The Real End

My body is shaking.  I can't stop coughing.  The pressure in the atmosphere that used to be my salvation is now haunting me with every hard-won breath.

I thought I was one of the Clean.  I was just a pawn. A vehicle for the Doctor.  (Hi, Doc.)  Hundreds of thousands die every day because of me.  These unworldly horrors from beyond are coming out of the woodwork, tearing up the remains left by the dead.


Mrs. K. remains unaffected by this terrible disease.  She devotes her days to taking care of unfortunate souls like me.  Every time she comes in I apologize for my actions.  Every time she smiles and pats my hand.  She truly is one of the Clean.  She has the pureness of soul I thought I alone possessed. 

She tells me stories of the world outside my apartment.  There is a wooden woman who wraps strings of control around the hearts of folks in Russia and Eastern Europe.  Fires light the skies of West Africa.  Carnival-goers in Brazil explode into mad frenzies of lust that end in death and dismemberment.  A thin man stalks the East coast while cults madly worship the risen dead on the West Coast.  A creature of gears and flesh eats the bones of Detroit.  The window of my bedroom is coated in frost and my apartment seems warm in comparison to the outside.  And there is more.  So much more.  Because of me.

I can't get up from my bed anymore.  I know my time is limited.

Hi, Doc.

It hurts to breathe.

Can you take the pain away?

I don't want to think about all those bodies being burned in the streets any more.  Make the pain go away, please.

I'm sorry I wasn't good enough.

Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.


Please.

Help me, Doctor. 

The Panacea

Hello, lovies.

That tremor in your hands? That's the Panacea.

The uncontrollable cough? That's the Panacea.

The vomiting, the loss of bowel control, the bleeding from your ears? That's the Panacea.  Incredibly virulent with a survival rate of a little over twenty-five percent.

The Clean will be spared. The Filthy will be scoured.

The Doctor wants us all to be healthy.

  

 THE END

Dinner with Terri

Hello, lovies

I forgot to tell anyone in my family that I'd lost my hand.  Whoops.  I told Terri some lie, I don't remember.  I don't really think she bought it, but who's going to argue with a cripple?  Not my polite and perfect sister, that's for sure.

Terri's fiance is a jackass. It was all I could do to smile and nod while I felt the filth crawling all over him. I gave him the heart weakness I stole from the patient I saw earlier today. Terri is still awkward around me, and that still hurts. But I have to put that aside, I have a job to do.

Terri has a pathology internship at the CDC, I think I mentioned that before. Today she mentioned the project she's working on, and I knew why the Doctor wanted me to establish a connection with her. She's working on something called Panacea.  I asked if I could have lunch with her one of these days.  I should be able to work in a tour of the facility.

Are we connecting the pieces of the puzzle yet?

Chore Is Dead

I watched firemen break into Chore's apartment today. Then a little while later, somebody from the city came in and wheeled out a body bag. That's when I realized... The body doesn't always let you know when it's about to break. There isn't always a convenient bile-spewing alarm. Sometimes it's invisible. Like Mrs. K.'s blood clot.

On a possibly un-related note, I find I don't need to sleep much anymore.  And I'm not hungry either.  The coldness of my room actually feels nice.  It reminds me of an operating room.  Clean.  Clinical.

I think I'm going to go scrub the floors some more.  It takes longer now, with one hand.  I can't use my stump yet, the stitches seep with blood if I put too much pressure on them.  I think I might try and cauterize it with the oven if it doesn't stop soon.  Don't worry about me, lovies.  It's just a small bit of pain to make sure I stay healthy for the days ahead.

Fun Facts

Fun fact: Sodium thiosulfate neutralizes chlorine.

Second fun fact: Chlorine is commonly used to ensure drinking water stays clean.

Third fun fact: Dad's water plant stores the neutralizer conveniently close to the final distribution point for the upper west side of the city.

Fourth fun fact: The Doctor loves us all and wants us all to be healthy.

I'm not sure why he wants me to talk to Terri yet, but I'm sure I'll find out soon.  I'll be going to dinner with her and her fiance on Friday.

Helping Hand

Ever since I broke his nose, Chore has stayed inside.  I haven't seen him answer the door, not even for the injured people who come to see him.

He left his stupid doctor's bag over here.  So I've been helping them.  And while I'm helping, I'm experimenting.  Drawing the disease from one.  Pushing it into another.  Brain tumors.  Pancreatic cancer.  Lyme disease.

Nothing immediate, though.  I don't want to have to get rid of the body.  I've been really lucky that no one's come around asking questions about the guy from Thursday.  Thursday?  Wednesday?  I've lost my routine.  The days blur into each other now.  It seems strange that it's only been a month since the Doctor started talking to me.  (Hi, Doc.)  I feel like I've been under Its care for a lifetime.

Phantom Hand

The hand the Doctor gave me is a pure hand. I can't see it, but I can feel it there. And with my new hand, I have a new job now, a new purpose.  The Doctor has charged me with a duty; I am to bring out the sickness.  I am a cure, your cure.

