Passed From One Hand

I should have known.

I would wake up groggy. Smoke all in my head. I look at the window and notice that it's raining. I got behind the computer, answered emails, and then did sit-ups. I went downstairs and got my breakfast. I also looked in the office for someone to give me my mailbox key. The office was closed.

Whoopee! I walk up the stairs, and incredibly, I walked up the sixteen flights without panting like a dog or stopping on any of the floors. It didn't even feel like exercise. Wow. I stunned myself. I think I'll do the stairs more often.

I get ready for the doctor's office and eat breakfast. I can put down a cup of yogurt and little else. That LUVOX still cutting into my appetite. I then struggled with my poncho trying to get it over my backpack, my baby carriage, and couldn't do shit. I finally gave up and threw it to the side. Hell, I will not be out there in the open that long. I walked downstairs and found the office open, with Slick O, and Roberto inside talking to themselves. I asked them for my mailbox key and Slick O tells me to come back in a little while and he would have it for me.

I didn't want to tell him that I wasn't going to be back soon, but what the fuck, that was my problem now, wasn't it? I go to Dr. A's office and get my checkup. He's not too keen on the LUVOX. "Why did they put you on that?" Too reduce the number of pills that I'm taking. I completely can't recall that it's also for my social anxiety. "I dunno, if you're feeling dizzy and everything, why not tell your psychiatrist that you don't want to be on it anymore?" I don't? I say halfheartedly. I DO want to be on it. I want to just get through this adjustment period. I just didn't know how to tell the Doc that. "If you can't tell them, I can." He says. No Doc, I think I can do it. But actually I have no intention. I'll give it a week and if it still has me fucked up, I'll stop. However, I'm going to give it a shot.

I walk through the rain to the 34th street library and get online. I respond to an email from DJ and bow out of tonight's meeting. I'm just too fucking spaced out. I want to go home and take a nap.

Now, I can focus on WECARE. I head over, walking through the drizzling rain to get to the building. Upon reaching the front door a herd of people come galloping out of the building, forcing me to step aside. A bad sign. Upstairs on the seventh floor, I waited for about five minutes before Charliqua Lovebisquit popped out and called my name. I followed her to her cubicle and she greeted me with a smile. Then she consulted her computer and turned to me and said: "Yes, they have decided that you should go to our Vocational Training Program...blah, blah, blah." Job Farm. Can you say Job Farm boys and girls. I really wouldn't have anything to say about a job farm actually, but this one is run by...guess who? WECARE.

So I'm being tossed from the left hand to the right hand. Additionally, they are still making money off me. They are just like Dianetics. Have you ever been caught by them and sent to their testing area?? They give you this lengthly testing and then they show you all of these problems in your life, and the only way to solve them is...you guess it! Dianetics! There is no way that you are going to pass that test and not need them.

Same for WECARE. There's no way that they're going to pass you up without vocational training. That's loosing money, and it's all about the money. Off I go...35 hours a week. I get to sit in a room, right across the hall, with a whole bunch of punch the clowns and waste time. There we go, that sends my internship at Discover Magazine right down the drain. Just great.

Still, they have my health insurance by the balls. I am scheduled to go to Vocational Services on Wednesday. I have until Wednesday to decide if I'm going to show. Job Farm. I don't know, this job farm thing could be interesting. I know what they are going to come up with. Working in the parks department, picking up trash. I'll see. They can't put everyone in the parks department, and there are no jobs out there, so we shall see.

Job Farm...Parks Department.

Poetry?

Hobobob