What do normal 30 year old daughters and moms text about? Not this?

My promise to you:

People who like spoilers and bombin' exhausts also like Monster energy drinks.

They are also at least 10% Russian

Speaking of Jerk Chickens-
The people who hit on me:

-Say "I have neyer see- long time... gir like you" (he was Russian)
-Are changing socks in the middle of the street and saying "she sexy cuz she like...short...and she know it" (I'm not short)
-Are picking up what they think are cig butts but are actually air cuz they are on crack. They say "girlll lemme get a dolla oh wait she sexxxxxyyyy never mind! Wait yeah gimme 50¢"
-99.9% of black gents call me "RED" I don't know if that's a coincidence or...? But one guy said "lemme get that shade'o'kool-aid" and I said "best line ever we can be BFF but you can't have my number only because I don't like to talk on the phone." And then he bought me some egg nog from Tenderloin Liquor.
-Are changing a bandage on their bloody face
-Are singing "Christmas fuck you jingle fuck fuck HEY BABY YOU SEXXXXXXYYYYY"
-Are dying very soon and falling out of a wheelchair RIGHT NOW AS I TYPE CAN I GET A WITNISS TO DISS? Please take your friend to work day is tomorrow! Can anyone vouch for this? I work in the tenderloin.

Ol prosthetic leg- call da AMBULAMPS!

Wonda what the pigeons are up to today!

Today I have seen:

1. A guy dropping his crack rock in a pile of bird seed and couldn't find it
2. A guy stickin his dick through the fence of a play ground
3. A guy shoving human shit into a rubber glove

Today at work I got paid $18/hour to:

1.Clean out the keyboard cracks with a paper clip
2. Give some people some donuts
3. Tell a guy to quit huffin paint thinner

God bless the tenderloin

👻HAPPY HALLOWEEN SAN FRANCISCO👻

Phil Hartman is drivin one of the Barts today, so if you wanna hear a damn ghost, ride it. He tried to åçčêñt the whole word ĒMBÃRÇÄDĒRØ so if ghosts aren't your thing, but you wanna hear a true españolio spaniard say the word, ride it. HAPPY HALLOWEEN👻

this just fell out of my hair.
Does anyone want to give me a job or an apartment?

My Strange Addiksh/Confessh/I am 30

This is Fifey. He is wearing a friendship bracelet because he is my best friend. He is 28 and ready 2 date btw if you're sing sing. He's hung.

Baethiclly, If you assept me you must assept Fife. All my boyfriends have slept next to Fife, it's no big whoop.

I had to leave Fifey at my mom's because my boyfriend got annoyed. NOT! I would dump any man that came between me and Fi. But I did leave him at my mom's and I miss him a lot. Put me on My Strange Addiction. I feed him by putting his tail in my belly button when I eat and I rub his belly and sniff his ear hole. No lie.

Why not me and Julio down by the schoolio? Hmmm?
Haha! Whoa! Hey! Thank you!!!! Hey! Hey, good to be here! Got a great show here tonight, Hoobastank is in the house!

Best of My Strange Addiksh

What's more convenient than placing my dryer sheet sandwich in my bosom?

Most people use dryer sheets in the dryer...me on the other hand...

The feeling of a warm wet diaper is really comforting and special to me.

Is she too entrenched in the baby lifestyle?

It sorta tastes like...well...when you're in the shower and you eat the soap..you know?

You want me, you gotta assept my pillow

Stop tryin to compare yourself with my pillow!!

What did my pillow ever do to you? Get up off my pillow's case!

If you're a writer or a musician you have to live FOREVER with what you decided in '81 was the term for genitals.

"I feel it in my SEX" -Peter Gabriel

"you're fuckt"

You're only as young as your vagina is wet

How come when girls play sports boys are like "Ooh you gonna break a nail? Ooohhh poor baby!" Breaking a nail is SERIOUS. I'd like to see you break a dick nail

I'm old

How am I becoming an adult? Let me count the ways:

1. For the first time in quite a while, when sitting on the toilet, I didn't envision a huge sword flying out of the bowl and into my vagina

2. I cat sit at my friends and saw lots of beauty products. I thought "hmmm" I didn't use any but I DID brush my hair for the first time in a couple years (then I literally went in the yard and rubbed dirt in it because it looked too clean)

3. My mom just decided to make me pay my phone bill. I cried because I couldn't figure out how, but I'm gonna pay!!!

🍄🍄Dat bout covers it🍄🍄 I want some drugs. Ummmm does anyone want to take me out to dinner or somethin to congratulate me? I just learned how to use FUCKIN SILVERWARE

Donald Fagen Blues

Why when I am about to leave Portland do I find like this perfect bar that is playing Steely Dan records and is filled with taxidermy and is the perfect temperature and doesn't have picture of pussies drawn all over the bathroom that say "eat me out, I'm organic" and then someone else wrote "and gluten free" and then someone else wrote "mine's vegan too"?????????!!!!?????

Give me a person's name and I will reveal to you 5 facts about them based solely on their name. I'm a psychic name expert. Come on!

I'm nauseated so I drank some mint "smooth move" tea with cinnamon, cumin, and cloves. Then I drank tons of water, sparkling water, water with cucumber and rosemary in it, and hard pear cider cuz it's kinda like soda? Then I'm like wait why am I nauseated? What did I already eat and drink today? 

Welp:

Smoked oysters

Spinach almond milk smoothie

Cottage cheese

Champagne and cucumber basil lemonade mimosa

Old bread with avocado n butta on it

Seaweed salad

Iced coffee

Clam chowder

Cawn bread

A Xanax

Ibuprofen

1/2 of what I think is an anti-nausea pill

Champagne with sherbet in it

An egg cooked in miso 

Vanilla cream soda n Coconut water which my boyfriend bought for me when I asked him to get me something for my nausea.

This should help

AM Meeting at the Mental Hosp

Me- Who has a community concern they would like to share?

Guy- We should be able to smoke a pack all at once, that's how it's done.

Another Guy- 7:45! Yeahhhhhhh!

Adolf Eichmann- Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!!

Guy- Maybe it's a booger. Maybe it's a bus.

Another guy- They let them walk around?!!

Third guy- He spilled! He spilled!

Adolf- Heil Hitler!

Dredd Scott- They'll have to bring it back!

Me- Um, ok. Let's focus. Who has a go-around question for the group?

Another Guy- Ummmmm....what's a solid block?

Third Guy- Friends with Indiana, since I was in 4th grade...Candice Bergen...I can't release the title.

Guy- Old man with the beard! How big's your beard?!?

Dredd- He should be assassinated!

Adolf- Sorry about John Lennon, sorry about World War 2. 

Old Yeller- Barack Obama!

Another guy- United States and Canada.

Adolf- Auschwitz Jew!

Me- What's your favourite uhhhhh... 

Old Yeller- SNIPPETS!

Dredd- Bastard!

Adolf- I like booze, I like braunschweiger. I like wine. I like... 

Guy- Where's your coffee?

Another Guy- There was a dream I had. My dad came in...

Me- Thanks for comin! Meeting is adjourned!

Kathy'n'Tod

Kathy lit a Vantage and ordered a brandy. She knew Tod would arrive soon and she hadn't yet thought of a suitable nickname to call him by. She sure as hell wasn't gonna call him Tod. Kathy lit a Vantage and ordered a brandy. Internet dating is hard, she thought. She shook her loosy-goosy hair and shuffled her navy Keds across the polished floors. Tod arrived just then and she knew it was Tod FOR SURE when she saw his Tod-like face with its Tod-like teeth in it. Kathy lit a Vantage and ordered a brandy. Tod was here to stay. In her heart. Forever. So were Vantages. 

