Feeling
a bit stir-crazy...
Watching
videos, broke, last of my money on booze and cigarettes... I have
enough food as “war-stores”to get me through... waiting for the
scraps of pay to come through... on the dole, waiting for that too...
Scoffing
cheap red wine, on special at the moment; thankfully, mixed
cordial-style... 50-50 water and goon. I put two filters in a
cigarette so as not to lose any tobacco.
I
plan and plot and wish... Wish for a win on a lottery ticket I don't
buy. Plot to make some fantastic heist I have neither the ability,
nor the will. Plan to give up smoking, or drinking, or to sort my
shit and pay my bills and save for a rainy day...
It
rained like a tropical bastard, last night! I left the fan on, aircon
set to 'evaporative' as I kept windows and door open so I could hear
the rain pounding down... and I slept for 14 hours. Slept and
dry-wept. Sleep, wake, roll-over, stare at the ceiling, roll-over
sleep some more... Wake, have a piss, go back to bed, what time it
is? Fuck 0215... I've only been 'asleep' for an hour or so... Back to
sleep, because being awake is worse.
Toss,
turn, roll and thrash. Covers on, covers off... Foetal position. This
arm goes numb, that one hurts. This way is too hot, that position
isn't right either...
Too
hot, too cold; restless; worried...
It's
not something I readily admit, being worried. About life, or the lack
of it, about lifestyle, or the wont... about money, health...
'career' isn't the right term, but a job one enjoys without too much
suffering... So many, lately, don't have careers. We just have jobs
that don't destroy us too rapidly...
I
had a career once, but blew it.
I
had a lifestyle, but didn't know how to use it.
I
tried to find another, but fooled myself, others around me and hurt
everyone, to the detriment of all.
It's
good that I'm writing again... this disjointed epistle from the
apostle, as my Mum once called my letter home.
Vague,
disoriented, fractured, I think of death; of dead people, of loss, of
inabilities... of many things. I can't summon the energy, the drive,
to do the simple necessary tasks of day-to-day... week-to-week...
forget next month.
My
concentration span is akin to the proverbial goldfish... I'm not in
touch with much at all... never have been.
Sometimes,
I'd love to smash the ADF and cry 'poor me!'...
Sometimes...
I want go back down south, go home... but that would be A: costly B:
a big effort C: cold! And D: a retreat?
Watching
myself... I see me shrugging my shoulders and grimacing... lost, lost
for words, lost for effort...
Head
in hands.... Sign off. Nevermind, I'll be here tomorrow.
Pete.
