Tag Archives: motivation

Paying For Itself



You’re kidding me, you’re stoned? 

Out of town dinner


My grape soda broke.

I tried to get up and piss out the shattered glass.

But I struggled to get out of bed like a pregnant woman.

No wonder they compare the two pains.

But this isn’t about a hand not wearing a mitt while taking a bun out the oven.

No, this is about a man posing with his hand on his hip like a …

My least favorite suffix is E-R.

Hospitals should run like hotels. Be caring and grant pillow mints, please!

Because, although, I had a reason to be hunched over this time, I’ve been like that on visits. I mean, old people smell funny. Gets me weak and brings me to my knees like a good laugh.

I stopped filling out the application at birthday.

The identifying information reminded me of the time that Gatorade didn’t make me feel like a champion.

That time I was paying myself a visit when I  should’ve been paying my sis-sis-sister one. Grrr.

When I started thinking about the out-of-pocket expenses because I didn’t have insurance, I suddenly began to feel Grrr-eat.

I stood up, shoulders relaxed, back straighten, chest poking out and walked out of there like Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network.

I haven’t had to go back in the 7 months since but if I don’t surround myself with water like a Winklevoss twin I’ll be back before you know it.



If you are a fan of Fight Club and particularly the Raymond K Hessul scene please be sure to subscribe. This is Week 11 of 12 of my YouTube series:

Are You Okay, Annie? 

Based on true story

I was crying in the corner like a child in time-out when someone placed their hand on my shoulder, asking in a high-pitched voice, “Annie, are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?”

“No, I’m not okay!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just fussed at a kid in the clinic. It’s probably gonna cost me my job.”

“What happened?”

“This kid has a special voice disorder, which causes her to repeat stuff.”

“This is what Speech Pathology is all about, Annie.”

“You don’t understand. The thing the kid keeps repeating is “You won’t stay little forever.”


“That’s what my mommy use to always tell me when I was a little girl, before she … before she …”

The tears maybe blinded me from seeing who I was talking to, but they didn’t make me deaf to what they said next.

“Well, Annie, you gotta do something dramatic to make that child repeat something else. Some other sentence. You can do it ! You can do it! You hear? Annie, you can do it!”

I showed the kid Good Ole Betsy, the car I’m living in. All of my things are in there: clothes; shoes; underwear.

Then I showed the kid a physical address, a place where my grandma lived before moving back to New Jersey. An address that’s on my license. A home my job has no clue a soul lives in.

Next I showed the kid a random public restroom, a place I hope no one walks into while I’m taking a wash-up.

Lastly, I showed the kid a 24 hour coffee shop, a place where I read and work on stuff that I’ve been putting off. A place where I fight sleep, something I lacked for the past 2 weeks. I like to think that I’m head-butting sleep as my head bobs forward. Aha!

“What do you got to say now, kid? Does this look like something a child would go through? I wish I was still that little girl, but I’m not, and I’m going through some real trials and tribulations. Some real adult shit! What do you got to say now?”


“Nothing, huh?”

Then as I’m turning away, I hear …

“Your mommy loves you!”

“Who said that?!”

I start looking at other customers in the coffee shop. But it wasn’t them!

“Your mommy loves you!”

It was the kid.

“Whaa-whaa-what are you saying?!”

“Your mommy loves you!”

The little girl took my hand and walked me outside the coffee shop. She points at the sky. I see a shooting star. The little girl is jerking her finger back and forth as if to say, “Follow it.”  Call me cray cray, but I jumped in Betsy. I almost had a few accidents because I was looking at the sky more than the road.

Where is it? Boom! I heard a loud crash! Oh my God! Did it land?! I followed the noise and the long black smoke trail. I didn’t wanna get too close because I knew I would be getting out the car. It conveniently started raining, which extinguished the fire. Side by side, holding hands, me and the little girl walked closer to the crash site, a grassy field, but still kept a safe distance. We waited. And waited.  Then waited some more.

“Your mommy loves you!”

“How did you throw your voice like that? It didn’t sound like you were standing right next to me; sounded like you were a few feet in front of …

The last thing I remembered before the tears blinded me was the little girl excitedly jumping up and down, violently jerking her fingers back and forth, pointing at something … or someone!

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