David Crosby lost everything in the 80s...even his moustache.

Oh golly, I don't have anything to say. I'll tell you a story about my work today. So there's this stare-master there and she just sits and stares at me no matter what she or I are doing. If I'm reading the paper or biting my nails- whatever. She'll come sit 12 inches from my face and stare straight at it without getting bored for however long I can take it. She sometimes will have a marker in her hand or some food but she will still stare. She will miss her mouth with the sandwich before she flinches to stop staring at me. Yes, while she's eating. Yes, it's serial killer. She doesn't kill though (yet) she is just a known hair-puller. And not just puller, she will dig her fingers in and twist so you cant unscrew her claw and will like fling people around by their pony tails. Whenever I won't play dice with her because she has been particular serial killery that day, she'll just stare at me and say "your hair is so pretty" or "you're the only friend I ever had, Samantha." Or just laugh maniacally and whisper "you're gonna die at midnight." Recently I've been trying really hard not to care 'bout the stare because I think she'll lighten up on me, but that hasn't worked. Now when we're playing dice she'll like linger with her hand over them when its my turn and try to stroke my finger with her extra long bent claw nail. THE END

Whadidda banshee eva dooda yoo?

"What do you know about Hitler? I'm his decapitated head"

"I don't know where I got these...(points to watches) probably from a corpse"

"My head hurts like a banshee"

"The earwax is packed in there like a banshee"

Large birds are polite and don't fuck with humans. They stay out of our business, and  I think that's nice, but weird. Why? Why do they stay out of our business? Why don't they flap by real close just to scare us? Why don't they steal a bagel from an unsuspercting pedest? The world would be a much scarier place if animals were not scared, and did not OBEY. Why doesn't someone write a horror movie about this? It would be way scarier and definitely more original than a zombie movie for god's sake!  I'M SO FUCKING SICK OF THE ZOMBIE MOVIES! And I haven't even seen one! A huge crow pecking your eye is WAY more fucked, scary, and real than a slow ass zombie wriggling near you and going "ehhhhhghhhhhhh". Crows are large and in charge and unlike zombies have all their body parts and are ready to hurt you with them. Have you ever seen one close up? They're enormous! But we get to live in NO FEAR of them, except that crazy woman on Maury who was horrified of even parakeets. You couldn't even go on a walk or get yer damn starbucks. You would have to live in CONSTANT FEAR of squirrels, birds, rodents, and crows. One day they'll all realize their power, and on that day humans will be fucked.
 
THE END
BY PAULY SHORE

"Do you make anything else besides human meat products?"

"Yes. Slide rulers. For measuring. Made out of human flesh"

Things said to me today

"I think Christmas would be a good time to show you my human hides"

"We're gonna have to get that Pampers back."

"My boners are priceless."

"Hi! Do you smoke"

"Nope"

"Hmmm, are you very old?"

"Will someone PLEASE mark that down as an episode of incontinence?"

"Hello, Ma'am. Do you think this is Earth?"

"Just do what he says, hon, this is his house. Give him the soda. He wants the soda and he's willing to kill for it" (dude talking in third person)

"Dear god, please give Mezzmer Ralphie Malphie a lot of money, US money. He has only seen two or three fifties and one 100 one time. Amen"

(Praying to this:)

" You promised you would jerkkkkk and twiiiisssttt the nail, rending deep into the flesh. You PROMISED." 