Hello, lovies. I'm about to start the next step of the Doctor's plan.  First things first, need to get in Terri's good graces again.  There's something of hers that I need.  This hand of his is good for one-on-one use, but there's only so much one woman can do.  I haven't met her fiance yet, I think I'll ask them to dinner so I can meet the man who wants to marry my baby sister.

I'm also going to have to ask for a tour at Dad's plant. There's more than one water treatment plant, it's a fairly big city, but all I need is to start the wave.

See a Penny, Pick it Up

Clean.  The world must be made clean.  Scrub it, scrub the world.  Clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it clean it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it cure it
ALL

CURE

THE

WORLD 

OF 

THIS

FILTH 

(Hi, Doc)

 The people, they are responsible, they create the filth, always the fucking filth factories must leave this place must end them, shut them down because they will never, ever stop.

Whimper as you must as you like whimper as you must because you won't get a bang.   

The Doctor is coming (Hi, Doc) The Doctor comes (Hi, Doc) The Doctor will cure us all (please, Doc, give me a cure).

The end is coming.  The Doctor will save you.  (Prepare for The Doctor).   

In for a Penny

what the hell what the hell what the hell

I got a ride to the hospital from the super, my hand wrapped up in a towel to keep dirt from getting in the boils.  But when I unwrapped it for the nurse, she couldn't see what was wrong!  I told her I was attacked by Chore, and she kept asking if he had a knife.  No, he didn't have the knife, I had the knife.  He didn't cut me, I cut me.  I had to get the infection out.  There, there, don't you see it?  It's right there, a handprint of plague where he grabbed me!  God, you stupid cunt, why can't you see what's right in front of your eyes?  No, I don't want a fucking sedative!  No, get your hands off me!  Get away, you're filthy, you vile, disgusting things!  Get that needle away from me, I don't want whatever you're trying to give me, it'll just make things worse! I want my doctor, where is my doctor, where's Doctor Hohenheim?

Don't you hear me?  I said get your hands off me!

I'm refusing medical treatment, do you hear me?  You've got no right to stick that needle in me!  I want to talk to my doctor!

Hi, Doc.

Hello my pretty Penny.

Can you help, please?  The nurse is being a rat-faced bitch.

Oh you poor thing.  Look at how filthy your hand is.

Please, fix it!

Don't worry, my shiny Penny.  I will remove the filth from you.  And in return....  You will help me, won't you?

I promise I'll follow the doctor's orders, I'll take the medicine no matter how bitter.

Of course you will.

Please just fix it, make me better, heal me, make me whole and untarnished again.

Hold still now.

I just don't want to be broken any more.

See a Penny, Let it Lay

Oh god my hand hurts so bad where he grabbed it.  I can see the boils forming in the shape of his fingers.  That, right there, that break in the fucking pus-filled crater of my hand, that's the fucker's life-line.  This hurts just to type, I have to do the whole thing one-handed.

It smells gangrenous, I have to see a doctor as soon as possible, I have to get this thing fixed RIGHT GODDAMNED NOW.  I need to lance the boils before I go. Where's that scalpel from my door?

The Oathbreaker

Chore and I had a fight. Then things got...weird.

He was helping this guy who had been stabbed with some kind of sharpened stick. Chore had helped him before, but apparently there was an infection. Not surprising, considering Chore's lack of dedication to basic sanitation skills.

Anyway, so Chore helped this guy in and lays him down on my floor. I folded his hoodie into a pillow for him and saw this weird symbol like a circle around an 'x'. I think I might have seen Chore wandering around with that symbol drawn on his scrubs, too.

Chore's method of anesthesia is to get his patients rip-roaring drunk. Stupid git didn't realize that thins the blood. This guy was lying on my floor, Chore was setting up his instruments, and when he made the first cut through the anterior abdominal wall, the pressure started.

“Whazzat?” The guy on my floor started bleeding from his ears. The antiseptic smell, the voices, a shimmering in the corner of my eye.

I reached out for his forehead, and Chore grabbed my hand.

“What are you doing, you crazy bitch?”

I wanted to scream, to cry, to tell him that I didn't know what was going on, to rail against this compulsion. Instead, all I said was: “Filth.”

The mark on Chore's forehead turned bright red and he screamed and grabbed his head. The drunk guy between us laughed and pointed. “Oathbreaker!”

“Filth.”

“I'm not!” Chore yelled, falling back on his ass and scooting across the room into the nearest corner.

The stranger sat up, clutching his stomach, but it didn't keep his intestines from spilling out. The odor of decay fought with the antiseptic smell for dominance. “You missed your chance, Choroba.”

He cowered in the corner, hiding his face in his arms. The voices in my mind clamored, pushing me to my feet. Maybe it was the constant exposure over the past week that enabled me to move while everyone else was pinned down. I stepped over the stranger and staggered to Chore's side. I reached for him and-

Chore grabbed my hand again. Gripped it so tight that the metacarpals ground together. Spat in my face. “Don't touch me!”

