatter. If we count those then we're in bigger trouble than any of us can imagine.

At the office, I had to make sure that a phone list didn't go out. Everyone was mislabeled. Oh the feelings that would have been hurt. And frankly, this one woman should just stop using the spreadsheet program for anything. Too many squares and too many colors a blatant misuse, and not was this program was designed for...they have classes online, they're free...stop the killing of my eyes, my smarts, and the egos of the wrongly labeled people...fucking stop that. It's a program that's supposed to help up, not hurt us. How can anyone know that many ways to jack something up? Please, please, please stop sending stuff out. She's my counter-part in the buyout. During the Non-Agenda'd Staff Meeting, she's repeatedly offered me lessons on Memos and usage of Letterhead. The first time I couldn't reply, I just didn't have it in me to find a response that wouldn't hurt her feelings and probably get me fired. I just announced that I had to go to the bathroom, right then, and would she be so kind to tell me where it was. Currently being a gimp, well, the "got to go to the bathroom right now" excuse has super powers. NO ONE wants to help clean up that mess. I am going to miss that.

Now, I just tell her sure, sure, when things get settled.

Next, we all had to ride together in vans to a lunch meeting halfway between all of our offices. A get to know you meeting. I couldn't smoke. Everyone complained...We arrived. Everyone was sitting by their best friends forever. I don't have those at work. Are you kidding me?!? I was a meeting co-leader. We made everyone move, until they we're sitting by someone they didn't know. I smiled a secret smile. Sometimes being a little mean, passive aggressive, just sits right in my soul.

I had organized a White Elephant gift exchange. White Elephant always being crap around your house, the stuff you mean to get rid of, but just can't seem to. We hang onto so much shit. White Elephant always brings out the best and the worst in people. Another smile. It did. Oh, how it did. Some people really get mad that they get the shittiest of the shit. The shittiest of the shit. How can you get mad about that. The super fat guy, and I mean super fat, got the great abs in ten minutes video. Boy was he mad. People laughed. Well, you're fat, and not to worry it didn't work for the person who brought it either. No worries. I stole the lottery tickets, they got stolen from me. I'm not super mean, the guy who stole them from me, wrote me a check for half, and I wrote a check for half of that to the guy that I stole them from. That was nice...we didn't win enough to be shitasses about it. I ended up with a Cowboy Boot Flower Arrangement. It had a Texas Flag and a Mexican Flag in it. Later, I paid the mailclerk at my office to put it in the men's bathroom. A couple of days later, someone stole it. We asked the janitor, he didn't take it. He thought it was funny, he had left it there. We thought it was funnier that someone stole it. It probably had fecal spray on it....we've all seen the news programs with the black lights...yep, probably had shit on it. Shit on shit, stolen.

Back to the lunch, what I did notice though, when I sat down to eat...was that even though we had all switched places, people ended up sitting exactly by their personality counterparts between the companies, between the same offices. What?!!? I blinked. Crap, it's hard to get one over on human nature...it's very complicated, and even my super powers of passive aggressive goodness was no match.

And, who did I sit by? Oh, let me tell you. I sat by the drunk, name dropping, boobie twins. You know these girls, they can't be saved. They've been ridden hard and put away wet. Big hair, tight shirts, big gold Kal-Mart jewelry, all the important work they did. One of them was my office arch-enemy. Well, she thought she was. Always trying to get one over me. Sometimes she would get to me....then, I had to realize how many light years ahead of her that I actually am. Then I had to put on my I feel sorry for you suit...that usually put her in a quiet spot. Yet, these women always get free stuff. Free stuff from men and women a like. I'm fat, and smart and have glasses, right now. My stint in free stuff land may come back, but I didn't like it there....way too sticky. But, maybe there are times when I could use a little free stuff, not enough to trade places, but sometimes my desire to be a free, pornstar, maybe that gets to me....sometimes.

These two talked and talked and talked. They talked about all the drinking they do, the men they meet, where they meet them. All trendyshit bag places, and all they want to date are rednecks and cowboys. At some point, one of them took notice that my eyes have glazed over, really glazed over. One can only stir the mashed potatoes so many times on the resturant plate without being noticed. She asked me if I liked drinking and cowboys. I replied dryly, nope.

I thought about stopping there, but I didn't. Maybe I didn't stop because, I was really that bored, maybe because I didn't win all the lottory ticket money and I could quit, maybe I just super didn't want to talk to them, and was super sore that since I was a meeting co-leader, I had to sit down last, and all the kindof' good spots were taken. I'm not a fucking saint.

Anyway, I told them that once I dated a peanut farmer named Charley. You should never settle for a cowboy....go for the rancher or the farmer, who have cowboys that work for them. Charley was rich. He was good to sleep with. Not good to stay with. Dumb as a sack of diapers and sometimes mean. Luckily, he was stupid enough not to really recognize how inexperienced I really was, with everything. Also, he had a friend named Todd, who was even stupider and meaner. Me and a friend lied to our parents, and took off with these two to the coast for a weekend getaway. We drank a lot and fucked a lot, all by the ocean. The ocean that had better things to do then pay any attention to the likes of us. It's where I learned the gimmick of microwaving a piece of ordinary soap. It melts from the inside out. When you put it in the soap dish and someone uses it, the soap just crumbles in their hands. It's pretty funny. That's what I got out of Charley and Todd. Well, that and free, occasionally roasted peanuts.

