Blood

Today I traveled to Daughters of Charity for my second Hepatitis Shot. Apparently Georgia thinks that coming from Louisiana I may be ridden with every possible disease known to man.

For all I know they have it right. Walking barefoot down canal at 3 am on a Saturday night, contracting cuts on the bottom of my feet that turn into large purple welts that don't heal for weeks, probably constitutes a real reason for inoculation.

I spent twenty minutes waiting on a nurse to decide that what I told her was right. Too tired to describe the whole issue here but when I got home my pants were covered in blood. So I suppose everyone in the waiting room and everyone anywhere saw that. And I wasn't even embarrassed. That may be a luxury I miss when I leave New Orleans. The "no one gives a fuck" luxury.

I came home and thought about all the things I have to do this month. Decide if I want to pay rent. Decide when to move with no money. Decide what to do with my things. I'm of the opinion someone can have most of everything. It's not worth the hassle.

My boss is fazing me out of my job. It's just as well...she's toxic. I wonder how I got to this point, at 32 years old, where moving with no money to a town with no home from a job that is toxic to a possible homeless state seems is a decision I have made. I wonder that others don't live this matter-of-factly with as little panic about such a state as I live in. I see others my age on my Facebook with careers and families and mortgages and it doesn't faze me that I'm not at that point. I just wonder in an objective sort of way, looking into my life, that I don't panic more. I wonder if I'm completely sane. The answer is obvious though, I wouldn't know anyway so why worry about it.