The shimmering behind me was empowering me. I was invincible while the Doctor stood at my back.

“Filth!” I grabbed Chore's shirt and pulled him forward with all my strength, slamming my forehead into his nose. Behind me I could hear the stranger laughing. Chore bubbled nonsense through blood and snot, letting me go to hold his broken nose.

“Oathbreaker! Oathbreaker! Take your medicine, Oathbreaker!” The stranger chanted as I shoved Chore out the door and slammed it in his face.

The stranger fell back on the floor when the door closed, as if a switch had been flipped. I went back and knelt at his side, but he had gone into septic shock. There was nothing I could do for him exept use the hoodie as a makeshift bandage keep his insides as insides, not outsides.  I dragged him out of my place and laid him in front of Chore's door.  I pulled a ding-dong-ditch with the guy, I'll admit it.  He was just walking dead at that point anyway.

As soon as I returned to my apartment, I collapsed against the front door. I could feel the blood pouring out of my ears, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even wipe the spit off my face. Through the mugginess in my head, my only thought was that I was going to have to clean for hours when I woke up.

My hand is killing me. I didn't think he could be that strong. I think he might have fractured something.

One a Penny, Two a Penny, Hot Cross Buns!

Ms. Suzie had a steamboat,
the steamboat had a bell!
Ms. Suzie went to heaven,
the steamboat went to-

Hello Operator,
give me No. 9!
And if you disconnect me,
I'll chop off your-

Behind the 'fridgerator,
there is a piece of glass!
Suzie sat upon it,
and broke her little-

Ask me no more questions,I'll tell you no more lies!
The doctor's in the room now,
Watching with his glass-

Eyes on my hand now,
I'll show you a new trick!
I killed that fat old bastard,
Made him really sick,
sick,
SICK,
SICK,
SICK.

No pithy title here, I'm too confused.

That fat old bastard is dead now. He's dead and I should feel bad but I don't because he was a pathetic waste of flesh. I had enough with his stupid lewd remarks and I snapped back at him. He grabbed me and started to shake, his face turning red and spewing crumbs in my face.  I was like a little broken doll in his hands until it came back. 

You don't have to take this from him, Penny.

The pressure built up, and he let me go to grab his head. Blood dripped from his nose and his ears. I could feel that presence behind me and before I knew what I was doing I reached up and brushed my finger over his forehead. I drew the symbol from the note. The Doctor's symbol.  (Hi, Doc) 

That was all, but he collapsed onto the floor. Twitching and spasming in the throes of a grand mal seizure. I ran for the phone and called 911, but by the time the ambulance got there he was barely breathing. I rode with him to the hospital, but after a couple of hours the doctor came and told me that he was gone.

I don't know if he has any family to contact. He seemed like the kind of person who never had any friends, just folks he saw often and talked at because they were too polite to walk away.

Now get ready for the freak-out.

I killed a guy. I can't explain how I did it, but the whispers at the corner of my mind told me to draw that symbol and I used it to kill a guy. It's related to the seizures somehow, that inhuman presence that comes every time I feel that terrible pressure.

Has constant exposure to bleach given me super powers?

That's dumb. Sorry. Sorry, I just, the whole black humor thing. Not one of my better qualities.

Chore wants my help again later today. I'm going to charge him double. Hopefully I can replace the income lost from Randy's death. God, that sounds bad. I'm a terrible person. I'm really hoping this thing isn't a Midas Touch bit. I don't want to kill Chore's patient, he does a fine job of that on his own.  Is it bad that I'm hoping It shows up again?  Every time It does, I feel one step closer to figuring out what the hell is going on.

A Note on the Door

When I got home from work, there was a note pinned to my door.

With a fucking scalpel.

It said

THE DOCTOR 

WILL SEE  

SEES 

YOU 

NOW

What the hell?

My Hands are Shaking

I crashed right after I finished cleaning the kitchen.  But I still woke up at noon, which means I only got a couple of hours of sleep.  I can't believe what happened.  But there's a black trash bag filled with bloody paper towels and other crap in my kitchen and three hundred rust-stained dollars on my counter and I'm almost out of bleach again. 

And that...thing.  What the hell was that thing behind me?  Where did it come from?  Why did Chore back down when he saw it?  Why couldn't I turn around to see it?  Don't tell me the answer to that one, I know it already.

I was scared shitless.

But It's disappearing from my head now.  Like my mind can't wrap itself around what happened.  Maybe I did turn around.  Maybe I did see It and I just can't comprehend whatever It was that I saw. 

Something strange is happening.  Almost every day now there's this terrible pressure in my apartment, like I'm at the bottom of the ocean.  Sometimes when it happens, I see a.... thing in surgical scrubs.  I've stopped passing out, but my vision still goes black.

Sometimes in the wee hours of the morning I hear whispers.

Ignoring it isn't making it go away.  What am I supposed to do?  I never thought I'd miss my cell.

