Rambling on

Funny how there's so little time. Even with time spent on money making enterprises, a homeless guy's got all the time in the world, you'd think. It's not so. I am exhausted by the efforts of survival. My thoughts are only of survival, not of marriage or shopping or whatever the average person thinks about. It's hard to explain. My whole day is just taken up this struggle. Valentine's day was a good example.

What a fucking bitch that was. I was on my knees praying for death. Maybe the whole valentine thing did get to me, I don't know. My head was split in two with a headache. I just couldn't unwind. Naturally, I thought of miss perfect Debby and her perfect goddam life and how obnoxious she would be on a day like that. I tried to use my imagination for therapy like I usually do. I imagined sending flowers to where she worked. She would assume they were from her husband and from approval-driven Debby's perspective she would love to have it be seen on how much he supposedly loved her. Then she would open the card and read something she would perceive as completely delusional like "I still love you" and see my name. What a spot she would be in then! She of the perfect life having to publicly explain flowers from a creep! Delicious. But I would feel a lot of guilt doing that so I probably wouldn't even if I could. Probably...

Back to the time thing, it's frustrating I can't just blog all the time. It's like there's x amount of energy to a day and that's what counts, not how much supposed time you have. Energy I don't have. I put a lot of effort into my posts. Most blogs are boring as hell and I hate that. The idea is to share and give something of yourself. Let me have some insight into you. It's amazing how I can be in a quiet spot sometimes and have all sorts of great ideas run through my head. But if I try to make the effort to put them down they disappear. I just wish I could remove that barrier.

The lack of energy I think comes from so much spent on concern for my future and deep depression. If I say I'm depressed, though, morons will jump on that and say, "Aha! He's homeless because he depressed!" No, moron, I'm depressed because I'm homeless. But they want to try and attack the person because, you know, the world is like perfect. They never stop to think I might be normal. I mean, take their home and car and family away from their sorry asses and see how damn happy they are. Somehow, I'm not supposed to need all those things.

I could go on rambling I guess. I always imagine someone on the other side reading all this mess and I hear what they say. It's not necessarily valid, but I hear the voice. I hear what everyone's saying. Even if you think someone is saying nothing, they are saying something. You hear about someone killing another person over a jar of peanut butter or something equally trivial. That's not why they killed them. It happened because someone's life has disintigrated to the point where that was a life and death situation. Arguments like that are not trivial, they are a cry for help. It's just that no one wants to listen. I hear you, though. I hear all you fuckers. I know all the tricks of desperation.

So in closing, the good Padre here will reiterate one of his favorite messages: Peace on the outside is determined by the peace within.