one month out of a bag - click images for better resolution pics

so... for those not in the know, i've been a smidgen homeless this month. i was trying to get a new place for September but that totally fell through trying to compete with students. i took the plunge and couch surfed for September and i'm no worse for wear.

i had no idea just how homeless i was going to be. i didn't know if i would literally be on my own bouncing to multiple places or if i'd be lucky enough to stay put.

the latter was the case. for 2.5 weeks i looked after my friends 1 bedroom while he was in Europe. from there i've been able to stay with another friend. 85% of the week he's staying with his girlfriend so i have the place to myself and access to laundry.

before i moved i ordered the largest duffle from MEC. it could fit 2 twinkies or one tall guy if you chopped the legs and arms off to pack in around the head & torso. this won't seem morbid if you've ever gone purse shopping with me. i literally ask the sales staff how many adult male heads can fit in it. nothing to do with man hating, just to make it clear i'm looking for a larger circumference of a head. plus i freaking hate someone hovering over me buying a purse [i buy 2 a year and it's a big fucking deal when i get one] so it's startling enough to gain some space.

well, back to the story at hand.

i'm too much of a fucking princess to actually live lean. like i had these big visions of having a toothbrush, a pair of boxers, panties & 2 pairs of socks. then a pair of jeans and 1 tshirt. naturally, this was utterly retarded for me to think of since i'm a closeted princess. more like a prince. in that faggy kind of way. nothing to do with girlish endeavours, purely panic over not having all my shit within arms reach.

now i'm really fucked to try and cart this shit TO toronto... i'll have to come up with something.

anywho, i realized the spinal cord twisting monstrostity of a duffle bag was totally a waste. i only wore a handful of outfits over and over again. i decided to take on a little project as a strict reminder that i can live off of FAR FAR less if i need to couch surf again. the only thing not taken pics are the 2 pairs of jeans, one pair of black capris and my 3/4 length board shorts that i wore. add boxers, boxer briefs and some y-fronts [as dave chappelle would say, i "wear underwear wit dick holes in 'em] for gitches.

now, this would just be a small endeavor, but i JUST so happen to be staying with a friend who has a sewing dummy in his living room. he found it at the curb to be trashed!! jesus, i think these things are expensive. it doesn't adjust like new but it's surprisingly cool. i couldn't pass up an excuse to use it.

i KNOW i have the same outfits just in different colours... but that's the point. i love them so much they never make it more than 3 days without me caving and wearing them. tho i seem to consistently wear them around animals and getting them furred to oblivion after one day of wear.

here we go... all i really needed to pack to wear while everything was in storage.


American Apparel - The Summer Shirt: i worship these. this is the sluttiest style i have in shirts and they require me to skip my usual sports bra in lieu of a push up. i have them in multiple colours. i am a loser.


American Apparel - Unisex Tri-Blend Cardigan
i wash these like tshirts, incredibly rough on them and i have it in 3 colours. again, i can't justify it, but they look nice, feel nice and they can stand up to me washing them every goddamn week,


American Apparel - The Track Shirt - again, this shirt, multiple colours. they're so soft. they feel like the old shirts my dad gave me from the 70's/early 80's. that uber worn cotton feel but not transparent. they look good on my boxy/thick torso and hang juuuuuuuuust right.


Elements - Reversible hoodie with thumb holes, double lined. this is a hoodie i don't stray from for very long. the kid at the store sold it to me wearing it saying, "man, it's like business on the one side, party town on the inside! admittedly i don't really wear the loud pattern on the outside often, but it looks great poking out. the hood is a perfect cut for my pumpkin head and anything with thumb holes makes me happy.


Joe Clothing - Loblaws clothing section... $19 and again, wash it like a tshirt/really tough on it. this is my fall back thin sweater choice. fits me nicely and i will wear it for business formal over a collared shirt but most likely with jeans. not much else to say other than it was stupid cheap and from a grocery store.


Kukuxumusu - tshirt store from Spain. my friend brought this back from Barcelona for me. beyond the cute design, this one fits me perfect. i do pick and choose when i wear it due to the stoned sheepie, but it's a default "hey i don't mind advertising i'm a massive pothead who enjoys humourous comics."


http://www.kukuxumusu.com/shop/ highly recommend checking them out! i have other shirts and they're all super well made & obnoxious. check and check!


