Indescretions and Preparations

Remember

When I told you to remember about eating hot, spicy, chili flavored Ramen Noodles with tons of black pepper? Well here's where that comes in. My asshole is bothering me with itching, burning and pain, the works in the crack of my ass. Now I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yeah, you guessed it. It's time, the butcher has come for his due. I don't really realize the magnitude of my error until I'm strolling into the bathroom with a roll of paper in hand and locking the door. Holy Shit, I have to shit!

Never in a thousand years would I have imagined pushing a Nine car pile up wreck through a toll booth that is already on fire! Just the thought of which follows I can't even explain. Needless to say, after shitting razor blades and Tabasco sauce I limp back crying to bed and force myself to get a few hours of sleep. I can't sleep for real. I wake up in the early morning. I am miserable. I can't sleep. My asshole is bothering me just that bad. NOW it's blown up on my ass like a golf ball. Now, I think it's time for the PREP H if you ask me.

Overnight, around my favorite time to go shopping, 2:30 in the morning, I head to Duane Reade and I BUY SOME PREPARATION H!! Need I say more boys and girls. I go to sleep on my stomach, much of the pain and itch going away. In the morning I feel like my new self. My Early Morning Head has gone away. Shit is clearer, the tics have gone away, my hands have stop shaking. I'm back to normal. What had happened?? Everything occurred except my golf ball turned into half a frank running up the inside of my ass.

That's alright, I say to myself, I'll let this bitch run her course. I can't see what's going on, but I pretty much know. If I have to explain it, you pretty much don't have the stomach for it. I put on Preparation H liberally and work on my Novel for the rest of the day. I can't seem to break out of the 800s. Too many unproductive days. I get my kitchen counter ready. I get a paper towel...lots of paper towels, Prep H, rubbing alcohol. Then I do as my mother told me and took an ass break today. I lie on my stomach until I felt that It was chair time. I jump up, sit down to work on my novel and....

....and the hemorrhoid is gone. I mean I still have to....
...so, sparing you guys the gory details. Now that is another traumatic experience I wish you never have to go through, and if you do, that you don't have to go through it alone, and if you do, trade in your jacket, because you're wearing mine.

I fall asleep in my chair, writing on my Novel and I wake up battered and sore.
I'VE GOT ONE MORE DAY BEFORE MY COURT DATE.

You bet your ass I'm on edge. I'm jumping around more than a cat with pins in its paws. Maybe I should let this entire thing pass and call it a year. I'm already IN the program. What am I doing? Wasting everyone's time? What if that's what the Judge believes? What if he blows a stack because I'm sitting there wasting the court's time.

Yeah, I'll just let this one slide too. I'll just let this one breeze on by and sometime in the middle of the month when I see my new Case Worker I'll pick up my intake program from scratch.

Yeah, that's the plan. I go downstairs and get breakfast, and then check my mail, and in it is a envelope from FEGS with a letter stating that I have a mandatory appointment to meet with Charliqua Lovebisquit at the end of the week. What the fuck is this? Her again? This is the same old shit in a different plate! They're conning me. I drop the case, they drop the Wellness Program, and off I go back into the Vocational Program.

That's some bullshit. OH it's ON now. They think I'm playing. I get upstairs, polish off my outline that I'll use to present my case, and then take my paperwork down to the office. No one is down there but a bent over black dude. Long faced and anxious he meets me nervously in the office, not being able to make out how important I am, walking in with an arm-load of papers, he addresses me in a diffident manner. I ask to use the copier machine. SCARY Lady is in another office and she hears my request but says nothing.

Earl, who is what I'm calling this nervous character, has to ask for permission from down the hall. He returns with Slick O, who is strangely glad to see me and knows my name. Yeah, make a few copies. So I get busy. And Earl gets nervous. The more I copy, the nervous he gets, as if the copies are coming from his check. I was about to scream: Earl! Calm the FUCK down! Every five minutes he's asking me if I'm done yet? How much more time do I need? On an on. I just couldn't take it any more. I'm finished goddamn it! I had maybe 15 more copies to go, but what the Hell. I'll do what I can. The rest I'll give to the court to use at their discretion.

Thanks Earl. If I lose I'll blame it on you.

I sit in my chair, practicing, finding what trains to take in the morning. Ready to fight through rush hour, ready to deal face to face with Karma.

Whoo hooo!

Hobobob