I had already been there, and decided that I wanted more for myself. I had decided I deserved better. And I only drank with dear friends, or bigwigs. Not just random getting fucked up. I just had too much to do.

Their faces weren't used to being told the truth, maybe about anything. They quit talking to me. Ok, good stuff, good stuff. Back to the potatoes. I pretended to nap on the way back. You know, the leg injury...somethings, all the hard work that I do, just takes it out of me, so thank you for driving, as my eyes closed and my mind wandered.

The funny thing, the quandary is that I have beautiful friends who are so smart. They do not use their beauty for evil. They really do have the same problems that I have. They are treated like idiots because of their beauty, and not recognized for their absolute massive brain power. Later in the week, after another brilliant meeting, without an agenda, a guy asked me about one of my such friends. I patted his arm, and gently explained to him that it would only be for masturbation, the introduction. He just wasn't smart enough to keep up. He thought I was jealous for a minute, and he was angry. I patted his arm again, and told him lovingly as possible, that just wasn't it. Some of us just don't get all the prizes, we just don't. I want a million dollars, I'll never see that. And the closest that he would ever get to her, was his imagination and his hand of preference. And, yes, her giant beautiful breasts weren't real, she had bought them, and they were perfect and as awesome as he could ever imagine, so that was another thing. He just didn't make enough money to cover the fact that he wasn't smart. There was no temptation for her, even if she slipped in a lonely moment of weakness, towards him at all. Sorry buddy. The God's honest truth.

I have to say that I did puff up a little... just in case. Do I know that she could take care of herself? Yeah, I know that. But, there's a little redneck in me. too. Mess with a friend of mine, mess with me, crap. I puffed up, just in case, I needed to make my point clearer to this man. Going this route always ends up that I'm a big fat lesbo but on occasion the point hits the target. Well, either way, if it goes to the next level the target gets some point. We girls have to stick together. Stop what you're thinking, I didn't mean that kind of stuck together. Pervert. See just what I mean?

I suppose watching these two twosomes of boobies yak it up at the luncheon, made me angry for my beautiful friends, not just me. Their actions make it harder on the rest of us that are here now, and the rest of the babies, the children, the teenagers, the unborn. It would be pointless to explain. They were really past any form of education on the matter, I just wanted them away from me, and understanding that it was best for them to stay there, in the far away spot. I'm not without sadness for them though. They were past erasing it all. I'm so thankful that I have never reached that point. Some people just will never have the capabilities to change. And it is a burden. I think it's okay to let people know that sometimes, even though they can't change, and they'll probably still get taken care of, it still really is a burden for them just to be there.

I was at the new work place yesterday. I've worked hard. Everyone was gathered for free cake for someones random birthday that most everyone didn't know. One of those terribly personal office moments. I didn't want the cake. I had already stolen a day old chocolate doughnut from the office kitchen table, and used someone good coffee to make myself a nice cup of coffee to go with my stolen, stale doughnut. I didn't even have to take it to the bathroom, grab a stall and enjoy. I made it, unseen back to the cube. AWESOME. So, I had enough. No need to be greedy.

Out of the blue, someone that I hadn't seen in months, yelled my name though the crowd. I waved. She, out of the blue, announced that she had been keeping up with me, that my name and influence was everywhere in the industry....the pictures, the newsletters...I was famous. I turned red....I'm more of a behind the scenes person. I looked around. There where some people smiling for me...some people where angry and jealous. Maybe because of my life, I took it all too heart. And maybe that's why I'm a behind the scenes person. I was frankly too damn tired to take in the range of egos that flowed over me...and at someone else's birthday cake thingy. I politely told her thank you, and really it wasn't me, if I just didn't like everyone, and the work I saw all these people doing, it wouldn't make me want to be involved. Oh, Sweet Jesus, or Whoever, help that lie work, please, today, just help that lie work.

In my work life, I am mostly selfish. I am mostly conceited, mostly grabby...for the scraps of money for myself, for my family, for my friends, for other random people. I am ultimately no different than any of the people in the crowd, maybe I'm just a better grabber. It's complicated. And I do not deserve recognition for that, it's nothing special. No, that is nothing fucking special....but, one can hardly say a truth like that, now can we? Jesus or Whoever, just help that lie work, and get me safely back to my cubicle...the safety of the grey foam walls lined with papers on tacks, and ergonomically placed plastic. Get me there. I needed to sit down. I needed to ease my breath, and take in the tops of the fake flower arrangement that tops the woman next to me's cubicle. Get me to that sweet quiet place.

At work, my father called. We're not close. He decided to buy my son, who he's never met, and wanted me to abort, an expensive toy. He called to ask me what my married name is. I'm not married dad. We never did that. I tried to protect him from the flatness of my tone. My name is still the same, even after all these years. Oh, okay, then the embarrassed laugh. I didn't say much, no point really. It's just there. Yep, Dad, remember, you gave me a way a long time ago, but it was never at my wedding....never, then. I might have called, maybe I would have called about that. Hard to say. Thanks for the gift. We always talk in money and expensive things. Maybe that's were I got my sense of fairness, and my love for free things, of special moments not tied to any coins or paper. I can say thank you for that. You wouldn't understand it, but maybe I could say it, in my head, and it would transfer through the phone. Yeah, maybe, maybe it would. I wanted it to as I hung up the phone.