(Sure didn't! Think I'd remember that one)

I want y'all to understand my job. I mean really understand what it's like to work with people with severe mental illness. So you can betta appreciate me. I know I'm not spoza, but here is a sneak peak of someone's psych assessment. Just see if you could handle this complicated shit:

Client: P_____ S________

Psychiatric Assessment

Axis I- 265.4 Schizophrenia, undifferentiated type

295.3 Anxiety Disorder NOS

Axis II- deferred

Axis III- 422.3 Decaf Coffee with 3 ice cubes, 4 sugar packets (yellow), 3 creamers, 2 stir sticks, tan cup only, packet of cocoa

Axis IV- 542.4 Capri Light 100s, 2 on patio per shift, supervised

Axis V- GAF 69

This patient exhibits a need for CIGARETTES AND COFFEE AND THE ABILITY TO CALL THE GOVERNOR AND THREATEN TO KILL HIM ONCE PER SHIFT

Haha jus kiddin! Didja think I was gonna be serioso? I light cigarettes and pour coffee ALL DAY. YOU COULD DO IT ANYONE COULD A DOG OR SMART CAT COULD DO IT A DEAD CORPSE COULD BE ELECTROCUTED SO HIS HAND SHOT UP AND IT COULD ALSO AT THAT TIME LIGHT A CIGARETTE FROMTHE BURNING FINGER OR EVEN WARM UP COFFEE WITH IT AGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (just kidding I love it)

You know what really rips a hole in my condom?

Cheating with acronyms! You cant sometimes include A, O for Or, Of or On, or F for For then sometimes not!!

GET REAL!

NAMI stands for The National Association ON Mental Illness- whats with that!? You can't leave out the O. On is a legit ass word! It could be NAOMI. What do they have against a Judd sister, in particular?

And then some dipwads try and pull this shit:

GET REAL BOYS! (GRB!)

Whenever I look at them I think: "wonder when the last time they had awkward sex was?"
I know I've seen my share!
I mean not up close, but I can imagine.
I know what you do!
You're not foolin' nobody!
Some ingredient is missin from the ol' pant stew if ya know what I mean!

sexy baby's:

fuck around
pierced clits
flash people
wear short skirts that say brand on ass
apple bottom jeans
stistettos
carry around handcream
people love getting baby handjobs cuz they make your dick look really big
smoke Virginia slims
have okcupid profiles
have myspace profiles that are PIIIMPED
French tips
pierced nipples
phone danglers
techno
only dirty Christina Aguilara
ringtone is rap to attract black men


THAT IS WHAT BABIES LIKE

HOW NOT TO DRIVE

A comprehensive guide for old people and teens and people from new jersey

Here's some scenarios that will inevitably happen to you if you are an new jerseyan, teen, or old person. Or if you're just a boring white person. Let's say there's this driver- just drivin' around. Hell, let's say it's me. 

If I am in the middo lane and have my blinker on for the left lane, and you are behind me: wait your turn. Don't try to swoop over with your shitty Prius just because you have the opening first. I'm waiting, and I'm faster. Your Prius is guaranteed gonna go slow and I'll tell you why: because you're scared of life. Get your shitty, lime green, plastic shit mobile with the "my windows aren't dirty, they're my dog's nose prints" bumper sticker the fuck back and be scared behind me. How the fuck is a dog's nose print NOT DIRTY? Whatever, I can't with that bumper sticker, or with you.

All you wheel-whackers with your chest 1 centimeter from the steering wheel also stay behind me and remain scared. You better be doing something nasty with your hand jammed way under there because I could respect that, but if you're just sitting that close to the wheel because you're a scared white person with a stick up your ass, I have no patience for you.

There are many reasons to drive under the speed limit, and being from new jersey is not one of them. Hold one of your dashboard stuffed Hello Kitty animals if you're scared and press on. 

Which brings me to DUH DUH DIH DUH DUH NEWSFLASH OREGON DUH DUH DUH 

THE LEFT LANE IS FOR PASSING!! ONLY!! That's it. It's not for driving. It's not a "slow as fuck" lane. It's not a phone lane or a jack off lane or a look at pics of kitties on Facebook lane. It's a passing lane. Pass a person and get out of the fucking lane.

