Day 1752

Baby steps.

Made it through another week, still have a roof over my head. Still sucks feeling like I'm not contributing. Of course this disregards 20+ years of going solo, paying each fucking bill unassisted. Worst-not even a thank you, rather, It feels It has the right to shit on me because It has FEELINGS. Really makes a guy feel good. So, what to do? Get what you need elsewhere. Couldn't run yesterday-too fucking cold, so got my affairs in order, at least guaranteeing another month of domesticity.

Now, remember, It FREAKS if I move an item in the cabinet? My shit in the den was moved around so It could get Its precious chaise lounge to tan. Yes, you read correctly. A cancer survivor, tanning. a SKIN cancer survivor, tanning. Much less moving my shit. So what have we learned?

It can do whatever It chooses, but the rest of us (me) must do Its bidding.

Fuck me.

Manana, the NYC Half. Considering what I live with, why the FUCK should I rush? It really IS the only peace I get.

Really burns me that I actually was...what's the word...DEDICATED. Haven't called in since 1990, can't remember a vacation, never late. And my thanks? Told to fall ion my sword. If I hadda do it all over again, I would do EXACTLY the same. I must live up to my own standards, nothing less.