At closing time that day, I didn't waste time, I didn't say long goodbyes. I logged off, and ran as fast as my currently with cane ass could get me out of that building. I lit my cigarette even before I locked in my seat belt. Oh, people saw me. I waved goodbye. No worries, the windows of my car were shut and the car was already turned on. A clear signal of no talking. I put my car in reverse, and with the cigarette in my mouth because I just didn't want to miss a single breath of it, I turned my head, and moved fast out of the parking lot. I immeadiately went out and spent money that I didn't have to buy my favorite bums, on my corner, a huge dinner and some supplies, smokes, booze, a blanket, etc. Just to pay penitence. This form is better than flogging in the long run, and certainly less messy. I was feeling a little better standing in the liquor store line with the cheap stuff. But, it wasn't enough. I hurried home, turned on the T.V. and took a couple of my sweet pills on my almost empty stomach, save the stolen doughnut...and waited for the floaty goodness that would wipe away the day, the weeks, the T.V., all of it. It's not really depression, so don't think that. I just get overloaded and need the break from the super highway we live on. I HAVE to pull over and stop.

Everyday...it would be way cooler if I had a sword to slay some of the beasts with. Can you imagine? Oh, I can. For now, I've got pills, and the excuse to use those are just about gone.

Then, I'm just back to the daily grind.

Contemplating the space time continuum

I tried to get everything done before I went into surgery. As though all of those things really would matter. Not really. Nothing that I do is crucial, clutch cargo happening. I suppose that's what curbed, seriously curbed my enthusiasm about doing any of my work. I couldn't really pull it off the couple of days beforehand. It started to show. Jesus, I would be a shitty actor.

But, I had to have something that distracted me from the heart that I was suddenly aware of pounding in my chest every single fucking moment. All those chances that I don't take. Every single day I am handed so many, and I never just take them. Can you imagine what would happen if we all just took the chances that were freely given to us by the fucking universe....can you fucking imagine that?!? Well, I can, and they called to me, and everyone one of them that I didn't take advantage of seemed to flash before me, they seemed to partially slip though my finger tips, but I felt them, I felt how wonderful they were each supposed to be....all of everyone of those sayings, those sayings repeated with every enlarged heartbeat. Would this be the time that those chances ran out? I've been given more than my fair share, right? The universe is going to call in it's marker sometime. Why not now? Yeah, that's what I thought.

I was alone when I went into surgery. Part of me wanted people that I knew there with me, everyone else in the waiting room had someone. An old lady asked if they could borrow my cell phone. The old man had remembered everything, but forgot the cell phone. His name was Roger. I let the woman make the calls. She told everyone where she was, when she was supposed to be out. And she told everyone that Roger had forgotten the cell phone. We're all quite the same, the same words, the same actions. I had to be there at six o'clock in the morning. I'm sure that I forgot a lot of things. Roger didn't seem to mind that everyone knew that he forgot the phone. He knew she was scared. They gave the phone back to me, and Roger took the woman's hand and let her know that he would be there all day waiting for her to wake up. For a second, I wanted that, too. Someone holding my hand. But, I knew that it was just a load of crap. When I went under, and had the actual surgery, and the machines breathing for me, and the knife cutting me, and the waking up....I would be alone. It's just what it is. It's being alone. And it's scary. And no Roger equal would help her or me through that. It just is what it is.

I kept waiting for the caring or maybe the ceremony to start. But having surgery is really just like going through the drive thru. I'm not just typing that, it really is. A lot of formality, a lot of organization, and lot of impersonal caring, and bright lights with bright smells. Some people complain about that. I'm not so sure that I want to complain about that. The fact that they're impersonal made me rely on myself. I didn't want them wrapped up in any emotional state. I wanted them focused. I wanted them precise. I didn't need for them to like me, or to fucking care about me, I needed them to do their fucking job, and do it right. I needed that. I wanted them to please do their fucking job right. And I just needed the I don't care drugs to get myself started. When it was over I had been moved. Just like that, without even knowing, just moved. Yes, they did their fucking job.

People came by. I got some gifts. That was all the ceremony. I really liked it, but it also made me tired. In the end, it really is your body and your mind and your soul, and you just have to take care of most of it yourself. Of course, I could have put down the guard, and ask for the help that I needed taking a bath. Instead I just made a mess, got pissed off, and pretty sure that I broke something I wouldn't want broken if I was sober. But, I'll worry about that tomorrow.

I was in quickly and out quickly. Someone had to clean up my blood and piss when I pulled out my IV, and missed the toilet a bit. Can you believe that kind of job? The girl seemed okay with it. It's a big deal doing that kind of work...being able to go into someones intimate space like that, and not make it a big deal. I gave her all the chocolates out of my fruit basket, and told her not to share them.

