Perforated, Proposing, Jeeping, Not Sleeping, But Working

Well, the subject line kinda says it all. Have picked up a small contract job. Though the way these things go, I'll be lucky if I break even by the time all is said and done.

I'm back in the sub tropic environs of the Gulf Coast, but it's spring here, so I can't complain. Though my hair has increased in volume by twofold. This is not an exaggeration. As it slowly approaches critical mass nearing the size and possible density of Asia, I fear for the safety of the world. For now it simply waits, and watches.

This contract work has lots of side benefits, since I'm doing it in familiar surroundings. Lots of social engagements, free place to stay, family to visit. Lovely friend loaned me her Jeep to use while in town. The gas mileage is destroying me, but it's the first rear wheel drive car I've had the opportunity to pilot. Interesting. Simultaneously good and a shame that it doesn't have more pickup, because I'd love to sling that sucker through a few curves and see what a difference being pushed versus being pulled makes.

Later today I get to try and blackmail convince a local doctor to give me these immunotherapy shots. Have I mentioned that I'm over doctors, medical crap, everything? I am so sick of talking about it, thinking about it, feeling about it. Everything. In under five years time (two intense years) I've gone from a person who never got a cold to someone who has to coordinate prescription refills across the country if I travel for more than two weeks.

This is no way to live.

I recently read some online news that my future ex boyfriend, Gerry Butler, did 3 weeks at Betty Ford for coke and pills. And that he slept with the wife of this couple he befriended, then dumped her and now she has a sad because she's all divorcey time and he no call her back.

Standard disclaimer: doesn't it suck to have all your shit just out there? I mean, to have to release a statement about drying out because you know they are gonna find out anyways?

Now to be a hypocrite: I think you can kick a physical addiction in three weeks, you can dry out. But can you really kick a habit? I don't know. Especially if you are jumping straight back into L.A. But GButz has some experience in these matters. Wish him luck. You know, the NSAIDs in the pain killers will build in your system and do your body more harm faster than the opiates will. But the opiates will be what hook you.

Disturbing trends (that are no one's fault so please all 3.2 people who read this don't freak out about it): I come back here and instantly people start unloading. Confessing. Crying on my shoulder, both metaphorically and quite literally. People that know me. People that know I am familiar with their situations. But also people that I've known for 4 hours.

At work. With friends. With family. I'm ascribed magical properties. I suddenly have vast knowledge of people's temperaments, or certain processes. Or I'm just a good judge, because of my long absence.

And here I am, having fucked my life up flatter than hammered shit. Wandering around semi functional most days, and still not being listened to when I do speak. Yet being applied to in strange circumstances. I've an internal joke with myself for many years now, but maybe it's not much of a joke anymore. Maybe I am the wailing wall.

Did I mention I bought a laptop? Oh, the debt you'll accrue. . . . (little known Suess book)