It sure as hell better be! Otherwise this could be the prelude to an awful evening. I need therapy. I've slipped into the unknown. My friends don't want to see me anymore. No one listens to what I say (under the age of six). I have the credibility of a rattlesnake. My home life is a f*cking wreck, to say the least. I live at odds with the woman who birthed me. You think bio-physiology could have been more kind. If I say black, she says white....she say white, I say gray. Never is there common ground. ARGUMENT is forbidden. Gawd forbid you actuality argue out a real solution. PERSONAL BELIEF is forbidden. Never mind PC, I can't even be right. I am the antithesis to her whole existence. I'm afraid she feels she has to feed me to fulfill her duty to the devil and regrets every second of it. I can't blame her, she never learned to love. Surprisingly, her mother was the most affectionate woman I have met. I am her curse, in her eyes, and without love, she searches for a solution to cure me. Cure? No cure needed. Some rehabilitation maybe nice. C2H6O (google it) is not the issue anymore. That boats at the dock. The rehab needed is spiritual, in a conducive atmosphere for healing. Opposed to the currently constant battering of the senses. Not one second of "Peace of Mind" has been logged since I left the Redwood Forest {img} last year. Peace of mind, yea, that thing when your head hits the pillow nightly.....not here. It's a wonder it was a skateboard that disabled my progress and not a shotgun..... That's why I hang on. I didn't die. I REALLY don't know why. It should have been done, over, finí.
But it's not.
Now I have to figure out why. Being a logical man, there is no apparent reason. It must be underlying......there is not a single person on this planet who's life would be altered [other than my landlord's] if I were gone. So what the fuck am I still doing here????? No, I'm not smart enough to see what's in front of my face, I need glasses. Plus, as of nearly a year since the back of my head was introduced to asphalt from 6'6" above terra-ferma, I still hear constant ringing and only 40% out of one ear and 65% out of the other, taste is a 'five-taste barrage of guessing, 'what the hell is this?'," and smell....may as well be the DMV. It can't interpret although it works, it does not recognize. Kind of a clusterfuck if you really want to know.
Ok. I've cried enough. Crying isn't my thing. It's just hard to interpret your situation without a bonded (by heart) interrupter or sounding like you're crying. The last thing I wanted to do is stand on a promontory and cry how bad my life is. The fact is my life is falling apart and I'm running out of glue.
If I'm supposed to be here then I'm going to need a sign or an epiphany. The constant day-to-day battles have gone beyond my corral and now I need to hire some wranglers. Don't bullshit me with Obama's Taco Bell Wranglers (the OHP insurance accepting "quote, Doctors, unquote" who get you in/get you out/rather never had seen you/thanks for paying the bill, mother fuckers.) I need REAL wranglers. Those who know personal care means something. Enough recruiting.
I'm fuct! Plain and simple. Either I slip through, the genius that is our bullshitized, errrrr-socialized; medicines, asshole and become a very intelligent street dweller, WITH MY OWN DAMN SHOPPING CART!!!! Or I'll just go visit my coyotes and leave the rest of this shit up to you. It's hard to care when you're perceived as, useless, worthless, not necessary, too old, retarded, brain-dead, too slow........& on and on. I'm too old to stand up for myself as a third grader but it seems this is my current ice-breaker. What the fuck is the point. If there is someone who really gives a shit about me, I'd like to know. No, not all you others with your busy life's that can't stop to pick up your nieces or feed the cat, let alone hear what Gil has to say. Not you!!! You're too damn busy. Just looking for someone who gives a fuck about me. Someone who may have an arrow in their quiver they'd be willing to share....to point some direction....into the 'what-the-fuck-osphere'. I know I only planned to be here 50yrs, now I'm stuck trying to figure out what to do with the last two. Besides, cowgirls and sagebrush are even more out-of-sorts than I am. What's the point?
Done arguing. Done fighting. Done being "your" bitch. I'm fucking over it. Something had better happen soon or this may be the last
"SageBrush & Why Gawd Created Cowgirls" post ever. Epiphany? Please.................
Carmen fucking oooooôøooot! Psy Anne Aura.
Invisible wounds hurt the most.
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