April 30, 2019

My roommate passed away this week+/.  He didn’t live here for very long.  I felt sorry for him as I do my new roommate.  He screamed day and night.  My great boss moved him and gave me my “wife.”  He still has to marry us.  I cheat on her.  My agency is growing.  Sadly, consumers will pass on as I will one day.  As we grow, more consumers with mental problems will come into our agency only to live for a short time at no fault of our company.  It’s a business.  My great manager has lost two consumers in six months.  It’s hard, but this is going to happen as we become bigger.  She asked me if I was going to die.  No, I’m too busy.  Life is good.  Except for a girlfriend, but I’m working on that.  So, we will need a divorce soon, Tim.  If she doesn’t eat all of my food.  You owe me sweet rolls  and peanut butter!  I’m writing a screen play about her.  New York and Los Angeles one day.  No, I’m dying, Beth.  You are stuck with my ass as is, Tim. When I do pass away, it is my wish that Integrity establishes a medical house for talented physically disabled consumers with spaces to work.  No mentally incompetent consumers are allowed.  A house with two rooms for each consumer.  I want to leave a legacy. This is a part of it.  Please don’t be mad at me. Oh well, you will have to sit through a six hour memorial service with creative people talking about writing.  You will fall asleep.  Then you are eating Packers cake with wine.  Sorry, Beth.  I will always have the last word.  That’s your author.  Right, Tim?  Go Brewers!

Let her

April 22, 2019

Another manuscript is being edited by an editor now.  In June it will go to my agent.  The office is a man cave now with a mini refrigerator and a big screen TV.  It needs a microwave and a girlfriend.  That’s coming sometime, like New York.  It will happen if my roommate, who is bipolar doesn’t drive me crazy.  At least she can’t steal my food anymore.  The next writing project is a screen play about this house and her.  She is too good pass up.  The manager has decided to take away all of her treats and ice cream since she has gained weight.  So, it will be hell again.  For what?  Her life has been over years ago.  She was an alcoholic.  She will die alone like most people in group homes.  Let her eat and be hating.  She’s dying anyway.  Why prolong it?  The author just keeps writing.

The days

April 16, 2019

“I have a lot of friends,” my roommate says all day.  “And Steve is my best friend,” she says all of the time.  She doesn’t go anywhere.  No one visits her, including her brother.  “My brother is the greatest,” she tells everyone.  He doesn’t even call to check on her.  She babbles about the past until she calls the staff or my autism roommate “nigger.”  All that she cares about is ice cream, cigarettes, and me.  I see friends every few days or I email them.   When I lived with my Mom, I was isolated.  Going downtown was a rarity.  Now I live on State Street.  Life is good.  If I become mentally incompetent, I want to die.

Writers and authors inspire me by how they open up.  The CP disappears.  Authors take better care of me than my care agency does giving me water, feeding me, and helping me use the bathroom.  Simple acts of kindness mean a lot.  My agency won’t support me in going to the conference in the future.  That’s funny since I didn’t eat supper on Saturday evening.  I didn’t care.  My mind was being fed by writers.  In fact I had a four star general take me to the bathroom.  My modesty is gone.  I do what I have to do. I go without things like clean clothes and food sometimes.  The agency keeps growing while losing their ability to provide accurate care.  Behavior clients are always going to the hospital for taking out a feeding tube.  A communication device is not important when I have to fight for what I need.  Somehow I managed.  I’m not complaining I’m just stating fact.  I’m getting there.  That’s what matters.