I have some pain. But I have more relief right now. I'm on the drugs right now, and the pain isn't so bad. But, just now, when I thought to write my feelings down. Everything is quite here now. I can think. I have some water, I'm fairly clean, I can smoke, and take the pills, and yes, I might have a glass of wine, as well. How immoral and devilish that seems. But, I made need to curb the feelings a bit, and being messed up it the poor man's way. And I am not a rich man.

If I were to say it out loud, I was scared. I'm not ready to die. But, most times, I'm not terribly ready to live either. I don't take the advantages. I do and act as I'm supposed to mostly for my paycheck. How sad that makes me today. I could have coded on the table. Someone could have nicked an artery. I could have gotten an infection. Every heartbeat....all that blood circling around in my body. All the cells trying to repair. How soon before they just give up on me.

Jesus, it's scary to trust in people that they'll do the right thing by you, especially when you don't do it by yourself.

And the sight of my son, I got home. He was in such a bad mood because of his day at school. I loved his bad day more than anything in our entire universe. The smell of my dirty house. My man's forgetful way of remembering that I'm not that tough. The sight of my dogs. My car has a flat tire. I will go to work on Monday. I will be able to walk better. I can cry because I really am safe. I really did make it.

Jesus.

I have at least one more chance.

Scheduling a much needed surgury to buck the Man

Writing down my thoughts today is a small attempt to get back to some sort of normality of my personal being. We have created quite an oppressive world. One of which, and I am not alone, that I am perticularily subject to, if I'm not careful. I've never been one to be careful.

Oh yes, the greatest of pitfalls in being human is often being around humans. Lately, I have found my only escape to be one of sitting in my car, in traffic. If there's an errand, I'll do it. If there's a trip, I'll do it. Whatever I can do, that involves being in the car, incased in the car, with my music and cigarettes. Incased in metal and glass. But, I've let things run amuck so much, that I didn't even want to hear the music.....just the metal and glass, and the engine running. I thought about running. Where would I go? I am busy. And the masses with their needs and wants just keep coming...in droves of bodies and noise...they just keep coming. And my creativity, my sense of myself, those things that make me just me, and happy with me, have become secondary to the constent noise of the needs and wants of the masses.

This morning I tried to recall what event started is all. When I let it in. This time, the stacks are so high, I couldn't exactly pinpoint anything. And in trying to release the mountain of garbage I've been accumulating, I thought, if I moved one piece it would completely collapse on me. Then I thought about how I'm not much of a person to shirk away from a challenge.

I think when it really hit me, that I was out of control, when I had completely moved away from myself, is when my current boss, a high level executive said this:

"Do you realize how much you've grown? Do you realize how much you're beginning to think like a business person?"

There is was....the sentence that began to crumble the tower of crap that I had been collecting. Jesus, Sweet Jesus, could it be true. Had all of those trips to the mall, the carwash, the cellphone calls, and the watching of the national news really started to sink in? Oh God, what have I become? Oh God, what have I done?

You have to understand, I know that I could think like this, but it wasn't what I wanted. Never. I have purposely fought my entire life to have substandard jobs, with low pay, and crappy benefits, and lack of stimulation to be able to protect all that I hold sacred. Oh God.

I felt the loss, in my very core. But I didn't cry. I couldn't cry because I did it. I let it happen. I was responsible for the entire mess. And everyone and everything that I hold most dear was suffering.

And if I were to tell the truth, all of this nonsense didn't get me anything. I regained all of the weight I had lost, my house and car are a complete mess, I've lost touch with my dear friends, I sleep a lot, and I do nothing funny. AND, after all of the best, most professional behavior I could muster, I was rewarded with a shitty bonus, and watched the other jackasses, and I do mean very stupid people, get rewarded beyond my wildest dreams and still find the hot air to complain about it. Oh the money flowed; how it flowed...just not towards me. And wasn't that the main goal? The dollars? I could achieve something for my family? Something for me?

So, yesterday, I yelled. I did. It was a release. And could get me in a bad spot I suppose. But, I've been in very, very bad spots before...and this bad spot won't be that bad. Secondly, I scheduled a much needed surgury that I had been putting off, absorbing the pain for, due to project contraints. Oh yes, I'll be out of work and on a walker for a bit. And I scheduled it right when I was due to make a company appearance. Oops, what? I have to have it, doctor's orders and short term disability rules and all of that...said smiling. Oh, yes, the little things, coming back to knock down the wall of shit. I went and got my hair cut at a cheap salon. I like this cheap salon. The woman that cuts my hair is funny, she does a great job, and she has the longest getto nails that I've ever seen. She's fantastic. And we sit in the salon and chicken sqwak. It's loud and funny and chair to chair goodness. I told an officemate, who always puts me down, because I'm younger, and what could I possible know....well, I told him yesterday, that I wasn't going to talk to him anymore. He thought that I was kidding. But, I didn't talk to him. He backed off, at first, saying ok, tell my story. I told the other old officemate to go ahead and explain that I wasn't talking. They both said what a baby thing for me to do. Yes, I said, yes it is. Yes, it is a baby thing for me to do.

Somewhere inside of me is a small pool of warmth...a tiny glimmer of good. It's the hope...that completely wonderful, and mostly useless emotion contained in humans. Can I do it? Is it possible? Lance Armstrong has one ball and look how well he's doing. I don't have any balls at all, so there must be hope...Great Hope....The Great White Hope.

