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2004-09-24 @ 11:28 p.m.
why I didn't know what the hell to do.


Date: 9/23/04 11:28:17 PM Eastern Daylight Time
From: dailyhoroscope@astrology.com
To: ****@aol.com
Sent from the Internet (Details)
Greetings Witty --

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, September 23:
You're wearing your emotions like a T-shirt at the moment -- and quite ready to peel if off to lend it someone, too. Be sure they're worth it. Your love of the underdog is famous -- but don't let yourself be used.

Now does anyone notice anything? Look closely now. Okay, so I’m wearing my emotions like a T-shirt, what ever the hell that means. And as usual, I’m ready to get naked peel it off and lend it to someone...but...BE SURE THEY’RE WORTH IT..and...DON’T LET YOURSELF BE USED.

Dont'cha think that's kind of a warning? Like if the guy looks like Osama bin Laden, don't loan him your shirt?

Now look at the time it was sent. 9/23/04, 11:28 P.M.

Ummm, shouldn’t the arrival of a horoscope be scheduled somewhat earlier in the day, so as to possibly WARN you of a possible life altering fuck up? I mean this is like Hurricane Frances blowing the roof off some Jeb Bush owned Florida warehouse and finding 1.2 million lost Al Gore votes. Like dudes, the damage is already done.

So I think heads will roll at dailyhoroscope.com. Yup. But only if my horoscope is conducive to world domination that day.

Fortunately my life Thursday, wasn’t adversely affected by the faulty horoscope delivering. No one took advantage of me, except me, but I already knew that I couldn’t trust myself, so that pretty much worked out as planned.

The morning started with “A”s group. I barged in on “A”s morning bowl of cornflakes, arriving early as I always do. Since my brain is so fried from meds, I wondered aloud if I was at the right place at the right time. He said yes, so I tossed my purse on one of his couches and fled to the nearby restroom. I have like the world’s smallest kidney’s and a 15 minute ride from my house, had put me somewhere about 16 minutes from my last trip to the restroom, so I knew I had to make a stop before the group.

And now, when you are on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” and they ask you that life-altering question at the $64,000 level, “How long can wittykitty go between trips to the bathroom?”, you will be able to answer with total confidence and not use any of your lifelines.

Anyways, group started a little slow. I don’t think any of us, except for “A”, is a morning person. And naturally none of us remembered what the homework was from last week. I think its called Selective Memory, as in, we don’t remember, because its too damn hard.

The assignment was we were supposed to take some kind of risk. Now this doesn’t mean climb the outside of the Empire State Building in a leotard or hang glide off the Golden Gate Bridge without meds, it merely means something simple like...for me, talking to someone. So I did tell about my board meeting experience. For hermit witty, that was a pretty big thing.

And what’s funny is, that I totally forgot that I had a freakin’ JOB INTERVIEW. As in the first job interview in like 4 years, as in shortly you might possibly have more than $38. in the bank on September 23, as in you might not have to share cans of Fancy Feast with your cat next Tuesday.

But I guess its all about priorities. Art first, and to hell with financial security and stability.

Oh, and “A” said I was cute at one point. Cute? What was up with that? He must have been having a sugar rush or getting Alzheimer’s or something.

Later in the day I met with the leader of my support group. We were supposed to meet before group, but she never showed up. Grrr! Her and her partner own the house where our group meets and they recently opened a Respit(e). Unfortunately the person who was going to live in an apartment in the house and receive the respit(e) clients decided not to take the job, so now the project is kind of flailing, because neither of them are really willing to go over and spend the night when they have clients. I mean, they have, but they don’t really like it, because they have families.

Enter: awittykitty. A girl with no ties, commitments or family.

My main consideration was the fact that the apartment in the house is only $295/mo. I currently pay $500/mo. and am extremely impoverished. When I moved here last September I thought that my 2 year wait for Section 8 was nearly over. Unfortunately though, I have barely moved on the list. And the list has barely moved because our kind and gentle Republican governor has slashed funding even further for the program. Thanks Gov P. Now will you help buy me some Fancy Feast before I faint from hunger?

Part of the apartment deal though, is that I would have to welcome clients to the house, and be somewhat available to them, telling them where things are and possibly being available for a cup of tea and such.

Me...a welcoming committee? Ack. I am so painfully shy I would probably be afraid to answer the door. And then I’d probably have the urge to yell out, “Nobody’s home” and run out the back door. And something tells me that would be counterproductive for a program like this.

I also looked at the apartment. This is a huge old house. It’s in the ‘hood...as in I could probably play the part of Vanilla Ice and nobody would mind. The original apartment was what they called an efficiency. I have virtually never seen such a small living space. The bedroom is literally only the width of a double bed. The kitchen is just about right for Mini-Me. I was telling my support group person I have a lot of kitchen stuff like Fiestaware and she was kindly offering suggestions like “Well, maybe you can pare it down.”

Like hell I will. I love my Fiestaware!

The bathroom looked like a crackhouse bathroom, as in no mirror (and where would witty be without her all important mirror!!), and the tiles were cracked and buckling.

They were going to offer me a living room area downstairs. Usually the rental didn’t include that. It was fairly large and I stood in there for quite a while, trying to imagine my furniture, including a piano, arranged around the room. Hmmm. It could work. (I’m more of an optimist than my mother gives me credit for). I finally met with “K’ after group and she was trying to convince me how good everything could be. Every time they had a client, money would be knocked off my rent.

I could live with that.

But then I would have all the other stuff. Like having to deal with people. Having strangers in the house where I was living. “K” tried to make my role sound custodial, but I know people coming for a respit(e) might want to talk to someone. And I’m not a talkin’ type. I’m more of a quiet, stuck-up, picture drawing type.

And then there’s also the neighborhood to consider. I think I would be scared at night. I remember when "A" helped get me my first apartment on the East Coast. I was very appreciative at the time, but it was a neighborhood similar to this...Junkies running after your car for money. People congregating for drug deals out in the parking lot at night. I had one guy physically attack my car when I was driving down the street. He just ran up and started pounding on the hood and screaming obscenities at me.

This house is located in a worse neighborhood than that.

But then I think about the LOW rent, and how I would be able to possibly save some money.

And...

And...

And...

Shit. See what poverty does to you? It makes you consider really stupid decisions like living someplace where your car would probably either be vandalized or stolen. Like living in a neighborhood where there are drive-by shootings on a regular basis. Like living in a huge, poorly maintained house that is probably full of faulty wiring that is ready to burst into flames and burn down taking witty and her Fiestaware with it.

Hard to believe I grew up in a house in California which sold for a half a million dollars.

So I told “K” I would think about things. Afterwards I went out to the piano bar and listened to the piano guy play Broadway tunes and Gershwin. The weird Storkman was there again. My mom and her cronies decided to make fun of the guy. And he was such an easy target. It reminded me of junior high school....people making fun of people.

And I really wanted to come to the guy’s rescue...him being the underdog and all, but gee, I just hadn’t read my horoscope yet.

...dammit!

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty

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