27.

I'm in a foul ornery mood and my soul feels dirty. Despite Jason treating me like a piece of meat, I do feel fairly well rested. It's early morning and I'm getting hungry and a part of me just wants to go back to that cafe on Eastlake, drink some coffee, eat some cheap food, and be served by that kind girl Trace. It'd be nice to be able to relax, feel her smile, and hear her professional politeness. It'd be nice to feel almost human again. Two days in a row though? Maybe a tad too needy. And I am still lugging around a bunch of shit. It'd be best to put it on hold and just go forward with the housing search. I really need to focus and just get this done. As stressful as it is, I just need to put my head down and push through it. My brain aches and I feel more metal scraping. I cannot spend another night on the street and I definitely cannot spend another dirty night at the Y. The twenty was worth it just to sleep in a bed, but I'm seriously running low on cash. I plunge my fists down into the depths of my pockets and pull out crumpled bills. I count out $137 and quickly shove my ones into one pocket and all the bills in another. I need the ones on hand for booze and snacks. It's so damn hard to focus. I can't stop thinking of robots and Greek sea gods. It's time to find a place to live. Who is going to be willing to live with me though? With my fucking luck I'm most likely going to get shacked up with someone worse than that masturbating naked hippopotamus. Shit, the only person who'd live with me is some pants-shitting, cum-throwing, dry-heaving, moaning bastard that'd make Jason seem like a spoiled dainty proper member of royalty. Oh Jason, I should have smothered you, you fat bastard. I need to quell my homicidal urge and try and focus. Focus, focus, focus. No getting distracted with booze and pills. God, I don't want to do this. I just want it to be done with. Fuck this shit, goddamn it. The only trait I seem to have in abundance is laziness and the only thing I'm good at is procrastination. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It's a dreary day and the sky is black and black and black and gray. The air tastes wet and sordid. I start walking towards the first address scribbled down on my fist. My feet drag with every step, the weight of my own damn laziness weighing me down. I trot on past an Irish pub and my neck jerks like God or the Devil's tugging on my collar. My brain prods at my spirit till it gives in. Someone leads me in by the leash and I promise myself just one drink. Just one drink.