Friday night, the same old song

 I have this friend, used to be "with benefits" but now alas is not.

She likes to keep her thumb on my neck, just to keep me in line.  I object, she shrugs it off as I was imagining her control; but there it is.

That is life.

Meanwhile, 3-4 whiskeys and I still am not *outside* myself.

It is what it is.

things I shouldn't let out in polite company

 Some times, my inner voice shouldn't be let out to play. "I'm drunk, it would probably be a good idea to not engage with me at this point, unless you want your head to have a guided tour of your rectum."...

And it continues, the bad debt moves to Washington State

 You know, the person who borrowed money and did not repay it; had shown her true colors; and yet... the two other folk who are involved are no longer interested in talking to her and all three of the folk (including another close friend of mine) will not take her calls.

I still answer occasionally, but I also keep hoping for a miracle that I know will never occur.

Optimist by policy, I think.

Her ex-boyfriend (I think) gave her a one-way ticket to somewhere in Washington, and that is where she sits... on some form of assistance in an apartment/room/house ??? and even secured a car to drive.  Proof positive that she still knows how to work the system; no matter how crazy train the rest of her interactions are.  (Voice... I hear voices I tell you).

I know she's "ill" and some/all of this isn't her fault; but it is hard to forgive and forget when she will acknowledge the debt and still has no plans to pay it back... and never will.

"Hello, my name is ... and I've been grifted"... 
"Hello ..., welcome to 12 steps to not being a mark. (again)."

Life.

Meanwhile, the three roommates with priors (alcohol, drugs) before her most recent interaction are ghosts.  I think that is a good thing.  I keep telling myself that.

*** You know that any conversation I have in my head, playing "what I would say" ... goes badly.***

Always.

Peeking out of my foxhole.

It has been a year.

So, we now have Covid vaccines; and I'm waiting to get one.  Any One.
I've already been exposed several times, and although I never really went down for the count; the only way I would know for sure if I've had it, would be to have an antibody test (which my health care provider isn't giving -- so it would cost me out of pocket).

Meanwhile the PCR tests (I've had two) have been negative.  Since they are more reliable than the rapid test... that indicates that I probably did not have it at the time of testing.  Probably.  I'm not a hyperchondriac; but it would be nice to be able to see my Mom... she's just celebrated her 101'th birthday.  There aren't that many more of them in the cards.

While I'm asking... a f/t gig (job, consult, whatever) would be helpful.  

One of my roommates (the socially dysfunctional one) stopped paying rent, and in California... there isn't a lot I can do about right now.  He's out of cash because he gambles on the stock market... and makes bad choices.  That isn't related to Covid, and I consider the outcome an unfair burden; but with current policy...  and if I contact his family (who have money), that ropes in people who aren't involved and you could make the argument that it isn't fair... except they can afford his  intransigence better than I can. 

Fortunately, I have some remote work, and lots of books to read.

Never Again

 “The cold would numb pain, swallow my sickness, leave everything calm and sharp-edged and rational and clear. I could lean into that power. forget this pain, at least for a time but somewhere deep down inside my guts, there emerged a solid, unalterable realization of truth:

Somethings should hurt.

Some thing should leave you with scars.

Somethings should hunt your nightmares.

Some thing should be burned in my memory.

Because that was the only way to make sure they would be fought. It was the only way to face them. It was the only way to cast down the future agents of death and havoc before they could bring things to this.The words never again mean more than some people than others.

—Jim Butcher

(only slightly out of context)

Ghosts are the memories Encounters we had

 I shot an arrow, aimed at a friend (probably not) (Lost Angeles)
She ghosted in 2017, telling me she *would*.
I guess you can call that honesty, white trash style.
I know *you're* still out there... unless you're dead.
It's possible.

Ghosts are the memories
Encounters we had
Connections broken
Some good, some bad.
Just because you'll do upskirt in a bar
doesn't mean you are classy
not hardly
not by far.
Since you like to do groups
that much I now know
I won't post your name
but we learned your nature
and so
Funny thing is I miss you
So how fucked is that?
No human is irredeemable
or are they? In fact?
If you show'd at my door
with what would I greet?
Questions? Answers?
or just point the street...
Anger much?

Echos are all I hear (Lost Angeles)

You are still out there.

I've never seen you , never talked.
I dream of what could have been, what never was.
I see you in the faces and figures I watch;
in the passers by and folk unmet.
A liberal in a city of unconnected folk
a poet with bad lines
a musician who can't keep time.
Alas, my time has come and gone
I've chased an impossible dream.
Three years ago, I met you (I thought).
Turfed in Emergency's hallway, I reconsidered.
You were not the one I'm seeking,
in spite of the need, the desiring.
Just a figment of testosterone fueled hope.
Just another stain on the wall.

And yet...

One can hope.

or not.