Realize That You're a Dreg

Job Farm.

I think of it as I head home. I cop a ride uptown on the number one train, wondering what would happen if I just didn't show. Charliqua Lovebisquit counseled me not to not show up, which means to me that it has been done before...several times. I don't even blame the jumpers. I'm thinking about jumping too, seriously. This is the route that people with no education and ex-cons with no training in anything take. That's where I'll be, shoulder to shoulder with the dregs of society. Heh, maybe I'm a dreg too.

I wonder if I can use my internship at Discover Magazine as my vocation? Maybe they'll let me do that for my new job. Something that I found that fits me on my own. Naaaaah, it would exclude them from the equation. How are they going to get paid if they let that happen? It's about them getting paid. I'm going to ask anyway though.

I head home and walking up the street, there is a little guy walking up the block with me, talking anger in people's faces. He marches around to everyone, including me, spitting vehemence. I follow behind him. Now guess where this walking psychopath goes...right the fuck into MY apartment building. Upon getting inside, he stops at the guard window and talks so sweetly to them. I walk past psycho and meet up with Slick O and John in the hall. Slick O, do you think I can get my mailbox key now? "OH yeah, come on let me get that for you." As we talk, guess who walks between us to go into the office, saying excuse me as normally as pie. Psychopath. I go with Slick O to his office in the back and get my mailbox key. Goddamn!

I feel so good about having a mailbox finally, after a thousand years, I walk up the stairs. This time it was much harder because I have a damn near 20lb pack on my back, but I do that shit. I get home and I am tired. I set up my computer and then knock out on my bed. I wake feeling much better. Time: 8:00pm. You'd think that when I sit behind the computer that everything would be okay, but no. I'm still sleepy.

I'm still going to be up late tonight. I stay on the Internet until about two in the morning. At that time my tired eyes make it hard for me to do anything. I crawl into bed, hoping for my favorite dream, but I get some scrawl of the mind that makes me pissed. I wonder if it's all the drugs that I'm on that's making my dreams screwy like that? I wake up around six and honestly can't go back to sleep. I have to get going anyway and make an early day out of it. I'm meeting Bryan for brunch before the SHOUT OUT.

Hobobob