“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: November 28, 2004

Friday, December 03, 2004

Thanks for the support after yesterday's post. I really am feeling better today.

So I made some calls.

I paid the two bills that were going to be shut off. Not the whole amount mind you, but enough that I should be good on them for a while.

Then I called the Department of Health and Human Resources (DHHR). A week ago I got paperwork in the mail for a discounted phone plan, but it had no instructions as to what to do with it once I filled it out. They tell me today that I can't send that paperwork to anyone because I have to see another doctor to determine if I'm really disabled.

Now remember, all I want from these people is insurance for about a month. That's all I ask, but while they drag thier feet I lose more and more money. I'm becoming dependent on thier money, money I didn't ask for and don't really want, while they decide weather or not I'm eligible for them to help me with the thing I did ask for.

I'm getting help that I wouldn't have needed if they would have helped me with the thing I needed help with in the first place.

Is it any wonder I'm going mad?

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Down Payment Blues
(A. Young / M. Young / B.Scott)

I know that it's evil
I know that it's gotta be
I know I ain't doing much
Doing nothing means a lot to me

Living on a shoestring
A fifty cent millionaire
Open to charity
Rock 'n' roll welfare

Sitting in my Cadillac
Listening to my radio
Suzy baby get on in
Tell me where she wanna go

I'm living in a nightmare
She's looking like a wet dream
I got myself a Cadillac
But I can't afford the gasoline

I got holes in my shoes
And I'm way overdue
Down payment blues

Get myself a steady job
Some responsibility
Can't even feed my cat
On social security

Hiding from the rent man
Oh it make me wanna cry
Sheriff knocking on my door
Ain't it funny how the time flies

Sitting on my sailing boat
Sipping on my champagne
Suzy baby all at sea
Say she wanna come again

Feeling like a paper cup
Floating down a storm drain
Got myself a sailing boat
But I can't afford a drop of rain

I got holes in my shoes
And I'm way overdue
Down payment blues

Down payment blues
Down payment blues
Down payment blues

I got holes in my shoes
And I'm way overdue
I got the
Down payment blues…

So I had a minor breakdown earlier.

I was cleaning off the desk and I found some unopened mail.

I hate that, because I know what it means.

Disconnection notices.

See, apparently, devoting your life to the total avoidance of responsibility isn’t a great way to go if you ever want to get anywhere in life.

Go figure.

Ever since I got sick I’ve just been trying to maintain my grip on the porcelain while life kept flushing and so far I’ve kept my head above water. Well now I’m almost completely broke, a month behind on every bill I’ve got and my phone and gas are scheduled to be shut off this week.

I’ve got a few tricks left to try.

I’ll be calling my caseworker later today. Yes, I started getting government assistance last month. I’m not proud of it, but I’m trying to get them to help me get patched up. So far they’ve not offered me the insurance I went to them for, but it’s not yet a lost cause.

But now my Mom wants me to move back in with her.

Would it be the responsible thing to do? Seriously? I’m asking because I don’t know. I don’t know a damn thing anymore. Every time I think I have even the slightest thing figured out it bites me in the ass and I don’t know how much longer I can take it.

All I want to do is get back to the life I had before I got sick.

It isn’t asking much.

Believe me.

I had a going-nowhere, doing-nothing, no-future life, and all I want is to get it back.

I’d go back to work, but my job needs me to pass a physical, which I can’t. I know I can do the job, even in the condition I’m in, but they don’t want me back and they have an excuse not to take me.

I’d find a new job, but they’re scarce around here even for people that aren’t disabled (however temporarily) and even if I did get one it might disqualify me for getting assistance with Social Security to get my damn surgery done, which is all I goddamn want.

Even if I found a job with benefits that I could do with my hernia and my insomnia (which is getting worse) then the insurance won't cover anything related to my pre-existing condition.

I’m between a rock and a fucking hard place and some asshole is pushing them closer together.

My defense mechanism has been to ignore this stuff as much as possible.

Including the bills that I found today.

My Subconscious is hiding things from my conscious mind in order to deal with things I don’t want to face. I studied enough psychology to know that’s not good.

But I’m not completely broke yet, and I’ll be damned before I’ll give up.

Death before moving back in with my mother!

