Journal Entries (April 16th-29th, 2013).

Tuesday, April 16th–I dreamt I was wandering around the Texas Governor’s Mansion at night. It was a lot larger than the real thing. I was mostly in the parlors on the north side of the ground floor. I don’t remember if Rick Perry put in an appearance or not.


I got up around 2pm.

I hate how when I wake up now, before I’m even entirely awake for the day or my eyes have focused or my brain has chased off the fog of sleep, I’m already sunk deeply into depression and a desire for death.

The last few days I’ve had an overwhelming desire to stab myself repeatedly somewhere, anywhere, with my kitchen knife, but I only know it would be really painful, messy, and would probably not accomplish my objective anyway. My head is woozy, throbbing with unhappiness, misery, and depression. I wish I could open a little hatch in the side of my skull to let at least some of the pressure out.


My Boston connection wrote:

“Apr 16, 2013–I don’t know what to say about today. But now is the time to hold someone close.” (Text tagged as: it_d_be_nice_to_have_someone)

And later:

“It’s a different city today.”

It’s hot outside now, so walking Belle is uncomfortable for me, though of course I do it.

I filled out my online jury duty application, so as to spare myself the ordeal of going to some public barn for impaneling. I’ve done that once or twice and will never do it again. The form asked if I’d ever been convicted of a misdemeanor–even shoplifting….

God, let [a certain situation] be over by summer.

This whole business is making me more and more sick and depressed and suicidal.

To get my mind off this business I went to my bed and read in Bogarde for several hours.

Later on I took a lengthy survey sent to me by the Public Library system.

I read in Howells before retiring.

Wednesday, April 17th–I had a few dreams. One is described below, but in an earlier one I was supposedly in Katy, Texas, and went back to a dark, elaborate building that seemed to have been built in the 1920s, of a heavy, grand revival style–possibly Gothic Revival or Spanish or Italianate. Off a square, dark, hallway there was a passage with several heavy doors of wood, bronze, and pebbled glass. And I think behind at least one of these doors were the former offices of [our old family physician] Dr. Bing.


I woke at 4pm and immediately plunged into another fucking crisis….

I walked and fed Belle….

I got ahold of J___ D., to see what he thought of my legal position, but either he wasn’t paying complete attention, or he was looking at the matter from a weird angle, as is often the case with him, since I wasn’t really satisfied with his response.

I finally got him to send me some articles to edit. Then he brought up that fucking Google Instant Messaging thing he’s been after me for months to install. When I finally did try to install it (as he’s starting out on his trip to Italy tomorrow), I had a lot of trouble getting it going, and so got even more stressed-out and angry….


I took a shower and had coffee.

Over the course of about seventy minutes I edited two of N___’s essays.

There was a huge explosion at a fertilizer plant in West, Texas, near Waco.


Thursday, April 18th–Truly, a Day From Hell.

[But I can’t post any of the details just yet.]


Friday, April 19th–I woke around 6pm. I had four Belle turds waiting for me on the newspaper….

When I opened the front door to take Belle out I found a lease renewal notice on my door. The rent’s going to go up from $746 to $788, or a total of around $820 when you throw in the water bill…..

When I got back I checked my e-mail….


The manhunt in Boston was still going on when I turned on some streaming news feed, but the cops caught the last suspect alive while I was eating dinner. Then the people of Watertown came out into the streets and cheered the police, fire fighters, EMS, and other personnel as they slowly drove out of the area.

And here are my buddy’s messages from Boston:

“April 19, 2013–I’m just so fucking tired.”

“April 19, 2013–Well I certainly didn’t expect to wake up with the entire city closed down again.” (Text tagged as: happy_birthday_me fucking_april_19th what_is_it_about_this_day)

“April 19, 2013–I am now literally going nowhere today.” (Text tagged as: the_city_is_locked_down)

“April 19, 2013–Utter madness has descended upon Boston today.”

And then he re-blogged some materials:

MIT police officer fatally shot; chaos ensues in Cambridge, Watertown – Mass. (Link tagged as: reblog – Reblog from boston)
think-progress: Boston on lockdown. Streets are deserted.
Metropolitan Boston awakens under siege as police launch manhunt for Marathon bomber

April 19, 2013–“ But I do love this city. I love its atrocious accent, its inferiority complex in terms of New York, its nut-job drivers, the insane logic of its street system. I get a perverse pleasure every time I take the T in the winter and the air-conditioning is on in the subway car, or when I take it in the summer and the heat is blasting. Bostonians don’t love easy things, they love hard things — blizzards, the bleachers in Fenway Park, a good brawl over a contested parking space. Two different friends texted me the identical message yesterday: They messed with the wrong city.