Since I just passed you because you're slow as mentally retarded molasses did you notice my car's sweet lil sexy ass? It's so cute, black, sleek 'n' sexy. I know it's tempting, but stay the fuck away from it. I know you want to be close to my hot black ass but if your plastic, burnt sienna rapist cube touches my car, it's going to ruin your day because I will EASILY kick holes in your cheap plastic American car-cube.

Also, GET OFF YOUR CELL PHONE! No one wants to read your Facebook update status "drivin!" Tee hee! No one cares about you. Stop TWEETING on the way to Taco Bell "4th meal, bra" Is the road so boring and unsocial that you can't concentrate on real life for the 5 minutes it takes you get to the McPaddy's and have a shot of Jack Daniels? Pick your cargo-short ball out of your ass and pay attention to the road. You can tweet "pullin the cargo-shorts ball outta my ass, YOLO" after you order your Jagerbomb. 

P.S. Why are white people so stupid that they drink Jack Daniels and Jagermeister, two over-priced, not good liquors? Is it that they actually think hot girls with Mardi gras beads in their orange cleavage and a guy with a pirate outfit will party with them if they drink it! Even though they only awkwardly stalk women with huge foreheads, no chins, and saggy gross droopers in a tit sling on Facebook and have not hung out with a hot girl or pirate ever? And Tevin's SWEET leprechaun outfit consisting of a tiny green vest and huge puffy Jamiroquai hat on St. Fatty's day doesn't count as a LIQUOR PARTY MASCOT

If I make a turn into your lane, it's because a) I have judged your speed and assume it will remain constant b) I know I can accelerate fast enough so you don't have to slow down c) I assume you're a rational person. So stop speeding up to like 70 mph to make me think you were inconvenienced by me turning onto a street. Everyone can hear your engine getting 150% louder and can SEE that you're speeding up because you're a passive aggressive ALPHA DAWG who wants to show your dick has been in somethin' before. I know what it's been in ( see above Facebook stalked girl description) and I'm not impressed. Nor am I impressed by your nasty Geo Priapism or your sick plastic hubcaps and dice testes on the rearview mirror. 

I'm onto you.

A) I know you're listening to Kid Rock in there. 

B) I know you woke up to your uncle jacking off on your naked ass you have issues and secretly fear you might technically be gay because of it

C) I know you shave your chest hair and yes, you still look fat. And your dick is still tiny. And wormy. And wiggly. 

D) I know you roofied and date raped that goth tween while her kid was screaming in the other room. I know that you put KORN on to get you in the mood.

I'm onto you. 

Oh god, I know I am forgetting so many shitty driver scenarios but I am getting annoyed just thinking about these wastes of skin even though I am in a mental facility listening to a blank-expression person rant about his baboon army and how it's going to destroy my Belgian boyscouts at the third toll of the bell for 1 1/2 hours. It takes a lot to annoy me if you're mentally ill, and virtually NOTHING  at all to cause me to hate you if you're sane.

DHTG

11/11/54-3/14/13

I remember his birthday because I'd have to recite it to every doctor I talked to about him, and enter it into the ' system' when documenting something out of the ordinary that he did; missing his meds, having a panic attack. I repeated it daily to the front desk when I visited him in the hospital when he had pneumonia, yellow and lifeless looking with a tube shoved down his throat. He'd try to claw it out each time he'd see me. He couldn't bear not to talk. His writing was all but illegible and when he was lucid enough to ask for a pen he'd just scrawl dates and names of cities, meaningless to me, but so important to him. Things that must be said. 

Dave talked a lot. Pedanted and perserverated on the same five or six topics every time you'd see him. 

TAYLOR! You're an Aquarius. And I'm a Scorpio. Aquarius and Scorpio, they get along don't they? 

Yes they do, Dave, big time. 

Taylor! You're Scottish!

Yes Davey, and you're a Frenchman! 

Riiiiight, from Bordeaux, France. And you're from St. Louis, Missouri. Hey Taylor! Say hi to Chris for me. Hi Taylór. Ha. Hi Taylór! You and Chris gonna get married or are you just cohabitating? Say my last name in French again Taylor!

