I've Got Some Crows To Feed

Boom!

It was the ground beef, on sale for $2.47/lb. that was the culprit. The coconut sugar may have contributed by lowering my blood sugar levels by the time I woke up, but. yikes

I was trying to stay up all Tuesday night into Wednesday morning, so I could go sell my plasma for what I believe would be $50 -their rates change from month to month, almost as if they are trying to find the sweet spot where they can pay the desperately poor people the least, but still get them to return.

I could go back to the Octapharma place in Gretna where I used to go; they would take me in as a new donor (since I haven't been there in like 9 months) and pay me $100 for the first 9 donations. 

I haven't done that because I would have to have a physical done and watch a couple hours of videos intended to introduce the new donor to the whole process and explain how life saving medications are produced from their plasma and how they will be saving lives, and that it is a very safe procedure done in a sterile environment, etc.

I know from experience that any one of the donors in the place may have been up all night smoking crack and drinking and sharing needles with prostitutes that are HIV positive, but knew enough that, to get the $100, they would have to answer "no" to all the questions on the intake survey asking them if they had.

There is a pretty flaming looking homosexual that I've seen donating at the Bullard Road location where I now go (for considerably less than $100 per unit) who wouldn't be there had he not answered "no" on the one question which is something like: Have you had sex with another man in the past 6 months? With all the people collecting unemployment these days, I guess they're a little less picky about their sources.

I almost envy the guy who is having a C.O.P.D attack and is administered medicine made from my plasma -at first, he will just feel pleasantly stoned, and then a trance-like state of mind would creep in and colors he sees would start to become more intense, and music start to sound better. He would find that, when he closed his eyes he could actually see the music, with bass notes becoming long rainbow colored ribbons and cymbal splashes being explosions of fireworks. He would want to play Frisbee with someone as soon as he left the hospital...

Besides the 5 hour ordeal of becoming a new donor, I always wanted to wait until I had enough bus fare to make it back home if anything went wrong. That could be as simple as the money not going on to the debit card they would give me -sometimes it takes a few hours, type of thing...

This (Wednesday) morning I decided to make a big, protein rich, meal of the aforementioned cheap ground beef, by frying a baseball sized chunk of it in a buttered skillet, cracking a couple eggs onto it once the meat was almost done. I then set my alarm for noon and took a nap.

I slept right through the alarm, which must have sounded when the sleep meditation I was listening to was about 5 hours in to its 8 hour length. I might have been having a disturbing dream, in which the alarm blended in -like a sound coming from the PA at an airport that I was running around trying to find the right terminal, while up to my knees in quicksand, type of dream...

A couple hours later there came a knock at the door, which turned out to be from the knuckles of Elizabeth, the lady who has been giving me 24 can packs of food for Harold, along with about a dozen containers of "treats" and some cat toys.

She was returning the book entitled "Boom!" by Tom Brokaw that she had borrowed. She informed me that she is moving out of Sacred Heart in a couple weeks. I was in such a stupor that it was hard for me to even respond appropriately.

I noticed that she had apparently showered and put on clean clothing. I think she might have been hoping to catch me at a better time an be invited in. She has hinted about me moving, along with her, to whatever house she is relocating to where, together, we could live happily ever after along with 4 cats, one of which being Harold.

To this end, she has been inviting me to her apartment for coffee, so her cats could get used to me. I always left there laden with bags of kitty litter, and food, and treats and cat toys.

But, she is the one who asked me, shortly after she started giving me free cat supplies, if Jacob and I were "a couple" (though acknowledging that it was none of her business and that she had nothing against that sort of thing if it were the case). Upon my answering in the negative, she then asked me to think about becoming "more than friends," with her. Though, at that time, we had barely become friends.

So, moving to a house to live with her would mean that there would be no coming back to Sacred Heart and that I would be stuck there, or would have to move back under the wharf. Who knows if my comfy place under there has been taken over by another homeless person. Elizabeth could then peel a rubber mask off her face to reveal an evil, ugly hag underneath and my hell on earth would begin. Some might say that she wouldn't have to peel anything off, but that's a matter of opinion. She is almost 70 years old and a widow.

