Busking 6
Plasma 45
Saturday night, I didn't even go out to busk, as it was close to 11 PM when I got back to Sacred Heart, thinking that I had be be up "early" enough Sunday to make it to the plasma place before 7 PM. Friday night had only produced 6 dollars, after a late arrival and a short gig.
I wound up making it to the plasma place 13 minutes before they closed.
I probably should have busked because the time dragged after I got home and after I had spent what felt like a long time going through stuff on my computer, I looked to see that it was only about 1 AM; I could have had my usual hour and a half of playing in by then, and made around my average of 30 bucks, and still been up early Sunday afternoon in time for the plasma trip.
But, I had eaten a whole box of Cheerios with honey poured over the top, and then had fried up some ground turkey a couple hours later, and noticed, once again that I had a sinking half-depressed feeling upon waking up.
I wonder if the medical professionals who treat people for "clinical depression" have drawn the correlation between blood sugar levels and depression.
Or is "clinical depression" just one of the go-to ailments used by people trying to defraud the government out of "disability" checks? It's easy to fake "I just feel so sad all the time..." and probably gets the skeezer drugs different than the ones that are prescribed for the other darlings, such as back/neck pain.
Maybe the male skeezer could go the back/neck pain route, and get the free narcotics to go with the monthly check, the wife could be clinically depressed, and then they would be in a good position to support their Attention Deficit Disorder and bi-polar children, factoring the child support checks that might come in from all the biological fathers out there who were ensnared by the female skeezer.
Can you tell I just got off the bus from Gretna, as the only white guy on it, both ways?
When I was getting on the thing, the lady in front of me was having a hard time sliding her dollar into the machine. I offered to exchange it for one of the fresh and crisp ones that I had. This delayed things just long enough for a small-ish thirty something black guy to utter a loud "Escuse me!" as he squeezed his way behind me, claiming in a loud voice that he didn't have time for any of the nonsense that he took it upon himself to assume was going on at the machine.
He then added "Out of my way!!" and kept his mouth running for the entire trip to Gretna about, me.
Yup, he was going to run into me out on the street and do all kinds of violence to me, sometime when I didn't have all my white boy friends around me, he called me a fag, made references to Donald Trump, and was basically the "uneducated, illiterate ignorant nigger" that your mother warned you about.
When the bus stopped on the other side of the river and I got up and walked to the front, the guy, who had not stopped gabbing the whole trip, said: See, he's a punk, look at the way he walking. He was ignorant of the fact that the bus was still coming to a jerky halt, and that was why I was walking that way.
I started riding towards the plasma place and was at an intersection when the bus stopped at the light. I looked to see the guy, with his head turned towards me and his mouth moving, from the same seat.
I must say it was tempting to follow the bus and wait for him to get off somewhere and see how brave he was in a situation where I wasn't the only white guy on a bus carrying fifty passengers.
I would have missed out on the opportunity to get the 45 bucks, had I done that, though.
Some fundamentalist Christians would say that "that" was Satan, trying to tempt me and sabotage my plans.
Plasma 45
Saturday night, I didn't even go out to busk, as it was close to 11 PM when I got back to Sacred Heart, thinking that I had be be up "early" enough Sunday to make it to the plasma place before 7 PM. Friday night had only produced 6 dollars, after a late arrival and a short gig.
I wound up making it to the plasma place 13 minutes before they closed.
I probably should have busked because the time dragged after I got home and after I had spent what felt like a long time going through stuff on my computer, I looked to see that it was only about 1 AM; I could have had my usual hour and a half of playing in by then, and made around my average of 30 bucks, and still been up early Sunday afternoon in time for the plasma trip.
But, I had eaten a whole box of Cheerios with honey poured over the top, and then had fried up some ground turkey a couple hours later, and noticed, once again that I had a sinking half-depressed feeling upon waking up.
I wonder if the medical professionals who treat people for "clinical depression" have drawn the correlation between blood sugar levels and depression.
Or is "clinical depression" just one of the go-to ailments used by people trying to defraud the government out of "disability" checks? It's easy to fake "I just feel so sad all the time..." and probably gets the skeezer drugs different than the ones that are prescribed for the other darlings, such as back/neck pain.
Maybe the male skeezer could go the back/neck pain route, and get the free narcotics to go with the monthly check, the wife could be clinically depressed, and then they would be in a good position to support their Attention Deficit Disorder and bi-polar children, factoring the child support checks that might come in from all the biological fathers out there who were ensnared by the female skeezer.
Can you tell I just got off the bus from Gretna, as the only white guy on it, both ways?
When I was getting on the thing, the lady in front of me was having a hard time sliding her dollar into the machine. I offered to exchange it for one of the fresh and crisp ones that I had. This delayed things just long enough for a small-ish thirty something black guy to utter a loud "Escuse me!" as he squeezed his way behind me, claiming in a loud voice that he didn't have time for any of the nonsense that he took it upon himself to assume was going on at the machine.
He then added "Out of my way!!" and kept his mouth running for the entire trip to Gretna about, me.
Yup, he was going to run into me out on the street and do all kinds of violence to me, sometime when I didn't have all my white boy friends around me, he called me a fag, made references to Donald Trump, and was basically the "uneducated, illiterate ignorant nigger" that your mother warned you about.
When the bus stopped on the other side of the river and I got up and walked to the front, the guy, who had not stopped gabbing the whole trip, said: See, he's a punk, look at the way he walking. He was ignorant of the fact that the bus was still coming to a jerky halt, and that was why I was walking that way.
I started riding towards the plasma place and was at an intersection when the bus stopped at the light. I looked to see the guy, with his head turned towards me and his mouth moving, from the same seat.
I must say it was tempting to follow the bus and wait for him to get off somewhere and see how brave he was in a situation where I wasn't the only white guy on a bus carrying fifty passengers.
I would have missed out on the opportunity to get the 45 bucks, had I done that, though.
Some fundamentalist Christians would say that "that" was Satan, trying to tempt me and sabotage my plans.
Running into a Trump voter in the wild is *never* pleasant.
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