And I'd yell it with probably more of a Jamaican accent than French, but he loved it all the same. Sometimes he'd call just to ask me to say his name. 

Dave was pretty much the only person I'd pick up the phone for, besides my mom because that means someone died. I'd answer for Dave because I knew we'd get right down to business. 

How're yer kidneys, Davey?

Holding fast at 14%, Taylor!

You eating good?

Ha. Oh. I ate some Big Boy's yesterday.

Ok, stick a vegetable in there anywhere?

Ha, oh, ha. I dunno Taylor. 

Well stick one in the ol' pie hole wouldja?

Ok Taylór! Hey I'll letcha go. Love you Taylór. Say my name one more time!

Geeejèr!

I like it when you say that! BYE!

The bye was always the high point. The crescendo, crashing down at the end. YES FINALLY, it's over.

I know his anxiety made him call me just as it made him scrawl on thousands of yellow legal pads. Long, dripping, and I assume French -looking letters, senseless parts of sentences, numbers, towns. I know it was also the boredom, to pass the time. He very rarely left the block. Big Boy and the BP station and the office. He'd ride his ol' rickety Huffy like a true Frenchman with a fancy hat and a scarf fashioned into an ascot around his neck. Maybe a pair of gnarled suspenders tangled dangerously around his jugular so deep he could barely talk. When I unwrapped them once I found two pairs entwined leaving deep red marks in his neck, but not seemingly holding anything up.

Thanks Taylor, hey thanks!

Maybe he got out in his mind. He watched every tennis match on TV, perseverating on them for weeks beforehand, listing names and numbers, the scores, Frederick Nadal, some other foreign sounding names. I was told when he died he had a sort of shrine on his table, a picture of France, a book about France, and a bible set up to stare at. He called France often. And Ohio, and a town in Michigan just far away enough to be long distance. I used to have to analyze his phone bills to see why they were so expensive.

Each call lasted 1 minute, 56 seconds, 42 seconds. Dozens of them a day. One after the other sometimes.  One was to a nurse who provided care to him in some form and with whom it is rumored he had a love affair. He showed me a photo countless times. Here's Deborah with her husband, her children. Once he had photos sent to him by some estranged aunt, maybe. I helped him hang them by his kitchen. This is my father. This is my mother, she killed herself. This is my sister, she killed herself. This is me right before I went to the institution. I'm 22 years old, 1976. This is my girlfriend, she killed herself... He'd point them out like an autistic child, by rote. He could be blind and still know their order. The photo of David is of a handsome young man. He looks much younger than 22. He smiles, but you can see it in his eyes. The worry, the doubt. 

He'd be on the couch like any other morning- but frozen, twitching slightly, unable to move or respond. His eyes fixed as if on a movie screen showing the same horrible scene over and over. His mother. His guilt. His sister. His girlfriend mid-plunge from a parking garage. He's European. He's Hitler. Lost in a silent terror. He'd get his Ativan and slowly come to. The first time I saw it I thought he'd never come back. Oh yeah, that's what he does, I was told. But I couldn't leave him alone. His roommates would be smoking on the couch next to him, having pushed his legs over, watching some shitty sci-fi show. His felted, worn-out, burn-hole robe would be open, exposing his incontinence briefs, his clozapine belly. His roommates were used to it. I'd shove them away, cover him up, bring him some water, do a stupid dance and sing I LOVE YOU DAVEY JE MAPPELE TAYLÓR! until he'd squeak out an almost imperceptible tay...lor...ha.

But it was clear he was reliving the same scene, and what it was, he never said. 

God, I'm making him sound infantile, slow, lost. But he was just like you and me- though consumed by anxiety, agorophobia, useless repetitive thoughts. What could it be that caught him in this place, like a hamster in a wheel? The things he felt he did wrong in the past? His father systematically committing his mother, his sister, then him, to a mental institution when he thought they all were sane all along? 

