The Last Road Run (slurpee)

I am so tired and uncomfortable and dammit if I don't have a fine bed to sleep in anymore. I wish to be free of all these attachments. Or do I?

The attachments I might want seem to be risks that hold me back. The attachments I don't want, I cannot get rid of. My ass is like a led weight. My ankles keep popping in and out. My back feels like it has a shark's tooth sticking out of it. I can't even take a freaking shower in this hell hole. Somebody get me the fuck out of here before I scream. New York was ice cold and I found that my friend was really my worst enemy, so I decided to leave. It wasn't that we couldn't relate, it's that we wouldn't relate. I couldn't get her out of her mess so she wasn't about to create any kind of an escape for me. We would both have to fend for ourselves and that's fine, after all. We were both injured beyond belief, but eventually would become stronger. Maybe. At least I was going to try. I don't know whatever the hell she was going to do. At that point I didn't care much. But, now I had to back track. Back to Chicago, which I was not looking so forward to. Occupy was where I wanted to be anyway.

Without Occupy there would be no way to balance the anger and fatigue.

The Truth Is

I hate my hair. I should just get it shaved off, but I'm afraid my skull is warped or there is a hidden skin condition under there. But, I hate it. It sheds all over the place. Clogs up vacuums and gets stuck in doors. I want to be FURless. Instead I am fearless. Someone said that I was brave once (or twice) and I think brave can be easily confused with stupid. It matters no more. The damage is done.

I woke at three a.m. this morning. My sleep is not repaired. It is still broken. The estimate to get it fixed almost shot me to Mars. I landed on Venus, however, a massive miscalculation by system programmers and so, life is always full of either crisis or surprises and, did I mention I care for neither?

Go to HELL Big Bird. You may be cute and overly cuddly, but you lie like the Dickens. All that fuzzy education FOR WHAT? So that kids can grow up and learn to ignore the poor kids down the block...Walk right past the starving, homeless war veteran that occupies a cardboard box under the stairscape?

DAMMIT!