“Messing with the Wrong City” by Dennis Lehane in The New York Times. We will be talking with Lehane, among others about the events unfolding in Boston on the show today. (via nprfreshair)

April 19, 2013–theatlantic: In Focus: Manhunt Underway, Boston Under Lockdown

Hours after the FBI released images of the Boston Marathon bombing suspects, a response to a robbery in nearby Cambridge led to the fatal shooting of a Massachusetts Institute of Technology police officer. The shooting became a carjacking, then later a dangerous chase reportedly involving dozens of gunshots and explosive devices, ending up in neighboring Watertown. Authorities reported the shooting suspects were indeed the same men sought in the Boston Marathon bombing, identifying them as brothers Tamerlan Tsarnaev “Suspect #1” and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev “Suspect #2,” both Kyrgyz nationals living in Cambridge. They later stated that Tamerlan, age 26, had been shot and killed, but younger brother Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, 19, was still at large. The manhunt intensified as the night went on, and the entire Boston area woke to find itself on lockdown, with public transportation shut down and citizens advised to stay indoors. I will update throughout the day, as the massive house-to-house search for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev continues.

April 19, 2013–Uncle urges bombing suspect to turn self in – News

April 19, 2013–Divided We Fall: Americans in the Aftermath

Everyone please watch this. Stop stereotyping Muslims.

April 19, 2013–mistakenforademigod: Menino takes a stand after Boston attack

Mayor Thomas M. Menino grimaced in pain. He bit his lower lip and pushed with both hands on the arms of his wheelchair Thursday, trying but failing to stand on a right leg confined in a cast.

Menino was undeterred. He tucked his elbows further under his arms and pushed harder, grabbing the lectern for balance and rising to his feet. In that moment, Menino seemed to embody the fortitude of his city, knocked down but fighting to stand.

And he resumes:

“April 19, 2013–A collective sigh, perhaps, but not necessarily one of relief. The ban is lifted, but he’s still out there.”

“April 19, 2013–FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Gunshots in Watertown.”

“April 19, 2013–Let this end.”

“April 19, 2013–We…got him?”

“April 19, 2013–So it ends.” (Text tagged as: and_the_questions_shall_be_answered)

“April 20, 2013–I have never been so inspired by such a showing of drunk, stoned, or ecstatic people.

“It has been an utterly surreal week, capped by a nightmarish day. But it’s all over. And I can’t help but see the sudden rainstorm as the cleansing of dread from Boston, cliché as it may be.

“The city breathes again.

“Okay. I’m done pretending to be profound.”


I got onto Craigslist. There were very few apartments listed for under $700, but because of my unique situation, especially where transportation is involved, I need to be close to a bus line, groceries stores, a vet, a pet store, and so forth. Basically, I need to stay put. And a move would be hugely traumatic for me.

I looked at the listings for central San Antonio. The prices were better, but there wasn’t much to choose from, and I’d have to start from Square One there, and not have anyone who could drive me around. I’d have no friends there either.
Houston, Dallas, and Fort Worth aren’t options.

Saturday, April 20th–I would’ve liked to have slept much later, but around 6pm Belle got tired of waiting on me and jumped onto the bed, pressed her snout at the back of my neck or head, filled her cheeks with air, and began huffing and puffing violently until I finally started moving and speaking and petting her.

I got up, walked, and fed her. I got online….

I needed some eggs and treats for Belle, so I decided to make an outing. My first stop was Petco. They have something like a salad bar there, where you can fill bags with an assortment of treats that are displayed in open bowls. As usual, I over-did it; the bill was $36.90.

I couldn’t find my Petco card, so I had to rattle off my phone number. The clerk, a short young man with dirty fingernails, and a three-day growth of beard, just could not understand what I was telling him, and kept typing the numbers in incorrectly.

I explained that I have slow hearing, that I can’t really process information if people are talking too fast, and if I’m at the grocery store, say, typing in a PIN on a key-pad, and the cashier starts asking me questions, it totally throws me, because I can’t type and listen to other people at the same time.

