There's a thunderstorm going on. I love thunderstorms, and missed them when I lived in Portland. At least that's one good thing about having to move back here AGAIN . . .
Since I'm being watched, I'll be brief and say: Things ARE going well. I settled the money issue in an unpleasant but necessarily expedient way: I bounced a check. By the time anyone finds out, I'll have saved up enough to ACTUALLY pay. It sucks, and I'm embarrassed, but it bought me the time I needed to fix the mess I'd made of my ALMOST stable life.
I'm volunteering at a political organization, and they've asked me to contribute to their blog. I'm excited, and nervous. I wish to have my voice heard, and certainly wish to write one day for a living, but now that I have an opportunity to TRY . . . well, I'm so sure I'll fail I fear putting pen to paper. Of course, it's all moot until such time as I get internet access at my apartment . . .
Life is really going OK, and I can't deal with it. I'm FINDING ways to fuck myself up, to continue to have the pathetic, screwed-up existence I'm familiar and comfortable with. If I could just find a way to quarantine those self-destructive impulses, let them have free-reign over just a small section of my life, maybe my life will amount to something in the short time I have left on this blue-green ball floating through space . . .
I don't know. I can't think clearly, knowing people I don't want to admit these things to are sitting in the next room and might wander by.
I'll update as I can. Peace, kats and kittens, and enjoy the storm . . .