Fucking Awesome.

I always have had a desire for the finer things in life...

There were so many things to do this week. By the week's end, I had worked a considerably large amount of overtime. I worked so fast and furiously that I wasn't even sure that I had done anything at all. My head was fuzzy from storing too much...it was on overload. It was the kind of week that my arms and brain and fingers all seemed to work outside of myself...they were on some sort of other plain...it was as though they just ran by themselves...and me the soul of me was locked up somewhere else. I dreamed when I slept, but mostly of work and nothing of any consequence worth mentioning. Yeah, it was a long week.

I had dinner with a friend, one evening, at least. She asked for my advice on a couple of points. That always seems a bit funny to me. Me, giving advice. Is that a sound idea? Hard to say. I've seen a lot that's for sure. I done more than I seen, that's for sure, too. But, since I hardly see things as the majority does...is that such a good idea to be asking me about anything? Hard to say. What I did know is that the time we spent together was hardly enough.

I had friends that I should have called this week, but I didn't. Instead, I took cigarette breaks and talked way too much to people that I don't give a shit about. And I really can't say what I'm thinking to them anyway. It would just be bad for them. It would be just too damn hard for them to think outside of the safety of their box.

Finally, Friday did roll around. I was late getting out of work. And if I were to tell the truth, I was still on the phone with work, as I was driving home. It was not until I was actually in my house I shut the phone off and was sort of done for the week. We had a family dinner. After which, while everyone was still there, I feel asleep on the couch. The next morning my child and man left for another town to see a museum exhibit. I had the entire house to myself for about twenty-four hours.

I slept. I slept for most of the entire twenty-four hours. I did get up a couple of times to eat. Mostly whatever was a leftover that I could stick in the microwave. And when those options ran out, I started on anything that was in a box. I let the dogs out when they needed to go. I pissed when I need to go. But, I hardly moved from the couch at all. The television stayed on to keep me company. I only dreamed of the television shows. I did watch a bit of television and smoke most of my boxed cigarettes. Then I started in on the roll your own kind, that I had bought. I was almost too tired to do that. I felt aggravated at having to roll my own cigarettes. And maybe aggravated that I was too tired to drive to the store and buy anything else. I was probably just mad that I wouldn't be using my off time for anything productive for myself. This time that was so precious I would be using to sleep....to regain my energy...just to give it away to a bunch of stuff that wasn't that important to me. What a fucking surprise. Isn't that what we all do? We get up, go to work, do a bunch of bullshit that makes someone else money, then sleep, only to repeat. Yeah, maybe I'm feeling a bit crabby.

And now that's it's Sunday... I'll be getting a move on to do my house stuff that prepares me for the next pile of bullshit. Yep. It's a very exciting life that I lead sometimes.

My friend at dinner reminded me of a letter that I once wrote to Hunter S. Thompson.

It was funny. She had told her friends about it. I never expected an answer from him, and I didn't get one. She was a bit curious if I was going to write someone else.

I thought to myself that I might. Since SpareUs Hilton is on the MS bandwagon and I have MS...maybe I'll write her a note. I thought the other day, as I was in the tobacco shop, I wished she been there to help me. This must have been Tuesday or Wednesday or this week...I can't really recall.

The shop was out of my favorite kind of rolling tobacco. I was standing there in my work clothes, so I wasn't very convincing as a prime customer of a head shop. They weren't taking me very seriously. And I was tired from work, I wanted a smoke, and was annoyed that this was one of the only places that I could go to get a deal. No, I didn't want a small packet of tobacco. I wanted a full tin. I didn't want to have to come back in a few days after my packet ran out...I was just too busy for that nonsense. I asked the boy behind the counter what he would recommend. He tried to give me something that I knew was crap. It was complete crap. Jesus, was it crap.

How did I know it was crap?

Well, I'll explain. I don't really have that much experience with being jailed. I did go once, to city jail for traffic tickets, but that hardly counts as hard time. However, there was a time earlier on, when I was homeless, I did stay in a house full of ex-convicts. I know what you're thinking, they're not supposed to hang out together. But, they did. In fact, they all worked together at the same car wash. No one else wants to hang out with them, and no one wants to hire them. The system is way more flawed than we all suspect.

Anyway, the point is, I learned what they smoke in prison, and what they smoked out of prison, and I knew what this guy was giving me was prison swag. In prison you're poor and take what you can get or steal, and out of prison you're were poor, and you take what you can get or steal. I had worked too long and too hard to smoke prison swag. Once I made that point to him...another helper came up and moved him out of the way to offer his assistance. I wasn't being loud or rude, just making a point. But, it was as though I had said some magic words to make the understanding that I was a connoisseur of tobacco that should be handled with some thought and discretion. Or, maybe, I said the magic words, that scared them into thinking that I was some bad mother fucker, and I should be handled with discretion and care. I didn't care, either way, I just didn't want crappy tobacco. So, whatever works. The new guy brought out something else, and explained to me that if I hated it, I could bring it back, no problems. Great, I said, and I bought it.

How I did wish SpareUs was there. Her recent incarceration might have given her some incite into which tobacco product I should have bought. Could have saved me some time. I might include that in my letter. Hard to say. I don't really think that I would like her as a person, so what if she responded? Then I just be stuck talking to another person I didn't really care about. I'm going to put this on the back burner for more thought.

