I'm With Stoopid

"I can't find it," he shouts.

I open my eyes to see a pair of shorts flitter across, over my bed in the dark. I roll over onto my back and I hear Stoopid on the other side of the partition, going through his drawers again. "I'm missing my thing,'' he says loudly. More clothing flies. Igor wakes up and starts banging on the bay windows. Dante rises and looks on the floor between our beds. "What is that?" He points down, "Pants??" Stoopid's pants, I reply.

The Techs, two more useless mother- fuckers, rush in and tell Stoopid that he must relax and get back into bed. He looses his top more and more, lifting up his bed and flipping it onto its side. He is missing something. He can't get to sleep. The nurses are fucking up his meds and he can't get to sleep. The Techs invite him outside of the dorm, where they get to quarreling. Paul gets up and walks around Stoopid's bed. "Do you get this? He's finally cracking up." Igor puts on an undershirt, takes up an empty water bottle and rushes outside of the dorm to the water fountain, where he can get a spectator's seat upon all the action.

The commotion grows outside of the dorm. I push my headsets deeper into my ears and roll over for some sleep. As I turn on the MP3 player Stoopid rushes back into the dorm, laughing. "I was only kidding," he says. "I'm going to sleep now." Katrina, one of the useless motherfuckers, shows some use. She orders him to come back out into the tech area. The commotion continues. Igor, who has returned, jumps up and looks through the bay windows into the office, "Oh shit, the police are here!" He cries. He grabs his water bottle again and heads for the door. Paul the Stooge runs out behind him.

There is a relative calm that settles in the office. Igor and Paul return to the dorm like Chatty Cathy's. "Can you believe that Stoopid said that he was going to kill himself?" They say with a laugh. "Yeah, that's all you need to say and into the ambulance you'll go." The Techs called the police and sent him to Bellevue. That's where we'll all end up if we stay here long enough. That's where I feel like I'll end up if I keep this up. I'm thinking about moving to my Doctor's shelter. Maybe life would be more tolerable in that one, away from MI/CA patients and felons.

I roll over, but sleep is far from me again this night. I write in my mind, but nothing really takes shape. I think of big bouncy breasts, but nothing really takes shape. I end up listening to music and staring at the ceiling, waiting for time to crawl to the morning. Somewhere along that long, interminable wait I had blacked out, getting a few hours sleep. This was somewhat good, because I woke up somewhat capable. I hate it when I go through the entire night awake and into morning. Somehow the brain knows that you didn't get any sleep at all and acts accordingly.

But this day I feel quite fine and pack up my shit and head uptown early in the morning. I make it to the library where I blog and I finally got a roll up keyboard. Now I don't have to bang on my laptop keyboard as much as I used to. All in order to lengthen the life of my baby. My brother and I meet on several occasions in the library, and I notice something peculiar in my getting up from my seat. My feet are hurting more than normal. Especially the bunion on my left foot. A sharp pain is growing in the gap between my big toe and my index toe. A small one, but one indeed.

As night falls I limp down to the train station, yapping with my brother like small dogs. We part company and I head to the Box, completely forgetting that my doctor wanted me to pick up some NORVASC for my pressure, since the jugheads at the Box can't seem to fill my prescription for the shit. My pressure has been riding high since I've been without it, and I just failed to remember getting it filled. I make a mental note to get that done first thing on Monday...if possible.

I've got to remember to do that.

Hobobob