Ashbury tshirt. this was a rando find in a skateboard shop. because i'm always 16 and shop in stores for teenage boys. the line is a cool psychadelic vibe compaired to the usual urban and earthy imagery used in a lot of skate stuff. i have another in red of a mod dude in a cowboy hat pointing a gun. you are a better person for knowing this.


any time i do laundry i have about 15 1 inch pins to take off... this one was made by my friend. hairless twink ass with sparkly pink speedos. sometimes people see it from a distance and ask if it's a chick. if you know me really well, you'll know that odds are always it's gay boy shit.


this is not a test. this is the same damn caridgan and the Track Shirt from American Apparel. the tshirt is my absolute fave of the moment. i usually shirk away from red tones because i'm so Scottish and red-faced all the fucking time, but this one works. this is a newer colour in the cardigans... and... you guessed it. love it.


i will blow your mind... American Apparel Acid Wash Flex Fleece Hoodie. i can understand that this straddles ugly and questionable. when i picked it up off the sale rack it stunned me how super soft it is. and once i pulled it on, deal done. I would pay $19 for this, but not the $50 fucking dollars full price. i have no idea why i get stuck up about that but pay $50 for a cardigan... well, whatever.


American Apparel Track Shirt in black. i could buy 5 of these and wear them as an undershirt until the end of time. THE END OF TIME!!

that's it man. i could have just left them in a knap sack and i would have been fine. oh well, live, learn, realize you embarrassingly only wear the same outfit incarnation all the time.

god bless, Young Offenders Act

8 months on house arrest. i don't think that's too shabby. friends have served more than that and i'm assured i can do it standing on my head, but i do know how nuts they all wound up. and none of them made it much past six months without snapping.
oh yeah yeah yeah, i get it. i could be getting 4 fingers slammed up my twat getting called Sugar Cookie in jail. lock ups do scare me.

i haven't served any time since i was a teenager. and even then, that was juvie. which, let's not put that experience down, it was brutal. lilly white and meaty i wasn't appreciated by my fellow ladies on the native or black side of things. well, initially. my gift is my fat fucking mouth. i'll take the licks if someone jumps me. i'd rather talk my way out of it. annoying someone into leaving you be is an art. or they'd be so squirreled around that they wouldn't realize i had yapped my way out of a fight. naturally you need to keep a tally of those run ins. it's helpful math when trying to think about the odds of getting a tray smashed over you head at lunch.

god bless the Young Offenders Act. i mooched and screwed the system on the inside long and hard. slapped it on the ass and pulled its hair to milk it for all it was worth. no one knew how smart i was so i aped an epiphany of education to boost my appeal. it was the fucking Miracle Worker. my teacher was a loser with a teaching degree who couldn't cut it with kids. to be fair, i wasn't removing him from any students. my sisters in chains weren't really interested in more schooling so really, i was just making sure he didn't kill himself realizing his lack of usefulness. i looped this guy around and around my finger at a steady pace. it was pure joy to think in my bunk about how i could maintain the whole scene without being too stellar.

at night i chewed on my cuticles reading "under the volcano" and Henry Miller that i had never gotten around to checking out. i hid them and toted around "to kill a mockingbird" as my gee-golly-shit-i-can-done-learn book. don't get my wrong, i do like the book, just that i had read it in grade 2.

teacher-teacher was thrilled with my progress. i do feel that i was justifying his job with his fat Pygmalion dyke impressing with my learned skills. the head of the training and education bitch clocked me, but i held strong. she would try to trip me up dropping big words and theories on my head. just baiting me to come out and reveal my pantomime... always in character i didn't make it too overt. this shit all chalks up for a speedy release.

the fights i got into were minimal and the few times i laid a thrashing on some cunt we shook and made up before the guards could separate us. i'm willing to part with lunch for a few weeks to shut someone up. it was swill anyway so i didn't miss much.

i kept my head shaved and received many little looks and kisses from the white supremacist chicks and rednecks. pretty gross cunts but i guess everything looks good when you threaten someone into eating you out when you're on work detail. i hadn't been raped, but admittedly i wasn't entirely thrilled about the whole scenario. just not stupid enough to kick up a stink. there was no option for me getting some muscle to help out, just every broad for herself. my roommate was a hard as fuck native chick who hated my guts but i unrelentingly engaged her in stories and conversations until she told me to shut up. sadly i finally got a laugh with 4 weeks to go in my stint. i didn't derive enough pleasure from it to stay pen pals after i left, but still, a new fan is always appreciated.

packing up my cell, teacher-teacher came to say goodbye. he looked at my book pile lovingly mailed to me by my cousin who stole them from the library at home.

"these.... these are adventurous! i'm so glad you're setting the bar high!"

my roommate was napping/pouting and refused to roll over.

"teacher-teacher she calls you... but that girl could teach you. isn't that right, doc?"

"doc? heh, that your nickname?"

"YEAH man, we call her doc 'cause she smartest bitch on the block. could be a professor. teach you something, man. you so stupid."

i leaned on my bunk and smiled softly. "you should really read this one, my fave in here. went through it 4 times."

forking over a busted copy of "the brothers karamazov" he turned it over and looked up stunned.

"i was supposed to read this in second year... never got through it, just got the coles notes... guess i should read it."

"ya man, good stuff. thanks for the help. keeping book smart made sure i got my ass out on time. YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT IT, LADY."

"ah shaddup. go home."

"i will... want me to write?"

"want me to knock your fucking teeth out before you go?"

teacher look scared and i just shrugged like it was some whacky sitcom dialog.

"i...well... hope to not see you here again."

"yeah me too... i'll do adult prisi if i fuck up again so juvie was just a lucky break. catch you on the flip side, man."

he looked dejected. did i ruin his faith in everyone? probably. was he going to kill himself at christmas? probably. but i'm not to blame, i'd just be one microscopic fuck up pain point. not the catalyst. in theory.

don't laugh.... it's actually mostly true

i find spooky stuff fascinating. i'm not at all sensitive to spirts of creepy residual feelings. my stoic side will tell you publicly it's all bullcrap. my inner flaky hippy cries out that there HAS to be something else out there.

i'm the type who would love to have a supernatural experience, but probably too blunt to catch things. it really has to slap me in the mouth.

in highschool i was dating a girl who came from a long line of Scots who fancied themselves as psychic or at the very least, sensitive to the residuals of something beyond memory and history. she read a mean and thorough tarot, even though i admit that's 90% cold reading a person.

she was a beautiful soul, but was terrified at me loping after the chance to experience some sort of ghastly apparition. she cringed and tried to tell me that no one should look for this stuff. it sat heavily on her and thought it ignorant to be an eager explorer.

a mutual friend had recently moved into a new home. well, new for her. the home had been part of the original 200 homes in my local community. i melt in Victorian era homes. the wood, the sounds, the layouts... an infinite realm for me to explore and i was hyper to get snooping. we walked in the door and i was giddy to get the tour. my ex stopped and stood up from untying her shoes.

"let's GO! i want to see what's in Heather's place!"

she was rigid and looked right past me.

"i'm not coming in. we can't go in. let's go. my mom is probably still in the driveway."

being my first little f-ed up highschool relationship i naturally wasn't well-skilled at being a positive partner.

"fuck this! everyone's coming over tonight. i'm not having a fight here in the front hall!"

she was a very passive and easy-going chick but she got hard real fast. "i'm NOT staying. it's..."

"it's what?"

"it's too sad. we can't stay."

she said it with little feeling beyond a tremulous waiver over the word sad.

captain dickbag me just threw my hands up and walked into the house. "you can sit here or you can come in."

she wouldn't move. wouldn't even take her shoes off. heather came to see what was taking us so damn long to come in. i made a joke that we had someone who'd seen too many Scooby Doo episodes and was worried about the mystery of the haunted yellow house.

heather gave a laugh. "i know, old houses are scary. come in with us and we'll take a walk. if you're too scared, hey, it's ok. just give it a chance."

she agreed but only if she could keep her shoes on.

into the house for a look-see. to die for. modern updates bookended with original wood floors and a staircase banister that could have supported a chorus line of girls sliding down it.

i was in heaven but my lady was still upset. she would sit in the living room but there were specific rooms she couldn't walk into. the upstairs bathroom, the study and the sun room were all off limits. she said she couldn't stand to be in them without feeling sick.

tour over, and the rest of the party began trickling in. we warmed my ex up with some drinks and typical nattering banter that happens when 16 year old chicks get into a room with wine coolers. we voted to chuck on a movie for a while before we piled out to be riff raff in the community.

it was something dramatic as i know we were all very quiet watching it. booze makes for multiple trips to the bathroom so no one batted an eye if someone got up to leave. heather just asked that we stuck to the downstairs bathroom to keep the general population out of her parents room and her dad's office.

in the lulled state of staring, i clearly heard someone walk up the stairs. there's no mistaking the creak of wood that old. left foot, right foot, hand on railing daisy chaining upwards. heather absently said over her shoulder, "hey man, don't use the upstairs one after this time, ok?"

none of us responded because, well, we weren't the one going upstairs.

the footsteps went up the stairs, down the hall. floorboards flexing and crunching overhead. then a swift slam of the bathroom door. the thud was jolting. none of us would be that ignorant to swing a door shut like that... right?

a friend asked, "hey, who *is* upstairs?"

taking stock we all looked around. all 8 present and accounted for. right? or...? we had to be drunk and missing someone. nope. that's all of us.

many perplexed faces and the final ruling was that simply it was the house percolating with noises and an open window plus a gust of air slammed the bathroom door shut. i wasn't buying into it. a house doesn't churn out the sound of someone mounting the stairs to go to a specific destination in the house. my ex looked beyond nervous and stood up suddenly.

"i gotta go home... right now."

heather talked her down off the ledge again. it was just a noise. it's nothing to worry about... don't stress. she agreed to stay and i reaped the reward of soothing a disturbed damsel.

a night plying ourselves with liquor scrubbed the incident from our minds temporarily and it drowned as the night rolled on.

the next morning my mom picked us both up. when i came out she was out of her truck and gawking at the house.

"amazing! my best friend Nina lived here when she was a kid! i can't believe you know someone who has it now."

we hopped into the truck and mom went off about how much she loved that house as a child. so much room and everything spoke to her imagination, just knowing how old it was.

i know my mom didn't grow up very wealthy, let alone Nina.

"how on earth did Nina's parents afford that house?"

"oh... real sad story. the previous owner hung himself in the bathroom so the house sold for cheap."

my ex covered her mouth and i was just stunned. that noise? those footsteps? the door slamming?

the sound of some ghostly entity who forever would walk up the stairs, down the hall and into the bathroom to die.

children in the wards

the psych hospital i worked at was a strange entity. most people see a nuthouse as a place where you get to leave. eventually. good behavior, rehabilitated...something that would allow you to get a pardon. where i was could be labelled a long-term care facility. as in, you came and you weren't leaving.

as shifts in how one deals with the mentally ill came, so did theories on how the patients needed to be treated. from en mass wards, to apartment style to the final push out into community-based group homes, many of the patients had suffered through all these various phases.

the one major aspect of the hospital was how it had a policy back in the day to never turn a patient away. regardless of age or severity or medical cost, they were admitted. and you didn't have to be a specific age or even demonstrate some sort of disorder. sign the papers and the deal was done. not to say it was all this scenario, but a few sad cases were from this old policy.

there was even a train stop behind the grounds that people could take. in the depression the stop was forever releasing tired clusters of people walking to the main administration building. many of them bringing children that they couldn't look after any more.

and to be clear, some of these kids had nothing wrong with them. families took stock of all the kids and decided which one would be the most disposable. the one who could be turned loose to free up some resources. can you imagine being taken onto a train with no explanation and marched into a building to sit and wait? you'd watch a parent or both of them leave the office with some papers and wonder what was going to happen. any child would hop off the chair, assuming they're going to follow their parents. but they would be held back and a new life started without any clear end in sight.

some parents tried to come up with a lie, some just walked. an old timer who had worked at the hospital talked about these passed on stories. children stunned and then screaming as they were pulled back from the doors. and that was it.

