Well I’m in pain and it feels like A number 1 torture medication below the belt. I wanted to publish something to change the topic from the language of hate, that I’m not expert at. I sent out two emails that got ignored, and this hurt my feelings. One of them had me briefly mention a group of people I’m having trouble with, and I worry though I can’t imagine repercussions from my mildness. The other went to a beautiful lady… who apparently isn’t buying my good nature.
It’s been brought to my attention that the internet here is good for freedom of expression. I agree. Where else can you get this kind of stuff, like what I write here? Well I’m up for a while because of this pain. The sensitive area has me bouncing off the walls, and emotionally it puts me through a ringer. I don’t trust this writing. I am suffering. It could be the Mob. It could be the CIA. It could be none of the above.
It could be because I started with my red hat to the JCC. I did not get there before close because of atrocious bus service. I told my bike mechanic that my front light had probably been ripped off (from the front of a bus bike rack.) A glue and clamp weld job held up on my bike frame, as I partially explained to this #2 mechanic. I pulled out the business card of my #1 mechanic, but did not cross two streets to phone him, when this other guy had the lights I like. #1 rebuilt my front wheel when other shops would not. I want to give him business if I can, but not today, I did not.
It could be because I gave my $20 bill cash to Rite Aid. I got change back and gave a $10 bill and a $5 to the mechanic, because has seemed to prefer exact change in the past, as opposed to this $20 bill is good for the underground economy thing. Perhaps we should be a little more Left than spending $20 at Rite Aid – I don’t know.
Perhaps it was because I said “Not tonight” to the Blockbuster manager who asked “Nothing for you tonight?” I said, “Not tonight,” and nothing about the forty emails they’ve sent me that my Visa has expired, and that my queue is empty (because I don’t want to pay their prices for mail service videos.) I had checked out movies for an hour, and used their pisshole too. This restroom was complete with paper clip flush chain. The beautiful blonde in her red prom dress and her black basketball looking dude of a date were probably sent in to frost me, as one of my favorite ex-girl friends now has not one, but two black grandchildren. This is probably a favored means of punishment by the Mafia – black children. This hurts me, my ex, and her daughter.
If you don’t believe me, take a look around.
And maybe by now you don’t like me because you cannot handle the truth.
It is now afternoon and I got some rest. I have arisen with pain. Before I slept I wrote these notes: “Healthcare and gas prices. Precious few bloggers who put up with my comments, as a way to publicize this good guy network.” This was tired lazy attempts to say politicians don’t speak enough about healthcare and gasoline prices. Also, I’ve not done much to publicize this good guy network blog, except comment on a few writers’ blogs. I respect these people. I don’t want to piss them off. But what also happened yesterday was this: On a short bike ride I heard a black woman’s voice yell out “Fag!” and at the time I assumed it was at me. I still think this, and that she maybe did not like my red plastic souvenir baseball hat (that also functions as a bicycle helmet.)
What am I to do with this information? I say publish while I can. I may have to pull this down or edit later. I can blog like crazy, commenting on others blogs if I care to go that avenue. I am in pain. Look if I want to be controversial, I should do a better job of defending my positions. Even if I’m doing the business of fighting evil. But time is short, and if I was going to make one point it is this:
It is the perceived apparent poisoning that goes on around my apartment. I should have taken the landlady’s offer to change the locks. Now I have to move anyway, and because of this complicated issue. Maybe they didn’t like my Imus piece – I’ve got to pick my battles.