Big Banks To Hack

I think I'm oppressed. Why is it that I'm only relaxed and free to be funny or slightly witty, if I've had at least one drink?

The things that fly out of my mouth surprise myself sometimes, like it's not even me and then I think, it's just me, feeling natural finally.

I had to work on my laptop and I'm at a bar, having endured some fiascos and this guy asks if I'm off to do my typing and I said, "Yes, I've got big banks to hack."

It's not even funny, but it's sort of an alliteration and sounds nice lyrically. I feel so dampened down here, like my spirit is pulled out from my body like a gunk of hair from the shower drain. So stuck.

And it's not alcoholism because I don't become another person, I only had a drink and yet, I am finally not caring what anyone in Wenatchee thinks. I felt freer to be myself in some other places, but maybe it's my fault for letting things get me down.

Today though, was bizarre and I got no help from community action for housing so as far as I know I'm staying up all night at some all nighter place until tomorrow.

One of my housemates, DUMPED red wine all over my room and belongings. Not to hit the carpet of course, but all over my photo album and a shirt I'd had since
East Coast.

Then I see Michelle Erickson in the Funny Parade which was weird. She really, really, hates me and hates my son too.

I have to go back to the other post of what happened today.