some kids did have something "wrong" but that was a wildly diverse diagnosis. some had slight learning disabilities that just made them stand out as the "dumb" kid in the family. some were hearing or visually impaired. mentally top notch and smart, but the declaration that they were untrainable was too much for parents to deal with.

and into the belly of the hospital they went. there were various wards set up in the 30's and 40's based on gender and age. there was even a nursery. no child would be turned away during these open moratoriums. the stories of the nursery workers deeply disturbed my mother who was a janitor at the hospital from when she was 17 until she retired.

she drunkenly spilled out a story when i was a teenager about the staff who were in the nursery. these babies were loved and tended to, just like any day care. but these kids don't ever go home. 24/7 being watched and tended to. every hissy fit documented and into a master file that grew larger the older they got. They stayed in this area until age 5 when they went to the older set which was 5 to 14. Mom described hearing one woman who had to turn countless children over as they turned 5. She said it was horrifying to hear her sob and shake. "they were like my own. i held them every day and then when it was time to go to the next ward we [the women working in the nursery] would cry and beg for them to stay longer. just a bit more time, they can't make it with the older kids... they can't be left alone at night because they'll cry. they can't cry because they'll be preyed on by older patients. who'll make sure they're safe?"

pulled out of one set of hands, they were set down into the next phase. a pastoral time in the nursery replaced with the learning curve of being around older patients. the women in the nurseries watched little faces peeking over shoulders, probably waiving goodbye. oblivious as they were walked into a completely new setting. and really, anyone can turn into an animal when you're left in a zoo for too long.

my own personal experience with this facet of the hospital came from my gang of guys i worked with. mostly between the ages of 30 to 55, they were mentally ill or handicapped. but that's not to say they didn't have memories and clear, albeit blunt emotions. many asked out of habit when their mommy or daddy were coming to visit. i had to be very careful and check a file before i said anything. i once absent mindedly agreed with a patient that they would come soon only to be savaged over the head with a meal tray when i turned around. his parents never came to visit after he was admitted. when he calmed down and we had our proverbial peace pipe [juice and cheetos] i asked him why he was upset with me. he thought about it for a minute and said, "mommy daddy..." and gestured with his hand in rounded motions. like when a kid pretends they're guiding an invisible airplane in their hand. he looked down and got quiet.

he had pantomimed the last time he saw his parents when he was 8. they signed a paper, and that was it for mommy daddy.

cane corso's are just big muffins

"are you two getting out of bed... or...?"
"why? why the fuck do i have to get out of bed? it's the weekend. i have a cold. i have a dog and really, i think this is all a jealousy thing!"

i readjusted myself to spoon closer into the beast. i was babysitting a furry brat for a couple of weeks while my upstanding citizen friends went on some homo boat cruise or tour around morocco or something. all i knew is i had a loaner 105 pound dog and i wasn't really interested in doing much more than cuddle and feel gloomy in bed.
Brad hated the dog. correction: he was scared of the dog. he had only been around wee scrubs and never got over seeing Abel stumping around the apartment like a muscular pony.