From a young age David had been diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, a combination of schizophrenia and an affective disorder; mania, depression, or both- bipolar disorder. David was bipolar as well as schizophrenic, as his records declare, and not surprising given the circumstances. He had been prescribed lithium from this early age. I'm told lithium made David a different man. He was like a father to the other men in his large group home- so together and with-it and able to help the other young men around him with mental illnesses. He knew what they were going through. He'd been through hell. 

Lithium can be a miracle cure, and often is for those with Schizoaffective disorder. The same lithium that's in a battery, and keeps the poles balanced, I guess, works on the human brain. Lithium also destroys your kidneys, which it must be filtered through, pretty quickly. And though it helped David immensely, it was thought best to try other things when his kidneys began to rapidly fail. I'm sure it must have been devastating to him to lose the grip on his mind to save his physical health, which could barely hold him together.

When I met him he was prescribed the latest miracle cure, clozapine, which didn't suit him nearly as well and has its own horrific share of side effects and detrimental health byproducts.

He still had graphomania- the need to write constantly without apparent meaning. He still had the crippling anxiety. And his kidney function had stabilized at 14%. 12% meant dialysis. He wasn't exactly a good candidate for a transplant. We went to classes to learn how to better slow his kidney degeneration, Don't Smoke!, but I spent more time nudging a snoring David awake than I did learning about nephrology. 

Of course I'm writing this sitting outside of a darkened church at night chugging beer and smoking a cigarette. I didn't know how to appropriately honor David. He did occasionally have a beer, or more likely, 5 o'clock vodka that his roommate would peer pressure him into drinking. He struggled with smoking, but would quit sometimes, and feel great about it, only to start up again because his room mate made it look "appealing".

I can only imagine.

I'd be hungover as fuck chiding the two- yeah, but you shouldn't!  I'm not on psychotropics, boys! 

God! 

I went to the beautiful Clackamas river today alone, and I tried to think of David- how he'd play tennis with my friends, who also worked with him. He'd wear a sweater, suspenders, and shorts- his tiny chicken legs cramped at strange angles, drinking water out of a rusty tennis ball can. I tried to think of the way his hands moved when he spoke, the almost indescribable way people with schizophrenia's hands look- hands that haven't done a day of work in their life. Atrophied, bent, yet graceful. Purposeful in their acknowledgement  of a statement, poised to accentuate a flourish of language. I thought of how much he loved me and the other staff that worked with him, unconditionally. Even the menopausal bitchy illiterates you will discover from previous posts. He was patient. He was kind. He was perfect, and brightened every day that I saw him, or talked to him, or knew he was around.

I thought of what he would be doing with me out here on this precariously perched mossy rock in the cold, desolate woods.

He couldn't come here. He'd be nervous, wanting a smoke. Worried about getting his meds, worried about Checkers, his black-soot-filled-nose cat, getting fed. God knows what that cat ate. He was found dead under the bathroom sink, given an honorable burial in a white trash bag thrown into the apartment complex dumpster. Months later David would stand out front, his robe dangerously open while children scurried about, pulling each other in a one wheeled wagon (not exaggerating!). He'd yell, Checkers! Puss'n'Boots! Davey's Boy! David's Puss in Boots! I'd ask him, and he could tell me he knew he was dead.

What would there be for David on this river?  He who so seldom left his block he had credit at the BP station? My thoughts then drifted to what I'd do this weekend, why my friend was mad at me, when do I work next?  I stopped thinking of Dave. I stopped appreciating the river, caught up in my own anxieties. I didn't smoke one then for Davey. I didn't think of the rolling fields in France. What is there? What do we have?

Scenes from a mental hospital

Sorry I haven't posted anything interesting in a while. I'm of 
course talking to my two admitted readers: Jessy and Logan.
And whoever  else may be, thanks for reading this trash.