A Present on the Doorstep

I finally found out Chore's secret, the reason he gets regular deliveries from that medical supply company.  He's offering unlicensed medical care for folks who can't afford to go to the hospital.

I found this out because one of his patients was on my doorstep when I came home from work today.  I walked up and he rolls his head back because he obviously can't lift it and says "Chore Oboe?"  But he's too out of it to actually respond when I tell him he's got the wrong person.  And he's too fucking heavy to haul over to Chore's door, who at this point I don't even know if he's in right now, so against my better judgement, I drag him into my kitchen.  At the time, I just thought he was a drunk friend, he looked like he was on the verge of passing out, but there didn't seem to be anything really wrong with him.

I knocked on Chore's door (hammered, really, I was pissed and tired and just wanted to go to sleep) and luckily the bastard was home.  He wasn't too happy that his friend had landed on my door and I wasn't happy about it either, fuck you very much.

Until we got back to my place and there's a huge dark patch of....something on the front of his jacket now.  Chore took one look at him, then turned to me and this is no shit what he said:

"I'll give you three hundred dollars to let me use your kitchen for an hour."

That's my rent for the month plus utilities.  He left me with the now bleeding man, then came back with an old-fashioned doctor's bag.

A tattoo on his forehead and a doctor's bag?  What kind of guy does he think he is?  Fucking ridiculous is what he is.

Yet there he was, saving a guy's life on my kitchen floor.  I don't know how long it really took, it was definitely longer than an hour, but I stood there and watched him operate.  The sharp smell of blood, the pained groans, the light glinting off the needle, the-

Are you fucking kidding me?  Even an idiot like me knew that if you're going to be operating on someone, you need to clean your shit up first.  Before he finished threading the needle, I pulled it out of his hands and grabbed the bleach from under the counter.  Not the best choice, but seeing as how he hadn't brought anything with him-

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  Chore loomed over me, light shining off a sharp blade in his hand.  Suddenly it looked more like a weapon and less like a tool.  No...  not in his hand.  It was his hand.  His finger.  Oh fuck.

I was ready to chuck the bottle of bleach at his head and run...but the smell of antiseptic started to push away the scent of blood.  A flash of white in the corner of my eye.  A...beak?  I couldn't turn around to see, I didn't want to turn around.  I didn't want to see whatever it was behind me.  The pressure in the room was intense, it hurt to breathe.

Chore's eyes flicked over to the....thing at my shoulder, then the scalpel wasn't a scalpel anymore, it was his finger.  He stepped back and held out his now normal hand for the needle.  The pressure went back to normal and I gasped in a deep breath.  I think he did the same, but he hid it better than I did.

"Gloves."

"Fuck you, I don't have any gloves."

"You moron."  Luckily I kept a box next to the cleaning supplies.  Bleach is hell on the skin.

Hell, he was already pissed off, and he was afraid to do anything to me thanks to the...it.  So I went for the gold.  "And I think your tattoo is stupid, too."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he just shook his head and pulled on the gloves.  I crouched down next to him and kept an eye on him in case he pulled the same stunt again.  After a few minutes, he started asking for my help, which to be honest, was kind of cool.

We were there until well past dawn when Chore finally finished.  The jerk tossed the dirty gloves onto the floor, then pulled three hundred in cash out of his wallet and threw it right in the middle of the dirty bloody towels.  Fucker.  He hauled his friend into a fireman's carry and walked out the door without so much as a goodbye.

Not that I wanted anything more to do with him, but, you know, basic fucking manners is all I ask.  Since it's now 7 o'clock in the morning and I still have to clean up my kitchen.

Doctor's Appointment

There was something I was supposed to talk about with the Doc today.  (Hi, Doc.)  Couldn't remember it.  I was too distracted by the news.  Dr. Ramazzini is dead.  There's a new Doc, Dr. Hohenheim.

There was a moment where it looked like he was wearing a bird mask, like from pictures of the Carnival in Venice.  Man, I'd love to go to Venice.  Then he was just this normal guy with a remarkable resemblance to Carl Jung.  (Hence why I remarked on it.  It was remarkable.  Ignore me, I'm getting punchy because I actually ate something other than noodles today.)

I wish I'd been seeing Dr. Hohenheim this whole time.  He's great, absolutely great.  "You're right to be worried about germs.  Do you know how dirty the average kitchen counter is?"  (Yes, yes I do.)  "You need to learn to stand on your own feet.  Do you want to live the rest of your life mooching off someone?"  (No, no I don't.)  "Looks like Dr. Ramazzini was really hard on you.  Well you can talk about whatever you want to, no need to push any buttons here."  Like I said, he's a great guy.  And he said not to worry about coming in for any more appointments, I'm "a perfectly normal, emotionally stable adult."

I even splurged on a couple of things from the dollar menu, so my stomach's full and I'm sitting pretty.

Hello, Penny.  The Doctor will be with you in a moment.

Nothing

Fuck, I'm hungry.  Finished the casserole yesterday.  It's been just noodles since then.  Penny was not meant live on noodles alone.   I'd do anything for some food right now.