Abel was a lamb. truly the reason why i love large dogs. just a chilled out beast who was only frightening when play sparring with another mutt or when i was tardy feeding him. even the latter wasn't THAT bad. he just grabbed his chow pan and clattered it up against the wall until you came to acknowledge him. and if you ignored that, he was a good chum and would come find you. last time the woof was living with Brad and i, he was pissy that i took a shower without feeding him first. i came out to brad on top of the couch terrified with Abel bonging the food dish against the wall. it was just a bratty cadence of "feed me now. feed me now!"
brad gasped when i came into the living room to see what the noise was.
"Oh god... he looks angry..."
"jesus... you're a fucking fag wimp you know that? Abel, drop it." clatter. "good babe. go lay down."
he looked at me like i was some sort of omnipotent beast master and shook his head.
"look, we've talked so many times. Abel is a marshmallow. i trust him more than that cunty little schnauzer Mac has. Seriously, how many times has that bitch bit you or come REAL close?"
"like a million ti..."
"LIKE A MILLION FUCKING TIMES." Abel peeked around the corner and gave me the sad face.
"ok, listen. all you need to do is go into it confidently. he knows he's huge and if he can boss you around, he will. and you ignore his ass as much as possible so yeah he's going to be creative to get your attention. can you just pet him for a minute? I want you to be ok with him. not like last time where you just chickened out and left for the weekend."
"no... feed him first."
throwing my hands up i went to feed the beast. glomping down huge mouthfuls i scratched his back a little and smiled. i always got such an endorphin rush around animals. too bad i'm too irresponsible to actually own one instead of temp loaners. beastie face turned back to me dripping with smashed up kibble particles and a stumpy tail wag.
"you're a good lad. finish up and we'll take you for a walk with your uncle Brad."
"I have stuff to do."
"stuff, eh? ok then." i pulled out a brown paper wrapped joint. it was real pro-like and spun up by the fat jamaican dyke who i chatted up during smoke break at work. she was in a different office, but let me tell you, pothead homosexuals lock and load when we spy another like-minded individual. we had an arrangement where i turned over some of my ativan and she bequeathed me right proper spliffs. there were a conversation starter. and packed to the tits with brain melting goodness.
"mmmmmmmmmmooooooooooookaaaaay i think i'll come."
"that's what i thought. you're walking him."
"NO!"
Abel stopped eating and cantered over to see Brad.
"look what you did! you scared the baby! seriously, dude. let's just get over the fear of this."
my ringmaster proverbial whip of a joint was just enough clout to get him to consent.

raw pear and fennel salad is what i was envisioning

"i'm going to die... we've eaten nothing but raw vegan for 4 days in a row."
"no man, i have a contract for 7 days. get your shit wrapped tight because you have to endure it just a WIDDLE bit longer."
"veal... prime rib... lobster...."
"you can reward yourself on the other side of 8 days. trust me. nothing complex in and the nasty within just shits out."
"yeah. can we talk about that? your little supplement? the end result can only be described as violent and unrelenting."
"oh i know. it's like a condensed shot of fish oil bombing the hell out of your guts. clean slate. right right?"
"no, hey, i'm so not interested in talking about Clockwork Orange any more. we've really taken a large look at the topic and i feel that we've exhausted all discussions about it. and what it means to you. which is a lot. i know." he lifted a hand to silence my oncoming criticism. "hed-deh! shh. listen. we're done with it. it's over. we're through."
"fine."
"good."
"guess we don't need to talk about you going over to africa any more?"
"don't be that dick. just because i make the call that a topic is over, you want to drop something important to me."
"clearly it's a threat intended to demonstrate to you the importance of the topic that we are not allowed to talk about again."
"remember when we had that like, 36 hours where we didn't talk at all?"
"sure. i'm game."
i stood up to get some air out on the patio. admittedly, i was going nuts with all the bunny food. i could have eaten a steak raw with a baked potato on the side. but it was just a good plan to stay in lock down. get some shit sorted. get some half decent food in our guts and see what starts pulling back.
tapping out a smoke i leaned up to the balcony. i wish i could bring my meaty eastern euro booty call over. just... a bounce! that's it. we can make it quick! why am i negotiating with myself?
pulling down on a rationed cigarette, Brad shuffled out with a jug of orange juice.
"i actually feel a whackload better. like... i'm not saying you're right, just..." glug glug. "ahhhhh.... delicious."
good enough. i don't need to pander to get a really deep apology.

