sick of me, sick of you

6 moths ago I was healthy. Now I have one lung, pneumonia, diabetes, anemia, a hernia so big the docs can’t wait to write it up for the journals. Yesterday I found out my diagram doesn’t work, nor does my esophagus.

So no big deal, it’s my turn now, I been taking care of 3 disabled kids and a mom with Alzheimer’s  for many years. Doctors, procedures, vomit, evil insurance companies are my life. So what’s different about this? You don’t care. I’m a saint when I deal with autism, ID, suicide attempts, etc.  But when I tell you that I can’t breathe and the room is going black you interrupt me to tell me about how your jaguar has a tear in the underside of the seat.

So fuck you, go buy a new one and no I can’t help you pick the color. I have to fill out scores of paperwork so I can get transportation to my doctor’s appointment.

Punk rock retrospect : sex drugs and rock and roll or how to have fun without really dying

1983 I think.

San Francisco

Road trip with the Adolescents and Middle Class.

Highlights:

Tony thought I was taking too many pills. I was.

I was drunk and took my shirt off and was walking around in my bra in the motel room, so what right?  It was a black bra appropriate girl punk slut attire for the time. Someone took a Polaroid. Not a bad looking shot but these were the Adolescents right? And Frankie was a kid and feared for my reputation and destroyed the pic, what a hero.

I said something stupid to someone who repeated it to Mike P. He just made a joke out of it instead of embarrassing  me. Mike doesn’t remember and I love him for that.

I got this postcard.

PS I have some of those Polaroids still.

 

Gertrude was right

But I still find my self looking for it. The there. I’ve looked quite a few places but . . .

Other’s seem to think they have found it. But when they begin to describe it I know they are wrong. Sometimes I think I’ve found it but I am usually wrong as well.

I don’t feel bad about being wrong. It happens a lot. I’m just a person,  persons are known to be wrong quite often.

Even Gertrude. But she had Alice and all that lovely art and talented friends. But still I bet she felt bad sometimes if she made one of those person like mistakes. But I bet she didn’t dwell on it for long. I am trying to be more like Gertrude.

And myself. I’m trying to be more like her too.