No More...

Every time I think I honestly can't stand up under any more pressure, it just keeps getting worse and worse.  Like Dr. Curry, I don't know where to go with myself... I don't know what to do about me...
In the past when things got too tight, I packed up my toys and left the state.   Sometimes, I'd just hitch around for weeks doing nothing but moving - keeping moving kept me from thinking, and that was enough.  I can't do that now because I'm too ill and require both medication and machinery to keep my scabby ass alive.  I'm stuck.  I'm trapped.  I fell on my Fate and I can't get up...

Mary Ellen and Paul want me to move down to Arkansas with them and their four Siamese cats - Belle, Buddy, Jasmine and (I swear) Turdblossom.  It is a sweet gesture, but I don't know how to tell her that living in Arkansas is a bit like willingly moving into Purgatory, and that I couldn't stand living with four felines who are as spoiled as hers.  (In her last email she writes that Turdblossom, who likes to sleep on her head, got testy when she moved in the night and disturbed her.  She wrote, "He struck - like a rattlesnake - and bit me in the middle of my forehead."  She laughed about it.  I would have introduced Turdblossom to my friend, the ball peen hammer...)

I've been through Arkansas a few times.  There was never any option but to keep moving...

I'm so depressed.  The high of getting out of the hospital has disappeared - helped by Gerry taking a bad fall and hurting himself while I was napping - and I'm left with a future I just can't draw much hope from.

Fuck it all forever...