wakeangel

Last week I had a peculiar thing happen to me. I was at the laundry mat doin' my thang when a homeless guy came in to wash his stuff. This guy smelled like he had just smoked an entire carton of ciggerettes in less than an hour. He smelled worse than you could possibly smell after spending an entire night in a smokey bar. Anyway, as I was folding my stuff I started thinking about my life and how I had no family ties here in P-town. Then a terrible thought took hold in my over-active brain. What if I were to snap, walk out my front door and begin wandering the streets babbling to myself. You know, be that crazy guy sitting on some steps somewhere reading Mobey Dick over and over. Or just walking the steets trying to figure it all out. Not realizing that there is nothing to figure out. It just is what it is. Caught in some phsyciatric feed-back loop. Some paranioa induced wormhole. No one would know anything about it until it was much too late. The fear of becoming a homeless person gripped me with such ferocity that I started shaking and then worrying even more that my fear would be forced into reality. What if I had the potential to become insane. What if my entire existance was teetering precariously between sanity and that dark lonely abyss. I guess alot of this has been a manifestation of a deep funk I've been in lately. I've felt, to some degree, paralyzed by it. It seems like with each passing week money gets tighter and the emotional hole I'm in gets a little deeper. My self-esteem is about the size of an ant. This week seemed to be getting better financially until this evening I found out that I had to pay for my hotel room for the show I worked in Seattle last weekend. That was an eight hundred dollar expense that I wasn't expecting. Right now I feel completely fucked.

M