Sunday, December 2, 2012


Good Morning;'s 5:00 am. on Sunday morning and I can't sleep. Laying here tossing and turning, hoping against hope that my T.D.A.P. benefits will appear on my Independence card each new time I've called starting at Midnight....knowing inside me that if they're not on there now they won't be there at all.
Now sitting up at the desk and looking out the windows with the lights out, staring at the heavy fog that is blocking out everything above the height of the second story windows. Decks in the near foreground fade into the dense gray nothingness and street lamps are reduced to pale pinkish-orange specks of light, while the high rises of the City with their logos, advertising signs, and purple spotlights; and the massive Johns Hopkins Medical Complex festooned with it's necklace of ruby red aircraft warning lights and the bright white diamond spotlights of the Medevac helipads  have all become totally invisible.
Like the damp gray blanket that presses down on the city, appearing suddenly out of nowhere and rapidly cloaking and hiding everything, so has the fog of another depressive episode enveloped me heart, mind, & soul. The building light of Dawn only lessens the blackness with an amorphous light that is everywhere and nowhere at once, changing only from slate to battleship to the paleness of the cold ash of charcoal briquettes. I wander lost within the fuzzy, furry, undefined haze of confusion and doubt that has separated me from logic and reality. The heavy fog both inside and out has me lost and wandering in circles, physically, metaphysically and metaphorically.

Time to make another call to the 1-800 #.... better denial and delusion and hanging on to the tiniest thread of hope, than facing the harsh, 'kicked in the balls' reality that it's going to be January 2nd before the bureaucratic paper trail catches up with it's electronic counterpart.
Resulting in yet another Holiday Season bombarded by hype and devoid of hope.


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