Lousy Reputation

I did nothing today.

I burned another day down to the ground. I didn't even take a shower. I just sat at my computer for the entire day to see if it can be done. IT CAN!! You can do absolutely nothing all day long...and feel good about it. Well, that's only half true. I surfed, blogged and replied to emails for the most part of the day. That kept me busy enough. And then I organized and sorted my medications. I'm on fifteen... yes fifteen different medications and I am out of far too many. I have to get this pharmacy thing up and running again. Then get organized again.

That's important. I can't blame anyone if I run out of this shit. My Abilify, or Lamictal, or Norvasc, or anything. All of these motherfuckers are important. I look over the long line of bottles and scratch my head. How in the world? One day, it seemed, I was taking nothing, and the next, my fucking body is running on ball bearings. I'm going to need one mother of a medical plan if I get a job. One mother.

The real world. I used to dream of the real world two years ago. I used to think, when I was living on the streets, what it would be like to be back in the 'real world'. And I'm closer to the real world now than I was then. Closer to returning to normal. Just steps closer from being like everyone else. I'm amazed.

There is a knock on my door. C'mon, who is this now? I put some clothes on and open the door to find the Site Director, Slick O on the other side of the door. He smiles a quick, sly smile. "I just want to tell you that the Department of Housing is sending an inspector over to check out the apartment on Tuesday. This is done once a month as you were told." Oh yeah, I remember. "You need to be here to provide them access or we will come in with your social worker." Oh yeah Slick, no problem. I'll be here. "Take care then." He hands me a paper stating the same thing. I close my door, take my clothes off and get back behind my laptop.

I'm going at it, working at a steady clip when there is another knock on my door, AGAIN!! I shake my head. I'm becoming such a hermit. I jump back into clothes and open the door. Two of the building coordinators are on the other side of the door. Both women. One, the one on the left, I'm familiar with. She looks and stands like a vulture. That's the first image I get of her in my mind. She talks like a slow Groucho Marx and is quite sweet. She's very thorough and very helpful when asked. "Hello, Mr. Hobobob, I have so-and-so here...." The name doesn't stick on the poster board of my head. She gestures to the other woman on her left, flanking my door in that direction. She looks to me like a taller version of my Sugar Plum. Light skinned, pudgy, Spanish features, rosy cheeks. I nod to her. The one that looks like a vulture continues to speak. "We want to let you know that there will be an inspector coming over from the Department of Housing...." Yes, I know. Slick O was just up here. "OH, well, we just wanted you to know that this is all in compliance with the forms that you signed upon your arrival, and that you need to be here...." For them to gain access, I finished for her. "Yes, that's right," she hands over the same exact paper that Slick O gave me. Oh now I have two of them, I hold it up with a smile. They smile back, say their goodbyes and walk off to the next door.

Is it always going to be like this here? When I see errors like this it makes me worry about the organization of these very earnest people. Considering the shithole in Hell that this place was before, they must be vigilant. They are still busy kicking out undesirable tenants from the building. But this is a little disconcerting. Overlapping of work = lack of organization? Well one thing is for certain, I'll have to make sure that those piss bottles are OUT OF HERE before they arrive. That will not be a fine treasure to find.

I go to sleep and have a nightmare. It's about my ex-wife. Of course. In it, I'm treated to a four star hotel, with insane amenities, like a bottle of SVEDKA vodka in every room along with a bucket of ice. Red velvet chairs, black satin couches, rich teak wood molding, gold door handles, a huge table of food, it was ridiculous. Whatever my twisted brain could think of. So instead of my brain conjuring up the Swedish Bikini Swim Team, it conjures up my fucking ex wife. That's right...her. Traipsing around the hotel room, eating and drinking and living, breathing the same air as I.

That's just what I need now in my life. Dreams about her. Someone kick me in the nuts and bring me back to my harsh reality, because this is crazy. This is where I need to be taking more LAMICTAL time. That's what I fucking get for going to sleep at 7:00pm, thinking that I would sleep all night through. No, I awake to this nightmare at 11:00pm. I sit up, look around, and shake from head to toe. Thank god that shit wasn't real. That's what I fucking get for being a wastrel all day and murdering time, when I should have been doing something, anything constructive.

While I'm shaking off the effects of slumber, the fire alarm goes off. Yeah, that's right. I'm in nothing but my drawers and the damn fire alarm goes off. What is up with these people? Is this how they get their kicks, pulling the fire alarm? This is the second time this year, the the third time within three months. I don't even bother putting clothes on this time. I just sit before my laptop. Fuck this.

I don't know how long I'll be up, but I'll just blog until I'm tired.

Tomorrow is the SHOUT OUT without OBSIDIAN. This is going to be fun.

Hobobob