I got in my nice car, cranked up the AC, rolled my cigarette and lit it. I took a long drag before putting my car in reverse to turn to make my drive home. A brain will recall things, long forgotten, at the strangest moments. It's not exactly the transport back to that moment, just the passing thoughts of how I react to certain things from other things I learned and stored.

I paused to wonder how it was that I survived that period of my life. Those men, in that house, were hardened beyond belief. I can't recall everything that all of them had been in prison for. And it is a long story how I ended up there in the first place, and an even longer story as to how I got out. I can't even recall most of their names.

I did have my own bedroom at the house. And I was more of a little sister, and more of a mother to them. I was never really in any danger. Which should surprise you, it surprises me. To be a female around those men, in such close quarters, one would think that something horrible would happen. But, it didn't, not to me. Later in life, it would be a rich, frat boy that would rape me in a drunken blur. He wouldn't see any prison, and would go on to lead a gifted life. Funny the different levels of respect that come from different subsections of humanity.

Some people were in danger in this house though. Mostly it was dangerous when the guys were drunk together and playing Spades. It's so odd that a card game should mean so much, but it did.

I remember one young guy that had just gotten out of prison came over to play Spades. He had too much of a ego. You didn't want to have too much bravado around the guys that had done more time or had done bigger crimes. It wasn't a smart move on his part. He messed up playing Spades, he ruined the hand for his partner. He talked to much. And even though his partner was the friend who brought him over to the game in the first place, it was his friend that would help in teaching him a lesson about being to much of a loudmouth.

The entire group ended up taking him outside and beating the shit out of him. It was a circle that he was in. The closed fists and knuckles that collided with his body to bruise it and make it bleed. He was, at first, ready to take them all on, then at some point he realized that this was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. You could see the idea resonated in his head, he understood, but it was too late to put that experience into action.

He resided to take his beating, it would be over faster that way. Everything like this goes in slow motion. Maybe due to the shock. Eventually, it looked as though he seemed to only be held up by the fists that continuously hitting his body. When the men were exhausted or thought he had enough, they stopped. I'm not sure what the signal is that someones had enough. They all stopped hitting him at the same time. The guy with his eyes bruised shut, on the ground on all fours, was puking and spitting up blood. Then they picked him up, like brothers would, and brought him into the house and cleaned him up and got him ice and a drink. He wasn't completely scorned, just had to be taught a lesson. They all raised shots of crappy whiskey and drank. They mocked the blood that had soaked the front of his face, shirt and pants like it was an honor. They played Spades without him. He just sat on the couch recovering and keeping his head down.

He survived, but didn't come around so much after that. Maybe he was scared straight. I hoped so. He did have a big mouth.

There was another guy, his name I remember, Johnnie. He was small, and quick, and had been in prison for stealing cars. He had been made someones bitch in prison. He only talked to me about it in small doses. That experience did make him not steal cars anymore...but, that experience also made him feel like he wasn't worth anything to anyone either. He felt like he was damaged goods, so to speak. Rape in any form does that to women, but to men, too. Maybe worse for men, since women have been dealing with that issue since the beginning of time, it's at least more open and the options for help are greater. For men, I'm not convinced we've done such a good job.

There came a time for him when the guy who had been raping him, pimped Johnny out to cover some drugs that he hadn't been able to pay for. Johnny knew that it was coming, he just did know when and how. The marker took weeks to call in. And he was teased everyday about it.

Johnnie almost had to kill a man to prevent being gang raped in prison. He was on mop duty when the men he'd been promised to, surrounded him. They teased him as they were closing in. Johnnie raised the mop and put his back against a cool tiled wall. He told me that he closed his eyes and swung the mop with everything he had for fear of his life.

Luckily, if one can say luckily, Johnnie's aim was true. He hit one of the men in the head so hard that the mop broke. The man fell to the floor unconcious. As a second man came closer to grab him, Johnnie ran him through with the splintery, broken mop base. At this time, before Johnnie could make a run for it, or grab the other part of the broken mop, the guards came in and the crowd dissipated. Johnnie was put in solitary. And, since this was in self defense, he was not given any extra time for the stabbing and assault. He finished his sentence in solitaire. So, even though he wasn't given extra time...he was in solitare, which is like a slow death, but he wasn't having any guy's dick up his ass anymore.

Johnnie hung out with me quite a bit. He talked to me quite a bit. He was so young to have been put in prison. And he reminded me of an ally cat. He flinched and ran if you got too close. He looked down a lot, but his senses were always on...as though, at any minute the sky would be falling and he have to hide or would make his move for a weapon that would just be made of anything that he could grab.

If you were to look at him on the street, maybe you would miss all of this. Maybe he would look like any other young man that had hopes and dreams about the life in front of him. But, he wasn't that young man. I wasn't sure how a person comes back from that experience.

The time came when I had to leave that house very quickly. The house was owned by this elderly woman. She had given it to her son, the ex-convict, and his friends to stay there, in exchange for the free rent, they were supposed to be fixing up the house. They never did.

The son wasn't very bright. He was kind of stupid really. Not just uneducated, but clumsy with his brain. Maybe it was damaged, or too many drugs, I don't know. I didn't really care. But, it was the son decided at some point that he fancied me. It was clumsy and with plastic flowers when he shared his feeling with me, and I was smarter than he was, and was able to get out of the situation without any major incident. Whoa to the woman he wooed with the plastic flowers, and a prayer for all of us if they reproduced. I can't even think of that.

However, when I didn't respond the way he wanted I was told that I had to get out of the house. Ok, whatever, it was ok. The other men put of a big fuss about it...they would have to cook and clean for themselves. And it was the other men that protected me from incident from the loverboy. I knew that he was afraid of them all, so I used them to cover my own hide while trying to move on. I had picked up a thing or to from living with them... much like Jane Goodall did with the chimpanzees. But, the chimps were way cooler, I'm sure.

It was Johnnie that would help me find a new and better squat to live in.

I didn't see Johnnie much after that. I hoped that he didn't go back to jail. I didn't really think he had it in him. I did not think he would make it. But, I wasn't sure he had it in him or would make it on the outside either. Both ways seemed to have a doom of some sort for him.

Our system isn't all that it's cracked up to be. It doesn't always serve it's purpose. And it certainly doesn't always protect us by teaching people a lesson. They do not come out with less baggage and more desire to become better citizens. We have created a machine that pumps out more dangerous people that when they went in.

The brain remembers. I knew that I didn't want to smoke prison swag. And that I needed to sleep and not think about anything for at least twenty-four hours straight before putting my suit on and going back to the same old shit. I was a long way from that place now, sitting in my underwear, rolling my fine tobacco, the t.v. on, with empty potato chip wrappers around me. Yep, a long way away from there.

Another day, another dollar...Playing a Double Agent Is Hard When You Have To Piss

I stopped to buy cigarettes the other night. It had been a long week, and a long day, and an even longer drive home down the highway to my house. I had been in a day of training, taken a tour of a city site, was wearing a suit, had on my big fake diamond ring that everyone thought was real.

I can't even recall what was playing on my car stereo. I can recall that I was so tired that my head was spinning with trying to organize my thoughts about all the things that I had learned that day and seen that day, and what was left to do...and how to put all of this in time with my home life, etc.

I was mulling over how much the lot guys we had met had made faces and jokes about the "suits" that were touring the city site. One of them was a large man, with massive shoulders, and a giant beer gut. He looked rather menacing in his overalls. I behaved myself, so as not to get tackled by him. But, that was hard for me to do. It would have made for a better story if I'd caused a scene and been tackled by the overalled, redneck, lot guy. However, I've done that before, already. I did find it funny that this man considered me a "suit". Yes, I was wearing one. But, I only have a limited supply of these, as I do not wear them everyday. And if he had looked closely, he would have noticed the slight ill-fit of it, the slight off-color of it. That certain something that says that I do not actually belong in the "suit" family. I was in disguise. And he and I probably would have more in common that the people I was on the tour with. He would never know of the struggle it took for me to put the outfit together, since I hate them, and don't really knows what goes with what. He would never know how hard it was for me to try to speak their language, and keep my own language out of any conversation.

The thought crossed my mind of my hard hat falling, and my hand dropping the plastic safety goggles falling from my hand, shedding my suit, letting my tattoos and piercings out, my hair flowing in the wind that came from something related to watching a scene from a movie about a Phoenix rising, rays of strong light, and some angels singing....very dramatic. And everyone would be in awe of the real me. I would be respected and appreciated, and we all could be just who we are without overalls and high heels. I could fulfill my destiny as the being who sparked that change.

Yeah, right. I just tried to keep my mouth shut and my hands in my pockets safely away from all the shiny big buttons that I totally wanted to push, that would start some sort of alarm and giant disaster, and get me tackled and probably jailed.

Right now, though, I was in the car and had to piss so bad. I hadn't wanted to go to another public bathroom. I don't like them. They generally smell of other people and their shit. People are quite filthy. They pee on the seat and can't wipe it up. They crap and don't courtesy flush. I don't want to smell the fish fry and taco hell they ate all week...Fuck No!

I'd actually rather piss outside. The fresh air, and the lack of concrete and tile with poop germs on it, much nicer when you think about it. In our world now, well, you just can't piss outside, their are big laws against that...such a shame.

I was also out of cigarettes. And it was time for the end of the day smoke. The end of the day is a relaxing, reflective smoke. And if you're an addict, such as I am...it's ever so hard to resist. Starting to de-stress and jones.

I was arriving shortly to my exit for the last convenience store before home. My only thoughts at this point where gauging how much I had to piss and could I stop, get the smokes without having to use their bathroom. Or, how many favors did I have left with my man? Could I make it home, piss in the safety zone of my own precious bathroom, and con my guy into making the trip back out into the rain, after his day of labor, just to buy my smokes. He had quit smoking...so, I couldn't use the You Fly and I'll Buy gig anymore. And he had already bought his favorite ice cream at the grocery store yesterday. I concluded that I had no strategy on the front, and would probably fail. I also knew that we had cleaned the house, and the ashtrays would be empty, so I would find any salvageable butts either. It was do or die time, the exit had arrived. I really had to piss. I was not going to go to the store's bathroom. I had made my decision. I was resolved to make it.

