A brief weekend recap

Nothing much happened this weekend. The Roommate and I took it easy. We drank a good bit and I asked the girl upstairs for pot (probably a bad idea -- you guys don't have any pot do you?).

She stole a bright orange shopping cart from Target about a month ago and we came back Friday and noticed it was moved up against the iron fence along with a plastic outdoor table. We assumed this meant some hobo(s) tried to steal the cart. We didn't like the idea of hobos hopping our fence so we put it in the alley. The girls upstairs can deal without the cart (they used it for shopping since they don't have cars). Turns out it was her friends who were just seeing if she was home. The funny part is she had to start telling the story of hobos in our yard to these people to find this out.

That's about the extent of anything significant that happened this weekend. No one wants to read those long posts anyway, except for maybe me in a few years time.

I think I broke my foot at RCR's place. At some point I knocked over a very heavy stone plate thing by his fridge that smashed my foot. It's been in pretty bad pain ever since. The skinned toes healed fine, but I think a bone may be broken. I've been limping around for 2 weeks now and it's not any better. Guess I better go to the doctor. Damn. I don't have time for this. I'm a very important busy man (or maybe I'm just lazy, I'll think about it later).

I had an extremely vivid dream last night that I was tripping on acid. Everything I looked at was moving around. The wall paper pattern was dancing. I've never seen hallucinations like this so I was more than a little disturbed. I was talking to my roommate in the dream and then he disappeared. Holy shit, I thought, I just hallucinated The Roomate! This is worse than I thought! It crossed my mind that maybe I was dreaming, but whatever I did, I decided that no, this was definitely real. I started cursing TR, accusing him of sneaking into my room and dosing me. I'm actually saying in my dream, That motherfucker dosed me! Usually when I dream being in a house it's one I've lived in before or it's mine now, but not this time. I crawled out my bedroom door and there was a midget with a huge head sitting there crosslegged. His forehead was enormous. He kind of calmed me down with his even voice and we sat there talking for a bit and then I woke up, not tripping on acid, but with a pretty wicked hangover. I took a shower at 4am just to segue myself into another mindset.

Since it's September 11th I feel like I ought to do something to commemorate the day. I don't want to let Katrina overshadow it, though that's the more immediate issue. Maybe it's not surprising to you, but it seems odd to me that it's more disturbing that there are people out there trying to kill us than it is that weather beyond anyone's control can kill many more of us. The memory that endures is the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I felt when I watched one of the towers cant sickly to one side and then fall. So helpless. So nightmarish. So many thousands of people, all terrified and dying at once. I almost puked.

And now I put that memory next to the horrible stories from New Orleans. Old people drowning at nursing homes 5 days after the hurricane, abandoned and alone. The husband telling the story about his wife who told him to let her go, he can't hold both her and the kids. And he let her. He has to live with that memory forever. Abandoned starving dogs, lonely barking that can be heard for miles. And it goes on, and on...

Sometimes we forget how good our lives really are. I don't care if you're religious or not (I'm not). But be thankful for what you've got. To a New Orleans refugee or a 9/11 victim, you're rich beyond their dreams.