He agreed that he had the same problem. Plus, he was also very tired.

After this, I had a vegan burger, fries, and a vanilla Coke at Elevation Burger ($9.07), and began to get concerned about my expenditures.

Next up was Barnes and Noble. My I-Pod, on transitioning from one tune to the next, suddenly began playing at a volume that deafened me, and seemed to attract the attention of others. I had trouble extricating the damned thing from my pocket and getting the volume turned down. An employee came over to check on me, and my heightened self-consciousness made me feel that she regarded me as a poor, slovenly homeless person.

She had asked if she could help me; I said I was mainly there for the magazines. I looked at magazines, books, discount books, and though I jotted down a few titles, I found nothing I needed to buy.

I was a nervous wreck. When people got in my way at the magazine racks it was all I could do not to violently kick them out of my way.

Then I ventured into the CD/DVD Room. I’d not been in there in well over a year. I was horrified.

The room had been shorted, with the bins along the back wall and some from that end of the room removed. Some offices had been built into the space. The CD selection was much, much smaller, and the DVD selection looked anemic.

I was scared that this signaled the impending end of CDs and DVDs. On the other hand, they had an amazing sale going on with some astounding prices, and though I’d planned to hold on to that emergency money from M___, I couldn’t help myself.

I bought:

+”Donovan’s Reef” ($4.19)

+”Mr. and Mrs. Bridge” ($4.89)

+”Conan: The Complete Quest” (“Conan the Barbarian” and “Conan the Destroyer”)($7.79)

+”Chinatown” ($8.99–Oh crap, that’s more than they were charging at Target a few months ago! Oh well, live and learn.)

+”Far From The Madding Crowd.” ($9.99–A favorite from childhood I’ve not seen in well over forty years.)

As I tried to leave via the front door, I set off the theft alarm. A clerk re-scanned my purchases, but the alarm still went off.

Finally, I emptied all the pockets of my bag and my hoodie and the thing still went off. And after I was given leave to go, I set the alarm off again.

I left, depressed that I’d spent all that money, and went to HEB. I set off the alarm upon entering. I asked an employee what to do and was directed to a manager, and we just decided I’d tell my cashier about this when I checked out.

I continued, nervous and stressed out, bought more food than I’d planned to get ($19.22), alerted my cashier about the alarm, but it didn’t go off when I left. Belle got me even more upset with her shrill barking when I got home. It took awhile to calm her down.

The plant I had growing in water died. Its parent plant, which I’ve had since December 1998, is dwindling down.

The evening and morning was spent farting around and reading in Bogarde.

Sunday, April 21st–Belle woke me about 7:21pm.

During our first walk I noticed somebody had left a fairly tall bookcase next to one of the dumpsters. I checked it out: it was fairly rickety and cheaply-made, of particle board, rather than solid wood, but I thought I could clean it up and use it temporarily.

I got anxious that someone else would grab it while I was walking Belle. I made the rounds, took her inside, gave her a treat to keep her occupied, then hurried back outside.

The bookcase was still there, and was heavier than I expected it would be. Still, it wobbled a lot. I got it two-third of the fifty yards home before a shelf fell out.

Then I looked the bookcase over and discovered it was even more crappy and cheaply-made than first appeared. So I just kept walking, and dumped it alongside my dumpster. That’s pretty much the story of my recent life right there.


I wish tattoos and piercings were illegal. I hate them so much.


Learn the fucking difference between a goddamn question and a statement. Not everything should end with a question mark.

And if you’re that unsure of what you’re saying, maybe you should try keeping your fucking pie hole shut….


And here comes the thundering roll and screech of my upstairs neighbor arriving home on his skateboard.

He thunders across the parking lot, jumps up onto the sidewalk, then speeds down it to the bridge, always catching hold of the railing with both hands.

How I do pray that one day he fucks up and misses the rail and shoots out over the moat, crashes on the rock wall, and breaks his fucking neck.


I heard from J___ D. He spent one day in Cinque Terre and couldn’t walk. He had to take the train to Florence, and is now there in a hospital with some sort of vein problem, whatever that means. He didn’t have a great deal to say, and came and went unpredictably, as usual. He eventually explained the problem had something to do with the long flight.

Monday, April 22nd–I got up around 7:22pm. I had just checked my answering machine–I had a barely comprehensible message from the Clinic confirming my appointment for tomorrow….

I did [get] some good news that I’d just seen pop up on my computer screen:

Based on the information you have provided you are excused from service. Your impaneling status is subject to further verification by the jury office and may be revoked if you are not eligible.

Please recheck your email regularly for additional jury office correspondence. You may also revisit the I-Jury™ web site here on the Travis County home page for information about your current impaneling status.

Thank you for using I-Jury™! For additional information or assistance, please contact the jury office at 512-854-9669….

Tuesday, April 23rd--Monday turned into Tuesday. I puttered around online.

J___ D. contacted me on IM that he was about to leave Florence.

Then he hooked up a “call,” and I was able to hear him talk and the traffic noises behind him, but since I didn’t have a microphone, I had to type my responses….

I retired about 4:22am, tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep, for three hours, and got up reluctantly at 7:22am.

Since my Case Worker Carly didn’t bother to answer my voice mail or e-mail about today, I called the DARS office and got what I believe to be the receptionist I saw last month. Again, she had no release form left for me, and said Carly was in a meeting. She then said she’d transfer me to Carly’s assistant, Mary. So naturally, I got her voice mail. I left a message asking them to just mail me that goddamn release form….

I went over to the UPS Store and made 73 copies ($6.32), then went to the Twin Lion Chinese restaurant for the first time in years and had lunch ($8.99, plus $3.00 in tip.) A trio of cops sat at the table next to me. One was holding forth on how the other night she watched some of Cheech and Chong’s “Up In Smoke” for the first time in years, before switching the channels. She said she’d forgotten a lot about it.

Then the three discussed the recent DWI arrest of the District Attorney. Apparently, once the cops got her in their car she asked, “Will you call Art for me?” “Art? Art Acevedo? [Chief of Police.]” “Please? You know this is going to end my career, don’t you?”

Next, I went to the bus stop and waited about twenty minutes or so. I got a bus to carry me the few blocks over to Target, and got to wait some more. Finally, I just sat down on the garbage-strewn grass and dirt and looked over my note cards until the bus showed up.

I got to the clinic around 1:20 or 1:30 for a 1:40pm appointment.

I was waited on by the pear-shaped receptionist who usually waits on me. I think she’s the one that made me go the long way around to see the clinic shrink, up the doctor/therapist/psychiatrist chain, but I was too tired to make a fuss with her or be catty. When she got my information when I arrived, I asked if she could send me the bill for the $10 co-pay (so I’d not have to pay it then), and she smiled, laughed lightly, and said, “Sure, why not?!”

Her good spirits were infectious (maybe not the best choice of words for a clinic), and I threw up both hands in a carefree manner, and said, “Why not?! Shoot the works today!” So I guess it was better doing it that way than making an enemy of her.

Still, I was left to cool my heels through part of a soap opera and a chat show.

A baby was screaming bloody murder out in the lobby.

Someone in the Internal Medicine waiting room had a cell phone that made a sound like bubbles bubbling every time it rang.

I tried to read and listen to my music.

A Chinese man got up and pitched a fit because every time he comes to the clinic he says he’s kept waiting an hour or more after the time set for his appointment. He talked to a woman I assumed was the Office Manager, and she told him how to go about filing a complaint, and encouraged him to do so, saying it actually might help improve the process by which the clinic serves the public. And I noticed he got waited on not too long after that.

Just about everybody else got waited on before I did, including some people who arrived after I did.

The nurse finally got me. I was weighed (268.80 pounds, which means I put on fifteen to twenty pounds in the last six months). My blood pressure was 137 over 74. My pulse was 80 bpm.

I said I’d noticed an improvement in my prostate trouble, especially in the last three months, and that I was there mainly to get a recommendation to see the psychiatrist for some tests. I asked for a letter to declare Belle my official Emotional Support Animal, and I mentioned in passing my hypnagogic hallucinations.

After I talked to the nurse, I made a quick trip to the bathroom and noticed the time was already 2:40pm. Fortunately, the doctor talked to me soon thereafter.

She said my thyroid and cholesterol levels are almost normal, and told me I need to diet and do some exercise. She’s upping the dosage on my thyroid meds, though it’ll be about two months before I get on the new dosage, since I just got a refill last week. And she wrote me the letter for Belle, so if my mother tries to force me into some shit-hole apartment I’ll be able to bring Belle along no matter what the pet policy

I’m to have a follow-up visit with the doctor in two months (June 24th), and meet with the therapist on May 2nd.