The seizures happen about once a day now.  They're starting to get shorter, though.  And today I didn't even bleed...much.

I think there's some kind of cold going around.  Everyone around me won't stop sneezing.  On my way home from work the other day, someone sneezed on me in the subway.  My skin wouldn't stop crawling.  I had to take a two hour long shower when I got home.

The funny thing is, Randy couldn't get out a single insult.  Every time he tried, he'd go into a sneezing fit.  It was great.  Something like this:

"Penny, you should find a man who-ACHOO!"

"Bless you.

"A man who'll-ACHOO"

"Bless you."

"Penny, you should-ACHOO ACHOO ACHOOOO"

"Bless you."

"Pen-ACHOOO"

"Bless you.  Hey, Randy, your nose is bleeding a little."

"Oh shi-ACHOO-t I just ACHOO bought thi-ACHOO-s shirt yes-ACHOO PHWACHOO PHWACHOOO"  The last sneezing fit was so hard that he fell on his ass.

I didn't even mind cleaning up the blood and the snot.  Just watching Randy's dumb ass collapse like that made my night.

Pride

Dammit.  Was helping clean Mrs. K's place yesterday and my stomach growled loud enough it probably woke the neighborhood.  I left soon after even though I didn't have to work.  Just wrapped up in a blanket and tried to force myself into hibernation so I could go the rest of the night without eating.  Then I went to visit today before work and she's shoving a casserole in my hands.

Even if she could afford to make me food every day, I still can't accept that.  I'm not going to live off of hand-outs.  My entire focus has been on getting back on my own two feet.  How am I supposed to do that if I'm relying on people to take care of me?

The answer is that I'm not.  I'm thankful for the gift, but I have to fix this job situation, and fast.  I'm going to have to go out job hunting again instead of visiting with Mrs. K. 

It's just a small hiccup, that's all.  I can get through this.  I really hope I don't have any more of those...seizure things while I'm out.  And the last time I was really out in public, there was the whole thing with the birds and the mall-walker guy.

Change For A Penny

Alle Ding' sind Gift, und nichts ohn' Gift.

Das ist was der Arzt sagt

allein die Dosis macht, daß ein Ding kein Gift ist.

Der Arzt heilt uns alle.

Okay, so...

Bill's dead.  Remember how I was complaining about him earlier?  Now I kind of feel bad that the only problem I really had with him was that there was nothing to complain about.  "Complications from pneumonia" is what they told me.  I feel like I should have tried to connect with him more.  Standard blind-sided-by-grief-itis. 

Except I'm not really grieving.  I didn't know him at all, beyond the occasional awkward staring at each other and attempting to make conversation with each other.  And I know I'm not really going to miss him in my life at all.  Should I feel bad about this or not?  I really don't know.

What the hell?

 I don't know how to explain what just happened.  It was the cherry of freak on a sundae made of weird and covered in hot melted creepiness.

Today while I was scrubbing the floor, the pressure in the room just started to build and build and I couldn't even breathe much less stand up.  Spots were floating in front of my eyes, and there was a 'pop' and liquid started dripping out of my ears.

Hello, Penny

Then as I was about to black out, I could see someone in a dark brown cloak standing right in front of me.  It stood there, watching as I struggled for breath, clawing at my throat.  Then as it turned away, the cloak thing changed.  I could see the very bottom of a white doctor's coat, scrubs, and even a set of those little booties surgeons wear.  Except the feet inside the booties weren't human.  Claws, talons, a set of toenails in desperate need of a manicure?

The Doctor will be with you shortly.

I woke up on the floor, a red smear on the tile I just cleaned, dammit.  When I went into the bathroom for more cleaning rags, I caught a look at myself in the mirror, and turns out something in my ears busted when that...whatever it was...came to visit.  I had a trail of blood on one side of my face, and a big smear where I'd passed out on the floor on the other.

Thank goodness I don't have to work today.  I don't even think I can go see Mrs. K. today, that's how messed up I am right now.

Oh shit.  I have a meeting with Bill in an hour.  My hands are starting to shake now.  He's going to think I'm coked out or something.

Penny's Going to Have to Cut a Bitch

Seriously?  Seriously?

I'm angry.  I'm so fucking angry.  I want to wrap my hands around that pasty fucker's neck until his eyes bug out and his face turns blue.  I want to skin him and string him up on the nearest light pole for the birds to eat.  I want to tie him up with barbed wire and cover him in burning pitch.

I'm not really helping the "I'm not a violent psychopath" thing, am I?

I just found out that the job I've been so proud of, the one that would help me stand on my own two feet?  Is one of those "off the books" sort of deals.

No paycheck.
No W-2.
No health insurance.
No dental.
I get paid just minimum wage.
I only keep half my tips.

