The Divine Mr. M

~I called my SS case worker twice on Monday, but no joy. I stressed all night until a few minutes ago when my money finally hit the bank. I'm not angry with her. Their hours have been cut and with this shut down bullshit they were probably swamped.

h00f I'm fucking burnt to a crisp....

~I'm so fucking exhausted my body hurts. And that is annoying me because I'm just too fucking tired to take care of the two things I wished to take of this evening.

I had decided around 7ish this morning that I wasn't going down to Lancaster to get the coconut oil today. I simply didn't feel up to it. I lay down again around 9ish, but only lay there for an hour or so before I got up again and had some coffee.

We needed a few things from the store, I wanted to return a library book and there are Happy Pills waiting for me at Rite-Aid. I figured I could handle that.

But I also got this thought that the local Indian owned market might have coconut only. They didn't. But I got all ambitious now and said 'fuck it, lets go to Lancaster'. And off I went. [that market is a few blocks down Sierra Highway, which is my main route to Lancaster]

It seems however that Lancaster was having some kind of 'big event' later on and the place was a fucking clusterfuck, streets blocked no directions and all of us milling around side streets. Oy...and hot as fuck, too.

I did get the coconut oil and at a reasonable price. Then I went a few blocked further in to WinCo and did the pick-up shopping for several bucks less than it would have been at Albertson's. [never did drop off the book or pick up my Happy Pills]

Poodled back up here, had some more grub and got back into bed...only to be woken up by a stupid fucking cunt neighbor blasting his fucking cunt music from his tiny piece of shit car. That has left me tired and grumpy...

...and now I'm too fuckin' wrung out to either do the 'oil thing' on Buckethead's foot or finish the last two or three paragraphs of Chapter One of my fanfic novel. I need to take drugs and go back to bed.

Yeah, these are fucking First World Problems, but tell that to my aching shoulders.....

....meanwhile Buckethead is in here bugging me while I try to write this, pawing and mewling. [remember he's a not-fat nineteen pound tomcat] I growl at him, step on him and call him a 'big stupid fuck with a big stupid foot'. He rolls around on the floor in ecstasy.

...we're back.

Details to follow.

~I wrote up a letter 'from Le-Le' to the park manager yesterday giving her the 411 on the sitch here. It included That Woman's snail mail addy and phone number plus a copy of the stipulation. It said 'I don't own this house any more, talk to this bitch,' more or less.

Tomorrow I call Kern Co Tax and find out the Who, How and Where of the same process. We want those fucking taxes off Le-Le's record. Let that fucking cunt pay them.

Except for Le-Le's call to that other park that seems to have some nice rentals, this weekend is largely a write-off in the Moving Dept. The last few months, and especially the last few weeks, badly damaged us both. I suspect I'll only be up for a few hours now, eating, supplementing and medicating, before I lay down again. I can feel how fried I still am.

Goddess Willing, we can get going again tomorrow with some amount of endurance...