I walked about a mile to the bus stop on North Lamar, spent about fifteen minutes waiting with some shady characters, then caught a bus south. I had to stand initially, but eventually got a seat in back, where I was subjected to all the bad odors and disgusting sights typical of the #1 Bus. The driver was one of those who don’t fully understand the concept of braking, so I felt I was being flung forward every fifty to one-hundred feet or so. It was hell on my stomach.

When the bus finally got to the court house after a really long ride I jumped off as soon as possible. All the way south I felt as if I’d been pressed in on all sides, and so when the doors opened I was being shot from out of the midst of its putrid bowels like a chunk of explosive diarrhea.

I went to the library and darted around (insofar as an exhausted man can dart) and checked out the following books:

Charles Bukowski–There’s No Business

Charles Bukowski–Bring Me Your Love

Charles Bukowski–Shakespeare Never Did This

Charles Bukowski–The Night Torn Mad With Footsteps: New Poems

Beverley Nichols–Garden Open Tomorrow

Dirk Bogarde–An Orderly Man

Kurt Vonnegut–Cat’s Cradle

Virginia Woolf–Jacob’s Room

Virginia Woolf–On Being Ill

D. H. Lawrence–Twilight in Italy

Rainer Maria Rilke–The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

After checking out, I stumbled outside, and tripped over a piece of broken pavement while crossing Eighth Street. A strong wing was blowing trash everywhere and it looked as if a storm was coming. (It had looked like that for most of the day.) Fortunately, I didn’t have a long wait for my express bus.

It was after 6:30 or so when I got home. Not surprisingly, Belle’s barking when I arrived got on my nerves.

I had hoped to go to bed shortly after showering, but oddly enough, I was so tired that it actually took me several hours to come down.


I read Charles Bukowski’s booklets “There’s No Business” and “Bring Me Your Love.”

I retired at midnight.

Wednesday, April 24th–I woke around 7:21am. (What is it with me getting up or going to bed at 7:21 or 7:22 am or pm lately? I feel like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day.”) I was very tired. I walked Belle, ate, and since I was still so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, I went back to bed at 9am.

I woke about 5:10pm or so.

I had a message from Mary at DARS that she was sending me the release form in the mail along with a stamped envelope, and that my mother and I were both to sign the release….


I had a good laugh Tuesday.

I was on a bus, sitting behind a guy in a Lance Armstrong Livestrong T-shirt, covered with all these silly motivational slogans. The one that made me snort the loudest was “Winning Is About Character.”


In the US winning is about cheating and lying, especially where athletics are concerned.

And it occurred to me as I sat there that athletics is just one more aspect of American life that our leaders and elders and authority figures have lied to us about all our lives, just as they lied about politics and business and capitalism and success. It’s all part of a bill of goods we’re fed from the cradle to the grave, an agenda backed up by moral and ethical weight, so that if you dare to question any point of it, you’re regarded as practically blasphemous.

Athletics is considered a wholesome, healthy activity, something that builds and showcases character. Starting in the twentieth-century, it also became a means to achieve wealth and mass appeal.

Athletics are also trivial activities that divert the minds of the public from more pressing concerns. I’ve seen seriously poor people on the streets and on buses, who barely had the means or education or mentality to secure basic survival, kitted out in clothing advertising their favorite team, and spouting out with bewildering detail hundreds of obscure facts and statistics about their favorite teams, athletes, and games.

It is my firm belief that corruption always destroys innocence, that lies always shout down truth, that stupidity always sells better than intelligence, and that evil always conquers good. And so it is no surprise to me that while athletics might have started out as a good and wholesome thing, it has now degraded into just one more facet of American evil. The All-American boy Lance Armstrong, who inspired millions the world over with his athletic prowess and his apparently super-human power to “beat” a disease, has no more character than a common criminal.

And yet there are those who will continue to admire him, or, if not him, men and women just like him—”whited sepulchres”– who hide their corrupt means of achieving athletic success behind shiny smiles, gleaming, drug-enhanced muscles, and outdated, disproven American beliefs in “character.”

Thursday, April 25th–Wednesday flowed into Thursday, and I spent the evening puttering around and getting angry.

