Dichotomy of me

Damn, is 2:15 a.m and I was going to say that I was bored as hell but not really, I just spend the last 3 hours writing a short story. Later on I started thinking, which is rare for me I just do it once in a blue moon.

I should have done a bunch of things this month, that includes shitty jobs, see the social security gal that advises me in my economical situation and what type of helps the government is throwing away to people like me, getting pissed drunk and having sex with some random chick, have to pay the bills for my attorney and the the court fees so now I´m broke again. I was going to move to a bedroom in a house with two other people next month and that wont be since I have a broken ankle and have to take some pain medicine, keep the leg up and then stick a needle that is suppose to not let the blood clutter since I´m not moving, plus 10 of those needles for ten days just cost me today 50 euros, and I have to inject it for 6 weeks it´s what the doctors said that I should be with the cast and moving as little as possible. Then I have my two parents who are sick, and me…damn again.

I would like to write some sad story as I see in other blogs, or some sorry words, or some profound thing about life and mortality or some thing like that. And I have been closer to mortality than probably most of the population on several occasions and I just can´t say anything like that. I feel like laughing at the whole situation. You had to see me on crutches walking down to the garden and feeding the two dogs, freaking bastards. Then up and down the stairs again to get ice for the foot, and since I see that both of my parents are getting worst I finally told my mother to go get some sleep that I could manage the meal. That was a joke to see me bumping into things, though the spaghetti came out quite nice. Try to do all those things with just one leg, plus grabbing the plates, e.t.c. Plus the pain, I had to laugh at my situation.

Why dichotomy of me, because I´m terrible at regular day to day things, most of the time anyways. Then my drinking problem.  But when the proverbial shit hits the fan drinking and party goes out the window,then take  care of two people while you are on crutches and in pain and take care of yourself, but the last thing that crosses my mind is to feel sorry for myself, and I have absolutely no sentiments towards me or my feelings. I know I have to do A B and then C. Whatever it takes, but it has to be done. And I do it. Which is why I have always said that I go in what I call my “robotic mode”. Crying or getting anxious in this moment because of health situations of my parents is not going to solve a thing, so that´s discarded and let alone me with the freaking pain and crutches stumbling around the house and garden and later on this next week I´ll have to go to the doc and eventually see the social security worker. And it is quite tiresome walking with one leg on crutches and specially with my own health having sever pancreatitis that has left me very weak since I do not take as much care of myself as I should. But, when situations like these come at me….hell, I don´t know what happens to me but I´m great at reacting and solving the problems at hand.

Just a 2 a.m thought.

The waiting game.(poem)


                                           You´re the bait.


                                   Getting tired of trying it.


                                   You gotta keep doing so.


                                  I only want to say screwby!


                                  I want to get by.

                                  I want to say by by.

                                  To the hospital so I don´t cry.


                             Don´t know they came and went there.


                             The doctors damn it!

                               What´s up with them?

                               Still waiting for the to give me the freaking papers to sign them.

                               And then what? Yesterday 25 March was told  I was good for them to release me then.

P.S. Is this even considered a poem? It is under the category called “Strange Poems” tough…. I think I actually lived up to my expectations.

Stay Forsty gents and gentesses.

A woman called Clemencia.

The priest came running out of his office sweat pouring from every pour of his thin body starvation was hitting every person of catholic belief. Starvation of liberty. He just received  an unexpected phone call, no matter how much he prayed to his dear God his prayers went unanswered and he was starting to doubt his own faith the world was swirling all around the Catholic Church debris hitting her like a human being hit by a hurricane so frail compared to the outside forces. They would not survive for long. The priest entered the Bishop´s office.

“What´s the matter? Compose your self.”

The priest finally caught his breath, “The archbishop of Boston has been killed.”

“It´s the second fatality we have had in less than a year, are my suspicions correct when I state that they are the same people who killed our bishop in San Francisco.”

“There is no doubt.”

“O.k, you go with the congregation, they are looking up to you and God for support. Reassure them that God will amend all these atrocities, we will survive, the church will survive. Go on and God be with you.” The priest nodded and took off to pas mass for his followers.

The bishop stood for a minute staring at the brown wall ahead of him, so empty of photographs or paintings, just as empty as his thoughts. The thought´s that had also been stolen like the pictures and photographs that had once been on the wall a year ago. They had full power now although it had taken them years to achieve this they where now on top and it seemed that no line was too red to be crossed. Here he was in the twenty first century and his thoughts retrieved to 708 when Islamist invaded and decided to wreak havoc among the christian population of the Iberian peninsula. He reached for the phone and called the Vatican. They gave him the go ahead.

She was sitting on a black chair standing out like an elephant in a room with her white nursing uniform, but she had been in that chair in that office for over two years and people had gotten use to see her. She actually was part of a greater campaign to have the people who didn´t live in the house appreciate even more the owner of the house. She could sense the stares that some of the people working there would throw at her and the nice phony conversations they would share with her thinking she was just another stupid prop they had to use to get the outside people keep on liking the inside man. She was there for a purpose, when God will call on her she would use her skill to do what HE needed her to do. She knew every single room every single closet and what where inside those closets her situation awareness and hearing where amplified. She was the only one who could administer the shot of morphine every day to the inside man. That was the only thing he wanted her to do, she had accepted with the condition she could bring with her her dog a picture perfect beige labrador-retriever,who wasn´t camera shy and very photogenic which suited fine the hole image of the the beautiful white house she was working in.

The dog stood up and started liking her right palm. “I know honey, I know it hurts, but the time has come.”

It had been in the making for years. The Pope had designated her, she had a unique ability that God had given her, compassion and the gift of not being able to see. Being born blind never stopped her from accomplishing when at a very early age she heard the calling from God of what her destiny and purpose in the world would be. She  graduated with honours from Harvard walking out with a nursing degree. Her not being able to see never got in the way of being the best. When the inside man stood in front of the house giving a speech about universal healthcare and the right of a woman to choose, but at the same time proving to the world he was respectful of everyone. He would point out at her, Clemencia. The dark hair hispanic christian nun who had graduated with honours from Harvard like he had he said jokingly except he said she was the precious jewel of the american people. Then jokingly added, “She´s the one who keeps me going every morning, literally.” People could see her disability and at the same time see the heart of the man they had entrusted their country to move in the right direction. It was perfect for him, his numbers at the polls had been declining week after week and scandal after scandal was hitting the house. She was in effect, his precious jewel.

The time had come, the microchip implanted on her labrador-retriever more than three years ago had finally given the signal so she stood up with the dog and walked towards the east wing of the house passing by ten secret agents before she reached the door. She knocked.

“Come in Clemencia.” The deep voice called out.

“How are you feeling today sir?”

“I will be better now, that´s for sure.”

She could smell the the distinct damp odour of the musallah as the president stood up from it after being on his knees for his six minutes of prayer. Since he was in the United States he had to face east-north and that way he would face Mecca. This meant a five minute fast walk from the west wing. But he too was on a mission from another God.

“Well, how was your day Clemencia?”

“It has been fine, the dog seems a little hungry.”

“Ooo, cute dog we´ll get you some stake after my shot, best in the free world.”

She administered the shot into his rear end. “I didn´t even feel it.”

“I´m glad Mr. President, you will feel another thing in a couple of seconds.”


“My name is Clemencia Mr.President and it translate to clemency in english, which is what I´m giving you for your faults.”

The next day the nation mourned.