8/15/99 - Jenny locked me out of my apartment Sunday nite. Well, she thought I
asleep, but I had actually left to go see Run Lola Run. When I got
packing six $.39 cheeseburgers from McDonald's and a full bladder, I
learned that she had put the chain on the door.
So I thought. A lot. It was the first time since I had gotten the boot on last Tuesday night that I was by myself and not completely stoned or getting my car fixed (radiator cap busted Thursday night). So without the soothing powers of herb to guide my thoughts away from the serious and towards the Golden Arches, I had to think about what I'd done and what I'm going to do.
I got fired. The exact who's and why's and when's aren't ever going to be really known by me unless something changes. The legal opinion that I contacted said that if I want to contact the firm, or people with the firm, then nothing is stopping me from doing so, despite the attorney's suggestion that I not do that. But I gotta admit that I'm afraid of what I might find or hear if I do look. And since no one is under any obligation to be truthful with me anyway (and these are lawyers and their minions who we are talking about), who's to say they'll give me the straight shit?
I don't wanna throw up any big explanation of what happened, anyway. Stung took care of that in a remarkably short and succinct manner (I fucking love the word "succinct", even if I don't know how to correctly pronoucne it). But yeah, the "who's idea was what", "who said what to who and when" don't really matter. I'll take my fucking like a good sheep, too dumb and lazy to care about why there is a dick in his ass, even if he deserves it. I gotta admit that part of me does wanna go haywire and put up all the shit that I can remember people told me about the firm and the people who work there and Duc and Akiyo and the rest of em'. Just go fucking insane. But there's no point. It'd only make me feel like a bastard in the long run. And I don't wanna revisit it anymore. People have been advancing different theories on why I got fired and who got me in shit in the first place. Most of those theories revolve around one or two people who's names I gotta admit I'm tired of typing. But I think there's a third choice, and that's the one I'll use to comfort myself with. 'Nuff said.
Nothing is going to happen "here". I mean, nothing. Stark Raving Mad is going to be collecting dustballs for a bit. This journal has meant to much to me and brought me a lot of joy and now suffering. It's been as good as any therapist, that's for damn sure. Anyhow, with no regular computer access (at least none with an editor), I can't update til' I get a 'pooter of my own. And rather than that happening this weekend like I had orignially planned, that's gotten pushed back til' God knows when. Hopefully by October. But no promises.
I do intend to start posting again. Whether it's with Stark Raving Mad, or "Broadcast Intrustion" or "Peril" or "The World's Suckiest Survaillance Job -- Me", or any other lame pseudo-cutting edge journal name I can think of in the next five seconds, I want to come back. The very fact that I have come to a ton of realizations about myself, met people who are cool (or so I tell them, heh), fell in love AND got fired b/c of or partially b/c of this journal, and in such a short time, is really pretty fucking gonzo. Maybe I shouldn't worry so much about my journal, but it's one of the few things that people have told me I'm good at, and now I feel like it's been taken away (or I had it taken away, whatever). But I wanna keep pimpin' my thoughts...
When I first got canned, my two thoughts within the first sixty seconds were for a) Paula and b) this journal. Some of the other thoughts that developed over the next thirty minutes were c) I'm wearing this tie the day I started working here, and my last day here, d) feeling like Pol Pot, e) can't say I'm mad at anyone in particular except myself, f) what have I lost? My job. What else, anything that matters? g) I've watched people here for so long, and now they were watching me, h) Akiyo... i) time to smoke some bowls j) damn, guess I can't see Tamara anymore, and k) gee, August sure got off to a rousing start, huh?
The last comment was added additional fuel when I came home and Jenny told me I had a $500 phone bill from calling "Canada", and that the bill was do next week. Even at $.8 a minute, that's a lot of minutes. So then I had to call Paula and tell her what happened...that's the only time I've gotten really emotionally upset over this. I felt so bad for Paula and what I've done to her -- I got her into this, and then my dumb ass gets fired so that I don't know how steady my contact with her will be, I can't afford, or rather WE can't afford, to keep talking to each other on the phone, and what is my job status going to do to her trip out here in October? I feel like such a careless fool that I hurt her, and she keeps wishing that she can make it better.
The only tears I've shed, or am going to shed over this whole little debacle are b/c of Paula. Fuck the job and all those little people there. "The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you're still a rat." -- Lily Tomlin. I don't wanna be a rat. Little fuckers always unnerved me. Maybe b/c they look too much like oppossums. Jenny and Das have taken up the mantle of me finding any job I can ASAP. Paula and other net comrades and people who I don't normally see have taken up the flag of finding a job I actually like (GASP!). I think Ray is somewhere in the middle. But we'll see about that, huh? Guess whenever I re-start this, they'll be an answer -- does Haole go for the money, the heart, or collect unemployment b/c he loves the welfare state mentality? Shit, now I've got rent and food and a car to worry about taking care of. And I keep thinking of Paula. I'd pull a Dr. Faust and ask Mephistopheles to bring her to me if I could. Damn me and my athiesm!!!
But whatever. I guess I wanna close with somethin' I'm fond of telling people. I know I told Akiyo at least a half-dozen times; We are our own worst enemies. I know that it's true of me. I am my own Ming, my own Dr. Doom, my own Satan. Wherever and however and if-ever (?) I show up next, we'll see who has control of my soul.
I'll still be around, so feel free to write to tell me what a loser I am. I'll be smoking up as often as I can to remind myself of it. (On the plus side -- with no more Duc to stress me out, I quit smoking cigarettes). And keep reading the other journals I list on my index page. I still do.