I pulled off the highway, over three lanes, and into the parking lot. I thought that I stood a good chance of not peeing myself. And if it did get that bad, I'd probably be close to home that time, so if I did piss myself, I'd be around family who already knew how weird I am. I got my wallet, got out of the car. As I neared the door, I saw one of the homeless people sitting to the steps. I knew he was going to ask me for some change. My wallet was so empty. He had no idea, but I knew he was going to try. I wasn't completely sure that I wasn't going to bounce something at the bank by giving them my bank card for my cigarettes. It had been a hard month, and the paychecks were small, due to the calender days. I would be back on track the next paycheck, but for now, I was super broke. I had already started digging into my change pile...that's really my man's change pile...as long as you don't take all the quarters, it's unlikely that your theft will get noticed...always take the small stuff....skimming is an art form.

I was stepping closer to the door. I could feel the homeless man's eyes on me...looking for the moment. He did ask if I had any change. He was completely soaked from the rain, and he was smeared with dirt...only his bright red hair seemed untouched by dirt. He was soaked so much that his t-shirt stuck to his body like a wet t-shirt contestant, but his older man boobs probably wouldn't win him any money. I told him that I didn't have any change. Most homeless people just looked at you like you are lying. Not this guy. He nodded at me like he understood. And then he just slumped and looked down. It was a bit uncharacteristic of most of the homeless people that I dealt with...the slump. It wasn't just his shoulders and his head. The slump was like his whole body slumped...so tired and wet and dirty. The door swung open and I felt the cool air of the air-conditioning against my humidity soaked, suity skin. Normally, I would think about that, I wouldn't take notice.

Jesus, I had to piss.

I jumped in the nearest line in the store. I wasn't quite at shifting from one let to the other yet, but it would be soon, it would happen, I would have to hurry. I asked for my smokes. I didn't really want the kind that I asked for, but I didn't have time to check to see if they had the kind that I really wanted. Is my card, debit or credit? Oh, I didn't care....please, just hurry. Well, did I want cash back? What?!? I have no cash...I'm hoping the damn thing just works for the purchase. Then the words fell out of my mouth...Can I get any amount? Yes. Okay, then it's debit and I want five dollars back please. It's a longer process to run debit...the entering of the code, the signing....blah, blah, blah. I don't know why I didn't think about the bank charge that was huge and I might get stuck up my banking ass. Maybe I thought I could pay it, even though I hated it, and I was doing better than some people. I got the cash, I signed, I got the money, I said thank you and have a nice day, and I walked fast outside.

The man was still there. He was in the same slumped position. He hadn't asked anyone else for change. I went over and said excuse me. He looked up and I gave him the five dollars. He said thank you, and just looked very relieved. He put out his dirty, sticky hand to shake mine. I took it and shook his hand. He told me that he didn't do drugs or drink much. He was drunk. He corrected himself, and told me that he did drink, but did not do drugs. I told him that I didn't care about that. He could drink and do drugs, I didn't care. I told him that I was homeless once, too. I knew how hard it was, and I knew about the decisions and/or circumstances that might lead a person to be homeless. He said it wasn't so bad sometimes. He had a tent in the woods and a small T.V. that was hooked up to a car battery, and a blanket or two that covered his cardboard box bed. Yeah, it wasn't too bad sometimes.

I told him how once I slept on top of an apartment building roof. It wasn't too bad up there either...high up, near the breeze and the stars...much better than a lot of places I could have been. I sat down. I still had to piss, so I had to sit down.

I opened my pack of smokes and gave the man one to have with me, and a few to have later, I gave him my extra lighter. We smoke together, on the dirty steps, looking at the traffic.

He said that he had worked hard labor most of his life. He had started work early for his family/his parents, and didn't finish school. Now, he was getting old and he couldn't work hard labor so much. And most lots hired younger and stronger guys, and they were cheaper, too, since they didn't know any better. He didn't feel like there was a job for him using his brain since he didn't read and write so good. He asked me if I thought his life could turn around. I told him yes, that mine had, and I was not that special. He asked if I was going to tell him that he just had to stop drinking and clean himself up and that's what would do it, how easy it would be, since that's what he heard all day from lots of other people. No, I told him that I wasn't going to lie to him, and tell him that shit. It wasn't easy. It would be hard. It could take a long time. I told him that he would have to make the choice if he even wanted to do that. Maybe, I said, you'll find that you like living in your tent more. I don't know. Some people do like I did, and some people don't....and either way was hard...just living is hard. It just is. I also thought to tell him not to be so down on himself. That no matter what decision he made about his life, to at least be proud of himself, try to like himself. That's the important thing over having stuff...and that's the point that took me the longest to get, and was the hardest to get. I also told him that I had to go. I had to get home, and I had to piss. I laughed, too, and then made the face that I really might piss myself and maybe him, too. We laughed some more.

I stood up and shook his hand again. Then I got in my car, waved at him and turned the car, drove home. It was nice to just sit with someone, chat and have a smoke. The simple conversation refreshed my mind a bit. I'm not sure he would know that he had done that for me, this dirty, wet man with bright, fire-red hair.

His name is Henry.