I’m broke.
I have a date with G (non-romantic in orientation) for conversation and companionship on Thursday. She’s really fun to be around most of the time. She has an energetic sort of lifestyle that I suppose complements my insular nature that dares to peek out through the curtains from time to time. A kiss is not a contract.
We went to the humane society yesterday and picked out a 4-year-old cat whose name might end up being Sushi. There was a pretty, buxom, black-haired Polish woman working as a volunteer who said, “In Europe, this is cruel,” in response to Mom’s desire to get the cat de-clawed. Apparently the process is basically amputation up to the first knuckles on the front paws. I felt rather embarrassed at Mom’s reaction to the Polish woman.
The thought crossed my mind a few minutes ago that maybe I could generate some easy money by making music again. But I don’t want to monetize art. I view it as a spiritual birthright, and not a commodity. Poor-quality music insults me on various levels. I guess one could say I’m a snob about music, but I hope that’s counter-balanced by me being generous with the good music I can share with people.
Yesterday was my one-year anniversary in Alcoholics Anonymous. I’ve been clean and sober longer than that, but commitment to working the recovery program as outlined by the Big Book, my sponsor, and the meetings (which are pretty much sponsorship free-for-alls with less focus on individual needs) has brought me to a different dimension of existence. The Big Book calls it the fourth dimension of existence, but it was written in I think 1935.
I’m ganna have to miss Revival at my church this week because of my withdrawal symptoms from weaning off of Klonopin, a benzodiazepine I was prescribed about 2 years ago. My current psychiatrist feels it’s not indicated for long-term use, and that I have apparently developed a dependence upon it. I certainly feel very glum while going through the tapering. Things done got so bad white folks gotta raise they own children.
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