Ten after four on sunday morning and miss Vicki is in my bed, pants on, snoring loud enough to put me on the couch. It's snowing out, she needs the electric blanket more than I do. The house smells like the sauteed broccoli that burned up when I turned away and allowed myself to be distracted by something as important as a drunken guest's comfort. Things like "you hate me", "yr babysitting me", and then at the realization that she wasn't being judged, "yr not like anyone else i've ever met" came out of her mouth, clearly marking the varying degrees of drunkenness. Patience, it's called.
"Where is my Mara?" is the question that screams through my head like the engine of a train every waking moment, the caboose tagged with graffiti that reminds me "don't worry". I haven't seen the girl I love since her birthday, the day before a storm named Katrina took a nasty bite out of my beloved city. Is she asleep, warm, healthy and safe tonight, or is she still up and doing what I was doing at her age, chewing the insides of her cheek, the beautiful blue of her eyes a disc of soulless black and wishing to be far far away from here. Now twenty after four, and I will leave my house in twelve hours to go to my new job, which is fun and easy and stress free, but nonetheless a bit disappointing at its required skill level. March has always been a difficult month in the history of me. Four years and two days ago I made up for the 26 years of eluding hospital time. Admitted for a severe head trauma brought on by what officially went down as "random act of violence", every dollar still in my wallet. There is no answer to why, and at this point, it's futile to ponder. Karma will catch what the police fail to. I have no anger.
The money will come, when and whence I don't know, but it will work out. Cashed in my piggy bank last month for rent, and now I've less than I did then. It's always interesting to see how things will work out, sometimes even surprising how the universe seems to twist itself just to see that you get by. Worries are just clouds, building and darkening, breaking and dissipating. What I'm riding here is a bulletproof cloud.
Let's not allow ourselves to be clouded. It's a quarter to five.
good night.
"Where is my Mara?" is the question that screams through my head like the engine of a train every waking moment, the caboose tagged with graffiti that reminds me "don't worry". I haven't seen the girl I love since her birthday, the day before a storm named Katrina took a nasty bite out of my beloved city. Is she asleep, warm, healthy and safe tonight, or is she still up and doing what I was doing at her age, chewing the insides of her cheek, the beautiful blue of her eyes a disc of soulless black and wishing to be far far away from here. Now twenty after four, and I will leave my house in twelve hours to go to my new job, which is fun and easy and stress free, but nonetheless a bit disappointing at its required skill level. March has always been a difficult month in the history of me. Four years and two days ago I made up for the 26 years of eluding hospital time. Admitted for a severe head trauma brought on by what officially went down as "random act of violence", every dollar still in my wallet. There is no answer to why, and at this point, it's futile to ponder. Karma will catch what the police fail to. I have no anger.
The money will come, when and whence I don't know, but it will work out. Cashed in my piggy bank last month for rent, and now I've less than I did then. It's always interesting to see how things will work out, sometimes even surprising how the universe seems to twist itself just to see that you get by. Worries are just clouds, building and darkening, breaking and dissipating. What I'm riding here is a bulletproof cloud.
Let's not allow ourselves to be clouded. It's a quarter to five.
good night.
Fucking amazing. Just got my tax return today and all the worries are gone.