The end result being that I'll be lucky to pay my rent.  Let me emphasize that for you.  I can't make enough to pay for low-income housing.  If I'm lucky, I'll get to choose between water and power.  Much less anything to eat.  All I have right now is what's left in my cupboard, which is mostly microwaveable noodles.  Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I made enough tonight to stock up on cleaning supplies and maybe get something off the dollar menu.  Then I'll have to start hoping that I make enough in tips to cover my utility bills.

I fucking hate him.

A List of the Good People in My Life

My last post was pretty angry.  I swear there's more to me then just a bunch of random violent feelings.  So here's a list of people who make me happy.

1. There's Mom and Dad.  Dad works in a water treatment plant, so he's responsible for making the water clean.  Mom used to work in Social Services, but now she stays at home.  Dad's about ten years older than Mom, but Mom's the serious, responsible one.  She likes to call Dad her "third kid."
2. Terri, my sister, is going for a doctorate in pathology.  She's interning at the CDC, which is a super-big deal.  But she doesn't ever talk to me, so I don't really know what she does other than that.  She's got a fiance that I haven't met and probably won't if she gets her say.  Mom always gets this resigned tone in her voice whenever she talks about Terri.  I don't blame Terri for blaming me, Brian was one of her good friends.
3. Dr. Ramazzini really deserves to be on both lists.  I like him well enough when we're having our sessions, but afterward I can only think of how weak I was during.  I hate him for that, but is it really his fault?  I don't know.
4. Mrs. K.  She has been so nice to me while I've been living here.  She's literally my lifeline while I get a handle on living in the real world again.

So that's my list of people I'm grateful for.  Just to prove that I'm not a total Debbie Downer.

The Douchecanoes In My Life

1. Randy, my boss.  Fat old sumbitch who keeps half my tips.  He owns the bar and makes sexist comments that make absolutely no sense.  Something about how I probably got arrested because I couldn't clean and then I learned how to clean in prison or something.  What?  Like I said, absolutely no sense.  But he gives his dirty old man laugh and hands me a bucket to clean up after the night crowd.  Complete and utter douchecanoe.
2. The super.  Don't know what his name is, don't care.  But he makes the list because he refuses to fix my A/C.  59 deg F.  The F stands for Fucking Cold as a Witch's Tit.
3. Bill.  (Bill is my parole officer, I haven't really talked about him before now.  He's one of those people who has absolutely no personality.  He probably doesn't deserve to be on the list but I'm pissed off right now so there you go.)
4. And the big A-number One douchecanoe in my life?  Chore Oboe, or whatever his name is.  Chore is right, he's a complete fucking chore to deal with.  (Ha!  I'm so clever.) 

If you're in the area, you've probably seen him around.  Tall, skinny, sores on one side of his mouth and speed teeth.  Dirty blonde hair, lines on his face.  There's a phrase my family likes to use: rode hard and put away wet.  He's probably in his mid-twenties, but he looks much older.  (So I say, but I can't stand looking in my own mirror.  Can we say Susan Sarandon?)  And that stupid fucking tattoo!  Seriously! 

All right, that's enough for today.  I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I just got home from an eight-hour shift of Randy's bullshit.  I need to sleep.

Digging Up Info

I think I'm getting into a pretty good routine now.  Here's how the past couple of days have gone: I get up around noon and spend a good half-hour convincing myself to leave the coziness of my bed.  Then I spend a couple of hours cleaning the apartment.  Around that time my fingers and nose are pretty numb from the stupid A/C so I go visit with Mrs. K. until it's time to get ready for work.  I open beers and clean the bar until around three, then I head home, fall asleep, and do it again.  I'll be getting Sunday and Monday nights off, with my first paycheck coming at the end of Saturday night.  I might be a little too excited about getting paid.

I haven't seen Scrubs-Guy around.  I asked Mrs. K. about him, and she was able to give me some good gossip.  His name is Chore-something, and he's about my age.  He's a nurse, and because of that works all sorts of odd hours.  That explains the scrubs, but not why he's going to work with them stained.  You'd think hospitals would frown on folks coming in with dirty clothes.  She also passed on that he gets company at "all hours of the night."  I guess that makes sense, if he's friends with other nurses and stuff, they'll have odd hours that they keep.

Apparently Chore is quite the nice young man and we would make a cute couple.  Bleh.

She told me all this yesterday, and it just seemed too... explainable.  So I "ran into" the super this morning on my way over to Mrs. K's.  Got to talking about my neighbors, and it was boring as all hell until we got onto the subject of Scrubs-Guy, aka Chore.  Turns out every once in a while, he gets packages from some medical supply company.  Huge boxes of stuff.

Weird, huh?

Breaking out of Comfort Zones

Two things today: first off my appointment with the Doc.  I didn't tell him about the guy in the park after all.  I just figured it was my imagination.  Doc seemed like he wanted to talk to me about something, but he didn't mention the blog at all.  Maybe he's not actually reading it?  (Just in case: Hi, Doc.)  For all that this is for therapy, I don't really want to talk about my sessions.

