2003-07-25 @ 10:54 p.m.
|Was so manic tonight I had to put the brakes on with a Clonopin. Screeechhh! Your body keeps going even though you're beyond exhaustion. And I drove home under the influence (of clonopin not alcohol. I don't drink). Fortunately it was just a short distance and I didn't run over any citizens or see any flashing lights in my rear view mirror.
I had gone out to a piano bar with my mother. See I told you I lead any exciting life.
I like the music though. Gershwin. Show tunes. New York, New York. And its all basically for the price of a diet coke, which my Mom buys for me. We meet her friends there. Her one girlfriend who is 61, just started dating a man who is my age, 45 and the manager of my mom's apartment complex. That is so icky to me.
I'm sorta mad that granny is taking an available guy off the market for me. I wouldn't necessarily want to date this particular guy. But still. Between Filipino mail order brides and grannies scooping up all the available men, its no wonder I've had to resort to what I've had to resort to. There's nobody left! Sigh.
I may finally be getting help with getting out of this apartment. Talked to my social worker today and we filled out a lengthy application for help from a United Way agency geared towards helping mentally ill people find decent housing and manage their affairs. So hey, it may finally pay off being loopy! I was so happy.
I am also anxiously awaiting a call from Section 8, which helps poor people pay their rent. I signed up with them 25 months ago. They are up to March 2001 and I signed up in June 2001. If only it were as easy as saying I'll be hearing from them in three months, but it just doesn't work that way. Sometimes they'll leap forward a month. Sometimes they'll just stay in the same month for 1-3 months, depending on how many applicants they have. It gets really old after a while. I live on a little over $700 and my rent is $440 + utilities. Not much left for buying cell phones and Gucci handbags, I'll tell ya. So please Section 8 Gods...please work a little bit faster so I can get into a nicer apartment. I grew up in a house overlooking a country club, driving a Mercedes. This poverty thing really sucks the big one.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty