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

ThereisamanwithafaceofabirdT

hereisamanwithafaceofabirdTh

ereisamanwithafaceofabirdThe

reisamanwithafaceofabirdTher

eisamanwithafaceofabirdThere

isamanwithafaceofabirdTherei

samanwithafaceofabirdThereis

amanwithafaceofabirdThereisa

manwithafaceofabirdThereisam

anwithafaceofabirdThereisama

nwithafaceofabirdThereisaman

withafaceofabirdThereisamanw

ithafaceofabirdThereisamanwi

thafaceofabirdThereisamanwit

hafaceofabirdThereisamanwith

afaceofabirdThereisamanwitha

faceofabirdThereisamanwithaf

aceofabirdThereisamanwithafa

ceofabirdThereisamanwithafac

eofabirdThereisamanwithaface

ofabirdThereisamanwithafaceo

fabirdThereisamanwithafaceof

abirdThereisamanwithafaceofa

birdThereisamanwithafaceofab

irdThereisamanwithafaceofabi

rdThereisamanwithafaceofabir

dThereisamanwithafaceofabird

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.