eah could be heard accidentally breaking a full length mirror in the hall as I woke up this afternoon. For her it was no biggie. Her luck must be bad perpetually, as much as she and Matthew Hart break things for the sheer hell of it (especially when drunk, but that wasn't the case today). Still, her luck looks pretty damn good beside Zach's.
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But every fool knows that LSD isn't detectable by any urinalysis that a local government can afford.
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But you know, it wasn't even Leah who broke the mirror. It turns out that maybe it was Zach. Certainly no apologies were made. But Zach's luck has made a turn for the better. Today he was finally sentenced for his LSD possession indictment of a year ago. In case you don't recall what happened, basically he had 30 hits of LSD in his cigarette pack when the car he was in, then being driven badly by a drunk Josh Smith, was pulled over by a cop on the Tidewater of Virginia. We'd feared he'd get a serious multi-year prison sentence, but over the ensuing months, the severity of the crime diminished in the eyes of the law. Especially as they realized the obvious truth that though Zachary may be a unemployable space-cadet and all around burden to society, he's not exactly an egregious drug kingpin. The sentence is this: a five year suspended sentence, with two years of supervised probation (complete with drug tests) and a $200 fine. The judge assured Zachary that the shit was going down if any LSD was ever detected in his urine. But every fool knows that LSD isn't detectable by any urinalysis that a local government can afford. I'm sure LSD will grow to be Zach's drug of choice now that he can't smoke pot.
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We are mostly concerned that the comfort we've provided them has allowed them to become delusional.
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atthew Hart, Leah, Deya, Monster Boy and I have been putting it off for too long, but we've all agreed that we need to give Peggy (and Zach) two weeks notice that they must find a new place to live. We are mostly concerned that the comfort we've provided them has allowed them to become delusional. Peggy doesn't work, and Zach earns maybe 60 dollars each week (he spends at least that on alcohol alone). They aren't making serious efforts at planning for their future baby. They need a house where a newborn can live, and they appear to have concluded that one will simply drop into their laps as if brought by an enormous stork. Every afternoon Matthew proclaims "this is the day." His boss at the C&O asks him daily if he's done the deed. And Jessika urges eviction by email. But no one has the heart to say a thing. I can't even look Peggy in the eye anymore. The spectre of having to kick her out poisons my relationship with her. To hang out with her or have conversations would be like befriending a farm animal that is going to slaughter. Today Leah said she'd broach the issue tonight. She may have at some point during my pre-work nap, but I have my doubts.
I struggled more with an errant PS/2. It behaves like an irritating Virgo, complaining and whining and absolutely refusing to get past a certain point when I use the supposedly correct reference disk. It demands a missing file named something like PFEFF.ADF, but I have no idea where to find such a file. The IBM reference disk archive is vast. Whoever designed the PS/2 must have lived in a simple world where all the disks anyone would ever need were available on a shelf nearby.
I also helped Zachary with a bicycle. I take for granted my knowledge about all gizmos. The others are helpless without me.
heresa came by again with Jesse and Jasio. She alternated between the following activities: public displays of affection with Jesse, smoking crappy marijuana, and using a handmade tattoo gun to touch up a huge tattoo on her upper right thigh. I've been finding her to be an aggravation lately, but not nearly so bad as Steve Weiner.
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He and the other inherently selfish smokers have made our front yard into a disgusting ashtray.
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Steve called repeatedly throughout the day. We usually stop answering the phone after we can't take it anymore. At such times, he renders our phone useless. My tolerance for gratuitous irritating behaviour is pretty low these days and Steve's phone conduct is enough to make me want to tell him off once and for all. Matthew is more philosphical, and he speaks of maybe getting caller ID or a block on calls from Steve's phone.
In the evening Steve took a cab over to our house and spent all his time on our porch filling our neighborhood with cigarette smoke, much of it coming from smouldering half-finished cigarettes he tossed into the yard. He and the other inherently selfish smokers have made our front yard into a disgusting ashtray.
You'd think with all the negative consequences of Steve being our friend, there'd be some compensation. But there isn't any. Today I foolishly decided I owed it to him to actually hang out on the porch and talk to him. But all he did was make lude remarks about my sex history with Jenfariello and then goad me about my history of real and imagined sexual desire for Jessika. The experience was so disturbing that I fled to my room. I hate Steve. If he was killed by a car or one too many cigarettes, I'd make all the right noises to my friends, but in truth I'd be happy.
I went with Matthew Hart to Fresh Fields on a mission to pick up Leah after work. It turned into a shopping excursion. I replenished my ramen stores, which were wiped out by anonymous hungry housemates. Matthew made Leah, himself and me some dinner and left a small amount to be divided by anyone else. Such selfish measures are necessary in this environment of hungry semi-employed poverty-stricken gluttons. When Monster Boy and Deya start getting paychecks and when Zach and Peggy leave, our house will stop resembling a soup kitchen quite so much.
I was feeling mildly depressed today. I'm tired of all my friends being either disgusting, uneducated, juvenile or stupid. I feel like there are too many things that are missing from my social life. But I also feel trapped by my present condition.
