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Wednesday, Jun. 30, 2004 / 7:44 p.m. ~The Blessed Little Sunken Heart~ Once again, I didn't win the lottery, again, and again I felt crushed, again. I called the recording, heard the numbers as I studied the ticket in my hand, watched the numbers go by, unread, and my little heart sank. Bless my little sunken heart, all hunkered down as low as it can go. Oh, woe is me, it said as it heard the numbers read by the lady voice on the recording. Oh, woe is I, I is woe, and woe and me, we's woeful sorry and pitiful and sunken low down and sad. Damn it all to hell, I say. 8 people won $175,000, and 15, 15, do you hear me, 15, won $5,000. And I? I and my sunken heart? Nada. Zip, blah, blah, blah. So, the big jackpot rises to $280,000,000.00, and yessir, wow, did I write that correctly?, 'cause look at all those zeroes, can it be right? Eeyore is taking over, I'm channeling the little stuffed donkey with the sad eyes and the constant pessimistic attitude, I'll never win, I'll never find a way out, I'll never this, and that too. Harrumph and stuff. And it rains, and it thunders, then the sky clears a bit, old clouds make way for new ones, and the pavement dries a bit before it happens again, and when the sun comes out between all those clouds, old ones floating off in the breeze, new ones moving in, it's hot then, then it's unbearable and I'm glad for the clouds and the rain, and I think soon it will be September, and Summer will have passed us by, and I, in my Easy Bake Car, my 20-year-old car with no a/c will have made it through, one more time. I didn't perspire once today. It's cold at work lately, so cold it hurts my face, and my hands have to be blown with my own hot air to warm them. Today I worked solid, no breaks, barely stopping to use the bathroom, barely stopping to take a sip of water, or eat a cereal bar so that I would not die. I took a lunch break, came home and ate a Stouffer's Lean Cuisine entree, delightful and such, and then went back and sat all bloated and worked more, non-stop more, until it was time to go, and I notice my hand hurts, my right one, at the wrist, like at some point soon I'll not be able to bend it anymore. That will be that, my hand says. And once home it was the canned food feeding ritual of late since the cat's diagnosis, and instruct to eat only the soft, wet, moist, canned, and I have to guard to make sure the other does not finish it for her, and then that one has overeaten and she regurges it all for me to clean, and then some more, and as I exited my car upon arrival home, lest I forget, I witnessed a fight between a woman and the maintenance man, as she kept telling him he had lost his mind, "You have LOST your MIND!, coming into MY house, and you have LOST your MIND, MY house, LOST, MIND", and they came out, and he seemed to be pushing her, then back in and she him, then back out, like a fucking tango or something. All of this, all of it really, the lottery, the sunken heart, the constant rain, like "Blade Runner", only not so acid-y, nor so constant, but gray and cool, and decidedly not Summer-y, and the "You've LOST your MIND", and the shouting, and the people stopping to see what was going on, and none of us ever finding out, but she must not have wanted him in her apartment to fix her whatever, and then the canned moist soft wet food for the kidney cat and the other one overeating, bingeing and purging, and the cleaning, and the hand that hurts now at the wrist from all the work, and it could be worse, sure, it could, of course, don't you think I know this, but on another day, certain other days? I could have had a small nervous breakdown, I could've come in and cried, I almost did, I thought, "I don't want the drama, I can't deal with her drama", and I looked at the locked door behind me, shut it tight against that, and thought of how she'd said it was her home, it's her home, but there's the rub, it's theirs, she is only renting it... And I as well. And rent is due now, and it will be July now, and I have five days off in a row starting Friday, and I can shift gears, I'm doing it right now, because this isn't even real, and I'm not even here right now. It doesn't need to be $280,000,000.00, I'm happy with a few thousand to help out just a bit. One million is fine. A new job would be okay too. Yes, we know, we know how long I've said it, six years, but it could be worse, always, and I know, we know. Must do something else, now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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