One psychological drama after another!

Y’know, overall today was a pretty good day.

I slept in, or rather I slept again after getting home from the motel room this morning — fun times last night — and finally got myself up and moving around 1:30pm.  Checked a few things online, then killed time looking at my RSS feeds and all the news and blog articles and whatnot for the day…

Around 4:45 I decided to get out and do some walking — it’s been rainy and wet, and there’s absolutely no way I could excuse staying inside when it’s so beautiful outside!  Got things together, dressed and out and as I walked I sang Carole King’s “Beautiful” out loud, stopping to say hello to strangers as I went.  Because especially on the first grey day in a while, people are often more gloomy and depressed and sour than usual, so I was out there with a reminder that “You’ve got to get up ev’ry morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart!”

Stopped at the Starbucks downtown and did some reading, killing a bit of time with a cheap mug of crappy coffee plus lots of sugar and cream to make it passably potable, then off to my local independently-owned cafe to hang out for the rest of the evening.  One of my good friends works there, and he was there tonight, so that was fun — and after I’d been there for a bit, another guy I know showed up, and the three of us talked and had fun to make the time pass more quickly.

Headed home because there’s little else to do tonight that doesn’t need a lot of money, plus I’m kinda tired — got home and my roommate is here in his room still, just like when I left, and I keep hearing him coughing in the next room.  When I got in to my bed, though, I was rather irritated to see that ants had descended onto my “clean-up towel” — not into the bottle with a little bit of Bawls soda, not all over the fudge cookies on the bed, but onto the rag I used earlier this afternoon when I was done masturbating.  Even more obnoxious was the roach that scurried out from under the rag when I lifted it up to shake off the ants — and then the recognition again that I’m no more bothered by cockroaches on my things and in my room than an ant or a fly or a bedbug or a moth, because bugs have been part and parcel of my living situation for more than a year, both out in the ‘hood and here in what ought to be a nicer area.

Roaches don’t phase me.  That’s not how it should be.  But that’s what poverty does; I can’t afford to care about gross bugs in my stuff when I don’t know the next time I’ll be doing laundry, and I can’t afford to get worked up about how messy my room is — and it’s absolutely filthy — when my next meal is whatever someone decides to give me.

My leash, the one made specially for me by hand from one of my old roommates, is gone. Missing.  Couple weeks ago when everything turned to shit around here, the last thing I did before running off was to toss it towards the back lawn.  I saw it land on grass, but the next time I went back there, the very next day, it was nowhere in sight.  I’ve looked through the backyard several times since, but there’s no trace.  It it did stay out there, then with the rain today it’s been ruined; if one of my roommates picked it up and did something with it, then it’s even worse off and nobody has said anything about it.  I’m angry that it’s gone, I guess, but I haven’t even bothered to really think about it.  It’s another thing to add to the list of tragedy and trauma that I can’t afford to grieve right now — survival is more important.  Getting out is more important.

A few nights ago, I realized that I was depressed, that I was not safe at home, and I almost walked the streets all night like I had once before… but I remembered my friend J who implored me never to do that again, she nearly ordered me to call her and crash on the couch at her student co-op if I was that bad off again, so I did.

As she met me down the block and we started walking back, I got a call from my roommate.  He essentially accused me of hiding his stash of weed from him, “maybe because you didn’t want somebody to see it when they came by or something.”

“Dude, I’ve barely been home, I’ve been staying away from there as much as possible — and why would I touch your weed, seriously?  I have no idea where it is, and I haven’t touched anything that belongs to you.”

“Well, maybe somebody walked off with it then, do you know if anybody’s been by there at all?”

“Like I just said, I’ve barely been home, and I lock everything when I leave.  Again, I didn’t touch it and I don’t know where it is.”

This was just before midnight, and he seemed pretty upset about it then, but apologized for bothering me and wished me goodnight.  Next morning before 8am, he called again to tell me that he still couldn’t find his marijuana, and that he didn’t know what to do because he owed money to someone else for it, and was supposed to have sold some so that he had enough cash to get to work that day, and that he may as well just kill himself because there was no point to anything.  He then broke into a tearful apology, seemingly for anything and everything that came to mind, telling me that he thought I must have killed myself when I’d tossed my leash in the back yard and walked off, and that he was sure it was all his fault and then — this was the weirdest and scariest part — acknowledged that I’d mentioned before on multiple occasions that I had Benadryl for the rare times I needed medication to help me sleep, but that he’d gotten some prescription Buspirone (Buspar) from someone he knew and would gladly give me some if I wanted because it seemed to be helping him so far when he’d taken it.

There wasn’t time in the call, especially with him getting so weepy and emotional, to mention that I knew full well what Buspar does, since I took the stuff for a decade… and it scares me to know that he’s popping psychiatric drugs like that.  I’m far less concerned about someone smoking pot, or doing any number of recreational drugs (with the exception of meth, but that’s a whole different story) than I am with something cooked up by big pharmaceutical companies.  Just another reason for me to stay out of the house, keep my room closed and locked, and interact as little as possible until I can find another place to live.

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