See, the thing about Doc's sessions, is he tries to break me down emotionally.  He hasn't said as much, but I can tell.  He tries to get me to talk about stuff that I don't want to talk about.  When I don't want to do something, I don't.  But me not doing anything results in him telling my parole officer that I'm being "hostile."  So every other session I have to cry and make a big "breakthrough."  I blame everything on my parents, it seems to be working so far.  Then I go home and clean.  I really hope he doesn't actually read these.

Speaking of parents, Mom called today.  She called me her "shiny Penny" like she used to.  That was nice, but kind of awkward.  I haven't felt very shiny over the past few years.  Sometimes I think she named me Penny just so she throw in doofy jokes like that.  I guess my sister is doing better, but my dad went to the hospital last night for a a ruptured appendix.

She wants me to move in.  It would help a lot, I wouldn't have to worry about paying for room and board, but still.  I'm over 30 years old, way too old to be living with my parents again.  I do have my pride, after all.  Plus, I think she's just asking because she's shaken up by my dad's close call.  So, no, that's probably not going to happen any time soon.

In other news, Mrs. K. is sick.  Why is everyone I know so sick?  Turns out she was diagnosed with aneurysm last week.  She can just keel over at a moment's notice. After she told me that, she gave me a key to her apartment.  She said I "had a good heart, no matter what sadness I carried." 

That's another reason I can't move yet, I have to check up on Mrs. K.  I don't want her to be like those sad old women who die and aren't found for days because they had no friends.  (Also, I'm pretty sure her cats would eat her.  That ginger one was giving me the evil eye last time I came by.  When the pregnant one gives birth, I'm not taking in any ginger cats).

I know that my dad and Mrs. K. aren't sick because of the filth, but cleaning still makes me feel better.  So I helped Mrs. K. clean her apartment, since there's nothing left to clean in mine.  Cat hair gets everywhere.  And litterboxes?  Phew!  I'm still trying to make up my mind on this whole cat thing.  They make so much mess...but mess keeps me busy, keeps my mind off other stuff.

Oh, I mentioned work, right?  Well!  I got a job!  Minimum wage plus tips tending bar at a small joint on the South Side.  And the clientele aren't the kind to order some foofy girly drink that I'd have to look up in a book, it's entirely a Bud Lite kinda crowd. Did a trial run tonight and it seems like a good job for me.  Even if it's a bit....sticky.  Still.  Comfort zones.  Breaking out of them.  I can make progress on my own, thank you very much!

Then when I finally got home, the dude on my floor was waiting for me.  He stood in his doorway and stared me down while I passed.  Remember?  The one wearing the scrubs?  With the stupid fucking tattoo on his forehead?

He was testing me.  He was waiting to see what I'm made of, who's the top dog here.   I refuse to let him win.

You won't win.  I can take you.  
(That tattoo makes you look like a dumbass, by the way)

Potential for a job interview today, and an appointment with the doc tomorrow (Hi, Doc).  Other than that, not much going on.  I'm spending most of today huddled in a comforter and bringing myself up to date on the last 10 years of internet memes. 

Bad Penny

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A/C Is Busted

Broke all to shit, I guess.  I talked to the super about it earlier today.  He says this particular apartment has always been this cold.  Let me tell you, a high-powered air conditioner sounds like a great idea with the heinous heat wave the entire country's been under.  But I have to wear my heaviest sweater.  Which isn't very heavy, most of my stuff is still at storage in my parent's garage.  It's really hard to sleep when you can't feel your fingertips or your nose.  And who's going to pay the bill for keeping the place like a fucking meat locker?  Yours-unemployed-truly, of course. So I can't afford to keep the windows open, and I really don't want to go outside. 

So I stopped by at the lady at 1-G (let's call her Mrs. K.), and as soon as she answered, one of her cats ran out of the door.  Turns out she has six.  Six cats!  She also knits, so she let me have a lovely stocking cap and a scarf and pair of mittens, all of which she made herself, as well as an extra quilt.  What a nice person!  She taught me how to play this game called cribbage, and we had a nice little chat.  The cats bothered me less than I thought they would.  The black one even came and sat in my lap.  The ginger one is pregnant and about to give birth; I just might take in one of the kittens. 

Of course I had to boil the hat and stuff when I got back.  No telling where those cats have been running around to, there could be fleas or ticks or worse.  But now I'm warm and happy and ready to settle back with a good book or two.  The quilt is stuffed in the freezer, cold works just as well for killing bugs as heat, and I can't exactly fit a quilt in one of my rusty old pans.

Anyway, The place where I'm staying is called New Beginnings.  It's all about providing low-income housing to folks to help them get back on their feet.  Besides Mrs. K, it's mostly filled with single-mothers or meth-heads (so I'm not the only person who's seen the inside of a cell, literally or metaphorically).

There's this one guy on my floor who has a crazy snake and stick tattoo right on his forehead.  Just seeing him makes me itch so bad.  Almost every time I see him, he's wearing his scrubs and a surgical mask.  And his scrubs are stained, but I don't know what the stains are from.  Every time I try to look, I go cross-eyed and get this insane headache.  Plus, he coughs a lot.  I kind of think he's wearing the mask to keep his sickness in, rather than trying to keep the rest of the world's sickness out.