"i'm a lady" - santogold

Brad and i were having a dysfunctional sweat lodge. we had locked ourselves into the bathroom sans cellphones, booze, coke or that clutch of opium i had that never seemed to dissipate no matter how hard i tried to comsume it all. magical really, but i'm not here to present that phenomenon. no, tonight brad and i were locked int the bathroom only with joints. all natural paper. shit, the glue was probably made from sort of monkey spunk that was all organic.
admittedly, we had been... doing it up. often. as in too often. the boy couldn't even blame me any more. he was the one who seemed to come home more with the drugs. i acted stuck up and did them all before i came home to make it seem like i wasn't the dealer anymore.
we had been been well behaved otherwise. Brad was too fragile to poke into a fight. the publisher had told him to take a fucking jump off a cliff with his new book. like, 'give me my advance money back, bitch' kind of pissed. it was a seeming mystery since he had previously been a solid meal ticket with well-received books under his belt. i even did a little recon with my connections around town. word on the street was Brad concocted a steaming pile of shit and no one would back it.
had i read it? well, i told Brad i had. i read about every 15th page or so and made mental notes of descriptions to bring up in conversation about the novel. i actually like how he writes, so it's nothing to do with taste. they're hard hitting descriptions that bring the story to life. people like that shit... but i didn't have time to read 300 pages of his latest opus. i'd like to chalk it up to pure laziness, but no, i have to fess up to you and confirm that i was overwhelmingly jealous. i have a million stories in me but i can't get them out. ever. let alone select the appropriate verb tense. ever! so that issue did halt me from actually getting into his newest book. i'd make it about 3 paragraphs and then stare off into space pouting that *i* should be making this shit. i should be writing shit down. but therein lies the problem: i couldn't be bothered to try.
my madness aside, the 6 months that brad had been living with me were action packed. and i did love the kid to bits. but drugging and drinking and partying were catching up to him. my Australian Paw-Paw ointment was all but gone last time i checked from him skimming it around his hungover eyes. normally i would have a massive faggot attack over it because it was my fix-all for piles and singed assholes. what? it's true.
looking into the red tub i sighed. too much.
brad had been trapped in the apartment for close to 2 weeks with overwhelming agoraphobia. i had tried dragging him out the door on the weekend and his terrified screams were enough to drop him before we even made it to the door. he did nothing but sit out on the patio floor chain smoking or lie in his twinky nest on his bed swaddled in blankets. we've all been there. i can't point fingers. i spent the better part of 5 months of my life like that. a couple weeks won't kill him. the lure of getting more coffee since i refused to buy more beans [plan a] or me setting up some blind date requiring him to leave the building would get him out.
i wandered out with the empty tub and found his bedroom door open. he was burning coffee scented incense. my incense. jesus, man...
"kid, staff meeting. bathroom. now."
"no|!"
i was on a bit of a short fuse... i dashed into his room and grabbed his ankle to pull him out. hey presto! he had underwear on! better than the last time i tried this. that was embarrassing. well... for him.
"let's go, blondie. we're having a talk."
he moaned yet let me drag him by the ankles. i hauled his legs up and leaned him against the wall. he had to finangle to get comfortable again and actually sounded like he was crying and swearing.
"staff meeting. all present and accounted for. jesus kid, what's the deal?"
"my fucking BOOK! my fucking book.... months. this was it. this was the story i had in me... get it out... on my fucking mind." thud. his head bopped onto the floor. there was little to no memory of the last time that we had cleaned the floor. i'm very sure i mopped it after i barfed last month. yeah. yeah he's fine.
"kid, i know this is fucked up. you have the story, it's done. you can't change that the publisher has a dick up his ass about it. do what your agent said. you shelve the book and start another."
"i'm not a fucking wind up toy!!"
"sure you are. get some other drafts off your hard drive. offer them up to the publisher, see if you can get a delay on this whole business. show that you'll flesh something else out. something, you know, different"
"I can't. i can't write anything else."
"which leads me to agenda item number 2: our current stasis of partying. all the time. non stop. to the break of dawn. we keep that party goin' on...."
"I GET IT."
"get it? good! guess you want me to cancel that order for an 8 ball?"
"no! we're going out for a birthday party tomorrow... and... ugh. ok. ok point taken. and received. and acknowledged. i just... needed to go a little crazy."
"oh for sure. i get it. i really do. but i booked us in to see a therapist this monday."
"wait... us?"
"I told my friend we're a couple and we're getting a great rate. i figure we can get both our shit on the table and dealt with AND it's only half the cost!"
"you're serious?"
"No. dick. i'm not, but we're detoxing. effective today."
"i see weed doesn't count."
"you know, man.... you just can be a little pill sometimes, huh?"
"sensitive. fine. let's have this joint and discuss further."
"no further discussion. i'm lighting this and we're not drinking, coking, tripping or eating anything unhealthy for 2 weeks. i have some ativan for you to take, we order in a few loads of groceries and just get our shit on straight, ok?"
"you've done this before?"
"piece of cake. plus i have this little friend who'll bring us over shit to make smoothies."
"how lovely.... please just light that and let's get this thing going. i need a change of scenery."