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.