The most nightmare-ish relationship I've ever been involved in began with the lady bringing gifts to the job I worked at. I was in a little glassed in booth at a gas station, and thus trapped; and it had begun with coffee, then followed by things like a sweater (on one particularly chilly night) and even a brand new acoustic guitar for my birthday. She wound up being a witch, literally (wicka (sp?) books on a shelf, and stuff moving around the house by itself -though the latter might have been by a ghost and not her being a witch).

After I did my best to thank Elizabeth for returning the book, then gave her a hug; because I guess that's what you for to a lady who has given you a lot of free cat supplies (though not a sweater yet) I tried to do so in the most upbeat spirit, but my mind was racing, and "Sacrifice," by Elton John was looping through my brain. 

I went back to sleep, having noticed that I had missed the alarm and that the plasma place trip would have to be pushed back to the next day (translated: as soon as I finish typing this, then do about 40 minutes of Wim Hof's deep breathing exercises).

At about 9 p.m., there was another knock from David Greenwell, who was holding his guitar and who told me that he had been unable to order any picks from the musiciansfriend.com website that I'd told him about.

I told him that he should use the "search" box on their front page and type in "guitar picks." I think some people act helpless just to get attention...

"Oh, OK.." said David, and then walked off, because he could see that I had been asleep, just from the looks of me. 

I couldn't help thinking that he is like one of the ghosts in Dickens "A Christmas Story," -the Ghost of Busking Never Done, as he was showing up right at about the time I would normally be leaving to go to the Lilly Pad; sort of showing up at that time as the symbol of: I guess you're not going out to play tonight; looks like you ate the wrong thing and now you just want to curl up and die. I remember when you used to go out almost every night, and now look at you... 

I couldn't go back to sleep and I found myself suffering from depression and my mind was cycling through scene after scene from the past; every one of them the memory of something I wish I could go back and do differently. It could have been entitled: "Broken Dreams, And, Why You Should See Yourself As A Failure."

I was doing everything I could think of to regain my peace of mind. One of the guided meditations mentions that, if at any point in my life I feel overwhelmed, I could draw a deep breath and return to the idyllic setting that I had conjured up in my imagination. I remembered that, but in my agitated state of mind, it didn't seem possible.

But then I realized that I had that doubt and that "whether you believe you can do something, or that you can't; you are right.."

I managed to trust that the brain fog would clear, and eventually got up and had some orange juice, then crapped out what I hoped was most of the $2.47/lb. ground beef. I mixed some kratom in water in a Mason jar and took that for a walk around the block, after which I felt 50% better.

I was thinking that maybe one of my callings in life is to help other people who might be living on a steady diet of foods that are putting them in a state of despair and self-loathing, just at the biochemical level. Whatever hormone or other chemical is in that cheap beef had the ability to ruin a positive state of mind in me, taking me from being happy to be alive to one where, after I'd mixed up the kratom and was heading out to take the walk, I turned back to look at the door to my apartment ...Did I lock it?...and what I saw was the residence of Daniel McKenna, and thought: Everyone here who walks past that door must hate the guy who lives there, and I don't blame them...

Now, I have made a 90% recovery; as I prepare to take the bus out to the plasma place. I know I should donate the pound or so of ground beef that I have left to the crows that frequent the Sacred Heart parking lot, and I think I will. I hesitate to waste food and had the notion to at least finish eating it. But, I already spent the money on it; there won't be any refund. I can be out the $6.27 that I paid for it and feel like dying, or be out the $6.27 and at least feel good as I see the excitement of the crows as they devour the meat, and hear them caw to their friends: "It's raw ground beef; it's not bad!!"

I hope none of them wake up in a funk, thinking: "I don't even feel like flying around and cawing right now..it sucks being a crow..."

I had been sure that it was the coconut sugar that I had eaten a lot of, stirring it into my coffee and making a hot chocolate concoction by mixing it with powdered cacao, that had given me the same kind of brain fog a few days ago. I had eaten a lot of the ground beef, too, that day. Now I know.

I'll be more patient with people I encounter in the future who are hating life. They may never have known peace of mind because of being brainwashed, through advertisement and peer pressure into thinking that the "standard American diet" is what everyone should eat. And to think I was able to buy the green superfood and mushroom powders at half price at Walmart; reduced for quick sale because nobody was buying it; too busy hating themselves, everyone else and God while they scoff down fast food and poke at their phones...

They need a messiah.

Well, that's all for now; I've got some crows to feed...