Sorting things out as to who gets what is emotionally wrenching. What it comes down to is that I get a few thousand dollars and then get dumped into a tenement over in Scottsburg. But since our two back up cars are nearly dead, she did agree to buy me a car that is nearly new. Since our credit is shot idk how she’ll do it but it’s part of the settlement that has been worked out. Since she keeps the whole 80 acres (half of which is mine) and the house I guess since she’s getting me a new car that’s supposed to make her feel less guilty. But this arrangement was pure sodomy. This enterprise was her doing, not mine. As the man said, Doomed enterprises divide lives forever into the then and the now.
I wonder what it’ll be like when I wake up and for a moment don’t know where I am. Then i’ll get the screaming horrors and have to take Xanax and go back to bed. I have to make sure I’ve got plenty. I’m on about six medications now, like an old woman. I wont be able to afford basic cable but l have to have internet access. That’s my lifeline to the world. I’ll have to eat like some acetic monk. Canned fruit and fibars, I guess.
This computer acts like it’s possessed. The guy that worked on it did a great job just getting it running. I’ll have to get a new one out of the pittance i’ll get paid. Since I’ve been unable to download my stories from Xanga, it may just be that I need a new computer. And I wonder about getting a MacBook since I never used that technology.t way.
My ex believes I get sick in order to control her. That’s bullshit, which means she’s been listening to the wrong people. When I asked her if my hospital stay was an example she said yes, in a roundabout way. I pointed out that I would have to have a vial of Staph, would have find a way to get it into my urethra and make sure it got into the kidneys and into the bloodstream. And no, just swallowing Staph wouldn’t work since stomach acids destroy the bug. You cant talk to her since she cant listen. She interrupts every twenty seconds.
I cant believe what I’m arguing about with this crazy woman. I asked myself if there was any way I could avoid being out on the streets in a few months or ending up in a Psych ward the answer was no. Just one way. Find a gf. If only somebody to talk to and who cares whether I live or die. There are women all over the place but most of them are pigs and I don’t mean they’re overweight. I mean they’re low class and nasty, like the one that reached into her sweatpants and scratched her ass right in the dollar store in front of us. I don’t fit in this place but I doubt I’d fit in New York or anywhere else. Besides, some women find rebound behavior insulting. And I don’t see that I have anything left to offer anybody, and I am still in a rage over how I’ve been treated.
I haven’t said what I wanted to say. All I’ve done is bitch. I meant to convey the horror, the chill of joining the people who are a few paychecks away from being on the street. And I just cant see this ending any way but one.
To kill someone you don’t have to shoot them. Just force them into a situation they cant get out of and that you know they wont survive.
And that’s Murder One.