I love my family and they’ve done more for me in the time that I’ve been sick than I can ever hope to pay back, but they’re fucking insane.

Anyway, I’m finally desperate enough to put a donation button on my blog. I do want to say though that I know most of you aren’t doing that much better than I am. I don’t want your money. I want the money of the people that send money to stupid high-school kids that racked up 60 grand in credit card bills at fucking Starbucks. If you’ve ever sent money to any of them then you fucking OWE ME.

In fact, if you ARE one of those fucking shallow-ass, snot-nosed, punk-assed kids, fork it over!

I figure if you got a book deal out of it you owe me at least a grand.


It makes me sick to be in this spot. There's things I can do, things that I'm good at, but I can't get a job doing them as this place fucking sucks.

I'll likely start selling stuff on E-Bay. God knows I've got enough crap to get rid of and like George Carlin said: "If you nail together two things that have never been nailed together before some schmuck will give you a dollar for it".

In today's world those people are on E-Bay.

It's like a flea market without the curious smell.

Also in the near future I intend to finally put something on my Café Press store worth buying. I’ll likely start worth some of my Psycho Bunny designs and (if I can ever get ahold of Zombie to talk to her about it) I may finally get some Lil’ Zombie shirts up.

My neighborhood sucks, but I’m near most of my friends here, and I can talk to the rest of you online from here. You guys have been a big help in maintaining what’s left of my mind. I really don’t know what will happen if I move back out to the country and isolate myself further.

I’m going to bed.

I’ve got calls to make in the morning that will pretty much spell out the next chapter of my life.

Oh goody.

Monday, November 29, 2004

So I took my Grandmother to the insurance people to get some kind of insurance on the house I’m now living in.

We got it, but that’s not what I’m posting about.

Grandma made me lunch today.

It was really good, as it allways is, till desert...

Both of my Grandmothers are excelent cooks, but having lived through the depression they sometimes have very interesting ideas about what is edible.

She made Waldorf Salad.

Apple chunks, raisins, mini marshmallows, cellery, honey, and it’s all stuck together with a huge glob of mayonaise.


I was going to just stir it up and wipe the back of the spoon on my plate to make it look like I had eaten some, but she never left the room so I could employ my subterfuge.

I just avoided it till she said "Try some of the salad".

That was hours ago.

I still may puke.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

So I just got back in from Marrietta.

I was in the supermarket buying alcohol for my little sister and her friends (hey, they’re 20 years old and in college) and I saw perhaps the dumbest thing I’ve seen in some time.

They had ‘virgin’ Long Island Iced Tea.

I know what you’re thinking, but I checked the label, it said: NOT A MIX, READY TO DRINK and CONTAINS NO ALCOHOL.

Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought the point was that a properly mixed Long Island Iced Tea was that it would taste just like regular iced tea only with a mess of liquor in it.

So a ‘virgin’, or non-alcoholic Long Island Iced Tea, would be designed to taste just like an alcoholic Long Island Iced Tea (which is designed to taste like a regular non-alcoholic iced tea) only without the alcohol.

I have seen the end of the universe.

It’s in the Food Lion alcohol section.

David Hannum was right.

I almost bought a bottle just so I could show it to people to prove that I really saw it. I would have if there was some way to buy it without people seeing me buy it. Or without talking to a cashier. Pretty much if I could have bought it with complete anonymity I’d be listing the actual ingredients right here.

Anyways, I have my sister’s alcohol and I’m checking out and the attractive, young cashier rings up the purchase without asking for my ID. I know, I’m getting old. I’m getting used to that. I take the stuff out to the car and I look at the reciept.

It said: DATE OF BIRTH 1960.


My apologies to anyone born on or before 1960 (though if you were I can’t fathom why you’d be reading this), but I was born on August 27, 1974, a full 14 years after 19-fucking-60. I’m 30 years old (and if I do say so myself, a young-looking 30) not 44, as the attractive young cashier (bitch) aparently thought I was.

I’m comforting myself by telling myself that they probably just type in a date that’s definitely legal when they don’t want to bother checking someone that’s obviously of legal drinking age.

Now I’m gonna go sit in the tub with the shower running, sob uncontrolably and eat a pint of Cherry Garcia.