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Round 9: I’m Medicated, but Only Just Now

April 11, 2014

As the title suggests I’m currently under the influence of (incredibly legal) drugs. Feels great. Stomach is good, brain is good, body is a little chilly but that’s fine when it’s pushing 100 degrees (Fahrenheit) during the day. Anyway, to business.


I moved out of my apartment prematurely. Lease was up in February and I bailed in December. I probably should have mentioned it sooner. Turns out people get sort of upset when you don’t pay your rent for a few months. Imagine that, right? It’s not that I didn’t want to pay my rent, or that my funds were going to some other noble goal. I just ran out of money. I rented the apartment on a, not quite dishonest but certainly misleading, picture of my savings and income. I had just received my money for school and it was a considerable sum. Large enough that the powers that be let my lack of verifiable income slide. Note to them: not a good idea.

The plan, as I had it figured, would be that being in my own place would solve the problem of my lack of motivation. I’d not want to lose my new home, so I would break from my usual stupor and lethargy to find a job, or two, to keep the roof over my head. Likewise I’d have the space and quietude to focus on my heavy school load of the time. Well, none of that came to pass. As it turns out living alone is horrifying to me. It’s too quiet. It’s lonely. It’s depressing. The last thing someone in my mental state needed was a more depressing environment. It didn’t help my lethargy or make me motivated. All I had made for myself was a quiet place to stew in my emotions with no real distraction from them.

Living with others can be aggravating, especially so on my bad days, but living with people serves as forced interaction. I hate to admit it, but evidence suggests that I need it. I need to be pulled out of my head a couple times a day, even if it’s for something simple like taking out the trash or running up to the gas station to fetch my grandmother (whom I love very much) a soda. When I stay in my head, re: alone, for too long I go to bad places.

I have sort of the opposite problem right now. I moved back in with my grandmother (whom, again, I love very much), but I don’t have my own room, in the traditional sense. I basically have free reign of the primary living room, which is a pretty large space with a very comfy couch to sleep on; everyone basically hangs out in the kitchen/dining room area. Easy access to the bedrooms, I suppose. Also puppies. What I don’t have is privacy. The only door I have is the one that separates inside from outside. I can hear everything going on in the kitchen, dining room, and sun room (a sort of inside backyard patio with giant windows). Oh, and my one uncle’s room since he apparently doesn’t know how to turn the volume on his TV down at all during the day. I wear headphones a lot, even when I’m not listening to anything. This sort of sucks since headphones universally make my ears hurt after a while, but I have to have something to push down the noise or else I’m afraid I’ll go nuts.

The solution is simple. I don’t need to be alone, but I do need to be left alone; at least more often than not. I need a place where only I am for a majority of the time. Not all the time. Only the majority.


As noted, I left my apartment due to lack of funds. I did mention that, right? It so happens that other sorts of people don’t like not being paid for six months at a time. People like my insurance provider and the nice people who hold my bike loan.

For the last, oh, few, months my motorcycle has been uninsured. Which is fine since I haven’t been riding it much or far anyway. The problem is that I hadn’t been making payments on it since November. I had figured that at some point my bike would be repossessed, and that day was this last Sunday, April the sixth, at about one in the afternoon. I got a knock on the door from a nice fellow who asked after me. He presented me with the appropriate paperwork, somewhat wrinkled, and then asked me for the keys to my motorcycle. I obliged, under the condition that I get the goods out from under my seat before he wander off. At this point I found out he had already moved and mounted my bike on his truck bed-thing. I know this is precisely his job, but I couldn’t help feel it a little rude to have done so before announcing himself. I guess people can get upset about having their vehicles taken away, deserved or not, but still.

And so in the space of a few burning footsteps my bike is gone and I am once again reliant on the vehicles and kindness of others to get around.


Janis Joplin’s famous words: “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” I feel the truth in it now. What little I’d worked for I’ve lost. No apartment, no bike, no bank account, tanked credit score, so forth. In a way it does feel good. Sure, I don’t have a vehicle now, but I also don’t have a payment to worry about. No apartment, no payment. Less worry, which is good for my ulcers. Stress does horrible things to my digestive system. I have bills to pay still, and when I can I most certainly will, but I feel better not having to worry about losing anything else of my own. There’s my credit score, yes, but that isn’t really mine, is it? That’s some faceless entity’s opinion of me. I don’t own that.

~ Rao


From → Regular Rounds

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