end of the world = minor set back

You are reading http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com

Ok, I'm sane again. Well, I'm as good as I get.

I got so into that dark place, I scared myself.

So, I made an emergency phone call. For those who don't know me, I maybe unplug my phone line from the WebTV three, four times a year.

So, this really was an emergency.

I called the person I had emailed, asking for help.

I'm NOT telling who.

Sanity, reason, validation, respect, kindness and challenges insued.

By the end of the phone call, several things were clear to me.

I'm all I've got, really.

Not everybody in the world knows what they're doing.

Other people, besides myself, are scared.

Some people are down-right cold blooded.

Institutions can become dysfunctional.

Institutions which ARE dysfunctional are hell bent to stay that way.

I'm a very fast learner, and have accelerated my learning curve well beyond expectations.

The idea of Rogi Riverstone doing radio is "exciting."

And.....


.....I can do this.

Basically, I've gone full circle in 24 hours.

Actually, it's a spiral. I may be at the same COMPASS POINT, but at a slightly elevated position than I was yesterday.

I'm not crazy.

I feel nurtured. I've been heard and understood. I've been called on my attempts to say, "I can't."

I can.

I may not want to, but I can.

Meanwhile, back to independent production, my advisor is all in favor.

In fact, my advisor is loaning me a computer WITH an audio program on it. And my advisor is loaning me a microphone.

All I'll need to buy is a minidisc. Two hundred dollars, unless I can scarf something on eBay or something.

So, I'm an independent producer. With a sound studio.

And a very kind allie. Alley? Alibi?

And my adventure in bourbon is wearing totally off, without muscle cramps. I've been drinking tons of iced tea, which seems to be counteracting the effects of oxygen deprivation and dehydration.

I want a hug so bad, my nipples tingle.

I told my advisor about my trash-picked, dog diaper "pads." I told the person about malnutrition, loneliness, beatings...

I was heard.

I was honored.

I was respected.

I'm so tired.

This person knows radio. This ain't no chump wannabe.

And this person is helping me help myself.

I can't be trusted with station equipment, huh?

Guess again.

I told my advisor I'm down to the wire: either I take care of myself, or die. It felt SO GOOD to buy asprins and pads! I took care of myself.

My greatest fear is ending up crippled, blind, alone in a state run hospital, having my butt wiped by a minimum wage worker who's treated like crap and takes it out on me, lying in a puddle of my own urine, while my skin rubs off.

If that's how it's going to be, I said, I'll take that last bit of money out of the bank tomorrow, buy a gun and finish this right now.

I'm not being melodramatic. All I have left is my dignity; I won't give that up, what little there is.

My advisor heard me.

I can do this.

It hurts like hell.

I mean, it hurts worse than almost anything, besides losing my daughter.

But I can do this.

I've done worse, with far less pay off.

I was heard by someone whose perspective really counts.

I CAN DO THIS!

I'm going to sleep....