I read in Nichols and Bogarde and retired around 12:23pm.


I got up around 8:21pm, and could easily have slept longer, were it not for Belle insisting I get up….

One of these days when I cut my own hair in the bathroom sink I’m going to screw it up and really wind up looking like a crazy person. Still, it’s a good thing I don’t have to go anywhere in public until May 2nd, so my hair can have a chance to grow.


I took Belle for quite a few walks, including one across the street, through the strip center and past the office park, and back home.


I stayed in a decent mood most of the day….

Friday, April 26th–I started two books by Charles Bukowski: “Shakespeare Never Did This” and “The Night Torn Mad With Footsteps: New Poems,” and went back and forth between them and Bogarde before I retired around 12:23pm.


I think it was around 7pm or so when Belle got me up.

Still no word on the water bill from the front office. I did, however, get the release form from DARS….

Saturday, April 27th–I dreamt I was on some sort of mission to sabotage the world’s largest slaughter house. As I approached it I saw it was had a very tall, multi-story tower, with ramps inside going to the top. Here and there I saw the doomed cows sticking their heads out of windows on their way up.

I was with a group of young saboteurs, and as is always the case in my dreams, I was young as well. We slipped in the front entrance right behind two members of an obscure royal family, who were there for some formal visit. Because the people at the front desk were dealing with the royals, my group passed unnoticed.

We went through a passage that reminded me of the opening sequence of “Get Smart,” with all sorts of automatic doors and slamming gates. I just managed to slip under a gate as it slammed down from the ceiling down to the floor. At one point I hid from passing slaughterhouse staffers by ducking under a staircase. I have no idea how they managed to not see me.

We were there to completely destroy the building with an explosion so it could never be used again. I think there were two factions in our group: one wanted to spare the employees, and the other wanted to kill them as punishment for their crimes. I was in sympathy with the latter faction. (Oddly enough, I don’t think any provisions had been made to remove or otherwise save the cattle.)

We were almost to the point in the building we needed to reach, when, by a light-filled stair tower at the end of the long corridor, a mid-level supervisor–a woman in her forties or early fifties–mistook us for employees. The supervisor sympathized with us, and said that yes, it had been a long, exhausting day. We were good at improvising, and pretended that were were indeed part of the office staff, and acted as if we were very tired, taking special care to seem sleepy and languid.

The supervisor decided that since it was already 3pm, we’d put in a long enough day, and told us we could go home.

And then what? Did we sneak around her and finish the job? I don’t know. I woke up.


Belle got me up around 8:58pm. There was poop on the newspaper….


A post I made:

How strange it is to have one’s waking thoughts dominated by an over-powering desire to have a stranger killed. How odd it is to have so much hatred for someone one doesn’t even know.

But I suppose such fantasies are a healthy outlet. They go nowhere and provide a channel for the rage and stress.


Sunday, April 28th–The whole night was ruined by my stressing over this endless bullshit….

I finished Charles Bukowski’s “Shakespeare Never Did This,” and read more in his “The Night Torn Mad With Footsteps” and the Bogarde before retiring a little after 12:20pm.


I dreamt I was living in some multi-story dorm with Belle and some blowhard business major. I think my room-mate left for the weekend or possibly a whole week. I had to leave my room for some reason and was kept away from it for a long time.

I went into a TV room and came in on the last twenty minutes or so of a visually strange movie. When it was over I asked someone what it was and the person said it was the first installment of the “Twilight” movies. And then, in surprise and bafflement I said, “Oh, that was ‘Twilight’?” I didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

I wandered out of the room and headed back upstairs, and while doing so realized I’d not been in my room for days. I’d not been around to give Belle food, water, or walks! Could she have starved or dehydrated or died?

I rushed up to my room and found no sign of her. Apparently she’d escaped somehow. My room-mate returned shortly thereafter, and I tried to enlist his aid in helping me find Belle, but all he wanted to do was walk around the room and shoot off his mouth about business topics and other bullshit. And none of my so-called “friends” wanted to help me look for Belle either. I was about to cry….


It was about 8:30pm or so when I got up.


It was almost midnight when I had my shower.

Monday, April 29th–Every time I look in the mirror, I look more and more like an old washer woman.

Or more specifically, Mr. Toad [from “The Wind in the Willows”] as a washer woman.


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