We got a baby sitter! I know this happened two days ago but it is a big a event so I have to mention it. I have been worried about this since I was pregnant. Who is going look after baby? How much are they going to charge to look after baby? Am I going to be able afford someone to look after baby? How much is to much? And then Felix came along early and fragile and scary so new questions were asked. What is the best thing for Felix? Some come to the house? Bring him to some ones house? Day care Center? Who is going to do this? How do I make sure they don't duck tape his mouth shut when he doesn't stop crying? Or shake him, good lord please don't let them shake him.
So Charite came over the other night. She picked up Felix and he immediatly started smiling and laughing. She found his tickle spot. So is she going to tickle him all day long you ask. That would be fine as long as she feeds him and does not shake him.
Charite is a good friend of Ralphs aunt. She is an older Haitian lady who speaks little English. Maybe she can teach me Creole
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Brown bag
Ok, today was a good day. Finally something good happened after a long string of misery and dissappointment.
I was walking down Wycoff coming up on Myrtle when I step on one of many pieces of trash on this trash filled street. It was a brown bag. I looked down at the piece of trash, it said Met foods on it. Grocery stores still give you the option of brown bag? I thought everything is now platastic. This for some reason compelled me to pick the brown bag up. A piece of trash is a piece of trash is a piece of trash, and this street was covered in trash. But like I said something compelled me to this piece of trash. So I picked up the brown bag to see what was in it. It was full of something. I opened it up and saw a balled up newspaper. Todays? I pulled the news paper out, underneith was green, green, green and more green. It was a bag full of crumpled up 100 dollar bills. Holy fuckin Shit! Of course I looked around to see if anyone had seen me pick up the bag and was getting ready to put a bullet in the back of my head. No one, every around me was contrating on their babies, ice cream cones or cell phones. So I opened my backpack to shove the bag in.
Later at home I count out the wads of 100's. Can you believe it? $9700? Any idea's what I should do with the money?
I was walking down Wycoff coming up on Myrtle when I step on one of many pieces of trash on this trash filled street. It was a brown bag. I looked down at the piece of trash, it said Met foods on it. Grocery stores still give you the option of brown bag? I thought everything is now platastic. This for some reason compelled me to pick the brown bag up. A piece of trash is a piece of trash is a piece of trash, and this street was covered in trash. But like I said something compelled me to this piece of trash. So I picked up the brown bag to see what was in it. It was full of something. I opened it up and saw a balled up newspaper. Todays? I pulled the news paper out, underneith was green, green, green and more green. It was a bag full of crumpled up 100 dollar bills. Holy fuckin Shit! Of course I looked around to see if anyone had seen me pick up the bag and was getting ready to put a bullet in the back of my head. No one, every around me was contrating on their babies, ice cream cones or cell phones. So I opened my backpack to shove the bag in.
Later at home I count out the wads of 100's. Can you believe it? $9700? Any idea's what I should do with the money?
Saturday, June 24, 2006
down pour
Well reading my last blog entry I notice not necessarily the grammatical errors but the words left out and the lack of making sense. Can these problems be solved with editing? Let us try to edit this one before I send it out.
I sit here in the same position as last time we met. On the couch, Felix asleep in the other room, though this time it is in the AM not the PM, Ralph is sleeping off his hang over and rain is pissing onto Flatbush avenue with incredulous force, Even though I have not spoken to any one yet today I have not managed to encounter drama. I got a voicemail message from James, the man I married so he could stay in the country. He wanted the letter the I recently received indicating our interview date. I don't know where that bejesused thang went. I searched and searched every pile of random paper in my small apartment and could not find it. James called back four times and rang the door bell twice. I avoided it all.
I have to find that freaking piece of paper. It has to be somewhere. I hate James. He is just a first class knucklehead. When I told him I had a baby he said he and his girlfriend are thinking about kids. He is not. That's a lie. He probably doesn't even have a girlfriend. You know when you just know some one is lying?
I sit here in the same position as last time we met. On the couch, Felix asleep in the other room, though this time it is in the AM not the PM, Ralph is sleeping off his hang over and rain is pissing onto Flatbush avenue with incredulous force, Even though I have not spoken to any one yet today I have not managed to encounter drama. I got a voicemail message from James, the man I married so he could stay in the country. He wanted the letter the I recently received indicating our interview date. I don't know where that bejesused thang went. I searched and searched every pile of random paper in my small apartment and could not find it. James called back four times and rang the door bell twice. I avoided it all.
I have to find that freaking piece of paper. It has to be somewhere. I hate James. He is just a first class knucklehead. When I told him I had a baby he said he and his girlfriend are thinking about kids. He is not. That's a lie. He probably doesn't even have a girlfriend. You know when you just know some one is lying?
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Today
Well, i have to get back in the swing of this blog. I sit here, on my couch surrounding by this oppresive humidity, the consistant instrusive music from the Wing Wagoneers wagons pulsing up towards my window, Felix is finally asleep in the other room, nearly naked and devouring his fingers. I think about how I really have trouble finding something to say though someone told me yesterday that my compulsive need for detail in my relating a story or occurance is a symptom of the chaos that has occured in the past.
The last day or two I have really intraspective. I cannot believe that at that age I am I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I am stuck in this vicious world of social service and I can not move. I keep trying and trying to find another job but strangly I am looking at the same job and something is keeping me where I am. I am searching to get paid for what juices me. What I am doing, working as a foster care social worker does not juice me. It is so stale it makes me want to cry. I cant catch up. I cant do it right. I cant please everyone. Sometimes I can't please anyone. Do I need to move forward or go through a career change. When I first started this job I knew I wanted to write. I knew one day it would happen. And the drama and the stories of these peoples lives just worked well with my goals as a writer. Now i don't really write anymore. Why don't I write anymore. I think subconciously I have decided that my writing will never amount to anything so instead of just writing in vain why don't I just stop.
The last day or two I have really intraspective. I cannot believe that at that age I am I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I am stuck in this vicious world of social service and I can not move. I keep trying and trying to find another job but strangly I am looking at the same job and something is keeping me where I am. I am searching to get paid for what juices me. What I am doing, working as a foster care social worker does not juice me. It is so stale it makes me want to cry. I cant catch up. I cant do it right. I cant please everyone. Sometimes I can't please anyone. Do I need to move forward or go through a career change. When I first started this job I knew I wanted to write. I knew one day it would happen. And the drama and the stories of these peoples lives just worked well with my goals as a writer. Now i don't really write anymore. Why don't I write anymore. I think subconciously I have decided that my writing will never amount to anything so instead of just writing in vain why don't I just stop.
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