Sometimes, it seems that no matter how hard we try, we can never get that one particular thing that we most need when we need it, whether it happens to be money for bills, peace of mind, no more instrusive telephone calls, a child to understand the need for limits, or just the need for a good night’s sleep. It’s as if the fates conspire to keep that one necessary thing just beyond our reach so that we finally just give up from exhaustion.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but when this happens to me, it usually isn’t just with one thing. It’s almost always a domino effect: first it begins with that one bill that didn’t get paid, which leads to an overdraft in the checking account, which leads to something necessary breaking in the house, you know, something small like the fridge or the washer, or something like one of the cars becoming undriveable, which leads to one of the kids suddenly remembering that he needs $100 for something for school–by tomorrow, which leads to a remembered doctor’s appointment, which leads to . . .
I really don’t know why I thought that my life might become a little less complicated once I went out on disability. Delusions, obviously. Speaking of which, did you know that on the Windows media player, you can choose these wonderful visual effects like cottonstar and seaspray and put on your playlist and just close the bedroom door and watch your computer screen for hours? But that would be irresponsible and much too reminiscent of things we did when we had some really good Columbian, which I would know nothing about . . .
But I digress . . . (and I never inhaled, either) . . . so I was talking about the way life turns to pure and utter crap at times and there isn’t a freaking thing that you can do about it. So I watch a lot of Law & Order, all three versions, and there are always these deadbeat parents, meth heads, crack heads, and I sit there on my bed, with my pile of pillows behind my back, and my dogs, at least the Jack Russells, if not the Lab, too, firmly ensconced around my legs, and I make my moral judgment calls about these horrible parents who weren’t looking out for their children or friends or spouses because they were lost in their own little meth/crack/alcohol oblivions, and as a consequence, someone died. And the very real truth is that I couldn’t be a meth/crack head or an alcoholic because 1) I don’t like needles or dirty alleys and those seem to be prerequisites for that kind of lifestyles according to Law & Order, and 2) I’m pretty sure that it costs money to be a meth addict or crack head, and that’s what I don’t have or I wouldn’t be bitching right now, and 3) if I drink cheap alcohol, which is what I think you have to drink if you don’t have money and you want to be an alcoholic like the ones who hang out in the dirty apartments and alleys like the ones on Law & Order, then I get horrible headaches, so that’s out. If I drink the expensive alcohol that I like, I’d have to drink a lot to be an alcoholic, and that costs money, and I DON”T HAVE THAT, so again, let’s stay on point, shall we?
What was the point? Oh yeah, it might look very irresponsible and therefore freeing to be one of those people in the background on Law & Order who are never the real criminals, just the background bum scenery, but it still costs money, and it is a tad bit irresponsible, and let’s face it, I’d have a really hard time being that irresponsible because even though my house is in disarray, it doesn’t look like a crack house (at least I don’t believe that it does), and there are no alleys nearby, and Lenny Briscoe (gawd I miss him) won’t be knocking at my door anytime soon, so even though it might seem appealing to run away from it all, if you don’t have money, you’d just end up like some bum on Law & Order. And if you had the money to run away from it all in style, you would have paid that bill, and none of this would have started in the first place.
I’m now going to go lie down with my three dogs and read a book and drink some Pepsi. I’m out of twizzlers which really sucks. If anyone wants to send me a care package, I need Twizzlers, and I’m getting low on Pepsi. I may go into withdrawal soon. You’ll find me in bed with the dogs, curled into a fetal position, drinking coffee, surrounded by books and running through the cable channels trying to find an episode of House or Law & Order that I haven’t seen 13 times in the last two weeks, whimpering, probably cursing in some foreign language. My computer screen may or may not be flashing Event Horizon (now that movie scared the bejeezus out of me), depending upon how long I have been without Pepsi. Take pity upon the poor poet.