The Old Lady in 1G

I met one of my neighbors today down in the laundry room.  She was one of those Old World women, the ones who talk about the Mother Land and wear a babushka tied under their chin.  She was really sweet, showed me pictures of her grandchildren.  She invited me over for dinner any time, said her husband died years ago but she still cooks for two. 

Doc would say I should do it, I'm sure.  (Hi, Doc.)  That I need to break out of my comfort zone.  I usually have a problem with eating at other people's houses (97% of females say they wash their hands after using the restroom.  Only 75% do.)  On the other hand, I could offer to help cook.  That way I can make sure she's not slipping anything into my food.  On purpose or accidentally.

I made sure to put on a sweater fresh from the dryer before I entered the apartment.  That warm feeling is just about the best thing ever.

I haven't been outside since that thing in the park on Friday.  Obviously I was just making it all up.  There's no way I should have been able to hear that guy's music.  My next appointment with the Doc is on Tuesday (Hi, Doc) I'll talk with him about it then.  Until then, I think I'm going to stay inside.

A Funny Thing Happened at the Park

So yeah, the weirdest thing happened to me today.  There there I was at the park, stopping for lunch in between job interviews.  There is is a woman feeding a flock of pigeons by a a fountain, kids playing in the park, bored housewives complaining about their oh-so-hard lives, that sort of regular park thing.

(Nasty birds, pigeons.  Disease-carrying flying rats.  Ugh.  And don't get me started on kids.)

Then a man man walks by, doing one of those funky old-lady mall-walking gaits.  The one where they swing their arms like they've got sacks of rocks tied to their hands and they will clean your clock if you try to get between them and the Orange Julius.  He's nodding his head with with the beat, and I can hear his music.  Only, it's not just a beat.  It's a lively, pop, upbeat tune set to crying.

Not wailing like a a kid just broke his arm crying, but a soft, barely there sobbing.  And there he was, bopping along, with a smile on his face face! 

Me, I'm frozen.  I'm wondering what kind of of sicko music this is.  He passes me and I guess I'm giving him a a weird look because he's busy glaring at me instead of watching where he's going.  He runs right through the flock of birds, who of course do their usual bird bird thing and fly all helter-skelter, squawking and crapping everywhere.  The lady feeding them starts bitching the guy out for driving her "pets" away.

I got the hell out of there and went straight to my apartment.  Totally bailed on the interview, but I can't bring myself to care.  Now, I'm sure my mind was just playing tricks on me, but then...  You just don't forget that kind of heart-broken sobbing.  It pulls at a string deep inside you and tells you someone is suffering.  And worst of all, you can't help them.

Looking for Work

I went out looking for a job today.  There's a program that my parole officer is trying to get me through where some company rehabilitates criminals.  I don't know if he'll have much luck though.  I'll probably need a recommendation from my therapist and apparently a lot is hinging on this whole emotional expression shit.

I probably shouldn't say the word 'shit' when I know that Doc is reading.  Hi, Doc.

Applied for jobs at a few restaurants.  I used to be pretty good at juggling plates.  It's probably like riding a bike.  See, I'm hopeful and positive; no negative emotions whatsoever.

Well, that's a lie.  I had to go out in public to submit those job applications.  It's weird being around so many strange people.  I'm not used to seeing different faces everywhere I turn.  I was kind of scared.  I expecting to see someone, someone who wanted to hurt me.  I suppose that makes sense.  Brian's family was probably notified when I was released.  I can't imagine they're too happy with me.  At any rate, I felt better once I got back into my rathole of an apartment.

Got a call from my mom today.  That was nice, but kind of sad.  Apparently my sister has some kind of cold.  I kind of feel a cold coming on myself.  Probably because of this stupid air conditioning.  I keep turning it up, but it keeps resetting to 59 degrees somehow.

Therapy

I'm supposed to use this blog to "explore my emotions" or something. I think the idea is if I express my emotions in a healthy manner then I'm less likely to try something like.... that again.

 Truth be told, I don't really remember it very well. There was a lot of yelling, some shoving, then the next thing I know, I'm being handcuffed and there's sirens and Miranda rights and a zipper closing over a face that I'll never see again.

That's right, I'm an ex-convict. Don't expect any Oz-stories or anything, though. It was an accident and I'm done with that part of my life. This thing with the court-mandated therapy is part of my parole agreement. Once I've finished it all, my life can get back to normal. Well, as normal as it gets when not even McDonald's will hire you.

So, emotions. Right. Feeling pretty lonely, I guess. None of my old friends will have anything to do with me. My family gives me odd looks when they think I'm not paying attention. Hell, my sister won't even stay in the same room with me. They're scared of me, and, well, that hurts.

That... actually felt good just to write. Maybe there is something to this after all. All right, I'll give it a shot, see what good it does. Gotta go turn up the thermostat. The A/C in this joint is ridiculous.