I'm outsider, outside of everything.

Well, yesterday it rose above 25 degrees finally so we all got to go outside and stand in a parking lot. Apparently at 25 degrees or below crazy people will die.

I stood there, my hands in my pockets, looking at the grill of a Toyota while the others desperately sucked on cigarettes like porn stars suck on dick.

It’s weird being told what you can and can’t do, when and when you can’t do it, especially since I am now here voluntarily. I mean, instead of staring at the grill of a Toyota, I could’ve just walked away. My house is like 5 miles from here.

It’s like a job in a lot of ways. You can leave at anytime, but something compels you to stay, something more than just the money. I have never really not had a job. I’m in my 40s and apart from a week here, maybe two weeks there, I have always been employed. Hell, even when I was homeless I had something cooking. A man needs booze, after all, especially a homeless one. People have said to me “I can’t find a job”, which is bullshit, complete and utter. Either your standards are too high or you ain’t really looking. Granted, it may be quite a step down from, say, airline pilot to dishwasher, but it’s one you have to take if you don’t wanna be a fucking bum.

Men work. Quit whining and get off your ass. Channel your inner immigrant.

Standing there, I thought about all the weirdness I have been through over the years….homelessness, jail, blood, guts, bats, booze, the nightmare of always having a shit job because I’m not an airline pilot, trying to play the goddamn banjo and failing miserably, pot farming, pretending to be a psychic for fifty grand a year….and I realized I was glad that now here was this new weirdness. Finally. Maybe this is what I really need: new weirdness.

No wonder I am in a mental hospital. I mean, come on. It’s so obvious.