Some mothefucker at 24 Hour Shitness stole my backpack out of a locked locker. Can you believe it? I was pretty fucking incredulous, I must say. I think I may have actually talked to the dude briefly and got a real creepy feeling. He was this handsome Latino near where I found my jacket had been ditched, in the corner of the locker room. I didn’t think I’d seen him at Van Ness before.
I started telling people right away, not panicky but you know pissed and kinda horrified. I mean, you rely on your shit, even more when you ain’t got a lot of shit. My backpack had gear I bought when I was a rich designer at Shawmut Bank, before I was this hobbled mess, sinking financially on $854 a month. The $125 backpack contained: My $500 Oliver Peoples glasses, $65 Hlaska wallet, $100 medical cannabis card, 2 $10 Rume nylon shopping bags, $30 bike light, und so weiter to the tune of $750.
I was in such a fucking good mood earlier, too, amazed to be feeling so well after an extremely dark year of physical and mental illness. Okay riding my bike feeling a bit resentful of the adorable gorilla for valid if innocent reasons. Was I not totally grateful? Oh, Divine Punishers who scourge us to glory, we kiss your cruel hand! Shit fuck sucks, but I don’t hold the record on badly-timed misfortunes.
But, the timing always has an impeccable personal touch, doesn’t it, like a traitorous ex-best-friend? I’d just been dealing with giving up the Tramadol my doctor began prescribing 4 years ago, which I’d Sherlock Holmesd was giving me an array of painful gastric issues. I was rough getting used to my old aches and pains, you know by golly they’ve gotten much better over these four days. And, light seems brighter in and outside my mind, there’s more mind and it’s happier. So strange unexpected and welcome. Must be increase in back brain activity after stopping 4 years of almost daily Tramadol.
In truth I wonder if my subconscious induced some of the really crippling symptoms to force me either to a course of action, or to teach me lessons fast through suffering. (If you had only one power with which to drive inarguable and profound good, but that power was incredibly painful for the subject, would you use it?) Maybe the Disability system also forces people to desperate behaviors as they struggle to survive.
That motherfucker who ripped me off put me in such a hellish mood. Poor Jason monkey. We had a yell out that started with him being so kind, offering to get a cash advance to lend me money for a new phone. Actually, I terrified him. I was speaking of how life waits until we are most vulnerable and then slaps us, and I slapped myself hard. IN the moment I was just expressing a sincere, overwhelming frustration. But, I see now how it would have frightened most people to witness it.
Jason can’t help who is: a monkey with a golden heart who sometimes has feelings that hurt so bad he wants to disappear. Oh, Monkey, I know I told you I was strong enough, that we needed to live long enough to reach the sun, die in our ship to save the earth. Jason was not taught to be solicitous, does not bring hot soup when I’m sick. I am sure he would if I were truly flat out. Guess I should be grateful my psycho mom taught me to buckle up and make myself do all my shit even if on death’s door, and if you can, do it for two. Was she a hero or just lonely? You can only avoid becoming a martyr if you’re giving without needing reward.
I just wrote Jason: “You know I love you more than anything, sweet friend. You do your best with the gifts and curses God gave you, just as we all do.
I’m sorry the climax of my crisis happened here. It was so so nice to share smiles with you earlier in the day, Jason. After spending months chipping away at a miserable state of health, I have finally had moments feeling optimistic and grateful. My guard was down for bullshit like my backpack getting stolen, it just knocked me cold. I did some writing and it helped a lot.
Let’s have a nice Sunday – I hope to get to church, I really need it. Gonna stretch now. Hope you are having very nice dreams.”
–E. Cabot, July 14 2012 (Happy Fucking Bastille Day!)