I'm sitting here in a beige painted basement of a homeless shelter. Computer and internet access in a shelter is pretty good, some places are not so well equipped. Above, the next floor up there was a community dancing class in a large room that is part of the building and I could hear 70's music and glimpsed middle aged people dancing.
Today, I spent a few hours at an employment office and managed to fax off application materials for three jobs that I would find pretty boring to do but would be lucky to get.
Walking down here to the computer terminal, I had the thought to myself "If I didn't have my mother in my life I would have nobody". My mother says things to me though that make my heart feel like a twisted dish towel.
Since the economy isn't too great in the place where I am, as a solution I think about trying to save money to take a train somewhere else. It's rather odd that I have gotten to this point in my life because prior to this I had modestly saved a good amount of money and at one point I could have made mortgage payments. I have to state that to justify myself. Oh well.
One of the women here in the shelter made some pasta for everyone. I'm usually cautious about food from mysterious origins and I like to over see preparation methods so I can decide if I should eat it or not...but tonight I just ate it.
Tomorrow I have to go to my mother's house where she has some of my belongings. It's an opportunity for her to squeeze the life out of me a little more, to accuse me of being a bad person. More of the same ol' same ol', so I will just stay focused and look forward to Saturday night when it's over with and I will figure out something to do.
I think I'm heading to read and sleep. Goodnight.
My mother actually confuses homeless shelter and hotel or college dorm in her vocabulary. It's all the same to her in her weird mind. Not only that but she is obsessed with her dog's pooping. I've written about that here before, there is just no cleansing my ears after time spent listening to her talk about her dogs poop and her own bowel movements. Oh well. I don't have any new complaints of her because the pattern has become so routine. The last argument that I was drawn into with her I realized how she had initiated the conversation and then accused me of being quarrelsome. Oh well again. I think I'm too tired. At some point it has all been written about.
g' Night it's getting late I need to scurry.