It's the last Monday. Next Monday I'll sleep until noon, and then I'll head over to the unemployment office. Trepidation and relief overlap. Strange. Pardon my fragments today. They feel right to my ears.

Decent pizza delivery last weekend. Superbowl tips are better than average. Slush, salt, and spilled oil stains. Steam rose from the sewer drains, and everybody was speeding. No cops anywhere. Turned down offers of cocaine, booze.

Told the roomie that my commitment to move with him again at the end of the lease is questionable. Gave him the opportunity to convince me that he can contribute financially. His mom won't pay his rent anymore. Good for her, good for him. So he might be thinking of how to convince me. He should know that action will, words won't. But he probably doesn't. He's getting his GED. We're doing that together. I'm overdue. So is he.

More watermelon juice. Chef Boyardee lasagna from the machine. Decaf. I drink a lot of decaf these days, ever since those damned pills fucked up my caffeine processing to the point where a single cup of regular joe sends me to orbit. No effect from sodas, strangely. A small blessing.

This donkey will have to pull a heavy cart this week. I've been assigned all sorts of ridiculous cleanup and reorg in the storage hall. Haphazard results will be displeasing to the eye. My legacy. My references will be gone too, so the disarray will not harm future prospects.

I'm drained. Empty. Not happy, sad, or confused. Just clean, blank. Had a big downer last week, even cried. Since then, autopilot. Nothing to chew on. I've never walked long through the cold. Need footwear, earmuffs.

Hm.
11:56 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm